CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The house was white brick with French window shutters painted green. A small red wagon and a couple of yellow Tonka trucks were strewn about the front lawn. I checked the address on my crumpled slip of paper for the millionth time before I got out of the cruddy car, grabbed my book bag, and slowly walked up the brick path leading to the house. My legs were shaking, but somehow I made it to the front door and rang the bell.
No answer. I sighed shakily. It’d been a long shot anyway, fueled by a people search on the Internet that was probably old—or wrong—information. I turned to leave—and then the pounding of feet—small feet—scrambled to the door, and as someone struggled to open it, my heart hurt as Emily’s face flashed into my mind, but the little boy with blond hair and big blue eyes who opened the door wasn’t Emily. We stared at each other before I finally made myself smile and say, “Hi. Is your dad—or mom—home?”
The little boy scampered off, leaving the door open a little, screaming, “Mommy—someone’s at the door!”
I could hear more footsteps approaching—adult ones—before the front door swung open, and a woman’s voice said, “Yes?” I thought I was going to faint. A beautiful, slim, blue-eyed blonde stood before me. The face was older—more mature—but it was Jennifer.
“Mmm—Mrs. Baxter?”
“Yes?” She looked at me questioningly and smiled.
“I—I came to see Kelly. Your husband, Kelly. Is he home?”
“He is.” She held the door open wider for me. “Won’t you come in?”
I was actually walking into Kelly’s home. Amazing. I clutched my book bag tighter. Jennifer motioned for me to sit before she disappeared down the hall.
The room was beautiful. It was done all in blues and whites, and although there were toys scattered around, the room was clean. A big family portrait hung on the wall above the fireplace. There was no question that the handsome man with the amazing smile that could still even now turn a girl into a glob of Jell-O was Kelly. Both he and Jennifer were holding little blond, blue-eyed boys on their laps. Two more blond, blue-eyed boys were gathered around them.
“Four kids—four boys!” I whispered aloud, shaking my head. There were single pictures of each miniature Kelly on the fireplace mantel as well, although two of the boys looked more like Jennifer than Kelly. But what really caught my eye and wouldn’t let go was a framed 5 x 7 photo on one of the lamp tables. The photo was of a young Kelly on Central High’s football field, his helmet off and dangling from his fingertips at his side, while in the background were crowds of students and football uniforms blurred together, obviously going crazy because of the win. But to look at Kelly’s unsmiling face, anyone looking at the photo would have been shocked to know he’d been on the winning team. There was a sad quality in his eyes and hard-set mouth that was both heartbreaking and puzzling.
“That was taken my senior year. By my wife, Jennifer, actually. Right after my high school football team won the state championship.”
I jumped and swung around. I couldn’t help it, but I gasped. Kelly. Like Jennifer, he looked just like his picture, only older. More mature. He was still a handsome blond, but his eyes had that sad quality to them that was missing in Brett’s old photographs but easily seen in the photo I had clutched in my hand.
“I’m—I’m—”
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Jennifer offered kindly. It was clear I’d sparked their curiosity, but that was better than having their suspicion sparked. Definitely.
I couldn’t talk. And because pictures are said to be worth a thousand words, I figured letting something else talk for me might be the best way to start. So after we were all seated, I set the photo of Kelly next to me on the couch and reached into my book bag. With fingers that trembled a little, I handed Kelly a snapshot. He frowned at it for a second while Jennifer looked over his shoulder, and then he broke into a smile.
“Hey, that’s me! And the baby—”
“Is me,” I said simply.
He looked up quickly, his eyes big and round. “You’re—you’re Brett’s little sister—”
“Kitty!” Jennifer said excitedly.
Before either could begin to shoot questions at me, I finally found my voice and started talking. And pretty fast, too. “I—I had to come. Brett gave me this—” I pulled the maroon journal out of my book bag with trembling fingers. I was nervous and I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop now—I’d come too far. “It was a present saved for my sixteenth birthday.” I handed it to Kelly. He carefully opened the front cover and read Brett’s name in it.
“I recognize his handwriting,” he said softly with a smile that was sad like his eyes.
“I know you never got much of a chance to see Brett again before he died. He wrote about you at the end of the journal a lot, so I thought maybe you’d like to read it.”
Kelly looked up at me questioningly with amazement. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you?”
I sighed. “I just need to. For Brett. It’s something I can do for him.”
Kelly shook his head. “You already did a lot for him, Kitty. I wish you could’ve seen how he was with you. It was like someone turned on a light switch inside him when you were around. I know he wouldn’t have gotten through everything without having you there with him.”
I hungrily listened, blinking hard to keep from crying while Kelly shared moments he’d had with Brett—even moments I’d been a part of. I turned away to quickly wipe away tears and then picked up the framed photo of Kelly beside me on the couch. I handed it back to Kelly and tried to smile. “For someone who just won state, you don’t look very happy.”
