Montana Gift Read online

  We introduced ourselves. I went first. "My name is Louise Billingham."

  "Oscar Jenkins. People call me OC."

  "What does the C stand for?"

  "Clark."

  "Oh. Like Superman."

  I could tell he didn't get my reference to Clark Kent. I remember blushing because instead of sounding witty, I came off like a comic book geek (although I'm not sure geeks had a formal identity at that time).

  We made small talk while we waited for the food. I honestly can't remember what either of us said, until Oscar asked about my work. "You're a teacher, aren't you?"

  I remember feeling surprised because I hadn't told him my profession, and, honestly, most days I felt like an imposter. I was a recent graduate trying to teach people decades older than me how to read. I'd been taught how to teach, but I didn't grasp how to reach my students with the methods at my disposal.

  For some reason, I told Oscar the truth. Maybe because I had a sense he wouldn't judge me. "I'm a pretender. I go to work every day. I pretend I know what I'm doing, and I get paid for my time. Am I really teaching these people anything useful? I don't know."

  "You are."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Even learning a few words would make a difference to someone who can't read."

  A shiver passed through my body. A tingle that told me he spoke from experience. I was looking at a person my age--he'd already told me he was twenty-six and he had not served in Vietnam because he'd had a high draft number and his ol' man told him only fools volunteered. This made him just three years older than me, but for whatever reasons, Oscar C. Jenkins couldn't read."

  An audible gasp from everyone in the room told her now was a good time to take a break. She closed the book and set it on the coffee table. "We'll read some more after supper if anyone wants. Who's hungry?"

  "Me! Me!" Chloe and Mark shouted.

  Everyone got up and headed toward the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, but when Louise looked at her daughter, she saw questions--and a hint of disappointment--on Bailey's face. Louise knew what was coming next. "Why didn't you tell me, Mom?"

  The reasons were complex and vast, but topping the list were pride and shame. Bailey would understand...Louise hoped.

  2

  Dinner was simple fare since everyone would be participating in more elaborate festivities over the next two days. On Christmas Day, weather permitting, OC and Louise would dine at the Graff with Ryker Bensen and Paul's sister, Mia. After meeting under less-than-ideal circumstances, the two seemed quite taken with each other. Ryker, who was a world class photographer, had been flat broke when Louise had befriended him. She remembered thinking when she met him how much he reminded her of OC some forty-odd years earlier.

  "The soup is fabulous, Louise," her new son-in-law said.

  "Really great, Grandma, can I have more?" Chloe asked.

  "Of course. Eat up." Louise stood to reach the ladle. "What about you, Mark?"

  The youngest of them shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm leaving room for dessert."

  Everyone's gaze followed Mark's to the tall-sided glass bowl that held Louise's trifle. She'd removed it from the refrigerator moments earlier so it could come to room temperature before serving. Three distinct strata were visible: coarsely torn bits of white cake topped by marinated cherries, blueberries, mandarin orange slices and pineapple, and lastly whipped cream. Each portion would be topped with warm Copper Mountain Chocolate Company's decadent and nearly immoral dark chocolate syrup.

  Mark wasn't the only one to lick his lips.

  "Where'd you learn to make that, Mom? We've had it on Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember."

  Louise looked at OC. The intensity of his stare made her blush. "I made it up. Our first Christmas after we were married, we were too poor to make anything fancy and I remembered reading that in olden days, people served stale cake with fruit that they marinated in rum or brandy then poured over the cake to make it palatable. So, that's what I did."

  OC let out a laugh that made everyone look his way. "First time I ever saw your mother drunk."

  "Mom doesn't drink."

  "She didn't have to--every bite was like taking a shot." OC slapped his knee. "It was funnier than heck. Unlike some people--" He tapped both thumbs to his chest." --Luly was a happy drunk. But, boy, did she have a headache in the morning."

  Markie sat forward, rubbing his hands together. "Am I going to get drunk eating it?"

