Simple Gifts (3 page)

There. That wasn't so hard.

I fixed a fresh cup of tea and returned to the swing, rocking, letting the quiet seep through my soul. Spring frogs croaked; the mild air saturated my frayed nerves.

Peace and quiet. At this point of my life, that wasn't unreasonable, was it?

Two

I
tried to sleep in Saturday morning, but noisy birds and sunshine woke me. I knew I was back in Aunt Beth's house before I opened my eyes. Her unique fragrance drifted above the musk and mouse piddles. Eccentric, she was, but she always smelled of lavender soap. I bet I'd find at least thirty bars of Yardley Lavender in the linen closet.

I stretched and pulled the sheet around my chin. Peaceful. No traffic, no need to leap out of bed and rush through my usual ritual: shower, blow-dry my hair, brush my teeth, slap on makeup, down a cup of coffee, a handful of medication, and a piece of wheat toast. I had nothing pressing to do and not one soul to make demands on my time. No stress, no hurry. Sheer bliss.

I lay there for over thirty minutes, savoring the absence of repercussions for my laziness. Then it hit me.

Coffee. I needed coffee.

I'd planned to buy supplies at the local convenience store, the Scat and Git, but my filling station detour through cuckoo-land had shot that down. I'd grab a cup on the way to Vic's office.

Lukewarm water blasted my face, reminding me that the house needed a new water heater. After drying off from my shower, I pulled on jeans and a red sweatshirt. In a hurry now, I combed my medium-length bob and pulled on a ball cap, collected my purse, and got into the rental car some kind soul had thoughtfully delivered. Aunt Ingrid, Aunt Beth's fraternal twin, stuck her head out of her open kitchen window as I was backing out of the drive.

Ingrid was another quirky sort—always had been off in her own world. She'd married Eugene Moss later in life. Uncle Eugene became the town mayor, but then he'd gone nuts thirteen years ago and ran off with the local café waitress, Prue Levitt. Once again, a Moss scandal had rocked the town and caused a widening rift between Ingrid and Beth—one that remained until the day Beth died. The cause of the rift? That Beth refused to take sides.

Beth had never been overly fond of her sister, and Eugene used that weakness to forge a bond with Beth, who remained steadfastly neutral.

Ever incensed at Beth's impartiality, Ingrid refused to speak to her sister or have anything to do with her personal estate, though the two Parnass sisters jointly owned three-fourths of the town and multiple real estate holdings in Columbia—a legal nightmare to be sure. I had no idea of the two women's collective worth, only that it was big. Since Aunt Beth raised me, and the mere mention of Ingrid set her teeth ajar, the task of liquidating Beth's house and personal belongings had fallen to me.

“You home, Marlene?”

I slammed on the brakes. “I'm in a bit of a hurry, Aunt Ingrid. Do you need something?” I should have stopped to see her the night before, but by the time I left the clinic, it had been past Ingrid's usual bedtime.

“I'd like a minute of your time when you're not too busy.” Ingrid stepped over to the hedge. I took in her housecoat and ragged slippers, her flame-red—I looked again—
flame-red
hair wound in red Velcro curlers. She'd changed her hair color. The flamboyant red made her round, deep-set eyes disappear. She carried the ever familiar plastic rain bonnet in case of a sudden wind or rain shower. The woman was purely paranoid about wet hair.

I glanced at the wavering gas gauge. Did I need fuel or not? Any reputable rental service would have filled the tank, yet dare I chance it?

“I'll catch you later Aunt Ingrid. I'm supposed to be some-where in a few minutes.”

She blocked the drive. “I have a right to know when you're in town. I'm family, you know.”

“I know. Talk to you when I get back.” Good old Ingrid, she never changed. Through death, storms, and taxes, Ingrid held on to her “rights.”

I arrived at the vet clinic a little before nine. Vic glanced up, eyes widening, probably at seeing me up and around so early. “Hey. I thought you were supposed to sleep in?”

“I did. I usually get up at four-thirty.”

“You've got to be kidding. There really is a 4:30 a.m.?”

“It should be outlawed, but there is. I work the seven-to-three shift.”

He shook his head. “Better move back here. It's a slower pace.”

“Animals don't get sick at inconvenient times of the day here?”

He winked. “City ordinance. Nine to four-thirty, and then we cut it off.” He got up and poured me a cup of strong black coffee. I hated black coffee but drank it anyway.

