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The Gift (Grandmother's Treasures, Book One)

By Cherie L. Dargan

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Grandmother's Treasures, Book One, THE GIFT

Chapter One, Gracie’s Gift


“The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn’t one.”
~Margaret Atwood

August 2012—Jubilee Junction, Iowa

As I headed south of Jubilee Junction towards my family’s farms, the beauty of the rolling hills and fertile fields struck me again. My ancestors, some of the earliest settlers in this part of central Iowa, worked hard to clear timber to build houses and fences, put in crops, and raise cattle, hogs, chickens, and horses. Grandma Grace once told me it took the first four generations to clear all our land, about a thousand acres of prime soil, near the Jubilee River.

Turning onto the county blacktop, I drove past the Founders
Cemetery, where so many of our pioneers were buried.The cemetery dates to the 1850s, and every Memorial Day, as we decorate our family graves, someone tells another story.

Several minutes later, I passed Uncle Vern’s farm with its rows
of green corn stalks with golden tassels and arrived at Aunt Violet’s farmhouse. I drove down the long driveway, gravel crunching under my tires, and admired the neatly painted outbuildings, large farmhouses, and mature trees, shrubs, and flowers.They planted the field next to her house with soybeans, and the cows mooed in my uncle’s pasture across the road.

It was a Monday afternoon in late August.The new semester had started last week. My ‘To Do’ list was full, but my family was gathering for supper at Aunt Violet’s house. Next to Grandma’s house—where my Uncle Rich and Aunt Delores now lived, not faraway—Aunt Violet’s farmhouse ranked as one of my all-time
favorite places. I’d spent time here since childhood and could hardly
believe this place would sit empty in a week.

My father’s dusty Tahoe and my brother Mark’s older F-150
were parked beside my uncle’s F-350, full of furniture neatly tied
down. Drawn by the aroma of Mom’s chili and her chocolate chip
cookies, I walked to the door and knocked.
“C’mon in.”Her cheery tone made me feel right at home.

The mudroom wall with half a dozen hooks and a long bench below reminded me of childhood visits and seeing Uncle Bob’s barn coat—redolent with barn smells—hanging there, next to Aunt Violet’s outdoor jacket. She and Dr.Bob raised their four children in this house, retired here, and he died peacefully in his
sleep seven years ago.

Mom arranged her freshly baked cookies on one of Aunt Violet’s china plates. Her deep brown eyes welcomed me .“Hi Gracie, thanks for coming.”

“Need help?” I set my purse on a chair.

“No, we’re all set. There’s chili in the crock pot. We have corn
muffins and salad on the sideboard. I made lemonade and Aunt Violet made her sun tea. Dish up—we’re just starting.”

Upstairs, a faint thumping came from Aunt Violet, walking around with her cane.

I inhaled the chili’s pungent spices of chili, turmeric, and cumin as I filled a bowl and poured myself some sun tea.“Aunt Violet’s not moving because she’s sick, is she?”

“She’s fine, but Uncle Bob’s been gone for seven years now.”
Mom pushed her blond bobbed hair back.“This house is too big for one person. I also worry about all the stairs. Violet’s going to have her own place, and help if she needs it at the Prairie View Center. She has something for you, a gift from Grandma Grace."

Grandma died two years ago, so why am I getting her gift now?”

Mom sighed.“Aunt Violet found it and kept it safe. Let’s go into the dining room, shall we?”

I followed her into the dining room where Mark, Dad,and my sister-in-law Kathy sat at the table eating. We'd shared many meals in this long, sunny room filled with Grandma Ginny's china hutch and her sideboard along one wall next to her oversized table.

I’d only taken time for a granola bar at lunch, so I welcomed the sight of butter, strawberry preserves, honey, and bowls of shredded cheese, crackers, and sour cream arranged in the center.

Four more place settings waited for Aunt Violet, Uncle Vern,
his wife Maggie, and me.

“Gracie!” Kathy’s hazel eyes sparkled. She had long, brown hair
tied back in a ponytail.

I set down my food and tea. Dad stood up to hug me, resting
his chin on top of my head for a moment, and Kathy squeezed
my shoulder.

