“First, he started drinking. Well, he’d always enjoyed drinking a little just social stuff but it got more serious, more regular. And then one day I found him in the family room, watching a porn flick. I laughed, at first it seemed so ridiculous and told him to turn that junk off. He got really angry with me. Said he he needed that, to feel any interest in me. He started wanting me to watch the stuff with him. I tried, to please him, but it was so gross, and so demeaning. I hated it.
“Then, he found this place in the Caribbean a really nice resort, I thought until I found out you were supposed to not wear bathing suits on the beach. He liked to take me there, and watch other guys look . . .” She started crying again.
“It’s okay,” the bishop told her. “You don’t need to tell me any more. I get the picture, loud and clear. I’m so sorry, Muzzie. I had no idea you were going through this kind of thing.”
“I tried to hide it, but it just got worse and worse. Do you know there are even people here in Fairhaven couples who get together on weekends and well, you can guess.”
He was sickened to hear it. “Reckon evil and corruption are everywhere,” he said.
“Exactly. But then on Monday morning, they pretend to be so such upstanding, good citizens! And that’s how Dugie is. I wouldn’t go to those parties, so I’m not sure but I think he’s been taking someone else.” She straightened her thin shoulders. “He’s given me three wonderful kids and a lovely home. But I just can’t accept the other stuff he’s been trying to give me! It’s not my style, and I’m actually embarrassed to have stayed with him as long as I have.”
“You’ve openly discussed all this with him? He’s known how strongly you feel about his activities?”
“Oh, yes. He knows. I’ve made it clear, many times. He calls me a prude and a sissy. One time he said I was nothing but an aging cheerleader with nothing left to cheer about. I told him that sure was true, if he was on the team.”
“What’ll you do, now?” the bishop asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve got the names of several lawyers who’re all supposed to be good. One is a woman, and I think I’d feel more comfortable telling all this garbage to her than to a man. I mean, there’s lots more, guys I’ve only sketched an outline for you.”
Bishop Shepherd frowned. “I’m not familiar with the various grounds for divorce in Alabama, but surely there’s something to cover a moral disintegration like you’ve described in Dugan. You shouldn’t have to live with that, or expose your children to it.”
“You think it’s all right, then, for me to go ahead? I mean, y’all are religious, good people, and I know your church doesn’t approve of divorce, but I figured maybe there’s an exception?”
Bishop Shepherd sighed. “Unless Dugie can be brought to his senses, and repent of his sins and really change his ways, I don’t see that you have much of a choice. His changing, of course, would be the ideal solution.”
“So far, he doesn’t think he’s doing anything he needs to be ashamed of. He thinks it’s unreasonable for anyone to expect people not to explore pleasure to its limit.” She shrugged. “I reckon maybe he’ll even be relieved to be rid of me, since I’m such a prude, and the kids and I must be a drag on his lifestyle.”
“Does any of his family know what’s been going on?” asked Trish.
“His folks are both gone, now. It’s just as well, ’cause they were nice people and they’d be horrified at how he’s carrying on. His sister lives in Montgomery, and I don’t know if she’s picked up on anything, or not. I haven’t told her. And my dad’s so old and fragile I don’t want to tell him all this stuff. He knows I’m not real happy, but not why. Mama’s gone, of course. So you’re closer than my own sister, Trish that’s why you guys got so lucky, today!” Muzzie laughed shakily. “And Trishie, you really are so lucky, to have a decent guy like Jim. I wish there were more like him around, but I don’t expect to find one. Anyway, I’m prepared to be a single mom, rather than take a chance again.”
“Well, don’t make that decision just yet,” Trish told her gently. “Let’s take one thing at a time. What are you going to tell the kids?”
“I may not have to tell them much. They’ve heard some of my tirades, and some of his insults. I dread saying the big ‘D’ word to Brad, though. He cares for his dad. And I don’t even know what I’m willing to go along with in the way of visitation rights.”
“You know,” the bishop said, thinking of Melody Padgett’s situation, “the judge may well have something to say about that. Your attorney will know how it works.”