“Let's drive over to the clinic and see how the blood sugar is this morning.”

“I know how it is—I have my Glucometer—”

“Doc says he wants to test you personally.”

I got into his pickup, and in a few minutes I was inside the clinic. I couldn't get sick while I was here. Sara would never forgive me if I stayed longer than my allotted time.

The reading was down, an acceptable ninety-two. I wanted to burst into song.

“No lasting effect from your Coke fight?” Vic grinned.

I was far too old for a girlish blush, but my cheeks didn't seem to know that. “None, and it was sugar-free Coke, not real Coke. I'm not that tough.”

A brow shot up. “Tough enough to eat my meat loaf tonight?”

Most women would recognize an invitation to dinner, but I wasn't most women. I was rusty at this man-woman business, and besides, this was Vic, and admittedly I do silly things. “Not
that
tough. Why don't I make lasagna?”

“Okay by me. What time?”

“Provided the stove will light? Six. That too early?”

“I'll be there. What can I bring?”

“An appetite.”

He drove me back to the vet clinic, and I left a few minutes later, humming. I liked lasagna. Hadn't had it in a month, and dinner—an innocent dinner with an old friend—had nothing to do with my sudden burst of well-being.

I doubled back to a convenience store some five miles away, not wanting to bump into anyone until last night's debacle had faded from memory.

On second thought, I couldn't stay hidden that long.

I reached for the cell phone and punched in the number for a plumber that I'd gotten from an old telephone directory at Beth's house. Here's hoping the place was still in business. The line rang ten times before someone finally picked up.

“Yup?”

“Kelo Plumbing?”

“Yup.”

“I need a hot water heater replaced, and a drippy kitchen faucet repaired. Can you help?”

“Yup.”

I rattled off the address. “Know where that is?”

“Yup. You Herman's kid?”

And so it begins
. “Can you come today?”

“Nope.”

“Monday?”

“Yup. Afternoon. Late.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Yup.”

I clicked off, humming a tune at my progress. Now all I had to do was find a ceiling man and a roofer who could talk in complete sentences.

Mayer's Quick Shop was like any home-owned stop-and-shop. I pulled up to the pump and filled my gas tank, enjoying morning sunshine and the lack of traffic. Parnass Springs's slower pace suited me just fine. Ingrid and Beth's great-great grandfather had founded the town and built the covered bridge. The town drew a fair amount of tourists with the historical landmark and trendy gift shops.

I browsed the shelves, picking up basic food items: milk, bread, eggs, canned goods, D-Con, and mouse traps, plus stuff for lasagna. I was looking forward to the impromptu dinner date. Vic was still the only man who made me giddy.

Yeah, giddy.

The thirtysomething lady behind the counter had long, straight brown hair, and braces on her teeth accentuating a friendly smile. She totaled my purchases and raised her eyebrows. “Will that be all?”

“Yes. No…wait.” My nose detected fresh doughnuts. Not Krispy Kreme, but close. “I'll take a dozen glazed.”

Not on my diet, but one wouldn't hurt. The sugary fragrance tormented me on the drive home.

Back at Aunt Beth's house I washed the cabinet shelves and put away the groceries. The plumber had recognized my address. That didn't surprise me, but I'd hoped the memory of Herman had faded. I'd loved Herman, of course I had, but a part of me resented him. And yes, a bigger part of me was ashamed of him. One didn't easily overcome the stigma of a father accused of molesting a young woman.

“Herman isn't all there.” Ingrid's words from so long ago rang in my ears. “You have to be kind to your father—he has the mind of a seven-year-old.”

Unfortunately, he also had a youth's hormones. So it was that Herman Moss, Aunt Ingrid's stepson, impregnated a girl living in the same assisted-living home. The result? Me. Marlene Moss—innocent victim of a mentally challenged couple. Some insisted Herman had molested the girl, but Ingrid vehemently denied the charge. Herman was simple, not a pervert.

Ingrid and Eugene allowed the pregnancy and refused to discuss adoption. Why Ingrid and Beth wanted to raise Herman's child was beyond me, but maybe that was the answer: they both wanted
their
way and their way was me. Both women were strong pro-lifers. The girl's family favored adoption, but Ingrid and Beth fought for Herman's “parental” rights. Though Herman certainly couldn't raise me, neither could the young woman involved. After custody was awarded to my aunts, my mother was immediately moved to another facility.

