The Thorny Path

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “Oh, is that right?”

  The officer chuckled. “Way I hear it, some little old black lady stood up and gave ’em what for and led a whole section of people out of the park in protest—right close to a third went with her, my friend said.”

  The bishop had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, exactly who that ‘little old black lady’ must have been. Then he began to smile and couldn’t seem to stop. He thanked the officer again and went back into the building, where he found Robert Patrenko and Sam Wright waiting for him in his office. He invited Ralph and Linda to join them.

  “Brother and Sister Jernigan, thanks so much for the work you’ve done to make us aware of what’s been going on,” he told them. “And thanks for the call, Ralph. Now, if you will, please tell us what you saw and heard tonight.”

  Ralph cleared his throat. “Saw a division of the devil’s army, Bishop. Didn’t start out too bad—nice choir, some hymns. But then they tried to disguise themselves as religious men—‘Christian soldiers,’ they called themselves—but easy enough to see through, soon as they started talking. Not so much interested in spreading the good word of the gospel, you understand, as in tearing down the Lord’s work and His prophets, from Joseph Smith down to the present. Said some awful things about all of them. Vicious, like a pack of mad dogs. Got louder and louder, talked about how the Lord’s real followers in the area had the responsibility of rooting out the Mormon devil-worshipers and sending them packing—that they had no place in a good Christian town like Fairhaven. Talked about how our missionaries kidnap young girls and haul them off to temples and turn them into love slaves and thirty-seventh wives of some old codger—and how we worship Adam instead of God, and we think Jesus and the devil are brothers, and not very different, at that—both being sons of the morning, and all. Went on and on—and after a while, I noticed people around me looking at each other, kind of pulling faces, shaking their heads, like they weren’t quite buying what they heard—although some were. Some were shouting ‘Amen!’ or ‘Praise the Lord!’ and other such things after every sentence, lifting their hands in the air and sort of swaying back and forth.

  “Finally, a lady stood up and turned around in the bleachers and yelled out, ‘Anybody besides me think these people are full of lies and hatred?’ Some folks yelled out, ‘Yes!’ ‘Anybody think true Christians would do better to preach Christ’s word than to come here and degrade our good Mormon neighbors?’ More people yelled ‘Yes!’ And she said, ‘Then follow me out of here, and let’s show these hypocrites what we think of them!’ She marched down the bleachers, and a whole bunch of people followed her. She got down on the field, and made a sort of megaphone out of a piece of poster board and yelled the same kind of things to the folks across the way. They got the picture, and a good number of them followed her, too. About that time, the guys in charge got wind of what she was doing, and tried to cover up by passing out maps to our chapel and talking about going to stage a ‘peaceful demonstration,’ to let the neighbors who live around our church know that we’d be run out of town before long, that they had support, and so forth.”

  Ralph took a deep breath. The bishop had never heard him open up and say so much at one time.

  “Then,” Ralph continued, “they all left the rally in a big hurry, jumped in cars and drove over here, honking and waving flags out their windows. Heard one fellow say something about getting us started on burning in hell, and I thought he might try to torch the chapel. That’s when I called you, Bishop,” he added, nodding solemnly at his church leader. “Thought they’d get out and do some marching around, at least—maybe come in and try to disrupt the meeting, cause whatever damage they could. But for some reason, they just drove through the parking lot and then headed out like the devil himself was after them. Can’t say I’m sorry at that—but I was surprised.”

  “I can tell you a little about that part,” the bishop said, and related what Officer Bizzell had reported to him. “I didn’t even hear the horns—just the vehicles, and one man shouting. How about you, brethren?”

  “I didn’t hear nothin’,” Sam reported. “Wadn’t even aware of the cars comin’ through. You, Bob?”

  Robert Patrenko shook his head. “I didn’t hear them, either. That’s interesting. I wonder if anyone did? And you say the guy shouted something about a hundred cops?” He chuckled. “It sounds as if maybe the Lord—shall we say, ‘enlarged their vision’—for a moment, there!”

