A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “So who’d she choose for counselors?”

  “Haven’t talked to them yet, but if they accept, I’ll tell you. Don’t say anything to anybody, okay?”

  “Okay, I know the drill. Just remember to find somebody really good for my little Primary class. I’ll miss them.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon he left the store early and drove across town to check on Brother and Sister Bainbridge. Parking outside their small white cottage with its colorful beds of zinnias and banks of hydrangea bushes, now grown a little wild, he sat for a minute trying to draw strength from heaven for the encounter. Brother Bainbridge had to know he’d been sent home to die, his cancer inoperable. What could he, their bishop, say in the face of such knowledge? What comfort and aid could he offer? He sent up a brief, fervent prayer and got out of his truck, carrying a basket of fruit Mary Lynn Connors had put together for him at the store.

  Sister Hilda Bainbridge opened the door, squinting against the afternoon sunlight. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s just me, Sister Bainbridge. Bishop Shepherd.”

  “Oh, Bishop! Come on in. I’m sorry—my eyes aren’t so good, and the sunlight blinds me for a minute.”

  “How are you doing, Hilda? Did Roscoe get home all right?”

  “Yes, he did, and I’ll take you right in to see him. Now, what’s this? For us? Why, thank you!”

  “I hope you folks can eat fruit.”

  “Well, sure we can, and we can also offer it to all the good folks who come around to help us. Sister Talbot was here a little bit ago, and she’s gone and organized some sisters to learn how to help Ross with the IV, so we don’t have to pay somebody to come in so often. We do have a home health aide who’ll come in once a day and help him bathe, but we couldn’t afford anybody to do all the other things, day and night. I’m so grateful, because my eyes just won’t let me do it, either.”

  The bishop was grateful, too. Frankie Talbot wasn’t even called, yet, but she was already acting as a Relief Society leader would. The phrase “doing much good of her own free will and choice” came to mind.

  He followed Hilda’s slow progress toward a front bedroom, where a hospital bed had been installed, and where a much-emaciated Roscoe Bainbridge lay propped up with his eyes closed.

  “Ross,” said Hilda, “the bishop’s here to see you.”

  Roscoe’s head turned slowly on his pillows, and his eyes opened to half-mast.

  “Hey there, Bishop. Congratulations. Heard you was called while I was away.” His voice was hoarse and dry. He moved a hand toward the edge of the bed, and the bishop took it.

  “Roscoe, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you could come home.”

  “Reckon it’s best. It was hard on Hildy, me being clear down to Birmingham. Now she can boss me around all she wants.”

  “That’s right,” Hilda agreed, her voice bright. “Gotta keep you in line.” The bishop glanced at her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and moisture had gathered in her eyes.

  “I understand the good sisters of the ward are lining up to help keep you comfortable,” he said to Roscoe.

  “So I hear. Figure they’re all anxious to take a poke at me with one of them needles. Prob’ly wish they could do that to their own husbands, but they’ll take it out on me, ’cause I’m too lazy to run from ’em.” He smiled weakly.

  “I’m sure that’s it,” the bishop agreed with a chuckle.

  “Hildy, why don’t you get the bishop a drink of lemonade?”

  “I’ll just do that,” she said and moved slowly from the room.

  “Will you look after her, Bishop, when I’m gone?” Roscoe asked. “I don’t reckon it’ll be long, and I worry, you know. We don’t have any younguns to watch out for her. Our one girl, Carolyn, passed away six years ago, you may recall.”

  The bishop swallowed. “Now there’s no need to talk like that, Roscoe, but if it comes to that, I’ll do my best. I promise you. And I know others will, too. She’s a mighty sweet lady. We’ll see she doesn’t want for anything. Except I know she’ll miss you an awful lot.”

  “Oh, I’ll be around as much as the good Lord will allow,” Roscoe said with certainty. “Hildy and me been together sixty-two years. Don’t reckon a little detail like dyin’ can keep us totally apart. Specially sinc’t we got sealed, three years ago.”

  “Atlanta Temple, wasn’t it?”

  “Yessir. President Walker and his good wife taken us over with them. I bless ’em for it.”

