A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  Her smile, which seemed to turn on and off with great suddenness, appeared again. “It certainly would,” she agreed.

  “And with the strength of good women like your mother and grandmother in your background, I expect you could handle all the different situations that present themselves to us here in this area. You strike me as a lady who could probably not only organize a wonderful dinner party for the sisters and their guests, but could also help a midwife at a birthing up in the hill country. Some of our sisters don’t go to hospitals to have their babies. Too far, no insurance, too expensive—you know how it is, I’m sure. You Relief Society sisters, bless your hearts, seem to preside at the comings and goings of life. I imagine, with your background, you’d have no difficulty in dressing the dead, either.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, I’m sure you’re aware that around here, we have no—um—funeral directors who are members of the Church, so when an endowed sister passes away, the Relief Society president has the privilege of dressing the body of the deceased in her temple clothing for burial. You’d know how to do that, I reckon.”

  “Well, but—of course, in Utah, all the mortuaries do have LDS people who . . .”

  “What we ought to do, I expect, is send our missionaries around to all the undertakers in the area, see if they can’t convert us one. Sure would come in handy!” He chuckled.

  Sister Winslow looked stunned. “Yes—yes, that would be good.”

  He gazed at his desk for a long moment, then looked up. “Do you happen to know how to give shots, or change IV’s?”

  “Shots? You mean . . .” She shook her head, frowning.

  “Hypodermic—pain shots? We have old Brother Bainbridge coming home from the hospital. He’s got cancer, you know, and the doctors have said it’s terminal. His wife wants him to have his last weeks at home with her, but the hospital will only release him if we can provide someone to be on hand to help him with his pain and keep his fluids up. They’ll need somebody every few hours. Sister Bainbridge just isn’t up to doing it. She doesn’t see very well. Needs help, herself, as a matter of fact. And their insurance has already been stretched to the limit, with all his surgeries and treatments.”

  “I—see. No, I’m afraid I haven’t had any training in nursing, or in delivering babies, either. Mine were born in military hospitals, and I was—medicated. Don’t we have any nurses in the ward?”

  “Well, let me think. Seems like Sister Frankie Talbot did some training in that direction before she married Gene. I’ll have to check with her. Anyway, we really rely on the Relief Society to help out on all fronts. Tell you what—I’ll talk things over with my counselors, sister, and we’ll pray about it, and get back to you. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes, Bishop, of course. You know—um—I believe I could be useful in other ways, too—not just Relief Society. Perhaps on the activities committee? I just love to plan parties!”

  “Now, there’s a thought. We’re definitely looking for willing and talented folks to serve there. People with some experience in entertaining, and new ideas for ward activities. I feel the social aspect’s going to play a real important part in unifying our two wards, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely, Bishop, I think you’re right on the money. And I’d love to be of service in helping that happen.”

  He stood up and came around the desk to shake her hand again and open the door. “Thank you so much, Sister Winslow. I’m just so grateful for the support people are showing for this new, green bishopric. It means a lot.”

  She hurried out to her car, and he wandered into the clerk’s office, where his counselors and clerks were poring over the instructions to the Church’s computerized membership program.

  “How’s it coming?” he asked, dropping onto a cushioned stenographer’s chair.

  “I think we’re getting it,” Robert Patrenko replied. “How’s Sister Winslow? Everything okay with her?”

  “I believe so. She was just—um—offering her support. Being willing to serve in the ward.”

  Brother Patrenko looked up and grinned. “Is that a nice way of saying she was doing a little aspiring to positions? Trying to get the jump on you, or the Lord, by suggesting exactly how and where she’d like to serve?”

  “Well . . .” He didn’t like to think of it just that way, but his counselor seemed to know the lady. He grinned back. “Something like that, I guess. I believe we came to an understanding.”

  “What’d she want—the Relief Society? I know her pretty well, you see—I was her home teacher for three years. I remember she was pretty indignant one time when Bishop Collins asked her to serve in the nursery. Wondered what he had against her, that he wanted her ‘out of the loop,’ I believe was how she put it.”

