Simple Gifts

by Lori Copeland

  Nine

  You can’t be serious! You’re actually going back! I thought this weekend would make you wake up and see that your family is here, with me and the kids and Pete.” My daughter sat on the bed watching me pack on Sunday night. I had an early morning flight back to Missouri, and I’d talked until I was blue in the face, but Sara wouldn’t budge.

  “You’ll be fine, Sara, you have Pete.”

  “But I need you. I’m not well.”

  I could tell her we didn’t always get what we wanted in life. Instead, I gentled my news. “Look, you can get by for a while longer, and I’ll call every day. I have to find someone to care for Ingrid. You don’t expect me to forget about her, do you?”

  “You did once.”

  I was getting pretty tired of the snide reminders. I shut the suitcase and pretended I didn’t hear her remark.

  Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Mom? What’s in Parnass Springs—something you’re not telling me, that’s pulling you away from us?”

  Yeah, there was something all right. Vic. But Sara didn’t have anything to worry about. He had to be utterly over me after the way I’d lied to him.

  “The only thing holding me there is Aunt Ingrid’s condition, and this statue controversy.”

  “I don’t see why someone else can’t look after your aunt. What about that Joe person? Seems to me he’s a good sort—-you talk to him enough.”

  Was that resentment? Jealousy in her accusation? Oh, Sara. What have I done to you? Made you an emotional cripple, not only with me but the world? My lie had gone on too long. It had to stop. And now.

  I took a deep breath and plunged. I told her the truth.

  The lie.

  The deception her mother had carried on since Sara was two years old. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Why would you lie about Daddy to a family you detest?”

  “I love my family, Sara. I simply have mixed emotions about their sanity.”

  “Apparently they don’t have any.”

  For the first time in my life, I slapped my daughter’s cheek. She sprang back, holding a hand to the smarting injury, eyes condemning. But before she could spew her anger at me, I jumped in.

  “You are speaking about my family, Sara. In the future, you will address them with respect.”

  She glared at me. “You don’t.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t use to. But that’s going to change. Right now. I was wrong to talk about my family the way I did. And I was wrong to shield you from them. They may not be perfect, and yes, my childhood was less than ideal, but they are my family, Sara, and I will uphold and respect them. And right now, they need me more than you do!”

  I picked up my bag and walked out, leaving a sulking daughter to no doubt wonder what had happened to her oncesane mother.

  For once, though, I didn’t care. My daughter had to grow up sometime. And now couldn’t be a better time.

  The weather had turned considerably milder in Columbia, Missouri. Spring had sprung; the sky was a clear, bright, cloudless blue, and everything was blooming—I sneezed—-tiny pollen danced in the air as I left the plane Monday morning. I had a different rental car this time. The guy in charge stared at my driver’s license for what seemed like an inordinately long time. Who could blame him? The last time I’d rented a car from him, I’d brought it back pockmarked from hail damage and with an ugly scratch across the front bumper caused by playing tag with a stack of hot Coke cans.

  I approached the city limits of Parnass, thinking it would be different this time. No trying to sneak into town, though I still dreaded facing Vic. That would be the hardest thing I’d ever done, and I’d done a few hard things lately. Would he forgive me for my idiocy? Only God knew, and he wasn’t talking.

  I drove straight to Joe’s house. When I pulled into the driveway, he came out to meet me. Later we sat at his kitchen table, and he explained what had gone on the past few days. The news wasn’t pretty.

  Lexis Parish’s parents had caused quite a stir by filing to stop the statue. Aunt Ingrid rose to the occasion by filing to stop them from stopping her. It seemed my wishes were wheat chaff. My head whirled, trying to take it all in. Joe pointed to a copy of the morning news folded to the editorial columns. “I’d suggest that you don’t read them. Most will hurt your feelings, and the others will infuriate you, but you should know the town’s in quite a snit.”

  I picked up the morning paper and scanned the first letter.

