The Thorny Path

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “Well, he’s a little brother, see—that’s his job,” Sam explained with a grin. Tashia rolled her eyes. The bishop was reminded of his daughters, who were also good eye-rollers at the outrageous pronouncements of adults.

  * * *

  “Well, now—this isn’t such a bad place,” the bishop remarked, as they sat down on the cushioned sofa of Dr. Scott Lanier, in his newly-rented apartment. “It’s downright comfortable, seems to me.”

  Scott shrugged. “Only because John and his wife came down and helped me furnish it,” he admitted. “I didn’t care what it looked like, to tell you the truth, but John’s wife has a good touch with decorating, and I think she enjoyed fixing it up for me. They talked me into getting a cushy new bed, too—and I’ve got to admit that’s been welcome. Seems like I’m tired all the time, but I don’t sleep well at night, so I suppose I might as well be comfortable while I stare at the ceiling.”

  “If you can’t sleep, maybe you could listen to scripture tapes or some soothing music in those hours,” the bishop suggested. “Do you have a CD player?”

  “I could pick one up, I guess. I left everything in the house—you know—for Marybeth. But that’s not a bad idea, Bishop. It might help.”

  “Let’s get right on it,” the bishop advised. “I’ll check with you tomorrow. We’ve got some CDs you could borrow, till you get your own. I don’t like the idea of you lying there with only your own thoughts for company.”

  “It’s true they’re not very entertaining—or comforting,” Scott said with a faint smile.

  * * *

  “How do you tell a man his wife ain’t worth the agony he’s going through over losing her?” asked Sam with a sigh as they drove away from Scott’s apartment. “Woman that’d act like Marybeth’s been doin’ ain’t deservin’ of bein’ missed, you ask me.”

  “I know. I reckon he misses the woman she used to be—or the one he thought she was.”

  “I believe that must be it. I don’t see how a woman with any kind of testimony of the truth could just go off the deep end and do like she’s done, all of a sudden like that. It must’ve been festerin’ inside of her for a long spell, is the way I see it. I know she ain’t one to take advice nor direction from nobody, to begin with, specially if it interferes with her idea of a good time. Then I figger she hit one of them mid-life crisises you hear about and decided to chuck it all and go for pleasure and freedom and what-have-you. What d’you think, Bishop?”

  “Much the same,” the bishop replied. “Worst thing is, Scott’s lying there suffering, beating up on himself and trying to count all the things he might have done wrong, or left undone, to contribute to the situation. That’d drive anybody to distraction. Yet I know I’d likely do the same thing.”

  “Man, wouldn’t that just be the pits? You and me, Jim—we’re lucky in our wives.”

  The bishop smiled. “Blessed,” he agreed. “Beyond what we deserve.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  “ . . . Let thy congregation escape tribulation”

  On Thursday evening, Bishop Shepherd, his counselors and clerks, and their wives arranged to attend the temple at Birmingham. As he sat in the Celestial Room enjoying the quiet and the serenity, Jim felt Trish’s hand slip into his as she sat down beside him. She looked beautiful in her temple clothing, and he was reminded of the amazing day when, similarly dressed, she had knelt across from him at a holy altar and agreed to give herself to him for time and for eternity. The thought of it had been humbling to him at the time, and was even more so now—nineteen years and three-and-a-half children later. He thought about the children—how precious they were to both their parents and how different each was from the others, beginning, it seemed, at the moment of birth.

  Well, he reflected, actually beginning long before birth, according to the teachings of the Church. Their remarkably unique personalities were some kind of blend of premortal development, genetic make-up, and earthly experience. And before much longer, a fourth child would join their family, fresh from heaven with a whole set of characteristics of his or her own to be molded and refined by earthly experience.

  He wondered, as he had many times, just when the immortal spirit takes possession of the mortal tabernacle. Was it at conception—early in the development of the fetus, or later—or at the moment of drawing the first breath? It was something the Lord had not seen fit to reveal to man. Was the unborn baby’s spirit present when the baby had hiccups, or sucked its thumb in the womb, or reached out and grasped its toes, as he had once seen Mallory do in an ultrasound exam? He had heard stories of people who claimed to have memories of things that had occurred while their mothers were carrying them, but he didn’t know whether or not to credit them. There were many things he yearned to understand, but at least, here in the temple more than anywhere else, there was a sense that past, present, and future were inseparably connected—all on a grand, God-ordained continuum. That was comforting.

