Chapter 15: Resolution
Long after Kermit had succumbed to sleep, Piggy lay awake in stunned contentment, his body draped protectively over hers. The grass was soft beneath her, the night air sweet and soothing. How different everything had seemed before, how changed everything looked to her now! How could she have forgotten—even for an hour—the way he made her feel, the way she loved him without reservation? If this was Kermit’s home, this was her home too, she thought fiercely. She would find a way to make it work.
Piggy woke up early the next morning. Snuggled into the warm, grassy tufts she marveled at how comfortable she had been. Sleeping like a log, she thought, and had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Kermit stirred sleepily but did not awaken as she parted the curtain of vines and stepped out into the sunshine. Her dress was a mess, but her cotton petticoat still looked fresh and provided adequate coverage. More than adequate, she reminded herself, since everyone else around her was as nature had made them, and no more. Her shoes were still back in the viny alcove where Kermit slept, so she picked her way carefully through the marshy grass. Piggy squinted up at the sun, orienting herself, and made for where she thought the cooking area must be Stopping and starting a couple of times, Piggy finally found herself near the clearing where Jane did her cooking, but still completely enclosed in foliage. The swamp had once seemed one big morass of flora (and alarmingly, fauna), but now that she was catching on, she realized that the place was full of little private rooms separated by hanging curtains of vines and Spanish moss, just like the one Kermit had secured for them! Piggy frowned, determined. She knew that going back wasn’t the correct direction… That thought made her pause, then set her jaw determinedly. No, no going back, not literally, and not figuratively. She would just have to go forward—somehow or other! She pushed through what looked like the most accessible spot and burst triumphantly into the clearing. Her mood quickly turned sheepish when her mother-in-law startled and turned from her huge cooking pot to smile at Piggy.
“Oh hello dear,” she said warmly. “I thought I was the only one, um, stirring.” She looked down at the ladle in her hand and then up at Piggy and both of them burst out laughing. Jane patted the log nearest her invitingly. “Come keep me company,” she insisted. “A watched pot never seems to boil.”
Jane did not mention her ordeal of the night before, but Piggy caught her casting anxious, surreptitious glances her way and did her best to seem composed. She picked her way over carefully and sat down, studiously avoiding a look in the big cauldron. Worried she might appear rude, Piggy nodded her head at the cooking area and tried to look interested. “What are you cooking?” she asked politely.
“Oatmeal,” Jane said, trying hard not to smile.
Piggy looked up, almost daring to hope. “Just—just oatmeal?” she asked.
Jane nodded briskly. “Um hum. The doctor is always on to me to eat more whole grains, and it certainly won’t hurt any of the others.” She inclined her head at a huge stack of bowls and a couple of airtight tins near the end of the log. “Get a bowl,” she said firmly. “And there’s brown sugar in one of those green tins.”
“What’s in the other one?” Piggy asked, making conversation.
“Don’t ask,” quipped Jane. “You’ll know if you’ve gotten the wrong one.” Jane softened her teasing with a reassuring smile. “Nothing that will hop out, dear. I promise.”
With alacrity, Piggy fetched a bowl, her mouth watering as June filled it with steaming cereal. Luck was with Piggy and the first tin she opened was full of brown sugar clumped into enticing little shapes. Piggy stirred in brown sugar until it made a little caramel-colored swirl throughout, then took a tentative bite.
“Oh,” she said, feeling the sugar hit her system like a drug. “Oh Jane—this is wonderful.”
Jane scooped her own bowl, sugared it sparingly and then, with a quick look to verify that they were unobserved, added two additional heaping spoonfuls of sugar. She stirred quickly and popped the spoon, upside down, into her mouth.
“Wow,” she said contentedly. “Thath hiths the spotht.”
Piggy looked at her in surprise, and Jane made a comical face and swallowed.
“No one can a good example all the time,” she admitted. “I’m always telling the grandchildren not to do this, but—oh! Once in a while you just have to splurge.”
Well, well, Piggy thought. She isn’t perfect after all. The thought made her feel better, but somewhat guilty, and she regarded Jane shyly from under lowered lashes. As if sensing the scrutiny and aware of the meaning behind it, Jane reached over and patted Piggy’s plump knee affectionately.
“But I guess you know all about trying to be a good example, dear—don’t you?
Startled, Piggy looked up. “I don’t…what do you mean?” she asked.
Jane smiled and her dark, fathomless eyes seemed to see right through to Piggy’s soul. Her expression was very kind, and she didn’t answer Piggy’s question directly.
