There was nothing friendly about the office; everything was either black or white. Like the law. “I have an appointment with Miss Schleicher,” Ida told the receptionist.
The girl turned her head, whispered something into a small mouthpiece, then turned back. “She’ll be with you shortly. Have a seat.” She pointed to the black leather sofa.
Ida could have gone to Jack Muller, the only attorney in Rose Hill. But she was never comfortable with Jack. He wasn’t a person she could talk to easily. She’d be in the middle of explaining a problem and Jack’s eyes would be darting back and forth, like he was looking for somebody better to talk to or lightning to strike.
For years Big Jim did business with Jack Senior and everything was fine. Then Jack retired, and Junior took over the law practice. Junior wasn’t like his daddy. Jack Senior measured every man by his own worth, but Junior was the type to butter his bread on both sides. He’d gone to school with James, and if push came to shove he’d have his hand out ready to side with James. No, it was better this way.
Susan Schleicher had a good reputation, and she’d come highly recommended. Georgiann Hennley swore without Susan’s help her father-in-law would have lost his business. And Linda Moore said Susan single-handedly prevented a highway from slicing through Maryellen Pallow’s backyard.
This wasn’t something Ida was jumping into blindly. Five different people had said the same thing. Susan Schleicher was ethical. Susan Schleicher was reliable. If you needed a lawyer, Susan Schleicher was the person you wanted.
Within minutes, an attractive blond woman came from behind the wooden door. “Good afternoon, Missus Sweetwater.” She extended her hand. “I’m Susan Schleicher.”
Ida knew immediately she’d made a wise choice.
~ ~ ~
When they settled in Susan’s office Ida explained her intent. “The only real asset I have is the house Big Jim built, but it’s sturdy and strong…”
Susan’s eyes focused on Ida’s face as she spoke, but her right hand moved with short quick strokes as she noted the things that were said. When Ida finished speaking, Susan said, “I doubt there’s a problem here. Are you certain you feel comfortable with the girl’s claim that she’s your granddaughter?”
“She didn’t claim it,” Ida said. “I sought her out.”
“And your son is not, or was not, married to the girl’s mother?”
Ida shook her head sadly. “You raise kids thinking you’ve taught them right from wrong, believing you’ve done the best for them, but sometimes our best just isn’t good enough.”
Susan reached across the desk and covered Ida’s hand with hers. “I know this is hard, but once the doctor cuts the umbilical cord that baby is no longer part of you. They grow up with their own likes and dislikes, and when they wander off it’s through no fault of ours.” Her words had the sorrowful sound of someone who had lived through such an experience.
“We’ll specify a token inheritance for your son,” she said, “which will acknowledge that he was taken into consideration. Then you can bequeath the remainder of your estate, including the house and land, to your granddaughter.”
And that’s how Ida Sweetwater’s will was drawn up. Thirty dollars would go to her son James, one silver dollar for every year of heartache he’d caused. Thirty pieces of silver, it was written.
Everything else she owned would go to Caroline.
~ ~ ~
When Ida left Susan’s office she stopped at the bookstore and purchased a copy of the new Betty Crocker Good and Easy Cookbook. It was time for Caroline to learn to cook.
~ ~ ~
That evening when Caroline asked if help was needed in the kitchen, Ida answered yes and handed her the cookbook.
“We’ll start with something simple,” Ida said. “A macaroni-and-cheese casserole.”
Caroline’s eyes lit up. “I can make that! I’ve done it for years.”
For a moment Ida was optimistic, thinking she’d misjudged the child, but when she set the ingredients on the counter Caroline stood there with a confused look.
“Where’s the package?”
“Package?” Ida said. “What package?”
“The one with the macaroni and cheese mix.”
Ida gave a chuckle, then explained how food tasted so much better when it was made from fresh ingredients. She opened the cookbook to “Dinner in a Dish” and thumbed her way through to page 42. “This is a good recipe and easy to make.”
Although Caroline had a dubious look on her face, she took the cookbook and began reading. Twice she read it through, then started. Whereas Ida cooked with a dash of this, a pinch of that, and handful of something else, Caroline measured every single ingredient right down to a few granules of salt or a single peppercorn.
“You don’t need to be that exact,” Ida suggested, but Caroline replied that she wanted to make certain it turned out right.
When the clock chimed six, Caroline was just sliding the casserole into the oven.
“Oh, dear.” Ida sighed when she saw Louie already sitting at the table. She pulled some sliced chicken from the refrigerator, tucked it between two slices of bread, and carried it to the dining room. Offering him the sandwich, she said, “Caroline is making dinner, and we’re running a bit late. This will tide you over.”
Louie scowled at the plate. “A sandwich for supper?”
“It’s not supper,” Ida said. “It’s just an in-between snack.”
“Oh. When’s supper?”
“In about a half-hour,” Ida replied. “I’ll ring the bell.”
~ ~ ~
With Caroline trimming the ends off the string beans one at a time, it took considerably longer than Ida expected and it was almost seven when she finally jangled the dinner bell. Other than a bit of grumbling about the time and Louie’s comment that Ida’s macaroni was a lot cheesier, the dinner went along fine.