  * * *

  “That was relaxing, wasn’t it, once we got there?” Trish remarked after they had dropped off Dan McMillan and his wife and were headed toward home.

  “Very peaceful,” he agreed. “I hope I can retain some of that peace for the next few days.”

  “Likewise. Are you nervous, Jim?”

  “I’m—what am I? Let’s see. I’m a little apprehensive but also a little excited. I’m curious about what they’ll try to pull, but I’m also confident that the Lord will carry the day. Part of me says I’m making too big a deal out of it, while another part wonders if we’re sufficiently prepared. So how’s that? Maybe what I am is double-minded, and the scriptures say a double-minded man is ‘unstable in all his ways.’ No wonder I’m a mess!” He chuckled. She reached over and patted his knee.

  “You’re not double-minded. You’re just facing an unknown, and that’s got to be unnerving. But hang onto that feeling of peace and faith we felt tonight. That’s just as much reality as the adversary and his little helpers.”

  “And you keep reminding me of that, if I start to get a wall-eyed, glassy stare about me, will you?”

  She laughed. “You can count on it.” She fell silent for a moment, then said, “You know, I was thinking how we’ve all been horrified at the terrorists who try to hide behind the shield of an ancient world religion to do awful things to anybody who doesn’t see the world exactly as they do—but how different, in spirit, are these so-called Christians? These guys who go around name-calling and threatening and trying to intimidate peace-loving people just because we have a little different view of things?”

  “I see your point. Maybe not so different, at all. They just, hopefully, don’t have bombs.”

  “Verbal stink bombs, maybe.”

  He grinned. “Then the odor will cling to them.”

  * * *

  On Friday evening, the bishop made phone calls to various members of his ward, reminding them of the fireside, encouraging them to bring any friends who might be interested, and trying to answer any of their concerns.

  “Linda’s coming to the meeting, Bishop,” said Ralph Jernigan. “Feel I can do more good scoping out the enemy camp. Got your cell phone number, so . . .”

  “Ralph? You have a cell phone?” The bishop was astonished.

  “Don’t trust the things, true, but I’ve got me one just for this operation—so, um—anything going on that I think you ought to know, I’ll be in touch. Just keep your ringer on vibrate and sit where you can slip out to answer. Won’t call unless I feel it’s warranted. Hope I won’t have to.”

  “Well, me too, Ralph. You know I’d rather you came to the fireside with Linda, but it’s your call. Do what you feel you must. Just be careful, okay? And thanks for all you have done, already.”

  “My duty, Bishop. And—you know. Happy to.”

  He spoke with Elder Moynihan, having given a part of the fireside schedule over to him and his companion, Elder Rivenbark—and learned that both were planning to give short presen
tations. He called to check on the music and discovered that more was in the planning than he had anticipated. In addition to congregational hymns, the choir would be singing two numbers, there would be a solo by Linda DeNeuve, and the prelude and postlude music would consist of a piano and organ duet by Sisters Margaret Tullis and Claire Patrenko.

  “Wow,” he said, turning to Trish, who sat at the dining table working on a report for Relief Society. “I didn’t know the choir was singing tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, didn’t you? Yep—we’re doing ‘Zion Stands with Hills Surrounded’ and ‘I Saw a Mighty Angel Fly.’ We haven’t done much this summer because of vacations and such, but we had already started working on those in the spring, so they weren’t too hard to pull together.”

  “That’s terrific. I’m so proud of our choir—you guys and gals are sounding great. Do you happen to know what Linda’s singing?”

  “Um—yes, I heard her practicing last Sunday, after choir, while we were waiting for you. It was two hymns that she kind of wove together. One was ‘Though Deepening Trials,’ and the other was that one we sing—I can’t think how it starts, but it says, ‘He’ll safely guide you unto that haven . . . ’ Remember that?”