“James and I got married for a long, long time ago,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her and smiling off into the distance. “We were so in love and oh!--we were so young. I can’t even imagine being that young. The first time we visited James’ family, I remember feeling so, so lost and uncertain.” She looked over at Piggy. “Now don’t think that I ever doubted that I loved James or that he loved me, but married? What did I know about being married?”
“Yes,” Piggy said softly, hardly aware that she spoke. “Exactly.”
“We hadn’t grown up very far from each other, but I felt like I was entering another world. Everything was different--the way they talked, the way they did their hair. I felt terribly out of place.
“The way they dressed,” Piggy suggested dryly.
Jane looked at her and smiled. “Yes,” she said. “That, too.”
“So…how did you and James…?”
“Oh!” said Jane, taking up her narrative again. “Well, it didn’t help that I was shy, and quiet, so two of his brothers teased me quite a bit. It was their way of being friendly--they had no idea how mortified I was.”
“What happened?” Piggy asked, her interest piqued.
“James wanted to rush right in and tell them to knock it off, but I didn’t want him to. I wanted to find my own way of dealing with them.”
Piggy leaned forward in her seat. “Did you?” she asked breathlessly.
Jane looked at Piggy carefully, then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes,” she said. “I did, but it wasn’t very nice.”
Piggy grabbed Jane’s hand between her own. “Now you have to tell me,” Piggy insisted, and Jane began to laugh.
“Well,” Jane said, “it’s like this—“ and proceeded to regale Piggy with tales of ancient revenge while Piggy took several mental notes.
When the deed was done—and the contemplation of a new deed had been firmly established, Jane looked over at Piggy and her eyes turned reproachful.
“I—I’m so sorry about last night. We--Kermit should have told me about the food,” Jane said sternly. Mortified, Piggy hastened to his defense.
“He wanted to!” she said earnestly. “I—I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want to…hurt your feelings.” Her voice was small, and it was Jane’s turn to reassure.
“That was very sweet of you, but it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings to make a few of your favorites, too. I’m sorry I didn’t even think to ask. We were just so excited that Kermit was bringing you that I got all in a tither.”
Piggy gave a tentative smile.
“I can’t imagine you in a tither,” she admitted, but Jane gave a little laugh that was almost a groan.
“Smoke and mirrors, I assure you,” she said ruefully. “If I look organized, it’s only because I’ve buried all the bodies.”
Piggy wondered idly about burying a few bodies of her own, and it must have shown on her face, for Jane laughed out loud again. Her laugh was full and infectious, and Piggy felt some of the tightness in her chest leave with a small chuckle of her own. A sudden remembrance of her recent humiliation washed over her, and for just a moment, that chuckle hovered on the edge of a sob.
“Kermit loves your cooking!” Piggy blurted. “He says that nobody makes a millipede loaf like you.”
Jane beamed. “Well, I’ll take that as gospel,” she said happily, “but I’m guessing millipede loaf isn’t quite your cup of tea.”
“No,” Piggy admitted, and dared one quick peak at Jane’s eyes to be sure she wasn’t being cruel with her honesty. “But—but I’d like to have the recipe.”
Jane’s smile was like the sun coming out. “Of course, dear! Kermit would be thrilled if you took the recipe!”
Piggy decided to take Kermit’s advice and abandon all pretense. “I don’t know anything about cooking,” she admitted. “But I know some wonderful chefs.”
Jane eyes widened in surprise and interest, and Piggy hurried on. “There’s this one little bakery that make these cookies that Kermit just loves.” She looked at Jane doubtfully. “Do you know what chocolate chip cookies are?”
“Heavens yes!” said Jane. “We know about chocolate! Seventh wonder of the world!”
The women laughed.
“There’s this bakery that makes chocolate chip cookies, only they replace half of the chocolate chips with—“
“Honey, I don’t know,” said Denise for the umpteenth time as they walked across the clearing. Her daughter did not deal well with “I don’t knows” and looked more than a little disgruntled.
“But she wouldn’t leave, Mama,” Cee Cee insisted. “I just know she wouldn’t--not without saying good-bye.”
“Well, I’m sure she wouldn’t unless it was an emergency,” said Denise with false brightness, but she was not-so-secretly doubtful. After last’s night disgraceful prank, Denise wouldn’t have blamed Kermit’s new wife if she were currently hundreds of miles from the nearest frog, swamp and grasshopper. Still, nothing was going to be resolved on an empty stomach—not at this hour, anyway—and she had brought Cee Cee to see her Great Aunt Jane with the hope of a breakfast—and a moment’s peace from her daughter’s anxious speculation.
