Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “Got a lot on your plate, ain’tcha?”

  “Oh, it varies from day to day. Minute to minute, sometimes.” He grinned. “But it’s good to be able to make a little difference, now and then. Help people out.”

  “That’s cool. That you want to, I mean. That you care.”

  * * *

  He did care, and that was why he called Melody right away.

  “I have a good feeling about this, Melody,” he told her. “And I’m planning to fast the day before the hearing, in case you’d like to join me. I’ll invite Trish and Ida Lou and the brethren in the bishopric to do the same, if they can. I fully believe in the efficacy of fasting and prayer.”

  “I’ll do it, Bishop, bless your heart, and thank you! I just don’t think I could live through the holiday season without Andi. Halloween was bad enough. I just turned out the lights and pretended I wasn’t home. I don’t even know what she did, or anything! Sister Hallmark tried to get me to go help out at a shelter for battered women and children that evening, but I didn’t have the heart for it. It’s like, I don’t know like I still hurt too much, myself. Someday, though, I’d like to do that. When I’m stronger.”

  “Is Sister Hallmark seeing you regularly?”

  “She sure is. Once a week, plus I can call her, anytime I need to talk. She’s a sweet lady. And she’s given me a couple of books to read, so I can maybe understand a little better what was going on in our family. You know what, Bishop? It just plain makes me sick and ashamed that I ever let things get to the point they did. I see, now, that I didn’t have to take that kind of treatment! But I just kept making excuse after excuse for Jack, when he didn’t deserve any of them.”

  “I’m glad you’re sorting some of these things out. How do you feel toward Jack, these days?”

  “Furious, that’s how I feel! Mad as all get out. How dare he treat me that way! I didn’t do one thing to deserve any of it. I can’t believe I let him get away with it.”

  The bishop thought her anger was the most rational feeling he had ever heard her express toward her husband. It had taken a while, but all the hurt and fear she had experienced had finally morphed into anger and indignation, and he thought, in this case, that was probably healthy.

  “I can’t say I blame you,” he told her. “Melody, what do you know about Jack’s upbringing and childhood?”

  “Now, Bishop don’t you go trying to get me to feel sorry for him, or even try to understand him, just when I’m working up a good head of steam!”

  He chuckled. “No, I’m not trying to do that. It’s just that it’s part of my job to try to understand, literally, where he’s coming from, and I wondered if you had any insights.”

  “Well, Jack’s always been real closemouthed about his family and his childhood. I know both his parents are dead, and he and his brother don’t keep in touch very often. He grew up in Wilmington, Delaware, and joined the Marines about a year out of high school.”

  “Has he ever talked about his folks?”

  “Not really. I used to ask him, but he never said much, except once he said, ‘Look, they’re not the best memories, all right? So let’s drop the subject.’ I didn’t dare ask much more, after that. The only other thing I remember is that sometimes when we were buying something for Andi a swing set or a playhouse, or something Jack would say he wanted her to have the stuff he never had as a kid. So, I assume it wasn’t a real happy situation.”

  “I see. Thanks, Melody that helps some.”

  “Have you seen Jack, lately?”

  “A couple of times, to try to encourage him to stick with his therapy and counseling sessions. He isn’t liking them, much. Other than that, I know that he’s very lonely, and that he misses you and Andi and your home. He’s working hard, but he’s just kind of bitter and lonely.”

  “I don’t reckon he gave you any kind of message for me?”

  “No, he didn’t and frankly, if he did, I probably wouldn’t deliver it, nor one from you to him. That’d put me in an uncomfortable kind of go-between position, which is not where I want to be. I will tell you that he seemed afraid that Andi would come to think of him as the big, bad wolf, I believe is the way he put it.”

  “I wouldn’t make her think that. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I already figured out that it wouldn’t be fair to her to poison her thoughts about her daddy. Even if I’d be tempted to, to get back at him! It just wouldn’t be good for Andi.”

  “I believe that’s wise of you. And I imagine the child services people are careful about that kind of thing, too.”

