Simple Gifts (21 page)

Standing in a blue haze, I listened to the slamming front door. Then silence.

“Aunt Ingrid?”

“What.”

“Are you okay?”

“I can't see my hand in front of my face. Wish the old fool would keep his inventions to himself.”

I smothered a snicker. If it wasn't a foot plaguing her, it was a hand.

This poor woman couldn't win.

Later I took a pill for a migraine and then fixed Ingrid a cup of hot chocolate. I'd aired the house and the smoke finally cleared, though a distinct rubber scent hung in the air.

“Never saw anything like it,” my aunt groused. “A glasssucking robot.”

“Actually, I think Joe's brilliant. Just needs to work out a few kinks.”

“Humph. You always did favor the man.”

“Yeah.” I poured hot cocoa into a cup. “You know, Aunt Ingrid, I've been thinking. I never understood why God gave me Herman. I loved him, you loved him, don't know many who didn't love him.”

I knew a lot that were embarrassed by him, that had been made crystal clear of late, but most were fond of him. I sat the pan down and wiped milk dribbles off the counter. “I used to go to Joe with my problems. You knew that.”

“I knew.”

“I needed someone. Someone to listen and understand my concerns, a surrogate dad. Joe filled a niche in my life.”

Ingrid toyed with her cup. “I know you resented the fact that Herman…well, Herman wasn't like most dads.”

I carried my chocolate to the table and sat down. It wasn't often Ingrid made me privy to her thoughts, and I planned to take full advantage of the moment.

“My going to Joe didn't mean I didn't love Herman.” God might not have given me a traditional father, but what he hadn't supplied naturally he'd sent by proxy. Joe had been my confidant, my father figure, and an ally in most every situation, except with Vic. Having two children, one biologically, the other theoretically, had not been easy for the kindly pastor. Before I'd left Parnass Springs for the last time, it was imperative to me to come to grips with my heritage. To embrace it. To forgive myself.

“No, I know you loved my boy.”

We shared a contemplative silence.

“I worry that Herman didn't know. I never told him.” Except for this afternoon.

Mist suddenly filmed my aunt's eyes. “I was never certain what Herman knew. I know he loved you. And Butchie. Dogs in general.”

“Yeah.” I thought of all the dogs Herman had owned over the years. They were his soul mates—he connected to them in some way.

“Do you think Herman really knew?”

Ingrid stared at her saucer. “That you loved him?” She was silent for a minute, and then she nodded. “I think he did. Fetch me my Bible.”

I brought the worn tome and she turned to a section, then read aloud. “‘Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.' “

I swallowed hard. “Do you believe in angels?”

“Herman was an angel. You know that.” Ingrid's tone had gentled.

“I do now.”

“Some folks have different views of angels. The Bible portrays them as fierce individuals who deliver fiery messages from God. Others believe they're loving and sent to watch over us.”

“What do you believe, Aunt Ingrid?”

“I believe there's much the good Lord doesn't have to explain. Angels are one of them.”

We sat in the kitchen listening to the clock tick and rain patter on the roof, lost in memories.

Once we started to talk, we couldn't stop. We talked and talked, sharing our deepest feelings. Ingrid spoke of when Eugene had left her—of her shame and confusion.

“Liked to have killed me. I knew about the women, of course. You can't hide anything in this town, but he always came home to me. Then one day he didn't come home. I kept waiting, thinking he couldn't have left, but he was gone. That woman was poison, a thief, taking what was mine.”

“The same happened to me.”

She stared at me in silence for a moment. “Your man left for another woman?”

I nodded. “Yes. Just like Eugene left you.”

“When?”

“Sara was two. At least Eugene left you money; Noel took everything we had. He was supposed to pay child support and alimony, but checks were always late and we struggled.”

“You could have had him thrown in jail.”

“I could, but he was Sara's father. And I didn't want him in our life again. At that point I didn't want him near me or Sara.”

She frowned. “Always knew he wasn't any good. Sounds like you've had a hard life. Why didn't you come home, here to me and Beth? We'd have taken you in.”

“I wasn't sure you would, Aunt Ingrid.” Our eyes met. “You never asked about Noel or my life. I thought you were glad to be rid of me.”

“Never asked because I didn't figure it was my place. Beth never asked?”

“Never.”

“My sister was an odd sort. I know she loved you—loved you like her own.”

Was Ingrid softening? Starting to change? “She never mentioned that.”

“Pity.”

