Free Simple Gifts by Lori Copeland

narrowed her eyes. “I don’t talk to the shameless broad. You’ll be my go-between. I’ll tell you what to say, and you can tell her where to get off.”
    Tell her where to get off , my brain mouthed. I didn’t tell people where to get on, let alone off. This wasn’t my fight. I had enough problems of my own, and I was not getting involved in this spat. Ingrid was on her own.
    Aunt Ingrid wasn’t through. “That lunatic. If it hadn’t been for her, Eugene would be here, in Parnass Springs instead of Kansas. Said she didn’t have enough money to bury him— I would have buried him! I’d have someone to carry flowers to on Memorial Day. How do you think I feel hauling a bouquet to a foot? Everyone in town has someone under a gravestone. I have a foot. ” Ingrid drew a fortifying breath and crossed her arms. “I’m keeping it.”
    I stepped back, closing my eyes and watching my last few days in Parnass going straight down the tube.
    â€œOh, by the way, you have to head a committee.”
    My eyes flew open. “Committee? What committee?”
    â€œThe animal shelter wants to pay homage to Herman.”
    â€œHerman?”
    â€œYour father. Herman.”
    My heart sank. Why would anyone want to pay tribute to him?
    â€œIf you’re wondering why, I’ll tell you young lady. When Eugene died, he left his son a large trust. Your father’s grand-parents had old money. They never used a cent that wasn’t necessary, so it accumulated to a large estate. Since you’d never accept anything from Herman, he had an animal shelter built in your name, gave money to the public library, and then put the rest in a trust for you. Didn’t know that, did you? You thought he was so ignorant he couldn’t feel love. Well, he did, young lady, and that shelter is a monument to you. He didn’t want you to know, but I think it’s about time you accepted your responsibility. The shelter’s requested a statue of Herman be erected on the front lawn. As his daughter, you will head the committee.”
    My mouth flapped like a battered flag. Being Herman’s daughter wasn’t enough? I now had to face the shame of erecting a lawn statue on a public site in his honor? I groped the doorway for support.
    No way…Absolutely no way , would I subject myself to this disgrace.
    And there was no way she could make me.

Four
    W ho owns the foot?” R J Rexall, senior partner of Rexall, Rexall, and Bextal, Attorneys-at-Law, reared back in his chair on Friday and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if the answer to the perplexing problem flashed in red neon up there. I suppressed a sympathetic smile. Ingrid had little use for Rexall’s son or his nephew, Bextal, but she agreed with R J’s counsel some of, if not all, the time. I prayed this would be one of the rare moments when a client took the paid lawyer’s advice, though I didn’t count on it.
    â€œNo need to waste time. All I want is a legal paper to get that woman off my back.” My aunt was a pitiful sight this morning. I’d pleaded with her to at least comb her hair, but she said—her exact words—“Let others see what the Husband Stealer’s done to me.” The Husband Stealer being Prue Levitt, of course, who wouldn’t be there to see her. I’d tried to talk reason to the woman and where did it get me? Sitting there listening to her argue with her attorney, that was where.
    I’d even gone to Joe for advice, and he was no help. He said he didn’t think I had much choice; Ingrid was old and couldn’t fight this battle. She’d need help, and much as he hated to say it, it was a Christian’s duty to help kin.
    â€œNow Ingrid.” R J, an austere-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and dressed in a dark, designer-label suit and bright red tie, peered down the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have to research this