Simple Gifts (5 page)

Pride had stood out all over him as he watched me from the sidelines, all the while shelling peanuts and throwing the hulls on the gym floor. The memory still made my skin itch.

“Iris sure smells good.”

I glanced to see Joe standing beside me, admiring the deep lavender blooms. He knelt beside my work pails, breathing deeply of the heady fragrance.

“The scent reminds me of Aunt Beth.” I dropped to my knees to pull weeds away from the granite, stopping to brush my hand over the fading inscription. “I'm not pleased with the stonework. The dates are almost impossible to read.”

“You should talk to Carl Summers. He's got a place off Highway 86. Does some fine stonework.”

“Thanks, I'll call him.”

I got up, brushing off the seat of my jeans. Joe removed his ball cap, squinting at the sun. Deep in thought, I had failed to notice the late morning hour.

“Say—” Joe turned to face me—“how about sharing my peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“Is it lunchtime already?”

I'd been so engrossed, I'd forgotten the hour. In Parnass Springs time seemed to matter little, if at all. No frenetic pace, no demanding schedules. My stress shriveled like a marshmal-low over a hot fire. I eyed Joe with a serious look. “Peanut butter and jelly, huh?”

“Made it myself.”

“What kind of jelly?”

“Peach preserves.”

I reached out to shake his hand. “Deal.”

We found a shady spot and Joe opened his lunch pail, a Wal-Mart sack. He tore the sandwich in two, put half on a napkin and handed it to me. After uncapping the thermos, he poured the cup full of hot coffee and passed it over.

“What about you?”

“I'll sip out of the thermos.”

I bit into the bread, and creamy peanut butter and peach preserves exploded my taste buds. How nice to share a meal with a good friend under a spreading oak on a mild spring afternoon.

Joe's presence was a balm to my spirit. It was so good to see him, this man I loved almost as much as I had his son…

I swallowed the bite of a sandwich. Did Joe still carry a silent hurt because I'd married Noel? He'd been so sure Vic and I belonged together, but if I'd stayed in Parnass Springs and married Vic, I would have caved in eventually and given him children.

No, marrying Noel may have been a frantic effort to break all ties with Parnass, but it had been necessary. I loved Vic; I wanted more for him than I could give. That much was the truth.

And, if one considered my aunts, I'd done Vic a favor. I liked to think I was different from Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Beth, but no one knew better than I, that blood was thick. Sometimes too much so.

Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Beth were cold. I sometimes wondered if they knew the meaning of love. I still wasn't sure they even noticed when I left all those years ago. To this day, Ingrid never asked me to come home for holidays, and though I had carefully calculated lies to cover Noel's constant absence, they were never needed. Neither aunt ever asked or seemed overly curious about the man I'd run away with, nor about the daughter I'd raised. Oh, the folly of youth.

When I left Parnass on a cold, stormy day, my decision seemed courageous and self-sacrificing for the man I truly loved, Vic Brewster. Now I recognized the flaws in that belief. My impetuosity had reaped a life of regret.

I'd met Noel my first week in nurse's training. I was a green trainee, and he was a handsome, suave man well into his second year of med school. I was attracted by the nurse/doctor scenario, and I so desperately wanted to break free of Parnass. We dated two months, and one night we decided to get married. How nuts. Married at eighteen, and Noel much older.

Then, when I became pregnant, a season of utter terror.

I worried myself sick the entire nine months I carried Sara, fearing my parents' genes would affect my baby. Noel, of course, was convinced I was paranoid about Herman. He wanted children, and my fears were foolish in his sight. When Sara was born, though, God blessed us. We beat the odds. My daughter was bright and talented and showed not a hint of Herman or Lexy's imperfections.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

I took another bite of sandwich, silently chuckling. I hadn't heard the old colloquial phrase in years.

“Oh, I was thinking maybe I'd ask you to marry me, Joe. This is the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich I've ever eaten.”

He nodded, as if marriage proposals, even in jest, were an everyday occurrence.

“You'll have to get in line. The mere mention of my name is nectar to some of these widow women.”

He looked up and grinned, and I knew without a doubt where Vic's orneriness originated.