As she was drying the last of the dishes, Caroline puffed up with pride and said, “I guess I’m not such a bad cook after all.”
Ida laughed and wrapped her arms around the girl. “Don’t you worry, honey. In a year or two you’ll be better than me.”
Although she enjoyed the vote of confidence, Caroline doubted such a thing was true.
Caroline
Have you ever been in a place where everything seemed so perfect you started thinking it was too good to be true? Just about time you start pinching yourself and wondering if it’s real, that’s when it all blows up in your face and what you thought was the worst that could happen, happens. That’s how I’m feeling right now. Mostly happy but a little bit scared.
I love being here, and Grandma Ida is really good to me. She makes me feel like she’s loved me all my life. She says she did. She tells me stories about how she used to dream of having a little granddaughter and all the wonderful things they’d do.
I sure do wish she’d found me when I was a kid. We would have done all those wonderful things for sure, but like Mama used to say, if wishes were horses, we’d be riding instead of wearing out our shoe leather.
Grandma Ida is really patient about teaching me to cook; that’s why I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t like it. I like being with her and doing things but not the cooking. It’s such a temporary thing. You slave over a hot stove and spend hours making a delicious meal. Then you dress up the table with a fine linen cloth and fancy napkins, thinking it’s going to be a wonderful event. But it isn’t. People come, eat dinner, then leave to go do whatever pleases them, and all you’ve got is a big pile of laundry and a bunch of dirty dishes.
One time I asked Grandma if it wouldn’t be a lot less work to send out for a pizza or something, and she laughed like I’d told the best joke ever.
She said cooking wasn’t work. It was her way of showing people how much she loves them. With all the cooking Grandma does, it’s obvious that she’s got plenty of love to give.
Right now I’m lucky to be getting a share of that love, but I’m hoping t
his isn’t another one of those times when I’m gonna wake up and find out it really was too good to be true.
In The Days That Followed
Three days after Ida returned from South Rockdale, the notarized will appeared in her mailbox. Her intent was to discuss the matter with Caroline, explain that regardless of what happened in the future she’d be taken care of. Ida slid the envelope from Susan Schleicher between the stack of kitchen towels and potholders at the bottom of a drawer.
“Later,” she said and moved on to slicing peaches for the day’s pies. The subject she’d have to discuss was death, and she simply wasn’t ready to look death in the face.
That evening Caroline’s cooking lesson was spaghetti with fat, round meatballs. It was a recipe Ida perfected over the years. Perfected, yes; written down, no.
“It’s easy as pie,” she said, but since Caroline had witnessed Ida’s pie-making ritual that did little to dissuade her fears. Having had a fairly good response with her Betty Crocker macaroni and cheese Caroline would have felt far more comfortable with returning to something that had carefully measured ingredients, but Ida seemed intent on the spaghetti.
“Start with a few cans of tomatoes, a can or two of paste, some fresh basil—”
“Few? Some?” Caroline repeated. “By a few cans, do you mean two, three, or four?”
“It all depends on how much sauce you want to make.”
Although Caroline finally got the sauce mixed and simmering on the back burner, she was nowhere near comfortable with the process. The meatballs fared no better. With pinches and dashes of one thing or another, Caroline knew she could never again prepare such a dish without written instructions. Next time she’d bring a pad and pencil to the kitchen and copy things down in a step-by-step manner.
The following evening Caroline came carrying a pad and pencil, but stopping to write down every single step proved cumbersome and time consuming. That evening supper was again late.
“Maybe we’d better return to using the cookbook,” Ida suggested.
Caroline agreed.
~ ~ ~
And so it went for the next two weeks. At times the sauce was runny or the meat well done, but Caroline was learning and the residents could be forgiving because Ida always served one of her delicious homemade pies for dessert.
The night Caroline cooked up a pot of chili with beef chunks everyone agreed it was her best yet, but the dish gave Ida a serious case of indigestion. After chewing a handful of Tums, it was no better. Figuring a good night’s rest would take care of the problem, Ida retired early.
For a long time she could not fall asleep; the acid roiled through her chest and angrily pushed its way into her throat. At midnight Ida climbed from the bed, chewed another handful of Tums, and swallowed the last sleeping pill Doctor Morgenstern had prescribed after Big Jim’s death. When she finally fell asleep Ida was thinking of Jim, remembering the good times and lonely for the warmth of his body beside her.
He was in her mind when she drifted off, and he reappeared in a dream sweeter than any she’d ever known.
In the dream they were both young and so very in love. Jim wrapped his arm around her, and she held an infant in her arms. They were encased in a protective bubble where the air was filled with happiness. It was a world of their own, a world where none of the happiness could leak out and nothing bad could seep in. The young Ida looked up at Jim, and he bent to touch his lips to hers. In that single moment, the infant became a boy and the boy turned into a young man.
Then everything changed. Angry words filled the bubble, and the young man shot a fist through the glass that held them together. As the glass shattered, Ida felt a sharp pain ricochet through her body. It lasted for a few moments, and when the pain stopped the boy was gone. Jim was once again holding her in his arms.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
Ida felt herself relax into his arms, and the peaceful happiness returned.
