Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “But you once did?”

  She shrugged. “I thought I did. I tried to make myself, but I was always uncomfortable with the notion of angels and gold plates and visions and so forth. It always seemed a little like a fantasy novel, to me.”

  “Did you ever make it a matter of sincere prayer?”

  “Well, frankly, prayer’s another thing I’ve never felt totally at home doing. I mean, you know talking to somebody you’re not at all sure even exists doesn’t sound like the sanest thing to do, does it?”

  “So, you’re not entirely certain that there is a God who hears and answers prayers?”

  “I’m pretty certain there’s not.”

  “Many millions of people believe and testify that there is. Does that make you wonder if you might be missing something?”

  She shrugged again. “Not really. I wondered, for a while, but then I decided that most people don’t really think for themselves, and simply believe what others who are more persuasive or have stronger personalities tell them. I’ve quit doing that. I think it’s important to be intellectually honest with oneself.”

  “I see. You know, there are many very intelligent people in this Church excellent scholars in every field you can imagine who are still people of faith.”

  “That’s their right, if they want to buy into the Mormon mindset, and see the world from that perspective. But once an honest person steps outside the box, so to speak, and begins to see reality more clearly, then he or she can’t continue to be honest if he stays with an organization that represents something other than truth as he sees it.”

  “So I take it you reject Joseph Smith as a prophet?”

  “I reject everybody who styles himself a prophet, from Adam and Moses right on down to the present.”

  “And Jesus Christ?”

  “An interesting person. A thinking person, and a fine moral teacher, in his day. It’s too bad he was killed so young, it would be interesting to know what more he might have said and how his ideas might have changed as his thinking matured.”

  “But he knew God, Sister Lanier! Knew, in fact, that he was God’s Son. What was the source of his fine moral teachings, if not God, Himself?”

  “Please don’t call me ‘Sister,’ all right? We are not related. No offense, of course, I wouldn’t mind if we were, but we’re not. And I believe several authors and scholars have shown that Jesus’ ideas weren’t his alone, but found earlier in other documents, Jewish and Greek and Egyptian.”

  “Could I possibly persuade you, Marybeth, to experiment once again with scripture and prayer? Do you recall the King in the Book of Mormon who prayed, ‘O God, Aaron has told me there is a God, and if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee’? Do you think you could bring yourself to try once again, to read the Book of Mormon and pray in that vein?”

  “Book of Mormon! Trust me, if I don’t believe the Bible to be of divine origin, why should I believe the Book of Mormon?”

  “Because the whole purpose of its existence is to bring you and everyone else to a knowledge of your Savior and Redeemer, so that you can be enlightened and . . .”

  “And what, Mr. Shepherd saved? Now you’re sounding like a Baptist. Don’t want to do that, do we?”

  “You know, Marybeth, you’re closing off the windows to the greatest source of light and truth and intelligence and love there is. It saddens me to hear you talking like this and I know it’s breaking Scott’s heart.”

  “Scott will survive. He’s strong. Not strong enough, just yet, to see things as I do, but strong enough that this won’t destroy him, so don’t worry about us, all right? Now, I didn’t come here tonight to argue, or to be persuaded to believe against my will. Haven’t you heard the old saying? ‘A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion, still.’ The same’s even more true of a woman.”

  “Of course it’s true. And I couldn’t convince or convert you any more than a barking dog could. But I know that the Holy Ghost could speak to your heart and spirit and confirm the truth of the scriptures to you if you’d sincerely study and sincerely pray and ask first, about whether Jesus is truly the Christ, and the Son of God and second, whether the gospel taught in this Church is true. You could know. Can’t I get a promise from you that you’ll try, one more time?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I respect your concern and sincerity, but I’m just not interested.”

  “Let me make you a suggestion, then. If the time comes when you feel down that something’s missing in your life that things might not be just as you think they are, after all will you promise me that you’ll pray for help at that moment, in the name of Christ?”