  “She seems to enjoy the social end of things, all right. I wondered about asking her to head up the activities committee.”

  “Perfect, I’d say,” Brother Patrenko agreed, and Joseph Perkins turned from the computer screen and nodded.

  “I see LaThea as a lady who needs to be noticed and praised and reassured that she’s worthwhile,” he said. “Harville’s a good man, but I believe he takes all her efforts for granted, and he isn’t one to shower praise and thanks on anybody.”

  “Well, put that down on our list of callings to pray about, all right? And now somebody, please tell me this—do any of our sisters who live away from town, up in the hills, have their babies at home, with a midwife?”

  Sam Wright looked up. “I b’lieve Sister Nettie Birdwhistle does, don’t she? Seems like I remember Frankie Talbot going up there a time or two to help out. Nettie’s younguns come fast, I hear, and she don’t even try to get down to town when things start rollin’. She’s had nine or ten, hatn’t she? She’s got the process down real good, I reckon.”

  The bishop smiled in relief. “Good. Thanks.” And thank thee, Father, he added silently. I’m glad I didn’t lie. I just didn’t know where that truth came from!

  * * *

  He had pondered who should be the new Relief Society president. Sister Linda DeNeuve had confided in him that she was expecting a baby and feeling especially tired, and Sister Rhonda Castleberry, who he learned had been president in the Second Ward, had been at it for nearly five years and in his opinion deserved a break, if not a medal. There were two names that kept coming to him. One was Frankie Talbot, who, it turned out, had indeed finished her nurse’s training, though she wasn’t presently working at it, being busy with her five children. Her husband commuted to work up at the Redstone Arsenal. Frankie was a small, vibrant, good-natured woman with red hair and seemingly boundless energy, but he worried that the weight of this calling might take too much from her and from her family.

  The other name that kept coming to his mind was that of Ida Lou Reams. Ida Lou was an older sister who had lived in Fairhaven all her life. Her husband, Barker Reams, had never joined the Church, but had offered no objection to his family’s participation. Ida Lou had little in the way of formal education, but she had a good knowledge of gospel basics and a warm, outgoing way that manifested itself in quiet acts of service to people, many of which, he was sure, were known only to the recipients. But Ida Lou had never been endowed in the temple, and he had reason to know that Barker drank, sometimes to excess. Would she have the support a woman needed to serve in this calling?

  He put the matter to the Lord again and again, and still the two names were there. Finally he asked his counselors for their recommendations, without telling them the names he’d been considering. They knelt in prayer together, and then he asked each of them to write on a piece of paper the name that suggested itself. Brother Patrenko wrote his name quickly and handed the paper across to the bishop, who thanked him but didn’t look at it right away. Brother Sam Wright seemed to be agonizing over his choice, and finally handed it over with a shake of his head.

  “Tell you the truth, Bishop, I don’t know why I wrote the name I did. My mind and good sense tells me that Sist
er Talbot oughta be the one, but—well, here’s the name that just kept gnawin’ at me. I’m prob’ly all wrong. I hatn’t had much experience with this kind of a thing.”

  The bishop smiled. “Neither have I, Sam. Now, before I look at these, I want to tell you the two names that have been, as Sam puts it, gnawin’ at me these last few days. Sister Frankie Talbot is one, all right, and the other is Sister Ida Lou Reams.”

  He knew from the slight gasp Sam gave that he was on target. Bob Patrenko smiled. The bishop opened the slips of paper. The same name appeared on each. His throat threatened to close off, and he cleared it. “Well, brethren,” he said, “if she accepts, we have our president.” He stood up and went to open the door to the clerk’s office. “Brother McMillan,” he said with a note of triumph in his voice, “would you please ask Sister Ida Lou Reams to come in for an appointment, soon as possible? And invite her husband to come with her, if he will.”

  * * *

  He took the next afternoon off work and drove to his sister Paula’s home in Anniston to visit with his mother and give her the news of his calling. Paula Trawick opened the door to her old-brick, ranch style home with its white wrought-iron “lace” around the front porch. She was as tall as he, and heavier by probably thirty or forty pounds. Her hair was fully gray, now, but still thick and wavy, and her skin looked younger than her years.