She parted the vines and found—to her complete astonishment—the aforementioned new wife giggling in a conspiratorial way with Kermit’s mother. Both women looked up with such guilty and amused faces that it was obvious that they had been up to something.
Cee Cee launched herself across the space and threw her arms around Piggy’s neck.
“I knew you wouldn’t leave,” she said fiercely. “I just knew it.”
Denise looked mortified, not willing for Piggy to think herself the topic of other people’s conversation, but Piggy was used to being the topic of other people’s conversations. She took it in stride and smiled tentatively at Kermit’s cousin. Jane had gone a long way toward easing Piggy’s misery about last night, but the thought of facing Kermit’s cousins proved to be daunting.
“Hello, Denise,” Piggy said, using her how-nice-of-you-to-have-me-on-the-show voice. Denise thought she was doing pretty good to be getting enough air with Cee Cee’s crushing grip around her neck.
Denise smiled back tentatively. “I’m sorry to barge in like this,” she said, genuinely embarrassed to have interrupted what was obvious a private conversation herself. “We were just, um, coming for breakfast. Cee Cee was up early and….” She trailed off.
“There’s oatmeal,” said Jane cheerily. “Get a bowl.”
“Oatmeal….” Denise repeated, still uncomfortable. Piggy looked up from helping Cee Cee get seated next to her, and her eyes were grave.
“Yes,” she said solemnly. “Just oatmeal, I’m afraid. We seem to be fresh out of grasshoppers….”
For a moment, the solemn look held, then Piggy’s eyes lit up with merriment, and Denise began to laugh. Cee Cee looked at her mother in astonishment, then at her new friend, who was also beginning to giggle, then joined in.
“Oh, bless your heart,” said Denise. “That was such an unkind trick to play on someone who’s not used to…I mean, someone who isn’t….” Oh dear! thought Denise miserably. I didn’t mean to—
But Piggy waved it away like a billow of smoke.
“Well, it wasn’t very funny at the time,” Piggy admitted. “But it seemed funnier later, after…well, after I got over being so startled.”
“Those two are incorrigible,” huffed Denise. “Why last month they had half the tadpoles terrified of a Bog Monster with big googly eyes, a huge nose and horns on his head.”
“I think I’ve worked with him,” Piggy said dryly, but not quite loud enough for Denise to hear. Cee Cee giggled and put her hand over her mouth.
Denise went on with her story while Jane scooped up oatmeal and brown sugar, and before long, their party of four had turned into a revolving party of hungry frogs coming and going until the big vat of oatmeal was almost empty.
It was, thought Piggy, like eating the proverbial elephant—one bite at a time. Although her cheeks burned with embarrassment more times than she could count, Piggy managed to maintain the same, self-effacing grace she had shown with Denise until the bulk of the big family had come and gone. She could feel Jane watching her, nodding from time to time with approval, and that made Piggy think she could eat a dozen elephants! Um, face down a dozen annoying cousins, that is.
One of Piggy’s tried and true maxims had long been, “If you mess up, pretend you meant to do it all along,” and this wasn’t so different. Kermit’s family was more than happy for any excuse to excuse her, and many of them expressed indignation and remorse over what had happened while she poked fun at her own over-reaction and tried to appear unexcitable. Often, she looked up to find Jane smiling at her, pleased and proud, and the sight made Piggy’s heart warm. She could do this. She could. And it was ever-so-nice to not have to do it on an empty stomach.
Kermit stirred slowly as the sun began to filter into their private arbor. Sleepily, he reached over to drape an arm around Piggy’s form but found only the spot where she had been. The surprise of her absence stirred him awake, and he sat up sleepily and blinked.
The hanging branches and vines had shielded Kermit from the full blast of the morning sun, but he realized it was well past early morning, and scrambled to his feet. Piggy must have gone to hunt breakfast without him, he thought. The thought of breakfast made his stomach rumble, and he stepped out into the sunshine and squinted in the direction of the clearing.
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” called one of his cousins.
“I guess city frogs are late risers,” teased his brother Matthius.
“Ha ha,” said Kermit. He made a scrunchy face, which—far from deterring them—only made them laugh.
“Come on,” another cousin cajoled. “I’ll bet Aunt Jane still has something hot to eat—even if you did sleep through.”