  “I sure hope so. But how can I know? I have no idea what that poor little thing thinks about either of us, or what she’s been told.”

  “I know. But hopefully it’ll only be about ten more days, and the judge will allow her to come home. We’ll pray for that, Melody. Okay?”

  “We sure will. Thank you, Bishop. I’m sure grateful to you. By the way, I know now who it was that reported us to the authorities. It was Mrs. Marshall at the day care. Andi was acting funny there, and she suspected. I talked to her. She felt bound by the law to let somebody know, like you said. So I’m trying not to hold it against her. I suppose it did need seeing to.”

  “Probably so. Well take care, all right? And try to believe that things will work out for the best, eventually.”

  “I hope and pray you’re right on that.”

  So did he.

  * * *

  When he arrived home that evening, a smiling Trish flung her arms around him.

  “Guess what, guess what, guess what?” she said with an enthusiasm more often seen in Tiffani or Mallory than in their mother.

  “What, what, what?” he returned, squeezing her tightly, grateful for whatever it was that had made her so buoyant.

  “Meredith called. She said that she and Dirk are trying to decide between a Noah’s ark theme and Winnie the Pooh for decorating their nursery!”

  “Merrie’s expecting? All right!” He hugged his wife off her feet and spun her around. “That’s great news!”

  He thought of Merrie’s tearful confession to him on her last visit to Fairhaven that she was unbearably lonely, rattling around in the lavish Phoenix mansion Dirk had built for her, while he spent nearly all his time immersed in his work. Apparently something had changed, and he was glad. Merrie had gone home with a determination to lay things on the line for her husband, letting him know that she needed his company and that it was time to start their family, which would be difficult to do if he were always absent.

  There were so many lonely people, he reflected. Old and young, together or apart, too many suffered from isolation of one kind or another. It certainly was not a problem that currently afflicted him, however. He valued a few moments of privacy and solitude now and then. They were hard to come by but he wouldn’t want a calendar filled with them.

  * * *

  Tuesday evening was Home, Family, and Personal Enrichment meeting for the sisters, and after one setting apart and two temple recommend interviews, he kept his office door open in case anyone needed to slip in for a private word. The Relief Society was featuring a tasting table of pumpkin recipes, so he and his counselors were each brought a plate of goodies for their supper.

  “This is a casserole that was baked in a pumpkin,” explained Sister Rosetta McIntyre, the second counselor to Ida Lou, pointing to a rice and meat mixture. “This one’s pumpkin soufflé, and that’s pumpkin gingerbread. I sure hope you brethren like pumpkin!”

  He smiled at her. “If we didn’t before, I’ll bet we will, after this. Thanks so much, Sister McIntyre.”

  He settled behind his desk with his plate of pumpkin delicacies before him and opened his scriptures, hoping for a chance to catch up a little on his reading, which had been neglected of late.

  “Bishop?” asked a tentative voice. He looked up. The voice belonged to Connie Wheeler.

  “Hey, Sister Wheeler come on in,” he invited.

  The young woman slipped into one o
f the chairs across from him. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner go ahead and eat. But I’ve just got to tell you our news!”

  He smiled. He knew what the news must be. “What’s that?” he inquired, anyway.

  “We’ve been chosen by a birth mother, to adopt her baby when it’s born!”

  Sister Wheeler’s face was glowing with excitement, though it also looked as if she might suddenly burst into tears.

  “That’s wonderful! When’s the baby due?”

  “In just two or three weeks. In her letter, she said she took her time choosing from all the prospective couples, because none of them seemed just right. Then one night she had a dream, and she saw the faces of a couple, playing with a baby in some grassy place like a park, and a voice said, ‘These will love your child.’” Connie bent her head and touched a tissue to her eyes. “A couple of days later, the agency gave her three more couples to choose from, and she said she recognized us from her dream, even before she read anything about us!”

  The bishop put down his fork. He had to swallow a lump in his throat, along with his pumpkin soufflé. “That’s really remarkable, Connie. And a tribute to her faith, and yours.”