  “And so do I. Now, Roscoe, is there anything else I can see to, for you? Anything you’re worried about?”

  For a minute he thought that Roscoe had drifted off to sleep, but then the sick man cleared his throat and spoke. “Done somethin’ onc’t that always troubled me,” he said. “Don’t rightly know what I can do about it, now, though.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Wadn’t such a big thing, really. Kinda silly, in fact. But still, I stole somethin’. Defaced property, too.”

  “What’d you take, Roscoe?”

  “Pitcher of Hildy.”

  “Come again?”

  “Yep. I was goin’ off to the army, and I didn’t have no pitchers of her. Didn’t neither of us have a camera. Couldn’t afford such. Didn’t reckon I could stand not havin’ her sweet face to look at, so I went over to the library, where they kept a copy of the high school yearbook, and cut one out with my pocket knife. Her senior year. She graduated, and ever’thin’. I didn’t, you know. Needed to work. Anyway, I cut it out real careful, so’s it wouldn’t mess up the book otherwise, and that pitcher was a real comfort to me while I was away. I still got it.”

  The bishop cleared his throat. He had no idea what to say.

  “It’s right in that there top bureau drawer,” Roscoe said, gesturing weakly. “In my wallet, back of my driver’s license. Hildy ain’t never knowd about it, and I don’t want her to know I stooped that low. If you’d just close the door for a minute, she won’t come in.”

  The bishop closed the door gently. “You want me to get it for you?”

  “Iffen you wouldn’t mind.”

  He took the worn leather wallet from the drawer and found the picture—a small, scuffed, black and white photo of a smiling girl with dark hair. The paper was worn soft by the years and much handling. He gave it to Roscoe, who looked at it briefly before his arm tired of holding it up.

  “Been a comfort to me,” he repeated. “But after I’m gone, Bishop, I wonder, could you do me the favor of puttin’ it back where it goes?”

  “Do you think that’s necessary, Roscoe—after all these years? Does anybody even look at those old yearbooks in the library?”

  “Don’t matter, to my way o’ thinkin’. Onliest way I can make res—res—what’s that five-dollar word, Bishop? Means to make it right.”

  “Restitution?”

  “That’d be it. Then I’d feel more like I’d borried that pitcher, and not stole it. I was young and dumb, you know? Didn’t see that I was tainting my love for Hildy by doin’ that. But now, I worry about it. It’d ease me considerable, Bishop, iffen you could do that for me. Private-like, you know?”

  “I’ll do it, Roscoe, and gladly. And I’ve got to say, that if that’s the biggest sin you’ve got on your conscience, I’m not at all worried about your standing with the Lord.”

  “Ain’t sayin’ it’s the worst I ever done, not by a long shot. I done took care of the others, though, far as I can remember. And I repented for this, but I just want it to go back where it belongs. I thank you, Bishop. You’re a good friend. Just don’t let on to Hildy, all right?”

  “I won’t,” he promised. “Thank you for your trust.” He slipped the small picture into his shirt pocket.

  “You can open the door, now. And I’m so relieved I b’lieve I could sleep a little, after you take your lemonade.”

  “Good afternoon, then, Roscoe. I’ll see you again, soon.”

  Roscoe nodded, his eyes clo
sing. The bishop slipped out into the hall, where he intercepted Hilda walking carefully with a tall glass of homemade lemonade on a tray. He took it from her.

  “Maybe we could visit in the living room while I drink this,” he suggested. “Roscoe wants to nap for a while.”

  “I’m so glad he had a good visit with you, Bishop,” Hilda said. “It wears him out to talk, but he seems to want to, with certain people.”

  “He’s a really good man, Hilda. And he sure loves you.”

  She smiled, embarrassed. “I’m lucky we’re sealed in the temple,” she said.

  “He mentioned that, too. And he’s very concerned for you.”

  She nodded. “I know. I’ll be fine, Bishop. I’ll grieve when he goes, goodness knows—but I’ll be fine. I have good neighbors who check on us, and lots of wonderful folks in the ward. So don’t you be worrying about me.”

