A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

“Hey, Brother,” came Mac’s voice, still deep, but with a weary note to it as well. “How are things in your world?”

  “Good, good. It’s a treat to hear from you. What’s up?”

  “I just needed a voice of sanity from the sanest guy in the sanest town I know. Is Fairhaven still the same town you and I grew up in?”

  “Well, it’s growing, like most places, in spite of the base closing and ChemSoft pulling out—and no place seems as quiet and simple as I seem to remember Fairhaven being when we were kids—but yeah, it’s still pretty sane. Why? Is Atlanta crazy?”

  “Any city this size goes a little nuts from time to time. All these people with so many different life-styles and economic levels and ethnic backgrounds, all packed together like the proverbial sardines in a can, sweltering in the heat—I’ll tell you, Jim, it gets pretty wild. There was a bomb scare at Ruthie’s middle school today, for example. They had to send everybody home, which wasn’t the greatest because of so many working parents, but somebody had built something that looked like a bona fide bomb and put it in the boys bathroom. Turned out to be a fake, but the note that alerted the office that it was there was written in Spanish, so now everybody’s down on the Hispanic kids, although they say the Spanish in the note is written wrong and misspelled and couldn’t have come from them, but was just an attempt to make them look bad.”

  “All of which just tends to make them band together more closely, right? So that now there’s more of an ‘us and them’ mentality than before?”

  “Exactly.” Jim heard a heavy sigh from his friend. “And that’s just one example. Every day we hear of gang violence and drive-by shootings and car thefts and stabbings and rapes and what have you. I confess, Jim, that I don’t know exactly what Isaiah saw when he wrote, ‘woe to them that join house to house,’ but sometimes I wonder if he didn’t see Atlanta—and all these other huge cities we’re so proud of.”

  “I’ve wondered about that myself. I guess I’m just a small-town boy—well, make that a small-city boy—I don’t know if Fairhaven really qualifies as a small town anymore. But I’ve never had any great desire to live in a New York or Chicago or even Dallas or Atlanta, nice though they are to visit. I like to know my neighbors and a good portion of the townspeople. I like to walk down the street and recognize at least some of the folks I see.”

  “Well, I’ve lived here for nine years, and if I got out of our neighborhood, I’ll bet I could walk around town for a couple of weeks and not run into anybody I know. Of course, some folks like it that way—they enjoy the anonymity and privacy, you know?”

  “I reckon so. Shy folks, introverts maybe.”

  “Ha! And you know me, Jim—I don’t qualify as one of those!”

  “Never have, Mac, that’s for sure. So are you thinking of leaving the city, finding a kinder, gentler place?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. There’re so many good, positive things here, too. I mean, Atlanta’s vital and progressive and parts of it are absolutely gorgeous. There are plenty of interesting things going on. I love my work, and we have a nice house in a good neighborhood, but even here, the kids get pulled into stuff I’m not comfortable with. Petey’s a lot like me—he wants to be out there in the middle of everything, but he doesn’t have the maturity and judgment yet to know what might not be safe or good for him.”

  “I hear you. So are you serious about making a change? What does Ruthanne say?”

  “She loves Atlanta. The shopping is great, and she can be as busy as she wants with Christian women’s groups and Bible study and garden clubs and such. She does a lot of good, you know? I hate to uproot her from all the friends she’s made and the things that are important to her. Petey would object, too, I think—he’s going on sixteen and very partisan about his high school and his friends. Our Ruthie, though, might be glad enough to try a smaller community. She doesn’t make friends as readily as her mom and brother, so she’s not quite so entrenched. As a seventh grader, she’s kind of overwhelmed right now with life in general. That’s a scary age. You remember?”

  “It sure is. It was hard for Tiff, even here in Fairhaven, and I remember how I felt at twelve and thirteen, for that matter. For a while, I was actually glad that I had to go sweep floors at the store after school. It gave me an excuse not to have to hang out with some of the guys we’d grown up with who suddenly seemed to be different people.”

  Peter MacDonald chuckled. “Like Jakey Forelaw?”

  “Man! You ever see anybody change like Jakey? One day he was an ordinary, skinny little kid, playing baseball and riding his bike out to the river to fish, and next thing I knew, he’d put on about forty or fifty pounds, grown six inches, and started cussin’ and sneakin’ beer from his dad’s cooler. It was downright spooky.”