I was left to face collateral damage. Namely me, Aunt Ingrid, and Aunt Beth.

Parnass Springs was a close-knit town, and the incident created a real scandal. Cruel accusations flew back and forth about Herman, the funny man that stood head and shoulders above others, whose front teeth hung over his bottom lip. Who was loud. So loud. People excused his unacceptable behavior because of his innocence, and Aunt Beth and Ingrid upheld their decision. For unfeeling women, they showed unusual compassion to an infant who had no say in the matter.

I shook the uninvited memories away, surprised they were still so strong. I wasn't going to think about Herman. That part of my life was over.

On impulse I picked up the box of doughnuts and walked across the street. The parsonage hadn't changed much, and neither had the small white clapboard church with the narrow steeple. I pictured the polished solid-oak pews, the round white globe light fixtures, and the oak cross at the back of the baptistery. The church was as familiar to me as Aunt Beth's house.

I stepped up to the porch and knocked. Joe Brewster answered. We studied each other for a moment. He was older; his hair as white as the clouds skipping overhead, but his sturdy frame was unbowed. Warm brown eyes still saw through my facade right to the heart. His smile was as genuine and full of mischief as the day I'd left all those many years ago. I walked into his arms. He hugged me close and I hugged him back.

“Marlene. Let me look at you.”

I smiled, knowing what he would see. The passing years hadn't been kind to the young woman he'd known. A wayward husband, raising a daughter alone, keeping the wolf from the door—it all took a toll. But neither Joe nor Vic knew my secret. Nor, for that matter, did anyone else in Parnass Springs.

I assumed when Vic married Julie that I'd lost him forever. By then I'd dug myself in so deep with my made-up stories that I didn't know how to find my way back to the truth.

Joe kissed my forehead. “Still pretty as a picture. Come on in here, little one. You've stayed away too long.”

The warmth of his greeting wrapped around me like a favorite blanket. I floated over the threshold and into the kitchen on a wave of goodwill.

“Are those doughnuts I smell?” Joe bustled about the small kitchen, clearing a place at the cluttered table.

I stared at the contraption that looked like a modern moonshine still sitting on the kitchen counter. Coffee bubbled through coiled glass tubing before rushing into the waiting cup.

“What is that?”

“My latest invention.” He grinned. “State-of-the-art cof-feemaker. Does everything but put it in a saucer and blow on it. It double filters the coffee so it's extra pure, even adds cream and sugar.”

“Extra pure. How about that.” I sipped from the cup he handed me and made appropriate lip-smacking noises, rolling my eyes. “Heavenly. So, you're still inventing?”

“Vic swears the machine is nuts, but with a little more tinkering, I can get the bugs worked out. The widow Hanks wasn't too pleased with my new back scratcher, but that woman doesn't appreciate what it takes to come up with hightech quality.”

I choked on my coffee. “What happened?”

“Well shoot, the thing almost took the hide off her back. I had a bolt set a little too loose and it slipped into high gear. Got to scratching a bit too furious and Verna got all vexed. Said it clawed like a riled cat.”

I burst out laughing. If Verna Hanks was anything like I remembered, I'd bet Joe got a tongue-lashing he hadn't forgotten. “Was she upset?”

“You could say that, but there wasn't any reason for her to call me a menace to society. I offered to give her money back.”

He filtered another cup of coffee. There were similarities in father and son's features, but Vic favored his mother. Odd. Vic and I had talked every New Year's Eve—hadn't missed a year since the day I left Parnass Springs. I'd kept up on everything going on in town, and what Vic hadn't told me, Aunt Beth and Ingrid had. Yet I hadn't seen him in what? Twelve years? Not since he'd been in Chicago for a veterinary convention and I met him for dinner downtown. We'd talked for hours. Noel had left me, but my pride wouldn't allow me to tell Vic that I'd made a terrible mistake by leaving Parnass and him. Besides, by then he was happily settled with Julie.

That night was crystal clear in my mind, the night I'd first deceived this man. I was crazy, confused, so happy to see him, but sick at heart that I had made the biggest mistake of my life by walking away and marrying Noel. Of course the subject came up over dinner.

Stirring his coffee, Vic had faced me, solemn faced. “You loved Noel enough to run away and marry him? Without talking to me? That hurt, Marlene.”