Muzzie took a deep breath. “So I guess that’s my next step.”
The bishop thought of something. “Muzzie, is Dugie the kind to try to get the kids away from you? Would he pull anything underhanded? Like, would he try to get to Brad?”
She gazed at him for a minute, then comprehension dawned. “I’m calling the people at Brad’s school, right now,” she stated firmly. “That’s exactly the kind of thing Dugie would do, to try to keep Brad’s affection and allegiance!”
Trish’s eyes widened. “He could go there and withdraw Brad from school, couldn’t he? And maybe even put him in another school, without your knowledge! Could that happen?”
“It could. Excuse me, will you? I have the number in my wallet. I’m calling right now.”
Bishop Shepherd and his wife looked at each other as Muzzie ran to get her purse. Trish shook her head in sympathy with her friend, then reached to cover her husband’s hand with her own.
“Muzzie’s right,” she whispered. “They don’t make many like you and I’m very, very lucky. Thanks for listening, honey.”
* * *
He left and went to the store, where he concentrated on working extra hard to make up for the time he had taken off. The day went by quickly as a result, and he rushed home to collect Jamie and head off to pick up Buddy and get to the game. Tiffani was already with Claire, and Trish wasn’t at home; Jamie said she and Muzzie and the little girls had gone to talk to some lawyer somewhere and would be back before bedtime.
“Okay, fine,” he responded, glad that Trish was being supportive of her friend. “Are you ready to go? Did you feed the cat?”
“Well, yeah, you know how it is. You can’t not feed Samantha when she decides she wants to eat, or she climbs your leg with her claws.”
“Oh, right. Good. Okay, my friend, let’s go cheer T-Rex and the Mariners on to victory!”
They tried to do just that, but in spite of all sorts of heroic attempts from T-Rex and his teammates, the final home game went down as a defeat in the annals of Fairhaven High. Jamie hung over the side railing of the bleachers calling out encouragement as a dispirited team headed back to their locker room.
“Good try, Mariners. Great work, T-Rex! It’s been a great season, guys!”
Several players, smarting from the loss, snarled up at him, but T-Rex looked up and reached up a beefy hand to high-five his staunch little supporter. “Thanks, Jamie. Hey, Buddy,” he said, tiredly.
“Hey, T-Rex,” Buddy replied. The bishop thought of the drawing Buddy had given him. No way was he going to part with the original, but T-Rex deserved to see Buddy’s heroic depiction of him. He would make him a copy.
“Bishop, you can just drop me at Deddy’s house,” Buddy said, once they were in the truck. “It’s his weekend to have me, and it’ll save him havin’ to pick me up, or Mama to drop me off, ’cause her and Jeter are in a hurry to head outa town for the weekend.”
“Okay, sure. Here we go.”
There were no lights on at the small house owned by “Deddy” Gerald Osborne.
“He musta gone to bed, already,” Buddy said. “If the door’s locked, I’ll just knock and wake him up.”
“We’ll wait, to be sure you get in,” said the bishop.
“Oh, you don’t need to, it’s okay.”
“No trouble,” he replied, moving the gear shift to neutral.
Buddy took his duffel bag and ran up to the fr
ont door. He reached to to knock, then pulled a folded piece of paper from the screen door. He tried to read it by the light of a moon that kept being obscured by shreds of fast-moving, high clouds, but finally walked back out to the truck.
“Looks like he left me a note, but I cain’t see it for nothin’,” he said. The bishop switched on the overhead light, and watched as the boy perused the writing and frowned.
“Shoot,” Buddy said. “Says he’s gone outa town, too had to go down to Biloxi to fetch somethin’ for work. He tried to call me, but nobody answered. Well, reckon I c’n just get in a window, and be fine, but I might hafta break it to get in, and Deddy won’t like that.”
The bishop reached around his son to pat Buddy’s shoulder. “Tell you what, Buddy, why don’t you just come on home with us for the weekend?”
“Yeah!” agreed Jamie. “We got way too many girls right now, and we need you, bad huh, Dad?”
