The Baby Gift

by Bethany Campbell

  “Hey, you!” she’d said with surprising vigor, “Harve Oldman! You’re not to touch that.”

  Harve leaped away from the pipe and glowered at her. “Says who?” he demanded, trying to keep a manly edge in his voice.

  “Briana did. So did Mr. Morris. He said he’d fix it, and if you came to send you away.”

  Harve looked her up and down. He’d seen her a few times here and there since she’d come back to Illyria— Penny Pfiefer. A feisty little redhead, her face peppered with freckles. The longer he looked at her, the more he realized she was kind of…cute. But he couldn’t let a woman push him around.

  She wore a green parka, unzipped, but no gloves or hat, and her fiery hair was tossed by the wind. She must have thrown on her coat and run out as soon as she heard him hammering.

  “I mean it,” she said, crossing her arms tightly. “He said not to let you do it.”

  “It’s not his house,” Harve said defensively.

  “Well, it’s hers, and she said the same thing. So please go. If you don’t, you’ll get me in trouble.”

  Harve’s brow furrowed. This was a dilemma. To impress one woman, he would have to defy another who was only trying to do her job.

  “I’m almost finished,” he said. “A few more nails, and it’s done.”

  “You’ve done a nice job,” she admitted. “But please. No more. I have my orders.”

  “Well, drat,” said Harve in disgust. “I do most of the work, and he’ll take the credit.”

  “I don’t think he’s that kind of man.”

  “Umph,” muttered Harve. He didn’t believe her.

  “Look,” she said, “just help me out. I’m not trying to be a witch. It’s cold out here. Why don’t you come in? I’ll give you a cup of coffee as a peace offering.”

  Harve studied her. She’d started to shiver. He felt sorry for her but was wary of going inside. “What if he comes back while I’m here? He won’t like it.”

  “He said he had errands to run after he dropped Nealie off at school. That he wouldn’t be back for over an hour. He left only fifteen minutes ago. Come on. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Against his better judgment, Harve followed her inside. He shucked off his gloves, cap and jacket and threw them on an empty kitchen chair. He sat down at the counter while she poured the coffee.

  “I’ve seen you a couple times since you came back,” he said. “You were a violinist up in Silver Dollar City?”

  “Nope,” she said, setting a cup in front of him. “Branson. And I’m not really a violinist. I’m a fiddler. I specialized in bluegrass music.”

  Harve brightened. A fiddle player seemed much less intimidating than a violinist. “But you had an accident,” he said.

  “I was riding my bike. The traffic’s terrible in Branson. I got clipped and landed on my wrist, shattered it. I’ll never play professionally again.”

  She seemed to have not an ounce of self-pity. She said everything matter-of-factly, as if it had happened to somebody else. Yet Harve felt sympathy welling up for her.

  “Gee, that must have been tough.”

  She gave a philosophical shrug. “I was depressed for a while. Maybe six months. Finally I decided feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to do any good. Then our dad got sick, so I came back to Illyria to help out my sister and figure out what I was going to do.”

  Harve didn’t know what to say. To him, to have a talent and lose it was tragic, the kind of story they put on a television show.

  She looked at him quizzically. “Why do you look so sad?”

  “Well, it is sad,” he said. “What happened to you, I mean.”

  She laughed. “It’s not the end of the world. Besides, that level of show business wasn’t very glamorous. I played with Cary Cameron’s Cowgirl Band. It was only a novelty act, really. We’d stay in Branson for about eight months, then tour. Touring’s not much fun. It gets old fast.”

  Still, Harve thought, discreetly eyeing her as he sipped his coffee, she had been on stage, she had traveled, seen the world.

  She poured cream in her coffee and toyed with the teaspoon, stirring first one way, then the other.

  “What did you wear?” he asked, astounding himself.

  She looked up, blinking in surprise. “What?”

  “I mean did you have a—a costume? When you were a cowgirl?”

