Simple Gifts Read online

  As the wheel lifted and soared above the carnival grounds, the pond came into view. High above the ground I detected raindrops falling, creating rippling circles on the glassy surface. Much like my life. Each new day, creating rippling, widening circles…

  Awareness of Vic sitting beside me crept into my conscience. Did he feel it—the emotional thread that continued to connect us after all these years? If he’d known that Noel was out of my life, had been out of my life for a long time, would things be different now? Would the emotions licking through me like wildfire affect him in the same spine-tingling, yet worrisome, way?

  I’d never know. That’s the problem with lies. They turned into snares. Steel bonds. Barnacles that latched onto your life and never released.

  Below us lay a sea of rides: the Octopus, Round Up, RockN-Chairs, Paratrooper, and the Moon Bounce. My heart was bouncing itself as our car reached the top of the Ferris wheel and halted. The wind whistled through our hair, and a handful of raindrops splattered against my face, but I didn’t mind. An imprecise creak sounded somewhere in a car beneath us. Colored lights glistened off the pond, and the glassy image reflected the tall round wheel blinking magnificently in the rainy night. With the almost deserted midway below us, we seemed separated from reality. I loved it.

  I wanted to look at Vic so badly it hurt. No one said anything; we sat in the car and I gazed around, reveling in the beauty of God’s creation. Such a perfect blend of light and the Master’s surrounding creation forging a calming peace within my soul.

  The wheel bumped. The car swung. I noticed Lana reached out to grasp Vic’s hand. Small gesture, but what I wouldn’t give for the same self-indulgent privilege.

  The ride started up again, and the car swung out over the ground in a dizzying whirl, swaying back and forth. Damp air whipped my hair, and the sound of feminine laughter—-was that mine?—blended with Vic’s deep timbre and Lana’s lilt. The incredible freedom I had missed for years tore at me, making me laugh so hard I had trouble catching my breath.

  Around and around we went, and I wanted the experience to never stop.

  But it did. All too soon it was over. We climbed out of the car, rearranging our damp hair.

  At Vic’s insistence, we ordered three forks and shared a hot cinnamon roll. I could have eaten a whole one. And another corn dog. Carnivals brought out the pig in me. By the time we left the grounds, we’d agreed to come back late in the week, the three of us, and tackle that interesting-looking Paratrooper ride. Who said you had to be young to have fun?

  We said good-night at the entrance gate, but Vic insisted on walking me to my car once Lana was safely in hers.

  So she hadn’t ridden with him.

  I was ashamed at my surge of relief. It was none of my business whom he dated.

  I unlocked the car door and switched on my headlights. Vic braced an arm on the open driver’s car door, waiting until I snapped my seat belt in place.

  “All set.” I looked up, then away. He was too close now, my feelings too raw to risk his gaze. Did he want me to look at him? Of course not. He thought I was married, and Vic would never overstep such a boundary.

  “It’s been fun.” His deep voice rattled my senses.

  “It’s been a blast.” Did I show my age or what? Blast. The proper slang would be sweet, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Nothing unusual when Vic was around.

  At least the passing years hadn’t changed everything.

  “Yeah.” He straightened. “A blast. Drive carefully.”

  “I have all of a mile and a half to go.”

  “I know your driving.”

  I shrugged, recalling the first night I’d pulled into town. He would have to wonder, wouldn’t he? “I’ll be careful.”

  “A lot can happen in a mile and a half.” His eyes met mine as he closed the door. I drove out of the parking lot watching him disappear in my rearview mirror.

  Time sprouted wings. Thursday rolled around faster than a freight train. I called my boss, and he encouraged me to take the whole month off; I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or something else to worry about, but I grabbed the invitation.

  As I dressed, I braced for what I knew lay ahead of me that day. I’d made up my mind to see Herman’s gift. The animal shelter. Really see it this time. Not drive up to the back of the building and ignore everything I could.

  Mixed emotions colored any excitement I might have had regarding the new building. The old one had been little more than a garage converted to hold homeless animals until they were claimed. If not claimed, Nick Henderson drove to Columbia and put the animals in the county shelter.

