Simple Gifts

by Lori Copeland

  “It’s from Prue’s lawyer.”

  “Open it.”

  Oh brother. Why didn’t she leave me out of this? Wasn’t I trying to change, become a decent, upstanding, Christlike role model?

  I picked up the letter opener and neatly slid the blade beneath the flap. The firm’s letterhead had a Lion’s face emblazoned across the heading. I scanned the body text.

  Dear Mrs. Moss:

  I am writing on behalf of my client, Prue Levitt Moss, concerning the status of her late husband’s foot. While Mrs. Levitt Moss is sympathetic to your feelings on the matter, she was Eugene Moss’s legal wife at the time of his death, which gives her the greater claim of ownership. Mrs. Levitt Moss has been patient, but this situation cannot be prolonged. If she has not received notice that the foot has been exhumed and shipped, she will be forced to take further legal action. It is not my client’s wish to cost you your life’s savings, but her grief for her late husband will not allow her to give up her quest for ownership of said foot. We will expect to hear from you by return mail. If you do not respond to this letter within thirty days, we will be forced to take action.

  Respectfully yours,

  Derek Claybridge, Attorney

  Ingrid chortled. “Ha! Call R J and read the letter to him. We’ll fight this to the Supreme Court!”

  I stopped her. “There’s no need to involve your lawyer in this and cost you yet another legal paper to file.” I moved to the phone. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You?” Ingrid shifted in her chair.

  “Me.” I glanced at the clock realizing that it was the middle of night in Maui. I’d have to call in the morning—and Joe would be here any minute.

  Ingrid’s lower lip jutted like a tenacious bulldog. Clearly she wasn’t convinced I could handle the matter. “You best call R J”

  I’d best do a lot of things, but calling R J Rexall wouldn’t be one of them.

  I’d put a stop to this nonsense, pronto.

  Ingrid sulked during dinner; I knew I’d upset her by not letting her lawyer handle the letter, but in this instance, the case was pretty clear cut. The two women could haggle over the foot until the cows came home, but like it or not, Ingrid was Eugene’s legal wife and heir when he lost the foot. According to R J, Ingrid had been right all along—the severed appendage was a completed gift, so to speak. Ingrid owned the foot—for whatever comfort that might bring. If Prue wanted to fight in court for body remains, and have Eugene’s bones flown to Maui and reburied, then she could have a case, but I had serious doubts the woman had the fortitude to carry out the mission. Even with an attorney nephew and accident settlement lining her bank account, there had to be a limit to the amount of money she would be willing to spend. With Ingrid out of the picture, the haranguing would lose its appeal.

  “Marly—” Joe shoved back from the table and patted his belly straining over his belt—“even my Melba couldn’t bake a better peach pie.”

  Smiling, I dipped my spoon in the syrupy pie dish. “High praise, sir, and I thank you.”

  He leaned to get a paper sack sitting on the counter. I’d seen him carry it in and wondered what he’d brought. Nothing to eat, I hoped. “Got something to show you ladies.”

  Ingrid the Discrete muttered. “Not another one of your foolish inventions. You nearly killed Mattie with your last one.”

  “It didn’t hurt her—speeded her up a bit, but didn’t hurt her.” He took a pile of nuts and bolts out of the sack and laid them on the table. Then out came an odd-looking robotic frame.

  I peered at the strange assortment. “What is it?”

  “A glass robot.”

  “Glass? That’s aluminum—or—what’s that stuff Erector sets are made of?”

  “Don’t know, but it’s neither. It’s hard plastic, and it’s not a ‘glass robot,’ it’s a Glass Robot.”

  I turned my palms up.

  Enthusiasm brimming now, Joe hurriedly assembled his newest creation. In moments, he set the hard plastic on the kitchen floor. “Now, be prepared to be astounded.” His gaze roamed the table. “This your best china, Ingrid?”

  She sniffed. “Certainly not. Everyday stuff—”

  He picked up a coffee cup and smashed it to the floor. Ingrid and I gave a collective gasp. Glass shattered and flew in opposite corners of the floor.

