Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “I tell you what, the wife and I figured the Birdwhistles had ten young’uns just to pervide company for ’em. There sure ain’t nobody else around.”

  “And company for each other,” his companion agreed. “They’d need some variety in their choice of playmates, with no friends around.”

  “Uh-huh, they would, ’ceptin’ of course Lehi and Limhi.”

  “Of course.” The bishop grinned. “But even they feud, sometimes. Hey, Sam how does Ernie strike you, as a father?”

  “Pretty amazin’, I reckon, just to keep track of his young’uns’ names. Basically, I think he’s a tenderhearted kinda guy. Mama’s the one to look out for.”

  “I wondered, because when I called, Ernie said he’d just been ‘flogging a lad.’”

  Sam chuckled. “He would put it that way. I reckon he fancies hisself a sort of Dan’l Boone type. Fact is, I think he claims to be a descendant of Dan’l. Reckon maybe it’s gone to his head a tad. But no, I reckon the floggin’ weren’t much to worry about. ’Lessen, of course, he let hisself slip and chastise too harsh and angry. Reckon about any dad could do that on occasion. Kids can get to you.”

  “That’s true. Well, let’s kind of count noses, and make sure everybody’s okay.”

  He pulled his truck down the drive and parked beside the family’s two vans. He couldn’t help comparing the openness of the farm, and the friendly, bouncing approach of children and dogs, to the controlled, fenced property of Ralph and Linda Jernigan. How much difference might it have made, he wondered, if the Jernigans had had other children in addition to Jodie Lee? Not that they still wouldn’t have deeply grieved her loss, but maybe if they’d had others to see to and live for, it might have helped stave off the paranoia.

  “Hey, y’all,” greeted a young boy with a grin as big as his ears.

  “Hey, your ownself, Matt,” Brother Wright replied. “How ya doin’?”

  “Good,” the boy replied. “Y’all come on in. Ruth, go get Daddy and Mama.”

  Ruth, a girl just slightly taller than Matt who was balancing a toddler on her hip, gave him an exasperated look. “You go, Matt I’ve got Emma. I’ll take ’em inside and see to ’em. That’s my job.”

  “Aw,” objected Matt, but it was with a degree of good humor that he ran off toward the barn.

  The visitors followed Ruth and Emma up the steps to the wide porch and in the front door of the log dwelling. The bishop wasn’t sure what he had expected to see inside, but he was pleasantly surprised. The rustic look was carried on in the decor, but not overwhelmingly. There were braided rugs on the polished floor of the living room, and several comfortable sofas were grouped around a large fireplace. Bright pillows in varying colors picked up the colors of the rugs, and several good framed prints hung on the walls. Plants thrived on a low table before the window, and the fireplace was flanked by two burgeoning bookcases. The bishop noted religious titles, how-to books, novels, children’s books, and school texts on varying subjects. The atmosphere of the room reminded him of the much smaller but similarly decorated living room of his fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Martha Ruckman. He liked them both, very much.

  “Y’all sit down, and I’ll get you some lemonade,” Ruth directed, setting down her small sister, who stood for a moment with her fist against her mouth, gazing at the two visitors, then turned to toddle after her sibling.

  The two men occupied ends of a soft couch.

  Sam Wright sighed. “Feels a lot like a nap waiting to happen, dud’n it?” he said with a smile.

  The bishop nodded. Across the hall from this large room was a dining room, furnished with a long, picnic-style table and a hutch filled with dishes and glassware. A checkered runner was centered on the table, and an arrangement of Indian corn and colorful gourds ran the length of it. Trish would approve. She loved seasonal decorations.

  Nettie Birdwhistle entered, followed closely by her husband, Ernie. Nettie smoothed back her hair with a self-conscious smile, and her hand, when the bishop shook it, felt still damp from being washed. Ernie’s hands were damp as well, but he dried them on the sides of his overalls.

  “Sorry to interrupt your Saturday chores, folks,” Bishop Shepherd began. “Saturday’s just about the only day Brother Wright and I can get together to visit folks, so we appreciate your willingness to have us. We won’t stay long, I promise. Beautiful place you’ve got here.”

  “Glad you like it. We don’t get much company, so it’s a pleasure to have you come,” replied Nettie. “Matthew, go round everybody up, tell them we’ve got company.”

  “’S’Ma’am,” Matthew said in a resigned voice. Ruth, standing in the archway to the dining room, with Emma again in her arms, gave him a triumphant look.

  Bit of a power struggle there, thought the bishop with some amusement.