Yawning, Kermit trotted after them.
“That was some banjo playing last night,” said Elliott. “Can you teach me that alternate chord structure on Black Mountain Rag?”
“Sure thing,” said Kermit. “Can I eat first?”
Elliott consulted with his brother merrily. “I guess so,” he allowed, then they all laughed.
“Sheesh,” said Kermit, and they laughed again and patted him affectionately on the back.
Bellies filled, those who made their home in the swamp had come and gone. James had come in from his morning constitutional and sat with them for a while, displacing Cee Cee for the seat next to Piggy. He softened the blow by pulling Cee Cee onto his lap until her mother reclaimed her, but eventually he, too, had gone, leaving Piggy alone with her mother-in-law. Of Kermit there was not a trace, and Piggy smiled to herself, thinking he must have been exhausted. Her heart warmed a little at the thought of him waking to find her restored to her previous state of not-quite-grace and determined to keep plucking away at swamp life. She gazed gratefully at Jane as she dished up all of the remaining hot cereal. Echewing any help, Jane set her cooking area to rights while they continued to visit, and all but climbed into the big pot to scrub it. When it was shining dry in the morning sun, Jane refilled their coffee cups and returned to sit next to her daughter-in-law.
They did not talk about what had happened, but Piggy felt Jane’s approval as plainly as the sun that was warming her face. Indeed, as inevitably happens when women get together, the topic turns to fashion. Piggy was surprised to find that Kermit’s mother sewed, and seemed to know quite a lot about style. Ruefully, Piggy mentioned her dwindling available wardrobe, and Jane had responded thoughtfully, but on two tracks at once.
“Piggy,” Jane said gently. “Piggy, honey—have you ever bought off the rack?”
Piggy was surprised, but her “no” came out automatically. Jane smiled, so she smiled back, then added, “Well, at least, not for a long time.”
“And why is that, dear?” persisted Jane.
“Why…?”
“Yes. Why don’t you like to buy clothing off the rack?”
Piggy still had no clue where this was going, but Jane was obviously working toward something. How like Kermit she is! thought Piggy, and the thought made her relax. “Well, I—sometimes I can’t find things that work for me. Fit is so important,” Piggy said earnestly. “And some things have to be done before you even cut the material. Once it’s sewn, you cant go back and correct it.”
“Wonderful!” Jane cried. “I had no idea you sewed, dear.”
Piggy blushed furiously. “I don’t,” she admitted. I just—I’ve had enough dresses made to know.”
Jane laughed, absolving her. “Well,” she said, “at least you’re observant. So tell me—why is it better to have something made for you—just you—than to buy one off the shelf like everyone else’s.
“Because I’m not like everyone else,” Piggy said before she could edit the thought. She looked fearfully at her new mother-in-law. Piggy could hold her own with critics, reviewers and sharks, proclaiming her diva-hood and the own peculiar charm she wrought with nary a thought of being contradicted, but she cared very, very much about how her words might be interpreted. After everything that had happened, she didn’t want Jane to think her discomfort stemmed from any idea of superiority. Her worries were unfounded, however, for Jane reached out and clasped both of her hands warmly.
“Exactly,” the elder Mrs. The Frog said. “Piggy—you aren’t like anyone else.”
“Not here,” Piggy muttered, but Jane shushed her with a patient look.
“You’re unique—not just here, but everywhere—because there is only one, wonderful you.”
“But—“
“And whether you’re here, or in Hollywood, you’re still unique.”
“But I belong there in Hollywood,” Piggy cried, literally unable to help herself. “I—I have a niche. Here, I don’t fit seem to fit in at all.”
Jane’s rebuttal was mild. “There can’t be a lot of lady pigs in Tinsel Town,” she observed.
Piggy tilted her head in acquiescence, but couldn’t help muttering, “You’d be surprised.”
It made them both laugh, but Jane was like Kermit when he had a point to make. She turned Piggy back toward the previous topic.
“So, why does it bother you more to be different here than it does to be different back home?”
“I—I don’t know,” Piggy answered slowly. “I guess…I think that I don’t care as much there if people like me, as long as they respect me as an actress.”
“And actress-slash-model,” Jane reminded her.
“Yes,” Piggy said, blushing. “And actress slash model.”
“Mustn’t forget that,” Jane said briskly. “I can assure you that your last calendar generated quite a bit of interest around here.”
