A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  Tom Rexford quickly perused the list. “Nah—don’t reckon there’s any of these I’d want to do. ’Preciate it, though, Bishop. I’ll come up with something pretty soon, I’m sure.”

  “No offense, Tom, but I want you to know that help is available, especially with groceries and commodities, while you’re going through hard times. It must take a lot of food to keep a young man like Thomas filled up. I imagine he’d need considerable protein, with all his muscle building and football practice. Let us help out with that, if you’re willing.”

  “Boy eats a grundle, I’ll admit that. But so far, we’re doin’ okay. Got a good garden, that helps out, and Lula, she’s workin’ a few hours a week.”

  “I just spoke to T-Rex. I was sure hoping he could help me out at the store this summer. I could use a strong young fellow like him. But he said Coach won’t let him work.”

  “That’s right. The kids have to sacrifice a lot to play football for him, but you gotta admit he’s whipped them into a pretty good team. It’s important to Tommy, and we’ll see that he has whatever he needs. We’re a pretty self-sufficient family, Bishop, no offense.”

  “All right. No offense taken. But remember help’s available. We take our turns giving and receiving, you know? Help each other out in this church. That’s how the Lord designed it. All private and confidential, of course.”

  “Don’t reckon your family’d ever go hungry, would they, what with you bein’ a grocer?”

  “Not if I can help it. And I feel the same about every family in the ward, Tom, including yours. So if things get too tough, don’t hesitate a minute to let me know. It’s no disgrace. Other times, you’ll be the one contributing, and someone else will benefit. That’s the program.”

  Tom Rexford stood, and held out his hand, indicating that as far as he was concerned, the visit was over. “I’ll let you know, if we ever get to that point, Bishop. ’Til you hear otherwise, though, the Rexfords are just fine.”

  The bishop walked back around the house to his truck, his step a little less springy than it had been a few minutes before. “Somehow,” he muttered ruefully, “that didn’t go as well as I had hoped. Doggone it, self-reliance is all well and good, but seems like it ought to start with putting aside food and money for tough times, not with being stubborn and proud when your family’s in need!” He hit his steering wheel a resounding thump. “Lord, help me to be patient,” he prayed. “I’m not nearly as good at it as I thought I was!”

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  “ . . . my unseen wounds”

  Sister LaThea Winslow stopped by his office at the church early on Tuesday evening with a glowing report on plans for the first social activity planned for the newly combined Fairhaven Ward. Apparently in her element, she described her committee’s ideas for a multicultural affair, featuring food and displays and entertainment from various ethnic groups represented in the ward—Polynesian dances and food from the Tuapetagi family, Southwestern dishes and music from Paulo and Ramona Cisneros, a display of paintings and miniature stilt-houses from the Lipa family of the Philippines, and a pot of spicy seafood gumbo from the Arnauds, a black family who hailed from New Orleans. The bishop told her he thought it sounded fine—but privately he wondered if the ward should hand out small packs of antacid medication for party favors.

  After her visit, he paged through his scriptures, trying to settle his thoughts in anticipation of his scheduled meeting with Melody Padgett. The situation was a delicate one, and he wondered how to broach the subject of her husband’s treatment of her without offending her or giving away the name of the people who had tipped him off that there might be a problem. He had prayed several times about the matter since Sunday, and he had to trust that the Lord would put words in his mouth when the moment came—and that He would give Melody courage to confide in this new bishop whom she didn’t really know.

  Dan McMillan tapped on the door from the clerk’s office and put his head around the corner. “The Padgetts are here,” he said.

  The bishop winced. “Both of them?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, sir. I made the appointment with Melody only, but Jack’s here with her.”

  The bishop nodded. He had a sinking feeling that this was not a good sign. He breathed another silent prayer and went to invite them in.

