Simple Gifts (9 page)

“I was lucky you know.”

The admission slipped out. Sara was a sore spot between us, yet Vic, in the most illogical manner, seemed like a surrogate father, though he'd never met my daughter. He'd only been assured by me a hundred or more times that if I'd had my way, this child would never have existed. I knew how selfish that sounded, but I couldn't help myself.

“God has a way of handling our deepest fears.” He crossed his arms. “I'd like to meet Sara someday. And Noel. Didn't you say he was interested in the transmission of infectious disease from animals to humans? I have a similar interest. We could have some stimulating conversations.”

No, they couldn't, but even if it were possible, that's the last thing I'd have wanted. “My daughter has her hands full at home.”

Vic shook his head. “I know we're beating a dead horse here, but why, Marlene? Why did you run away? One minute you were off to Chicago for nursing school, then all of a sudden you married Noel—who, by the way, remains a mystery. You're sure he exists?”

“Of
course
he exists.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire!

He fixed me with a stare. “I'm sure he does. You wouldn't lie to me, would you Marly?”

“Me?” I cleared my throat, praying for a way out. Vic helped me.

“So? Why
did
you run away from me?”

“You know why. I couldn't give you the family you wanted. I wouldn't have taken that chance, and I thought you deserved more.”

He rubbed clay from the back of his hand, refusing to look at me. “And yet, you did marry. Didn't you worry about having Noel's child?”

The unspoken words were there.
Why him and not me?
For the first time I acknowledged to myself that I hadn't loved Noel the way I'd loved Vic. Had Noel sensed that? I hoped not. Could that have had anything to do with the way he cheated on me? My heart hardened. No. He made that choice. I'd not given him a reason to stray. To the best of my ability, I'd been a good wife.

Vic was waiting for an answer. I held my voice steady. “I told you, Sara wasn't planned.”

His gaze skimmed me briefly. “I know of your fear. Why didn't you take precautions? You're a nurse. You know how babies are conceived.”

“Noel must not have.” That was a cheap shot, but never-theless true. I was the one who didn't want babies, but Noel hadn't taken my concerns to heart—never had. Noel did what he wanted, and I couldn't stop him.

“He's a surgeon, isn't he?”

“He was. He's not in practice anymore.” I didn't want to talk about Noel. We were treading dangerous ground, and I wasn't ready to go there. I changed the subject. “I…I owe you an apology. I know what I said about children, and until I had Sara, I stood by my resolve. But once she was here—-once her tiny hand curled into mine, I knew I loved her and would have missed out on the greatest thing in my life if she hadn't been born.”

“You don't owe me an apology.” Vic let the chair drop back to the floor, and I could practically hear a granite barrier snap into place. It seemed important to repeat my defense.

“Sara
wasn't
planned. I would have never agreed to a pregnancy—“

“Well.” He smiled, an expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You did have her, and thank God she's fine. Now. How about a tuna sandwich? I think the local café is still open.”

I'd eaten earlier and hated tuna, but that didn't stop me from accepting the offer. He might still carry a load of resentment, but I'd take all the moments with him that I could get. After Sunday, those moments would be over.

Five

L
avender. The heavenly scent filled the house Saturday morning. Sunlight, warm and golden, slanted through my bed-room window. I stretched, going over the day's busy activities. Cemetery cleanup was always a big event that encompassed day and night. Around 6:00 p.m., work would cease and the town would gather for a picnic and then fireworks. Cemetery cleanup equaled the Fourth of July in Parnass Springs.

Today was going to be one of those warm days in mid-April, a day to be outside enjoying God's creation.

I yawned and then stretched again before rolling out of bed and heading for the shower. Ingrid didn't understand why I didn't stay with her. I'd misplaced my glasses and so far hadn't found them—I probably needed a keeper, but I'd lived alone for so long, I liked my privacy.

When I pulled into the cemetery, every parking spot was taken. I'd thought I'd be one of the first volunteers, but I was wrong. Already the two-acre plot teemed with activity. Men, women, and children manned rakes, hoes, and various other garden implements. I spotted Joe coming toward me with a super-sized box of Hefty lawn and garden bags tucked under his arm.

“Morning!”

“Morning.” I eyed the box of lawn bags and the long pole under his left arm. “What's the stick for?”

“It's not a stick. It's a battery-powered leaf tamper.”

“Battery-powered leaf tamper.” I studied the long pole with a circular plate on one end. Another one of Joe's inventions, no doubt. “How does it work?”

Joe dropped the bag of Heftys, eyes shining. “Simple. Bag the leaves, turn on the tamper, tamp them down, bag more leaves, tamp. A body could get close to two hundred pounds of leaves in a sack if it's tamped down tight enough.”

I nodded. “Who's going to carry the sack to the burn pile?”

Joe stared at the new contraption, forehead furrowed. “I don't do details—I just invent. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Flashing a grin, he picked up the lawn sacks and strode toward the Brewster plot.

I hauled implements and a gallon bucket to our site, and paused for a minute before heading back to pick up Aunt Ingrid. I knew I couldn't carry tools and manage her, so I'd decided to make two trips this morning. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught Herman's stone, covered in leaves.