For a moment, Piggy looked too surprised to speak. They—they had followed her career! Hers! Not just Kermit’s. She didn’t know what to think, much less what to say.
“Sold out the first day if I remember,” Jane continued.
“That’s what Marty said,” Piggy murmured faintly.
“Soooo,” continued Jane. “You certainly stood out from the crown there.”
“Yes.” Piggy smiled, thinking she could finally see where her mother-in-law was going.
“And here?” Jane prompted.
“Here, I—I want everyone to like me. I want to fit it.”
“We do like you, Sweetie.” Jane’s eyes were sad but earnest, willing Piggy to believe it.
Piggy’s voice was very small. “Maggie doesn’t. She doesn’t like me at all.”
Jane squeezed her daughter-in-law’s gloved hands. “Never you mind Margaret,” she said firmly.
“And Orville and Norville,” Piggy couldn’t help adding. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “They think I’m…silly. Ornamental and useless.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Jane the Frog. “They haven’t been this excited about anything since the last time locusts hatched.” Piggy shuddered delicately and Jane moved hastily on. “They’re wildly interested in you—not that I approve of their way of showing it at all. But don’t be so sure you haven’t won several hearts along the way.”
“Really?” Piggy’s voice was so hopeful that Jane reached out and put a smooth hand on her daughter-in-law’s cheek.
“Yes, really,” she insisted. “And as for fitting in—maybe you need to just be more yourself—truly yourself—than some version of what you think we think you should be.”
Piggy was silent, thinking. It…it was true, or—at least, it seemed true. The things that had been of most interest and which has caused the most delight had been things that had not been deliberate. They had simply been Piggy being, well, Piggy. Her clothes, her gloves, her pearls, her accent. These had inspired not just interest but imitation. Cee Cee had been wearing a string of bright clay beads around her neck this morning, and she had heard a small cadre of giggling girls say, “Oh no—after vous,” as they took turns jumping into the pond. Piggy began to smile.
“That’s what Kermit said,” Piggy murmured softly, wonderingly.
“There,” said Jane. “You know I’m right.”
Piggy started to shake her head but ended up nodding helplessly.
“But—I still feel so out of place sometimes. My clothes are all wrong.” She lifted the frothy folds of the slip. “I wanted to look feminine and sweet.” She dropped the filmy fabric. “I ended up looking fussy and overdressed.” Her blue eyes were beseeching.
“Well, I think you look lovely,” said Jane. “And, based on the way he was looking at you last night around the fire, I’m pretty certain Kermit agrees with me.”
Piggy blushed in spite of herself, but nodded, and Jane laughed in delight and patted her plump knee.
“So,” said Jane, “the way I see it, you don’t need to be someone you’re not—you just need a new image.”
“A new image…” Piggy murmured, thinking hard.
“Yes,” Jane insisted. “An image that suits you here.”
Piggy perked up and her ears cocked forward. “I’m listening.”
Jane smiled fondly. “Maybe you should think about what you’d have been like if this had been your home all along. How can you translate who you are now into, um, ‘swamp culture.’”
Piggy has a sudden image of Kermit in Tarzan-togs, herself in a fur bikini. “Me Kermit—you Piggy,” said the picture in her mind. She started to giggle.
“What?” said Jane, mystified. Impulsively, Piggy told her, and they laughed until their sides hurt.
“Um, yes. Well, I don’t think Hollywood is quite ready for that,” said Jane at last, wiping away tears of laughter and straightening her face with an effort. “But…about that new image. The way I see it, you’re going to need some new clothes.”
Piggy perked up immediately. This was one of the most welcome phrases in the English language, along with ”Won’t you have another helping,” and “We wrote the part just for you.”
Jane stood, taking Piggy’s hand. “Come,” she said. “Let’s go find Sherwood.”
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When Elliott and Matthius turned toward the swamp interior, Kermit went on alone. He had not meant to sleep so late, had not known how far up in the blue sky the sun had climbed by the time he opened his eyes. He kept his feet moving to keep from wondering how long Piggy had been up, and if he would find her fretting or hunched miserably in some quiet corner of the swamp, so he did the obvious: When in doubt—ask Mom. Failing to find his mother in her own room, Kermit burst into the common clearing to the unnerving sight of his mother and his new wife side by side deep in conversation. He had only been married a couple of months, but some things are instinctive, and this was unsettling. While he watched with considerable anxiety, not sure whether to advance or retreat, Jane reached over to embrace what looked suspiciously like a tearful Piggy 
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