Chapter Three
"Well, Ginger, what do you think?" Mary Ann held up the sprig of mistletoe she had made out of dried seaweed tied with a small red satin bow. A few pearls from an old necklace of Mrs. Howell's nestled in the middle of the sprig to represent the little white berries. "It doesn't look much like mistletoe, does it?"
"It's perfect," Ginger smiled. "You're really very creative, Mary Ann!"
Mary Ann smiled back, examining the sprig with a critical eye. "It would be nice to have the real thing," she said, wistfully. "This still smells a bit- well, seaweedy."
Ginger reached across the table and patted her arm. "As long as it has the desired effect, you'll be fine."
The door flew open suddenly and Mrs. Howell entered the hut all a-fluster. "That man!" she exclaimed, throwing up her arms in despair. "The next time he wants to jump off the cliff I think I'll give him a big push to get him started!"
Ginger and Mary Ann exchanged a knowing smile before setting their faces into dutiful looks of concern as Mrs. Howell flounced over and parked herself at the table. "What on earth is that thing?" she remarked, spying the object Mary Ann was holding up.
"It's mistletoe," Mary Ann said. "Or at least, it's meant to be."
Mrs. Howell brightened immediately, clasping her hands together under her chin. A girlish gleam came into her eyes. "Mistletoe! How wonderful! Oh, how I used to adore kissing under the mistletoe at parties. It used to make Thurston quite, quite jealous!"
"Mrs. Howell!" said Ginger, tut-tutting. "Shame on you!"
"I know! Wasn't I naughty?" said Mrs. Howell, wrinkling her nose in exact imitation of Ginger. "Oh, what a clever idea. This is just what we need this Christmas. It's high time you young people started getting closer!" She turned to Mary Ann. "Why- three years we've been here, and that young Gilligan still can't see what's right under his nose!"
"Mrs. Howell!" said Mary Ann, going bright red.
Just as Ginger began to laugh, Mrs. Howell turned to her as well. "And the Professor, my goodness, the way he walks around all day reading those silly books while a beautiful Hollywood actress stands right there in front of him. It's scandalous!"
Ginger lowered her head and coughed politely.
"Yes, there's simply no doubt about it. You girls have the right idea- mistletoe is exactly what we need this Christmas." Mrs. Howell got up from the table and departed the hut in a swirl of chiffon. "Exactly what we need!"
In the boys' hut, Gilligan was hunched over, hard at work. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he fumbled vine leaves onto a small stick and tried to fix it all together with fishing twine. "Skipper, tell me again why we need mistletoe?" He frowned as yet another attempt went wrong. Bits of vine fell off the stick and scattered all over the floor.
The Skipper stood with his arms folded, shaking his head. "Gilligan, surely even you know what mistletoe is for. You hang it, and then you kiss under it!"
"Oh yeah, I remember now. Skinny Mulligan once stood under some mistletoe all night with Florence Oppenheimer and nobody else could get a turn."
"Gilligan," the Skipper sighed, "you have enough Skinny Mulligan stories to write a book."
Gilligan grinned. He cut off a strip of vine and started again, looping the fishing twine around and around the stick until there was more nylon than greenery. "How's that?" he asked, holding it up.
"Disastrous," the Skipper muttered. "The only person you'd get a kiss from with a sprig like that is Gladys."
"No way, I'm not kissing anybody," Gilligan said, assertively.
"Now what kind of festive spirit is that, little buddy?" the Skipper teased. "What's wrong with kissing someone at Christmas to show that you appreciate their friendship?" He thought of Ginger. And boy, do I appreciate her friendship!
Gilligan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I could do it to show friendship," he conceded. "Not on the lips, though!"
The Skipper chuckled. "Not even for Mary Ann?"
Gilligan said nothing, just ducked his head lower and lower until all the Skipper could see of him was the little button on the top of his hat.
"Hey," the Skipper said suddenly. "It'll be getting dark very soon. I wonder what happened to the Professor?"
"He went out looking for a tree," Gilligan mumbled.
"And there he is now!" Skipper pointed out of the window. "It looks like he found one!"
Gilligan followed the Skipper out into the clearing where the man of science was struggling with a large, bushy shrub he had dug up and dragged all the way home. The Skipper ran over immediately. "Professor! You shouldn't have done all that by yourself! Why, if I'd known you were having trouble I'd have sent Gilligan out to help you right away!"
Gilligan stared at the Skipper and pouted indignantly.
"It's quite all right, gentlemen," the Professor smiled, wiping the sheen of perspiration from his brow. "It was a combination of seeing the right tree and not wanting to lose its location. Besides, it's really not as heavy as it looks."
Gilligan studied the Professor's sweat soaked shirt and listened to him panting for breath. He reached for the shrub and the weight of it nearly pulled him over. "It really is as heavy as it looks," he gasped, his knees buckling.
