The Old Shoe

When Gramps died, my twin sister, Claire, couldn’t bring herself to clean out his place. She waited for me to come home on leave from Iraq.

I wandered up the well worn path from the lake to his cabin. Well, my cabin now. He had willed it to me.

Claire and I had practically been raised by grandpa and grandma. Our father, their son, had been killed when we were only twelve, and our mother had been unable to care for us.

I had been planning on taking him fishing and maybe even beating him at the chess game we had been playing by mail, for the last eight months. The board was set up on a table by the front window. He had made his move, taken my rook with his knight and forked my queen and king.

Moving my king, I laughed out loud, my voice sounding much like his. The faint scent of his aftershave lingered and I could hear his voice echoing from the stairwell.

Gramps was, or rather had been, a lot of fun. Even as he approached his later eighties, his ever present sense of humor and love of people never diminished. He made sure no one in his company ever felt left out. He was a rare man.

I slept on the couch that night. No nightmares assailed me. With no gunshots, aircraft or explosions to wake me from a restless sleep, I slept like innocence reborn.

Shortly after noon, a knock at the door woke me. Gramps’ friend and neighbor, Charlie was standing on the porch, looking like he wasn’t sure he should be here.

Charlie was only ten years younger than Gramps, but when Gramps could no longer drive, Charlie had started taking him to town for groceries and such. They had become very close friends.

I opened the door and grasped his hand. “Good morning; or afternoon by the looks of things, Charlie. Come on in. It’s good to see you.”

“I wasn’t sure it was you, Vince, hadn’t seen you in so long. Are you back for good or just on leave?” He asked.

“Just on a thirty day leave. I came in to have a look around and maybe make a decision on what to do with the place. Gramps left it to me, but with me being in the Army and always gone, I’m not sure I can keep it maintained. Claire doesn’t seem to have an interest in keeping the place. Besides, with three kids and a full time job, she barely has time to breath. Have a seat Charlie. I’ll be back shortly. I’m going to make a pot of real coffee and throw some water on my face.”

Charlie wobbled to his customary chair, which was directly opposite of Gramps’ chair. He was staring at the wall when I came back.

“Want a cup of coffee?” I asked.

It took him a moment to reply. “You know, in all the years I knew Frank, he never offered me a cup of coffee. He’d offer anything and everything but a cup of coffee. I asked him once why he never had any coffee. I knew he bought it. I’d help him with his groceries. He told me that he made a pot every morning at 5 a.m. and if I wasn’t going to be friendly enough to come over and drink it, then he just figured I could do without. He was a character. And yes, I would like a cup of coffee.”

In the back of my mind I could hear Gramps’ laughter as I handed Charlie his coffee.

We talked till the afternoon shadows grew long. Laughing and remembering Gramps.

“You know something, Charlie? I arrived here yesterday afternoon and I haven’t felt this relaxed in months. In fact, I don’t think I have felt this relaxed and at ease since I was here last time. I don’t think I could ever sell this place. But if I were to rent it out, I’m afraid the place would never feel the same.”

Charlie looked relieved. “I know what you mean. Your grandpa and I were good friends. I miss his company. I was hoping you’d decide to keep the place. I could help out with the normal maintenance. I don’t get around as good as I used, but I can still do quite a bit.’

“Let me think about it Charlie. Maybe I can hire someone to come around and you could make sure they do it right.” I stood up. “Charlie, I got a need to go fishing. Want to come along?”

He was up and out the door faster than I thought he could move and telling me to come get him in ten minutes. We fished till the Summer Triangle of Altair, Vega and Deneb was high in the night sky.

Later that night I entered Gramps’ bedroom. The bed was made and his teeth were still on the nightstand. I shook my head. He started feeling bad right after he got up, that morning. Calling Charlie to come get him, they headed to the doctor, but Gramps didn’t make it. He had a massive heart attack and was pronounced DOA.

He went out the way he wanted to, very quickly.

Old photographs lined the wall showing the history of our family: him and Grandma on their wedding day; Clarice, the daughter who died of measles when she was only three; my father, proud and naïve in his uniform, before he went to war in Vietnam; Aunt Peggy and Uncle Don and their four kids; Claire and I all decked out for Easter. No picture of our mother anywhere. Well, we had not heard from her since our high school graduation. Maybe she was dead. It had ceased to be important years ago.

I wandered throughout the cabin, looking in every closet, opening a drawer or two. The only thing that reminded me of my grandmother was those few pictures and one painting above the fireplace. Gramps had distributed her things among all of her kids and grandkids years ago. I had a painting of hers in my storage locker. Maybe it was time to unwrap it and bring it home.

The hall closet was crammed with a mish mash of fishing tackle and all of the paraphernalia that one may or may not need on a fishing trip. I started rummaging through the closet. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. But I did want to check out the poles and see which ones might be useable and which ones may need repair.