  “Joe Brewster!” Ingrid’s features mottled. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Don’t get upset. I’ll buy you a new cup—saw one like it at Wal-Mart last week. Now ladies, keep your eye on the robot.” He flipped a switch and noise exploded. Stiff-legged, the robot moved across the floor pulling up shards of glass. Huge hunks and pieces sucked into the frame.

  “Is it magnetic?” I shouted above the clattering roar.

  “No! I put a souped-up, one-horsepower vacuum motor in it!” He beamed. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

  The robot skimmed the floor grabbing broken glass like a Hoover. The concept was sound—what woman didn’t dread the thought of broken glass and tiny invisible slivers found weeks later? Now I got it! It wasn’t a glass robot, it picked up glass—ergo, a Glass Robot.

  Ingrid’s attention followed the invention, eyes round. “Great day in the morning, Joe. You might be onto something this time.”

  “Watch.” He smashed a water glass, and the robot whirled and attacked the debris.

  “This is great!” I called above the din. “But the noise—it’s so loud!” You couldn’t hear yourself think. Women wouldn’t allow the gadget in their households unless it ran quieter.

  “I’m working on that!”

  Ingrid blocked his hand with a stern look when he reached for another glass.

  Glass hitting hard plastic beat a rhythm. The robot made a wide sweep of the kitchen, then turned on a dime and darted through the kitchen doorway. Springing to our feet, Joe and I followed behind. Ingrid trailed in the wheelchair. The invention had picked up speed. RPMs revved. The thing was moving fast now. Paper clips, ballpoint pens, Ingrid’s crochet needles—all stuck to the metal plate on the front of the robot.

  Ingrid went ballistic. “My needles!”

  The robot moved down the hallway, attracting anything in its path. It caught the hem of Ingrid’s lace cloth covering a hall table and jerked it loose. A lamp toppled and shattered.

  Wheeling, the robot sucked glass. The device was almost comical looking with the remains of three ballpoint pens and at least a dozen paper clips stuck to its surface. The android headed down the hallway.

  Ingrid waved her hands in the air. “Turn the thing off, Joe!”

  The inventor lunged for the robot, but it disappeared behind a chair. When it emerged, black hairpins and a gold chain had been added.

  I dodged Joe, trying to catch the pesky little creature that suddenly had taken on a life of its own. Joe grasped it. The motor roared. Smoke filled the room.

  “Shut it off!” Ingrid pounded her hands on the arms of her wheelchair. “It’s smoking up the curtains and ceilings!”

  “I’m trying! “

  I wouldn’t have believed that one small mechanical machine could dispense so much smoke! The room boiled with the stuff. I coughed and covered my nose, eyes burning.

  “Shut it off, Joe!”

  “I’m trying! Blessed switch is faulty.” The sound of frantic clicks, then I saw a trail of blue smoke fogging down the hallway as he rushed out of the house carrying the invention.

  Standing in a blue haze, I listened to the slamming front door. Then silence.

  “Aunt Ingrid?”

  “What.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Wish the old fool would keep his inventions to himself.”

  I smothered a snicker. If it wasn’t a foot plaguing her, it was a hand.

  This poor woman couldn’t win.

  Later I took a pill for a migraine and then fixed Ingrid a cup of hot chocolate. I’d aired the house and the smoke finally cleared, though a disti
nct rubber scent hung in the air.

  “Never saw anything like it,” my aunt groused. “A glasssucking robot.”

  “Actually, I think Joe’s brilliant. Just needs to work out a few kinks.”

  “Humph. You always did favor the man.”

  “Yeah.” I poured hot cocoa into a cup. “You know, Aunt Ingrid, I’ve been thinking. I never understood why God gave me Herman. I loved him, you loved him, don’t know many who didn’t love him.”

  I knew a lot that were embarrassed by him, that had been made crystal clear of late, but most were fond of him. I sat the pan down and wiped milk dribbles off the counter. “I used to go to Joe with my problems. You knew that.”

  “I knew.”

  “I needed someone. Someone to listen and understand my concerns, a surrogate dad. Joe filled a niche in my life.”