Maybe it was a daughter's guilt—a daughter who had loved her dad and failed to show it as often as she should have. I was just beginning to realize how much I'd lost by not staying in touch with him. Overwhelmed, I knelt in the peaceful setting, gently brushing aside the weathered debris.

HERMAN EUGENE MOSS

Beloved son of Eugene, and stepmother, Ingrid Moss.

Herman had been Ingrid's child in every sense, though he was Eugene's son by a prior marriage. Years ago, forceps births were not uncommon. Eugene said Herman's birth was long and arduous. When it appeared that neither mother nor child would make it, the physician delivered the baby boy post-haste. Herman was notably slower than other babies his age, but around seven, he simply stopped developing. Whether the delivery technique was the cause for his mental state, doctors couldn't say for certain, and I had never wanted to chance that a rogue gene could be the cause.

As I brushed at the leaves, I could feel my eyes water. Allergies. Had to be. After all, I never expected a perfect life. How could I? But I knew others had it worse. I hadn't always made the wisest choices, but God overlooked my mistakes and gave me a healthy, beautiful daughter.

Once a therapist suggested that I refuse to count on anything because everything I'd counted on had failed me, but I'd preferred to think that I'd thrown away my rosy glasses and now viewed the world with an experienced eye.

But then, I'd been wrong before.

Ingrid was still puttering around when I stopped by her house. She moved from room to room, totally disorganized. Her higgledy-piggledy ways were driving me crazy.

“Almost ready,” she called.

I got a drink of water and waited. She came into the kitchen muttering. “Hold on a minute. I need to check my bedding plants—I've set them out too early. I should have had better sense. I'll only be a minute.” She moved to the side porch. A second later she called. “Marlene?”

“Yes?”

“Bring some water. There's a can in the pantry.”

I found the can and filled it with water. Ingrid sprinkled the tender new plants, satisfied they'd survived the chilly night. “Oh goodness—roll up that hose, will you?”

I rolled up the garden hose lying on the porch and set it beside the outside faucet.

She moved back into the kitchen and paused. “I'll need a light sweater. Is this today's mail?”

“Yeah, I brought it in a few minutes ago.”

She started to leaf through the pile while I went in search of the sweater. At this rate, it would be dark by the time we got back to the cemetery. When I returned, she handed the bills to me and motioned to the waste can. “Would you empty that, dear? It's full.”

I laid the bills down on the counter and picked up the trash can, but then I spotted my car payment lying on the table. Everything I had was strung between Beth's and Ingrid's houses—I was always looking for something. Since I was going to be near the mailbox when I took out the trash, I may as well mail the bill. I reached for my purse and checkbook and groaned when I saw I was down to one check. My extra checks were in Glen Ellyn.

I went to get my credit card out of my purse and spotted the half can of Diet Coke I'd been drinking the day before. Wasteful.

Picking up the can, I carried it back to the kitchen to refrigerate it when I noticed the vase of spring flowers on the kitchen table. They needed fresh water or they'd be gone in no time.

I set the can on the counter and spotted my reading glasses. Thank goodness! I'd been looking for them all morning! I must have left them here last night when I stopped by. If I didn't put them in my purse, I'd misplace them again—but first I needed to change the flower water.

The glasses went back to the counter, and I filled a container with water and suddenly spotted the TV remote Ingrid had left on the table. I'd be looking for the thing sooner or later, but I wouldn't remember where it was. I should put it where it belonged, but first I'd replace the flower water—

I stopped, shaking off the mental fog. Good grief! I had to leave this environment. I was as ditzy as Ingrid! She had
me
confused now.

“Aunt Ingrid!”

She walked into the hallway. “What?”

“Are you ready to go?”

She tied the plastic rain bonnet around her hair. “I'm due at the beauty shop at nine thirty.”

“The beauty shop! Ingrid, this is cemetery cleanup day. Did you forget?”

“I always have my hair done on Saturday. You know that, Marlene. I can't just up and cancel my appointment. I have to go. Betty Jean would be so upset, she'd give my standing appointment to someone else.”

By now I'd loaded her into her car (which she insisted I drive) and I was drenched in sweat. Sliding behind the wheel, I started the car, trying to locate the gearshift. The Buick was an older model and had few accessories.

At ten forty-five, Ingrid was washed, curled, and ready to roll. Back in the car I buckled up. Joe would wonder what had happened to me.

Ingrid threw up a protective hand to shield her fresh do. “Roll up that window, Marlene!”

“Please, Aunt Ingrid, let's enjoy the fresh air.” I cranked it up a notch to appease her.

We were nearly at the café when Ingrid spotted the car wash. “While we're out, would you mind running the car through the wash?”

“Aunt Ingrid.” She was old and she had needs, but the cemetery cleanup was halfway over, and I still hadn't touched our family plots. “Can't we do that after the cleanup?”

“It'll be dark by then and I'll be worn out. Those fire-works go on forever. It'll only take a minute, Marlene.”

