Simple Gifts (23 page)

“I'll get rid of those as soon as I can.”

She nodded, apparently still at a loss for words.

We sat down in the living room, pushing sofa pillows aside, and took care of the necessary papers to list the house—a task I thought would be easy but proved to bring an unexpected surge of sentimentality. The house was part of my history, a past I would leave and never revisit. Closing doors to never be opened again was difficult—even for a rigid heart like mine.

Tracey filled out the listing form. “Old houses like these are easy to sell. Everyone wants to live in a piece of history.” She jotted down a few notes. “Let's see, what was that asking price again?”

I gave her the amount Aunt Ingrid and I had agreed upon. She wrote it down. “Pity you can't move back here and live. This would be a beautiful home if it were fixed up.”

That wasn't an option. I had responsibilities at home, Sara and my grandchildren. Besides, there was no place for me in Parnass anymore.

Tracey drove a For Sale sign in the front yard and then left, promising to stay in touch. Not that I expected too much. I didn't know the housing market, but surely there wasn't much demand for old rock-filled houses in this town.

I wandered back to the living room and sat down on the sofa. Rocks covered the floor, piled in the corners, reposed on the furniture. What was I going to do about them? I couldn't carry them all outside, and where would I put them if I could? No one would want to buy a house with a resident rock pile, whether the rocks were inside or out. Just one more problem on top of all the others. I leaned against the cushioned seatback, staring at the ceiling. Painters, roofers, plumbers, Ingrid, Sara, Vic—all my troubles had names.

God, I'm going under here. Could you send a boat? Maybe an oil tanker?

If he did, with my sins, it would probably have a hole in it. Meanwhile, Ingrid was probably expiring from curiosity, and I hadn't had my dinner. I got to my feet and plodded back to the kitchen.

Ingrid steadily spooned carrots into her mouth. “Going to be odd to see strangers occupy this house.”

“It's been vacant two years.” I poured a glass of milk, then closed the refrigerator door with my hip. “I thought you might want to buy Aunt Beth's share of the property.”

“Don't want anything that belonged to Beth. Good Lord knows we shared enough.”

Bitterness. It never stopped.

I'd stacked the last dinner dish in the drainer when the phone rang. I lifted the receiver with soapy fingers. Tracey Haskins's excited voice came over the line. “We have a contract.”

Blank, I stared at the mouthpiece. “Isn't that wonderful!”

“An offer? Already?”
Great day in the morning!

“No, ma'am, we have a signed contract with no addendums. Full offer. Once you sign, the house is sold. Will you be home for a few minutes?”

“Yes…I'll be here.” I hung up. That had taken what? An hour? Property wasn't that scarce in Parnass, was it?

Marlene, your luck is beginning to turn. The Lord is shining on you. Don't question good fortune.

Idiot! You sold too cheap!

Still. An hour? It seemed sacrilegious to dissolve my past so quickly. What could I say? I'd asked for a boat and God had sent the Queen Mary.

Tracey showed up with contract in hand. I glanced down the page to the signature.
Vic Brewster
? Vic was buying Aunt Beth's house? I placed the contract flat on the table and fixed Tracey with a stern eye. “Why is Vic buying this house?”

She blinked. “He didn't say. Does it matter? He saw the sign when he turned into his drive and called me.”

I thought about that. Did it matter? I wasn't sure, but I intended to find out. I hesitated to sign. Did I really want to do this? Then reason took over. I would inherit all of Aunt Beth's estate, but not until I sold this house. My bank balance hovered just short of empty, and I had the plumber and the roofer yet to pay.

A frown formed on Tracy's youthful features. “You
are
going to sign, aren't you?”

“Why?”

“Because I could use the commission. Business has been slow lately.”

I could understand that. Without further hesitation, I picked up the pen and signed on the dotted line. The die had been cast. Beth's house was sold, and gone with it my only reason to remain in Parnass. Aside from Aunt Ingrid and the wretched battle over Herman's statue.

Tracey released a pent-up breath and got to her feet, gathering up her contracts. “We'll get this closed as soon as possible. Thanks, Marlene. I'll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Tracey. I never expected to sell it this fast.”

“Me, neither, but some things are meant to be, don't you think?”

“Yes, I do.” Whether this was one of them, I wasn't sure.