  “Oh I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe. I can’t promise. Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you’d take care of the matter of my name removal in a timely way.”

  She stood. So did he, and he looked her in the eye.

  “Marybeth, I want you to know that I know that there is a God, and that you’re His spirit daughter, and He knows and loves you beyond measure. He wants you to know Him, and He’s just waiting for you to turn to Him with a sincere heart and a real desire to know, and then He can bless you in ways you’ve never imagined, not the least of which is an increase in the intelligence, light, and truth which you admire and hold dear. I testify to you that He made and ordered the heavens and the earth through His beloved Son, Jesus Christ, who is your Savior. He knows your concerns and doubts and problems, your strengths and weaknesses, and He can work with you to make far more of your talents and abilities than you can do on your own. You and Scott and John are bound by eternal covenants and ordinances that will allow you to advance throughout the eternities, together as a family. I know there is forgiveness of sin, on condition of repentance. These things are real, Marybeth, and I testify of them to you as your bishop and your friend, and in the holy name of Jesus Christ.”

  She was looking at the floor, and her smile had vanished. Her voice, when it came, seemed diminished. “Well, I can’t say ‘amen,’ but thank you, anyway. You’ve done your duty. Good night.”

  She walked quickly out the door, and the bishop sank into his chair, surprised to feel his hands trembling and his shirt damp with perspiration. He bowed his head. “Father,” he prayed, “I know the things thou gavest me to say are true, whether Sister Marybeth Lanier knows it or not, and I thank thee for this knowledge. I pray thee to continue to strive with her and help her open her mind and heart to the truth. Please comfort and strengthen her husband according to his needs, and help him cope with this trial. Please protect others in our ward that they may not be affected adversely by Sister Lanier’s attitudes. Help us all to be strong in the face of dissension. Bless us, Father, in our many varied situations and areas of need. We need Thee, every hour of every day.” He continued praying, mentioning a number of ward members by name, until he was weary but calm, and able to lock the building and walk out into the cool night with his counselor, thankful for him and for that greater Counselor whose advice he so sorely needed each hour.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  “thou, who knowest all our weakness”

  Tiffani’s birthday dinner, an expedition to her favorite pizza place, went off without a hitch, except for some eye-rolling on the part of Tiffani and Claire as Lisa Lou was describing her latest crush a boy named Billy Newton at school whom she felt sure she could convert to the gospel because he was so nice. The bishop refrained from inquiring about the state of her recent affection for Elder Rand Rivenbark. For all he knew, there may have been a couple of other crushes between Rand and Billy. It was hard to keep up with the affairs of Lisa Lou’s heart.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon, with the warmth almost approaching that of a summer day, the bishop took the opportunity (said opportunity having been pointed out to him by his good wife) to clean out the rain gutters and to give the lawn its fall feeding, so that by March it could spring
to life and grow rapidly, thus affording him an early start at mowing. He couldn’t wait.

  Trish and Tiffani had gone shopping, leaving the two younger children with him, and he was contemplating inviting them for a clandestine trip to the Dairy Kreme for a milkshake when the two of them came running across the yard with obvious purpose.

  “Dad, you’ve got company,” sang out Jamie.

  “It’s that hamburger man,” chimed in Mallory.

  “Hamburger man?” he questioned, picturing a delivery of warm sandwiches.

  “It’s just me, Jim,” came a deep voice, as Big Mac Peter MacDonald came around the edge of the patio and strode toward them.

  “Well, hey, Mac! You’re back. Are you here for good?” They shook hands warmly.

  Peter MacDonald chuckled, and reached out to touch Mallory’s cheek playfully. “Whether it’s for good or not, in any sense of the word, varies according to who you want to ask,” he replied. “My little Ruthie and I think it’s for good, time-wise and otherwise, but Ruthanne and Petey aren’t so sure on either count. But yes, we’re here, and in the middle of arranging and rearranging all our stuff at the new place. Seems we should have got rid of about a third of it before we came. Man! What a job. In case anyone asks, I’m at the hardware store right now, buying picture hangers. What’re you folks up to?”

