I heard a sniff behind me. Rhanda was still there. “I don’t think Auntie’s going to live much longer.”
A painful lump swelled up in my throat.
Rhanda’s lip trembled. “Your visits mean the world to her.”
We watched Auntie Belle’s chest slightly rise and fall with each breath.
Rhanda choked back a sob. “I—I’ve been listening in on your conversations.”
I started to say something, but I held back. I sensed the time wasn’t right.
“When I think of all the times you and the other missionaries came here and how badly I treated you—well, I know you care about Auntie Belle. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have put up with my rudeness.”
I put my hand in my pocket. The fishing worm Herb Conrad had given me all those years ago was in there. “You didn’t know any more about us than we knew about you. But I’ve always admired you for taking care of Auntie Belle.”
“It hasn’t been easy.” Rhanda gazed lovingly at Auntie Belle. “But I’m glad I’ve had this time with her.”
Auntie Belle was admitted to the hospital the following day. Three weeks later, on a crisp September morning, Thomas finally convinced Auntie Belle it was time to go.
The day after Auntie Belle passed away, my mission call arrived in the mail.
Marcy wanted to have a family dinner so we could all be together when I opened the envelope. Granddad’s new hobby was barbecue, so he smoked some chickens in his new smoker and roasted a couple of Boston Butts on his new, state-of-the-art grill. It had all sorts of electronic gauges and LED displays. It looked more like a part of a space shuttle than an outdoor cooking device.
It was a warm autumn afternoon, so we ate outside on the deck Dad and Granddad had helped Marshall build back in the spring. Lily B insisted I bring Lima Bean over even though he was an indoor cat. He napped on the kitchen floor, soaking in the sun’s rays as they filtered through the glass door.
Desmond sat in Lily B’s old high chair and smeared his chicken and rice baby food all over the tray. When Lily B tried to get him to eat a bite, he smeared it on her face.
Lily B licked at the glob of baby food. “Dis is yucky. Sauce will make it better.” She poured Granddad’s special recipe sauce onto the tray. Desmond squealed with joy and slapped the puddle with his pudgy hands.
Marshall took the bowl of sauce away from Lily B. “Don’t encourage Des to make messes.”
“I’m helping him eat.”
“You’re helping him be a little stinker,” Marcy said. She wiped Lily B’s hands with a wet dishtowel. “One little stinker in this house is enough.”
Lily B nodded, her braids bobbing. “Dat’s me, idn’t it?”
“I was talking about your daddy.”
Lily B laughed. “Daddy’s a stinker!”
Granddad set a platter of smoked chickens on the table. “We’re outside. Why not just hose ’er down?”
Lily B bounced in her seat. “Yeah, Mommy, let Gam-pa spray me!”
Mom came out from the kitchen carrying a pitcher of lemonade. “Now Granddad, look at what you’ve started.” She set the pitcher on the table. “Are Marshall and Arlice back yet?”
Granddad shook his head. “They said they’d be here as soon as they’re done with Ms. Mudd.”
Marcy gave up trying to clean Desmond’s hands and let him play in the barbecue sauce. “I’m surprised Rhanda wants to have her great-aunt’s funeral at the Paramount. She’s been so vocal in her opinions about Mormons—and she knows y’all are members.”
Dinner was ready when Dad and Marshall arrived. Dad blessed the meal, and everyone dove in. Everyone, that is, but me. The large white envelope from Church headquarters was on a small table by the door. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. My fate for the next two years was sealed inside. I wanted to open it, but I didn’t. I wanted to know where the Lord was sending me, but then again, I didn’t.
“This is supposed to be your celebration.” Granddad pointed to my plate. “Those chickens died so you could have nourishment. Eat ’em.”
I bit into a leg. The meat melted in my mouth. “Mmm. This is good, Granddad.”
“I’m thinking about entering the big barbecue cook-off in Memphis next spring. I’ll need a catchy name for my smoker, though. James T. Kirk’s Barbecue sounds too generic.”