Yeah, a real pity. Three simple words would have meant a lot to me during those dark years.

“Well, you should have stayed here and married Vic.”

Couldn't argue with that reasoning. “It's easy to look back and see what we should have done.”

She chuckled. “Hindsight's clearer than foresight. Vic know about Noel's death?”

I nodded. “He found out recently through a magazine article Noel wrote before he died. I should have told him all these years, but I didn't.”

“I expect he's angry?”

I shrugged. “I've been avoiding him since I got back. On the surface he's the same old Vic, but beneath that calm veneer he has to be furious with me.”

“I'd say he has a right.”

I couldn't deny that. Still, he could call and give me a chance to explain.

You could call him, Marlene
.

For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do that.

When I finally looked at the clock, I couldn't believe the time. Nearly 4:00 a.m. I'd spent all night having a heart-to-heart talk with Ingrid, of all people.

Today I'd try to talk some sense into Prue.

Lord, I'm going to need some help here.
Since I'd come back to Parnass Springs, he'd been leading me in some very strange paths. What would today bring?

Then again, maybe I didn't care to know.

Eleven

N
o Hawaii
Aloha?
No
Aloha kakahiaka!
(Good morning!) Hardly.

When Prue Levitt Moss picked up the receiver that Wednesday morning and recognized my voice, an Alaskan Express blew across the miles between us.

I explained that I was calling to discuss the recent letter. Prue informed me to contact the Claybridge Law Firm and hung up.

I redialed, aware of Ingrid's frantic eye on the clock.

“It's long distance.” She pointed to her watch.

“My cell phone's dead, Ingrid.” I'd gladly pay the charge in lieu of R J Rexall's fee; I would be short and to the point, while R J would take several reams of legal papers to say the same thing in lawyer ramble.

I tapped my fingernails on the cabinet, picturing Prue standing, hand poised over the instrument, debating. If she was like everyone else, she had caller ID.

The phone rang once. Twice. I absently hummed the refrain from a song,
“…three times a lady…”

Prue picked up.

I snapped to attention. “Don't hang up on me, Mrs. Moss, because I'll only call back.” I motioned for Ingrid to keep her cool. She looked faint, her eyes rolling money signs.
Long distance
, she mouthed.

Prue was talking. “Whatever you have to say, you can say through my attorney.”

“I know the proper procedure and that my call is highly irregular, but I can save you and Ingrid many hours of time and angst if you'll hear me out.”

A perceptible sigh came over the wire.

Seizing the lull, I dove in. “Please be assured that I sympathize with your concerns, Mrs. Moss. Losing a…loved one is never easy and your particular case is distressing, but I sense that you're a reasonable woman. Your letter contends that you intend to carry this case to the highest court—”

“I do indeed. The Supreme Court if necessary.”

Over a foot! Give me a break!

Resting my hip against the counter, I shut my eyes. I didn't want to be mean to the woman; Eugene had caused her heartache. Her nephew might fight the case in her behalf for years, but the outcome would be the same. How did I make her see reason? I breathed a quiet prayer and carried on.

“Mrs. Moss?”

“I'm here.”

“May I suggest a possible solution to this problem?” The subsequent silence lent hope. At least she was considering the offer.

“I'm listening.”

“There isn't going to be a winner. Even if you win the case, you'll be out thousands of dollars transporting Eugene to Maui. Then there'll be the burial plot, a stone. On the other hand, my aunt…” I paused. Ingrid was counting every word, eye on the clock's second hand. I slapped my hand over the receiver. “May I have some privacy,
please
?”

“Why? The call concerns me.”

“That's why.” I shooed her into the living room. Giving me a short look, she wheeled and rolled off. “Three minutes—no more. My phone bill will cost me a fortune.”

Free to speak candidly, I returned to the discussion. “Prue, may I call you Prue?”

“You may call me by my name. Mrs. Moss.”

“Mrs. Moss. May I speak candidly?”

“You need to speak through our attorneys. That's what we pay them for.”

“Granted, but what I'm going to say is free and not one legal paper involved.” Surely she could appreciate the service. I waited for the click on the other end of the line. When I didn't hear one, I continued. “Eugene lost his foot in a hunting accident many years ago. At the time he was married to Ingrid, so in the eyes of the court, ultimately, the foot belongs, or is a completed gift, to Ingrid.” I heard fumbling noises like Prue was about to slam the phone in my ear.

“Wait! Please hear me out!”

