Simple Gifts

by Lori Copeland

  For a moment our eyes touched, and then his moved away. I knew intuitively that he was my grandfather. My grandmother leaned over and whispered something in his ear and he nodded. Did they recognize me? Had they ever once seen me—maybe a picture? Maybe driving by Aunt Beth’s house hoping to glimpse their grandchild, a child with their blood running through her veins?

  How cold and disconnected were these people? My emotions ran amok. I’d never had grandparents. As a child I would lie in bed at night and pretend that I did; that Grams or Pops (that’s what I’d named them) would pick me up after school and I’d go to their house and eat cookies and play ball in the backyard with Pops. I’d even told my closest friends that Grams had knitted me colorful scarves and warm mittens for cold winter days. My friends called me nuts.

  You don’t have a Grams and Pops! You got stupid Herman!

  Yes, just stupid me and stupid Herman. These people hadn’t accepted him then, and I didn’t accept them now.

  I turned in my seat, focusing on the podium, pushing reminiscences aside.

  “What time is it?” Ingrid fanned a hankie. “The room’s hotter than a smoking pistol.” A breeze blew through the open window, but not strong enough to overcome the body heat of the crowd. We were packed elbow to elbow. If it got any hotter, we’d be dropping like flies.

  I glanced at my Timex. “A few minutes before seven.”

  Vic walked in the side door with Joe and a second man. I hastily averted my eyes, pretending to search for something in my purse. When I looked up, the acting mayor was standing over me. So much for deception. I managed a weak grin. “Hi.”

  “Is Sara okay?” His tone was neutral, but that was Vic. He wouldn’t cause a scene here.

  “False alarm.”

  His eyes touched mine briefly.

  “I thought you might have called and let me know.”

  “About Sara?”

  “About leaving.”

  “I’m…sorry. Would you have wanted to know?”

  She didn’t think so.

  He turned and continued to the front of the room.

  I must have looked confused because Joe reached down and took my hand. “Good to have you back, Marlene.” We chatted a few minutes about the meeting topic before Vic called the hall to order.

  The acting mayor glanced at his watch. “Let’s settle down and get started.”

  I still wasn’t sure I was ready for this.

  The crowd quieted when Vic stepped to the podium. Standing in front of the group, he absently searched his shirt pocket, then pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. I’d never seen him in glasses. The poignant aging process touched me.

  “Okay, now. We’re gathered tonight to hear concerns about the animal shelter’s proposed motion to erect a public statue in honor of the shelter’s benefactor, Herman Moss. I believe R J Rexall will speak for the Moss family, and…” he peered at his notes, “James White will speak on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Parish and their daughter, Lexis.”

  Lexis. Lexy Parish. My birth mother.

  “Following R J and James, Ben Staid will represent the town’s position. I’ll open the floor for comments following the attorney’s presentations. Gentlemen, please keep your comments brief and to the point.”

  Ingrid fanned harder, her color heightened in the warm room. I pressed closer. “Do you need a glass of water?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look fine, but I knew better than to argue with her. Any hint that she needed to leave would bring out the mule in her nature.

  James began on behalf of the Parish family; his argument was succinct and concise. “The Parish family adamantly objects to a statue of Herman Moss. The public display would dredge up a painful past, one best left alone, regarding their daughter. Lexy Parish is still living, and though she will spend the remainder of her life in an assisted care health facility, Grayson and Ann Parish feel that their daughter, Lexis, is unable to defend herself. As her court-appointed guardians, the Parishes are acting in their daughter’s behalf on this matter.”

  I fixed my gaze on a vase of cut flowers, conscious of curious looks. Most in attendance knew the Parish family had ignored my existence. How dare they put me in this position. Ingrid, of course, ignored everyone, her face an inscrutable mask. I tried to match her aplomb, knowing I failed miserably.

  R J stood up. “The Parnass family has been a pillar stone of this community. Many families sitting here tonight have been touched by Ronald Parnass and his generosity. He founded Parnass Springs. He built the covered bridge that allowed faster, safer passage of supplies, supplies our ancestors sorely needed.