Kelly nodded, looking down at the photo in his hands. “We dedicated the football season to Brett my senior year. I just wish he’d been able to hang on long enough to be a part of that day. It was hard going through the season without him.” We all fell silent before Kelly spoke again. “You know,” he said in a low voice, “I never meant to hurt anyone. Least of all, Alex and Brett. They were like brothers to me. Especially Brett—”
Jennifer took hold of Kelly’s hand then, and at her request, I filled them in on the details of my family, all about what Alex and Sam were up to now, and what I’d been doing, and he in turn updated me on his life. How he’d played football in college out of state before going on to graduate school and becoming an engineer. And how he’d served an LDS mission in the Netherlands and married Jennifer when he came home. And then I was introduced to all four of his boys—ranging from age two to age ten—all of them full of giggles and questions and smiles.
I knew I needed to be getting back, but when it was time to say our good-byes, Kelly stopped me before I could get up off the couch.
“You know, Kitty, I have something for you, too.”
A gift? From Kelly? I watched him leave the room to return in a minute with a small, old blue book in his hands. He gave it to me almost reverently. The cover was a faded blue with gold letters on the front. My breath caught as I read the title that stared solemnly, calmly, and irresistibly up at me. The Book of Mormon.
~
“I gave a Book of Mormon to Brett after he was diagnosed with leukemia,” Kelly explained. “He had so many questions about what I believed that I thought this might help.” He looked down briefly. “Brett gave that copy back to me. On the day of his funeral, I went to your home, and Alex—he was really upset. He gave me this copy and told me—” Kelly sighed and shook his head. “That’s not important. The important thing is that Brett had gotten another copy somewhere along the line. I knew it was pointless to try and give it back, since it would probably be thrown away, and I didn’t want that to happen to it. I was happy to see Brett had been reading it and marking it, but it made me sad, too, so I put it away. And then when we moved back here, Jennifer found it and showed me the inside of the front cover. I can’t believe I never noticed it before, but now I know why I couldn’t throw it away, or even give it away, because it was
meant for you. It’s yours.” Kelly motioned for me to open the front cover, and when I did and saw Brett’s strangely familiar handwriting, I couldn’t stop myself from crying.
~
After thanking me for coming to his house and lending him Brett’s journal, and after I promised to call Kelly if I had any questions—any questions at all—regarding Brett’s book, I finally drove home. It was early evening by then, but my parents still hadn’t made it home yet.
Once I was safely back in my bedroom, my fingers trembled as I carefully opened the book’s cover and turned its pages. The stories were all there—all of those strange, amazing stories both Jason and Emily had told me about. Stories they insisted weren’t really stories at all, but true events that were part of the history of the American continents. Nephi and his brothers returning to Jerusalem for brass plates—a record like the Bible. The young stripling warriors and their amazing victory without the loss of even one life in battle. Captain Moroni and his Title of Liberty. Christ’s visit to the American continent after His crucifixion and resurrection in Jerusalem. The last, huge battle between the two warring sides—Lamanites and Nephites. And the burying of the book of metal plates that had been passed down from generation to generation, each person adding his people’s history before being written in last of all by Moroni, who then buried the book, which remained hidden for centuries.
There was something incredibly personal and private about turning the pages of a book of scripture that once belonged to someone else. Brett had highlighted portions and scribbled so many notes in the margins that I almost felt he’d given me yet another journal. Even though Brett had often mentioned in his journal towards the end how much he was starting to believe in the Mormon church, actually seeing for myself how worn his copy of the book was and all the marking up and highlighting of scriptures was serious proof.
I flipped through the pages and felt my eyes well up with tears again as one of the themes Brett highlighted the most began to stand out. “Repent all ye ends of the earth, and come unto me, and be baptized in my name, and have faith in me, that ye may be saved.” “ . . . that ye may be washed from your sins, that ye may have faith on the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, who is mighty to save and to cleanse from all unrighteousness.”
I couldn’t believe I had any tears left as I read the other main theme that stood out, marked in bold red: “This mortal body is raised to an immortal body, that is from death, even from the first death unto life, that they can die no more; . . .” “The soul shall be restored to the body, . . . yea, even a hair of the head shall not be lost; but all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame.” “ . . . there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I’d brought Brett’s football jersey along with the pictures and videos upstairs to keep in my room. It was lightly snowing outside, so I snuggled back into my bed and kept reading Brett’s Book of Mormon. Considering how strangely the sentences were put together, I was surprised at how many pages I’d made my way through that evening, but after stopping to eat dinner with my parents once they finally did return home, with Brett’s jersey clutched against my chest and his book on my pillow, I fell asleep while the snow continued to fall.