  How can Parnass Springs think of erecting a statue of a mentally retarded man! Is this how we want to portray our lovely little town?

  I pitched the paper aside. Hateful rant!

  Joe sighed. “Town’s in a real uproar. Real divided about the situation all of a sudden. Some remember Herman fondly and think it’s a great idea. Others think talk will get around about the town’s division over the statue, and curiosity seekers will flock here to see the uproar. Course, that would mean business for the shop owners, and folks come here all the time anyway to see the covered bridge.” He shook his head. “Don’t see what all the uproar’s about.”

  I buried my face in my hands, gritting my teeth. I couldn’t let the town turn Herman into a sideshow, yet who better to personify humanity and the goodness found in an innocent heart than my father?

  Sometimes it was good to go back to one’s roots, but going back to mine had stirred up an emotional maelstrom.

  Was my birth mother blissfully spared the brouhaha? Rumors probably couldn’t touch her, though I really didn’t know anything about her life. It struck me that no one would object to a healthy, mentally sound young man or a young woman, like Sara, having a statue erected to honor them. The problem was that Herman had been what he was and some people couldn’t accept that.

  People like I’d been.

  Wouldn’t you fight for Sara in this situation?

  Of course I would. Suddenly my hackles rose. Who was this town or my birth mother’s parents to interfere? They’d never shown an ounce of concern regarding me, or made any effort at grandparenting duties. Why step up now and focus the spotlight on an incident that happened fortythree years ago? Their reasoning and overdue concern was absurd. Only I, and Ingrid, should determine Herman’s legacy. We’d lived the crisis too.

  I wanted to ask Joe about Vic, but pride laced with remorse wouldn’t allow me. Joe had said he was furious. Who could blame him? I doubted Vic would ever trust me again. “Have you talked to Winston Little?”

  Joe nodded. “He’s eager to do battle. That’s an outstanding animal shelter and it means a lot to the town. Winston appreciates what Ingrid and Herman have done for Parnass.”

  “The shelter is nice, but I don’t want a statue if people resent it. I couldn’t stand someone defacing it in some way.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Feelings are running high right now, but once a consensus is reached, they’ll settle down. They always do.”

  He was trying to make me feel better, but emotions ran deep when people chose up sides. This could cause a permanent split in the community, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  “Will Vic talk to me?” I had to know; the uncertainty was eating me alive.

  Joe’s tone turned evasive. “Well, he was talking when you left town, wasn’t he? Suppose he still is. We haven’t discussed the matter.”

  Men. Women would have talked about nothing else. “Looking back, I realize how foolish I was, but it seemed like nothing ever went right for me. Vic was so happy with Julie, I couldn’t bear to tell him my problems.”

  “He would have understood if you’d given him a chance.”

  “I know that, but I was young and wounded. Noel just walked out, leaving me with nothing.” I stopped, overcome by it all.

  Joe bent and patted my hand. “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?”

  I sniffled, reaching for a tissue. “I had a hellish time. I worked long hours; we went without food and proper clothing at ti
mes because Noel was late with child support. I was lonely and scared; Sara missed her daddy. Looking back, I see now that God got me through it. I can see his mercy and grace, running like a scarlet thread through every uncertain moment. When I needed him, he was there, just like you always said he’d be.”

  His gaze searched me. “So, are you going to fight for the statue?”

  “I guess you find that surprising.”

  He shook his head. “I know the real Marlene. You only remember the bad times, and that’s human nature, but you shared good times with Herman too. I always knew you loved him. You just had to grow up enough to realize it.”

  “I must have been a slow grower.”

  He grinned and reached for a pint jar of green granules. “You need some of my new plant food. Mixed it up myself this morning.”

  “What’s in it?” I backed slightly away from the noxiouslooking stuff.

  “Secret recipe—guaranteed to make your plants bust into bloom overnight.”

  “Have you tried it yet?”

  “Poured some on Gladys Burwell’s petunias. Didn’t tell her about it, though. Want to surprise her.”