  “We’re out a little too far for most folks to trouble to come,” Ernie was saying. “I expect y’all know we stay after meetings so’s our home teachers and Nettie’s visiting teachers can see us. We don’t hold ’em to coming all the way up here to see us, ’lessen’ they want to.”

  “It’s a real nice drive, though,” Brother Wright said. “Wouldn’t hurt ’em, once in a while, to get out of town and appreciate God’s creations.”

  “Not to mention appreciating what you folks have made of this place,” added the bishop. “It’s like a picture book farm.”

  “Well, there’s plenty to keep us all occupied, all the time,” Nettie said. “We feel like the children need to be busy, so we’ve got the fields and the kitchen garden, and the animals, both livestock and pets, and then I expect you know we do home schooling and daily devotionals plus we have crafts and music and books and games, and they can play ball out back there’s a field that’s pretty good for softball, and we’ve strung up a net for volleyball or badminton. There’s plenty of work in the summer and fall, weeding and hoeing and cutting wood, helping with cooking and canning and baking and cleaning. Nobody’s ever bored, I daresay.”

  “If they were, they wouldn’t admit it to you, Mama,” said Ernie with a smile. “They know better!”

  “Idle hands make mischief,” she returned pleasantly. “Whatever our young’uns end up doing in their lives, they’ll know how to work.”

  “That’s important,” agreed the bishop. “And it sounds as if they have opportunities to play, as well.”

  “Play is a kind of work for children,” Nettie said. “You know what I mean? You watch little kids playing, and you see them copying the things they’ve seen grownups do taking care of babies, pretending to cook or cut wood or drive cars they’re just practicing.”

  “That’s true, isn’t it?” the bishop mused. He remembered little Andrea Padgett, and the report he’d received from her daycare provider that she mimicked hitting and verbally abusing the other children when they played house. Poor little Andi, thinking that was normal grown-up behavior, and worthy of emulating.

  One by one, the Birdwhistle children joined the group, always coming forward to say hello and shake hands with the visitors. Ruth came back with a tray of lemonade, in tall glasses for the grownups, and paper cups for the children, who held theirs very carefully, obviously trained not to spill in the living room. The bishop carefully examined the boys, trying to discover which “lad” had been “flogged.” He finally decided it must be sixteen-year-old Moroni, only because the young man was not as jovial as he usually appeared to be. Pratt, age eighteen, was open and friendly, typical of a Birdwhistle, and Lehi and Limhi seemed as giggly and mischievous as ever. He doubted it had been their greeter, Matthew, and the only other boys were little Joseph, around five, and Kimball, who seemed just older than baby Emma. Kimball, for some reason, came and stood at the bishop’s end of the sofa, shyly edging closer and closer. Finally, the bishop patted his knee and held out his hands, and Kimball readily climbed onto his lap, smiling shyly.

  The bishop was impressed, during the course of the conversation, that the children participated so eagerly and openly
, and seemed perfectly at home conversing with adults. It was a rare enough thing among the families he had visited, in which the children usually hung back or answered questions in monosyllables. Something good was obviously going on with the care and training of the Birdwhistle children. The older ones spoke of their hobbies, their favorite subjects to study, their plans for the future, including missions and college, while the younger ones prattled about their pets or their tree house or their favorite food. Pratt mentioned that the one thing he wanted the most was a computer, which he felt they all ought to know how to use before they tackled college.

  “Only thing is,” he said with a grin, “that’s the one thing Mama can’t teach us, because she’s never used one, either.”

  “You know who taught me?” asked the bishop. “Buddy Osborne, in our ward.”

  “Buddy?” asked Rebecca in surprise. “He’s in my Sunday School class, and he never says a word.”

  “I know. He’s quiet, but he knows a lot about computers. Plus, he’s a terrific artist. You should see his work. It’s amazing.”

  “I like to draw,” volunteered Naomi, who was eleven. “I drew a picture of Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus once and sent it to the Friend Magazine, and they put it in. They made it just tiny, but it was there.”

  “That’s great I’d like to see that,” the bishop said, and the little girl set off at a run to bring it to him.

  “Don’t run in the house,” chorused her sister, Sariah, who was nearly thirteen, and Limhi, one of the twins.

  Ernie Birdwhistle chuckled. “We teach ’em correct principles,” he began, and Sam Wright finished for him: “And they govern themselves.”

  “That really does work, doesn’t it?” agreed the bishop.

  Ernie nodded. “Works ’specially well when the older ones set the example,” he said, and the bishop saw Moroni duck his head. “Makes it tough on ever’body when they don’t.”

