Simple Gifts (18 page)

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 s
he 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 hope-lessness 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.

For a moment our eyes touched, and then his moved away. I knew intuitively that he was my grandfather. My grand-mother leaned over and whispered something in his ear and he nodded. Did they recognize me? Had they ever once seen me—maybe a picture? Maybe driving by Aunt Beth's house hoping to glimpse their grandchild, a child with their blood running through her veins?

How cold and disconnected were these people? My emotions ran amok. I'd never had grandparents. As a child I would lie in bed at night and pretend that I did; that Grams or Pops (that's what I'd named them) would pick me up after school and I'd go to their house and eat cookies and play ball in the backyard with Pops. I'd even told my closest friends that Grams had knitted me colorful scarves and warm mittens for cold winter days. My friends called me nuts.

You don't have a Grams and Pops! You got stupid Herman!

Yes, just stupid me and stupid Herman. These people hadn't accepted him then, and I didn't accept them now.

I turned in my seat, focusing on the podium, pushing reminiscences aside.

“What time is it?” Ingrid fanned a hankie. “The room's hotter than a smoking pistol.” A breeze blew through the open window, but not strong enough to overcome the body heat of the crowd. We were packed elbow to elbow. If it got any hotter, we'd be dropping like flies.

I glanced at my Timex. “A few minutes before seven.”

Vic walked in the side door with Joe and a second man. I hastily averted my eyes, pretending to search for something in my purse. When I looked up, the acting mayor was standing over me. So much for deception. I managed a weak grin. “Hi.”

“Is Sara okay?” His tone was neutral, but that was Vic. He wouldn't cause a scene here.

“False alarm.”

His eyes touched mine briefly.

“I thought you might have called and let me know.”

“About Sara?”

“About leaving.”

“I'm…sorry. Would you have wanted to know?”

She didn't think so.

He turned and continued to the front of the room.

I must have looked confused because Joe reached down and took my hand. “Good to have you back, Marlene.” We chatted a few minutes about the meeting topic before Vic called the hall to order.

The acting mayor glanced at his watch. “Let's settle down and get started.”

I still wasn't sure I was ready for this.

The crowd quieted when Vic stepped to the podium. Standing in front of the group, he absently searched his shirt pocket, then pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. I'd never seen him in glasses. The poignant aging process touched me.

“Okay, now. We're gathered tonight to hear concerns about the animal shelter's proposed motion to erect a public statue in honor of the shelter's benefactor, Herman Moss. I believe R J Rexall will speak for the Moss family, and…” he peered at his notes, “James White will speak on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Parish and their daughter, Lexis.”

Lexis. Lexy Parish. My birth mother.

“Following R J and James, Ben Staid will represent the town's position. I'll open the floor for comments following the attorney's presentations. Gentlemen, please keep your comments brief and to the point.”

Ingrid fanned harder, her color heightened in the warm room. I pressed closer. “Do you need a glass of water?”

“I'm fine.”

She didn't look fine, but I knew better than to argue with her. Any hint that she needed to leave would bring out the mule in her nature.

James began on behalf of the Parish family; his argument was succinct and concise. “The Parish family adamantly objects to a statue of Herman Moss. The public display would dredge up a painful past, one best left alone, regarding their daughter. Lexy Parish is still living, and though she will spend the remainder of her life in an assisted care health facility, Grayson and Ann Parish feel that their daughter, Lexis, is unable to defend herself. As her court-appointed guardians, the Parishes are acting in their daughter's behalf on this matter.”

I fixed my gaze on a vase of cut flowers, conscious of curious looks. Most in attendance knew the Parish family had ignored my existence. How dare they put me in this position. Ingrid, of course, ignored everyone, her face an inscrutable mask. I tried to match her aplomb, knowing I failed miserably.

R J stood up. “The Parnass family has been a pillar stone of this community. Many families sitting here tonight have been touched by Ronald Parnass and his generosity. He founded Parnass Springs. He built the covered bridge that allowed faster, safer passage of supplies, supplies our ancestors sorely needed.