  “It’s good of you folks to come,” he began, as he shook first Melody’s cool, slim hand and then felt his own fingers crushed in Jack’s vise-like grip. He had never considered himself a wimp when it came to good, firm handshakes, but he had to steel himself not to react negatively to the crunch of this ex-Marine’s powerful hand. Could such a handshake, he wondered, possibly be construed as a warning to a religious leader who had been cheeky enough to ask for a one-on-one interview with his wife?

  The Padgetts sat down across the desk from him. Both were smiling genially, and Jack was chewing gum. His face, under his blond crew cut, was a sunburned red, and Melody’s tanned complexion revealed only a slight yellowing under her makeup to indicate a fading bruise on her left cheek. The bishop smiled back at them, surreptitiously massaging his own bruised hand under the desk, prepared to concede that this man could probably caress his wife’s face and leave a mark.

  “So what have you got on us, Bishop?” Jack asked, cracking his gum. “Heard about our tax evasion, or our moonshining operation, or is it the drugs we peddle you’re concerned about?”

  The bishop managed a chuckle. “Oh, none of the above, I assure you. I’m pleased to have the chance to get to know you folks.” He improvised wildly. “I wanted to check with you, Sister Padgett, about your Primary calling. How long have you served in Primary?”

  Melody was still smiling. “It’s been nearly five years, I believe, but I enjoy it. They’re a challenge, but they’re sweet little kids. I have two more in my class since the wards were combined, but one of them hardly ever comes, so I usually just have five or six.”

  “I see. I was thinking that five years is a long time to serve in an auxiliary, and have to miss Sunday School and Relief Society. How do you feel about that?”

  “Oh, well, you know—sometimes you do tend to feel kind of out of things in Relief Society when you don’t get to go for a long time—but I don’t mind, really. I’m used to it.”

  Her husband glanced at her. “Primary’s a good place for Mel,” he stated. “She always wanted a bunch of kids, but we’ve only got the one, so this way, she feels fulfilled, don’t you, hon?”

  “Hon” nodded and kept smiling.

  The bishop regarded her steadily, trying to read something—anything—in her eyes that would give him a clue as to her real situation and her true feelings.

  “My wife has always enjoyed teaching Primary, too,” he said, just for something to say.

  Melody nodded. “She seems nice, your wife.” Her eyes flickered toward Jack. “Of course, I don’t really know her very well. Just from hearing her talk in church last Sunday.”

  “Well, thank you. I sure think she’s nice. I believe she’s kind of glad to have a little change from the same old routine, though, and I wondered if you might be ready for one, too.”

  “Um, what did you—”

  “I think Primary’s Mel’s natural habitat,” Jack said. “She flourishes there, works really hard on the lessons she gives those kids. I definitely think you ought to keep her there, where she’s a real asset to the ward.”

  “I understand she does a terrific job,” Bishop Shepherd agreed. “Is that what you would prefer, Sister Padgett—to stay put for a while?”

  Her smile never wavered. “Yes, that’d be lovely.”

  He turned his attention to Jack. “And let’s see, what do we have you doing, Brother Padgett?”

  Jack’s smile was confident, even smug. “I’m a home teacher, Bishop. These days, I’m pretty busy with my stores. As you may know, we just added another one, in Anniston. Right now it’d be hard to hold another calling and do it justice. Maybe when I get things a litt
le better organized I can take on more church work.”

  The bishop nodded. That’s okay, buddy, he thought. There isn’t a calling in this Church that I’d trust you with right now. Aloud, he said, “Who are your home teaching families?”

  “Um—let’s see. Don’t you have a record of that here?”

  “Not right in front of me.” It was in his top right drawer.

  “Well, it’s—oh, of course, it’s the Rivenbarks and the Dempseys. I go with the elders quorum president—what’s his name—Hank.”

  “Oh, Hank Ezell—great. Okay. And you folks, as you say, have the one little daughter, Andrea?”

  “Andi, yeah. She’s six.”

  “Starting first grade in the fall?”

  Jack answered. “No, I don’t like the school system around here. Melody’s going to homeschool her, aren’t you, hon?”

  “Yes.” Melody was still smiling. “I had a couple of years of elementary ed before we were married. I’m looking forward to teaching Andi.”