Mark threw a muffin my way, which I caught, feeling smug. He
shared Dad’s height and was tanned and muscular from farming
with Uncle Vern. He and I shared Grandma Grace’s bright blue
eyes and dark blonde hair, his cut short military-style, and mine
curly and shoulder length.

Mark and Kathy were three years older than me. She taught
high school speech and had become a close friend.

Mom set a bowl of tossed salad at my place, and Kathy handed me the Dorothy Lynch dressing.

"Shouldn't we wait to eat?" I asked.

Kathy shook her head. "Aunt Violet told us to start, and she would be down shortly. Maggie is helping her sort a few more things to give away. Vern's up there with them."

Aunt Violet and Aunt Maggie were Mom's aunts. so my great-aunts, but Grandma Grace suggested they keep names simple when I mistakenly called her sister “Grape Ant Biolet.” In my defense, I may have been three or four. Only two of Aunt Violet’s children lived in Iowa—both out of town—and Aunt Maggie’s four children had scattered around the state. Since Grandma Grace’s death,
Mom had stepped into the role of surrogate daughter to both aunts and stayed connected with their children, who appreciated having someone nearby.

We all dived into our meals and chatted. A few minutes later, Uncle Vern called for Mark from the landing. “I need help with this gift for your sister.”

Dad and Mark shoved back their chairs.“Coming, Uncle Vern,”
Mark called.

Soon, the two of them appeared on the landing, carrying a
strange object with handles at each end, the contents covered in
several oversized black garbage bags. Uncle Vern followed.

A strange thought came into my head as they got closer—whatever is in there is going to change my life. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I put down the spoon.

Mark asked Mom where she wanted it.

"Just put it beside the couch."

They brought the load into the living room and then returned to the table.

Mom brought Uncle Vern a bowl of chili, and then some salad. Mark passed him the basket of muffins.

Uncle Vern helped himself to some sour cream, crackers, and cheese and tasted his chili.

"Delicious! Becky, you got your mama's recipe just right." He buttered a corn muffin and glanced at me. "Sweet's been keeping this treasure hidden away for you since your Grandma Grace died." He used his childhood nickname for Violet.

"Sour threatened to burn it more than once." His nickname for Violet's twin, Vera. "She would love to get her greedy old hands on this, but we ain't gonna let her anywhere near it, are we?"

The baby of the family, Uncle Vern appeared younger than his mid-eighties, with silvery hair and mischievous blue eyes.“Vera’s coming to get the last of her stuff out of storage tomorrow. But your grandma’s gift will be safe at your house by then.”

I nodded and played with the last fragment of my muffin. Just thinking about Aunt Vera made me reconsider eating anything at all. Sour described Vera perfectly, who seemed the opposite of her twin, Violet. Violet embodied generosity, humor, and kindness. Vera was bitter, sharp-tongued, and someone most of us avoided. She lived in Mankato, Minnesota, with her daughter, Donna, who must be a saint.

Noises came from upstairs, so Mark and I walked up to investigate and carried down several boxes. Aunts Maggie and Violet followed us and entered the dining room. Mom brought them their food.

Uncle Vern patted the empty chair beside him.“I saved you a place, Maggie.”

“Thanks,dear.”Aunt Maggie sat.“I’m famished!”

Aunt Maggie was barely five feet tall, with lovely green eyes, red
hair turned silver cut short, and had kept her British accent. She
and Vern met in England during World War II. Wearing jeans and a green button-up shirt, she looked ready to work.

Aunt Violet, in her late eighties, had bright blue eyes and fine
features and silver curls cut short. She loved vibrant colors, like the
turquoise pantsuit she wore today, and her sense of style extended
to her cane, which one of her great-granddaughters decorated
with her favorite colors of purple, turquoise, and pink duct tape.

“Oh Becky, you didn’t need to do this, but I’m so glad you did.”
Aunt Violet added cheese and sour cream and ate her chili. Mom made sure they both had food before she sat back down and finished her meal.The women in my family took care of each other.

At the end of the meal, Mom passed around her fabulous chocolate chip cookies. I’d watched her make them dozens of times, but when I tried her recipe, my cookies turned out a little overdone. Her cookies came out soft in the middle and crispy on the edges, and the chocolate melted in your mouth.