  “Many of us knew Herman and his peculiar peccadilloes. Nevertheless, the man’s eccentricities were understandable.” He paused, squinting up at the rapt audience. “But he wasn’t understandable to all. That’s why we’re gathered here tonight, to sort through any objections and to try to reach an amiable solution. A statue is stone; granite, marble, whatever. It isn’t town doctrine. It’s one simple way of remembering someone for a noteworthy act. So then, why are we concerned about one clump of marble? Herman Moss left a legacy; because of this man, homeless animals—creatures that have no spokesman other than us—have a home. They have a clean bed, fresh water, excellent medical care, a kind word.” He paused, adjusting his glasses. “How many of us would not race to put up a statue to the person who, when we needed it most, offered a kind word? Excellent medical care. A clean bed. Does it matter if the person who did this didn’t go to Stanford or couldn’t define the theory of gravity?”

  He glanced up, fixing his eyes on the audience. “Who among us is worthy of marble? Or granite? Herman Moss did a notable act; it is the Parnass family’s contention that he be honored with a statue on the animal shelter lawn. Thank you.”

  I fished in my purse for a tissue to fan my face. Perspiration ran down my neck as R J took his seat.

  Ben stood up. He studied a yellow legal pad, and then cleared his throat. “I always hesitate to involve myself in cases like these. I knew Herman—knew him well. He was a good soul. He gave us a glimpse of heaven when those brown, trusting, doelike eyes pierced our being.

  “Herman was simpleminded. He often did and said things that made us shake our heads or run in the house and slam the door and thank God we hadn’t been given his care. We need to consider this as we realize that Parnass Springs is increasingly growing into a tourist site.”

  He flipped a page and his eyes scanned the information. “Last year alone we had over eighteen thousand visitors to view the bridge. Strangers find our town ‘quaint’ and ‘different,’ and we’d like to keep that image. Now many will say, ‘Who would know Herman was simple?’ A statue won’t proclaim the man’s mentality, and our answer is ‘That’s true.’ Those opposing the memorial will argue that the statue should enhance and personify the town. Herman’s bigheartedness is noteworthy—but to the extent of a statue? Some argue not. Who can forget the scandal between Herman and Lexy—-two mentally challenged teens? Who among us needs to be reminded of that time in our town’s life that brought chaos and division?

  “The town suggests that a small plaque on the side of the building is adequate. Herman, though loved by many, doesn’t imbue the spirit of Parnass Springs and its people…”

  I glanced at Ingrid. Ben’s summation had to be hard for her to hear. We’d experienced the town’s perspective firsthand, but to hear it openly stated, hurt. Though Ben didn’t or wouldn’t state it, the point was clear: Was there one here who wanted a statue of the town’s simpleton on the shelter lawn?

  My face burned as Ben continued. If I’d known how humiliating this was going to be, Ingrid couldn’t have dragged me here with a team of wild horses. I reached for my aunt’s hand when the summaries ended and Vic opened the floor for comments. I had a hunch this wasn’t going to be easy on either family.

  One by one, those for Herman stood up. I was amazed at how many there were. More people had liked him than I’d ex
pected. How had I missed the love these people had for my father? I’d been too blinded by my own embarrassment to see the way he’d been accepted. Not a comfortable assessment of myself. I wiped moisture from my eyes.

  Jack, the local grocery store owner stood. “Herman was a good man. He’d come by the store and sweep up for me nearly every day and wouldn’t take a penny for his work.”

  Hank owned the cleaners. “Herman was a little boy; never meant anyone an ounce of harm. He used to come by the shop and sort hangers for me. Tie them in neat bundles and store them in the back room. Good fella, that Herman. He loved cherry popsicles.”

  “Good, yes, but always underfoot. I had to run him off my porch twice a day.” This came from Virginia at the flower shop. “One afternoon he picked every pansy in my front bed and brought them to me in a mayonnaise jar. I knew it was a gift, but people remember Herman for what he was: not all there.”