“Ah. You're a hunted animal, huh?”

“You don't know the half of it.”

He winked and took a bite of his sandwich. It was hard to believe that he was sixty-five, vibrant, healthy, and single. I'd bet the women swarmed him like flies at a picnic. I doubted that he would marry again; Melba had been his life. When a stroke and then paralysis struck Vic's mom, everyone thought that Joe would die along with her. Aunt Beth had written that he hung in there for five years nursing Melba, lovingly caring for her every need until one morning she failed to wake. Then he'd insisted on preaching her funeral service.

I wasn't there, but when I got his letter telling me the preaching hour had been the hardest of his life, I sat down and wept for Joe and Melba and a love so few couples ever find.

“So. Little Marlene.”

The familiar nickname almost brought me to tears. Every day when I came home from school with Vic and we raided the Brewster cookie jar, Joe called me that. Melba's big old kitchen always smelled of flour and sugar. She was a small woman, but she cooked and ate like a lumberjack. I could never understand how she wasn't as big as a Mack truck, but she retained her slim, youthful body through plates of creamy walnut fudge, five-layer lemon cakes, and the best cherry cobbler this side of heaven.

“How come you decided to come home? You haven't been back in what…a very long time?”

“Way too long.”

“You don't like us anymore?”

“Can't stand you. You're wretched.”

He feigned hurt. “And I gave you half of my sandwich.”

I polished off the last crumb and wiped my hands on the grass, then answered his question. “I'm home to put Aunt Beth's house on the market. It's about time, don't you think? It's been two years.”

“Ah, yes. She and Ingrid still weren't speaking when she passed away. I sure hate to see the place change hands, but I know a house will deteriorate if it's not lived in. I'm glad Ingrid's finally consented to let you settle the estate. By the way, does Ingrid look in your window instead of ringing the doorbell when she comes to visit?”

I laughed. Aunt Ingrid did peek in windows to see if anyone was home. In most towns the police would have hauled her off to jail, but the reason she gave for the bizarre habit? She didn't want to bother anyone if they were busy.

“Odd lady, but good deep down,” Joe admitted.

“I'm glad you think so.” I grinned.

“Here to put Beth's house on the market—that's what you said?” He lay back, crossing his hands over his stomach. Unlike Melba, he couldn't eat anything he wanted and keep a thin waistline. Apparently no one had told him. “That's good. Beth's house needs occupants, and the estate should be settled. It's good to have you back, little one. How's life treated you?”

“It sucker punches me every once in a while.”

I leaned back against the tree trunk and filled him in on the years, things I'd told him in letters and Christmas cards—minus Noel, of course. He always asked about Noel, so I got the chance to use my well-devised explanations for his absence: overseas medical conferences, training, fact-finding trips. I had all the answers, and bless Joe, he never dwelled on the subject. I did get the sense, though, that he knew I had loved Vic with all my heart and had settled for less…

“It appears, Little Marlene, you've done a good job making lemonade from life's little lemons.”

I was
not
going to cry. “Ha. Fooled you, haven't I?”

“Oh, now—“He sat up, facing me. “You've raised a child, have two grandchildren and another on the way, a successful husband. God's been good.”

“Yes, he has.” God had been good, but the deceit stuck in my throat like sawdust. I leaned over and put my hand on his arm. “How about you? You doing okay?”

For the briefest of moments, tears sprang to his eyes, and I realized Melba was uppermost in his mind. The mist cleared. “I'm making it—can't say I don't miss what I've lost, but life goes on.”

Life goes on. How many times had I thrown myself that line?

“I suppose my biggest worry these days is Vic.”

“Vic?” I sat up straighter, all ears. “What about my buddy? He looks fine.” And then some.

“He's working himself to death. Putting in long hours at the clinic, and now he's taken on this mayor's job. It's only temporary, but people are hounding him to death. Every time a barking dog wakes a neighbor, someone thinks they need to call the mayor and get him to do something about it.”

I laughed. “Well, if I know Vic, he'll do his best.”

“I wonder…”

He stared into the distance. We were the only visitors in the cemetery, just me and Joe in the quiet serenity.

“What?”