  “It was. I had a major growth spurt about then, too, but I stayed skinny for a long time. Now I wish I could take a few pounds off without some major life-style renovation! But the most interesting changes, I thought, were in the girls.”

  “Isn’t that the truth? I got embarrassed just looking at some of them. All of a sudden they needed bras and were wearing lipstick.”

  “Lisa French.”

  “Oh, mercy—I thought Lisa had skipped ten years over the summer between sixth and seventh grades.”

  “She had, no doubt about it. Poor kid. She was twelve going on twenty-one, and not a shred of good judgment to go with that body. But how could she have? Makes you wonder how much negative behavior comes from kids whose bodies just plain outgrow their minds and their upbringings!”

  “That’s a thought, all right. Don’t know about you, Mac, but I wouldn’t care to go through it again—all that growing-up business.”

  “At least we made it fairly well intact, my friend. No drugs or gang wars or alcoholism or legal problems or pregnant girlfriends. Just a few speeding tickets.”

  “For which I’m forever grateful,” the bishop agreed. “And we’ve both been blessed with wonderful wives and good kids.”

  “Right. A lot to be grateful for.” Mac’s sigh was deep, and Jim could hear the weariness in it. “Now if we can just pull those good kids over Fool’s Hill, we’ll have it made in the shade, huh, buddy?”

  “Reckon that’s the next challenge. One of them, anyway.”

  “Right. So what else is going on in Fairhaven? What’re you doing in your church these days?”

  “Well—I’ve just been called to be bishop.”

  “Bishop! Sounds heavy.”

  “Exactly. But don’t go visualizing fancy robes and tall hats. The bishop just sort of oversees the ward—the congregation—and keeps things running.”

  “Well, good for you, Jim! Sounds like a lot of responsibility, but you’ve never been afraid of that, so I’m sure they’ve got the right man for the job.”

  “At least I don’t have to preach every Sunday,” the bishop said with a light laugh. “I’m afraid that’d be way beyond me.”

  “Actually, I don’t have to anymore, either,” Mac replied. “I’ve got an assistant pastor—a woman, as a matter of fact—and a youth pastor and a minister of music. So I can spend more time ministering to people and their needs, which is what I enjoy most.”

  “Sounds like a fine situation. You must have a good-sized church.”

  “We have almost two thousand members, give or take a few. And a beautiful new sanctuary that we’re working hard to pay for. The stained glass window above our pulpit is incredible—it’s worth coming to see, all by itself. You and Trish ought to make the trip soon, Jim, and visit with us. We’d love to have you. Don’t see enough of old friends anymore.”

  “I know. Everybody’s busy. But hey—it sounds beautiful. I know Trish’d love to see it. She’s crazy about stained glass. Maybe we can get away some weekend. Right now we’re preparing for a visit from her parents and her sister—the one who doesn’t approve of me.”

  “Bless you, my son.” Mac’s deep voice held a smile. “May you have the strength of twenty.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, I’m just planning to stay out of sight for the duration and let ’em have at it.”

  Mac laughed. “Now that sounds like a plan, but I’ll bet it won’t get by Trish! Seriously, though, Jim—sneak away when you can and come visit. Come while we’re still here, because between you and me, my friend, that may not be for much longer.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Mac. Hey, thanks for calling.”

  “My pleasure.”

  * * *

  He left the phone and went back to his shady reverie, but he couldn’t quite recapture the blissful half-asleep state he had achieved earlier. For one thing, the cat Samantha insisted on leaping up on his chest and kneading him with her surprisingly forceful little paws. He removed her once, but she came right back, settling down and purring aggressively.

  “Pushing your luck, kitty,” he told her, and she narrowed her half-crossed blue eyes at him in what was very nearly a grin and purred louder. It was ridiculous. He chuckled in spite of himself.

  “So what d’you think, Samantha? How’m I going to make my peace with my sister-in-law Meredith and keep Trish and everybody happy, if Meredith comes on with her usual attitude—‘Why did my beautiful sister settle for this ignorant country bumpkin when so many BYU-graduate professional types were courting her?’ How am I going to handle that?”

