Simple Gifts (4 page)

Looking anywhere but at him, I'd said softly, “I thought I loved him. When you're eighteen, you're not thinking clearly—at least I wasn't.”

“But you're happy? “His eyes searched mine, looking for—what? Confession that I had been the biggest of fools and wished I'd never heard the name Noel Queens? If I spoke the damning words, what difference would it make to him now? Julie was waiting at home—a lovely woman whom Vic loved with all his heart and soul.

And so the lies began.

“Very happy!” I pasted on my brightest smile and asked for the dessert menu, as if Key lime pie would absolve sin. Only briefly had I thought I loved Noel Queens. I was an idealist at eighteen. I thought I wanted to spare Vic a life without children. At the time I was so sure I had his interests at heart, but within a couple of years my sacrificial instincts had turned to rot, and I knew I'd married Noel to get away from Parnass and Herman's memories.

What sort of person admits she's so shallow that she has to run—and continue to lie—to avoid her past?

Me. Marlene Queens.

So shallow that I would rather live a lie than let Ingrid, Beth, Vic, or Joe know I was that sort of wretch. And once the lie was spoken, it was relatively easy to keep alive.

Joe brought me back to the present when he offered the doughnuts. I shook my head. “Diabetes. I thought I might have one when I bought them, but I think I'll pass.” The lower blood sugar reading this morning had encouraged me. “So, what's going on in Parnass Springs?”

“I'm retiring and the church is throwing a big bash next Sunday night.” Joe stirred his coffee.

“Retiring?” I couldn't believe it. Of course, he had to be sixty-five at least. “How many years have you been the pastor at Mount Pleasant?”

“Forty years this spring. Sure seems longer than that.” Forty years preaching the gospel. How many souls would be in heaven because of his ministry? How many familiar faces would be there to greet him when he entered the gates? I was humbled just thinking about it. “When did you say the celebration is?”

“Next Sunday night. You'll come, won't you?” He reached for a second doughnut.

“I wouldn't miss it.” Sara didn't expect me home until Monday evening. “Do you remember the time Vic and I emptied four quarts of red food coloring into the baptistery?”

“And I had a baptism that morning?” His eyes lit with humor. “The water turned Mrs. Bradley's silver hair a serious shade of pink. She joined the Methodists shortly after that. Claimed they took sacred rituals more seriously.”

“I can't believe we did that.” I shook my head. Kids. My daughter had embarrassed me more times than I cared to remember. I guess she was her mother's daughter.

Joe chuckled. “You know the time that sticks in my mind? When you two troublemakers turned a couple of gerbils loose in the middle of Sunday morning worship service. I don't believe anyone got much out of the sermon that day.”

“When the pets scattered under the pews, everyone on that row swung their legs up. And one got in Ed Rankin's pant leg.” I laughed so hard I spilled my coffee. “I never saw a man move so fast.”

We visited for the better part of an hour before I realized the time and left. If I'd let myself, I'd have stayed forever.

My cell phone rang late afternoon. I fumbled for it, knowing who it must be. “Hello, Sara.” I was surprised she waited this long to call after her panic on Friday evening.

My daughter's breathless voice came over the line. “Mom!”

“Hi. Where did you find the bear?”

“Under the sofa, but Mom! I forgot to tell you that I went to the doctor on Friday, and he just called. I have the most exciting news! “Before I could ask what, she barreled on. “Can't you guess?”

I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, my heart suddenly hammering in my throat. I'd welcome a diagnosis on why my daughter had been under the weather for the past month and a half, but the mother in me always feared the worst. What if she had some horrible, incurable disease?

“You'll never guess what he said!”

“Flu?”

There'd been a particularly nasty strain going around, and I feared Sara would get it. She hadn't fully regained her strength from the last bout.

“Not the flu.”

“Mono. It's flared again.”

“No, silly. I'm expecting!”

I nearly dropped the phone.
Oh, please, tell me you're joking.

“Did you hear me, Mom? Isn't it exciting? Petey and Emma Grace will have a brother or sister in December!”

Thrilling. From the silence, I realized I was expected to rejoice, but three kids in less than five years? “Oh…my.”

“Pete's walking on air. Oh, wait a minute, Mom. Petey just took a neon tetra out of the aquarium. Petey! Put that fish back in the water!” My daughter's voice came back on the line. “Isn't this wonderful, Mom? I am just too, too excited.”

Another baby. Sara, have you lost your mind?
I closed my eyes, taking a moment to stem my concerns. She couldn't handle the children she had.

“Another baby. Well, imagine that.” Twenty-three and a third child on the way.

Enthusiasm didn't exactly pour from my mouth. All I could think of was a mountain of diapers and getting up at night to feed a crying baby while Sara slept, content to let someone else do the grunt work. I was too old to raise another baby, and I had no illusions as to who would take over when Sara collapsed from fatigue. I had to talk to my son-in-law, Pete. When God said to go forth and replenish the earth, I'm sure he didn't intend for Pete and Sara to take it on as a one-couple commission. At any rate, it seemed we had another baby on the way, and I would be expected to stay with the family until Sara recuperated.

I tossed and turned most of the night, then finally got up before dawn and made a pot of coffee. Mornings had always been my favorite time of the day, but today I could barely relish the peace. The house was so quiet.

The sun barely topped the trees now, bright green growth, glistening with dew as I drove the familiar route to the country cemetery, past Eddie's Café and Parnass Park where families picnicked and children caught fireflies on the summer nights and stuck them in mayonnaise jars. I'd heard the café had a fire recently, but repairs had been made and it was open, once again the hub of the coffee-drinking set.

