The Ring

"Fran, where are the clean towels?"

"I don’t know? Where are they?"

Martha walked from the bathroom to the living room where her twenty-year-old daughter stretched out on the couch. "Franny, I asked you to take the towels out of the dryer and fold them so they didn’t get wrinkled."

"Mom, nobody in the world but you cares if their towels or sheets are wrinkled. You need to chill out."

Martha lowered herself in a chair and looked at her only child. She’d been young when she had Franny, just eighteen. She thought she was in love and when she realized she was pregnant, demanded that David marry her. A stupid, childish mistake. They didn’t love each other and only a few months after Fran’s birth, he left.

Her mother offered to take care of the baby so she could work, but the price she paid was high. Every time she dropped Fran off or picked her up, she listened to a sermon. They weren’t always the same, because her mother had a cache of sermons that would have given the pastor material for years of Sundays.

When Franny was old enough to take care of herself, Martha rarely stopped at her mom’s house. She felt guilty, but not guilty enough to visit and listen to an unending list of her shortcomings. She promised herself she’d never do to Franny what her mother had done to her. She would never make her feel worthless or stupid. She had a feeling that she’d taught her never to feel anything at all.

"Fran, I know this is a difficult time for you right now, but we agreed if you were going to live here, you’d help with the chores. If you don’t want to do that, you could help with some of the bills and I could cut down my hours at work."

"How would I do that, since I don’t have any money?"

"You might get a job."

Franny rolled over until she faced the back of the back of the couch. Martha knew that was the end of that conversation. "Maybe you could stay with your grandmother for a while. She could use some help."

"You’ve got to be kidding. She’s worse than you."

Her daughter’s words felt like a hard slap across her face, mostly because they might be true. Had she become her mother? From the day that David left and she went to work, her life was about survival—of herself and her daughter. When her daughter married and moved out, it was a little easier, but the bills still needed to be paid. When her son-in-law walked out, her daughter returned home.

Twenty years ago, Martha went to work at a drycleaners. She still worked there. Her life had been cleaning and ironing other people’s dirty wrinkled clothes. Sometimes she resented it, but as her mother told her often—she made her bed. She’d considered taking night classes at the community college, but couldn’t ask her mom for any more help. She didn’t have the strength.

Now, at thirty-eight, she thought of herself as an old woman, and sometimes as an old bitter woman. She was about to get up and fold the towels when the doorbell rang. "I’ll get it," she noticed that Fran hadn’t moved.

An elderly woman stood at the door, smiling. "Hi, can I help you?"
"I’m looking for Martha Turner, that’s you isn’t it?"

Martha pulled her head back at the unexpected announcement that this woman already knew who she was. "Yes, I’m Martha, but I don’t think I know you."

"I’ve been going to Young’s Dry Cleaners for thirty years and I know you’ve been working there a good part of that."

Martha stepped back to let her in. "Please come in, Ms…?"

"Call me Beth."

"All right, Beth. Come in. Would you like something to drink?"

When Franny heard they had a visitor, she rolled off the couch and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Martha offered Beth the chair, because it lacked discarded blankets and when Beth declined a drink, Martha sat on the couch. "Is there a problem with something at the cleaners?"

"No, quite the opposite." She lifted her hand. "Do you recognize this ring?"

"Why, yes. I found it in a coat pocket and knew by looking at it that someone would miss it. That’s a very unique ring." Martha had been supporting Beth’s hand and released it. "Beth, why have I never seen you in the store?"

"I usually sit in the car and someone picks up the cleaning, but I’m a nosy old busy body and watch what’s going on. I’ve seen you…well…I’ve seen you grow up. Your life hasn’t been easy, has it, Martha?"

"No harder than most I suppose. My mom says that you get what you deserve and you’re stuck with it."

"Do you believe that?"

Martha stared at her. She’d never questioned whether her mother’s words were true. Since her life was miserable, she must have done something to deserve it. "I don’t know, Beth. I don’t want to believe I’ve been a bad person and stuck with this life. I wondered earlier if I had become my mother, mean and unhappy, and if I had, could I change that."