“Also sounds too much like Star Trek,” Marcy said to me with a wink. “Might as well call it Enterprise Barbecue.”
Lily B gestured, trying to get Granddad’s attention.
“Roasted Pig by Pop?” Dad dumped a mountain of shredded pork on his plate.
Granddad wrinkled his nose. “Nah.”
“Ask me! Ask me!” Lily B cried.
“Pick o’ the Pig?” Marshall suggested.
Granddad puckered up as if he’d eaten a lemon wedge. “I appreciate your input, but—”
Lily B jumped out of her chair and ran to Granddad. She tugged on his sleeve.
“What?”
Lily B crooked her finger and motioned for Granddad to come closer. He leaned over. She cupped her hands around his ear and whispered something. Granddad’s grin was as wide as the Mississippi. He scooped Lily B up and set her in his lap.
“Miss B is the winner!” Granddad exclaimed. “She’s come up with the perfect name for my business. Grandpa’s Best Barbecue!”
Mom clapped her hands. “Very nice, Lily. Nana’s proud of you!”
Lily B applauded herself. “I knew Gam-pa would like it.”
I applauded, but inside I felt sad. I wouldn’t be around to see Granddad go to the barbecue cook-off. I’d be out in the mission field.
I got up from the table. “Anyone want dessert?”
“Sure,” Marshall said. “Bring me some of that Mystery Surprise.”
Mom’s Mystery Surprise was a family joke. The dessert had a crushed-pretzel crust, a layer of whipped cream, sugar, and cream cheese beaten together, and a topping with crushed strawberries in gelatin. It was one of Mom’s rare successes in the kitchen—a mystery as to where the recipe came from, and a surprise that she could actually make something that tasted so good.
I dipped some out on a plate. Mom’s Mystery Surprise would make a good story to tell while on my mission.
“So, Elder Kirk, tell us about yourself,” I imagined a future investigator saying.
“Well,” I’d reply, “My parents are morticians, and the only thing my mom cooks that tastes good is this stuff called Mystery Surprise.”
Wham! The imaginary door of the imaginary investigator slammed in my face.
Actually, it was Lily B who’d slammed the door. She’d gone inside to get Lima Bean, and now she was back at the door, trying to drag Lima Bean out on the deck by his front legs. He dug in with his back claws and held on.
“Yeoooowww,” he protested.
“You don’t hafta be lonely anymore,” Lily B cooed as she tugged. “You can come to our fam-ly dinner.”
Dad pried Lima Bean’s legs from Lily B’s grip. “Lima Bean doesn’t need to come to the family dinner. He’s happy in the house.”
Marshall sat down with his plate of Mystery Surprise. “Rhanda Mudd spoke very highly of you,” he said to me.
“When are Auntie Belle’s services?”
“There won’t be a visitation, just a short memorial.” Marshall took a big bite of Mystery Surprise and smiled his approval.
Dad brushed the cat hair from his hands and came back to the table. “Auntie Belle had outlived most of her family and all of her friends.”
“What about Rhanda’s cousin, Hunter Rockwell?”
Marshall swallowed his mouthful of Mystery Surprise and readied himself for another. “She never mentioned anyone named Hunter. She just said that the only family planning to attend the memorial was her cousin Georgette in Alma.”
We ate all the Mystery Surprise, then everyone pitched in for the cleanup. When the last dish was loaded in the dishwasher and the last of the leftover barbecue was in the re
frigerator, we congregated in the den. Dad came in last with my envelope.
He stood in front of the fireplace and held it up. “We will never forget this evening and its importance to our family,” he began. “Tonight we will find out where Kevin will serve his mission.”
Everyone was still. Dad bowed his head. I thought he was going to pray—then I realized he was overcome with emotion.
The sampler Mom had cross-stitched as a housewarming gift for Marcy hung over the fireplace.
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
Lily B was in Mom’s lap, her head resting against Mom’s chest. Marcy bounced Des on her knee.
Marcy’s kids would be two years older when I got back. A lot of things would change in two years. I wondered how many changes there would be.