I pulled into the car wash, and a young attendant ran out and explained that the change machine was broken. I counted out the coins and handed them to him, then eased the car into the long, narrow building. The car was nearly swallowed up when I thought to roll up the window. I reached for the button but couldn't find it. Frantically, I mashed around seeking one.

Ingrid glanced over. “What's wrong?”

“Where's the window button?”

“Button? There's no button.”

The car had eased into the building. I could hear clicks and bursts of soapy steam. My throat closed as my hand slapped the door panel, looking for anything that would close the window.

Too late.

Water busted forth as if from a broken dam. A long, forked arm started down the sides of the car, spraying water. Ingrid screamed, throwing both hands up to shield her hair.

Water poured through the window. With Ingrid's screeches, it sounded like a cheap Friday-night Halloween fright movie. When the Buick finally hit the air blowers, there wasn't a dry thread on us or the car's interior. Ingrid's plastic rain bonnet fluttered to the floorboard and sank like a rock.

By then I'd located the window crank. With a lame grin, I rolled up the window. “Car's clean!”

Close to noon, I pulled back into the cemetery. Ingrid snorted when she saw the crowd. “Gets bigger every year. You think they've all heard?” She'd tied the rain bonnet flat to her head. She looked like a fool, but Betty Jean couldn't do her hair a second time that morning so Ingrid had to live with my mistake. And I had to hear her live with it.

“Heard what?”

“About the foot, Marlene. Eugene's foot! Sakes alive. Keep up.”

“Oh. The foot.”

“I hope
that
doesn't get around.”

She had about as much chance of that not happening as a Q-tip had to grow hair. I got out of the car and snapped the trunk open. Minutes later I helped Aunt Ingrid across uneven earth. We'd had just enough rain to dampen the ground and make it nearly impossible to avoid mud, but I prevailed until I hit a mole run. Ingrid's left foot sank.

“You going to leave me here like this?” Ingrid demanded. “Help me!”

“I'm
trying
,” I grunted. “Grab my hand.”

I straightened, drew in a deep breath, and then maneuvered her free.
Move that mountain! Yes, Lord! Your child needs help!

Finally, she moved forward, her right foot striking an upright tombstone shaped like a log with an angel slumped on top, wings folded. The stone face suggested a bad case of indigestion. What appallingly bad taste.

I left Ingrid beneath a spreading maple and paused to catch my breath, which didn't last long because I saw Vic walking toward me. You'd think after the morning I'd had, the sight of him wouldn't cause such open upheaval.

“Afternoon, ladies.”

Ingrid nodded, her hand reaching up to touch the plastic bonnet. “Vic.”

He caught my eye, and I prayed he wouldn't ask what happened to her hair. I managed a smile. “We're finally here.”

Kneeling beside the lawn chair, he chatted with Ingrid. My aunt apparently earned, if not a vet's sympathy, then certainly his interest. I wasn't nearly so compassionate. It was all I could do to resist the urge to peel her out of that chair and shake sense into her.

Marlene, you're wretched.

I picked up my tools and started to work, leaving Vic and Ingrid to their conversation. For over an hour, I worked, peeling vines off our family's tombstones. Virginia creeper's strong, fine roots had dug into the granite, damaging the surface.

I'd worked my way back to Herman's site. Aunt Ingrid should have provided him with the best stone money could buy, but she was as tight as the bark on a log. I studied the plain stone, simple inscription, and thought about the statue the animal shelter wanted to erect. I was sure my adamant refusal took them aback. Was I being unreasonable? Was my unhappy past coloring my decision?

What if someone decided to tie a sanitary napkin around the statue's forehead? No doubt many in town still remembered the unfortunate incident when someone told poor Herman the thing was a sweat band. I didn't think it was funny—and Herman wouldn't have thought it funny if he had understood the tasteless practical joke.

“Looks like you're making progress.”

I glanced up to see Vic leaning on a rake, grinning. The wind tousled his hair and stung his cheeks red. He looked so much like the boy I'd loved with all my heart and soul long years ago, that it nearly took my breath.

“Great progress. How about you?”

“Dad's been working me like hired help.” He bent and pulled a stray weed. “Got time to split an energy bar?”

“Sure.” I glanced over to check on Ingrid, who was holding court with a couple of peers. “What do you have?”

Vic studied the bar he'd fished out of his pocket. “I don't know. I picked it up at the convenience store on the way over. I hope it isn't one of those healthful things that tastes like cardboard.”

I grinned and took the bar from him. “Hummm. I think you lucked out. It's loaded with white sugar, no fiber, and its carb count is off the chart.”

He made a face. “Good thing I picked up an apple for you.”

Bless his thoughtful heart.

We found a semi-clean spot beside a mound of filled trash bags and sat down. “How's the leaf tamper working?”

“I used it on one bag and then hid it. It's more trouble than it's worth.” He uncapped a thermos and poured steaming coffee.

“Was Joe upset?”

“He would be if he knew what I'd done.” He winked and handed the cup to me. “Have I mentioned what a beautiful woman you've become?”

I tested the coffee, trying to concentrate on the moment at hand, which wasn't supposed to be personal. “Have you had your eyes checked lately?”