  “I won’t worry,” he promised. “But I’ll keep a close watch, too—for Roscoe’s sake.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  The bishop said his good-byes and went out to his truck, where again he sat for a long time with his head and arms resting on the steering wheel.

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  “Shall the youth of Zion falter?”

  He leaned back in his chair in the bishop’s office and sighed in satisfaction. Frankie Talbot and Rosetta McIntyre had both accepted their callings as counselors to Ida Lou Reams in the Relief Society. Rosetta, a quiet, capable divorcee with two college-age children, seemed grateful that Ida Lou had thought of her, whereas Frankie’s natural energy and enthusiasm for working with the women of the ward had practically catapulted her into acceptance.

  “It seems to me you’re already acting in this capacity,” the bishop told her. “I’m real grateful to you for organizing the sisters to help Hilda Bainbridge get through these tough days. She’s under a lot of strain, with Roscoe’s care and her own limited vision.”

  “I know she is, and under the circumstances, I felt it was the least we could do. They’re such sweethearts, both of them.”

  “They’re the salt of the earth,” the bishop agreed, thinking of the small, worn picture in his possession. “And I think the value of having the sisters go in is as much in the association it gives Hilda as in helping with the care. And you know, she’s going to need a lot of continuing support after Roscoe passes away, too. I’m afraid the bottom’s going to fall out for her. They’ve been everything to each other, especially since Carolyn died.”

  Frankie nodded soberly. “We’ll be sure to stay close to her,” she promised.

  He expressed his pleasure and gratitude that she and the others had accepted this call, and promised that they would be sustained and set apart the following Sunday.

  That done, he turned his attention to another of the responsibilities in the special bailiwick of the bishop—interviewing the youth of the ward. He looked at his appointment calendar. Two of the young people were scheduled for this evening—Thomas Rexford and Lisa Lou Pope. He knew both, to some extent. Lisa Lou was just a year or so older than Tiffani, and everybody in town knew Thomas Rexford, though they knew him by the inevitable nickname of “T-Rex.”

  T-Rex was a powerhouse on the high school football team—a bruising linebacker whose college costs were guaranteed to be paid if he could just stay healthy and keep his grades up. The bishop knew both of those needs were challenges for this particular young man, given his predilection for fast cars, motor cycles, pretty girls, and good times. He showed up at church once or twice a month, grinning and basking in the glory of the young people’s adulation, and good-naturedly deigning to greet the adults as well, calling many of them by their first names, which had always made the bishop wince. His own children wouldn’t have dreamed of doing so—they knew they were to refer to Church members by the respectful titles of Brother and Sister, other adults by Mr. or Mrs., and to say “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir” as occasion demanded. It was an established Southern tradition that had been drummed into him in childhood, and had served him well as an adult, for that matter. He was glad that Trish encouraged this little propriety as well, although she had informed him that “ma’am” and “sir” had pretty much gone the way of other such formalities in the Northern and Western states. He had a sneaking, possibly irrational, suspicion that this loss contributed to the lack of respect many youngsters seemed to have for all adults—and the general increase in juvenile crime. So it was that when T-Rex strolled into the bishop’s office some twelve or so minutes late for his interview, his new bishop had to grit his teeth to hang on to his welcoming smile.

  “A-ay, Bish!” T-Rex said, flashing his infectious ‘aren’t-you-glad-to- see-me?’ grin. “Wass up?”

  “How are you, Thomas?” the bishop responded, shaking the beefy hand and throwing one arm around the boy’s massive shoulders. “Come and sit down.”

  T-Rex sprawled in one of the upholstered chairs, scrunching down on his spine and crossing one sneakered foot over the other knee. “So how ya doin’? Is it cool, bein’ bishop?”

  “Well, it’s a whole new experience, I can tell you that. It’s pretty cool to get to spend a little one-on-one time with people, get to know them better. Which is why I asked you to come in this evening. How are things going for you, Thomas?”

  “Goin’ great, man!”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. But could you break that down a little? Be more specific?”

  “Uh—like what?”

  “Oh, you know—school, church, girls, sports, home-life.”

  “School’s okay. Almost out for the summer, best thing about that.”