  “We’re so grateful, and so excited! We aren’t supposed to tell anybody yet but I knew you’d probably know about it, anyway.”

  He smiled. “I just knew that Social Services called, recently, checking to be sure that I still felt you and Don were worthy to be adoptive parents. I figured something was in the works, and I’m glad to hear it is! Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Bishop. We’re driving to Atlanta this weekend to meet her and get acquainted. She lives near there. I’ll tell you one minute, I’m so nervous I can hardly stand it, then the next, I’m all calm and happy. And I feel such love for that girl! I sure hope she’ll like us.”

  “Sounds to me like she already does. I’d say this is probably the beginning of a sacred partnership one that was forged in the heavens, you might say.”

  “It really strengthens my testimony, and makes me know for sure that the Lord is aware of us, each one.”

  “Mine, too,” he agreed, and after Connie left, he whispered a prayer of gratitude.

  * * *

  He returned to his reading, and had nearly completed one section in the Doctrine and Covenants before Sister LaThea Winslow peeked around the door jamb, knocking lightly.

  “Bishop? May I come in?”

  “Sure, Sister Winslow. Have a seat. How’s everything?”

  She pulled a paper from her purse. “Here’s VerDan’s bishop’s name, and the name of his ward and stake at the U. He said you needed that, to start the mission process going.”

  “Well, good. Thanks. Yes, you see, since VerDan hasn’t been here in the ward, and I don’t know him very well, I’ll need to talk to his former bishop about his attendance and so forth. Plus, we need to have his records transferred here, so I appreciate you bringing this by.”

  She leaned forward eagerly. “So what’d you think, Bishop?”

  “About VerDan? Well, he seems like a fine young man.”

  “Can’t you just see that he’s great missionary material?”

  “Well, we surely hope he will be.”

  “Oh, it’s in his blood, Bishop. He can’t miss. His grandfathers were both wonderful missionaries, and on his Winslow side, his ancestors were notable missionaries to the British Isles, where their own people had migrated from. I kind of feel that’s where VerDan will be sent, too, don’t you think? That would be so appropriate. In fact, can you put a bug in somebody’s ear to help that along a bit?”

  “Well, one of the questions on the papers he took home asks about where he’d like to serve, so ”

  “Well, but you see he thinks he’d like to serve in Hawaii, or Florida, or the Caribbean. Someplace warm and sunny, you know? He doesn’t care for cold weather. But he’s young what does he know? Once he’s in place in the British Isles preferably England he’ll feel the rightness of it, and go to work and serve a wonderful mission, just like his ancestors.”

  “Um, well we’ll have to see how the Brethren feel. Often the assignments surprise everybody, although it does seem that in some families, folks are sent to the same area over the generations.”

  “That’s how it’ll be for VerDan, I’m certain of it.”

  “Sister Winslow, has VerDan expressed to you his deepest feelings about serving a mission?”

  “Oh. Um let’s see, what did he say when he called with the news? Something about how it was clear to him that the time had come for him to go. We’d prayed and prayed, you know, for a long time, that he would feel the need to go and serve, because we knew he was meant to, and we knew he’d be successful at it. But it had to come from him, Bishop. We didn’t want to push him.”

  “Mmm that’s wise. Well, we’ll go to work on this, Sister, and tell VerDan that I’m available to him. Anytime he might like to talk with me, I’ll try to see him. And thanks, again.”

  “Thank you. He’s a wonderful boy, you know. He always planned to serve a mission, during his growing up years. We used to ask him where he wanted to serve, and he’d always say, ‘Disneyland!’ Isn’t that the cutest thing? He was such a doll.”

  The bishop smiled. He wished he could dispel the feeling that the California Disneyland Mission, if there had been one, just might have been well-suited to prospective Elder VerDan Winslow.

  * * *

  When he arrived home from the store on Wednesday, there were two letters for him on his desk in the corner of the dining room. One was from Elder Donnie Smedley in Brazil, and the other from President Walker, the stake president. He opened Donnie’s first.

