Duck the Halls(6)

“You mean skunks hibernate?”

“No, but they sleep a lot more in the winter. Especially when it’s cold. And with this much snow on the ground, they’d probably be snowed in their dens. Sleeping the weather out. Someone probably just saw a black-and-white cat.” He closed his eyes and appeared to be settling back to continue his nap.

“Well, then we’ve got a whole cage of black-and-white cats, and at least one of them did a pretty good imitation of a skunk. Good enough to fool Mr. Dandridge into thinking he’d been sprayed in the eyes.”

Grandfather opened one eye.

“Good enough to fool Dad into taking Mr. Dandridge down to the hospital to see an ophthalmologist.”

Grandfather made a growling noise.

“Well, that could be, then,” he said. “And they wouldn’t like it if someone dragged them out of their dens in weather like this. And if you woke them up, they’d be downright peeved.”

Apparently they weren’t the only ones.

“So do you want to see the peeved skunks or do you want to go back to your den and sleep the weather out?”

He reached over, pulled a tissue from a box on the floor, and blew his nose. Then his eyes lit up.

“Ah, yes!” He sniffed appreciatively a few times, like a wine connoisseur assessing the bouquet of a rare vintage. “You could be right. Help me out of this wretched seat,” he added, as he unfastened the seatbelt again.

I brought the seat back to its upright position and helped him down from the van. Then I turned off the engine, took the keys, locked the van, and scrambled to catch up with Grandfather, who had apparently regained his energy and was striding over to the two chiefs. I hoped he didn’t hit an ice patch on the way.

“I hear you have a skunk problem,” Grandfather said.

“Indeed,” Chief Burke said. “I don’t think you’ve met our new fire chief.”

After a round of introductions, Chief Featherstone held up a piece of headgear that looked like a cross between an astronaut’s helmet and a praying mantis’s head.

“You can put this on to go inside,” he said. “Can someone help Dr. Blake with the air tank?”

“‘Air tank’? Nonsense,” Grandfather boomed. “What do we need that for? I thought there wasn’t a fire.”

“There isn’t, but the skunk smell’s pretty overwhelming,” Chief Burke said. “We thought—”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather said. “I’ve smelled a few skunks in my time. Hasn’t killed me yet. Come on; let’s get inside. It’s damned cold out here.”

With that he began striding toward the front doors of the church.

“I should go with him,” I said to Chief Burke, and took off in Grandfather’s wake.

The two chiefs followed more slowly, probably because they stopped to put on their own helmets and strap oxygen tanks on their backs. Another firefighter followed in their wake with an armload of some kind of gear. The half dozen gleaming white steps leading up to the church slowed Grandfather down and we all stepped together into the vestibule. It was a large entryway decorated from floor to ceiling with evergreens, gold tinsel, and red velvet bows. Along the walls were brightly colored felt appliquéd banners that looked to be the work of the Sunday school classes, each illustrating a different beloved Christmas carol. The contrast between the beautiful Christmas decorations and the overpowering skunk odor would have been funny if I wasn’t having so much trouble breathing.

Even Grandfather halted with a surprised look on his face. Evidently his head cold wasn’t giving him total immunity.

“Where did you say the spraying happened?” he asked.

“In the choir loft.” Chief Featherstone’s voice was muffled by the breathing apparatus. He and Chief Burke looked rather insectoid, and the mechanical sound of their breathing was curiously unnerving, like sharing space with a pair of Darth Vaders.

Chief Featherstone marched across the vestibule and flung open the broad double doors into the sanctuary. As he was silhouetted in the doorway, I realized that even without the mask he was rather an odd figure, with a stout, barrel-shaped body perched on the thinnest legs I’d ever seen.

We followed him and stood just inside the doorway. I was beginning to regret hastily scampering after Grandfather without demanding that the fire chief lend me my own breathing apparatus.

The New Life sanctuary always overwhelmed me when I first walked in. Not so much because of its beauty, although the soaring expanses of light oak and whitewashed walls looked particularly elegant with all the evergreen, tinsel, and ribbon. No, it was the size that always got me—the place was so incredibly huge. The stained-glass windows wouldn’t have been out of place in a medieval cathedral. And at the back of the church the choir loft, looming high over the altar, could probably fit almost as many people as the entire sanctuary of Trinity Episcopal, where Michael, the boys, and I had begun going a lot more regularly now that Mother had been elected to the vestry.