White-hot heat flooded my face. “That was the problem. He was always around. Underfoot. Didn’t that bother you? It bothered other people.”
“Did it bother you?”
“No.” I paused. “Sometimes, but I loved him, Vic. I’m beginning to realize how much, and I was family. He was my responsibility.”
“Yours?” He chuckled. “He thought you were his responsibility, and he worried about it.”
“Impossible. He was a child. He knew only childish things. It was my and Ingrid’s responsibility to keep people from hurting him, and we tried. But as much as the people in this town loved him, we heard the whispers and saw the stares.”
I could just see it now. If I let them put up a statue of Herman, the stories would flow.
“I remember the time Herman went to Marlene’s prom and danced with all her friends. She must have been so embarrassed!”…“He molested that young woman.”
The ugly taunts I remembered well—too well. Herman was at peace. I wanted him to remain that way. No statue.
Vic reached over and grasped my hand. Electrical currents shot through me as I met his eyes, emotion tightening my throat. “You don’t have to convince me. I knew how you felt about Herman.”
“Did you?” I’d sensed that deep down he hadn’t known, that he had questioned my feelings. My love for my father was obligatory, and yes, that love mixed with embarrassment had ruled my life. But I was over that now. I’d started to see Herman in a new light.
And no one, including me, was going to ridicule him again.
Ingrid tired shortly after the picnic and wanted to go home before the fireworks started. That was okay with me; I was bushed. I settled her, then went home and curled up on Aunt Beth’s sofa, prepared to watch an old Hepburn movie. The cell phone interrupted my plans.
“Mrs. Queens?”
“Yes?” I’d expected Sara. This was a male voice, sort of gruff, not young.
“Winston Little.”
“Ah, yes.” And who was Winston Little? If I was supposed to remember him, I’d dropped the ball. Maybe Aunt Ingrid’s mental confusion was contagious.
“Chairman of the statue committee?”
“The who…what?” The statue. In my furor, I’d completely forgotten the statue.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. We’ve much to talk about.”
I couldn’t think of a thing to say unless it was a declaration that they were going to build a statue of Herman over my dead body. I didn’t care what Mr. Little wanted; I had a few wants myself.
“Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
I searched for an excuse, trying to come up with a reason why I was occupied. I could say I was going to Joe’s party, but that wasn’t until evening. Unfortunately, I was brain-dead, and Mr. Little moved into the gap.
“What about now? I know it’s getting late, but we can be there in a few minutes.”
“Be where?”
“At your house—we’d be glad to meet you there.”
And let them see the tattered, sun-rotted drapes downstairs, the stained ceiling that hadn’t been replaced yet, the dripping faucet and cracked wallpaper; the rocks still crowding the living room. No way were they going to meet here tonight, after the day I’d had. “I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible.” Besides, I didn’t want a meeting.
Mr. Little seemed to expect my objection. “I see. Well, we can move to plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“I always have a plan B. In case I need a backup.”
I had a hunch Winston Little would. “And what is plan B?”
“We’ll meet at the shelter Monday morning. Is nine o’clock a good time? We have a magnificent meeting room. Just pull to the rear and park.”
Before I could object, the man hung up. I stared at the wall for a couple of seconds before pulling myself together enough to replace the receiver in the cradle.
Sunday night I still hadn’t cooled. I wanted to talk to Joe, but I didn’t want to dampen his celebration. After forty years shepherding one town, he deserved the spotlight tonight. With few exceptions, the town turned out to help celebrate the pastor. Vic was chatting with Lana Hughes in a quiet corner. The sudden jealousy stunned me. He had every right to see Lana, and probably, if I were picking an ideal woman for the man I once loved more than life, Lana would be a top contender. But I wasn’t picking his wife. I was grieving my foolishness while smiling, keeping a stiff upper lip, attending his father’s retirement party, sipping punch, and trying to avoid the constant stream of advice bombarding me from well-meaning acquaintances.
“Don’t blame you a bit for refusing the statue, Marlene.” Joanie Miller, one of Joe’s flock, winked. “I say, let sleeping dogs lie.”