More rattling. Then, “Go on.”

“You, on the other hand, were Eugene's legal wife at the time of his death. I'm not certain what took place at the time…” My brain turned over every detail I'd heard about the dispute, and to my surprise, my facts were accurate. Prue agreed with my account of the story.

“I didn't have the funds to bury Eugene at the time. His parents did, and they wanted to bury their son near them. Eugene left his money to Herman.”

“I understand, Mrs. Moss. My husband walked out on me and left me with a two-year-old child to raise. It wasn't a happy time in my life. I'm sure we shared mutual fears.”

An emotional catch filled her tone. “I wanted Eugene with me.”

What did Eugene have (other than a missing foot) that attracted so many women? It wasn't steadfast loyalty; he'd proven that many times over. Good looks? Never. But the man was a salesman and charismatic to the core. Evidently what he did best was sell himself. I'd never seen the fascination, but then I had been a child, immune to the fatal attraction.

I did recall Beth talking about the time Ingrid discovered Eugene and Prue's peccadillo. She packed all his clothes, drove to his office, and set the three bags inside the door. When the secretary frowned her confusion, Ingrid stated, “When you see Eugene, tell him he's moved.”

But then he'd showed up and sweet-talked Ingrid into letting him move back in. Temporarily, as it worked out. Ingrid still loved him.

“Ingrid is aware of your deep devotion to Eugene and she sympathizes.” Not exactly a lie. Ingrid wasn't made of stone, as I'd discovered during our long talk. “So here's what I propose.”

I was taking a big chance of inflicting irreversible harm. Prue could clam up and keep the case alive and in the court system for years, but “nothing ventured nothing gained.” How often had I heard Aunt Beth express the old saying?

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

“Mrs. Moss?”

Silence. She had hung up on me.
Marlene! Now you've done it; Herman's statue wasn't enough of a boiling cauldron, now you've got Prue on an even bigger warpath.

“Marlene! Are you still on the phone?”

I didn't answer Ingrid's bellowed question, just dropped my voice. “Mrs. Moss…are you still there?”

Silence.

I leaned over and tapped the receiver on the kitchen counter, then raised it back to my ear. “Hello.”

“What's all that racket coming from?”

“Sorry, I wasn't sure if we were still connected.” One excuse was as good as another, I guessed. Now if I could just keep her on the line.

“Marlene! I'm coming in there!”

I was running out of time. “Okay, here's my plan. Drop the lawsuit that's costing you time and dredging up painful memories. Eugene was a great man, but he loved women—-all women. You know that, Ingrid knows that. He loved you, I'm certain of that. But he loved Ingrid, too, so you ladies can fight until the moon falls out of the sky, but in the end, you'll both be not only financially strapped but emotionally whipped.”

I knew I had her attention. “I propose that you and Ingrid make peace. I know that won't be easy, and it doesn't have to be accomplished overnight. It took the Lord six days to create the world; you and Ingrid can take all the time you need. With the money you save, you can take a relaxing cruise around the world. Enjoy life.”

“What are you suggesting? That I forget that I had a husband, never be allowed to visit his grave, grieve his loss?”

“No, not at all. I'm suggesting—no, I'm
inviting
you—to share Eugene. Here in Parnass Springs. Ingrid is a wealthy woman; she has the power and the funds to bring Uncle Eugene here and bury his remains with his…foot. Drop your suit, allow her to bring Eugene here, to Parnass Springs, and every Memorial Day you can fly to Missouri and honor your husband.”

“That's ludicrous. Why would I spend good money to fly to Missouri once a year when I could have Eugene here?”

“Would you do it if I sent you a round-trip ticket every May?” The offer would mean overtime work for me, but it would be a blessing to do something for these two women to put them out of their misery. And my hair. Besides, Prue had money. I was counting on curiosity to prompt her to pay her own way—maybe coming more than once a year. After all, she had past ties to Parnass. She lived a short distance from town when she met Eugene and fell for his winning ways.

“Oh…I don't know…I'm not sure…”

“I don't need an answer today. Just think about it.” My eyes fixed on the clock. I'd been on the phone five minutes.

“Mar
lene
!”

“I'll call you over the weekend, Mrs. Moss. Please pray about your answer.” I hung up. I didn't know what Prue must think of my hasty departure, but Ingrid was about to birth a cat.

This was the woman who had more money than the Kennedys. And she was screaming about a few dollars!

