He ran for the kitchen. “Muzzie! Come quick, Brad’s on the phone!”
Muzzie almost dropped a bowl of potatoes. Trish saved them, and Muzzie made a beeline for the phone on the kitchen wall. The talk in the kitchen fell silent, as all watched Muzzie’s reaction. Hestelle, of course, knew nothing of the import, nor did Melody, but both sensed the drama of the moment, and were still.
“Brad! Is that really you? Where are you? Where’s your dad? Really?” Her voice squealed, and she turned to nod a tearful smile in Trish’s direction. “Honey, leave right now. You remember where Shepherds live? Good. Don’t worry about your clothes or anything. We’ll get them, later. Just leave, and ride over here. But come down Hickory Street, not Main, in case he wakes up and goes looking for you. And listen, Brad I’m coming to meet you, in the uh ?” She sent an imploring look toward the bishop.
“In the Shepherds’ white truck,” he supplied. “I’ll drive you.”
Muzzie repeated that to her son, then hung up and looked around her, as if dazed. “He’s at home he’s safe! He says Dugie’s asleep, snoring and drunk. Gotta go tell you later,” she finished excitedly, and ran for the truck. The bishop, fishing in his pocket for his keys, was right behind her.
“Oh, Jim what if Dugie wakes up and follows him! Hurry, Bradley, hurry and be quiet. Oh, I hope he’s all right. Where have they been, all this time?”
The bishop smiled at her. “You’re about to find out,” he told her. He steered the truck down the nearly deserted Hickory Street, driving as fast as he dared, keeping his eyes open for a boy on a bicycle. Finally they spotted him, pedaling furiously, glancing behind him as if being chased by the devil. The bishop slowed and made a U-turn, stopping at the side of the street. Muzzie was out of the truck before it stopped rolling, waving her arm, tears flowing as she rushed to hug her boy. The bishop grabbed the bike and lifted it into the bed of the pickup, and held the door open for mother and son. They scrambled in, and he made even better time getting back to the house, where he stashed the bike safely in a backyard shed. He didn’t hear much of their whispered, tearful conversation except Brad’s pained comment that “Dad’s different than he used to be I hate the way he is, now.”
In the house, Chloe and Marie had joined the celebration, hugging their brother and jumping up and down at the same time while Muzzie laughed and cried.
“Oh, you guys!” she exclaimed, reaching out to squeeze Trish’s hand. “Prayer really does work! I’ve been praying as hard as I could that Brad could somehow get away from his dad, and here he is!” She hugged her son’s blond head to her, kissing the top of it, until Bradley finally objected.
“Hey, I’m getting pulled apart,” he said, laughing too, and squirming away from his adoring sisters. “It’s okay, though. I’ve kinda missed being mauled.”
Dinner was put on hold for a few minutes, to give the Winston family time to reunite and settle down a bit, and for Muzzie to have her most urgent questions answered. Trish explained to Hestelle and Melody the basic facts of the situation behind the reunion, and Melody’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears.
“I’m so happy for her,” she said softly. “I know just how she feels.” She glanced at her little Andrea, playing dolls with Mallory in a corner of the family room, both so absorbed they were unaware of the excitement in the next room.
“Set another place at the children’s table,” Trish instructed Tiffani, smiling. “I think we’ll let you and Muzzie preside there, because it doesn’t look like she’s going to let Brad get beyond arm’s reach for days and I don’t blame her.”
“Cool,” Jamie remarked. “Finally we got another guy!”
A sentiment from the Bible sprang into the bishop’s mind: “This my son was lost, and is found.” He retreated into the living room for a minute’s private meditation. It was their family’s custom, during the Thanksgiving meal, to go around the table, with each diner identifying something for which he was most grateful. What, this year, could he possibly single out? His personal world had expanded to many times its original size since last Thanksgiving. Now he held dear to his heart people who, this time last year, had been casual friends, mere acquaintances, or even strangers. Now he rejoiced over a baby born to be adopted and another baby miraculously receiving a gift of partial hearing. Now his heart yearned over two fine young missionaries who were determined to serve the Lord at all costs. Now he worried over a shy, sad boy whose antagonistic parents didn’t realize the treasure they shared. Two women, his wife’s sister and friend, who once had intimidated him, now had turned to him for counsel and had become his friends.
Since last year, his country had been attacked, and his freedoms, having been jeopardized, were sweeter than he had ever supposed them to be. Now his prayers were deeper and more meaningful than they had ever before been and the answers more readily recognizable. His wife and children now seemed even more precious, since he had witnessed firsthand the sorrows and divisions that existed among some families. There were many things to rejoice over one of them having just taken place before his eyes but also many problems yet unsolved, many sorrows not yet assuaged. Maybe just maybe the thing for which he felt the most gratitude this year was the simple fact that he was involved, that he had the opportunity to try to help.
“I thank Thee, Father,” he whispered, “for all thy tender mercies and miracles to thy children in the Fairhaven Ward. Bless us all, this day, with gratitude and joy and peace.”
Mercies and Miracles Page 26