~ ~ ~
When Ida was not in the kitchen the next morning, Caroline set a pot of coffee on to brew. Although she knew how to make it, the residents often complained that her coffee was thick as mud or weak as water. As the coffee brewed she set the dishes on the table, scrambled a dozen eggs in a bowl, unwrapped a pound of bacon, and placed the strips side by side across the griddle.
It was almost eight when Louie came into the kitchen and found Caroline sitting in the chair leafing through a recent issue of Home and Garden.
“Why ain’t there no breakfast on the table?”
“I’m waiting for Grandma,” Caroline answered. “She does the biscuits.”
“It’s eight o’clock!” Louie said. “Go get her.”
Caroline wrinkled her brow. “If she’s still sleeping, I don’t think—”
“Look,” Louie replied impatiently, “if you don’t go get her, I will!”
“Okay, okay.” Caroline stood and started toward the hall. “Looks like you could be a bit more patient,” she grumbled.
Louie’s words followed her up the stairs. “I been patient for an hour!”
~ ~ ~
Caroline rapped on Ida’s door, softly at first, then firmly. After several minutes of getting no answer, she cracked the door open. “Grandma?”
No answer.
“Grandma?” she repeated in a loud voice.
Still no answer.
Caroline pushed the door open and rushed to the bed. “Grandma?” Her voice turned panicky and fearful. She bent to shake Ida, but her hand touched icy cold skin. Caroline let out a scream that could be heard several towns away.
Within moments several of the residents stood behind her.
“Call an ambulance!” Caroline shouted. She was still trying to shake Ida awake.
Doctor Payne pushed through the group and reached for Ida’s arm. He may have only been a dentist, but he knew how to take a pulse and he knew that when one was missing the person was already dead.
“It’s too late,” Payne said. “Ida’s gone.”
“No!” Caroline screamed. “It can’t be!” She threw herself across the bed and clung to Ida’s body. “Please wake up, Grandma,” she begged. “Please…”
With streams of tears rolling down his face, Wilbur stepped forward and reached for Caroline. He lifted her from the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Go ahead and cry. I know how much it hurts.” The sorrow in his words was as great as hers.
~ ~ ~
That morning the coffee went untouched, the bacon remained uncooked, and the eggs sat in the bowl until they started to give off an odor. No one had any appetite, not even Louie.
Caroline was inconsolable. After the ambulance came and took Ida away, she ran to her room and slammed the door shut. All afternoon and for miles around you could hear her howling like a wounded bear.
By morning of the next day, a silence had settled over the house that was in many ways worse than the howling. It was the kind of sorrow that spread from person to person and carved deep scars in everyone it touched.
The residents of the house gathered in sad little clusters, grieving for what they’d lost. Each of them had come to the house looking for a bed to sleep in, nothing more. But through the months they had morphed into a family. Ida’s family. Now she was gone, and the pain of having loved her was everywhere.
Caroline’s heartbreak was visible in her swollen eyes, the dryness of her lips, and the unkempt look of her hair. Wilbur’s pain was great, equal to Caroline’s, but he stood strong. It’s what Ida would have wanted, he told himself.
He thought back on the evenings they sat together on the porch swing, long after the others had gone off in pursuit of their pleasures. He had fallen in love with Ida. Not the youthful type of love that flared with passion, but an elderly love. A love that softened the ravages of time and disguised itself as a helping hand or listening ear. A love that was different but no less deep.
Not once had he told Ida of his feeling, and now it would remain forever untold
. It was too late for words. The only way Wilbur could again express his love would be to watch over Ida’s granddaughter, a girl blinded by the same grief he felt. Yes, he had to remain strong; it was his final act of love.
Wilbur Washington
The problem with life is that it’s so damn temporary. You always think there’s going to be another day following the one you’re enjoying, but sometimes there isn’t.
There were a million things I wanted to say to Ida but never did. Not big flowery statements but mentions of all the little everyday reasons I loved her.
A few days ago I was watching as she got a peach pie ready for the oven. It was all put together, but before she slid it in to bake she pressed a fork around the edge of the crust and made fancy-looking ruffles. I wanted to say doing things like that is what’s so special about her, but Louie walked in and I swallowed my words. Now I could kick myself for not speaking up. I should have said what I had to say and let tongues waggle if they wanted to.
The irony of life is that we’re quick to tell people what we don’t like about them, but we hold back on saying how special or wonderful they are. Instead of letting someone know what’s in our heart, we wait until they’re gone then stand around crying and thinking of all the things we should’ve said.
I’m just like everybody else; I spent all these days waiting for the right time to say something special. Then when that time came around I let it pass me by. Once a moment is gone, it’s gone forever. You can wait and hope it will come around again, but it seldom does.
The painful truth is I should have spoken up while I still had the chance. I should have taken hold of her hand and said, Ida Sweetwater, I’m in love with you.
I held off because I thought it might sound silly, a man of my age speaking such words. Looking back, I can see how wrong that thinking was. You’re never too old to love someone, and there’s never a wrong time for telling them so.
I never said it, but I hope to God Ida knew how much I loved her.
Previously Loved Treasures Page 9