  Ingrid toyed with her cup. “I know you resented the fact that Herman…well, Herman wasn’t like most dads.”

  I carried my chocolate to the table and sat down. It wasn’t often Ingrid made me privy to her thoughts, and I planned to take full advantage of the moment.

  “My going to Joe didn’t mean I didn’t love Herman.” God might not have given me a traditional father, but what he hadn’t supplied naturally he’d sent by proxy. Joe had been my confidant, my father figure, and an ally in most every situation, except with Vic. Having two children, one biologically, the other theoretically, had not been easy for the kindly pastor. Before I’d left Parnass Springs for the last time, it was imperative to me to come to grips with my heritage. To embrace it. To forgive myself.

  “No, I know you loved my boy.”

  We shared a contemplative silence.

  “I worry that Herman didn’t know. I never told him.” Except for this afternoon.

  Mist suddenly filmed my aunt’s eyes. “I was never certain what Herman knew. I know he loved you. And Butchie. Dogs in general.”

  “Yeah.” I thought of all the dogs Herman had owned over the years. They were his soul mates—he connected to them in some way.

  “Do you think Herman really knew?”

  Ingrid stared at her saucer. “That you loved him?” She was silent for a minute, and then she nodded. “I think he did. Fetch me my Bible.”

  I brought the worn tome and she turned to a section, then read aloud. “‘Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.’ “

  I swallowed hard. “Do you believe in angels?”

  “Herman was an angel. You know that.” Ingrid’s tone had gentled.

  “I do now.”

  “Some folks have different views of angels. The Bible portrays them as fierce individuals who deliver fiery messages from God. Others believe they’re loving and sent to watch over us.”

  “What do you believe, Aunt Ingrid?”

  “I believe there’s much the good Lord doesn’t have to explain. Angels are one of them.”

  We sat in the kitchen listening to the clock tick and rain patter on the roof, lost in memories.

  Once we started to talk, we couldn’t stop. We talked and talked, sharing our deepest feelings. Ingrid spoke of when Eugene had left her—of her shame and confusion.

  “Liked to have killed me. I knew about the women, of course. You can’t hide anything in this town, but he always came home to me. Then one day he didn’t come home. I kept waiting, thinking he couldn’t have left, but he was gone. That woman was poison, a thief, taking what was mine.”

  “The same happened to me.”

  She stared at me in silence for a moment. “Your man left for another woman?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Just like Eugene left you.”

  “When?”

  “Sara was two. At least Eugene left you money; Noel took everything we had. He was supposed to pay child support and alimony, but checks were always late and we struggled.”

  “You could have had him thrown in jail.”

  “I could, but he was Sara’s father. And I didn’t want him in our life again. At that point I didn’t want him near me or Sara.”

  She frowned. “Always knew he wasn’t any good. Sounds like you’ve had a hard life. Why didn’t you come home, here to me and Beth? We’d have taken you in.”

  “I wasn’t sure you would, Aunt Ingrid.” Our eyes met. “You never asked about Noel or my life. I thought you were glad to be rid of me.”

  “Never asked because I didn’t figure it was my place. Beth never asked?”

  “Never.”

  “My sister was an odd sort. I know she loved you—loved you like her own.”

  Was Ingrid softening? Starting to change? “She never mentioned that.”

  “Pity.”

  Yeah, a real pity. Three simple words would have meant a lot to me during those dark years.

  “Well, you should have stayed here and married Vic.”

  Couldn’t argue with that reasoning. “It’s easy to look back and see what we should have done.”

  She chuckled. “Hindsight’s clearer than foresight. Vic know about Noel’s death?”

  I nodded. “He found out recently through a magazine article Noel wrote before he died. I should have told him all these years, but I didn’t.”

  “I expect he’s angry?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been avoiding him since I got back. On the surface he’s the same old Vic, but beneath that calm veneer he has to be furious with me.”

  “I’d say he has a right.”

  I couldn’t deny that. Still, he could call and give me a chance to explain.

  You could call him, Marlene.

  For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

  When I finally looked at the clock, I couldn’t believe the time. Nearly 4:00 a.m. I’d spent all night having a heart-to-heart talk with Ingrid, of all people.