“That’s for certain,” his dad agreed. “You can bunk with Jamie, and he’ll get you to play all his computer games.”
“Aw, I shouldn’t do that,” Buddy objected. “But the fact is, I don’t got a key to neither house don’t ask me why not and I don’t reckon neither of my folks’d cotton to my tryin’ to break in. I just don’t know where else I could go, right now. My grandmas are too far away, lessen I was to hitchhike . . .”
“And you’ll do no such thing as that. Go get your bag, my friend, and we’ll be on our way home.”
Trish looked up from a batch of dough she was kneading, her face tired, but not too tired to show surprise at the presence of Buddy Osborne coming in with her husband and son.
“Hey, sweetie,” her husband said, coming to kiss her cheek. “Buddy’s locked out of two houses, due to some miscommunication, so he’s going to bunk in Jamie’s room tonight.”
“Oh, I see well, fine! Of course he is.”
“Hey, Sister Shepherd,” Buddy said, in his deep but timid voice. “I’m real sorry about this. I tried to figure somewheres else I could go . . .”
“What for, Buddy? You’re perfectly welcome here. Jim, why don’t you get Jamie’s sleeping bag, and I’ll grab an extra pillow, and you boys can go to sleep dreaming about these cinnamon rolls I’m making for breakfast.”
The bishop had never loved his wife more than in that moment.
“Yum!” cried Jamie. “I tell you what, Buddy you ain’t never tasted cinnamon rolls as good as my mom’s. You like raisins in ’em, or not? She does some both ways, with and without.”
Buddy smiled faintly. “I like raisins,” he said. “I like most things, fer that matter.”
The bishop fetched the sleeping bag, his wife found a pillow, and they saw the boys off to Jamie’s room with goodnight wishes. Then he turned to her and opened his arms.
“House-party weekend?” he asked, enfolding her in a warm embrace.
“Why not?” she said, with a small, smothered giggle. “Come one, come all!”
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
“there’s a multitude of children all around”
On Saturday morning Trish organized a work party consisting of all the young people present in her household. Fortified by her delicious cinnamon rolls with and without raisins plus juice, cocoa, and scrambled eggs, they could hardly decline. She also dangled the carrot of tacos for lunch, followed by a movie if all necessary chores were completed, whereupon she had a corps of willing slaves. She directed Tiffani and Chloe to clear up the breakfast clutter and vacuum the living and dining rooms. Mallory and Marie were to straighten and dust the family room, and the boys accompanied Trish outside to pull dead flowers and learn to plant fall bulbs.
Muzzie, thus relieved of the care of her girls for the day, betook herself to visit the lawyer she had contacted, who felt it important enough to meet with her on Saturday.
The bishop, too, had plans for the day, and so was especially appreciative of his wife’s organizing skills and way with young people. He called Ernie Birdwhistle to ask if he and his counselor, Sam Wright, might drive up to visit the family in the early afternoon. One of the Birdwhistle daughters answered the phone, and asked him to please wait while she found her father. It was some time before Ernie came on the line, and the bishop had begun to wonder if the young lady had gotten distracted and forgotten about the call.
“Brother Birdwhistle, I’m sorry to interrupt your morning,” he said. “I imagine you were busy.”
“Oh, just flogging a lad,” Ernie Birdwhistle said cheerfully, sounding rather out of breath.
The bishop blinked. Surely there wasn’t an abuse problem with the Birdwhistle family! He hoped and prayed there was not. He hardly knew how to reply.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Um, is is everything all right?”
“Right as rain, Bishop. The boy deserved it, and admitted as much. All’s well. What can I do for you?”
“Brother Sam Wright and I have a little time this afternoon to make some visits, and we wondered if it would be all right if we drove up to see you folks?”
“Be a pleasure, Bishop, glad to have you,” he agreed heartily.