  “Hey, there, Little Brother,” she greeted, giving him a hug and patting his shoulder. “How’s life treating you? All alone today—didn’t bring the family?”

  “Nope, just me, today. I just ran down for a quick visit to tell Mama something I think will please her.”

  “Don’t tell me Trish’s expecting again!”

  “No, no—though we wouldn’t mind at all if that was the case.”

  “I swear, ya’ll are gluttons for punishment. Two were enough for me, I can tell you. Well, come on in. Mama’ll be thrilled to see you. She worries if you don’t show up pretty regular.”

  “Even now?” he asked, in a low voice. “She keeps track?”

  “Oh, yeah. I know she can’t communicate very good, but I’m certain as I can be that her mind’s still plenty sharp and active. She still can’t seem to say ‘Jim,’ but she says ‘son,’ and I know she means you. She has a few more words, since you were here last. The other day I fed her some soup, and I reckon I should’ve checked the temperature better, ’cause she yelled, ‘Hot!’ when she tasted it. First time she’s said that. Bless her heart, she was real mad at me.”

  “It can’t be easy, taking care of her full-time, Paula. You sure you’re up to it, still?”

  Paula regarded him steadily. “I don’t reckon she’d care to be shipped back and forth between the three of us, in her condition,” she said. “Even if you or Anne Marie was in a position to care for her, I don’t think she’d do as well moving place-to-place, not to mention noise and children making her nervous. I reckon she needs stability and peace at this stage of life.”

  “Bless your heart, Sis, you’ll be rewarded for this.”

  Paula shrugged. “I am rewarded. I have Mama’s company. We were always close—even if I didn’t join your church.”

  “I know. And I know she appreciates everything you do. Still, if you need a break—she could surely come to us for a while. Trish has even suggested it, and she’d be good to Mama.”

  His sister nodded. “Trish is a sweetie, and it’s good to know ya’ll are willing. I’m not real sure Anne Marie is, but that’s another story. It’s funny, but in most of the families I know, the care of the old folks seems to be left up to one of the kids—and in our family, I’m it. And you know what, Jimmie? I’m glad of it. It’s company for me, just to know she’s here. I reckon if Travis would ever retire, the house wouldn’t seem so empty, but I swear that man is more married to his job than he is to me, and after the kids grew up and left, I purely hated being here all by my lonesome. So having Mama is a blessing. Come on in and see her, now—she’ll wonder who in the world I’m talking to, in here.” She turned, and he followed her to the family room behind the kitchen. “Mama? Surprise—your boy is here!”

  His mother was propped in a recliner with pillows at her sides to keep her upright. There was bright sunlight spilling across the floor, and a whole indoor garden of potted plants gave a freshness to the air. She watched as he crossed the room to her and knelt at her side.

  “Hi, Mama,” he said, making himself smile, though he felt more like crying at the sight of her fragile condition and half-drooping face. Her right eye watered and gazed off to the side, while the left one peered anxiously at him. Half of her mouth turned up in a smile.

  “Son?” she asked, her right hand reaching toward him. He took her hand and kissed it.

  “Yep, it’s me, Mama. How’re you doing? You’re lookin’ better.”

  “Son. Good.”

  “Trish and the kids send their love, Mama, but I came down by myself today to tell you some news, okay? Guess what I’ve been called to be?”

  “Son?”

  “I’ve just been sustained as the new bishop in Fairhaven Ward,” he told her and watched carefully to see if she comprehended. Her half-smile came again.

  “Good,” she said. “Good. Good son.”

  “Well, I hope I’m a good son—and I’m going to try real hard to be a good bishop. You pray for me, okay, Mama? I know the Lord hears your prayers, even if they’re silent ones. He always did, when you prayed for me.”

  Her left eye joined the right one in watering, and he knew these were real tears. She grasped his hand a little tighter and shook it gently.

  “We have a hundred and thirty-four families in the Church in Fairhaven, now. Can you believe that, Mama? Remember when we first started going, and there were only a handful of us? Just a few members and investigators, and the missionaries. Now there’s a stake in our area, and five wards. And a temple, right in Birmingham. We’ve sure been blessed, Mama.”