  Paul elbowed him. "No."

  Paul looked at Louise for confirmation. "That was the last time I used whiskey to make my trifle, Mark. Sorry to disappoint you, but the brandy flavor comes from the little bit of natural fermentation produced by the fruit." She leaned over and squeezed his thin little arm. "It still tastes yummy and you won't have a terrible, horrible headache in the morning. Like I did."

  And my husband won't fall off the wagon when he's been doing so well.

  "Will you read some more of your book before dessert, Grandma Louise?" Chloe asked. "I'm supposed to pick one person in my family to interview for school. Your book..."

  Paul leaned around Bailey to look at his daughter. "No. You may not turn in Louise's book as your assignment, Chloe. Even if it was your assignment that made her think about writing it." His overly stern tone made everyone laugh, although Chloe's blush said she actually might have been thinking along those lines.

  Chloe looked at her new grandfather and asked the question Louise knew everyone was thinking. "Did you really not know how to read, Gramps?"

  OC looked around the table. "Yep. It's true. But since Luly says I'm the reason she became a librarian, I'm not apologizing for the fact. You ready to hear some more ancient history?" He put both hands on the table and stood. "Let's go. I'll help you clean up this mess later, dear."

  Even all these years later, the endearment made Louise’s heart flutter with tenderness and love. Was it crazy to still be in love with the man who made her life a living nightmare for too many years to count? Probably. The community of Marietta certainly thought so. Even at the beginning of their friendship, people had warned her not to get involved with Oscar Jenkins. Of course, she didn't listen. Thank God.

  Once she was settled in her chair again, she opened to her bookmark and began to read.

  "Let me try to explain what this meant. As you probably know, I love to read. Reading saved my life. Books were my escape. My neighborhood in Chicago was in transition. Without a free library where I felt safe every day after school until my parents got home, I hate to think how different my life would have been.

  Oscar admitted he'd dropped out of school at fifteen or sixteen. His mother died when he was young and his father was hard speaking, hard drinking, hard living. I only met Rand Jenkins one time before he passed away, but I can say for a fact he was the most unpleasant person I’ve ever met. Period.

  From fifteen on, Oscar supported himself by doing odd jobs in the winter and ranch work in the summer. When times were lean...he "got by" living off the land and fishing. Oscar was homeless. The idea broke my heart.

  That night at the diner, after our French fries were delivered, I ate two or three and gave the rest to him. I told him I'd changed my mind and wanted pie, instead. Then, I ordered two pieces a la mode. Did this largesse make me feel superior?

  No. Not at all. I wanted to do more but I'd run up against male pride in my classroom and I didn't want to insult him. When we were done eating, I made him a proposition.

  Oscar let out a gruff hoot. "See there. I have the proof in writing. She's the one who propositioned me. All those louts who thought I ruined a sweet young thing were wrong."

  Mark looked at his dad. "What's a lout?"

  Bailey hushed them both. "Go on, Mom."

  I told him, "I can't afford to go home to see my family. I’m new in town and don't have a lot of friends. I don't ski. I have more time than money. If you'd be interested, I'd meet you at the library every day during vacation to help you
prepare for the GED. That's my supposed specialty, although I've yet to have anyone actually complete it. I feel like a failure. It's really bothering me."

  This was the truth.

  "You're younger than most of my students and hopefully more motivated to learn. If you pass, I'll be less likely to get fired when the year is over."

  "But I'm not signed up with your class."

  "I can fix that."

  And I did.

  My "fix" wasn't entirely legal, but it was morally right. I taught him on my own time in Marietta since he had part time work and no means of getting to Bozeman. We studied at the library on weekends. The librarian who had judged Oscar unworthy of her time and courtesy was a bit hostile at first, but Oscar gradually won her over and we became friends. In fact, she proved a powerful ally later on.

