“And I’ll tell you what—my wife’s family is visiting us right now, so I’m pretty tied up—but soon as they leave, I’ll give you a call about our computer lesson, okay?”
A small nod.
The bishop rose and shook Buddy’s hand, patting his shoulder as he saw him out. Buddy looked very alone as he got on his old bike and rode away.
“Depression,” muttered the bishop. “Bet you anything that kid is seriously depressed—and probably with good reason.” He made a mental note to learn more about Buddy Osborne and his family.
“I wouldn’t be a teenager again for anything in the world,” he told himself as he waited for Rand Rivenbark to arrive. Rand, he assumed, probably still fell into that category, too, having had just one year of college. Probably about nineteen. He checked the ward directory. He was wrong. Rand had turned twenty-one on the third of April. He had two younger sisters, and his parents, Collier and Pauline, lived in a very nice part of town, an area on the north side that had fallen into the former Second Ward. He had shaken their hands a couple of times at church—a tall, dark-haired couple—but they were among those he had yet to get to know.
He opened the door to the clerk’s office, where Dan McMillan, Sam Wright, and Joseph Perkins were chowing down on the chicken-rice bake and cabbage salad.
“What can ya’ll tell me about this Rivenbark boy?” he asked, stealing another biscuit and spreading peach preserves on it. “I understand he has some kind of handicap?”
His ward clerk looked up and nodded. “Fine young man. Known the family since they came here from Georgia a couple of years ago. I believe the story goes that Rand was out for a drive with some older cousins while they were at a family reunion, and the kids hit a bridge abutment and flipped the car. It caught on fire. Couple of ’em died, and the others were pretty badly burned. Rand’s legs got the worst of it—almost lost both of ’em, I’m told. Tell you the truth, it might’ve gone easier for him if they had amputated. Had a bunch of surgeries, but he still can’t straighten his knees very well, and his feet are real bad. He gets around a little on crutches, but it’s painful, so most of the time he uses a chair. Tough thing, for a young guy like that.”
“Wow.” The bishop wrapped the biscuit in a napkin and laid it on the counter. “I’ll say it’s tough. I’m meeting with him in just a few minutes.”
“You’ll like him, Bishop—he’s a good kid. I don’t think he spends much time feeling sorry for himself.”
“Well, that’s commendable. Remarkable, in fact. Thanks for the heads-up.”
He went back into his office and opened the door to the hallway. He bowed his head for a quick prayer and then stepped outside to watch for Rand. It wasn’t long before an SUV with a wheelchair mounted on the back turned into the parking lot and pulled into a handicap-designated spot. The driver put two metal crutches out first, then turned himself carefully and used them to lower himself to his feet. Ignoring the chair, he laboriously made his way up the ramp to the door, which the bishop held open for him.
“Come in, come in—you must be Rand.”
“Hi, Bishop.” Rand paused, balancing on one crutch, and held out his hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
The young man’s hand was callused and his grip was firm. He preceded the bishop into the office and settled himself in a chair facing the desk.
“Good to meet you, too, brother,” responded the bishop. “Just home from school, I understand?”
“Yessir. One year down, several more to go.”
“So how was it—a successful year for you?”
“It was pretty good. Took some adjusting, getting to class on time and so forth, but I worked it out.”
“I expect that would be a challenge. Decided on a major yet?”
Rand shrugged slightly and smiled. He had what the bishop imagined the girls would deem a cute smile—or was it a killer smile? He also had deep-set, hazel eyes with dark lashes to match his hair. Yes, he could see why Lisa Lou Pope thought him good-looking. He was. A puckered scar ran up the side of his neck to just under his right ear, and there was considerable scarring on the underside of his right arm, as well. It had been a blessing that the fire hadn’t damaged his face, which the bishop liked for reasons other than the pleasing symmetry of its features. It was an open face, honest and guileless.
“Not entirely sure what I want to major in,” the boy was saying. “I like math and physics and computers. I also like music, but I don’t have any great talent there. I read a lot and kind of like English lit, but I don’t really want to teach or write. Might enjoy editing. Maybe someday I could edit a scientific journal, something like that. What do you do, Bishop?”