  Dear Bishop,

  Hi there. I sure hope everything’s going good with the ward and that everybody is ok. Things are great here in Sao Paulo as far as the work goes, but it sure breaks my heart to see the little street kids who run wild and beg for food or money. I’d like to pack them all up and send them home to my mom to raise but I guess she’s got enough to handle with my bros. and sis.’s. Thanks for your letter. I’m glad to hear Elder Rivenbark’s doing good in Cali. I don’t know him real well, cuz he moved to town when I was a senior, and was in the hospital a lot and stuff, but he seems like a real nice guy. I’ve got some real promising contacts. One family, the Fernandes family, they’re real good people and I think they’ll be baptized. It’s funny, it’s like they already know the stuff we teach them, and we’re like just reminding them of it. They’re golden. Then we’ve got Ricardo, he’s this young guy who drives a bakery truck and lives in a little shack behind some members’ house. They let him live there cuz he brings them bread and cake sometimes. His family is all broken up and moved to different places, and he’s lonesome. I think that’s why he lets us come and teach him, but who cares why, as long as he does. He’s a cool guy, and seems interested in what we tell him, but he sure loves his coffee and I hope he can give it up. He doesn’t often drink other stuff, cuz he says he doesn’t like the feeling of being out of total control of himself when he does. My new comp, Elder Wittenbeck, is a real greenie and scared to try to speak the language, so I get to do most of the talking. Anyway, that’s what’s goin on. My mom writes that you’re a real good bishop, so I look forward to getting to know you better in five months! I really want to work hard, this last part of my mission. I don’t want to be a trunk-sitter, if you know what I mean. Thanks for writing.

  Your friend,

  Elder Don D. Smedley

  The bishop smiled. He looked forward to getting to know Elder Smedley, too. He wondered if the elder knew that the Jernigans were helping to fund his mission. It touched the bishop’s heart to know that, and he hoped the missionary’s heart would be touched as well. He didn’t think the Jernigans were wealthy, by any stretch of the imagination. Ralph was retired from factory work and supplemented his retirement with the produce he grew, so the bishop suspected that it was a bit of a sacrifice to donate a goodly portion of Elder Smedley’s financial need
s each month.

  The letter from the President Walker caused him a little concern. It requested a stake choir for conference in February, and suggested that each ward that had not already done so, should form a ward choir to perform in sacrament meeting on a regular basis, including a Christmas program. Then the choir director was to select several men and women to participate in the stake choir for February third. This request had come from the area authority, who would be presiding at the February conference, and President Walker would appreciate timely cooperation on the matter.

  The bishop leaned back in his chair. The Fairhaven Ward had been remiss for some time in the matter of special musical numbers for sacrament meeting. The Primary children had sung for Mother’s and Father’s Days and Easter, and Claire Patrenko had played a rather impressive piano solo once, and other than that, they had gotten along with an additional congregational hymn between speakers. Did they have anyone in the ward with experience in directing or even singing in a choir? He had no idea.

  “Trish! Hey, babe who do you know in the ward who sings well, or does a good job directing music?”

  Trish came in from the kitchen, drying her hands, and sat on one of the dining room chairs. “Well,” she said slowly, “let’s see. Sister DeNeuve used to be really good as Primary chorister, before she became Relief Society president. I don’t know how she’d do with other age groups. What position are you needing filled?”

  “Choir director.”

  “We’re going to have a choir? Fun! I can’t remember when our ward has ever had a choir. Are you sure you want to do that?”

  He grinned. “Not at all. But President Walker has directed every ward to put one together, and to contribute some singers to a stake choir for February conference. So help!”

  She laughed. “Well, let’s see. Tiff and I both sing soprano. We’re not great, but we can carry a tune. There are a number of good altos, I hear them harmonizing in Relief Society, but I’m not sure who they are. As far as men go I think Brother Detweiler is a pretty good bass, and last week, the Rivenbarks sat behind us, and I thought Brother Rivenbark had a nice voice. Who sings tenor? Hey, how about Brother Tuapetagi? I think he might. As for directors, I don’t know. Better just make it a matter of prayer.”