In Your Easter Bonnet
Pleasant Harbor, Massachusetts, is a quaint New England village, steeped in tradition. Throughout the year, the residents of this picturesque seaside community celebrate holidays and special occasions as few others do. From the strike of midnight on December 31 to the following Christmas, the good people of Pleasant Harbor never miss an opportunity to have a gathering in the town common or a parade up Main Street. Easter is no exception, although due to the unpredictable New England weather in March and April, plans are sometimes altered at the last minute. On more than one occasion, an unexpected snowstorm made it necessary to postpone the Easter parade and the annual egg hunt.
Penelope Fleming prayed that the weather on Easter Sunday would be warm and sunny. She was to graduate high school in June and would go off to college in September. It would be her last Easter parade for four years.
"This year I'm bound to win," she said, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. "My hat is sure to be the best Easter bonnet in the parade."
Then she slowly turned her head from side to side, admiring the huge straw hat placed atop her red curls. Around the brim were pink roses and pastel-colored plastic Easter eggs. On the top was a small white plush rabbit. This handcrafted creation was held onto her head by a lavender ribbon tied into a large bow beneath her chin.
"It's better than the one you wore last year. That hat reminded me of the flower arrangements at my grandmother's funeral," joked Penelope's boyfriend, Randy Donohue.
"Very funny. I'll have you know that I spent weeks arranging and rearranging all those silk flowers. No other hat had as many as mine did."
Randy did not doubt that.
"I still don't see what the big deal is. If you win, all you get is a first-place ribbon. This isn't exactly the Tournament of Roses Parade, although your hats often do look like one of the floats."
"It's important to me. I'd like to be the winner just once. Carol Ann, Kelly, Debbie, Zoe and Jennifer have all been winners and so were my mother and her two sisters when they were younger. I don't want to be the only one of my friends and family who has never won."
Randy shrugged. He still could not see why Penelope cared so much about winning a silly competition. She had a lot more going for her than the others did. None of them had plans to go to college. Penelope, who was gifted with an intelligence bordering on genius, had received a full scholarship to MIT. She could go places in life; she would not have to spend the next fifty years or so watching the snow melt in Pleasant Harbor.
Randy, on the other hand, was hardly college material. He once overheard one teacher say to another, "Randy take the SAT tests? I doubt he can spell SAT!"
Penelope finally took off the bonnet and placed it on a wig stand on her dresser.
"Did you volunteer to work on the parade this year?" she asked Randy.
"Yeah, I'm going to drive the Peter Cottontail float."
"Oh, no! You won't be able to see me walk down the street in my hat."
"I'll see you after the parade."
"What about before? Aren't you coming over for Easter breakfast?"
"I can't this year. My mother bribed me into helping hide the eggs for the egg hunt."
"Remember the fun we used to have as kids looking for the eggs on the Common? Too bad you have to be twelve or under to participate. I'd love to join the hunt again."
"Look on the bright side," Randy laughed. "If you were under the age of twelve, you wouldn't be marching in the parade wearing that Easter basket on your head."
* * *
Randy went to the Fleming house on Saturday evening to help Penelope and her mother dye eggs. The kitchen table was cluttered with Styrofoam cups filled with hot water into each of which Penelope dropped a colored tablet and two tablespoons of vinegar. While the three of them ate pepperoni pizza and colored the hardboiled eggs, they watched movies on the thirteen-inch portable television Mrs. Fleming had temporarily taken out of the master bedroom and placed on the kitchen counter. She and her daughter were not about to miss their perennial Easter favorite, King of Kings.
As Penelope watched the movie, she voiced the opinion, "If Christ looked like Jeffrey Hunter, I could understand why so many women risked becoming the main course for the lions of ancient Rome to become Christians."
Shocked by her daughter's comment, Mrs. Fleming nearly choked on her pizza.
"Penelope! I won't have any of your blasphemous jokes in this house; especially on the night before Easter."
"There's no need to be so dramatic. I don't see what's blasphemous about the possibility of Jesus being a hunk like Jeffrey Hunter."
"That's enough," Mrs. Fleming argued. "Besides, if you want to know what Jesus looked like, just take a look at The Last Supper."
