A Gus and Shannon Pueblo story

The house felt packed, both with people and love. Most of the adults sat around the dining room table, a little uncertain, and just a bit uncomfortable. There was a stranger in their midst, and despite their better natures, they were guarded.

Gus and Shannon lived next door in the house Mrs McLarty left him in her will. The stranger was her niece and a small part of them couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted to make a claim on the estate. Feeling that they owed it to Mrs. McLarty, they welcomed her into Pop’s tidy and well-kept home and invited her to sit down. She produced a cookie tin from a piece of luggage and pushed the tin towards Steve, Gus’ father.

“I’m sorry to impose. I really am. I retired this year and I’m taking some time to check things off my bucket list. One of them was to come here, to Pueblo. I wanted to see where my aunt lived and meet who she called ‘her men’. She was as steady as a rock. If she told someone she was going to do something, it got done.

“Every year she sent me and my mom a number of letters and cards for Christmas and our birthdays. Mine always had two twenties in them. I reread them at least once a year and I thought that you might like to see them. Knowing her, she probably never put into words what you meant to her.”

She caught Steve’s eye and nodded towards the tin. Pulling it towards him, he anchored it in place with the crook of his arm and used his fingers to pry off the lid. Inside was an array of cards and letters written in Mrs. McLarty’s distinctive handwriting. The tin itself smelled of cinnamon and molasses, and one of the envelopes held a stack of Polaroid pictures.

Steve pulled out the card that was on the top. It had a winter motif on the front, and he picked it up to show everyone who was gathered around the table before putting it back down and opening it.

He’s a Marine, and he has the cutest little boy. He bought the place as a fixer-upper and he’s going to rent it until he retires.

Whenever he’s back in Pueblo, Jim, the Marine, is working on the house with his father and his little boy.

Morris feels bad for them, so he’s always over there lending a hand. They are eager, and they know how to swing a hammer, but home construction is what Morris does.

Anyway, you need to come out here for an extended vacation. The Marine eye candy certainly doesn’t hurt anything.

Merry Christmas,

Carol, your neglected sister

Pop spoke as Steve returned the card to the tin. “He was a good man, Morris. Whenever I came home, more was done on the house than when I had left. I couldn’t afford a new place, but he made sure that we were taken care of. You ever see those long rolled-up coils of sausage? He loved them with onions and peppers. You remember that, Steve?

“He’d come home from work, lend a hand for an hour or two, and have one of those going on the grill for when we finished. He’d have you work on the grill with him.”

“Yeah, Pop. He let me move the sausage around a little or drop some coals under the grate so I felt like I was a part of things. He’d call me Giuseppe and sing silly Italian songs. I haven’t thought about that in years. All this time has gone by, and I’m a civil engineer working in construction. He was a nice man. Taught me a lot.”

Steve pulled out another letter from the stack while Shannon reached into the tin and pulled out the envelope with the Polaroids.

Don’t worry about me. Remember the young man you met? Steve? He lives most of the time with his grandparents, but they drive him over here at least once a week to mow the lawn and to help out if I need anything. I give him a few dollars. Boys his age should always have some money in their pocket.

Anyway, happy birthday. Don’t spend all of the money at once and write back soon.

Love,

Aunt Carol

Steve used the side of his hand to hold the flap of the envelope in place as he slid the letter inside. His fingers went back and forth on the envelope a few times before he gently placed it back into the tin.

As he reached for the next envelope, Shannon returned the Polaroids to the envelope, nudged Gus, and handed them over. She saw him glance down quickly and then look back up towards the ceiling. Instead of going through the memories that meant so much to the closest thing that he had to a grandmother, Gus passed the envelope to Pop and then walked over to pick up his daughter. He would hold on to Lucinda like a lifeline while his father continued to read the missives.

“Sheesh. It’s like flipping through pictures of the Pueblo Gus Museum. She’s got like two pictures of me, two pictures of your dad and the rest of you.” Pop stopped at one of the photos. “Look at this, kid. It’s her, your mom, and you. You couldn’t have been more than three.”

Gus didn’t say a word, and he wouldn’t meet his grandfather’s eyes. Instead, he stood up and carried his daughter into the living room. Shannon followed him and kissed his cheek. Meanwhile, Steve dug out another letter.

Remember the little boy that did my lawn and takes care of the snow? Steve? You’re not going to believe this, but in three months, he is joining the Marines. That’s just crazy, isn’t it? It should somehow be illegal that he is more than thirteen or fourteen years old.

I hate getting old, Marley. Aging annoys the heck out of me, but it’s all that a young man like Steve can think about. He’s still as good of a kid as he’s always been, but you could see that restlessness in his eyes. He is just bursting to get out there and embrace life.

It makes me sad, but what can you do? Now I’ll have two Marines to pray for. If you have some time at church, and you want to say a few words to the big guy, I would appreciate it.

I love and miss everyone back East. Happy Thanksgiving!

Aunt Carol

Steve thumbed through some of the envelopes deeper in the tin, obviously searching. Their guest spoke up with a smile. “I held onto the recipe. Sorry. I can email it to you, if you’d like.”

Resting his forearms on the table, Steve quickly looked over at his baby resting in the arms of his wife. His eyes rested on Gus for a moment before he looked over at Carol.

“How often did she mention us in her letters?”

“I think that there were two, maybe three, when she didn’t.”

“I ... I didn’t know. I mean, maybe I knew, but I didn’t understand. I really loved her. When ... When she was gone, I sort of concentrated on making sure that Gus was okay. Maybe I should’ve thought a little bit more about how I was handling things. I never really dealt with it, not really. It feels so weak to say that she was a good woman. She was a hell of a lot more than that. I’m sorry that the next generation won’t have her with us.”

Sighing, he pulled out a card.