After Tracey left, I took Aunt Ingrid home and then walked across the street to Joe's house. Usually he greeted me like a long lost friend, but tonight he wore a wary expression.

“Come into the kitchen. I'm working on this dratted robot. There's got to be a better way to control it.”

Well, one could only hope. I sat down at the table and accepted the cup of filtered coffee he handed me from the only one of his inventions that really seemed to work. I had a feeling he knew what I wanted to discuss with him.

“Joe, why did Vic buy Beth's house?”

He concentrated on his robot. “You wanted to sell, didn't you?”

“Yes, but you never mentioned he was interested. Had I known, I could have sold it to him directly and bypassed a realtor's fee.”

He examined the switch, giving it his full attention. “Vic and me, we're sort of particular about our neighbors. Figure he can rent the place out to good people if he wants. Make a nice little investment, and he kind of likes Tracey—wants to see that she does well in her business.”

I nodded. That made sense, I guessed. Still, it left me with a disturbing feeling that something wasn't quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Joe screwed another piece of plastic onto his robot. “Vic could get married again. He's a fairly young man. Hard to tell what that boy's got in mind.”

Vic was anything but a boy. My heart thumped erratically, reluctant to think of him married. The carnival came to mind, with Lana hanging on his arm. Perfect Lana. She'd be a good wife, but it broke my heart to think about it. Joe flipped the switch and the robot scooted across the table toward me. I flinched, and Joe caught the thing before it fell off the edge. He shut it off and blessed silence descended.

“You need to work on that noise. A woman wouldn't think of buying anything that noisy.”

“I'm working on it—thinking I'll have to put in a smaller motor.” He spoke absently, as if his mind was on something else. “You talked to Vic yet?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“What's stopping you? Longer you put it off, the harder it will be.”

Exactly the comforting words I needed to hear. The situation was bad enough. “I haven't had a chance, with Ingrid and selling the house and all.” A lame excuse, and I knew it, but all I had at the moment.

“What are you going to do about Beth's rock collection?”

“I'll put it out back, make a rock garden.”

“You've got enough to build a good one.”

“I'll start carrying them out tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “You leave them alone. I'll hire a couple of high-school boys to do it. They're always looking for extra money.”

“Good, I didn't know how I could manage it alone.” What would I do without this man? Soon, too soon, I'd find out.

“What are you going to do about Ingrid?”

Yes, indeed. What was I going to do about Ingrid? I shrugged. “I don't know. I make plans, and then look at her and know she'd never go along with them. Ingrid has a mind of her own, set in concrete hard enough to discourage a jackhammer.”

He laughed. “Always has been that way.”

“Not shy about speaking it either. It's going to be a fight over that statue, isn't it?”

He nodded. “Afraid so. Ann Parish is just as protective as Ingrid in her own way.”

“No one is as stubborn as Ingrid. They broke the mold when they made her.”

Joe set the robot over onto the kitchen counter. “She's one of a kind, all right. Beth was too. Haven't heard you mention Sara much since you've been back. She doing okay?”

I was grateful for the note of concern in his voice. “All right, I guess. I haven't heard from her for a couple of days.”

His brow lifted. “You two have a falling out?”

“Something like that.” I didn't want to talk about Sara. The list of things I didn't want to talk about was getting longer all the time.

“They'll let you know if they need anything.”

I hoped he was right. “I feel like I'm being pulled a dozen different directions. There's Ingrid and Sara, and the statue. I don't know what to address first.”

Joe slapped a scratch pad down in front of me. “Make a list, putting top priorities first, and Marlene, don't leave God off. He'll help you if you give him a chance.”

“Joe, I'm not a heathen.” I'd drifted—snapped an anchor—but I still talked to God, still prayed, and I knew he'd been with me from the day Noel left. If anyone had stepped away or fallen aside, it was me.
Forgive me, Father…don't give up on me. I'm slow, but surely learning I can't live without you.
I got up and set my cup down on the drain board. “I need to go. Talk to you later.”

I left, still not sure why Vic had bought Aunt Beth's house, and wondering what Ingrid would have to say about it. I crossed the street, got my purse, and told Ingrid that Beth's house was sold to Vic, and then drove downtown. A light glowed in the vet clinic. Vic was working late tonight. He always put in long, hard hours; I hoped Lana would be tolerant of his schedule. The thought of Vic and Lana together, forever, stung like alcohol on an open wound.

