Simple Gifts (26 page)

“No formal ceremony.” I took Ann's hand. “But one from the heart. Herman knew and believed in God. Ingrid made sure he understood. He knew, in his simple way, that there was a God.”

Grayson sat down. “She'd never say where the ring came from. We thought she'd gotten it out of a cereal box.”

“Herman probably did. He ate enough cold cereal in his lifetime to start a chain of trinket jewelry stores—a cerealbox jewelry chain, but a jewelry chain.”

My offhand observation broke the tension. Grayson and Ann chuckled.

“My goodness,” Ann whispered. “Those two thought they were actually married.”

We sat talking—my grandparents and me, for the better part of the day and even had lunch together in the facility's cafeteria. I told them about my life—the honest truth. About Sara, and my fears when I carried her.

“It's odd, you know. When I took the pregnancy test, I was terrified it would be positive—then terrified it would be negative. I love children, and I would have had several if…”

Grayson smiled. “If.”

Ann bit her lip. “We have no idea why Lexy is the way she is. It's one of those unexplainable things. It just happened. We started noticing she wasn't developing properly around seven, and she got steadily worse. She's been institutionalized since she was fourteen. When she met Herman there a couple years later, she fell in love. It was impossible for us to make her understand that neither she nor Herman was normal—that they couldn't fall in love and marry like others.”

“Lexy's an only child?”

“Oh, yes. The doctor said the chances of her condition being repeated with other children were slim, but like you, Grayson and I wouldn't consider having more, though we love Lexy dearly. We were afraid to risk it.” She dabbed her nose. “But, oh! We've longed for grandchildren…”

I smiled. “Well, you have a granddaughter. And a greatgranddaughter and two great-great-grandchildren, one four years old, and one two. And one more on the way.”

Ann gasped.

Cringing, I realized that I made her sound ancient since Sara was very young to have two children. “You're more than welcome to spoil them shamelessly—there's only one of me, and I'm doing a fair job, but I can always use help.”

Then the emotion kicked in. Everything I should have experienced in Lexy's room but didn't. The love. The longing to be a family. The need to hug Pops and Grams and never let go.

Next thing I knew, I was weeping.

Grayson enfolded me, and then Ann. We stood in the quiet, curative foyer and hugged and cried.

“You don't know how much we wanted to claim you,” Ann whispered. “We have relived our hateful words about considering you dead a million times—
praying
that we could someday retract and make up for what we said. We were so frightened. Can you understand? We felt we couldn't cope with two mentally challenged children—we didn't know what to do, so we lashed out at Ingrid and Beth. Thank God they insisted on keeping you in their family.” Her hand tightened on mine. “We have scrapbook upon scrapbook of your pictures when you were growing up. Every week Grayson would drive by Beth's house and catch you in the front yard playing. Or he'd sit in the audience at school plays or music recitals and take pictures. He even caught you quite by accident the night of your prom. He was on his way to the drugstore and happened to see you and your date drive by. He wheeled around and snapped a picture as you walked into the gym.”

Grayson smiled. “Today I would be arrested for stalking, or at least for suspicious behavior.”

“How did Herman and Lexy meet? How…?” I left the obvious question unspoken: how did they manage to be alone long enough to conceive a child?

“Herman came into the facility a few years after Lexy. They drew to one another instantly—they were seldom apart. They ate their meals together, did crafts together. We don't know how the pregnancy happened—the nursing facilities do the best they can, but sometimes—” Anne paused. “Later, Herman tried to be a man, tried to take responsibility for his actions, but of course, he was a child with a man's body.”

She reached out and tentatively smoothed a stray hair from my forehead. Up close, I could see the years. She had to be near eighty. “I know you won't understand, but we thought it best Beth raise you, and for us to stay out of your life. We realized too late how foolish we'd been, but by then you were in your teens, and we couldn't bring ourselves to reopen the painful past. Then suddenly you were gone, married. We knew we would never see you again, and our hearts ached.”

I embraced her. There'd been a lot of mistakes in the past. Mine as well as theirs. But this was one family legacy that would stop. Here and now.