He sighed. “I can't help but wonder what would have happened if you had stayed, Marlene, married Vic, and raised a family.”

“I've thought of that.” Every day of my life.

“Vic would have a wife. I thought he'd remarry after Julie died, but he didn't. That was just such a shock…”

I could imagine. To lose your wife in a train-crossing accident…that had to be terrible. The track ran the length of Parnass Springs. Every day a dozen or more trains blew through. Aunt Beth said one afternoon Julie must not have heard the train whistle. Vic had turned reclusive for a while after her death, and who could blame him?

Joe went on. “In a few more years he'll be too old to want to raise young' uns. He'd be an old man by the time they'd graduate high school.”

I tried to allay a father's fears. “He can still marry a young woman who could give him lots of children.”

“No, Vic wouldn't marry just to have children. He doesn't give his love that easily.” He looked over and winked. “When you left, you took his heart with you.”

As much as I loved the thought, I knew it wasn't true. Vic had made it fine without me. And the good Lord knew that at my age, no matter how crazy I was about the man, I wouldn't want a baby. Not now. Not ever.

Three

S
unday afternoon I took a long nap.

Monday, I took another nap to recover.

Shortly after I woke, Vic brought Joe over for a lunch of sandwiches and we caught up on old times. Sara called twice while I was cleaning up. I'd start to do one thing, and the “William Tell” would ring out. I caught Joe and Vic exchanging numerous glances.

Vic reached for another handful of chips. “Did the roofer ever call back?”

“He'll be here end of the week.” Again, I saw the dubious look between the two men, but the roofer had been honest. “He'd said he was very busy but he'd work me in.”

Vic reached out and took a cookie out of my hand.

“Vic!”

“You're not supposed to be eating cookies.” He popped the sweet in his mouth.

“Thanks a lot.”

Reaching for a pear, he tossed it to me. “Knock yourself out.”

“Who appointed you my guardian?”

Shrugging, he bit another cookie. “Me, I guess. Any problems with that?”

“A few come to mind.”

Quite a few.

Late that afternoon I bumped into Joe as he was exiting the church. “What are you up to so late in the day?”

He grinned like an unrepentant four-year-old kid. “I've just installed an automatic page-turner for Mattie. It'll make her work easier.”

“Mattie's still playing the organ? “Mercy! How old was she? Near ninety? “What if she's not ready to turn the page?”

He sobered. “It's fully automated. All she has to do is press the button before she starts playing, and after a certain time lapse, the device automatically turns the page.”

“Really.” His newest invention sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. Well, at least this one shouldn't attack anyone. “I'm surprised Miss Mattie's still in good health.”

“Hasn't missed a Sunday in forty years.”

I noticed he didn't sound exactly cheerful about the milestone.

“How old is she now?”

“Ninety-four and deaf as a stump. Should have retired years ago, but no one's had nerve enough to suggest it.”

Miss Mattie Hensley. Ah, the memories I had of her. The banker's wife had been meaner than a snake when I was growing up. She'd terrorized generations of young girls who grew into her Sunday school province—what we called her class. It didn't sound as if her disposition had mellowed with age.

Joe brightened. “The new minister's wife plays the piano and the organ. Very proficient—and on key! Mattie can't carry on forever.”

I laughed.

His expression deflated. “Yeah, you're right. She'll outlive us all. You been over to the house to see Vic?”

“No, I'm on my way to run errands.” I scanned the near empty street. “Looks like a lot has changed. New shops, great café.”

“We're getting real modern. There's a new animal shelter too. Have you seen it?”

“No, I haven't.”

“You will. Coming to the service Wednesday night?”

Would I miss a chance to see Mattie give Joe's automatic page-turner a trial run? Not on your life. “I'll be there. What time?”

“Meeting starts at seven.” He leaned closer. “Better get a seat in the front row. You won't want to miss the look on Mattie's face when she sees what I've done.”

I'd be there early.

He flashed me a wicked grin, gave a little wave, and walked on only to turn around again. “Noticed you had quite of bit of bread and pastrami left over at lunch. Would it be all right if I stop by around suppertime? Just hate to cook for one—you know how that is.”

“I'd be honored.”