Woof, woof.
“Marlene, honey!” Shirley Lott, Joe’s neighbor, cornered me at the punch bowl. “Everybody loved Herman. He was an angel among us. He’ll never be forgotten. Erect the statue, sweetie.”
Nodding, I smiled and moved on to seek privacy in a small alcove. I started when someone whispered in my ear. “How come the prettiest girl in the room is hiding?”
I turned and went into Joe’s arms. “Oh, Joe, it’s so hard.”
“What’s hard, honey?”
Straightening, I waved my hand, fanning away superfluous tears. I couldn’t tell him it was excruciating to watch Vic with another woman. I was supposedly married to Noel. Why had I ever started—or worse, continued— the senseless deception? Pride. Your pride, Marlene. The day, the weekend, had been too much—too many unwanted memories to deal with.
Taking my arm, Joe threaded me through the crowd and out the front door. Flashes of lightning lit the west; a welcome breeze ruffled new foliage. He pulled his hankie from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “Did you see Fred Faraday? I know he wanted to say hi.”
I wiped my nose. The Faradays had been Ingrid and Joe’s neighbors for years. Fred’s motor scooter was his pride and joy. When I was little I used to say I was going to buy a scooter just like Fred’s when I grew up. He’d taken me for rides around the block on long summer nights. I loved riding so much that I graduated to dirt bikes and motorcycles, and by the time I was fifteen, I knew how to ride a cycle as well as most men. Between Vic’s and Fred’s wheels, I was a born biker. “I haven’t seen him, but I will.”
“Want to rant?”
I sniffed, wiping at moisture in my eyes. “It’s your celebration. I don’t want to spoil it.”
“You’re my best girl. You’d never spoil anything for me.” He took my hand and sat me down on the bench. “It’s all this talk about Herman, isn’t it?”
“I loved him, Joe.”
He nodded, thoughtful now. “Of course you did. And he knew it, Marlene. But he also knew he wasn’t the typical parent. And you knew he wasn’t the typical father, and at times you felt cheated.”
True. Cheated, distressed, and confused. Why had God picked me to be born to two simpleminded people who weren’t capable of parenting? Who couldn’t even blow their noses without help? Other kids had wonderful homes with fathers who didn’t embarrass them with childish acts. Mothers who cooked pot roast and mashed potatoes. My mother…well, I’d never met my mother. Never wanted to meet her. I knew practically nothing about her except the occasional overheard conversation between Ingrid and Beth. I knew the woman’s family highly resented Herman and his perpetrated act on their helpless daughter. Maybe that’s why they never sought grandparents’ rights with me. Odd, though. My mother was their only child. One would think they’d have relished a granddaughter, a healthy child capable of giving and receiving love.
“The distasteful matter is over and done.” Ingrid had repeated the Parishes’ words to Beth, unaware that I was listening in the next room. “The child is dead to us.”
That would be me. Marlene. Dead. Not exactly doting grandparent chatter.
I blew my nose. “Am I wrong, Joe? Should I let them put a statue of Herman on the animal-shelter lawn?”
>
“I think the gesture is appropriate, not meant for harm, but I suspect you don’t want to reopen old wounds. Am I correct?”
“I’m not worried about my wounds; I’ve moved past that. I think I understand Herman and his ways more now than I did then, but I’m afraid the town hasn’t changed. They might have loved Herman, but behind his back they whispered unkind things—things I heard and that he heard.”
“Ah yes. Words are like swords. If only we thought before we spoke. Well, in the end you’ll make the decision. He was your father.”
“And Ingrid’s stepson.” Could I deprive an old woman of her memories? Her needs? I didn’t see how I could. Joe shook his head. “That woman needs to stay out of this.”
“Have you ever known Ingrid to stay out of anything? She’ll be paralyzed for the rest of her life if that replica of Herman isn’t sitting on the shelter lawn this fall.”