  I applied lipstick and evened the color with the tip of my finger. Better that the Butchies were honored than Herman. Those dogs were the reason Parnass Springs’s animals had a home. Herman might have built the shelter to honor me, but I knew my father’s love for his dogs. The Butchies were his family.

  An hour later I stood in front of the sparkling glass and brick building in awe of the structure. Green lawns and rows of flowerbeds blooming in variegated colors stood out around the low, sand-colored building. The area was clean, neat, and attractive. No wonder Joe wanted me to really see it. Herman would have been overjoyed with his accomplishment.

  I dashed unexpected moisture gathering in the corners of my eyes, confused at my sentimentality. Years ago sentiment hadn’t come so easily. Little girls didn’t understand little boys. Herman loved to tease me. Aunt Beth said it was because he loved me so much, but at the time I’d not felt loved, but humiliated.

  A memory drifted through my mind, and suddenly I was a third grader again.

  “Marlene loves Billy…” Herman danced around me, holding his teddy bear in his arms.

  “I do not!” I shoved him, knocking him off balance. He fell flat and burst into tears.

  Billy helped a sobbing Herman up.

  I pushed Billy away and grabbed Herman’s arm. “Here.” I wiped my father’s nose on his handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Now stop crying.”

  He didn’t. He’ d bawled and bawled until someone called Aunt Ingrid to come and get him…

  I pushed the memory away, wiping my eyes. I’d been so dogged about blotting out those years. But had I really? Love seeded with emotion—emotion I still didn’t know how to handle—hounded my life. I hadn’t known how to deal with my child-father, and I did so many things wrong. If only I could go back and set things right, but life didn’t work that way. I sniffled as another memory swam up through my subconscious. My father dancing around as Vic came to the door.

  “Hey Vic! Marly fixed her hair just for you!”

  “Shut up, Herman! “I tackled him and we fell in a tumbled heap at Vic’s feet. Arms and legs flailed. Vic broke us up, me sobbing and Herman filled with confusion. Later Herman approached me, eyes sad. “Are you mad at me, Marlene?”

  “No, Herman, but stop telling boys that I like them or that I fix my hair specially for them.”

  “But you do!”

  “But I don’t want them to know it!”

  I shoved him, and he shoved back, and…

  Enough, Marlene. I dropped down on a park bench, watching a squirrel scamper up a tree, then jump from limb to limb. Native African tribes often believed that the souls of their ancestors were in animals. Was that Herman, lunging from tree to tree, joyful in his innocence?

  No, I was a Christian, albeit a disobedient child, but I didn’t believe that, although I remembered his love for all animals. Since returning to Parnass Springs, it seemed I was drowning in memories. Beneath the embarrassment and resentment, ran a strong thread of love. I’d been a child then, with a child’s mind and reasoning. Time had brought a new perspective. Working with patients over the years had brought a new understanding of challenges. I’d grown more thankful for my health and less critical of others’ handicaps.

  Was he coming? I watched the gym doors, praying that for once my father wouldn’t insist on coming to a school chili
social and parent meeting. I deliberately hid my note concerning the event in hopes that even Aunt Beth wouldn’t find it, but she had.

  “Your father enjoys these meetings, Marlene. Just relax.”

  “But he’ ll embarrass me.”

  “No one ever died from embarrassment.” Her lips tightened. “You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady. Your father is a good man.”

  He was not a man. I swung my legs back and forth, listening to sound of the heels of my shoes strike the metal folding chair. He was a dumb goofus.

  Aunt Beth reached over and squeezed my knee.

  “Ouch!”

  “Stop kicking.”

  Chair legs scraped and I heard Herman’s voice. “’Cuse me.” His big feet tromped on others’ as he maneuvered his way down the row of seats to drop down next to me. He grinned. “Hi, Marly.”

  I refused to acknowledge his entrance. He’ d embarrass me; I knew he would.

  The meeting started. Peggy Wiser stood up and made her introductory remarks, then asked if there was any new business.