  The kitten gazed at his mouth, stretched one paw forward and placed it firmly on his lips.

  He turned his head to one side before she could deploy her claws.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he told her. “Just say nothing, huh? Mum’s the word.” He stroked the kitten’s warm back. “After all, if Trish is happy, and she claims to be, why should I worry about what Miss Highhat thinks? On the other hand, if Trish truly is happy, why this frenzy of cleaning and decorating and scheduling and menu planning? Isn’t our ordinary daily life good enough to display to the family? Is she trying too hard to prove something?”

  Jamie’s voice interrupted his conversation with the cat. “Dad, there’s a message on the phone you’d better listen to.”

  He came to his feet with a rush of guilt. There had been that annoying chirp on the line when he was talking to the Reverend Peter MacDonald, and he had chosen to ignore it, intending to check when they finished talking to see if there was a message. He had forgotten.

  Jamie punched in the code as he approached and handed him the phone. He heard Ida Lou Reams’s voice, soft at first, saying, “Oh, dang it, I hate talkin’ to these message things.” Then louder, as if she had to bridge the gap with her own volume, “Bishop? Bishop, if you get this here message, I need to let you know that Brother Roscoe Bainbridge is dyin’. Hilda called and said she don’t think it’ll be long now, so I’m goin’ over there to be with her, but I thought you should know. Um—well, okay, thank you. Goodbye. Uh—this is Ida Lou.”

  He put the phone down, deleting the message.

  “Thanks, Jamie,” he said softly. “Reckon I’d better get going. Where’s Mom?”

  “Washing down the walls in the guest room, getting ready to put the paper up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Daddy!” Mallory launched herself at him. “Come and play Candyland with me. Please?”

  “No can do right now, sweetie. Daddy has to go somewhere. If I get home in time, maybe I can play later. Sorry, though.”

  “Dad? Brother Bainbridge is old, isn’t he?” Jamie’s face was solemn.

  “He’s pretty old, Son, and he’s been very sick. He’s ready to go. It’ll be a good thing.”

  Jamie frowned. “But, I thought dying was the worst thing that could happen to a person. How can it be good?”

  The bishop put his arms around his son and held him tight for a moment, breathing in his good, honest, boy-smell of sweat and bubble gum and fresh air. “Trust me on this, Jamie. We’ll talk more about it later, but for now—no, dying is definitely not the worst thing that can happen. Especially not in this case. Gotta go now.”

  He took the stairs in twos, poking his head in at the door of the spare room. “Trish, Brother Bainbridge is apparently dying, and I need to go over there. I’m sorry, babe, I’d planned to help you paper tonight.”

  “You go ahead. You have to. Do you need me to do anything?”

  “Ida Lou’s already gone over. You might want to alert Frankie and Rosetta, in case she hasn’t called them. I’ll call back if there’s anything needed tonight.”

  “All right, sweetheart. My love and sympathy to Hilda.”

  He nodded. “Be back when I can.”

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  “ . . . the passageway into eternity”

  As his truck jounced through the back streets leading to the Bainbridge home, the bishop reflected that he had only been present at one death in his life—that of his own father. It had been a difficult passing, painful to watch—his dad propped straight up on pillows, eyes wildly turning from side to side, mouth gasping for air, and face turning blue as his lungs filled with fluid. Remembering that, the bishop didn’t know whether to hope that Roscoe would still be breathing when he arrived or not. He did hope that Ida Lou had made it in time so that Hilda would not have been alone in that moment.

  “But she wouldn’t have been alone,” something whispered to his heart. “I would have been there.”

  “That’s true, Lord,” he murmured. “I thank thee for that.”

  He parked his truck behind Ida Lou’s car and hurried to the porch. Ida Lou opened the door to him, her eyes red, but her face composed.

  “Is it over?” he whispered, and she nodded.

  “It was a sweet time, Bishop. A precious moment.”

  “I see. I’m sorry I was late. I just got your message. How’s Hilda?”

  “I’m fine, Bishop. I’m right here. Come on in,” Hilda called from her rocking chair. She held a lace-edged handkerchief to swimming eyes, but miraculously, she was smiling.

  “Sister Hilda,” he said, going forward to kneel beside her. “I’m so sorry. Roscoe was a wonderful man.”