Suddenly the bench we were sitting on tilted. My hand flew to my forehead as the world spun, and I realized all I’d eaten today was toast, a piece of fruit, and a protein shake. My blood sugar was going through the floor.
“Are you okay?”
I managed to tell Joe what was happening, and he took hold of my trembling fingers. “Come on. We need to get something solid in your stomach. You need to take care of yourself, Marlene. Vic’s worried about you.”
I let him lead me over to the food table. “What’s he afraid of? I’ll get hoof-and-mouth disease?”
“Heavens, no. If that happened, he could shoot you and put you out of your misery. No, I’m afraid the situation you’re facing with Ingrid is far more worrisome.”
Monday, I was up early, ready to do battle. I’d go to the meeting and make my position crystal clear. No statue. No way, definitely not. Herman had been my father, and I may have resented the fact, but that didn’t mean I was going to let the town make him an object of ridicule. A statue. Something for pigeons to roost on and young hoodlums to deface. Nobody was going to make a mockery of Herman—not if I had anything to say about it. I reached for my toothbrush.
Dressed in jeans and T-shirt beneath a long-sleeved shirt to protect my bare arms from the crisp spring air, I headed for the animal shelter. I’d had to call Vic for directions. His last words shook me. “Be kind, Marlene. They’re doing a commendable thing.”
Right. Kind but firm.
The shelter wasn’t hard to find. Very nice, very costly, with glass and marble accoutrements. Herman must have donated a hefty sum for the building. I sat in the car for a full minute before getting out. My reflection in the freshly cleansed glass of the building was anything but reassuring. Funny, when I worked at the hospital, I looked fairly savvy. Once I hit Parnass Springs, I’d seriously regressed. Right now I looked like Aunt Beth on one of her tackiest days. Apparently I should have taken more time with my appearance.
A small man with snow-white hair and a handlebar mustache met me at the door. “Mrs. Queens? I’m Winston Little.”
We shook hands, and I was surprised at the firm grip. Two women sat at the glass table. The elderly woman who occupied the head of the table was dressed in a gray suit, a black fedora, a necklace of red beads, a pin shaped like a red rose fastened to her lapel, and rings on every finger.
I stared at her, fascinated. Had people in Parnass Springs taken to wearing hats? I’d not seen one in years, except on the heads of the female members of England’s royal family. American women had fought their revolution, and we were, for the most part, hat free. She wore the feathery frivolity cocked at a rakish angle.
A second female lifted her eyes. “Lily Lippit, and this is Millicent Spencer. We’re the remaining committee members.”
Lily was the exact opposite of Millicent. Her beige suit with a pale yellow blouse blended into the woodwork. She had salt-and-pepper hair that curled in a short mop. I had to look twice to see if she was breathing.
I shook hands all around and took a seat, determined to dispense with the meeting as promptly as manners allowed. Winston adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and looked over his notes. “Now, Mrs. Queens, we’ve given the matter extensive thought, and I believe we’re prepared to make suggestions you’ll favor regarding your father’s statue.”
Your father.
The words had been voiced so seldom, I barely registered the fact they were talking to me.
Millicent tilted her head and looked down her aristocratic nose at me. “You understand that we represent the shelter, as well as the town of Parnass Springs, Mrs. Queens. We believe we have a solid understanding of what the town desires.”
Her white hair stuck out from around the hat, and her blue eyes zeroed in on me with all the intensity of twin beams of light. She reminded me of Mrs. Boswell, my fourth-grade teacher who had all the warmth and charm of an angleworm. Millicent and I were not destined to be bosom companions.
“That may be, but I believe that as Herman’s…daughter, I do have something to say about the matter.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Winston folded his hands in front of him. “Millicent didn’t mean anything out of line.”
The fish-eye glance she cast in his direction plainly said she would say whatever she pleased, take it or leave it.
Lily offered a smile and dropped her notebook. She reached down to get it and straightened, a little flushed with the effort. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us what you have in mind.”
“I have in mind closing this subject as of now,” I said grandly. “I am not in favor of erecting a statue to my father, now or ever.”