  She gave him a dubious smile. “Cameron wanted us to look like 1940 showbiz cowgirls. White hats. White high-heeled boots. Little blue skirts with stars on them, red and white striped blouses. A red sequined vest. And me, because I had long hair and wasn’t pretty, he made me wear my hair in braids so I’d look cute.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  To Harve she seemed very cute indeed. He thought she must have looked irresistible on stage. She’d cut her hair short and it was attractively curly, even windblown as it was now.

  “You live with your sister?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t remember much of you when we were kids.”

  “I was probably three grades behind you. Nothing to notice. I remember you, though. You live on the next farm, right?”

  He nodded.

  She said, “You had a white horse. One summer day, you rode it into town. I thought you looked like a cowboy hero. Young Clint Eastwood or something. Do you still have a horse?”

  He shook his head numbly. He was stunned that anyone would compare him to Clint Eastwood.

  “I like horses,” she said. “But we lived in town.”

  Harve’s thoughts spun. He drained his coffee cup. “I guess I should go,” he said. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. Working on that drainpipe.

  He rose and fumbled into his jacket and hat. He put his gloves on his powerful hands. “I—I could pull a few nails out. So he’d have more to do when he gets back.”

  Her face brightened. “That would be a great idea. Thanks.”

  “Thanks for the coffee,” he said.

  “Thanks for the cooperation,” she said.

  He walked out of the house with the sense that he was being unfaithful to Briana. But he could not get out of his mind the image of Penny Pfiefer in her cowgirl outfit, spangles and all.

  INGA SAT across from Leo, sipping her tea. He said, “I like bacon and eggs for breakfast.”

  Inga shook her head. “Leo, it would be poison to your system. Please just try the yogurt. I sliced bananas into it.”

  “That’s not enough to keep a bird alive,” Leo grumbled.

  “I’ve just made you a sort of Danish pastry out of toast,” she cajoled. She opened the oven door. “Ah, just right.” She took it out with a flourish.

  Leo looked at it with suspicion. “What’s that white stuff on top?”

  “Low-cal cottage cheese with sweetener and cinnamon.”

  “Phooey,” said Leo, making a face.

  She set the plate before him and gave him such a melting look, he decided to humor her. Besides the stuff, awful as it sounded, smelled delicious.

  A few bites convinced him that it was delicious. Warily, he sampled the yogurt, which was also low-fat. Low-fat foods generally had no taste, but this glop was different, smooth and tasty. The sliced fruit made it even better.

  “Mm,” he said, dabbing a spot of yogurt from his chin. “Not bad.”

  Inga stood staring out the kitchen window. “That’s odd,” she said. “Harve was fixing the drainpipe, and this redheaded woman came out of the house. He went inside with her.”

  Leo gave a snort of disinterest. “That’s Penny Pfieffer. She helps Briana out from time to time. Can I have more of both?”

  She turned to him, her mouth a pink circle of disappointment, “Oh, Leo, I’d like you to diet for a little while. Can’t you wait and have an orange for a snack in a few hours? It’d be so much better for you.”

  Leo frowned and tried flattery. “Well, it’s your fault. If you didn’t cook so well, I wouldn’t want any more.”

  She laughe
d. “My late husband had heart problems. I had to learn to cook healthy meals for him. The doctors wouldn’t guarantee he had six months. But I put him on a regimen and he lived another sixteen years.”

  Leo looked at her with fresh interest. Sixteen years? This woman was so capable she could extend life itself?

  She bowed her head, swallowed, and her pretty face went sad. “His heart trouble didn’t kill him, either. He stepped in front of a taxicab. I’m sure he had another ten good years in him.”

  Sixteen plus ten was twenty-six, Leo thought with growing enthusiasm. If he followed Inga’s advice he might live to be eighty-six. Or even longer. After all, there were no taxicabs in Illyria.

  “This regimen you mentioned,” Leo said. “What is it?”

  Inga stood beside the window, her hands clasped. The winter sunlight gave her hair a lovely gleam. She said, “First, I have a huge collection of tasty, healthful recipes. I’ve been collecting them for years. It’s become my hobby, I suppose. But Harve’s very picky, so I don’t have much chance….”