  “I see. Where are you from originally, Sister Padgett?”

  “Florida. I grew up in Ft. Walton Beach.”

  “And where did you go to college?”

  “University of West Florida, in Pensacola. That’s where I met Jack. He was stationed there, with the Marines.”

  “Okay, sure. And Jack, where do you hail from?”

  “Delaware. Wilmington.”

  “How’d you folks end up here in Fairhaven?”

  “We were sent here to manage a couple of Auto-Tec stores, and we’ve built it up to five now.”

  “Doing well, then, financially? Enjoy your work?”

  “Very much. And I don’t think Mel complains about the bacon I bring home, do you, hon?”

  “Not at all,” agreed Melody, smiling.

  “And I expect the ward doesn’t complain about our tithing checks, either. Isn’t that right, Bishop?”

  “Well, I confess I’m not conversant with how much anybody’s contributions are, at this point. But if you’re paying tithing, that’s great. You’ll be blessed for it. And let’s see, now—have you folks been sealed in the temple?”

  Melody looked at Jack. His grin subsided briefly, then returned. “Haven’t got to that, yet, Bishop, but we will in due time, don’t you worry. Now, is there anything else? We don’t like to leave Andi with a young sitter for too long.”

  “I don’t believe there is,” the bishop said mildly. “Thank you both for coming in. It’s quite a challenge getting acquainted with everyone as quickly as I’d like to. But I want you to know I’m always available to you folks, at any time, if I can be of service in any way. Sister Padgett, I believe Enrichment meeting’s about to start, and if you’d like to stay on for that, I know Trish or one of the other sisters would be glad to give you a ride home.”

  “Oh. Um, no, I can’t make it tonight. We have other plans.”

  “All right. Ya’ll have a good evening now.” He stood and saw them out. Jack took Melody’s arm, just above the elbow, and the bishop saw her flinch slightly. Probably pinching old bruises, he thought, with a sudden desire to swing his fist at Jack’s firm, manly chin. He didn’t even feel guilty for the impulse, though it was a decidedly un-bishop-like response.

  He walked out into the fragrant warmth of the May evening to get some things from the back of his truck. The Padgetts had parked toward the back of the building, and as he lifted a cooler from the truck bed, they drove past him. He couldn’t see Jack, but Melody turned her face toward him as they passed. Their eyes met. She wasn’t smiling.

  * * *

  Huffing with the effort, he carried two heavy coolers to the kitchen of the church and caught Sister Reams’s eye.

  “Here you go, ladies,” he said, as she and Frankie Talbot came forward. “I understand you’re having a bread-baking demonstration tonight, so I guess it’s the loaves and the fishes. These fish were brought to me this afternoon by a fellow I know who works for the Fish and Game division. They were caught this morning, for a routine check for problems and diseases. They were all found to be healthy, so he went ahead and cleaned them, and they’ve been on ice ever since. I brought some plastic bags, so at the end of your meeting, whoever wants some can help herself. Please encourage everybody who likes fish to take some. I know not everyone will, so those who do should take enough for two or three meals. They’ll freeze just fine.”

  Ida Lou Reams twinkled at him. “The Lord did come through, didn’t he?” she whispered. “And the sister we talked about is here, too. That’s something of a miracle in itself, ’cause she don’t usually make it to this meeting.”

  He grinned back at her. “Hope she likes fish.”

  “Well, you just watch—she will, or He’d have provided something else.”

  * * *

  He returned to his office and put through a call to Hank Ezell, elders quorum president and home teaching partner of Jack Padgett.

  “Brother Hank, I’m concerned about something. This is all confidential, of course. Are you alone?”

  “Laura’s at Enrichment meeting, and the kids are playing out back.”

  “Give me your impressions of Jack Padgett—as a home teacher, a quorum member, a husband and father—whatever you know.”