  “And insulated us,” the bishop added. “Sister Linda, did you hear anything going on?”

  She nodded. “Just the car engines, but not loud. Didn’t even hear the shouting or the horns. And I didn’t notice anybody else in the chapel looking disturbed.”

  “Folks, I believe a prayer of thanksgiving is in order, here,” suggested the bishop. “Shall we kneel?”

  * * *

  When he emerged from his office, having said goodnight to his counselors and the Jernigans, he was greeted by Mrs. Martha Ruckman, holding Tashia by the hand. Uh-oh, he thought. Mrs. Ruckman’s going to tell me she doesn’t feel it’s safe for Tashia to keep coming to church with us. I should have seen that one coming.

  Mrs. Ruckman stood as tall and straight as ever—which was very straight but not very tall—and her brow was beaded with perspiration. Her eyes were snapping, and her lips were pressed firmly together.

  “James?” she said. “My granddaughter and I would like to apply for baptism into your church. I assume you’re the person to see to that?”

  For the second time that evening, he was completely astounded. He looked at Tashia, who beamed at him with pure happiness. Behind Mrs. Ruckman’s back, he was aware of Ralph Jernigan trying to signal him that this was the lady with the makeshift megaphone at the rally. He nodded deeply, his eyes shifting briefly to Ralph, so he’d know the message was received.

  “Um—yes, you bet, that would be me,” he said. “What—what a wonderful thing! But we’ll need to talk about it at some length. You’ll want to study—”

  “James,” his former fifth grade teacher interrupted. “Do you really think I would apply to join a church I hadn’t studied thoroughly, and made a matter of prayer? Do you think I haven’t read and reread every word Tashia’s brought into our home? Now, of course I understand that my next move is to be formally taught by your missionaries, and trust me, I have some very pertinent questions to ask them.”

  He trusted her. He nodded dumbly.

  “So, would you be so kind as to have them contact me to set up a time for me to receive these lessons?”

  “I—I—yes, ma’am. I’d be more than happy to do that!”

  “All right. I’ll be expecting their call. Now, Miss Lady, shall we go home? It’s been a rather full evening.” Tashia nodded, still beaming, and snuggled closer to her grandmother.

  The bishop finally found his voice and his wits. “Mrs. Ruckman, I want to thank you for what you did tonight, at the rally. I heard about it—and I knew it couldn’t be anybody but you.”

  “Well, I have to tell you, those were the most despicable excuses for men—let alone Christian men—that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. But you may thank them—it was their anger and their lying tongues that confirmed my realization that any church they choose to fight so hard against must be approved of the Lord because it was plain to me that they were approved by the devil himself!”

  * * *

  The bishop finally turned out the lights, locked all the doors, and climbed wearily but happily into his car, where Trish and the children were waiting. He backed out and turned to leave, when he noticed a pickup truck parked in the far corner of the lot. Curious, he drove over to it. It belonged to the Jernigans, and Ralph and Linda were relaxing in lawn chairs in the truck bed.

  “Ralph?” he questioned. “What’re y’all doing, still here? Planning to camp out?”

  “Exactly, Bishop,” Ralph replied. “Never know if any of those yay-hoos might decid
e to come back for a second try when nobody’s here, before they head on. Knew we couldn’t relax at home, thinking about that. So we’ll be here till sunup, and then come back for church.”

  Linda held up a radio. “Got this, got our cell phone with the police number programmed in. And yours, too,” she added. “We’ll be fine.”

  He knew better than to argue. Besides, on some level, he was relieved.

  “Don’t take anybody on,” he warned. “Just use your phone, all right, if you need to?”

  “Absolutely, Bishop. See you in the morning.”

  “They are the most amazing people,” Trish said as they pulled away. “I mean, it’s kind of strange, but really so good of them, to do that.”

  Her husband remembered what Peter MacDonald had said, when he’d learned of Ralph’s devotion to the Church in spite of his disabling paranoia.

  “Noble,” he echoed softly. “A noble soul.”