  Her voice trailed off, and she sighed. The she looked up and gave Leo a smile. “The other part is exercise. When the weather was nice, we’d take romantic walks and talk about whatever he wanted to talk about. I wanted to make it a pleasant time for him.”

  This sounded quite sensible to Leo, that if he exercised, it should be pleasant for him.

  She tilted her head in that way she had. “If the weather was bad, we stayed inside and exercised together. We made a sort of game out of it. There are a series of exercises just for couples, you know.”

  Leo didn’t know, but he began to imagine them. He began to imagine them rather vividly. “I might like to try that,” he said.

  “Good,” she said. “Next week I’ll bring my tapes and music and candles.”

  “Music and candles?” Leo asked. This was sounding even better.

  “I always used music and candles. It created a nicer atmosphere. It made me feel that exercise wasn’t just work, it was a special time-out for togetherness and fun.”

  Leo said, “Yeah, I’d like to try that.”

  Something caught her eye, and she turned toward the window. “Now this is strange. Harve’s coming out of the house. She walked him to the door. My goodness, her hair is very red. I wish I’d had hair that color when I was young.”

  “Your hair was fine,” said Leo. “Your hair was a lovely brown.”

  She said, “But what’s this? It looks like Harve’s pulling out some nails. He’s laying them on the windowsill. It doesn’t look like he’s finished the job.”

  Leo was not interested in Harve. “Tell me what we’re having for lunch.”

  Inga gave her attention fully to Leo. “Oh,” she said, “I’ve brought that vegetable soup you wanted. And greens for a salad. I have a special dressing I think you’ll like.”

  “I know I’ll love it,” Leo said, basking in her attention.

  “YOU FIXED the drainpipe,” Briana said, pleased.

  Josh watched her unzip her jacket and pull off her gloves. “I just put the clip on. Harve was the one who wrenched it back in the place.”

  She looked at him oddly. “You and Harve worked together?”

  He shook his head, his expression disgusted. “No. He came while I was driving Nealie to school. It was a sneak attack. Penny stopped him.”

  “Penny?” Briana laughed. “Good for her. How did the two of you get along?”

  “I hardly saw her,” Josh said. “She stayed in your office most of the time. Came down for coffee once.”

  “She’s a hard worker,” Briana nodded. She pushed up her sleeve and looked at her watch. “It’s a little early, but we could go pick up Nealie. You could say hello to Franklin Hinks at the post office.”

  “My philatelist friend?” he asked with a smile.

  “He always asks about you,” she said, watching him take his parka from the closet. “And speaks well of you.”

  “At least one person in town on my side?” Josh asked ironically.

  “There’s Nealie and me,” she said.

  “Then I can conquer the world,” he said.

  JOSH HUGGED NEALIE and listened to her chatter about the schoolday. The class gerbil was pregnant and might have her babies tonight. The teacher had shown a video about coral reefs. They had drawn pictures of tropical fish.

  “You’ve seen coral reefs, haven’t you, Daddy?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “In Florida. The Caribbean. The South Pacific.”

  “I’d like to see a coral reef. Some day will you take me to one?”

  “Sure I will.” I’ll take you to every coral reef in the world if you just get well.

  “Can Mommy come, too?”

  “If she wants to.” I’d love for her to come. I’d show you both such wonderful things. I’d show you what an amazing world it is.

  “Did you ever take pictures of sharks and things, Daddy?”

  “I’ve taken some.”

  “What’s the scariest picture you ever took underwater?”

  “A great white shark smiling at me.”

  “Why was he smiling?”

  “He thought I was his breakfast.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “I was in a special cage for photographers. Your mother would probably say photographers should always be kept in a cage.”

  Briana laughed. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Nealie said, “Did the shark bite the cage?”

  “Yes. Until he got a toothache. Then he swam away.”

  “To the shark dentist?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The conversation bounced along, a seemingly normal conversation in a seemingly normal family. Briana knew it was an illusion but was grateful for it. Josh kept his arm around Nealie and made her laugh all the way home.