  Louise paused to swallow the lump in her throat. Her old friend was long retired, now, but Louise never entered the Marietta Library without thinking of Margaret Houghton.

  I'd like to say this was the beginning of a beautiful romance, but that would be a lie. Oscar was like a big old bear with a thorn in his paw."

  "An understatement, wouldn’t you agree, dear?” Louise looked at Oscar.

  "A lie. I was a pussycat," he returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

  Their audience snickered.

  "Extracting that thorn would have been easier than getting Oscar to cooperate at times. But, I honestly couldn't blame Oscar for not trusting teachers. He'd had so many bad experiences with school and teachers--the system quite literally failed him.

  Every time one of his teachers passed him to the next grade, he or she failed to do right by Oscar. By the time he left school for good, OC had a chip on his shoulder that a family of four could have stood under in the rain.

  Many times I wanted to shout, "I drove all the way here to be abused by you? Am I nuts? I must be nuts." But I kept coming and he kept trying."

  Louise paused. She knew what was coming next and felt her throat tighten.

  "My first glimmer of hope came on Valentine's Day. He found a Mercer Mayer children's book that had just been released and he used it to compose a card for me. It read: "Just For U You, Luly. Thank you for helping me."

  Her voice cracked but she read on.

  "And, that, my dears, was when I knew I'd fallen in love with this ornery, difficult, kind, loving, damaged man. Life had not been easy for Oscar. He accepted bad luck as his fate, but he was too intelligent to give up. He studied when I wasn't looking. He practiced his words every chance he had. I once saw him draw vocabulary words in the dirt of the parking lot while he was waiting for me to show up.

  Lest you think I was easy or he was quick to take advantage of my feelings, you'd be wrong. We "dated" that following summer. He would take me fishing to his favorite secret spots. I'd read him the classics--in a soft voice so as not to scare the fish--and he'd cook his catch on an open fire.

  We learned each other's strengths. Oscar was fearless in the outdoors. I was a terrified city girl, certain that bears, snakes and skunks were poised to attack. He rarely spoke in public for fear his ignorance would show, although he had an amazing memory and knew trivia and facts I didn't have a clue about. He managed money--what little he had--far better than me--a spoiled girl of moderate means who couldn't balance her checking account for love nor money."

  "No pun intended?" Bailey asked, jokingly. She looked around and apologized. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to use the bathroom."

  Paul helped her to her feet. "And I need to make some coffee if I'm driving these louts..." He winked at Mark. "...to their mom's after this. Who wants to help me?"

  Oscar volunteered.

  The children were huddled together talking softly so Louise looked at the page in hand and remembered.

  In October, ten months after our first meeting, Oscar took the GED test.

  He passed it on the first try. I will never forget the look of shock and pride on his face when he showed me the results. "I did it, Luly. I'm not as dumb as I thought."

  Every time he belittled himself something inside me wept. How could someone with so many gifts think so little of himself, I asked myself all the time. I didn't know the answer, but I did my best to show him he wasn't the loser that someone--his father? his teachers? society?--convinced him he was.

  A week later, he took his driver's license test and passed it, too.

  She closed the book and set it aside. What happened next was something her family would want to hear.

  "Coffee, my love?"

  Oscar carried two cups with focused care. She knew he still didn't trust his balance on his prosthetic leg completely. But he'd come so far in his rehabilitation. She knew how easy it would have been to give up.

  "Thank you." She looked at the light honey color and smiled. "Just the way I like it."

  A few minutes later, she continued the story. "I'm going to read fast, my lovelies. We have presents to open, remember?"

  Mark nodded, looking toward the little tree. "Read on, Grandma."

  “After passing his GED on the first try, Oscar used my car for his driver's test, and when he came out of the DMV with his temporary license, he handed it to me and said, "You're the first person who ever believed in me, Luly. I love you. Will you marry me?"

  Guess what I said?

  You're wrong.

  I said no.