  A-ha, I was right, the bishop thought. Naomi returned with the well-worn magazine and showed him her picture. It did show talent not as startling as Buddy’s, but definite talent. The bishop praised it, and Naomi glowed.

  When the lemonade was gone, the Birdwhistles all of them took their visitors on a tour of the house and grounds, proudly explaining and showing their handiwork, inside and out. The little ones ran in circles around them, pausing to demonstrate the tire swing or to play with a litter of half-grown pups. A large sandbox was full of pails and shovels and toy road-graders. The vegetable gardens were extensive, well laid-out and organized. Pratt was sent to fetch a sack of potatoes to send home with each of the visitors, and Sariah to bring two loaves of pumpkin bread from the freezer, as well.

  “You folks are amazingly self-sufficient,” the bishop complimented the parents.

  “This far out, reckon you have to be,” agreed Brother Wright.

  Ernie Birdwhistle smiled serenely. “Well, nobody’s ever really self-sufficient,” he said softly. “We all need the Lord, every day. But we’re grateful to have this land and these young’uns. Without the land and all it produces, it’d be tough to raise a ten kids. Without the kids to help take care of the land and the animals, it’d be tough to produce as much as we do. I’ve hired some help, from time to time, but we’re gettin’ to where we can do it ourselves. We’re blessed, brethren. We’re happy here, and the kids are healthy.”

  “You’ll miss Pratt, when he goes on his mission.” Bishop Shepherd observed.

  “We will that,” the boy’s father agreed. “But not enough to keep him home. We’re grateful he knows his duty and is anxious to do it. Onliest thing I worry about is how much he’ll miss home.”

  The bishop nodded. He would miss this place, if it were his home, he knew that.

  * * *

  At his own home, Trish, Muzzie, and all the children had returned, and the children were playing board games in the family room while Muzzie helped Trish with dinner.

  “Well, hello, ladies. How are things?” he asked, trying to read the expression on either face. Trish’s lips were pressed together as if she were angry or determined, and Muzzie’s eyes were red and swollen again. Her chin trembled as she tried to direct a greeting to him, and he wondered why he had ever found her so intimidating.

  “That good, huh?” he said dryly, and parked himself at the kitchen table. “Want to tell me?”

  Trish turned from the stove. “You were absolutely right, Jimmy. Dugie had got to the school first and convinced the headmaster that he had to withdraw Brad from school because of a family crisis. He hinted at a death in the family, though the headmaster said he didn’t come right out and say so. Muzzie’s lawyer called and set the man straight, and he’s very sorry and apologetic but Brad’s gone, with Dugie.”

  “And who knows what lies he’s told Bradley!” Muzzie added. “Poor kid, what must he think is going on?” The tears began to form again, and she reached for a tissue from the box on the table.

  “Wow so what’s the next step?”

  Trish spoke. “The lawyer contacted the police and explained the whole thing. They’re looking for Dugie and Brad, to talk to them, but they can’t just take Brad away, since Dugie’s his father and legal guardian, at this point. Anyway, they haven’t come home, so apparently Dugie’s on the run with him.”

  “I feel so awful,” Muzzie grieved. “This is all my fault.”

  “It is not,” Trish told her. “It’s Dugie’s fault; he’s the one misbehaving, here.”

  “But why didn’t I think? Why didn’t I realize that’s what he would do? I was so stupid!”

  “Because you’re too decent and nice to think the way he does,” Trish said loyally.

  Chloe sidled into the room, her eyes huge and frightened at her mother’s tears. “Mommy? Why’d Daddy take Brad away from school? I thought he was s’posed to stay there till Thanksgiving vacation.”

  “He is, honey, but Daddy wanted Brad with him, since I have you girls with me,” Muzzie said, trying to swallow back her tears. “We’ll find him, don’t worry.”

  “Well, then me and Marie can’t go to school, either, ’cause Daddy might come get us.”

  “We’ll talk about it later, okay? I’m not going to let Daddy take you away. I’ll warn everybody at your school not to release you to him.”

  “But what if he comes when we’re on the playground, and brings his gun, and makes us crawl through the hole in the fence, and ”

  “I said, that’s all for now, Chloe,” Muzzie said sharply. Chloe bent her head and retreated to the family room. “Sorry,” Muzzie said shakily. “But that girl has an imagination that won’t quit, and I’m afraid she’ll worry herself into a panic state. I’m about there, myself.”