"Come on, Mom. Do you honestly think Jesus and his disciples posed for Leonardo da Vinci? No one knows for sure what Christ looked like."
Penelope was smart enough not to add, "Or even if he existed at all."
Her mother was a devoutly religious woman who would sooner doubt the existence of Jeffrey Hunter than that of Jesus Christ.
"I think you can pour the purple dye down the sink now," Mrs. Fleming suggested. "We've got enough eggs of that color already. It looks like we could use more yellow ones, though. Your father's already eaten two of them."
"The weatherman says there's a fifty percent chance of rain tomorrow morning," Randy said. "If they have to cancel the egg hunt, what are you going to do with all these eggs?"
"What I did four years ago when it snowed on Easter: I made buckets of egg salad, gave some to everyone in the neighborhood and sent the rest to the nursing home."
"I wouldn't worry about that, Mom. It's not going to rain," Penelope declared confidently. "The sky will be blue and the sun will shine all day—just wait and see."
Mrs. Fleming knew her youngest daughter had her heart set on winning the Easter bonnet competition the following day. She only hoped that Penelope would not be too disappointed if that dream did not come true.
"That's the last of them," a tired Mrs. Fleming announced as she finished filling cardboard cartons with dyed eggs.
Randy and Penelope washed the glasses from dinner and then scoured the colored stains out of the sink and off the kitchen table with Ajax. King of Kings was over; Jeffrey Hunter as Jesus Christ had been crucified and resurrected for yet another year. Mrs. Fleming unplugged the portable Sony and returned it to the sanctum of her bedroom, to which she shortly retired herself.
After her parents had gone to bed, Penelope grabbed the last slice of pizza and sat down with Randy in the living room to watch Saturday Night Live. When the cast, host and musical guests took their final bows, Randy stood up to leave.
"I guess I better get going," he said. "I have to be at the Common by five in the morning to hide those eggs."
"Why so early?"
"I suppose the parents are afraid that the kids might see us hiding the eggs, and then that will be the end of the Easter Bunny myth."
"But everyone knows the Easter Bunny can't be everywhere at once, so he has helpers to get the job done."
"Wrong myth; that's Santa Claus."
"Easter Bunny, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy," Penelope said, stifling a yawn. "At that age, kids will believe anything you tell them."
"Are you kidding?" Randy laughed. "I can tell you don't have any younger sisters or brothers. My kid brother is only six years old, and already he thinks he knows everything."
They kissed goodnight, a long and tender kiss.
"Good luck tomorrow," Randy called as he walked toward his car that was parked in the Flemings' driveway.
"Keep your eye out for me after the parade."
"In that hat, how can I miss you?"
Then he put the colored Easter eggs in his trunk and drove away.
* * *
Easter Sunday was, as Penelope had optimistically predicted, clear, sunny and unusually warm for an early April day in New England. Randy rose at four o'clock to hide the eggs. Mrs. Fleming was also up before dawn, preparing pancake batter, crepes and omelets. Her Easter breakfasts were a cherished tradition in the Fleming family, and aunts, uncles and cousins would arrive shortly for a sumptuous repast before attending church services. Penelope, too, had gotten up early—not that there was any need for her to do so. She was simply too excited to sleep. After putting on her bathrobe, she went down to the kitchen to help her mother.
"Look who's up early on a Sunday morning," her father teased. "To what do we owe this unexpected honor?"
"I thought Mom could use a hand with breakfast," she explained, but she knew she was fooling no one with her little white lie.
"I sure can," her mother said gratefully. "You can peel and chop those potatoes for the hash browns."
As Mrs. Fleming took a pan of blueberry muffins out of the oven, she turned to her daughter and asked, "Today's the big day. What do you plan on wearing besides that hat?"
"My pink suit. I don't want to wear anything too fancy."
"I think your pink suit will be just lovely. And since you'll be getting all dressed up anyway, why don't you come with us to church?"
Penelope sighed. Her mother never stopped trying to save her soul.
"You know I don't really believe in all the rules and rituals of organized religion."
"I didn't believe in Santa Claus, but I still took you to see him every Christmas when you were a child. And don't forget, in a few short months you'll be off to college. I just thought it would be nice if we could spend some quality family time together before you go."