Between the three of them, the Skipper, the Professor and Gilligan manhandled the shrub into a suitable location in the clearing where they planted it, ready for decorating. They stood back and admired their handiwork. The Professor leaned on his shovel. He looked exhausted but happy. "It makes a mighty fine Christmas tree, if I do say so myself."
"It sure does," breathed Gilligan. "Mary Ann's angel is gonna look so pretty on the top!"
"Ah yes, the decorations," said the Professor. "How are they coming along?"
"Great," said Gilligan. "And guess what? We're making mistletoe!"
The Skipper put his face in his hands. "Gilligan, that was meant to be a secret!"
"It was?" the first mate looked startled.
The Professor grinned. "Don't worry, Gilligan, I can keep a secret." He stroked his chin in an exaggerated manner. "Mistletoe. Hmm. Whose idea was that, may I ask?"
Gilligan shot his arm out and pointed straight at the Skipper.
"Anyone in mind, Skipper?" the Professor asked, innocently raising his eyebrows.
"As a matter of fact, the Howells," the Skipper said, primly. "We heard them quarrelling, didn't we, Gilligan? I thought it would be nice to bring them together under the mistletoe and remind them of happier times."
Gilligan nodded up and down.
"I see," the Professor mused. "Anyone else?"
"No," said the Skipper, unconvincingly.
Gilligan shook his head side to side.
"Ginger?"
The Skipper spluttered, going beetroot.
"Mary Ann?"
Gilligan looked away as though he'd seen something interesting in the distance.
"Just the Howells, then."
"That's right," said the Skipper. "Just the Howells." He caught the Professor's eye and the two of them began laughing as though they were both thinking the same thing while Gilligan stared up at the tree and imagined Mary Ann's cross-eyed angel gazing down at him from the top.
The other castaways loved the tree. At dinner the conversation consisted of nothing but Christmas trees and favourite baubles they remembered from years gone by. Red and white striped candy canes and chocolate soldiers wrapped in tin foil. Huge green bows decorated with golden glitter. Fluffy sheep and tacky plastic candles, and little stables made of wood with a cradle and a tiny baby Jesus. Tinkling bells and laughing elves. Baubles that eventually became chipped and broken but were too precious and loved to be thrown away. Gilligan told a story of how he and his brother would eat the chocolate decorations from the tree, gradually working around to the front when they'd taken all the ones at the back. How one Christmas his sister cried because the chocolate kitty-cat was gone, and how his mother had eventually found three years' worth of little coloured tinfoil balls stashed behind the fireplace and had counted all the edible baubles from then on to make sure none of them went missing.
The moment dinner was finished and the plates cleared away, the girls brought out all the ornaments they'd made and the decorating began in earnest. Everyone hung something on the tree, even Mr. Howell, who rushed back to his hut to fetch a stack of hundred dollar bills. "Who says money doesn't grow on trees?" he guffawed, dancing around like a naughty imp as the banknotes twirled and fluttered from every branch.
"The angel, Mary Ann, where's the angel?" cried Gilligan, clapping his hands together.
Laughing, Mary Ann reached into the box and handed him the angel. "Perhaps we should have put it on before the tree was planted," she mused. "How are you going to get up there now?"
"Watch this," Gilligan grinned. He turned and hollered at the Skipper. "Skipper! Can you give me a lift?"
The Skipper came over with a big, beaming smile. "For you, little buddy, anything!" He stooped down, wrapped his huge arms tightly around Gilligan's legs and hoisted him high up into the air, high enough for him to reach the top of the tree.
"Well, little angel, this is your new home- I sure hope you like it." Gilligan stroked the angel's hair and gave it a quick little kiss on its silken face when he thought nobody could see. "For luck," he said, softly, looking into its tiny lopsided eyes. He smoothed out its delicate chiffon wings and then he reached out and placed it carefully on the top of the tree, his hands shaking in case he accidentally fell forward and knocked the whole thing over.
He was still gazing raptly at the angel as the Skipper brought him back down to earth. Everyone clapped their hands and cheered, declaring that the cross-eyed angel was quite the best decoration they'd ever seen.
"Wait until they see the other surprise we've got in store for them tomorrow," Ginger whispered, nudging Mary Ann in the ribs.
Mary Ann looked up at the angel and then at Gilligan. The Skipper was laughing and patting him on the back, congratulating him for not wrecking the tree. The first mate smiled bashfully, his cute dimples accentuated by the glow of the surrounding tiki torches. He looked so happy, his blue eyes shining in the light.
He looked angelic.
Mary Ann's heart pulled with longing. If mistletoe was what it took to get Gilligan to finally notice her, then she was more than ready to hang the mistletoe right now.