  He nodded. “I think so. They all sound like perfect selections for the occasion. Boy, I never had heard Linda sing before we called her to direct the choir, but she’s good, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s really good.”

  He went to bed that night feeling considerably cheered.

  * * *

  “Well, I s’pose we had to see it, didn’t we?” he asked darkly the next morning, as Jamie handed him the latest of Maxine Lowell’s flyers. “I saw her taking these around the other day.”

  Jamie nodded. “Miss Hestelle just called me over to the fence and told me to bring it right to you,” he said. “She had it folded up, I reckon so that Lowell lady wouldn’t know what it was if she was looking.”

  Tiffani laughed. “Bet she’s sorry she put up that high old fence out there. It means she has to go to all that trouble to climb up to spy on us.”

  “Well, let’s see what flavor the latest poison is,” her father said, and unfolded the circular with a sigh.

  “Rejoice, dear Christian friends,” he read. “The time is here at last for the festering wound in our community to be lanced and the ugly infection inside exposed to the fresh air of truth! All you have to do is take your family and friends and attend the rally at the County Fair Park on this Saturday, the third of August, at seven p.m. You will hear horror stories from people who have been held captive by the Mormons and forced to partake of their paganistic rituals! You will hear them witness of their deliverance and conversion to Christ! You will learn of the twisted perversions of their unholy so-called religion, so that you can reject their ambassadors once and for all when they come calling at your door! Come one, come all, to learn the TRUTH about these worshipers of the brother of Satan! Our time has come! Saturday at seven—BE THERE or be sorry! From a true friend.”

  Tiffani took the letter from his hand and reread it to herself. “Festering wound!” she exclaimed. “She’s a festering wound! That stupid, ugly, crazy old woman—how can she write such awful stuff?”

  “Easy, Tiffi,” her dad soothed. “It’s all pretty typical of a certain brand of ‘anti’ rhetoric that surfaces every so often. It almost makes me laugh, though, because it sounds so much like stuff I’ve seen that was written about us a century or so ago. I even wonder if Mrs. Lowell might not have access to one of those old books or tracts and be copying her ideas and wording from that source.”

  Trish looked up. “Do you suppose she is?” she asked. “Now that you mention it, the tone does sound a little old-fashioned, doesn’t it? I wonder.”

  “Well, wherever she got it, she shouldn’t be allowed to pass stuff like that around our neighborhood,” Tiffani declared.

  “Freedom of speech, freedom of the press,” her father reminded her. “We’re allowed to say what we believe and even to try to convince others of it, if they’re interested. We have to allow her that same freedom.”

  “So is that stupid rally going to sound like that, too?” Tiffani asked.

  “I doubt it’ll be any better,” her mother replied. “But we know what’s true about our belief and our faith—and that’s what’s most important.”

  “I’m just glad school’s out for a few more weeks,” Tiffani said. “Maybe some people, at least, will have time to forget what an awful religion I believe in, before we go back.”

  “You and Claire and Billy and Ricky and T-Rex—and usually Lisa Lou—are good representatives of the Church in your school,” her mother told her, patting her shoulder. “I’ll bet most people won’t believe half of what they hear, anyway—at least, those who know us.”

  Tiffani shrugged. “I guess I can hope.”

  * * *

  The bishop went to work at the store for a while on Saturday morning, hoping to distract himself from thoughts of what the evening might bring. There was no sanctuary there, however, as Mary Lynn Connors, who had also come in to work for a while on some pretext or other, handed him a sheet of newsprint.

  “You seen this, Jim?” she asked. “I cain’t believe people behavin’ like this. Never seen nothin’ like it around here.”

  He scanned the paper. The a.m. Sunshine Rally people had taken out a half-page ad in a Birmingham paper, which featured a photograph of the Salt Lake Temple with an illustration of a cross superimposed over it. “Turn to the Lord of the cross,” read the lettering. “Learn the truth about the non-Christian sect called the Mormon Church, and the Jesus they claim to worship. Do not allow yourselves or your families and friends to miss this vitally important rally for Christ!” At the bottom of the page, just above the details of time and place, an illustration depicted two devilish-looking young men in dark suits being followed by a couple of girls with scarf-covered heads, long skirts, and longer faces. One of them looked back dolefully toward the other half of the illustration, which showed a happy couple with healthy-looking smiles striding briskly toward a church with a cross on the steeple.