* * *
Bishop Shepherd spent a little time at his desk, organizing his thoughts in preparation for the next day’s bishopric meeting and priests quorum discussion. One of the items on his list for his counselors was the question of ward choir director. He was leaning toward Linda DeNeuve, but he wondered if there might be someone else whose musical talent or knowledge he was ignorant of, who should figure into the equation. He had prayed about the matter, but no other names had presented themselves. Linda had a new baby, but he rather expected that her husband could care for the baby along with their other three children for an hour each week while choir practice was held. When to hold it that was another question. Probably right after the three-hour block, he surmised. It was hard to get people there early, especially with children to get ready and doubly hard to get them to come back later, after they had already gone home, especially with the distances some of the members traveled. He shook his head. There was no easy solution. People were often tired and ready to head home and eat after the meeting block, and children would be restless. Still, the stake presidency wanted a choir, and the bishop agreed that one would add a spiritual tone and interest to their sacrament meetings, and would have the additional benefit of involving more people in the meetings therefore, a choir they would have! He hoped.
He declined to go for tacos with Trish and the youngsters, made himself a sandwich, and enjoyed the unaccustomed quiet in the house to read a bit in the scriptures and to meditate and pray. There hardly ever seemed to be a surplus of time for those activities. He even recorded a few lines in his much-neglected journal, chagrined to see that the last entry was dated several months earlier. Before he left, he vacuumed the upstairs carpets and cleaned the children’s bathroom as a surprise for Trish, then hurried out to his truck to pick up Sam Wright for the drive to the Birdwhistle homestead.
On the seat was a folded piece of paper. He picked it up. It was the note that Buddy Osborne’s “Deddy” had left for him the night before. It read:
“Buddy can’t have you this wkd. Have to drive to Biloxi to pick up a part for my shovel, or it’d be clear to next week before they’d get it to me. Can’t afford to miss work for that. Tried to call your mother but you know she wont anser my calls, she’s so sweet that way, so sorry I couldn’t get word to you. See you probably next wkd. Dad.”
The bishop groaned. “Ah, Gerald why couldn’t you have taken the boy with you, for once? He’d have enjoyed the trip, and maybe even felt wanted and cared for! And didn’t you know your ex-wife was going out of town, too? Maybe not. Sounds like there isn’t much communication, there. But even if you didn’t know, what was Buddy supposed to do, once she dropped him off hike all those miles back out to her trailer, late at night? It’s a lot to expect.”
He started the truck, sticking the paper in his pocket. If he felt injured and neglected on Buddy’s behalf, h
ow must Buddy himself feel? How could people have children and treat them like something to be shoved aside and dumped off? He’d never understand.
* * *
The drive up into the hills with Sam Wright restored his mood. Sam was good company with his jovial, down-home way of talking and his unfailing faith in his fellowman, despite that man’s (or woman’s) foibles. They were laughing heartily by the time they left the main highway for the network of roads that climbed past farms and orchards and an old mine entrance, up into the forested hills that, more than anything, announced the presence of mountains somewhere not too far away. They passed a small trickle of a waterfall just beside the road, its flow diverted into a culvert that ran under the road to continue as a miniature stream on the other side. There was a lot of water in this part of the state, not far from the great Tennessee River, and it lent beauty and diversity to the landscape.
The Birdwhistle land lay in a shallow valley between forested hillsides. The area reminded him of Shepherd’s Pass, his ancestors’ homestead, which was somewhat south of this, and a little more populated, but which had the same serene sense of peace.
“We’re just about there,” said Sam. “Right around this next bend, then look left.”
The bishop whistled softly. For the first time, he understood the appeal the place had for Ernie and Nettie Birdwhistle sufficient appeal to keep them isolated from near neighbors, let alone from town, school, and church. It was an idyllic layout, something out of a Grandma Moses painting, or a children’s picture book farm. The two-story log farmhouse with its two chimneys was impressive, and perfect for its setting, as were the huge barn and other outbuildings. Horses grazed in a pasture that still showed patches of green, and smaller animals and children dotted the landscape, either romping or trotting purposefully on some errand. The bishop almost expected the girls to be wearing sunbonnets and long dresses, but jeans and long-sleeved shirts seemed to be the preferred style.
“Now, id’n that somethin’?” asked Sam Wright.
“It sure is,” agreed the bishop.
Mercies and Miracles Page 17