No doubt about it, her mother knew which buttons to push.
"Okay, Mom, you win. I'll go with you to church. Here are your hash browns. I'd better go upstairs now and get dressed."
The family members soon arrived, and as usual, everyone ate like food was about to be rationed.
"Whatever happened to fasting on holy days?" Penelope asked her cousin Zoe.
"I think it went out with hair shirts, self-flagellation and burning heretics at the stake," Zoe answered between forkfuls of Mrs. Fleming's homemade bread pudding.
"Why do I stuff myself like this every holiday? After all the food I ate, did I really need that cheese Danish, too?" Penelope groaned as she carried her empty plate to the kitchen.
"Don't worry. We'll walk the calories off in the parade today."
"I'd have to walk from here to Tokyo and back to work off the calories I consumed."
Penelope, although a slender one hundred and fifteen pounds, had the usual young woman's obsession with weight gain. For days after a large meal, she would exist on carrot sticks, celery stalks and diet Cokes.
Finally, the rest of the family began loosening their belts and getting up from the table. The women quickly piled the dirty plates, cups and flatware into the dishwasher while the men waited for them outside, discussing baseball and cars.
"I wonder who cleaned up after the Last Supper," Zoe laughed, careful not to let the more pious members of the family overhear. "After all, there were no women there."
"Of course, there were," Penelope replied. "They just didn't make it into the painting because they were too busy in the kitchen."
* * *
Easter services at St. Michael's seemed to drag on forever. The minister was no doubt taking advantage of the packed pews. After delivering an inspiring sermon worthy of a Tony Award nomination followed by yet one more hymn, the good reverend started his benediction that was, to Penelope's consternation, also longer than usual.
When the congregation rose at last, the impatient young woman felt like running past the crowd lining up to pay their respects to the pastor. But even if she did, she would not get home any sooner. She still had to wait for her parents, and not only did they join the faithful flock in line to greet the minister, they also took quite a bit of time to wish their fellow churchgoers a happy Easter.
When her father's car finally pulled into the driveway, Penelope threw her door open before the car came to a complete stop. Keys in hand, she ran up the front steps and into the house.
"Slow down, Penny," her mother shouted. "You don't want to trip and hurt yourself. You've got plenty of time before the parade starts."
Penelope took the stairs two at a time. She raced to her bedroom, grabbed her bonnet and ran back down the stairs, calling to her parents as she bolted through the door.
"See you later."
The Flemings heard the Ford Mustang's engine roar as their daughter started her car. Then she backed out of the driveway and was gone in a matter of seconds.
* * *
Randy was waiting in the driver's seat of the Dodge pick-up that was to pull the twenty-foot-long float on which Peter Cottontail sat among a group of children from the Busy Hands Nursery School. He looked through the crowd of Boy and Girl Scouts, marching bands, Little League players, veterans, tap dancers, baton twirlers and gymnasts. Every civic organization, youth group and school club was represented. Given the small population of Pleasant Harbor, there would probably be more people marching in the parade than spectators watching along the route. Yet nowhere in the assembled crowd could Randy spot Penelope's flowered hat.
Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Fleming and members of their family walked down Maple Road to Main Street. They watched every parade at this intersection, the midpoint on the parade route.
"Maybe we should walk to the town hall. That's where they'll be judging the bonnets," Mrs. Fleming suggested.
"Don't worry, dear. If Penny wins, we'll know soon enough," her husband reasoned.
Remaining where they were, they watched the Pleasant Harbor High School band lead the parade up Main Street, followed by a giant Easter basket float, the kennel club's best-behaved dogs, a vintage Corvette driven by a local politician running for reelection, a band of highland pipers wearing kilts and finally the young maids and matrons of Pleasant Harbor who were participating in the bonnet competition. A small float designed to look like an elaborate hat concealed a tape player and amplifier that, for the duration of the parade, played Bing Crosby's rendition of "In Your Easter Bonnet."
"There's Zoe," Mr. Fleming said, pointing to his niece. "But I don't see Penelope."
"There are so many girls entered this year," his wife observed. "There's Debbie and Kelly, and there's Jessica."