  He heard Hank whistle softly. “Well, as a home teacher, I frankly haven’t seen much of Jack. He’s been my assigned partner for nearly a year, and I believe he’s only gone out with me twice. I guess he’s really busy building his business, because he sure doesn’t seem to have much free time. When he did go with me, he was pleasant enough—jolly, I s’pose you’d say—but he seemed a little uncomfortable, too. Maybe edgy would be the word. Like he’d rather be somewhere else.”

  “I see. And how about in other settings?”

  “Um—he comes to quorum meeting a couple of times a month. Generally sits in the back, by the window. Once in a while, he’ll make a comment or answer a question, but—well, some of his comments seem kind of unusual.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Let’s see. It’s kind of hard to pinpoint exactly what I mean, and I don’t know that I remember any examples, offhand, but he seems sort of cynical, and off in left field a tad, I guess. Just a bit off the beaten track. And I don’t know if it’s his military training, or what, but I have the notion that he feels just a little bit superior to the rest of us. Like I remember one time when Brother Ross had borne his testimony about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, I happened to glance at Jack, and he was smiling, but in a sneering kind of way, and shaking his head. So it wasn’t anything he said, that time, but the look on his face just sticks in my memory. Does that make sense? I hate to fault a man for the look on his face—doesn’t seem fair, does it? But I had to wonder what it meant.”

  “Thanks, Hank. I think I understand exactly what you mean. Have you had any opportunity to observe Jack with his family?”

  “Oh, just in church, you know. His wife’s a real quiet sort, isn’t she? So’s the little girl, for that matter. Very well behaved in meetings, the child is. I don’t know much about them, but he seems affectionate—often has his arm around his wife. Does that help any, Bishop?”

  “I believe so. I appreciate it. If you notice or think of anything unusual about Jack or the family that you feel I should know, would you let me know, very privately? I just feel a little uneasy about them, somehow.”

  “Well, Bishop—that’d probably be your spirit of discernment speaking to you, wouldn’t it? Sure, if I notice anything amiss, I’ll let you know. And by the way, I want you to know we appreciate all you’re doing and feel like you’re off to a great start.”

  “Thank you, brother. That means a lot.”

  He put down the phone and sat quietly, thinking of Hank’s remark about judging people by their facial expressions. He thought of the two expressions he had seen on Melody Padgett’s face—the contrast between that perpetual smile and the haunted look she had thrown in his direction as she was being driven away by her
husband. Of the two expressions, he feared the latter was the more honest.

  * * *

  The phone rang, and he let Dan McMillan take it in the clerk’s office. It was only a moment until Dan knocked discreetly on his door.

  “It’s Brother Smedley, Bishop,” Dan said. “Are you available to take his call?”

  “I sure am. Thanks, Dan. Hello, Brother Smedley, thanks for calling back.”

  “Bishop? I understand you wanted to talk to me about the Jernigans.”

  “I sure did. How are those folks doing, from your point of view as their home teacher?”

  “Well, okay, I think, but it’s hard to tell—they’re kind of stiff, or something. And very serious. It’s hard to get either of them to crack a smile.”

  Unlike those who smile all the time, as a guise, thought the bishop. “Do you ever get the impression they’re frightened of something, or stressed out?” he asked.

  “I sure do, though I couldn’t tell you what it would be.”

  “Has Brother Jernigan talked to you about his feelings about preparing for emergencies?”

  “Oh, always. That’s a favorite topic with him. He seems pretty knowledgeable about food storage and that—but the thing is, he tends to dwell on the idea of somebody trying to take it all away from him. Prepared to defend it with his life, if necessary, and all that.”

  “Uh-huh. Has he mentioned enemies of the Church to you?”

  “Hinted at it—like he knows something he isn’t telling.”

  “I see. Do you know Linda very well?”

  “Not really. I mean, she’s always there, but she hardly ever puts in a word. Just listens to everybody else. Sometimes I’ve taken Avolyn with me when my partner couldn’t make it, and she tries to get Linda to talk, but mostly you just get nods or one-word answers. She looks to Ralph to do the talking, it seems.”