  * * *

  “A miracle, Trish,” the bishop said wearily to his wife as they sat propped by pillows against the headboard of their bed later that night. “We saw a miracle, this evening.”

  “I’d say so,” she agreed. “More than one, in fact.”

  He nodded. “The fact that most people didn’t even appear to be aware of the ruckus outside is the first one.”

  “I honestly didn’t hear a thing. I guess I was just tuned in to the meeting.”

  “Or to the Spirit—which was very strong in that meeting, didn’t you think?”

  “Extremely. I’ve hardly ever felt quite like that—at least, in a meeting. Maybe in the temple.”

  “Right. And then the fact that our visitors thought there were lots of police present—that’s got to qualify, too.”

  “So much for their ‘peaceful demonstration,’” Trish commented. “If that’s all they had intended, why would the presence of the police have spooked them so badly?”

  “You know, if the chapel had been dark and empty when they arrived, and Officer Bizzell hadn’t been there, we might have awakened tomorrow with no building to worship in. There was that talk of fire, by one person, at least. Of course, maybe he was just blowing smoke—no pun intended.”

  “Well, where there’s smoke . . .”

  “Exactly. It might have been in more minds than his. Then for Mrs. Martha Ruckman to decide to be baptized! I’ve never been so surprised.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful? And little Tashia, too, bless her heart. She’s wanted this for a long time.”

  “I think we’re going to have a pretty substantial baptismal service one of these first days—maybe more than one—as things progress. The missionaries have several really fine investigators, including Chuck and Mary Lynn.”

  “These two elders are outstanding, aren’t they? They’re both so well-prepared and so earnest, it’d be hard not to believe what they teach.” She smiled. “Cute, too. That doesn’t hurt, especially when the teachee is a young female. I wonder who the pretty young lady was, that Elder Moynihan escorted in with the Simmonses. Is she part of their family?”

  “Oh, um—no. Can’t think of her name, but I can tell you that she’s a nurse over at the hospital, and she helped care for Hilda in her last days. And, come to think of it, I believe I did notice a kind of special smile between her and Elder Rivenbark.”

  “Well, his smile’s special enough to make any girl’s heart flutter, in spite of all his problems.”

  The bishop nodded. “So I’ve been told,” he replied, thinking of Lisa Lou Pope’s fleeting crush on the young elder. “But I have enough confidence in his character that I don’t think he’d bend mission rules by doing more than smiling and shaking hands, even if there is a mutual attraction there.”

  “Let’s see—how much longer does he have to go, on his mission?”

  “About ten more months. Next June.”

  “Well, a good girl—if she happens to be the right girl—can certainly wait that long to get better acquainted. And he’s so absorbed in his work, the time’ll pass quickly for him.”

  He brushed her knuckles against his lips. “You know, babe—we’re probably fantasizing. Maybe the young lady just admires the missionaries who are teaching her. Pretty much everybody does that.”

  “M-hmm. Probably. Let’s just watch, though—and see what we see.”

  “Shoot, I was so dense about Chuck and Mary Lynn that I probably won’t see a thing!”

  “How’s their relationship coming along?”

  “Like gangbusters. I expect a wedding shortly after a baptism.”

  “You really think Mary Lynn will join the Church?”

  “No thanks to me, but yes, I do think so. And I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  “That’s so great.” Trish sighed, finally beginning to relax. “So, Jim—do you think we dodged a bullet tonight, the way things worked out?”

  “I think with the Lord’s blessings, we dodged a whole barrage. But there may yet be casualties. We’ll have to wait and see what kind of fallout there may be around town, from all the lies. Some folks evidently bought into what was being said.”

  “I’m glad for all those who didn’t—who walked out. That was wonderful.”

  He grinned, thinking of Mrs. Martha Ruckman leading the exodus. “Sure was. I’d like to have been there, just to see that.”

  “Me, too. Oh, feel the baby, Jim—it’s really kicking. Right here.” She placed his hand on her abdomen. Sure enough, he felt several little thrusts against his hand.