The cemetery appeared ahead. I took a deep breath and braked. Almost anyone who'd ever lived in Parnass Springs was buried here. Even those who moved away sometimes came back to be planted in the town burial ground, much like pigeons returning to the roost.

Our plot sat…where? You'd think I could remember the exact location, but it had been a long time since I was last here. I hadn't made it back for Herman's services…

No. I wasn't going to give in to regret this morning. That was five years ago. Past history.

The annual cemetery cleanup was scheduled for a week from today, a hoopla that included the whole town. I'd participate then, but I wanted to get a head start on our plots. If I knew Ingrid, and I knew Ingrid, years of dead branches and winter's remaining debris buried the granite and marble headstones.

Loaded with tools I'd brought from the car trunk, I clanged toward the gravesites. Juggling a 32-ounce Styro-foam cup of coffee, a rake, shovel, and plastic pail containing a trowel, my gloves, and a cushion to kneel on, I was amazed the noise hadn't caused the dead to waken and gripe at my intrusion.

I paused at the headstone where Uncle Eugene's foot was buried. Poor Uncle Eugene. He loved the women. His first wife caught him in a compromising situation with the town strumpet; she divorced him and left him with their handicapped child, Herman. Ingrid married him a few years later, and then Prue Levitt claimed him. This gravesite was surely one for the record books. When he died a few years back, his parents planned to bury him in his hometown, Olathe, because Prue, the third wife, didn't have the funds to transport him to Hawaii where she planned to relocate, to be near her son by a previous marriage. Aunt Ingrid had a conniption when Hawaii was mentioned and coerced Eugene's parents into burying him in their family plot in Kansas. Well…
most
of him. Years before the divorce, Eugene had lost a foot in a hunting accident. Since he'd been married to Ingrid at the time, the foot rested here in Parnass Cemetery.

To some families that might seem a weird story. For my family? Par for the course.

It took a few minutes to locate the family plot. It had been what? More years than I cared to admit since I'd last stood here in front of the simple granite markers that lay flat to the ground. Aunt Beth died two years ago, Herman a few years earlier. My eyes skipped over the markers. I hadn't come back for either Aunt Beth or Herman. In fact, Sara was a toddler the last time I'd visited here.

The “William Tell Overture” shattered the serenity.
Guess who? Sara, what am I going to do with you?

I set the pail down, dropped the shovel and rake, and fumbled in my jacket pocket for my cell phone, the true curse of the modern generation. Oh, for the days I only had to deal with an occasional interruption when someone could track me down to say that I had a phone call. Now, twenty-four hours a day the thing could ring, jolting me from sleep, interrupting work.

I hit the answer button. “Yes?”

“Mom! Did I tell you that I've been up since five this morning? This pregnancy is worse than the others. I'm going to be sick twenty-four/seven. I've got to have some rest, Mom. I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open. The mono will come back if I don't get my rest. It's barely eleven o'clock and I'm exhausted!”

This had to be the fastest developing case of morning sickness on record.

“Calm down, honey.” My daughter had the power to make herself sick just by thinking about it.

“I am so glad God made you my mother.” Pause. “You're still coming home Monday, right?”

Yes, but not a moment sooner. I was staying for Joe's retirement party. Joe had tirelessly served his community and God for over forty years. Morning sickness wasn't fatal, only uncomfortable. Sara would survive.

“Honey, calm down. The house needs a new water heater and roof. I've talked to a plumber—well, sort of—and he's coming soon. I have a call in to the roofer. The repairs need to be done before I can put Beth's house on the market.”

Why didn't I mention Joe's retirement party? Sara knew my deep affection for the minister, and she would understand my need to be here. Wouldn't she? Then again, understanding wasn't exactly her long suit.

Coward. You're afraid of your daughter.

I wasn't afraid, just cautious about choosing my battles. This wasn't the time or place to upset her. I knew my lack of gusto for her exciting news hurt her, but her quest for a big family was impractical and foolish. She had no concern for what could happen when both sides of the family were impaired. I'd gotten along without a large family just fine.

“Mom! Can't you come home
before
Monday?”

My jaw firmed. “Monday, Sara.” Maybe longer but I didn't say it. Not yet. She would have to get by for a few more days. I was staying until after the retirement party.

I glanced around and spotted Joe getting out of his car and reaching for the pail he kept in the back floorboard. He must be here to visit Melba.

Sara sighed. “I wish you were here. I'd feel better.”

“You'd feel the same.”

What mother didn't need to hear she was needed? Wanted. I glanced at Joe, who by now had transported his tools and was busy raking debris from his wife's grave. Melba's gravesite was three plots over from Aunt Beth's. I knew the breeze carried our phone conversation. “Honey, I have to go. Try to get some rest.”

“Mom, call me later?”

“Sure, hon.”

I clicked off, giving Joe an apologetic smile. He smiled back.

“Sara all right?”

“She's pregnant.”

Joe paused, leaning on the rake handle. “Have mercy.”

My exact sentiments.

I picked up my rake and started to work. Birds soared overhead; the sky was a bright turquoise blue. Suddenly it was good to be alive, to breathe in the fragrant spring air. I didn't have an ache anywhere, my feet didn't hurt, and for once I was complaint free.

Lilac and spirea bushes lined the cemetery. I caught an occasional whiff of the fragrant early iris growing near Herman's stone. My dad's stone.

My dad.

The words stuck in my throat as relentlessly as they had so many years ago. The man who showed up at every PTA meeting and sat in the front row at every one of my programs, occasionally standing to wave at me before someone made him sit. The man who when he ate and talked, sprayed spit in your face. He came to every Christmas pageant, wedged between Aunt Beth and Aunt Ingrid. He even came to my prom and danced with all my friends.