  Today I’d try to talk some sense into Prue.

  Lord, I’m going to need some help here. Since I’d come back to Parnass Springs, he’d been leading me in some very strange paths. What would today bring?

  Then again, maybe I didn’t care to know.

  Eleven

  No Hawaii Aloha? No Aloha kakahiaka! (Good morning!) Hardly.

  When Prue Levitt Moss picked up the receiver that Wednesday morning and recognized my voice, an Alaskan Express blew across the miles between us.

  I explained that I was calling to discuss the recent letter. Prue informed me to contact the Claybridge Law Firm and hung up.

  I redialed, aware of Ingrid’s frantic eye on the clock.

  “It’s long distance.” She pointed to her watch.

  “My cell phone’s dead, Ingrid.” I’d gladly pay the charge in lieu of R J Rexall’s fee; I would be short and to the point, while R J would take several reams of legal papers to say the same thing in lawyer ramble.

  I tapped my fingernails on the cabinet, picturing Prue standing, hand poised over the instrument, debating. If she was like everyone else, she had caller ID.

  The phone rang once. Twice. I absently hummed the refrain from a song, “…three times a lady…”

  Prue picked up.

  I snapped to attention. “Don’t hang up on me, Mrs. Moss, because I’ll only call back.” I motioned for Ingrid to keep her cool. She looked faint, her eyes rolling money signs. Long distance, she mouthed.

  Prue was talking. “Whatever you have to say, you can say through my attorney.”

  “I know the proper procedure and that my call is highly irregular, but I can save you and Ingrid many hours of time and angst if you’ll hear me out.”

  A perceptible sigh came over the wire.

  Seizing the lull, I dove in. “Please be assured that I sympathize with your concerns, Mrs. Moss. Losing a…loved one is never easy and your particular case is distressing, but I sense that you’re a reasonable woman. Your letter contends that you intend to carry this case to the highest court—”

  “I do indeed. The Supreme Court if necessary.”

  Over a foot!
Give me a break!

  Resting my hip against the counter, I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to be mean to the woman; Eugene had caused her heartache. Her nephew might fight the case in her behalf for years, but the outcome would be the same. How did I make her see reason? I breathed a quiet prayer and carried on.

  “Mrs. Moss?”

  “I’m here.”

  “May I suggest a possible solution to this problem?” The subsequent silence lent hope. At least she was considering the offer.

  “I’m listening.”

  “There isn’t going to be a winner. Even if you win the case, you’ll be out thousands of dollars transporting Eugene to Maui. Then there’ll be the burial plot, a stone. On the other hand, my aunt…” I paused. Ingrid was counting every word, eye on the clock’s second hand. I slapped my hand over the receiver. “May I have some privacy, please?”

  “Why? The call concerns me.”

  “That’s why.” I shooed her into the living room. Giving me a short look, she wheeled and rolled off. “Three minutes—no more. My phone bill will cost me a fortune.”

  Free to speak candidly, I returned to the discussion. “Prue, may I call you Prue?”

  “You may call me by my name. Mrs. Moss.”

  “Mrs. Moss. May I speak candidly?”

  “You need to speak through our attorneys. That’s what we pay them for.”

  “Granted, but what I’m going to say is free and not one legal paper involved.” Surely she could appreciate the service. I waited for the click on the other end of the line. When I didn’t hear one, I continued. “Eugene lost his foot in a hunting accident many years ago. At the time he was married to Ingrid, so in the eyes of the court, ultimately, the foot belongs, or is a completed gift, to Ingrid.” I heard fumbling noises like Prue was about to slam the phone in my ear.

  “Wait! Please hear me out!”

  More rattling. Then, “Go on.”

  “You, on the other hand, were Eugene’s legal wife at the time of his death. I’m not certain what took place at the time…” My brain turned over every detail I’d heard about the dispute, and to my surprise, my facts were accurate. Prue agreed with my account of the story.

  “I didn’t have the funds to bury Eugene at the time. His parents did, and they wanted to bury their son near them. Eugene left his money to Herman.”