I watched him leave, loving the odd little inventor, but in reality, my heart ached for him.

Wednesday evening I slipped inside the church and proceeded to the front row, eyes searching for Vic. He said he'd be there barring an emergency. I was still seething from the long day I'd put in waiting on the plumber and roofer. Mr. “Yup” called late last night to say he hadn't got around to me (no kidding), but he'd be there first thing this morning. I'd waited. And waited. Neither the plumber nor the roofer had shown. The roofer hadn't phoned, so I didn't know his plans, but “Yup” called to say he'd run into a little trouble on the previous job and couldn't get around to me that day. Tomorrow morning. For certain.

Yup. I'd believe it when I saw it.

Linda Bates, who used to be Linda Andrews, my best friend in high school, greeted me with open arms.

“Marlene! You rascal! Why didn't you let me know you were coming?” She shook her head. “You look fantastic! Slim, you've let your hair grow out, and
what
eye shadow are you wearing? It makes your eyes positively sparkle! How long are you here for?”

“Until Monday—“

“Oh, you're not! Now that we've got you, we're going to make you stay for a decent visit.”

The congregation settled down and reached for hymnbooks. We sank onto the scarred pew, giggling. Joe peered at us from the dais.

Frank Qullian, song leader for the last twenty-five years, announced the first hymn and threw out his arms, motioning us to rise (Moses with a lead-pencil baton). Miss Mattie hit the opening chords, and our voices lifted in harmony. I guess she must have pushed the button on the page, because right in the middle of “Amazing Grace” she abruptly switched to “Showers of Blessing.” The congregation exchanged bewildered glances and struggled to catch up.

The page-turner swung into action again, and Mattie, looking a trifle confused, swung with it, right into the ringing notes of “Revive Us Again.”

This was one of my favorites, and I put my heart into the chorus. “Hallelujah! Thine the Glory!”

The page turned and Miss Mattie switched octaves. Frank shot her a look as the congregation gamely belted out “When the Saints Go Marching In!”

Linda broke up beside me. I wasn't going to look because if I started laughing I'd never stop. I shot Joe a helpless glance. He sat on the dais, transfixed with an angelic expression on his face, as if he hadn't a clue what was going on.

Smart. Miss Mattie was going to throttle him.

The elderly organist ended her rather spirited—and different—medley with “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The congregation struggled mightily and roared out the closing words: “Our God is marching on!”

Mattie rose from the bench looking regal, if slightly dazed. I was proud of her. I would have mopped the floor with Joe Brewster.

Joe immediately charged to the podium and opened with prayer, which gave us a chance to pull ourselves together. The prayer was long and involved and included everyone from the president to the church janitor. Finally we heard “amen” and gratefully opened our Bibles. I kept an eye out for Vic, but he didn't show. I was used to men not showing up. There had been long days and nights when I'd waited for Noel to come home, never knowing if he was detained by business or pleasure. In Vic's case, I guessed it wasn't my concern.

Tears stung my eyes, blurring the printed page. God had been good to me, and I was too quick to feel that I was the only one with problems. I'd failed him numerous times, but other than Herman, he'd never failed me. He'd given me a beautiful, healthy, loving daughter, and I was hiding from her like a hunted animal.

Shame on you, Marlene
.
He gave you the responsibility of raising a child. If Sara's a clinging vine, you have no one to blame but yourself.

Sad, but true. I couldn't blame Noel; he'd never been around to help. He sent presents and showered our daughter with attention the few times he decided to make an appearance, but he left the parenting to me. I didn't do all that badly, but I'd made mistakes. Didn't I always?

After services, Linda pushed a young man toward me. “Marlene, I want you to meet Johnny Weeks, our new pastor. He's taking Joe's place.”

I gripped the fair-skinned-man's hand, captivated by his shy smile, his warm blue eyes, and the golden curls tumbling over his forehead.

He introduced me to his wife, Rachel—petite, blonde, blue-eyed, and bubbly. According to her, the congregation had been supportive and immensely helpful during their move, and Joe was a saint.

With Joe hovering benevolently in the background, the transition would be smooth.