  I mentally groaned when Herman stood up and offered his news.

  “Marly wet the bed last night. It got all over her doll, and I got to help Aunt Beth wash it off and change the sheets!”

  I wanted to die. To just sink into the floor and die. Why did he do this to me? I hated him! Hated him!

  A shudder rippled up my spine.

  Marly. Herman had called me Marly first—not Vic. Why had I blocked that out of my mind? How could I have had such love and protection and yet felt such utter dread for my father? Would God forgive me for the thoughts I’d had? Mean thoughts, wishes that I’d never been born—that he’ d never been born. In retrospect, I saw what he was doing. He wasn’t trying to embarrass me, he was proud of me, trying his best to share my life.

  No wonder my life had turned out so badly. God was paying me back for my sinful ways.

  I stood and paced. Stop it, Marlene. You know better than that. Indeed, I did. God’s Word was clear. If we confess our sins, he is quick to forgive…

  I paused. But did confession necessarily lift the consequence of sin from our lives? I was still paying for an unrepentant sin, for lying to Vic and Joe and Aunt Ingrid. And even though I knew that in my father’s mind he’d tried to be the best dad he knew how to be, I’d harbored resentment toward him. Could it be…?

  Was that the real reason I’d refused to have Herman’s image placed on this lawn?

  I sat up straighter, the notion like a physical blow. No. I wasn’t that petty or unkind. I’d loved Herman.

  And you were ashamed of him.

  I was ashamed of his actions, not of him. There was a difference, wasn’t there? True, I wanted—longed for—a traditional father, but after awhile I knew that wasn’t possible. You were allotted one birth father, and though I couldn’t pick him, God had given me Herman. I didn’t pretend to understand God’s ways—didn’t pretend to know why my birth had to be more a burden than a blessed event—yet I believed he had a plan for my life.

  Of course, I still had no clue what that plan was. But I was starting to see something.

  I had a little holy housekeeping to do. It was time to get my own house in order before I tried to fix someone else’s.

  Sitting in the peaceful silence, a second truth became clear to me: I shouldn’t prevent the town from honoring my father. When I left Parnass Springs this time, it would be for good. When Aunt Ingrid passed, there would be nothing to bind me to this place, no reason for me to ever return. My convictions were sound; I didn’t want Herman ridiculed, but if the shelter could convince me they would oversee the statue and retain its dignity, then who was I to deny my father this acknowledgment?

  I slid off the bench, more optimistic, as though an anchor had dropped from around my neck. My foot encountered something on the walk and I paused, lifting my heel to inspect. Squirrel droppings.

  Scraping the goop off on the edge of the sidewalk, I sighed.

  Squirrel yuck. Right in the middle of my holy housekeeping. God’s sense of humor grounded me.

  Eight

  Ingrid was lying in wait when I stepped into the house, now apparently ready to discuss my earlier conversation with R J “What’d Rexall say about my countersuit?”

  I draped my coat and purse on the hall tree. “He didn’t mention the suit, but I think you should reconsider. It’s not biblical to sue anyone.”

  “I didn’t start this—Prue Levitt did.”

  “You know, Aunt Ingrid, this issue has clearly gotten out of hand. Eugene would roll over in his grave if he knew what you were doing.”

  “Like I’m going to worry about Eugene.” She sniffed. “He didn’t worry about me.”

  “Even more reason for you to let the matter drop. The past is over. The Bible says ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ “

  You mean like telling them the truth?

  Ouch. Good point. But I was talking about Aunt Ingrid here, not myself.

  “You’re taking Prue’s side?”

  “No!” I turned, taking a deep breath. “I’m taking your side. Look at you. You’re paralyzed from stress. Is a foot worth your health?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “My time’s about up anyway.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “While we’re on the subject—” she handed me a thick folder—“here’s my trust and burial plans. I want Joe to sing ‘Shall We Gather at the River’ at my services, and I don’t want Mattie to play the organ. Get someone else. My plot is next to Eugene’s foot. Don’t bury me anywhere but there. And oh, you mentioned something about getting Herman a new stone?”