  “How’re your grades coming?”

  T-Rex shrugged, and his grin seemed to fade just a little. “Reckon I’ll get by. I’m passin’ everything.”

  “Will passing be good enough to get you get into whatever college you want?”

  “I’ll do okay. I think I’ll be in pretty high demand.”

  “I know your football skills are legendary. I’ve enjoyed watching you a few times, myself.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The boy’s face lit up again. “You actually go to the games?”

  “When I can. I went with Tiffani and her girlfriends a couple of times this year, just to keep an eye on ’em, you know. You were pretty spectacular in that game against Redstone.”

  “Yeah, that was a great game. We knocked them suckers into next week, didn’ we? Whoo-ee!”

  “That you did. So how’s the team look for next fall?”

  “Not too bad. We’re losing Rick Hatcher, and that’s tough. He’s been a real sweet quarterback. But we’ve got a couple of guys duking it out to replace him, and neither one’s too shabby, so we’ll be set. A lot of our line’ll be back.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it. Got a girlfriend, Thomas?”

  “Aw, you know—one and then another. Gotta spread the joy around a little.” His grin returned, full-force.

  “Keeping it light, are you?”

  “Whatcha mean?”

  “You know—staying morally clean. Treating the girls with respect. Honoring your priesthood. Not getting too physical, into petting and that.”

  The boy’s eyes flickered. “Oh, sure. Keeping it light. I don’t wanta get in girl trouble, no sir.”

  “Believe me when I tell you you’ll be mighty glad in years to come if you’ll stay morally clean and save the important stuff for the girl you choose to marry.”

  “Marry! Man, that’s a ways down the road. I’m only seventeen.”

  The bishop nodded. “Exactly. Keep that in mind, will you, Thomas? I’d reckon it can be really tempting when you’re the popular man about campus—the football hero—and the young ladies are all admiring you and some of them are probably offering their favors. Don’t you find that to be true?”

  T-Rex’s gaze slid toward the corner of the office. “Well, yeah, I reckon.”

  “Takes a lot of courage, I bet, to face what you have to, out on the field.”<
br />
  “Um—well, yeah, I guess, if you want to put it that way. A guy can’t back down, that’s for ever-lovin’ sure!”

  “There’s another kind of courage, too. Do you know what I’m getting at, Thomas?”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me?”

  The bishop grinned. “’Cause I’m going to anyway, right?”

  Thomas’s answering grin told him he was right.

  “Well, I’m talking about moral courage. I think it’s a real important kind of courage for a young man to develop. Obviously you’ve got what it takes, because you’ve already developed a lot of physical and mental courage. Moral courage is the kind that helps a guy be strong enough to do what’s right, even when it’s tough. Helps him be strong enough to say ‘No’ to a young woman’s advances, when ‘Yes’ would be so much easier. And I know the girls these days don’t just sit back and wait to be asked out, do they?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “Same kind of courage helps him not cheat on an exam even if he doesn’t feel real confident in his preparation. Helps him have the strength to tell his bishop if there’s something he needs to confess and repent of. That kind of courage. I think that’s really important, don’t you?”

  Thomas nodded again, studying his hands. “I reckon.” He glanced up. “Kinda hard to come by, though, Bishop.”

  “I know. But see, the thing is, you develop it same way you develop physical courage. Practice. You mess up, you get right back up and try again and do what you have to do to correct mistakes and strengthen yourself. You keep resisting temptations, and it gets easier to do. Scriptures say, ‘Resist the devil and he will flee from you.’ And a strong man is a praying man, because he’s smart enough and strong enough to recognize his own weak spots, and to ask for special help to overcome them. It’s sort of like asking the Lord to be your coach. Some people think a weak man is the one who prays, but I don’t think so. Strongest guys I know are praying men.”

  Thomas’s head jerked back just a little, as if the idea startled him. “Huh,” he said.

  “And, Thomas, I really want to see you grow up to be a strong man, inside and out. I admire what you’ve already achieved, and the Lord and I are both here to help you any way we can with developing that moral strength, just like your coach is there for you, helping you develop your physical strength and courage.”