  Virginia glanced at Ingrid, then away. “Ingrid tried to make him fit in, but he…just didn’t. Then the outrageous scandal. I’m sorry, Marlene and Ingrid. You’re good folk and you can’t help what the Good Lord trusted you to raise, but the indignity was hard to live down. What other folks said hurt. We do care for our own, and we don’t let the likes of Herman run loose to be a threat to our young daughters. Do we want a reminder of those terrible accusations, that Herman molested this young innocent child, every time we drive past the animal shelter? I agree with the Parish family. Let sleeping dogs lie.” She sat down.

  A few days ago, I’d have cringed at her words. Molested. What an ugly term—yet wasn’t that the common thought, even in my mind? Or it used to be.

  Now the objectors just made me angry.

  Virginia didn’t know it, but she had just heightened my determination to fight. Herman had not run the streets or threatened young girls.

  Ingrid shifted in her chair, her expression tight as a coiled snake. I patted her arm. “Do you want to leave?”

  “No.” Her features set like cement.

  Amazingly, I agreed with her.

  Vic spoke up once in Herman’s defense, but other than the brief remark, the Brewster men kept silent. Maybe Vic felt that as mayor, he shouldn’t take sides, but I knew I could use his support. Both men wore a solemn demeanor. Of course, neither Joe nor Vic would fight for me now. I’d lost the right to their defense. The acting mayor took notes, but not sides, while others stood and talked, some for fifteen minutes to make a point either for Herman or against him. My nerves were raw. Perspiration stood on Ingrid’s upper lip, and twice I saw her wipe tears.

  By the time Vic closed the floor I was choked with anger and resentment. It took all my willpower to keep from standing up and defending my father. These people hadn’t known him. They thought they had, but only Ingrid and I had really known the man with the child’s mind. He’d been an integral part of our lives. And yes, more people than I’d expected had defended him and I was grateful for them, but the opposition stung—more than I had expected.

  The only thing agreed upon in the three-hour meeting was the right to disagree. By the time Vic dismissed the meeting, it was well after ten o’clock, and Aunt Ingrid and I had been put through a handwringer.

  There were a few well wishes as I pushed Ingrid’s chair to the back of the room. Some reached out to pat her shoulder or take her hand. Others looked ashamed, or defiant, not meeting our eyes. I skimmed them with contempt.

  Winston Little approached. “Evening, Marlene. Ingrid. You folks doing all right?”

  Aunt Ingrid took his hand. “It’s always good to know who your friends are.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice, and I was proud of her. My family may be different, eccentric, but they didn’t back down. Neither would I.

  The hall buzzed with conversation; some weren’t content to sleep on the controversy, to rethink their opinions. I spotted Vic threading his way toward me, and I picked up speed, determined to avoid him at all costs. At least for tonight. I’d had enough for one day. Ingrid’s chair hit a bump and stopped. I tried to shove the wheel over the obstacle and couldn’t. I shoved harder. The wheel thumped and Ingrid groaned. “Marlene!”

  “Sorry, Aunt Ingrid.” Vic was closing in fast; I had to get out of here. I shoved hard, and the chair cleared a lady’s handbag that had fallen into the aisle and shot forward, taking me with it. I concentrated on steering through the throng gathered inside the doorway.

  “Where’s the fire?” Ingrid demanded.

  “No fire. I just want to get home.” She didn’t have any idea how badly I wanted to get out of this place.

  Between the rows of chairs and the prospect of escape, I suddenly slackened my retreat. Grayson and Ann Parish had reached the door at the same time. The older couple stood transfixed, their eyes set on me. For the longest moment of my life, we stared at each other. Ingrid, for once, kept quiet.

  I didn’t know how to break the silence. The words weren’t there. Would they turn their backs on me?

  “Marlene?” Grayson broke the awkward stillness.

  “Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Parish?” Pops and Grams; they looked exactly like the people in my dreams.

  His eyes softened. “Yes.”

  What did one say to grandparents they’d never met, barely knew existed? The man standing before me personified my childhood dreams; distinguished, grandfatherly, with benevolent blue eyes. Eyes that now assessed me. I’d have bet those eyes twinkled on Christmas morning and birthdays. Hadn’t he ever wanted to see me? What kept them away? Pride? Anger? Or other all-too-human emotions that constrained our lives.