Winston gulped. “Oh, my. That won’t do. That won’t do at all.”
“I assume you’re not serious.” Millicent iced over like a neglected freezer. “The town wishes to build this statue of your father, and we have the funds, so of course we will erect it. I can’t imagine why you would object. It’s a commendable and noteworthy effort to honor the man who funded our beautiful, state-of-the-art humane society.”
I was so hot I could feel my eyeballs sizzle. “You will do no such thing. Not without my permission—which I’m not giving.” I knew how the town had made fun of Herman—-walking like him, talking—and spitting when they talked, like him. They might have meant the jests to be in fun, but they weren’t humorous to me or to my family. I may not have been an ideal daughter, but I could protect Herman from hurtful people.
Millicent didn’t back down. “Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice, young woman. I’ll have you know I drew the plans for that statue myself, with my nephew’s assistance.”
So she was an artist? Did that have anything to do with the flamboyant dress? “I’m sorry. The matter is not open for discussion.”
She leaned forward, her heavily penciled brows pinned to her hairline, but before she could blast me, Lily stepped in. “I suggest that we take couple of deep breaths. Mrs. Queens, can you tell us why you object to the statue?”
Could I? I wasn’t sure I could put my objections into words. I wasn’t even sure I knew exactly what they were. Since I’d come back to Parnass Springs, my attitude toward Herman had begun to change. Maybe it was living in Aunt Beth’s house again, but the memories were coming thick and fast, and as I examined them, I was beginning to see that I’d viewed my life from a child’s point of view. Herman had loved me. I knew that now. What’s more, I was beginning to suspect that I’d loved him more than I’d realized.
Once he had taken me to the bridge to see the carnival lights. I hadn’t known his purpose for dragging me off so late, but once there, I realized that he wanted to do something to please me. We’d sat and stared at the lights, talking little, but eventually his hand had crept over to take his daughter’s. For once I allowed it—and it wasn’t so bad.
The committee sat staring at me, like three little birds in a nest, waiting to be fed. I collected my thoughts.
“This is a difficult subject for me,” I began. “We know what Herman was. There’s no way to soften the truth: he was simple. I know you mean well, but I ca
n’t bear to see him made an object of ridicule again.”
His childlike trust, his eagerness to help others, whether they needed it or not, would be tainted. He was gone. The tumultuous years were over. I didn’t want to resurrect the dead. It wouldn’t be fair to Herman, to Ingrid, or to me.
Lily leaned toward me. “We never planned to make fun of him. The statue is intended to show our deep appreciation. Herman’s generosity touched hearts. He built the animal shelter and donated a large grant to the public library. We want to celebrate your father, Mrs. Queens, not mock him.”
“Then you must respect my wishes.” I knew what the older people in this town thought of my father. I remembered all too well. Clearly this committee didn’t represent the town, but themselves.
Millicent twitched her hat to a more solid angle and brushed me aside. “I propose we move on with the meeting. Petunias around the base of the statue, in varying colors?”
No one brushes me aside. “I believe I’ve made my feelings clear. No statue.”
Millicent bent forward. “Stubborn, aren’t we?”
“Persistent—“I smiled—“aren’t we?”
Lily wrung her hands.
My cell phone rang. I let it.
I pulled myself together and left the meeting. I should have been feeling pretty good. Triumphant. Righteous. But what was I feeling?
Deeply ashamed of myself. And I couldn’t even begin to explain why.
Once safely away from the shelter, I called Sara back.
“Mom? What happened? I tried to call earlier, but your phone went to voice mail.”
“Sorry. You caught me at a bad moment.” I was smack in the middle of acting like a spoiled brat. I didn’t feel like explaining the past thirty minutes; she wouldn’t understand. “What’s wrong this time?”
“Mom.” She drew the objection out.
I was out of sorts, but there wasn’t any need to take it out on my daughter. “Sorry, honey, but things are in chaos here. I’ve just had a meeting with the animal shelter committee. They want to put up a statue of Herman.”
Simple Gifts Page 9