  “It’ll be okay, Muz,” Trish said, giving her friend a hug. “There’ll be some rough times ahead, but eventually things will work out. You’ll see. Just try to have faith.”

  “You guys had better have faith for me,” she replied. “I’m not sure I remember what that feels like if I ever knew.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  “my roof’s safe shelter overhead”

  Chloe and Marie accompanied Trish and the children and Buddy Osborne to sacrament meeting on Sunday morning. The bishop was glad to see that Buddy consented to sit with Jamie instead of by himself in the overflow area as he usually did. Chloe and Marie sat on the other side of Trish, between Tiffani and Mallory. Muzzie had declined their invitation, being in no mood to pay attention to a religious service or to be seen with her tear-swollen eyes. He hoped she would benefit from a few hours’ privacy and the chance to reflect on her situation, which, admittedly, was a difficult one and fraught with many dangers. He and Trish had prayed for her, including the petition that she, herself, would be led to pray.

  He watched as Lisa Lou Pope, sitting with her family, turned to beckon to a young man who accompanied the two full-time missionaries into the meeting. He and they came to sit by Lisa Lou, who snuggled up to the young man and held his hand.
Aha! thought the bishop. This must be Billy what’s-his-name, that she talked about wanting to convert at Tiff’s birthday dinner. It might actually work if he doesn’t get discouraged about the Church when her affections move on!

  He was pleased to see Elaine Forelaw and her children come in, and the Jernigans. Scott Lanier slipped into a seat by the Jernigans and shook hands with Ralph. The bishop breathed a prayer that all of them would be strengthened and comforted by their attendance.

  It was his turn to conduct the meeting, and as he and his counselors had decided, he issued an open invitation to all interested persons to attend an organizational meeting in the chapel for a ward choir, directly after the third hour.

  “President Walker has directed that all the wards in our stake form a choir,” he told them. “And some from each ward choir will be asked to participate in a stake choir for stake conference in February. If you enjoy singing, playing the piano or organ, or directing music, we ask you to come and participate. We’re excited about this, brothers and sisters, and feel it’ll add a new dimension of spirituality to our meetings. Thank you.”

  The speakers for the sacrament meeting service included a youth speaker, Ricky Smedley, and the Winslow family Harville, LaThea, and would-be missionary son, VerDan. Ricky spoke well but briefly about the First Vision, and then VerDan proceeded to the pulpit. He looked well-dressed and well-groomed, but he seemed distinctly uncomfortable before the congregation. He adjusted and readjusted the position of the microphone, smiled, shifted from foot to foot, and finally spoke.

  “So, okay I’m VerDan Winslow. Well, I guess you know that, cuz you’ve got programs, and you heard the bishop’s announcement. I’ve been away at the University of Utah, so I don’t know too many of you, but I sure see some people I’d like to know better!” He smiled in the direction of Lisa Lou Pope and two older Laurels who sat behind her. The Laurels looked at each other and smothered giggles. “Yeah, so anyway, the bishop asked me to talk about somebody from Church history, and I picked Brigham Young. You all know who he was they named a university after him out in Provo, Utah, and his descendant, Steve Young, played on their football team before he went on to make it big in the NFL. Personally, I think he’d’ve done better to’ve played at the U, but what the heck, I guess it’s cool to go to the school named for your great-grandpa, or whatever. Anyway, Brigham Young was famous for having a bunch of wives. I don’t know exactly how many he had, but I don’t s’pose he ever got lonesome! He was also famous for leading the pioneers across the plains to Utah, and for saying, ‘This is the place,’ which isn’t really what he said. He really said, ‘This is the right place,’ and I guess that makes some kind of difference, at least to the folks who lead those Church tour groups and stuff. Salt Lake City is kinda cool, but there’s not a whole lot to do there except ski in the winter and go to movies and clubs, if you like a social life. Back in Brigham’s day, I guess they had square dances and put on plays with no swear words in them. Today, that’d be called censorship, and somebody would complain about it, but back then it was just how Brother Brigham wanted it, and he was like the head honcho of everything president and prophet of the Church, governor of the territory, and on every board of directors there ever was. He even started banks and department stores. So, he was a cool guy, and had a lot of friends, and some enemies, too but he was a smart old dude and knew how to get around people, so he usually got his way, and got things done. It was cool that he was strong enough to keep everybody in line and move ’em away from their nice houses in Nauvoo out into the desert. I s’pose God raised him up special to do that, ’cause it would’ve taken somebody strong to head up the Church in those times. So, um that’s my talk, name of Jesus Christ, amen.”