  For the life of me I couldn’t look away. I drank in the sight of Pops, tucked away the memory of my grandpa in a safe place, a place where not one single soul could rob me of the joy of the moment. Ann hovered in the background, her timeless features unreadable.

  Grayson extended a hand, large, soft to the touch. “You’re a lovely young woman.” He turned and drew his wife to his side. She reached out, and I took her hand. It was thin. Frail. I sensed hesitancy, an almost imperceptible tremble. She was nervous. So was I.

  “Ann. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Yes…the same.” She glanced at her husband, then back at me. “You have Lexy’s eyes. So warm and liquid.”

  The observation stunned me into silence. I drew a sharp breath. “This is my Aunt Ingrid. I’m sure you’ve met.” Yes, they’d met. How inane of me.

  Impersonal handshakes followed the introduction. History colored the exchange, making the moment even more self-conscious. I was grateful Ingrid didn’t speak. I didn’t want to guess what she’d have said.

  Vic reached me and intervened. “Mr. and Mrs. Parish. How good to see you.”

  “Dr. Brewster.”

  Grayson Parish had impeccable manners. The hall behind us had grown silent, everyone engrossed in the drama that was taking place before their eyes.

  The acting mayor relieved me of the wheelchair. “If you’ll excuse us?”

  With a courteous nod, Grayson stepped aside. As quickly as they had begun, the long overdue introductions were over. The jackhammer in my heart slowed to a more normal pace. I took a deep breath, tamping down emotions best expressed in private.

  “That had to be uncomfortable.” Vic pushed Ingrid to the parking lot and I trailed behind.

  “Those were my grandparents, Vic.” It seemed important he understand that. Grandparents. I held the word in my heart. After all these years, I had finally met them.

  “I know. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t think so.” Turning, I glanced over my shoulder and caught one last glimpse of the Parishes walking through the parking lot.

  I had my mother’s eyes.

  All sorts of emotions filled me: elation, resentful curiosity, longing, fear. Who were these people who looked so ordinary, so pleasant? Nice people didn’t make an innocent child pay for others’ mistakes.

  The past flooded back. They hadn’t wanted me. Still didn’t. I was something they’d tried to ignore,
to live down. Beth and Ingrid had raised me. They were my family.

  “Want an ice cream?” Vic’s inquiry pulled me back.

  Suddenly I was drained, I’d emotionally hit rock bottom. All I wanted to do was go home, go to bed, and sleep for days.

  “We have ice cream in the freezer.” Ingrid sniffed. “No use paying for something we have.”

  Good old practical Ingrid. Yet she’d saved me from facing Vic—from what likely would have been an ordeal. On the whole, I’d had enough tribulation today. Enough for a lifetime.

  “We’ll pass on the ice cream.”

  He didn’t argue; I didn’t expect him to. Some things didn’t need an explanation.

  Ten

  Vic helped me load Ingrid into the car. We each avoided meeting the other’s eyes. Tension hung between us. The door closed behind him, and Ingrid rubbed her hands together. “Quite a meeting.”

  “Too loud.” And partisan. I’d never expected it to be so divisive.

  “The Parish family hates Herman.”

  That was natural, but they didn’t know him. I wasn’t excusing his actions; only his inability to reason like an adult. “Didn’t they ever ask to meet me?”

  “It was a hard time for everyone, Marlene. They had their daughter to think about. No one blamed them for not wanting to take on the additional burden of raising a child.”

  “But you and Beth took it on.”

  Ingrid stared out the window, passing car lights illuminating her features. “I would have taken you in a second, but Beth and I knew it was better that I raise Herman and she raise you, especially under the circumstances.”

  “Did the Parishes object?”

  “At first they suggested abortion, but later they admitted they couldn’t take a life. I made it plain that Beth and I would raise you; we would absolve them of all responsibility.”

  “They could have put me up for adoption.” That was one viable solution. So many couples longed for children when they couldn’t have their own. It had never occurred to me how much I owed Beth and Ingrid, which made my neglect all the more odious. “Did they consider that avenue?”