Aunt Violet took the last bite of her cookie and sipped her sun
tea.“Gracie, your grandma made me promise to save this treasure for you. I’m so glad you could get it today.” She walked over to her comfortable recliner with the help of her cane, and Mom and Aunt Maggie moved to the couch. Kathy and I followed, kneeling beside my mystery gift as the butterflies did a tap dance in my stomach.

Kathy helped me remove the garbage bags to reveal a vintage wicker basket with wooden handles.Inside, several shoe boxes sat on top of a quilt with two aprons, a photo album, an old Life magazine, and a large scrapbook underneath.

“What a beautiful treasure from the past. And what a lovely old quilt.Who made it?” Kathy asked.

Mom leaned over and tapped Aunt Violet’s wrist.“Is this the quilt you made with your mother and aunts after the war?”

Aunt Violet nodded.“Yes, it’s the California quilt. Go ahead, Gracie.”

I opened the first shoebox, full of old-fashioned cassette tapes,
neatly labeled.The second shoebox held a silver cassette player,
an album with several dozen black and white photos, a handful
of postcards, and several folded-up letters. I sat quietly, thinking
about Grandma putting all these things together for me. But why
didn’t she show them to me herself?

In the silence, Aunt Maggie told me, “I loved Grace. She and Violet welcomed me to the United States, and your family, and became my sisters and loyal friends.I wish she were here.But I imagine Violet will tell you about the things in the basket.” Aunt Maggie turned to her sister-in-law, and Aunt Violet nodded.

“Yes, come see me after I get moved in—how about next Wednesday, after work? We’ll listen to the tapes and talk.”

“I’ll be there.”

Mom admired the aprons. "Grandma Ginny wore the gingham one to gather eggs, didn't she, Uncle Vern? She put the eggs right into the big pocket."

"How did she do that and not break any eggs?" He shook his head and glanced at his watch. "Mark and I should get this load to the storage unit. Vi, what do you want to do with the furniture you don't need?"

Violet asked, "Mark, do you need anything? I have two bedrooms full of beds and dressers I don't need. Gracie?"

Mark nodded.“Sure, let’s look.”

I thought of the dressing table and bench in the back bedroom. “Could I have that little dressing table and bench?” I asked her.

Aunt Violet nodded.“They belonged to your Grandma Grace, so it’s yours.”

Then she walked upstairs with Mark and Kathy to pick out what they wanted. Mom followed.She’d put out the word to the family and our pastor.

Uncle Vern and Dad drank coffee and chatted quietly.

Aunt Maggie sat on the couch with a thoughtful look on her face.“I miss her too, Gracie.”

I lingered a minute longer, running my hands over the faded quilt. What was that scent—lavender? I lifted the quilt, and found four sachets, one at each corner of the basket. I picked one up and sniffed. Yes, lavender. Grandma Grace thought of everything. But what can an old quilt and some cassette tapes tell me about my family? What happened between the twins—Vera and Violet—and why doesn’t anyone talk about it? Teary-eyed, I tried to sort out my emotions.

Mom came back downstairs, and Aunt Maggie got up to help her clear the table. She gave me a gentle pat as she walked by. I joined them, loading the dishwasher, washing some pieces, and putting things away.

Afterward, Dad and I collected all of Aunt Violet’s pictures from
the walls on the first floor, wrapped them in the newspaper, and
placed them in big tubs. He and Mom promised to scan them at
The Jubilee Times, our family’s newspaper, and share the pictures.

Knowing how little I liked to cook, especially for one, Mom
sent some leftovers with me.

“We’ll meet back here Friday evening,” Mom reminded me. Dad, Mark and our cousins planned to pack up another load Wednesday to clear the house, and Violet would stay with Vern and Maggie until Saturday.

Mark carried the basket out to the car.“I’ll help Dad get your
table and bench wrapped up and drop them off this week.”

“Thanks, Mark.” I put the bag with food and my purse in the
front passenger’s seat and popped the Subaru’s rear hatch.“Lots
of memories here, huh?” I closed the passenger door.

Just as Mark slid the basket into the back of my car, a truck
turned down the drive, coming toward us. I shaded my eyes, trying
to identify the driver. When the truck pulled up beside us, I
recognized cousin Donna behind the wheel, and in the seat beside
her sat Aunt Vera.

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