  BRIANA WASN’T FOOLED. “Something’s bothering you,” she said to Josh, frowning. “What?”

  Nealie, still proud of her new boots, had gone upstairs to change out of her school clothes, clomping every step of the way. Josh and Briana had a few precious minutes alone together.

  “You know what,” he said. “I wish you wouldn’t go up to your father’s again tonight.”

  She sorted through the mail she had retrieved from the post office after picking up Nealie. She shook her head worriedly. “I know. There are so many things we have to talk about. I wish Poppa wasn’t afraid to stay alone and you and I could have some time to ourselves.”

  She was a very efficient sorter. On the counter she laid in neat stacks the orders for farm products, bills, junk mail. He watched her with a mixture of admiration and desire.

  “Let me take these up to the office,” she said, picking up the business mail, “and tell Penny she can go home.”

  She ran lightly up the stairs.

  Josh looked around the small living room as he took off his parka. It was cozy. He had lived here with her for six months and it had been home—in a way his first home. He thought of those days with nostalgia.

  And he thought of the first days when Nealie came home from the hospital, and he’d flown back from Albania. The first time he’d given Nealie a bottle had been on that old sofa…and his heart had ached with love for the tiny creature in his arms.

  Memories overwhelmed him. He had returned to Illyria for Nealie’s heart surgery. He had come from Iceland that time. For the surgery on her hand, he’d come to her from Malaysia. And for all the other visits, too many to count. He came from one faraway place and left for another.

  Yes. This little house might be as close as he would ever get to home. He had a condo in Los Angeles that he sublet most of the time. He liked California, but the place he always came back to was here.

  Briana came down the stairs with Penny. Josh and Penny nodded hello. He thought she was kind of cute in a freckled way. She seemed like a nice, bright woman.

  Briana was taking off her jacket, and Penny was putting on hers, when the doorbell rang.


  What now? thought Josh, gritting his teeth.

  Briana rolled her eyes, stalked to the door and flung it open. Harve stood there. He wore a cap with earflaps. Josh thought uncharitably that it made him look like a goddamn beagle.

  “Harve,” Briana said, more dismay than welcome in her tone.

  He took off his hat and held it in both hands in front of his chest. “We saw that you’d come home. I came to drive you to your father’s.”

  Briana’s dark eyes flashed. “I’m not ready. I just got here. I have things to do at my own house first.”

  Harve swallowed. His ears were turning red from the cold. “I could come in and fix something until you’re ready. Your dad says you’ve got a slow drain in the bathroom sink. I’ve got my toolbox, and I could—”

  “Harve, no!” Briana said emphatically. “I want a few minutes at home with my family. Please tell Poppa I’ll be up in a little while. You can take your aunt home. Poppa will be fine by himself for a half hour or so.”

  Penny stepped forward, pulling a green wool cap over her red curls. “Harve, Briana’s been on the run all day. If you’re so primed to fix something, you can help me with my license plate. It’s hanging on by one screw. If I back into a snowbank and lose it, I’ll get a citation.”

  “But—” Harve said.

  “No buts. Let’s go,” said Penny. She grabbed him by the elbow and steered him outside. The door shut behind them.

  “She certainly took charge of that,” Briana said with a crooked smile.

  “Give her a raise,” said Josh, putting his arm around her waist. “A big one.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “LET GO,” Harve ordered, shaking Penny’s arm. “I’ve got to get my toolbox.”

  “Then get it,” said Penny. She stepped away and crossed her arms. “Good grief, couldn’t you give that poor woman a moment alone?”

  Harve trudged to the truck bed and heaved out his toolbox. He stalked toward Penny’s rusted green car and cast a look of rebuke toward the house. “I bet he can’t fix a clogged U trap.”

  “Who? Josh Morris?” Penny asked, with a challenging tilt to her head.

  “Yeah, him.” Harve sneered. “I see he finished fixing that drainpipe. Those nails look whacked every which way. How long did it take him?”