In the farthest reaches of the closet, I came across an old, hardened leather shoe. Huh? Remembering a long forgotten day, I drifted off to Gramps’ chair, holding that old shoe.

I was six years old and on my first fishing trip with dad and Gramps. We had set up camp in a small clearing next to a slow running river. We were fishing for catfish. Dad taught me how to set up my pole, with a sinker on the very end of the line. Then a hook and bait that would just touch the sinker and another hook and bait a few feet above that.

We set our poles in a fork and waited. Catfishing this way is for the lazy fisherman. You just wait for the fish to come along and take your bait. When it was too dark to see, dad put a little bell on the end of the poles which would ring, if we got a bite.

Gramps had built a small fire and we roasted hotdogs and marshmallows on the end of a willow stick.

Late that night the bell had tinkled on Gramps’ pole. He gently picked up his pole and when he felt a tug, he tugged back and hooked a fish. He had a nice channel cat, but he also had an old shoe.

Dad and I teased him about his catch, until we noticed he wasn’t laughing, but holding that shoe as if it was made of glass. He smiled in reminiscence. Gramps wasn’t much for story telling but there was a tale attached to that old shoe.

When he was a young man, about my father’s age, he had been fishing in that same place when an old, old man emerged from the willows. He had a long white beard and long white hair and his clothes were ragged and torn. Gramps invited the old man to coffee and food.

The old man nodded his head and sitting cross-legged on the ground, waited silently while Gramps served him. He ate very slowly, like a man who had been too long without food. Gramps continued with his own meal, then went about his routine of fishing. When he looked around a few minutes later, the old man was gone.

Thinking no more of it, Gramps stayed the night and began to catch fish one after another, around dawn. In short order, he had caught his limit of ten. While he was packing to leave, the old man appeared again. Gramps didn’t speak to him, he just left three fish, an old pot and few hard boiled eggs. The old man nodded his head in thanks and Gramps went home.

Three weeks later, Gramps returned to the same spot and there was an old shoe with four delightfully made, hand tied lures in it. They were for fly fishing, something Gramps had not tried.

Not being one to take something that wasn’t his, Gramps left the old shoe and lures in place, figuring someone would come back for them. A week later, they were still there, but this time next to where Gramps always built his fire.

Picking up the old shoe, he had looked around and said, “Thank you.” Imagining it was the old man who was repaying the kindness Gramps had shown. He took the lures from the shoe, and put them in his tackle box, leaving the shoe where he had found it.

On the way home, when he stopped for gas at Cody’s Repair Shop, he showed the lures to old man Cody. The old man had been around that part of Missouri since the cows come home. His son did the repair work and the old man pumped gas and kept the books.

“I ain’t seen the likes of these since Elmer Willis died, oh about twenty some odd years ago, now, I reckon. He made the prettiest lures you ever did see. They worked to. Toss them in a fast moving stream and BAM! You’d get yourself a big ol’ trout. Yep, Elmer sure could make the lures, where’d ya get em’, Frank?”

Gramps told him the story of the old man with the long white beard and hair.

Old man Cody just nodded his head. “Sounds like Elmer, all right. Some folks say those that see him have good luck through out their life.”

I had never really believed that tale. How could a shoe last so many years in the water and still be recognizable? Now I knew how it could.

I lingered in his chair, thinking about Gramps and the life he had led. He always considered his life to be filled with the right kind of luck and the right kind of people. Even in hard times, he always had food on the table and each child had a decent pair of shoes and clean, if somewhat worn, clothes.

Getting back to closet cleaning, I didn’t notice the passing of the hours. I had spent the remainder of the night in other times and places. So many years and fishing trips had gone by. Yet, they had not been nearly enough.

Bright light striking my face brought me back to the reality of now. Suddenly very sleepy, I stretched out on the couch, falling into a bottomless place, where time had no meaning and the sun never set.

Abruptly, I awoke. Charlie was sitting in Gramps’ chair. Worriedly, I asked him if there was a problem.

He looked apologetic. “No. I don’t think so, at least not now. I came over because I thought I saw Frank sitting on the porch. I guess I’m just lonely.”

I reached over and put my hand on his shoulder. “I know what you mean. I miss him, too. I’m hungry. Want to join me for dinner.”

Charlie looked skeptical. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Not really. But I’ll throw something edible together.”

Walking toward the kitchen I passed the chessboard. My queen had joined the rest of my pieces on the table and in its place was the knight.

“Charlie? Did you make that move?”

He shook his head. “Nope, Frank and I played checkers. I couldn’t ever seem to get a handle on chess. Something wrong? You look like you seen a ghost.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine Charlie.” I put my arm around his shoulder as we wended our way to the kitchen. “So you thought you saw Gramps on the porch, huh?”

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