“Me? Oh, I run a grocery store—a business that I inherited from my dad. It’s been good, but I sort of fell into it by default. That’s what happens when you only finish two years of college.” He grinned. “It trims your options.”
Rand grinned back. “I don’t have a long list of options, anyway. I’d better stay in school. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m a couple of years behind, because of being in the hospital so much, but I want to start the process of applying to go on my mission.”
“Really? That’s great. You know what, I’m so new that I haven’t gone through that procedure before—you’ll be my first. Didn’t serve a mission, myself, which I’ve always regretted. I wanted to, but it didn’t work out for my family, at the time.”
“I see. You’re probably wondering how I’d get along as a missionary—I mean physically. I wonder myself—but I’ve read of other guys with serious disabilities serving, and I figure if they can do it, so can I. I really don’t require a lot of help. I’m pretty independent.”
“That’s good. I hear missions can be pretty rigorous, but I expect there are some places that are less so than others.”
“I’ve heard that some guys are allowed to take their own cars along. I’d be real popular as a companion if I had my own car, don’t you think?” He chuckled softly.
“Especially if you were in a walking or bike-riding area,” the bishop agreed. “Guys would be finding all kinds of reasons to ask to be assigned as your companion.” He didn’t know exactly how to frame his next question. “Do you—are you expecting to need any surgical or other treatment in the next few years? Anything that would interrupt your missionary service?”
“Well, you know, my disabilities aren’t permanent. They’re just temporary.”
The bishop felt a leap of hope. “Is that so?”
Rand grinned. “Sure—they’re just for this life.”
“Oh.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He did neither, just returned the boy’s smile.
“Eternal perspective, Bishop. I had to learn about it early.” He looked down. “Truth is, I am going to need several more surgeries. But I’m at a stage where I can decide when, on those—it’s not like they’re urgent. I’d like to get my mission behind me first of all. I know I have a mission to serve, Bishop Shepherd. My patriarchal blessing stresses that, and I’ve had other experiences that confirm it to me.” He looked up, his expression serious. “I have a strong testimony of the Savior, Jesus Christ—and his gospel. I honestly believe I’ll have something to offer in the mission field.”
The bishop believed he would, too. The word that Lisa Lou had used to refer to Rand Rivenbark echoed in his mind. Noble, she had called him. He liked the word. Maybe Lisa Lou had more discernment than she sometimes demonstrated.
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
“With him we walk in white . . .”
His last three appointments had been much less wearing than the first three. He administered his first temple recommend interview to Sister Glenna Darke, a faithful lady whom he had known since boyhood. She was confident in her responses to the list of questions, and it was both humbling and satisfying to sign his name to the slip of paper that would, with the stake presidency’s approval, allow her entrance to the house of the Lord. His int
erview with Ida Lou Reams was short—she was reporting on a few sisters he had asked her to look out for, and the only troubling thing was that Lula Rexford seemed worn down with the care of her mother and the financial stresses of the family. Tom, her husband, didn’t appear to be actively looking for work, according to Ida Lou. The Young Women leaders were making final preparations for Girls Camp and wanted his approval on them. They also extended an invitation to him and his counselors to come to camp for a special dinner and testimony meeting on the last evening.
“You know, when I was a boy, I always wanted an excuse to sneak off to Girls Camp,” he told them, which elicited a laugh. “Now when I finally have the opportunity, here I am the bishop, and expected to set a good example! Can’t even throw rubber snakes into cabins or stomp around pretending to be Bigfoot. No fair!”
“I don’t know—the girls’d probably love it if you did,” said Jenny Gurganus.
“Yeah, but Tiffani’d give me away. She knows my style.”
“She’s a nice girl, Bishop,” commented Eliza Suggs, the Young Women president. “You and Trish can be proud of her. Well, not proud, I guess—we’re not supposed to be prideful, are we? Let’s say you can be grateful for her.”
He nodded. “We are that,” he agreed. “And probably proud, too.”
* * *
It was full dark by the time he reached home, but the family was still out in the yard, relaxing in lawn chairs in the fragrant, warm evening air. Trish had lighted a couple of mosquito- repellent candles, and he caught a pungent whiff of citronella. Samantha the kitten romped happily about the lawn, apparently leaping into the air for moths, but he suspected her of performing for the entertainment of the human audience.