  “I’ve dutifully cleaned out the rain gutters, and still have to feed the lawn, but I was just contemplating a run to the Dairy Kreme with these two. Want to come?”

  “Yes!” exulted Jamie, and Mallory jumped up and down.

  Mac consulted his watch, then shrugged. “Why not? Sure haven’t been to the Dairy Kreme in years. Is it still where it used to be?”

  “Same spot, same great cholesterol specials. Shall we crowd into my truck? Trish has the car.”

  “Oh, let’s take my car,” offered Mac. “Room for all. Just excuse the leftover gum wrappers and junk in the backseat. Haven’t cleaned it out since we arrived.”

  Mac’s car was a nearly new Lincoln, shiny and elegant. The bishop surreptitiously checked the soles of his children’s shoes for mud as they clambered into the back. The ministry in Atlanta must have paid well, he thought. He hoped the family wouldn’t suffer a huge downturn in their personal economy by moving to Fairhaven.

  “This is a cool car,” Jamie said, as they floated along the streets.

  “Well, thanks, my friend,” Mac responded. “My wife picked it out, and she has pretty good taste, I guess. Now, what grades are you kids in?”

  “I’m in fifth,” Jamie said, “and Mallory’s just starting kindergarten.”

  “I can say it my own self,” Mallory objected. “Kindlygarden,” she repeated.

  “Is that right? That’s special, the very first year. My kids are so big, now. Petey’s in eleventh grade, and Ruthie’s in seventh.”

  “My sister’s big,” volunteered Mallory. “She’s in eleventh grade, too.”

  “Good they’ll probably get acquainted! And we’d like to have all of you over, just as soon as we’re settled in a little.”

  “Seems to me we ought to be the first to have you folks over, to welcome you home,” the bishop said. “How about Sunday dinner, tomorrow? Could y’all come about three o’clock?”

  “That’s really nice of you, Jim, and it would save Ruthanne having to try to come up with something. I’m not sure we’ll get to the grocery store before tomorrow for much besides bread and milk and lunch meat. But hey, buddy hadn’t you better check with Trish?”

  “Ah, Trish’s a good sport about things like that. Anyway, she always cooks a ton for Sunday usually on Saturday, so it makes Sunday easier. She’ll be tickled to have you.”

  * * *

  “You what? For tomorrow? Four adult-sized people, with no notice? Jim Shepherd, you can’t do these things to me! It’s eleven p.m. What if I only have five pork chops? What if I’ve made five little individual tarts for dessert? What am I supposed to do, then?”

  “Are we having pork chops? ’Cause I know how to disarm the burglar alarm at the store, and I could run over and get anything you need . . .”

  “No, we are not having pork chops, lucky for you we’re having a nice, big pork roast. It’s marinating in the fridge right now.”

  “But what about the tarts? Hey, maybe the kids would just as soon have ice cream.”

  “I didn’t make tarts. I made two lemon pies, so we’d have leftovers. Jim, don’t you get it? It’s the principle of the thing! You know how I am I have to plan, I have to have time to get ready for these things. I’m not one of your spur-of-the-moment entertainers who can whip up a gourmet meal in ten minutes using only ingredients from one shelf of the pantry!”

  “Now, babe, be reasonable . . .”

  “Oh! I absolutely hate it when you tell me to be reasonable. You’re the one who hasn’t been reasonable, expecting me to put a Sunday dinner for nine on the table when I was planning a simple family meal! And then you forget even to mention it until nearly midnight!”

  Her husband retreated. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, honey, and I’m very sorry. Mac warned me that I should check with you, first, and I didn’t even realize what a big deal it would be for you. I just said, ‘Oh, Trish’s a good sport ya-da, ya-da it’ll be fine.’ Now, I see it isn’t fine, at all. Tell you what I’ll call Mac first thing in the morning and explain. I have his cell number. So just relax, babe. We’ll do it another time.”