  “Good.”

  “It is good, isn’t it? I’m glad to be a part of it. Glad you supported me—that we joined the Church together. That’s a mighty sweet memory for me.”

  She shook his hand up and down again, and somehow he knew she meant, “For me, too.”

  He was silent for a moment, looking around the room. “This is a real pretty room,” he commented. “I’m sure glad Paula takes such good care of you. And she was telling me how much she enjoys having you here.”

  “Good.”

  “She is good, isn’t she? A real good daughter. Do you need anything, Mama? Is there anything I can do for you, get for you?”

  His mother released his hand and patted the top of her head. He frowned.

  “Does your head hurt?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Is it . . .” Suddenly the light dawned. “Do you want me to give you a blessing?”

  She grabbed his hand again and pumped it up and down.

  “Well, sure, Mama, I’d be happy to. Now, I didn’t think to bring any oil, and I don’t have any other priesthood holder with me, but I’ll just do the best I can, okay?”

  He stood and placed his hands on her head, silently praying for guidance. The words came, and he heard himself promising his mother that she would be comforted and sustained as her circumstances required, that she would gain in strength and mobility and the ability to communicate her thoughts, and that she would be helped to remember the many good and positive experiences of her life and feel great satisfaction and joy because of them. In the course of the prayer, he indirectly blessed his sister as well, asking that she be sustained and strengthened and experience continuing joy in her service to their mother. He closed the blessing, noting as he did so that there was a slight movement from the door to the kitchen. Paula hadn’t stayed in the room with them for his visit with his mother, but he was pretty sure she had heard at least part of his blessing. He kissed his mother, and was surprised to hear her hoarse voice whisper a very clear, “Love you,” as he did.

&nb
sp; “I love you, too, Mama—very, very much. God bless you.”

  Paula saw him out, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “By the way, Mama gets visitors from your church about once or twice a month. We let them come, ’cause it seems to make her happy. There’s two men who come, and a couple of older ladies who seem real sweet. I reckon you sent ’em?”

  “Not at all,” he was pleased to tell her. “Mama’s membership would have been transferred here to Anniston, and the bishop would have asked them to visit. Has he been to see her, too?”

  “Well, I don’t know who-all they are, but maybe so. There was a nice, older man one time, and he asked if she could have visitors.”

  “I expect that’d be the bishop.”

  “And so—that’s what you are, now? I heard you telling Mama.”

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  His sister frowned. “I didn’t say that, Jimmie. I reckon you’ll do just fine. It’s funny, but you always did have a knack for the spiritual side of things. More than me and Anne Marie put together.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about that, but thanks, Sis. And thanks again for your sweet care of Mama.” He gave his sister a heartfelt hug and took his leave. He noticed that Paula stood in the doorway and watched him drive away.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “ . . . by him we are known”

  The next evening, the bishop parked his car and stood for a few minutes on the flagstone patio outside his kitchen door, enjoying the soft, perfumed air of the spring night. What was that fragrance, anyway? Trish would know; she was into flowers and gardening. He just appreciated the results. It seemed good, after the intensive meetings he had just endured, to have a few moments alone in the sweet, silent darkness of his own backyard. His briefcase and his brain were stuffed with more information than he had ever wanted to know about the families and individuals who made up his newly formed flock. He had met first with the outgoing bishop of his own ward, Tom Detweiler, who had filled him in on the situations and struggles, the strengths and weaknesses of people Jim had thought he knew rather well. Then former bishop Arnold Collins did the same for the folks of the erstwhile Second Ward. Jim felt his heart and brain were on overload, reeling under the knowledge that this couple were on the brink of divorce, another living separate lives under one roof—this family was on the verge of bankruptcy and the other one had already declared, these folks just had their car repossessed, that brother had been diagnosed with leukemia, this couple were childless and trying to adopt, that seriously handicapped young man wanted badly to serve a mission, a certain sister was losing her faith in God, and one family’s newborn daughter had been diagnosed as profoundly deaf.