Simple Gifts

by Lori Copeland

  “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 ki
ssed 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.

  Vic laughed. “A little different from Glen Ellyn, I guess.”

  “Very different.”

  “Bored?”

  “Not in the least.” Truth be told, I was in heaven; I hated the thought of going home almost as much as I missed Sara and my grandbabies.

  A carload of teenagers passed, radio cranked to the max. “Reminds me of the way we used to hang out.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. Those were the days, huh?”

  “How’s Noel?”

  I licked the stick clean and disposed of it in the nearby trash receptacle. “Now I’m cold.”

  “I can remedy that.” He hooked an arm around my neck like he had so many years ago, a brotherly gesture, and we set off for home. I hadn’t answered his question. I didn’t intend to.

  “Ever feel like we’re getting old, Marlene?”

  “All the time.” I pressed closer. How could I get any older than I felt right now? Where had the years gone? Why had I thought my plan for my life was wiser than God’s?

  “You know, when we were kids we didn’t think much about life. We had it all ahead of us. We thought it would all be good. Coming up roses.”

  “Turned out to have a little crabgrass mixed in.”

  He leaned closer and grinned. “We’re not old. We’re in our prime; the best is yet to come.”

  I laughed. “Nice try, but I know baloney when I hear it.”

  “I mean it. There’s something to be said for experience. Kids think they know everything, but they only know enough to mislead and confuse them. They don’t start to live until life throws them a few curveballs.”

  “Hummm.” I’d had my share of curveballs and sliders. I missed my naiveté.

  “Your life hasn’t been all laughs?”

  Ha! “I can’t complain. Sara’s been a blessing.”

  “If she’s anything like you, she must be great.”

  I studied the way one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other when he smiled, the familiar planes in his face—how I’d missed him. So much that it hurt. With some effort I pulled my attention back to the conversation. “She’s a little dependent on me.”

  Like a leech, a barnacle on a ship’s hull, a piece of lichen on a rock. Why had I never insisted she stand on her own feet? I stopped, stunned that I could think such thoughts about my darling daughter. But her dependence on me was a reality I couldn’t deny.

  Vic didn’t appear to notice my lapse. He pointed to the white church, steeple pricking the dark velvet sky. “I took God for granted when I was young. After Julie died, I saw him differently.”

  I was a little surprised by the admission. I’d sensed a change in him for years, but we’d never talked about his spiritual awakening. Our conversations had always centered on the immediate. The Vic I remembered had been a little defiant where religion was concerned, determined to be one of the boys instead of the preacher’s kid.

  “I’m sorry about your wife. That wasn’t fair.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Life is seldom fair. They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger—or something to that effect. Losing Julie nearly killed me, but it also made me stop and examine my life. Priorities. You know—the prodigal son returneth.” He grinned. “I always knew Dad was right about God. I was even proud of him and the solid beliefs he held, but I was a kid. Faith didn’t mean a lot to me then, but it does now.”

  I’d done a fair share of scrutinizing my own situation when Noel left, and I had lived with a bitter heart. Now I couldn’t help wondering…How could I have let one person spoil a large part of my life? Well, two, if you counted Herman.

  Either way, I was about to decide bitterness wasn’t worth it. It was like living on bacon cheeseburgers and hoping the other guy had the heart attack.

  While Vic had grown spiritually stronger, I’d moved away from the church. Oh, I still believed in God. I sure had called on him in hard times, but when I married Noel, we’d both worked, and we never had time for church. Free Sundays were spent in worldly pursuits. I gradually slipped away.

  Then there was always this animosity in me. If only I hadn’t wanted to leave my father and past behind; if only I had made smarter choices in a mate; if only I had stayed in Parnass; if only.

  I told myself that this was God’s plan for my life. Then I’d get mad at God.

  I glanced at my watch. “Look at the time. I need to be getting home. The plumber and roofer will be here early.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  My heart sank when I heard the humor in his voice. “You think they won’t come?”

  “Folks around here don’t get in any hurry. They mean well, but they have their own agendas. They may come and they may not.”

  “Never?”

  “No, they’ll come—just when they get around to it.”

  “I only have a few days to line up the work.”

  “Well, miracles happen.”

  Croak. What was that supposed to mean?

  I slid the key in Beth’s front lock. In the time I’d been here I’d managed to get the floors cleaned, the curtains washed and ironed, and even hauled out a couple of smaller rocks. My back was killing me. How was I to accomplish all I needed to do in what time I had left? No one would buy the house with a leaking roof. And the dripping faucets would leave rust stains on the sink, making it impossible to clean.

  “That you, Marlene?”

  The question penetrated the darkness, reminding me of the raven in the Edgar Allen Poe poem, the one that kept croaking “Nevermore.” I jumped, resisting the urge to demand “Who goes there?”

  “It’s me, Ingrid.” She’d basically left me alone since I’d been back—but then, she was like that, unless she wanted something. I couldn’t imagine what she’d want, but I knew something was on her mind if she was out after dark.

  Her imposing figure stepped from the shadows—tall, fairly wide, red hair pulle
d back in a long braid and tightly secured by her plastic rain bonnet. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Matriarch of Parnass Springs, ruling with a firm, if not always tactful, hand.

  The last person I wanted to see tonight.

  She strode across the wet grass, garbed in a pink flannel gown with a rose print and a ratty green terry-cloth robe. She hadn’t changed much. She was older, of course—ninety-two now. Maybe a tad plumper, but I’d be willing to bet those blue eyes never missed a thing.

  I sat down on the porch swing and waited.

  She marched across the lawn, and I gave thanks she hadn’t heard about my entrance to town—or if she had, she hadn’t demanded to know why I’d disgraced her. She’d have seen through my phony act in a second. I’d never been able to fool her.

  She climbed the steps and settled on the swing beside me. The seat sagged beneath her bulk. “Don’t know where you disappear to for such long periods.”

  I resisted the urge to say she didn’t need to know. She always said her age gave her the right to pry, but I knew from experience, give her an inch, and she’d take the whole yardstick.

  “I went to services.”

  “I wasn’t there,” Ingrid stated.

  “I noticed.”

  “Don’t be smart with me. I go occasionally.”

  We sat in the silence. What did she want?

  She peered at me over her glasses. “Joe long-winded tonight?”

  “Not at all. His sermon was very inspiring.”

  “Vic, there?”

  “He wasn’t at the service. I saw him later.”

  “You’re a married woman.”

  Was she worried about Noel? Why? She’d never been concerned about him before.

  “Vic’s an old friend, nothing more.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  Why the interrogation? I knew Aunt Ingrid was suspicious of every man, but this was ridiculous.

  “Well, he’s a good man,” she said. “He didn’t turn his back on the place where he grew up, like some I could name.”

  Yeah, yeah, bad ole Marlene. “I didn’t have a choice.” I was desperate to get away from Herman, but I couldn’t tell her that. “Vic did.”