  “No, we will not! You can’t do that can’t take back a dinner invitation, when those poor people are barely here, and not even prepared to fix meals, yet. We’ll just do the best we can. I’ll bake some apples along with the roast, and do extra potatoes. I can add more stuff to the salad, and we have plenty of carrots and beans. What else? Let’s see I’ll use my grandmother’s china, and I’d better run check on the green tablecloth and see if that gravy stain came out. If it didn’t, I’ll have to use the beige one, but it’s not as pretty . . .”

  The bishop watched as his wife went into action. He followed her downstairs to the linens cabinet in the dining room.

  “So, let me get this straight,” he said softly. “Things are going to work out okay after all, but I’d just better be sure I don’t pull this stunt again?”

  “That’s about it,” she agreed with some asperity, and then turned to face him. “It’s not that I’m not glad to entertain your friends. It’s just that I oh, Jim, you know how I am I panic if I can’t plan ahead and be orderly about things like this. Rolling with the punches has never been my favorite form of exercise.”

  He reached out for her, and after a brief hesitation she came into his arms, clutching the green tablecloth. “I’m so sorry, babe, I truly am. I don’t ever mean to cause you panic or distress of any kind. I’m just so proud of your cooking and of you, period I like to show you off a little. I’m sorry I threw you for a loop whatever that means.”

  She leaned against him. “You know, if you came in and said, ‘Trish, we need a couple of dozen sandwiches out here for these hungry people, I’d just go to work and make sandwiches. But Sunday dinner should be special. Not that I believe in working much on the Sabbath, but I like to get it done ahead of time and just put the finishing touches on it on Sunday. And these people you know I don’t know them as well as you do but I know they’re city folks, used to really nice things and I just can’t relax unless I’ve done my best to make things nice as possible here.”

  He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “Seems like I’ve heard this somewhere before,” he remarked. “Or something very much like it when your folks and Merrie were coming to visit. Remember? You worked yourself ragged, and everything was perfect, but it didn’t need to be. They just wanted to be with you. You’re not feeling inadequate, somehow, around Ruthanne, are you?”

  “Well, of course I am! She’s way more sophisticated than I am. Where’s she from, anyway wasn’t it Charleston? Someplace where manners and etiquette and style are really important, and
see, if we come across like country bumpkins, what will she think of the Church? That we’re all just as ignorant and provincial as she’s been told?”

  He looked at his wife in consternation. “Are appearances really that important?”

  “It’s not just appearances it’s how we really are. It’s well, yes, appearances are important, to some people, and I think Ruthanne’s one of them.”

  He shrugged. “I always thought she was a pretty nice gal.”

  “Of course you did! That’s because she has lovely manners and knows how to put you at ease. Manners are based on graciousness, and graciousness is based on being truly nice and warm and kind, even to people you regard as your social and spiritual inferiors.”

  “Then you’re about as gracious as they come, sweetheart, because you make everybody feel at ease and welcome here, and you’re super-nice.” He frowned. “But it’s me, isn’t it? I’m the one that’s ignorant and provincial. I’m sorry, honey. I’ll try to be on my best behavior around her. Mac knows me about as well as anybody he and I’ve been buddies practically since we were little kids. I reckon he’s attained a degree of polish that I don’t have, but I think he still likes me. But you, honey you could entertain the queen. You’re all spit-polished and shiny-faced and elegant. Sorry I’m not.”

  Trish shook the green tablecloth across the dining table and examined it in the light of the chandelier. It apparently passed inspection, because she tugged and straightened it so that it could shed any wrinkles from being folded. Her lips were pressed together. Finally she spoke.

  “Jimmy, I’m so sorry. I’m not criticizing you you’re wonderful. The best man I know. I don’t know why I say things like that. I’m probably just hormonal, or something.”

  “It’s okay, babe. I know my limits, and in matters of social niceties, they’re pretty constricting. Listen, we’d better get to bed. I’ve got early meetings in the morning.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll just see to a few things, then I’ll be up.”