  “Well, okay, then,” he said with a rueful grin and handed the paper back to Mary Lynn. “Tell me, Mary Lynn—have you seen any people resembling those poor, long-faced women when you’ve visited our church?”

  She gave a small, derisive sniff. “Those happy-lookin’ ones, there, they put me in mind of the Mormons I’ve seen,” she told him. “Fact is, I was tellin’ Chuck the other night, them Mormons are purt’ nigh the cheerfulest people I ever seen. They act real glad to be at church, even for three whole hours, and then they hang around after it’s over, just to visit! I never saw the like.”

  “Oh, you know,” he teased, “we’re just brainwashed and forced to pretend we’re happy. We can’t help ourselves—we just don’t know any better.”

  “And you’re just full of it, Jim Shepherd! I hatn’t known you and your family all these years and not noticed how y’all act. I’ve, um, I’ve admired it.”

  “Thanks, Mary Lynn. I’m grateful for that. So, are you and Chuck coming to the fireside, tonight?”

  “Oh, I don’t think them cute missionaries would hear of us not coming! Chuck, at least—and he’s asked me to go with him, so . . .”

  “Glad to hear it. See you there, then. Thanks—I think—for showing me that.” He nodded toward the newspaper on her desk.

  She folded it and consigned it to the “round file.”

  “Huh!” she said expressively.

  * * *

  The chapel was full. The divider curtains had been folded back and chairs set up halfway into the cultural hall. Even as the prelude music was being played, the elders were busily setting up additional seating.

  The bishopric sat on the stand, along with those who would participate in the meeting, and watched the people come in. Many shook hands or hugged as they greeted each other, but there was an air of subdued excitement, and the decibel level was not
iceably lower than usual. The piano-organ duet might be partially responsible for that, the bishop reflected. It was a treat they generally enjoyed only for the Christmas or Easter program.

  His own family occupied the third row of the center section of pews, along with Muzzie and her children. Mallory and Muzzie’s youngest, Marie, busied themselves, drawing pictures on small pads that Trish had provided, but Brad and Chloe looked around in interest.

  Tiffani, he noticed, kept glancing back until she had seen Billy Newton saunter in and take a place on the second row from the front, and to one side. Yep, the bishop thought. That’s what he would have done—had done, in fact, when he and Trish had been high-schoolers, before he had dared to admit to anyone besides himself that he was mightily interested in that perky, dark-haired Langham girl. From that vantage point in the chapel, it was easy to glance back casually and catch the eye of the young lady in question, or check her response to something that had been said from the pulpit. He gave Billy Newton points for perspicacity.

  Little Tashia Jones, as Sam Wright had predicted, was happily tucked up between the Arnaud daughters. Linda Jernigan slipped into a spot right by the backdoor, as if she might have to bolt, and he was glad to see Ida Lou Reams take a seat beside her and give her a hug. What happened next increased his gladness: Barker Reams came in, looking uncomfortable in a white shirt and tie, and sat next to his wife. She smiled lovingly at him and patted his knee. The bishop was amazed. Except for the occasional funeral, he didn’t recall ever seeing Barker at a meeting. How had Ida Lou persuaded him to come to this one?

  The missionaries entered, accompanied by Chuck Stagley and Mary Lynn Connors. Elder Moynihan scouted out a good seat for them and then went back out into the foyer while Elder Rivenbark made his slow, painful way up to the stand. Soon Elder Moynihan reappeared, escorting the mother and young daughter they were teaching, as well as the rosy-cheeked nurse whom the bishop had met at the time of Hilda Bainbridge’s passing. The three of them sat together, and he noticed that the nurse, whose name he was ashamed he couldn’t recall, looked up to the stand, caught the eye of Elder Rivenbark, and smiled. A quick glance to the side showed him that the missionary returned the smile and gave a brief nod of recognition in her direction.