“Many of us knew Herman and his peculiar peccadilloes. Nevertheless, the man's eccentricities were understandable.” He paused, squinting up at the rapt audience. “But he wasn't understandable to all. That's why we're gathered here tonight, to sort through any objections and to try to reach an amiable solution. A statue is stone; granite, marble, whatever. It isn't town doctrine. It's one simple way of remembering someone for a noteworthy act. So then, why are we concerned about one clump of marble? Herman Moss left a legacy; because of this man, homeless animals—creatures that have no spokesman other than us—have a home. They have a clean bed, fresh water, excellent medical care, a kind word.” He paused, adjusting his glasses. “How many of us would not race to put up a statue to the person who, when we needed it most, offered a kind word? Excellent medical care. A clean bed. Does it matter if the person who did this didn't go to Stanford or couldn't define the theory of gravity?”

He glanced up, fixing his eyes on the audience. “Who among us is worthy of marble? Or granite? Herman Moss did a notable act; it is the Parnass family's contention that he be honored with a statue on the animal shelter lawn. Thank you.”

I fished in my purse for a tissue to fan my face. Perspiration ran down my neck as R J took his seat.

Ben stood up. He studied a yellow legal pad, and then cleared his throat. “I always hesitate to involve myself in cases like these. I knew Herman—knew him well. He was a good soul. He gave us a glimpse of heaven when those brown, trusting, doelike eyes pierced our being.

“Herman was simpleminded. He often did and said things that made us shake our heads or run in the house and slam the door and thank God we hadn't been given his care. We need to consider this as we realize that Parnass Springs is increasingly growing into a tourist site.”

He flipped a page and his eyes scanned the information. “Last year alone we had over eighteen thousand visitors to view the bridge. Strangers find our town ‘quaint' and ‘different,' and we'd like to keep that image. Now many will say, ‘Who would know Herman was simple?' A statue won't proclaim the man's mentality, and our answer is ‘That's true.' Those opposing the memorial will argue that the statue should enhance and personify the town. Herman's bigheartedness is noteworthy—but to the extent of a statue? Some argue not. Who can forget the scandal between Herman and Lexy—-two mentally challenged teens? Who among us needs to be reminded of that time in our town's life that brought chaos and division?

“The town suggests that a small plaque on the side of the building is adequate. Herman, though loved by many, doesn't imbue the spirit of Parnass Springs and its people…”

I glanced at Ingrid. Ben's summation had to be hard for her to hear. We'd experienced the town's perspective firsthand, but to hear it openly stated, hurt. Though Ben didn't or wouldn't state it, the point was clear: Was there one here who wanted a statue of the town's simpleton on the shelter lawn?

My face burned as Ben continued. If I'd known how humiliating this was going to be, Ingrid couldn't have dragged me here with a team of wild horses. I reached for my aunt's hand when the summaries ended and Vic opened the floor for comments. I had a hunch this wasn't going to be easy on either family.

One by one, those for Herman stood up. I was amazed at how many there were. More people had liked him than I'd expected. How had I missed the love these people had for my father? I'd been too blinded by my own embarrassment to see the way he'd been accepted. Not a comfortable assessment of myself. I wiped moisture from my eyes.

Jack, the local grocery store owner stood. “Herman was a good man. He'd come by the store and sweep up for me nearly every day and wouldn't take a penny for his work.”

Hank owned the cleaners. “Herman was a little boy; never meant anyone an ounce of harm. He used to come by the shop and sort hangers for me. Tie them in neat bundles and store them in the back room. Good fella, that Herman. He loved cherry popsicles.”

“Good, yes, but always underfoot. I had to run him off my porch twice a day.” This came from Virginia at the flower shop. “One afternoon he picked every pansy in my front bed and brought them to me in a mayonnaise jar. I knew it was a gift, but people remember Herman for what he was: not all there.”