We returned to my mother's room and spent the day with her. We played games and sang songs. She seemed content—-happy with her new friend.

Until that day my past hadn't been important to me, but this afternoon had changed everything. I carried the thought with me as I left the building and checked the time. Four thirty. I'd promised Ingrid to be home in plenty of time for the town council meeting at seven. I'd have to hurry.

But now, facing tonight's chaos didn't seem so insurmountable.

I'd state my position, once and for all, and it would be over. I'd go home, to Glen Ellyn where I belonged.

A new beginning. Grayson and Ann could come and visit Sara and the children. Life would be different. I'd have family now, close family, except for one notable exception. The past between Vic and me was still unresolved.

I had to find him and talk to him. Now.

Thunder shook the ground as I got into the car. A hot wind buffeted the car; thick storm clouds built in the west. I took a second to change my cell so Vic's ring tone was “Amazing Grace.” I wanted to be sure that if Vic
did
call to talk, the credit went to the proper source.

Fourteen

H
ail bombarded the car as I turned out of Woodlands. Peasized, and then nugget-sized chunks pelted the hood. An ugly gray-green cloud hung overhead as I swerved off the outer road and onto the highway. More rain? Spring was indeed fickle. Two ducks flew by, moving with the wind. Concerned about the worsening weather, I flipped on the radio and tuned in to a local station as the tornado sirens went off.

A chunk of hail the size of a baseball hit the windshield, shattering the safety glass. I yelped and jerked the wheel, careening toward the shoulder. The hail suddenly stopped and a dead calm settled over the area.

Stunned by the onslaught and terrified to drive any farther, I sat parked by the side of the road, the motor idling. The entire sky to the left, southward, was a pleasant, warm blue with golden sunlight. Everything to the north was a roiling, pitch-black cloud. I rolled down the window and craned my neck, staring at the cloud. I could make out a distinct clock-wise rotation taking shape.

Tornado.
My breath caught in my throat.

Warning sirens wailed. Motorists flashed by me, some screeching to a stop under a nearby underpass. I glanced to my right and left. No ditches in which to take cover. A gust of wind rocked the car. I slid the transmission into gear, deciding to make a run for cover.

Wheeling back onto the highway, I floored the gas pedal. The car fishtailed before rubber gained traction. The overhead underpass quickly filled with panicked drivers. I spotted an empty space that I could wedge into and mashed harder on the gas, fear rushing my throat. Then I heard it. A grinding sound, like a huge cement truck backing toward the highway. Huge, sucking, coming right at me.

I'd been in one other tornado in my life. Aunt Beth had pulled me from bed one August night, wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me to Aunt Ingrid's root cellar. The storm had destroyed half of Parnass Springs and claimed three lives.

Violent wind rocked the car; I kept one eye on the underpass and another on the ominous-looking cloud that was quickly closing in. Suddenly I knew I was about to face death.

Please God, please God. Let me make it to the underpass.

I was almost there, but the funnel was moving unbelievably fast. The apocalyptic black curtain cut off the sky, whipping round and round, snapping trees in half. My ears started popping. Wind rocked the car, dust blinded me. A bush, broken off at the roots, rocketed past, and I involuntarily ducked. Then it happened.

The car lifted—I felt it leave the pavement. Everything tilted, turned upside down. Wind shrieked past the windows. I gripped the steering wheel, holding tight. Only the seatbelt held me in place.

The compact tumbled over and over, like a child's toy. My eardrums ached, threatening to burst from pressure.

A piece of tin—maybe a highway sign—slammed the passenger side. Debris poured through the shattered windshield. I quit trying to hold on to the steering wheel. Grit and bits of rubble stung my exposed flesh. My hands flew to my face, a shielding defense. A female's frantic screams rang in my ears. Mine?

Something large and heavy hit the hood of my car. My hands dropped, and I saw a commercial trash bin sail off into the churning blackness.

God, help me! I was in a funnel cloud. A whirling sheet of tin roofing flew past, missing the car by centimeters.

A fragment of a verse in Hebrews flashed through my mind:
“Just as man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment…”

This was my appointed hour. Something slammed through the windshield and exited the back window. Screaming, I slid down as far as the seat belt would allow. Not far enough.