  Smart man. I’d driven past Gladys’s house on my way here, and her petunias looked sort of whacked out. If Joe had any sense, he’d hide that jar of fertilizer before Gladys planted him.

  I let myself into Ingrid’s hallway. “Aunt Ingrid?” The house was silent; Ingrid’s crocheting lay on the sofa arm.

  Mrs. Henkins, the kind soul who’d been staying with Ingrid, appeared in the kitchen doorway, suitcase in hand. “Thank goodness you’re back.” She brushed past me on her way out.

  “Wait, I’ll get you a check—”

  “Send it through the mail.” The door slammed, and I whirled and lifted the curtain to watch the elderly lady high-stepping it down the drive. I stared after her, thunderstruck. Where would I find anyone to replace her? Aunt Ingrid was too well known in this town.

  Sighing, I turned back when the lady in question rolled into the living room.

  She glanced at me, her features impassive. “’Bout time you got home.”

  “Have you given Mrs. Henkins a hard time?” Do birds sleep on guy wires? The smell of black burning rubber came to me as the woman peeled out of the drive.

  “She gave me a hard time.”

  I set my bag down on the floor. “Aunt Ingrid.” Might as well continue the day on its downward spiral. “I have something to tell you.”

  She interrupted. “Guess you know that your birth mother’s folks have filed a legal paper. They say we can’t put up Herman’s statue.”

  She wasn’t listening.

  “People say a lot of things—some not always true.”

  “Lot of ugly stuff in the newspaper editorial columns. I’ll fight them on this.”

  The problems surrounding my aunt were endless. Whatever made me think I could solve them? “What’s our next step?”

  “R J didn’t say. Just said to be at tonight’s town council meeting. The Parishes will be there with their attorney.”

  At least R J was still with us. I stared at the vacant fire-place, void of ashes, and then said something I never thought I’d say. “We’ll fight them on this.”

  Her brows lifted.

  “You and me. Herman built the shelter, and he should be recognized for his charitable contribution.”

  Her look was anything but convinced. “You’re on my side?”

  “We’re family.” My kin may be nuttier than a Payday candy bar, but they were my nuts and nobody was going to run over them, the Parishes included.

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  Time to fess up. “Noel is dead. He left me when Sara was a toddler. I never told you because I thought you’d tell me it was my own fault for running away with him when I was young. For leaving Vic…”

  She shrugged. “Good. Never cared for Noel anyway. Any man who refused to bring his family around to meet kin wasn’t worth a lick of salt. Don’t think we didn’t notice that he never came to visit with you—not that you came that much, but his absence was duly noted.” She whirled to wheel off. “Fix me a cup of soup. Old Lady Henkins can’t boil a decent cup of water.”

  My tensions deflated. I’d had my explanations ready, braced for her questions, and now this. Poof. Nothing. Yet what did I expect from a woman who had never expressed affection. I swear, that woman…

  Wait a minute.

  I frowned. I never knew she didn’t like Noel.

  That evening I was in Beth’s bathroom touching up my makeup. I needed to eat something, but it’d been such a hectic day and I’d grabbed periodic snacks. My blood sugar wouldn’t let me get by with junk-food surfing. I’d have to get something balanced after the town council meeting. I could not continue neglecting myself this way; I had to follow doctor’s orders. The hairs on my neck stood up as my eyes moved to the bathroom window where Aunt Ingrid’s curious features appeared against the pane, her hands cupped on both sides of her eyes, peering through the glass.

  Why couldn’t the woman just ring the doorbell like any normal visitor?

  I moved the curtain aside and lifted the window. “Yes?”

  “How soon will you be ready?”

  “Five minutes. Do you need help?” I leaned over the sill to see how she’d managed to reach the window. She’d wheeled flush to the house, and now she balanced her toes on the chair’s metal steps to see inside. Her window peeping technique was an accident waiting to happen.

  “Sit down!” I fired the request out like a drill sergeant’s command.

  Ingrid sat.