"A person can always change themselves, Martha, as long as they know who it is they want to change. My guess is that you’re not your mother, nor are you your daughter. You’re Martha Turner, an honest, hardworking person who would like a chance to have a life. That seems rather reasonable to me."

"That sounds reasonable even to me when you say it."

Beth smiled and pointed at her ring. "This ring was given to me by my mother, and had been given to her by her mother. The tradition goes back many generations. When I couldn’t find it, I was devastated. I felt as though I’d let my entire family down. Your boss brought it to me in front of the cleaners and I sobbed as I squeezed it in my hand. I pulled myself together and made him tell me who found and returned it. That’s how I discovered where you lived. I wanted to thank you, Martha."

"You’re welcome, but you didn’t have to drive all the way over here to thank me."

"I did. No one would have known if you kept the ring. I didn’t even realize it was in the pocket of my coat I would never have thought to inquire at the cleaners. You could have made your life a little easier if you kept it."

Martha’s head dropped. "I’m afraid I considered doing that. I knew it must have been worth some money. Money I could have used."

"I can’t imagine anyone not thinking the same thing, but you didn’t keep it. You knew you had to return it. I was going to give this ring to my daughter, but she died in a car accident. When that happened, I raged at God, I screamed at everyone who wandered into my path. I came very close to throwing the ring and myself into the lake. I’m glad I didn’t. I thought you might want it."

"You…I." Martha shook her head, trying to say something. "I can’t. It belongs in your family."

"I’m afraid that I’m it, these days. There’s no more family."

"Beth, I’m not a very religious person, but if there is anything after this life, maybe you could give the ring to your daughter then. I think you should keep it. I’m grateful that you would want to do something that kind, but please, keep it." She wrapped her long fingers around the hand wearing the ring.

Martha sat back on the couch after Beth left and considered what she said about knowing who you were before you could change. Who was she? She at least still had enough integrity to return the ring. That was a good thing, but she was also a person who, without realizing it had become comfortable in her despair. Was that the ring her mother passed down to her, and the ring she had passed on to her own daughter?

When Fran sat next to her, Martha put an arm over her shoulder. "Franny, I’m going to start taking some classes at the Junior College. Maybe a few general studies courses so I can see where I want to go, and next weekend we’re going to invite your grandmother over for dinner. A dinner we’ll both cook."

"What brought this on, and who was your visitor?"

"She was someone who knew me."

A week later, Martha worked in the back of the cleaners when someone came in to see her. "Martha Turner?"

She glanced up from the ironing table at an official looking man in a blue suit. "Yes, can I help you?"

"You know Mrs. Elizabeth Bardwell." He wasn’t really asking but she shook her head anyway. "Mrs. Bardwell passed away and left a few things for you." He handed her a small box which she opened and immediately recognized the ring.

"Beth," she looked between the man and the ring. "She passed away?"

"Yes, ma’am." He pushed an envelope toward her. "This is a letter that she said would explain everything."

Martha sat and opened the envelope.

Dear Martha,

I hope you don’t think me rude for doing this, but it seemed right. I know you will have already figured out how to start making changes in your life. You’re an intelligent woman who needed nothing more than a slight push in the right direction.

I want you to have the ring. It is relatively worthless as jewelry goes, but the act of passing what we have learned on to the next generation is more valuable than any bag of coins.

You did more for me by returning the ring than you could possibly know. Thank you for helping me to continue our family tradition. I would also like you to have my home. As I told you, I have no other family, and I am confident you can fill it with joy.

Sincerely,

Beth

Martha looked up at the man in the suit, who stood with his hands folded in front of him. "She wants me to have her home?" He nodded. "Where is it?"

"It’s on the North Shore, but it is actually more of an estate than a home."

"Beth had an estate?"

"Yes, ma’am. It’s worth over eight million dollars." The man watched Martha walk over to the ironing table and go back to work. "What are you doing? You don’t have to iron anymore."

"For now, its part of who I am, but I’m pretty sure that’s something I’ll be able to change."