This time I was determined to talk to him. My mind was made up, and I wanted to, but how could I face him and what could I say? A flick of anger brushed me. Vic
had
to know how hard this was for me. Why didn't he speak up? Irrational thoughts, I knew, but sometimes it was as if a demon invaded my mind, and until I kicked him, he refused to leave. I sat in the car for a long time, trying to get up enough nerve to go inside.
God help me…God help me.

Joe's voice sounded in my head:
“Longer you put it off, the harder it will be.”

I loved Vic. I knew that without a doubt, but could I face his anger, his disappointment in me? Would he forgive me? Could we begin anew, work toward a future together—Vic and Marly, the way it should have been.

I weighed the choices, good and bad. If I went inside, it could be the final curtain on our relationship. If I left now, I might still have a few days with him…Just a few more days…

Dropping my head, I breathed, “I'm hopeless, Lord.” But was I? Or was I a woman trying to control my life, pushing God aside when his help wasn't invited. I had a sinking feeling the answer was the latter, and I think at that moment, I sank to a new low.

Twelve

C
had Hargrave in the meat department beamed at me on Thursday. “Marlene. I heard you were in town.”

Like he could have missed that little tidbit. The CIA should study the way news circulated in small towns. Parnass Springs could have given them some real pointers.

“I'm here, Chad, but not for long. As soon as I get Ingrid settled, I'm headed back to Glen Ellyn.”

He sobered. “Hear you're planning to put up a statue of Herman. Good idea. Man was a blessing to the town. We wouldn't have that dandy animal shelter if it hadn't been for him.”

Mrs. Finney sidled up beside me. “Nonsense. You put up statues of important people. Herman never did anything important in his life.”

Linda Scofford joined in. “What are you talking about? He loved this town and loved us. That should count for something.”

Sadie Burton added her comments. “Granted, he loved the town, but do we need a statue? I mean, Herman wasn't the prettiest thing around. Seems to me we could find something nicer to look at.”

The crowd gathered, and in a show of cowardice, I grabbed my package of ground beef and faded away. Joe was right—-this town was divided worse than the North and the South in the Civil War. Brother against brother, and all that. I pushed my cart down the aisles, jerking things off the shelves and dumping them into my cart as if I were in a race for my life. I unloaded them onto the conveyor belt at the register. Sounds of upraised voices and unfriendly words drifted from the meat department.

Malinda Adams smiled. “Hear you're going to build a statue of Herman.”

I rolled my eyes. “And you object?”

She popped her gum. “No, really don't care one way or another. Long as I'm not expected to pay for it, you can do anything you like.”

“I believe the plan has private donors.”

She shook her head. “Don't that beat all? People will pay for the strangest things. Ask them to pay for something sensible like new storm sewers, and they can't afford it. Something like this, and they have deep pockets.”

Malinda gave me the total, and I paid my bill and departed. The squabble at the meat department was still going on, louder with every passing minute.

I drove by the post office to mail a card to Sara. I knew she would get over her snit, but in the meantime, she could learn independence.

Liddy Hunt was dropping her mail in the slot as I walked in. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“Liddy, if this is about that statue, I don't want to talk about it.”

She frowned. “Well, no, that wasn't it at all.”

“Oh, then how can I help you?”

She lifted an inquisitive brow. “Well, now isn't that peculiar? It's just gone right out my head. You ought not to have been so sharp with me, Marlene. Gave me a real start, it surely did.”

I sighed. “I'm sorry, Liddy, but I've got a lot on my mind right now.”

“Oh, of course. I understand, and I remember now. The Methodist church is having a rummage sale. Do you have anything to donate?”

I thought of the stacks of clothing, the boxes of junk crowding Beth's house. Rocks. “Yeah, I think I might. When will the truck come around?”

Her features scrunched as she gave it thought. “Next Monday.”

“Monday would be great.” We said our good-byes and I got in my car and left. I fueled the rental car, then drove past the clinic. Vic's truck was there, but I drove on. Ice cream—-had to get home before it melted. Not that I was inclined to stop anyway.

The phone was ringing as I walked in. I dumped the plastic grocery bags onto the table and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“That you, Marlene?”

“It's me.” I didn't recognize the caller.

“Prue Levitt Moss, calling from Maui.”