  First time she’d ever listened to me. I yanked the curtain shut, ran a little gloss over my lipstick, and then turned off the bathroom light. By the time I locked the front door Ingrid was waiting beside the car.

  I paused, keys in hand. “How did you get out of your house?” There was no handicap ramp. She had to roll down concrete steps. Could she do that?

  She sniffed. “A body has to devise ways when she’s on her own.”

  Theatrics. Still I was skeptic. Just how did she devise a way to get the wheelchair and herself down those steps? Was it possible my theatrical aunt could walk when she wanted?

  “I was on my way to get you.” I unlocked the rental car, then turned and helped her out of the chair and into the passenger seat. By the time I’d stowed the chair in the trunk, Ingrid had managed to snap her seatbelt into place and tie the rain bonnet around her head. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but she’d be prepared if a monsoon hit Parnass Springs.

  “Drive slow. We’re not going to the circus.”

  “Yes, Aunt Ingrid.” If I sped, it wouldn’t be because I anticipated a fun evening. The town meeting would be anything but fun. My thoughts turned to the coming fracas.

  Vic would be there tonight. How would I face him?

  Simple. I’d look him straight in the eye and confess that all these years I’d been lying up a storm. Something he knew—-had known for a long time and never mentioned. That made it even worse. He’d stood back and watched me make a complete fool of myself.

  Suddenly every reason I’d ever manufactured for my deception wouldn’t fly.

  Fine. So I’d wait and let him confront me about my lie.

  That’s it. I’d go along as if nothing had happened—never mention Noel or my private life unless he brought up the subject. Once I got this statue thing settled, I could go back to Glen Ellyn and conduct Aunt Beth’s and Aunt Ingrid’s business from there. I’d avoid his phone calls—never have to subject myself to the humiliation.

  In time I’d convince Ingrid to drop thoughts of an inane lawsuit against Prue, and hopefully persuade her and Prue Levitt Moss that a foot was not worth wasting a fortune on. While I was at it, I’d sway Ingrid into a homebound caregiver service. And my life would fall into a nice, serene pattern.

  Are you there, God? I’m going to need a lot of help on this.

  Even as I sent the prayer heavenward, a sense of hopele
ssness swept over me. My solution wasn’t the best or most Christlike way to handle my problems, but I didn’t want to face Vic—couldn’t face him. Yet even I knew that was improbable. One way or the other we’d talk about it. And most likely, civil tones would be lacking.

  I backed out and drove off, anticipating a circus.

  Parnass Springs City Hall seated fifty people, give or take a few metal folding chairs. The hot, airless community room connected to the police station, and tonight every light in the room blazed as citizens piled in for the meeting. A long line of windows faced the north; someone had opened a couple to allow a sultry breeze to clear a perpetual musty odor. Even with the windows opened, the room’s air turned stale quickly. I held my breath, hoping my allergies wouldn’t kick in. The seats were filling up fast.

  I pushed Ingrid to the front row and made her comfortable before I took the folding chair beside her. A few people paused to say hello, names and faces I vaguely recalled. Most were respectful toward Aunt Ingrid, but curious eyes turned on me, Herman’s daughter. Probably wondering how I’d turned out. Not too good, truth be told, but I was a work in progress.

  With God’s help, I was going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, whatever the consequences.

  As the room continued to fill, I turned in my chair to look behind me, amazed that so many would have an opinion about Herman. He was always around, the editorials claimed. In the way, some accused, while others said he was courteous and helpful—a familiar theme. I wouldn’t have thought most in attendance would have cared one way or the other about the town impaired. That they did, surprised me.

  My eyes skimmed the room and paused on an older couple just entering. My gaze focused on the woman’s hand, long fingers with salmon-colored nail polish. The diamond on her left hand was understated but classic. Silver-white hair cut in a fashionable bob made her age impossible to judge, but I pegged her somewhere between her late seventies and the grave. The impeccably dressed man gently ushered her into a seat and then sat beside her.