I hadn’t dreamed of Brett in a while, but that night I dreamed of him again. He pleadingly held out his blue book to me as he’d done so many times in the past, urging me to take it. I begged him to help me understand, but all he did was continue to hold out the book, disappearing with a sigh when my tears of frustration came and woke me. I turned my face to my pillow and cried until I was too exhausted to cry anymore. Finally I slept until late in the morning.
~
I didn’t know how it was with other people who weren’t part of the LDS faith when they read the Book of Mormon. All I knew was what it was like for me. I didn’t know if it was normal to sit and read huge chunks of it at a time, but the book held my attention in a way I never would’ve thought possible a couple of months ago. But then, a lot of things had happened in the last few months.
I read more after breakfast the next day once I’d checked out the three inches of snow outside that Mom and Dad were all excited about. Not enough to do any damage but enough to prove that Christmas truly was around the corner. I always slid the blue book under my bed whenever Mom came knocking. I felt bad about hiding it, but I knew this would take even more explaining than Brett’s journal, and I didn’t want to have to explain or defend any of it right now.
For such a deceptively small book, it was packed with a million things. New ideas, and yet somehow not so new. And principles that made sense. To me, at least. I set the book aside for a moment to rub my eyes and lie back on my bed so I could just absorb everything I’d been reading. Liken all scriptures unto us—opposition in all things—we’re all free to choose—endure to the end—seek Christ—feast on the words of Christ—whatever persuades to do good is from God—pray always—counsel with the Lord and He will direct your path—by small and simple things are great things brought to pass—
I sat up in bed and stared at the book. By small and simple things, great things really did come to pass. I shook my head and ran my hands through my hair. There was no denying it—I was curious about Jason’s religion. For better or worse. I couldn’t help wondering why I, of all people, felt this strange need to understand and learn more. And yet, at the same time, I knew I’d learned it all somewhere before. It was as if I was remembering something I’d known and believed long ago.
I shook my head again and set the book down in front of me. Even if it really was all true, there was still a confused war going on inside of me. Maybe it was what Jason called “the adversary”—I didn’t know. Maybe it was my own fears—of the idea of even thinking about changing more of my life. Maybe it was a combination of both. I didn’t know—I didn’t know what to think. I sighed before reaching down to idly flip through the book until I came to the end, where Brett had highlighted in yellow yet another scripture:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
I stared at the page, my mind racing. Yes—Jason had said something to that effect once.
“You have to read the book with the sincere desire to know if it is true.” And then, he’d shown me a scripture—one that Brett had marked as well: “‘Ask, and it shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened.’ If you’re willing to be receptive to the Spirit and listen, you’ll get your answer. I promise.”
I shut the book and sighed again, rubbing my eyes with both hands. There was just so much to take in and think about. And then there was that dream of Brett—Brett and his strange, blue mystery book that only frustrated me to tears again and again.
I stared at the book on my bed, and as I did, my heart started to pound. And pound. As I picked up the book again with trembling fingers and looked at its very blue cover—as blue as the book in my dream of Brett—as blue as it had always been—why hadn’t I paid attention and really noticed before?—the tears really started to flow, and I realized—finally—that the book Brett had felt was important enough to hold out to me over and over in my dreams—pleadingly offering it to me—had never been his journal at all.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
That afternoon, it struck me that I hadn’t made my usual call to Jason the night before. I didn’t want to call Jason on the phone, but I knew I needed to talk to him. And that I needed to see him. And Emily, too, but I didn’t want to go to the hospital empty-handed.
An idea formed in my mind whi
le I pulled myself together, and with the first real Christmasy feeling I’d had that season, I made one more trip to the storage closet before carefully packing up a few things and heading for the hospital. On the drive over, I couldn’t help grinning, just thinking of how disappointed Jason would be to find out Brett had beat him to the Book of Mormon punch.
When I finally arrived on the ICU floor of the children’s hospital, I saw Jason before he saw me. He was sitting in the waiting area, hunched over with his head down and his braced leg stretched in front of him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, which he likely hadn’t.
My feet made no sound as I walked quietly over to him. I stood by him for a second before tossing a small sack in his lap, which made him jump and jerk his head up. My grin faded when I saw the dark circles around his eyes.
“Hey, you,” I said softly.
“Kathy.” Jason tried to smile as he looked from me to the sack in his lap. “What’s this?”
“Just call me the Junior Relief Society.” Jason gave me a dull, confused look. “It’s a hamburger and fries. I thought you could use some food.” It was good to see Jason laugh—even though the laugh didn’t last long—before he thanked me and actually took a bite of the hamburger. I sat down beside him and watched him force a few more bites down before speaking. “So are your parents in with Emily?”
“Nah—the doctor’s checking her.”
We were both quiet before I ventured to speak again. “Do you think I could see her when the doctor’s done?”
The Secret Journal of Brett Colton Page 28