But Penelope was not walking with any of her girlfriends. A few seconds later, Mrs. Fleming spotted the Easter egg-covered hat with the large lavender bow.
"There she is."
Mr. Fleming looked closely at his daughter.
"What's wrong with her?"
Unlike the other girls who were smiling brightly and waving to the crowd, Penelope walked like a zombie, eyes straight ahead, her face a somber mask. She didn't even turn her head when her mother called out to her.
"I was afraid she'd be disappointed if she didn't win, but I didn't realize she'd take it this hard," said Mrs. Fleming.
"Why should she be disappointed now? They haven't selected the winner yet." Then Mr. Fleming suggested, "Let's walk down to the town hall and give her a little moral support."
By the time the Flemings walked up Main Street through the crowds of friends and neighbors who greeted them along the way, the judging of the bonnet competition was over.
Mr. Fleming spotted Zoe in the crowd.
"Have you seen Penelope?" he asked.
"Not since Mayor Grasso pinned the blue ribbon on her. She looked like she was in shock that she actually won. She was just standing there, frozen. Then she disappeared into the crowd."
"She's probably looking for Randy," Mrs. Fleming surmised.
Penelope was not with her boyfriend, however, nor had any of her friends seen her since she had won the competition.
"Don't worry. We'll find her," Randy declared confidently. "Pleasant Harbor is a small town, and that bonnet is hard to miss."
Once the parade ended, the crowds headed toward the Common where the egg hunt was about to begin. Children twelve and under assembled near the bandstand, Easter baskets in hand, awaiting the start of the hunt. Principal Ryan blew her whistle, and the children scattered, crawling under bushes and climbing over park benches in their quest for the brightly colored eggs.
Randy continued to scan the crowd for a sign of the white plush rabbit that adorned Penelope's hat.
"I'm going to walk back to the house," Mrs. Fleming announced. "Perhaps Penelope was feeling ill and went straight home. Maybe that's why she looked so pale and behaved so oddly."
Mrs. Fleming had walked only a block when she heard a little girl scream. A shiver ran down her spine. Although children often screamed at the slightest provocation, her mother's intuition had set off a warning alarm. She turned and quickly walked back toward the park. Soon there were more screams, and people were running toward the wooded area in the direction of the frightened children. Mrs. Fleming, too, began to run. Her husband, however, made it to the group of trees first.
"Penny!" she heard him wail just before her legs gave out and she fell to the ground in a faint.
* * *
The police drove the Flemings home and then somewhat sheepishly invited themselves inside. They were sorry, of course, but they had to ask a few questions. After all, a young girl was found dead, and it was their job to determine the how, when and why. As Mr. Fleming was describing his daughter's strange appearance during the parade, another police car pulled into the driveway.
"Was your daughter driving a 1993 blue Ford Mustang when she left the house this morning?" the officer asked, trying only to confirm what he already knew to be a fact.
"Yes," Mrs. Fleming managed to respond.
"We found her car about a half mile from here. She apparently failed to negotiate a turn in the road and drove into a tree at a high rate of speed."
The police investigation later concluded that after the crash, the badly injured girl left the scene of the accident and headed toward town, most likely to summon help. She made it as far as the Common where she finally died.
However, once the Flemings recovered from the initial shock of their daughter's death and had the opportunity to examine the facts, they had many questions. For one thing, Penelope had been seen walking in the parade. That meant that the accident must have taken place after she won the bonnet competition. How then had she struck a tree traveling east toward town rather than west toward her home? Why did no one recall seeing her either before the start of the parade or after she received her ribbon? And why was it that even the medical examiner could not explain how a girl with a crushed skull had managed to get out of her car and walk all the way to the Common?
The Flemings' questions remained unanswered, for there were no eyewitnesses to report the truth: their daughter had crashed her car into the tree on the way to the parade, shortly after she'd raced out of her parents' driveway. Yet Penelope Fleming had been so determined to win the bonnet competition that she staggered, half dead, toward town; and even after the young high school senior had taken her final breath moments later, her spirit managed to walk in the Easter parade before going on to its final rest.
Salem, I don't believe that qualifies as an Easter bonnet. You should keep that hat for Halloween.