“Oh, yes, Prue.” I sank to the nearest chair. “How are you today?”

“Tolerable. Got a touch of gout in my knee. I moved here for a better climate for my arthritis and I get the gout. Way it goes.”

I held the phone away from my ear, staring at the receiver. The
hussy
was calling me and being nice? What brought this about?

“You there?”

I put the phone back to my ear. “Oh, yes. How nice to hear from you.”
Nice? Really, Marlene. You've been waiting on pins and needles for this call.

“My lawyer has your proposition under consideration; we'll get back to you on it.”

Good—this was good!
“Thank you for calling. We'll look to hear from you soon.”

“One other thing; if I come back to Parnass Springs, I'll pay my own way. I'll not be beholden to Ingrid.”

“No, couldn't have that.” I frowned. Was someone on the extension? I peered around the corner into the living room, but Aunt Ingrid was nowhere around.

Suddenly Prue laughed. “You're all right, Marlene. Not much like that sour-tempered aunt of yours. We'll get along nicely.”

Good. “Get-along” was my middle name.
Actually, I couldn't wait to see who brought the biggest, most outrageous floral offering to Eugene's grave.

Prue hung up and I started putting groceries away. Where was Ingrid? I hadn't heard a peep from her since I got home. She had a lot in common with Petey; anytime she got this quiet, I best check on her. She was asleep in her chair, no doubt.

I turned and started for the door as Ingrid walked in. I grabbed my chest, feeling my heart shift into overdrive. “You're walking!”

She stood straight and tall, both feet firmly planted, her ample form encased in an orange and yellow polyester dress. Circles of rouge the size of half dollars glaringly marked her cheeks.

She nodded. “Amazing, isn't it. I've been healed.” She snapped her fingers. “Came over me just like that.”

“That fast?”

“It doesn't take long when the Lord decides to move. I was just sitting in my bedroom when a voice seemed to say, ‘Ingrid, stand up,' and I said, ‘Who, me? Lord?' And then I got to my feet and I walked.”

“Really?” I thought about the suspicious click on the phone line. Had she eavesdropped on my and Prue's conversation—of course! She figured she'd won and
voilà
, she was healed.

“I want you to take me to the church.”

“Church?” I echoed, feeling like I had lost my final grip on reality. “Why do you want to go to the church? There's no one there.”

She fixed me with an eagle eye. “Au contraire. God's there.”

Au contraire?
This from Ingrid? “Granted, but what will we do when we get there?”

“I'm going to light a candle.”

I gawked. “You're what? They don't light candles in Mount Pleasant Church.”

“I'll take my own. Quit arguing, Marlene. Let's get cracking.”

“Yes, ma'am, whatever you say.” I tossed a bag of chips on the table and reached for the car keys.

“No need for sarcasm, not when there's been a real-life miracle in our midst.” She turned and walked out of the house with me trailing along behind. I'd ended up in cuckoo land. No doubt about it.

And I needed to find my way back to sanity.

Later I sat down with pen and paper. There were varying feelings in this town over Herman—some good, some bad—-but everyone had something to say. Maybe someone should ask what I thought.

Maybe I should just tell them. I'd write an editorial and take it to the paper myself.

After staring into space for a few minutes, I started writing.

Dear Editor
,

I find that disagreement is not only healthy, but encouraging. People of strongly differing views regarding a public statue of my father can have meaning ful and frank discussions and still maintain friendships and respect for one another.

I reread what I'd written, frowned and scratched it out. These people wouldn't understand diplomacy. They needed hard facts.

Dear Editor
,

Many think I was ashamed of my father, and often this was true. I didn't show him the respect he deserved because, like so many others, I didn't respect Herman's limitations; I resented them. As I've matured, I have realized that I was wrong. My dad wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack, but the light of human kindness, compassion, and love of fellow man shone most brightly when he was around…

My pen flew over the paper. This was my life, my heart I was hanging out for everyone to see. I should be more discreet, but then detachment had led me to nothing but trouble so far. It was time for a different tack.

It took awhile, but I finally got my thoughts down. My words were eloquent, full of passion, but dignified. I'd never considered myself a writer, but now I was rather proud of my accomplishment.

Bill Haskel, owner and editor of
Parnass Press
, looked surprised when I walked into the office around nine thirty. “Marlene. Good to see you.”