  “Thank you, Bishop. And don’t you feel a bit bad. Everything’s just like it oughta be.”

  “You have a wonderful attitude, dear sister.”

  “She’s just a rock,” Ida Lou said, pulling a chair over for him. “She’s been real strong.”

  Sister Bainbridge leaned forward and patted the bishop’s knee. “I’m just so proud,” she confided. He felt a little taken aback. Proud?

  “How do you mean, Hilda?” he asked.

  “When the time come, Ross opened his eyes and said, ‘Carolyn!’ It was our girl, Bishop. She come for him, you see, to meet him and take him home to Heavenly Father. Then he just give a big sigh and was gone. Isn’t that right, Sister Ida Lou?”

  “That’s exactly how it was, all right.”

  “I’m just so proud it happened that way. That it was Carolyn who come.”

  Proud, he realized, in this case meant glad and grateful.

  “I’m thankful it happened that way, too,” he agreed. “Roscoe certainly endured to the end in righteousness, and his passing was sweet because of it. And the two of you and Carolyn will surely be a forever family.”

  “Oh yes, Bishop, that’s what I want. And can I tell you something else?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Right after Ross give that big sigh, somehow I just felt like him and Carolyn both threw their arms around me and give me the biggest hug! I never felt so loved in all my life. What do you make of that, Bishop? It’s like I’m just still baskin’ in the sunshine of that feelin’.”

  Bishop Shepherd found himself unable to speak. He reached for Hilda’s hand and squeezed it a couple of times, then cleared his throat. “Sister Hilda, I pondered on the way over here what I could say to give comfort and to help you understand the reality of the continuation of life after death. And you just preached me the best sermon I ever heard on the subject.”

  “So you really think Ross and Carolyn could have hugged me
? It’s not exactly like I felt it physical, you know? More spiritual.”

  “Other than greeting each other, what would they have been more concerned about in that moment than comforting you and letting you know of their love? Yes, I think that experience was real, Hilda—and I think it was done through the power of the Holy Ghost, who surely allowed you to feel the Lord’s love for you, too. After all, one of his big assignments is to comfort us.”

  “Well, I’m comforted, I truly am. And I’m just so proud.”

  “So am I, Hilda. So am I. Now may I have a moment with Brother Roscoe?”

  “Of course, Bishop. You go right on in.”

  Ida Lou bustled by with an armload of soiled sheets. “I’ve cleaned him up a bit, Bishop, and called the doctor and the funeral home. Somebody should be here directly.”

  “Thanks, Ida Lou. I’ll only be a moment.”

  There lingered a faint smell of sickness on the air, but a window was open, the curtains stirring gently. Roscoe, emaciated and ancient-looking, appeared composed and relaxed. The IV bottle hung idly—its drip no longer needed.

  “Well done, my friend,” the bishop whispered. “May we all do as well. And I won’t forget my promises to you, brother. Now go in peace into eternity.” He bowed his head in a silent prayer, ignoring the tears that gathered and fell. They were tears of gratitude. He was just so proud.

  * * *

  The funeral was set for Saturday morning, and he was to conduct and speak. There would be a viewing for an hour before the service, but none on Friday evening. Sister Bainbridge had insisted that the ward social, long scheduled for that date, be held as planned.

  “I won’t attend the party, Bishop—I reckon you understand about that—but I want everyone else to go and to have a good time. Ross wouldn’t have wanted to interfere with things.”

  The bishop conferred with his counselors and with the activities committee. Much of the food had already been purchased, he learned, and some of the participants might not be available on the next Friday. It was agreed that the party go on.

  He wasn’t in much of a party mood, given the sobering effect of Roscoe’s passing. But he drove his family to the meetinghouse, arriving just a little early so that Trish could help with serving, as she had agreed to do. The sight of the cultural hall assured him that Sister Winslow and her committee had outdone themselves. Several decorated booths stood around the perimeter of the hall, and the long banquet tables in the middle were covered with white paper and adorned down the middle with trails of ivy interspersed with colorful, fresh-cut flowers and small American flags. A banner above the dessert table, blue with silver lettering, proclaimed: “Unity Amid Diversity,” which he knew was the theme of the party. It was a noble aim, for the country and for the Fairhaven Ward, one which he hoped both could achieve.