  I didn't want him to propose out of some feeling of obligation. I wanted undying passion. I wanted to be the one he couldn't live without. We'd kissed and held hands, but he always pulled back when things got serious. At the time, I didn't know why.

  Of course, Oscar was hurt by my rejection--and why wouldn't he feel that way? He'd been rejected by his mother who committed suicide when he was in grade school, by his father who had struck first and asked questions later, by too many teachers to count and by the very system that should have helped. He walked away without letting me explain. He didn't have a phone. I couldn't find him. I didn't see him again until Christmas vacation.

  That year, I'd scraped together enough money to buy a ticket to fly home. My heart was broken and I needed a shoulder to cry on. But when I left my apartment with my suitcase in hand, I nearly bumped into a stranger in a suit and tie.

  I assumed he was a new tenant. I remember thinking, "What a strange time of year to move." I walked past him then stopped dead in my tracks and turned around. "Oscar?"

  She put her hand to chest to feel the rapid flutter beneath her fingers. The memory remained one of the most vivid--and visceral--of her life.

  "My heart is beating fast as I write this because I will never forget how he looked that day. The bright blue Montana sky made the perfect backdrop. His black hair glistened in the sunlight. He'd had it cut by a barber. The near military style made his cheekbones more chiseled, his brows sharper and his clean-shaven jaw more rugged. He could have been a movie star, my dear ones. He was that handsome.

  He wore new cowboy boots--pointy-toe spider-killers, we called them back then. A part of me knew the suit was wearing was the first he'd ever owned. His leather coat wasn't a city jacket. It had sheepskin fleece lapels and trim. His shoulders never looked so wide--so strong and resourceful. I knew if he still wanted me to marry him, I would never go hungry, I'd never want for a roof over my head. I'd be loved to my dying breath.

  We both said, "I'm sorry," at the same time. We laughed. And I started to cry. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me like I'd never been kissed before. I couldn't believe this was the same man who found it so difficult to express his emotions. His kiss spoke volumes. His eyes told me every love word I'd ever read in those sonnets and romance novels I adored. His love was equal to if not greater than mine for him.

  Over the years, that balance has tilted my way and back, time and again. Love isn't static or predictable, dear ones. How boring would that be? And life with Oscar Clark Jenkins was never dull. Not ever."

  "Oh, mom," Bailey cried. "That's beautiful. Daddy,
I can't believe you were such a romantic. Where's the box of tissues?"

  Her family's reaction warmed her heart. “Thank you all for being so supportive and patient. There are too many pages left to read tonight, but you each have a copy to finish on your own. Besides, we’re here to celebrate the present.” She closed the book and tucked between the cushion and the arm of the chair. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready for dessert."

  "And presents," Mark cried.

  "And presents." She noticed Chloe's frown when she realized story time was over, so Louise reached into the bag beside her chair and handed Chloe one of the volumes she'd wrapped that afternoon. "Here, sweet girl. I inscribed this one especially for you."

  Chloe threw herself in Louise's arms. "Thank you, Grandma."

  "No, thank you, for asking me to write it." The feel of the young girl's loving arms around her neck made Louise's heart thud happily in her chest. "Let's go get us some trifle.

  3

  OC watched the ladies and children head for the kitchen, then he signaled his new son-in-law to follow him toward the basement. His damn prosthetic made going up and down the stairs particularly tricky, but he'd been determined to get to his shop to put together the little presents he had in mind for his family.

  Luly, of course, insisted she didn't want a thing. And what could he possibly make two young kids who had everything? He'd given it a lot of thought, and like Luly's book, he'd decided to pull from the past.

  "How'd you manage to make gifts without Louise knowing?" Paul asked, following on OC's heels.

  "Luckily, she was so wrapped up helping your sister's new boyfriend with his problems, I managed to fly under her radar for months. And then, when Ryker got back to town for Thanksgiving, I asked him to lend me a hand with a couple of things. You and your dad helped, too."