  “I have to call about that, and I need to have Beth’s redone. I’m not happy with the work.”

  “Order me one when you call; a double one with both Eugene’s and my name on it.”

  “You can’t do that, Aunt Ingrid.”

  “Do what?”

  “You can’t have your name and your ex-husband’s name on the same stone without Eugene’s permission.” I didn’t know the law, but I thought that was a bit presumptuous, even though Ingrid had never remarried.

  “How do you propose I get Eugene’s permission?”

  “You don’t! He’s gone! “Good gravy!

  “Is there some law against having my ex-husband’s name on the stone?”

  “I don’t know. How would I know?”

  “I have Eugene’s permission.”

  “How do you conclude that?”

  “He took a vow to me till death do us part. Some legal paper doesn’t change that. He parted. I’m still here, and I want his name on my tombstone.”

  “Okay.” I reached for a pad and pen. “Here’s what I’ll put:

  ‘Here lies Eugene’s foot, the only part he allowed Ingrid to keep.’

  ‘Here lies his ex-wife, Ingrid. Stubborn as a mule.’ “

  I waved the paper in front of her. “Is this what you want friends and strangers to read?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but leave out the stubborn as a mule part.”

  I slapped the pen back on the counter. Some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed.

  After lunch I made several calls. To the monument company, where I ordered a new stone for Herman and a new inscription for Aunt Beth. I didn’t bother ordering Ingrid’s stone. Knowing her, she’d change her mind overnight. “Consistency” wasn’t in her vocabulary. The second call was to the animal shelter.

  “Mrs. Queens!” Relief hummed in Winston Little’s tone. “I am so glad that you’ve called.”

  “I’ve reconsidered, Mr. Little. If the shelter wants to put a statue of Herman on the lawn, I won’t object.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear your decision!”

  “I’d like one thing though. Will you order a statue of Butchie as well, and put him at Herman’s heels?” That way the two would be immortalized together—Herman would love it, and the multiple Butchies deserved it.

&nbs
p; “Certainly! Marvelous suggestion!” I could tell by Winston’s tone that he was beaming. “Ingrid said if we just gave you a little time you’d come around.”

  “Oh she did, did she?” White heat seared my cheeks.

  His tone dropped to apologetic. “Well, of course, like all of us, we want only the best.”

  “I can’t believe Ingrid would be so manipulative!” What was I saying? The woman was a born manipulator. A natural talent.

  “Well…er…you know, your aunt wields a great deal of power in this town.” I could almost hear a smile surface on the other line. “But since you’ve agreed, there’s no problem.”

  No problem? It seemed to me like we had a big problem. She had treated me like a child and ignored my feelings. I was ticked.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Little. In view of this new information, I may have to rethink my decision.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “I won’t be here to maintain the integrity of the site. I’ll have to call you later.” I hung up. The sound of my uneven breathing and the ticking clock filled the kitchen. This was the last straw. I’d have it out with Ingrid right now. Regardless of how she felt, I would have something to say in the matter.

  Whirling, I shouted. “Aunt Ingrid!”

  I marched through the house ready to do battle. Herman was Ingrid’s stepson but he was my father. My aunt might rule Parnass Springs, but she didn’t rule me, and I refused to be pushed around. Hiding out in her bedroom, was she?

  My cell phone rang, and I jerked it out of my pocket.

  “Mom?”

  “Can’t talk right now, Sara—”

  “Mom. You have to come home. I’m losing the baby.”

  I cried most of the flight home early Friday morning. How could I have left Sara to take care of two toddlers under the age of three? I allowed myself the reasonable excuses, but I’d failed as a mother and I knew it.

  My son-in-law met me at the airport and drove me to Chicago Hope Hospital where Sara had been admitted. When I walked into her room, my daughter was sitting up in bed, pale, but smiling bravely. “Oh, Mom.” She dissolved in my arms, weeping.

  “It’s okay, honey. I’m here.” I shrugged out of my coat and dropped down on the side of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Sara. I should have been here.”