Joe's earlier warning flashed through my brain:
Make your amends today, Marlene. Tomorrow isn't promised to us
.

Falling, falling.
Vic!
The car plunged end-over-end before slamming down, hard. It bounced twice, landed on its side, and slid infinite feet before stopping.

Pain shot through my right shoulder. Streaks of light blinded me. I slumped against the wheel, hurting as if someone had used me for a punching bag.

A second later a mangled motorcycle hit the ground beside the car. No sign of the rider. I struggled to sit upright, took one look at the carnage around me, and passed out.

I opened my eyes again when a couple of farmers began to pull me out of the wreckage. Rain came down intermittently, cold and pitiless. An elderly man towered above me. He had to stop and catch his breath every few moments, but he was doing his best.

“Hold on little lady, we've about got you clear.”

I could barely hear above the whine, some sort of a saw, and I realized there must be firemen and EMTs present.

“Am I alive?” I was still groggy, having trouble focusing.

“You're one lucky lady.” Strong arms lifted me from twisted metal. Rain sluiced down in buckets, wind gusting. An immediate chill wracked me. Someone wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and led me to a waiting car. Pain shot up my left leg when I tried to put my weight down. White-hot needles stabbed my ankle. My rescuer had an arm around my waist, supporting my weight to the car. The moment I was seated, I took inventory. I couldn't feel my right arm, my front teeth seemed to be intact, my left ankle felt swollen to twice its size, and when I licked my lips, I tasted salty blood.

“How many injured?” I asked.

A medic shook his head. “It's bad.” Outside power lines were spitting sparks in the dark.

Vic. Joe. Ingrid…I struggled to sit up, but firm hands held me down. An IV went into a vein. “Woodland Health Care facility?”

“No damage assessment yet—”

Darkness claimed me before I heard the rest of the answer.

Hours later, I walked out of Boone County Hospital's emergency room doors, wondering what to do next. The hospital staff released me on my assurance that I'd go straight home and see my doctor; I was in no shape to leave, but bed space was limited to the severely injured. With a broken right arm, sprained left ankle, numerous cuts and lacerations, I was one of the luckier ones. I was nicked and bruised, particularly across my stomach and chest where the seatbelt had cut into me. I would be a colorful character tomorrow, but I was alive.

I'm not complaining, Lord, just grateful.

A quick inventory confirmed I was missing my purse and cell phone.

According to news reports, the tornado had cut a wide swath. Phone lines were down for fifty miles. So far, twelve had died in the storm, and damages were estimated to be in the millions.

Cabs were nonexistent. My rental car was a twisted heap lying in a farmer's field, but one thought filled my mind. I had to find Vic.

Dear God, don't let it be too late.

I struck off, hobbling toward the busy highway with enough Vicodin in me to fight bulls.

I limped along the roadside, blubbering as the realization of how close I'd come to checking out sank in. How easily I could be lying in the car wreckage, leaving behind so many unsaid thoughts, so many messes I should have cleaned up.

Thank you, God. I don't deserve what you've done for me, but I'm grateful. You know that.

Hitchhiking was foreign to me, but that was the good thing about tragedy: the sap of human kindness oozes out of mankind when there is a real need. I'd barely thrown my hand in the air when a brightly lit semi braked and the driver asked if I needed help. Sporting a head bandage, a cast on one arm, numerous facial stitches, and a crutch (that I insisted I didn't need but the hospital said I did) I conceded that yes, I could use a little help. “I need a ride to Parnass Springs.”

“Climb aboard!”

I focused on the high step. No way could I climb that. Seconds later the driver bounded out of the cab, and with a gentleness that surprised me, lifted me onto the seat, then handed me the crutch.

We edged down the road, dodging downed trees and power lines. Carnage was everywhere. Flattened farms, houses, and barns. Businesses destroyed, building roofs blown off, animal carcasses, pieces of clothing, shoes, lawn chairs. Pink house insulation draped downed fences and severed lines. My hands were shaking so hard that I stuffed my uninjured one into my Windbreaker pocket. I'd never witnessed anything like this.

It looked like a bomb had gone off.