My aunt rolled into the kitchen. “What'd the old witch say?”

“She isn't an old witch; Eugene hurt her, too, Aunt Ingrid.”

“You're taking her side! You're just like my sister. When I needed her most, Beth wasn't there.”

“I'm taking sanity's side. Aunt Beth never betrayed you. She was put between her sister and a very dear friend. Beth didn't orchestrate Eugene's infidelity.”

I understood better than I wanted. In my own pridedriven fallacy, I'd thought Noel would change if he wanted to. Who was at fault in that relationship? Me, for running away and marrying a man I didn't love, running from my past, shutting God out of my life, going it alone, and asking nothing of anybody? Or Noel, who took what he wanted and walked away when he tired of it? Looking back, I realized I'd expected his faithlessness, and he'd not proved me wrong. Maybe I'd even encouraged it.

I made Aunt Ingrid and myself a cup of hot tea and sat down at the table. We had a long talk before us—one I didn't relish. Prue might be softening, but I had serious doubts Ingrid would be the voice of reason.

“I have something to discuss with you.”

“I'm keeping the foot.”

“That's fine.”

She eyed me over the top of her spectacles. “Am I going to like this?”

Probably not. When had she ever liked anything that wasn't her idea? “Give it a chance, okay?”

Ingrid's expression settled into the familiar stubborn line. “I'm making no promises.”

“Just listen, that's all I ask.”

As I explained my solution, her lips tightened, her expression hardened with every word. “Why should I spend my money to move Eugene here? If the
hussy
wants him moved, let her do it.”

“She doesn't plan to move him, just visit the foot. It would be nice if you'd consent to move him—all of him—here. Then Eugene would be…intact.” A whole man to fight over, per se.

“I'm keeping the foot.”

“If you'll go with the plan, you'll have both Eugene
and
his foot. You're always complaining about having to take flowers to a foot.” Ingrid wasn't really listening to my efforts for peace.

“And why would that woman ever show her face in Parnass again?”

“Doesn't she have family here? I thought she was local.”

“Got a sister. Nice woman. Nothing like the hussy.”

“Then she can come back for a visit and pay her respects at the same time.”

“What's in it for me?”

God, give me strength.

“A truce. Money not spent on attorney fees.” I studied the wheelchair, about to say
health
, but changed my mind.

Her chin tilted. “I can afford to pay a lawyer.”

“I know you can, but why would you want to make R J Rexall a rich man?”

That stopped her, but not for long. “Foot still belongs to me.”

“Forget the foot. This is not about the foot. I'm talking about having
all
of Eugene brought here!”

“You don't have to shout, Marlene. I'm not deaf.”

“I'm sorry. What do you think about my plan?”

She wheeled the chair toward the door. “I'll think about it.”

Well, that was progress of a sort, I guessed.

Midmorning, I went to the park. Ingrid had kept me busy since I'd been back, but today I had some heavy thinking to do. So I headed for the park, hoping the swings would be empty. If Lily was there, maybe I could talk her into switching from the slide to the swings.

I scanned the swings—empty, the way I'd hoped—and made a beeline for the first one, not wanting to waste time. I lowered myself into the seat, gripped the chain with both hands, and pushed back with my feet. A moment later I was flying, pumping my legs to go higher. The adrenaline surge was awesome, as purifying as ever. I pictured myself as a child again, swinging alone, trying to work through problems too numerous and too deep to understand.

Suddenly, someone caught me on the back swing. I felt the jerk, and then strong hands gave me a push. I twisted around to see who my benefactor was. Vic, of course. Why was I surprised? His presence was so natural, it felt like air. For a time the problems between us evaporated, and we were just Marlene and Vic, swinging in the park.

He pushed me again, harder this time. I arched back, pointing my feet toward the sky. Higher and higher I flew, catching the wind through my hair. We didn't speak; words weren't needed.

After a bit, he caught me, stopping the swinging motion. My feet touched the ground, and I knew the time had come to talk. He led me to a picnic table and I followed, pulse fluttering like a drumbeat—whether from Vic and how much I loved him, or from pure guilt, I didn't know. He sat down and motioned for me to take the bench on the other side of the table. I swallowed, determined to tell the truth and put the deceitful years behind, no matter what the consequences. “How did you know I'd be here?”

“I was passing and saw you. The sight of you swinging took me back to old times. I remembered the park was your think tank.”

“And the magic still works. Swinging relaxes me; helps put my thoughts in perspective.”