Dad handed me the envelope.
“Before you open that, Kev, Marcy and I want to say something.” Marshall stood up. “While Marcy was pregnant with Des, we decided to read the Book of Mormon. We read it together. It took us several months. We’ve met with the missionaries a couple of times, as you know.”
Marcy balanced Des on her hip and stood next to Marshall. “We met with the missionaries again last night. We didn’t want to tell you until we knew for sure—we felt like we needed to talk to them first before making our decision—”
Mom put her hands over her heart.
“We’re going to attend church with you Sunday,” Marshall said, “and—” he reached for Marcy’s hand, “We’ve committed to baptism.”
I dropped the envelope and ran to hug Marcy.
“Will you baptize me?” she whispered in my ear.
“You bet I will. I’ve been praying for you and Marshall.”
Marcy brushed away her tears. “I know. I’ve felt your prayers.”
“I wanted to be the one to teach you, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to convince you.”
Marcy cradled my face in her hands. “Little brother, it wasn’t your place to convince me of anything. I had to pray about it and find out for myself. And if you think you didn’t teach me anything, you’re wrong. I learned from your example.”
“It’s time to open your call now.” Marshall pointed to the envelope I’d dropped.
I stood in front of the fireplace, in front of my whole family, and opened the envelope.
Inside there was a letter from the Office of the First Presidency.
“This is cool,” I said, and held the letter out so my family could see. “The salutation says ‘Dear Elder Kirk.’”
“What does it say?” Dad asked.
I skimmed the letter, but I was so nervous I didn’t comprehend what I was reading. Then I saw the words Washington Kennewick Mission. I didn’t know I’d said them out loud until the room erupted with cheers.
Chapter Sixteen
That night in bed I stared at the ceiling and counted the tiles—twice. Lima Bean slept on my stomach. I patted his back. I’d miss having him in my bed at night.
I couldn’t believe it had been over a year since Dr. Wallace and Cassiopeia married. So much had changed in that time. Dani was inactive, Melonhead was serving his mission, Marcy and Marshall were going to join the Church—little Des would celebrate his first birthday soon. And in four weeks I’d be sleeping in the Missionary Training Center in Provo. In seven weeks I’d be nineteen and spending my first night somewhere in the Washington Kennewick Mission.
I was ordained an elder the same Sunday that Marcy and Marshall got baptized. Granddad came to church that day. He got to see Dad ordain me as an elder, and he stayed for the baptism afterwards.
Elder Tibbs and Elder Rogers had filled the font, but there was still confusion about how to adjust the water temperature. I was sure I broke through a layer of ice when I stepped in. I tried to keep my teeth from chattering as I waited for Marcy.
Marcy emerged from the ladies’ room, barefooted and in a white jumpsuit. She had her braids pulled back in a ponytail.
She put her foot in the water and yelped.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
She descended into the font. “Don’t drop me.”
“I won’t,” I said with a grin.
I baptized her, and she hugged me when she came up out of the water.
“Love you, little brother.”
“I love you too.”
“You’ll be a great missionary. I know you will.” She wiped the water off my cheek, and waded toward my mother, who was waiting with a warm towel and open arms.
I got out of the font, and Dad and Marshall got in.
“Woo,” Dad said.
“It is a bit cold,” Marshall said through his clacking teeth.
After the baptism we went back to the Paramount to celebrate with cake and ice cream. Mom and Dad invited the missionaries to come, too.
Everyone was enjoying their refreshments when Marshall pulled me aside. “I want to tell you something. Remember that day—I think you were in the eighth grade—and we were sitting in the parking lot?” He nodded in the direction of the hearse garage. “You said that you knew God had sent your family here, and that he’d led Marcy to your family. I never forgot that.”
“I remember you looked at me like I was crazy when I said it.”
“I didn’t want to believe it. But when you said it, I knew in my heart it was right.” Marshall set his empty plate on the counter. “It just took me this long to accept it.”
I nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean.”
“Two things I want to tell you,” he continued. “First, when you’re out there on your mission, remember what you said to me that day. You weren’t afraid to speak what you were feeling. Don’t be afraid to do that when you’re teaching people.”
“What’s the second thing?”
Marshall shivered. “Please ask somebody how to get the water temperature right before you fill the font for a baptism.”
Dad took me to Bigelow’s Men’s Store to buy suits for my mission. We combed through the racks and selected five sturdy, dark suits. Then we searched the shelves for white dress shirts, hoping they had at least ten in my size. We loaded up on ties and socks, then I chose two pairs of the best shoes they had.
Dad and I waited behind the mountain of merchandise as the clerk totaled the order.
“I have some money saved up. I can help pay for this,” I said.
Dad held out his hand. “Nope.”
It took the clerk almost twenty minutes to finish scanning and bagging my stuff. When she was finished, instead of saying the total out loud, she tore off the receipt and handed it to Dad. When he saw the amount, he looked sick to his stomach. But he handed his gold card to the clerk and said, “If you’re going to be a missionary, you’ve got to wear a nice suit.”
We loaded my new wardrobe in the trunk of the car and went to the Cow Palace for lunch. Dad ordered a Double Bacon Cow Pattie with cheese, through the garden, with a large Herd of Fries. I had my usual Cow Pattie with cheese and a regular Herd of Fries.
“This is the same booth we ate at the first time we came here,” I said as we waited for the server to bring our food. “We’d bought suits to wear at the home, remember? Then we came here for lunch.”
“I remember,” Dad said. He pointed out the window. “I’ll bet that’s the same cow that was out in the field that day, too. I wonder what happened to her calf?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess it grew up.”
The server brought our Cow Patties, and we ate them in silence.
When I was finished, I pushed my plate away. “You think I’ll be able to get a good hamburger in Washington?”
“I’ll bet you won’t get one as greasy.”
We laughed.
“I’m glad we moved here,” I said.
“So am I,” Dad replied.
“I think the Lord led us here,” I added.
Dad took
a sip of his soda and scooted his glass to the end of the table. “I don’t think that—I know it.”
Three weeks before takeoff, Mom, Dad, and I went to the Memphis Tennessee Temple so I could receive my endowment.
Two weeks before, I took my suits to the cleaners, bought a set of luggage, and mailed in the payment for my mission bike. Mom called Church headquarters to arrange for my plane tickets to Salt Lake as well as my transportation from the airport to the Provo MTC.
The day I picked my suits up from the cleaners, the weather was unusually hot and humid for October. As I drove home, I had to dodge trash cans blown out into the road by the gusty wind.
At home, I lined the suits up on the window seat and the suitcases on my bed. I’d washed and dried all the new socks and decided to pin them together in pairs so I wouldn’t have any orphans.
Lima Bean dashed into my room, jumped in a suitcase, and hunkered down. He blinked twice and meowed.
“I don’t need cat hairs all over my new suits.” I took him out and set him on the floor.
Lima Bean bit my ankle and looked up at me. “Yeoooowww.”
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve got plenty of food. Do I need to scoop your litter box?”
Something hit the window. I pulled back the curtains. It was hail. The trees in the back lot were bending from the force of the wind. The hail was loud and it pecked at the glass. I pulled the curtains together.
Lima Bean was gone.
“Where are you?” My eyes scanned the room. He didn’t go out—my door was shut. I checked under the bed.
He was against the wall, under the head of the bed, curled up in a tight ball.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” I stroked his head. When the hail stopped, I took him over to the window. The wind wasn’t blowing, and the sky was an eerie green color. “See, the storm didn’t last long.”
Then I heard the whine of the emergency warning sirens.
I ran to the den and turned on the TV. The phone rang. It was Marcy. “Kevin, get in the basement. Take a flashlight and your cell phone.”
An angry red bar scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen: The National Weather Service has issued a Tornado Warning for Sherman County. . .
The Final Farewell Page 12