My trucker was a burly young man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tattoo of an eagle clutching an American flag on his right forearm. He grinned over at me. “Name's Chuck.”

“Marlene.”

“So what happened to you?”

There wasn't an inch of flesh on me that didn't feel battered and bruised. The seatbelt on the compact had almost cut me in two. “I got caught in a funnel cloud. Lifted my car off the highway and whirled it around in the air like cotton candy.” I shuddered, realizing what a narrow escape I'd had. My poor rental car. The second one I'd demolished. Avis would blacklist me forever.

Chuck whistled. “That right? You're lucky to be alive.”

“Lucky? I suppose so, but I believe God gets the credit.” I shivered, recalling the last harrowing half hour.

He shrugged. “God, huh? If he exists, it doesn't seem like he's doing much good, considering the mess the world is in.” Chuck shot me a skeptical glance. “You one of those Biblethumpin' women?”

“Can't remember the last Bible I thumped.” It was hard to carry on a coherent conversation with my head pounding like a jackhammer. Where was my migraine medicine? In my purse. Where was my purse?

Chuck waved a beefy hand at the devastation lining both sides of the road. “You telling me a fair God would let something like this happen?”

I closed my eyes. “Look, I don't pretend to have answers—-even
an
answer. I'm not a theologian. I'm just an ordinary woman who believes in God.”

“Rose-colored glasses.”

“Faith.”

He fell silent, then changed the subject. “Parnass Springs your home?”

“For the time being. My aunt lives there and I'm here to settle an estate. My home's in Glen Ellyn, Illinois.”

“Near Chicago, huh? You're a long way from home.”

“So where are you from?”

“Oklahoma City. Drive a rig out of there, hauling canned goods and produce for Clemons Wholesale Grocery. You ever hear of them?”

Who hadn't heard of Clemons? They were one of our biggest grocery chains. At my nod, he continued. “They've got a big warehouse in Oklahoma City. I come this way twice a month.”

“Well, I'm certainly glad you came this way tonight.”

He braked to avoid a couple of cows crossing the road. They eyed us placidly before stepping off the blacktop. Chuck eased past them and they scampered away.

He shifted gears. “Got any kids?”

“One, a daughter. Two grandkids and another on the way.”

“Nice. I've got two girls and a boy. They're something else.” He grinned and pride dripped from his expression.

I laughed. “They always are when they're ours.”

He shook his head. “Amazing, isn't it? I was kind of wild, you know, and then I met Kelly and we got married and started having kids. Now I look back and see how little I used to have and how much I've got now.” His cell phone rang, and from his end of the conversation, I realized it was his wife.

He ended the call and grinned. “That was Kelly. She works in a convenience store—some customer came in and told her about the tornadoes. She was worried.”

The destruction hadn't gotten any lighter the closer we got to Parnass. I had people I loved out here. Were they all right?

The hour drive took twice as long as normal. I stared out the truck window watching for something familiar, but the tornado had changed the area into an alien landscape. “How could one storm do so much damage? It's destroyed everything.”

“Forecaster said there was a line of them. Seventeen funnels have touched down, worst outbreak in years.”

“Seventeen!”

“We're almost to Parnass. Maybe it won't be so bad in your neighborhood.” I clenched my teeth to keep from crying. The devastation was so complete, I couldn't see how anything could survive. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, praying to see something still standing. A heap of rubble marked the place where a truck stop used to be. A couple of big rigs were lying on their side, tossed like toys in a child's fury. Fence posts were ripped from the ground and left in a splintered heap. A sheet of tin roofing wrapped around the lone tree left standing.

Large round hay bales littered the road. Chuck slowed, weaving his truck through them. We should have been in Parnass before now. Part of me didn't want to arrive; afraid of what I would find, but another part of me was frustrated about how long it was taking. Aunt Ingrid. Vic and Joe.

Oh, Lord, let them be all right.

When the big truck pulled into town, my heart dropped. Not much was left standing. The café had half its roof blown off. A dozen or so houses, the gas station—all were destroyed. Homes left standing had extensive damage. Chuck stopped the truck and turned a worried countenance in my direction.