In small groups and in pairs, the congregation dwindled and headed home for the evening. I said good-bye to Linda, promising to visit before I left, and then wandered down the road toward the convenience store. I wanted something cold to drink before I walked home. Overhead, the stars stretched in an awesome celestial awning. I paused in front of the gas station, transfixed by the glory of God's handiwork.

Out of the blue, I heard Herman's voice in my mind.
“C'mon, Marly. I got a nickel. We can buy ice cream!”

I'd been a small girl—no more than five, but I knew Herman was just plain stupid. A nickel wouldn't buy ice cream—maybe bubble gum, but not ice cream. Aunt Beth and Aunt Ingrid relented and decided to spend the money. They had taken us for a walk and an ice-cream cone on a hot summer night. Herman laughed all the way, that horsey sound, showing a row of buckteeth. I shied away, like always, taking Aunt Beth's hand and walking on the opposite side of Ingrid and Herman. Later, he came up to me, wanting a lick of my chocolate cone. He offered his strawberry in exchange, and I shook my head.

“Good,” he'd coaxed. He pushed the cone closer and closer until the ice cream touched my nose and I squealed.

Ingrid jerked Herman back to her side, knocking his cone to the ground. She pulled him along, scowling at him. His mystified eyes locked with mine, and I wanted to turn and run. But I didn't. I hated him and I pitied him. I hated Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Beth for allowing him to be my father. Other kids' fathers were strong and handsome. They didn't have big teeth and a loud laugh and stick ice-cream cones in their daughter's faces.

Other kids were proud of their daddies.

Why couldn't he go away and never come back? But he was always there, at the breakfast table or in the door, waving good-bye as I left for school. At school carnivals, basketball and baseball games, working in the concession stand, blowing up balloons, pinning banners to the gym wall. I could never escape him, and my resentment had grown into an ugly, festering sore…

“You'll get a crick in your neck staring up like that.”

My heart double-timed when I heard Vic's tease. “Probably so.” I turned to face him. “I was looking at the stars. I'd forgotten how breathtaking they could be. I can't see them as clearly in Glen Ellyn.”

“One of the reasons I've stayed in Parnass Springs.” He joined my admiration of cosmos glory. “You still like ice cream?”

“Love it.”

“Wait here.” He entered the station while I wandered over to sit down at the outside picnic table. He returned a few minutes later carrying two ice-cream bars. One was sugar free. I could have kissed him. Noel would have bought regular and expected me to eat it since he'd gone to the trouble to buy it.

We enjoyed the ice cream in silence, concentrating on eating the cold treat before it melted. Vic still wore work clothes: denims and a plaid shirt that smelled like a horse.

“Missed you at the service tonight.”

He glanced at me, eyes going gentle. “I intended to come, but I had a mare down.”

Before he could explain further, we heard approaching footsteps.

“Well imagine this, two of my favorite people. What are you little hoodlums cooking up now?”

I hadn't heard Joe approach, but there he stood, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ice cream, Pop?”

“I better not, just out for my evening stroll.” He focused on me. “Quite a lively service tonight.”

I bit my lip to keep from giggling and concentrated on my ice cream. “Quite.”

Vic frowned. “Lively? At Mount Pleasant?”

“Well—different,” Joe admitted.

“How was Miss Mattie after services?” I nibbled chocolate coating off my bar.

Joe visibly cringed. “A tad upset with me, I fear.”

“Miss Mattie?” Vic turned to look at me. “Why would Mattie be upset with Pop?”

“Ask him about his automatic page turner.”

Deep crimson flooded Joe's face, evident in the glow of the overhead streetlight. “Guess there's still a few bugs in the invention. I'll have to work on it a bit more before she uses it again.”

I filled Vic in on the musical fiasco. He chuckled.

“And I missed the excitement,” he said.

“You'd have loved it.”

Joe grinned. “Well, it did liven up the meeting.” He lifted a hand. “I'll see you two later. The evening air is bad for old folks.” He gave me an exaggerated wink and left, hailing a tall, dark-haired man leaving the convenience store. They continued down the road together, deep in conversation.

Silence closed around us. Not a siren to be heard. A chorus of frogs sang a nocturnal concert.