“Hi, Bill. I've got an editorial. Will you publish it?”

He took the paper and read it. “Town's really heated up over this statue.”

“I know. I'm hoping this will calm folks. I'd like them to hear a daughter's voice.”

Bill read the editorial again. “You sure you want this in the paper?”

“Yes. That's what I want.”

“All right, it's your choice.”

Somehow I had a feeling
choice
wasn't the word he had in mind.
Funeral
hovered at the edge of my mind, but I dismissed it. The letter came from my heart. Pertinent phrases drifted through my mind.

“A simple child…overlooked blessing to the world…Devoted to Parnass Springs, heart full of love…One of God's angels…”

Nothing to inflame anyone. “You'll publish it?”

Bill nodded. “I'll send it to press, and then I'm going fishing.”

I wished him luck and drove home, a warm, cozy feeling in my heart. Herman would have been proud. I was proud.

Joe popped over. He stuck his head through Ingrid's open back door. “Marlene! I'm taking Ingrid's Buick for a lube job. The key's in my truck if you need it.”

I put the last load of wash in the machine and dumped in soap. “Thanks Joe!” Good ole Joe; he took care of Ingrid's car like he did his own. If she needed tires, he bought them; if she needed maintenance, he took care of it.

“If I need anything, I have the rental car.”

“No you don't! It's got a flat—I'll fix it when I get back.”

Another flat! The tire must have had a slow leak for me not to notice it sooner. I pushed the start button on the washing machine.

“Marlene?”

I glanced up, startled to find Joe now in the utility doorway. “I knocked but you couldn't hear me.”

Resting my hand on my heart, I caught my breath. “You scared ten years off my life.”

“I wanted to tell you that if you do take the truck anywhere and Ingrid goes with you, you'll have to help her up. She can't get in the cab on her own.”

“Okay, but I won't be going anywhere this afternoon. Too much to do around here.”

“Well, she's…er…quite a load.”

“I know, don't worry. We're staying here all afternoon.”

When I looked up again, he was gone.

I finished Ingrid's chores and was about to eat a bite of lunch when she came into the kitchen fussing under her breath. “Got to get it paid—never noticed the date.”

“Did you say something? “I bent, rummaging in the refrigerator for leftover meat loaf.

“I've got to pay my electric bill.”

“Do you need a stamp?”

“Stamp won't help. I have to pay it right now.”

I closed the door. “Right now?”

“Right now. You'll have to drive me to the electric company.”

“Can't you just mail it?”

“It's due today. If I don't pay it today, they'll tack a penalty on it, and I can't afford that.”

I opened a sack of bread and took out a couple of slices, still under the false assumption that I'd be enjoying a meat-loaf sandwich momentarily. “We'll have to wait until Joe gets back with your car.”

“Can't we take your rental car?”

“No, it has a flat.”

“Then we'll take his truck. He won't care—always leaves the keys in the ignition.”

“I'm sorry, Aunt Ingrid, but Joe says you can't get in the cab without help, and I can't help you. I did something to my back trying to carry one of Beth's rocks outside.”

The lower lip came out. “I can get in Joe's truck.”

“He says you can't—not without help. He'll be back in a few minutes.”

“I can't wait! The bill is due today, and if I don't get it paid, they'll penalize me.”

“You
can't
get in Joe's truck on your own.” She crossed her arms. “I can so.”

I smacked the bottom of the ketchup bottle, praying for restraint. A big blob shot out and spattered the front of my blouse. “You
can't
. Joe said you couldn't, and I can't help because I don't want to further agitate my back.”

“I can get in that truck.”

“You
can't
!” And I thought Sara was willful. Dealing with Ingrid was like eating a caramel and getting it stuck in your back teeth.

“You just watch me.” Stomping to the back screen, she opened it, and was out the door in a flash.

Dropping the ketchup bottle, I bolted after her. By the time I ran across the street, she was at the truck. Jerking the door open, she shimmed up the high running board and into the front seat.

I arrived, breathless, and more than a little put out. Perched on Joe's truck seat, Ingrid stared straight ahead. “I'm ready any time you are.”

Ready? No, I wasn't ready! I had a meat-loaf sandwich waiting for me, my blouse had a ketchup splotch, and I hadn't put on makeup today. But by now I was mad enough to bite nails.