Anonymous Donation
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Anonymous Donation
By
D J Bishop
The old man adjusted his hat and brushed at his coat sleeves while making his way along the dark hall. At the door he stopped and peered out through the ice covered window. It was cold and damp and the north wind whipped at the light poles in front of the Third Street Mission. The weather was bad but this was an occasion he wouldn’t think of missing.
Leonard Platt had only known Abigail Proctor for a little over five years but in those short few years he had known the happiness of a lifetime. The old man thought back to the first time he ever saw Abby. She had just turned three when her and her mother moved into the old Barker house right next door.
She was a skinny little girl with long, wavy, blond hair and a high pitched voice that he could hardly understand. The thought of their first meeting made him smile. He was working in the yard when for some reason he turned around and there she was, standing with her little fingers hooked through the square holes of the chain-link fence.
"Hi, what’s your name?" she squeaked. "My name is Abigail Leslie Proctor, but people call me Abby ... Leslie is my mama’s name too, but I’m not supposed to call her Leslie, if I do she gets really mad, so I just call her mama."
"Abby ...," the old man repeated. "By heavens that’s a down right pretty name ... and you say Abby’s short for Abigail?"
She nodded, "Yep, its short for Abigail Leslie Proctor."
"Oh I see, and your mama’s name is Leslie too?"
"Yep, but like I told you, I don’t call her Leslie, I call her mama."
"You should, and I bet it makes her smile big when you do."
"My daddy’s name is Paul, but I called him Daddy." The little girl toed at the ground, "But he doesn’t live with us anymore. Mama says he lives with Jesus now."
Suddenly a stiff paleness settled over Leonard Platt’s aged face and he mopped at it with an open hand. He wanted to say something but not knowing quiet what to say he did nothing more than stare down into those sad little blue eyes.
"Abby," a loud voice called out.
Leonard glanced up to see a tall, slender woman stepping from the porch.
"Little lady, I told you to stay in the house." When she got within reach she took Abby by the hand and lightly dusted her bottom, then she looked across the fence, "I’m sorry," she said. "You can’t take your eyes off of ‘em for a second."
"I know what you mean," Leonard answered. "Got one of my own but he’s not near that small."
"I’m Leslie Proctor, we just moved in."
"The name’s Platt ... Leonard Platt. That’s what Abby was just tellin’ me. That y’all were moving in ... You’ve got a dandy little girl there. I can tell she really loves her folks ... I mean mother."
The Woman’s expression suddenly changed, "She told you ‘bout her daddy dying?"
Leonard nodded.
"Abby you go in the house and I’ll be in after while." When the little girl was gone she turned back, "Paul was working remodeling the old court house. He was up high paintin’ when the scaffolding fell."
Leonard rubbed at his chin. "I remember reading something ‘bout that in the newspaper ... I’m deeply sorry for your loss."
"He lived for twenty-six days ... Then he just got tired of fightin’ ... I lost him and of course when I couldn’t pay, the bank took the house. When the insurance finally did settle I got enough to pay down on this place. It ain’t what we had but it’s not bad."
"It’s a good neighborhood," Leonard declared. "Old Seth, that’s the man on the other side of you, Seth Dover, him and his family moved into that house just before we moved into this one. Edith and I moved in here fifty-six years ago this spring. Our son Henry was born there in that bedroom," he said pointing to a window. And right over there under that big pecan tree is where I found my Edith laying dead five years ago this March."
"I’m sorry Mr. Platt," Leslie said sincerely. "But it’s good you’ve got a son. Someone you can talk to."
"Hah, he’s moved out to California, Bakersfield. He’s got a good job, a big house, and a wife I’ve never seen. He calls ever now and again, the last time I heard from ‘im was just before the holidays ... he called to wish me a Merry Christmas. The last time I seen ‘im was when he came back to his mother’s funeral. That’s when he tried to talk me into moving out to California but I ain’t goin’ to do that. No sir, I’ll just stay right here ... when it comes my time I don’t want to be too far away. Why it would take an act of congress to get me out of this old house. The department store down the street wants my place but I won’t sell."
The sound of a horn honking brought the old man from his thoughts. Again he adjusted his hat and after pulling his collar tight he pushed the door open and stepped quickly into the cab.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"The hospital," Leonard announced, "but first I want to stop by the nursing home and pick up an old friend."
The driver reached over and flipped the flag down on the meter, then looking in the mirror he asked, "You sick?"
"No I feel fine. I’m just going to see a friend."
"It might be hard gettin’ close to the hospital. There’s a big crowd, news people and all. You know that little girl is getting out ... the one who lost her legs here some years back in a car wreck."
"Yeah, that was sure a bad deal, but I heard they finally came up with the money to pay for her some of those prosthetic legs."
The driver gazed into the mirror, "Yes they did ... I guess the whole town had a hand in it. The VFW post had a big Bar-B-Q to raise money, the Shriners put on a Pancake feed, and the Women’s League had several quilt sales. Still they didn’t get near enough until someone put up the other one hundred and fifty thousand dollars ... whoever that was the little girl owes ‘em big time."
"Oh, I doubt if whoever it was considers it a dept," Leonard said back. Then he let his mind jump to the day of the wreck. Leslie had just picked Abby up from daycare and they were on their way home when some drunk ran a red light and broadsided them. Abby’s right leg was severed immediately and the doctors had to take her left leg off three days later. Since then it had been an uphill battle. First the man who hit them had no insurance. Then what little Leslie had in a health policy at work ran out, and she was being told that she made too much money for any kind of government assistance. The people of Fillmore had done all they could and then when it looked as if all was for naught they received an anonymous donation.
The cab came to an easy stop in front of the nursing home and instantly Seth Dover walked from the building. "It’s too cold to be getting out," he said as he slammed the door.
"Why you old goat you wouldn’t miss it no more that I would," Leonard replied.
"No sir, you’re right ‘bout that."
The drive to the hospital was short and as expected the crowd could be seen two blocks away, every news van in the state was there and people lined both sides of the street.
"Just pull up there in that fire zone," Leonard directed.
"I’ll get a ticket."
"If you do I’ll pay it," Seth blurted. Looking over at his old friend he asked, "How long do you think it’ll take ‘em to figurer it out?"
"Figure what out?"
"That you’re mister anonymous."
"What in the world makes you think that?"
"If you’re not, where’s the money you got from your house? Why are you living at the mission? Why is the department store making an employee parking lot out of where your house used to be?"
Before Leonard could answer a loud buzz rumbled over the crowd, the door opened and out walked Abby and Leslie Proctor. Every camera seemed to flash at the same instant as Abby turned and made her way on two brand new legs and she was smiling. Leonard looked over and said, "Ain’t that beautiful, Seth? Ain’t that something to see? That one little smile is worth more than any old house, don’t you think?"