  “Wow,” he said reverently. “I still can’t believe we’re going to have another one. We’re so blessed, Trish.”

  “Aren’t we? Not that it won’t be a challenge. Less than four months, Daddy! We’re more than halfway there.”

  “You know, the other evening in the temple, I was thinking about when the spirit enters the body, wondering at what point that happens, and if it’s the same for everyone. Is it at conception, or first breath, or sometime in between?”

  “Did you come to a conclusion?”

  “Nope. I know it’s one of the things the Lord hasn’t revealed, and as much as I’d love to know, the more I think about it, the more wisdom I see in keeping that from us. I mean, just think—if we found for sure that it’s at conception, then women who have abortions might find themselves in even more serious trouble than if they honestly think the fetus isn’t really a living person, yet. But if we discovered that the spirit doesn’t come on the scene till first breath, then the abortionists would crow and proclaim their rights and their innocence because they’d say they weren’t really destroying life.”

  “You’re probably right. Of course, a lot of people don’t even believe in the concept of a spirit, or a soul, as they’d call it. They just think life is all physical.”

  “I’m grateful we’ve been taught better.”

  “Me, too. So grateful.” She turned over to her side and pulled a pillow down to stuff under her tummy in preparation for sleep.

  Her husband leaned over and kissed her cheek. He was also grateful for her—and for the miracles that had protected her and the children and their many friends this night.

  * * *

  Monday morning, Chuck Stagley made a point of stopping the bishop at the store and telling him of his feelings about the Saturday fireside.

  “I ain’t never been to a meetin’ that made me feel the way that one did, Jim,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, the services yesterday was fine, too, with all them folks testifyin’ like they did, but the night before—man, that was somethin’ special. Me and Mary Lynn both felt it.”

  The bishop nodded solemnly. “Glad you did, Chuck. I believe that was the influence of the Holy Ghost, and it’s good you recognized it. Tell me something—did you hear cars and horns honking and people shouting outside, at any point during that meeting?”

  Chuck frowned, and slowly shook his head. “Cain’t say I did. Why, was somethin’ goin’ on?”

  “Oh, we had a visit from the folks who held the r
ally—but most people didn’t even notice it, and I reckon something spooked them, and they took off.”

  Chuck raised his eyebrows. “Huh,” he said.

  * * *

  “Jim, you’re not going to believe this,” Trish said, as soon as he came in the kitchen door that afternoon.

  “And what would ‘this’ be?” he queried, bending to kiss her hair. She handed him a typewritten letter.

  “Read it and wonder,” she told him.

  He unfolded the letter and glanced first at the signature. “Well, from Leanore St. John! What is it—did she find something more for us?”

  “Mm—no, let’s say she found something more for herself. Read on.”

  “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd,” he read, easing into a chair at the kitchen table. “You will no doubt be surprised at the news I have for you. I believe I told you that I had, on occasion, made use of the Family History Centers of your church, and that I had found the people there kind and helpful, if not especially sophisticated in their knowledge of research techniques. For this reason—and because I was favorably impressed with the sincerity and honesty you exhibited in your approach to running your family line—when two young ladies from your church appeared at my door a couple of weeks after you did, I let them come in and say their piece. (They insist you didn’t send them; is that true?)

  “They had a similar sincerity in their approach, and they seemed genuinely to care whether I believed what they had to say. I’m afraid I gave them a bit of a hard time, but in the end, they simply challenged me to read, and to pray about what I read and what I had heard from them—much of which was entirely new to me. I can’t say what persuaded me to do that, but do it I did. I expect you know what happened then. Against all my training and prejudices and better judgment, I am to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on Saturday, August tenth! I must confess I am as trembly and excited as a new bride—and I just hope the marriage will be a sound one.

  “Your friend—and, I suppose, mine—May Hinton, made good on her threat to come see me, and happened along just as the sister missionaries were arriving for a discussion. She sat in on it, but could hardly wait to think of an excuse to get away. I don’t believe May is prepared to venture into anything new. She is a good woman, but has always been rather timid, if not rigid, in her outlook.