“Well, there’s the working man,” hailed Larry Langham. “How’s it going, Bishop?”
“Going like gangbusters. I never totally appreciated bishops, until I became one.”
Larry chuckled. “Sort of like the girl who said, ‘I used to couldn’t spell secatary, and now I are one’?”
His son-in-law smiled in return. “A whole lot like that, I’m afraid. I learn new things every day, but I don’t know when I’ll ever feel comfortable and competent in this calling.” He sank into the vacant chair, depositing his briefcase in the grass beside him.
“You begin to feel comfortable about a year or so after you’re released, wouldn’t you say, Lar?” asked Ivy, Trish’s mother.
“Sounds about right,” her husband agreed.
“Did you get dinner, honey?” Trish asked. “There are leftovers, if you didn’t.”
“Chicken and rice bake, care of Sister Pope. It was fine. So what have I missed, besides dinner with you folks?”
“Just a lot of idle chat. Mom and Dad have been asking about some of the members they knew way back when. Do you know whatever happened to the Gilleys?”
“Wow. Marv and Mary Gilley—haven’t thought about them for years. Didn’t they move down to Pensacola?”
“I think they did, you’re right. They were nice people.”
“What about Terence Busbee?” asked Meredith from across the circle. Mallory, snuggled in her lap, appeared to be nearly asleep.
The bishop responded. “Terry went to BYU for a couple of years—maybe longer. After his mom died, he never came home, that I know of. At least, I never saw him again at church.”
“I ran into him once at the Y,” Trish said. “Seems like he was engaged at the time, to a girl from California. Let’s see—you had something of a crush on him at one time, didn’t you, Merrie?”
“Oh, not really—he was several years older than I was.”
“Well,” said her mother brightly, “so is Dirk, isn’t he? Of course, once you get into your twenties, a few years difference doesn’t matter as much as it did when you were younger.”
“I guess that’s true,” Meredith agreed. “In most cases anyway.”
“Oh, by the way, Jim—we were trying to decide on a temple day,” Trish said. “When can you go?”
“I’ll try to get away whenever it’s convenient for all of you.”
“You’re the only one with commitments,” she reminded him, smiling.
“Yeah, the rest of us are lazy, vacationing bums,” her father added.
“How about Thursday or Friday, then? Saturday’s always pretty crowded.”
“Friday’s good,” Trish agreed. “I can let Mal play with little Marina Hawks. We tended her when her folks went last month, so Mal has a standing invitation. I’ll check with Sarah Hawks, and then call the temple for an appointment.”
“I’d be glad to stay with the kids while you all go,” suggested Meredith.
“Yes! Yay!” approved Mallory, but her grandmother had other ideas.
“I’d really like us all to be together in the temple,” Ivy said. “We have so few chances to do that. Plus, Meredith, it’s a good chance to experience one of the new smaller temples. You did bring your own temple clothes, didn’t you? Remember, I told you that they don’t rent clothing at the Birmingham Temple.”
Meredith nodded. “I remembered.”
“I reckon I could tend,” Tiffani offered halfheartedly.
“You could,” her mother agreed, “but we’ll be gone most of the day, and I think it will be better if you all split up and spend the day with friends.”
“All right!” said Jamie. “I’ll go over to Randy and Billy’s.”
“We’ll see about that,” his mother responded. “I’ll have to talk to Sandra first.” She turned to her husband. “Anything new in the ward that I should know about?”
“Mmm—I don’t think so. Tiff, it looks like Girls Camp is shaping up to be fun.”
“I hope we get cabins this year and not tents,” Tiffani said. “I hate putting up tents, and they get so hot during the day that your lipstick and candy and stuff all melt.”
“Why would you need lipstick at Girls Camp?” asked her brother derisively. “Ooh, we’ve got to look good for the skunks and raccoons!” She didn’t favor him with an answer.
“When we used to go to camp, I preferred the tents,” Ivy Langham said. “The cabins we had were already inhabited with mice and chipmunks and spiders, and I got the feeling they didn’t appreciate our presence.”
Mallory piped up sleepily. “How come you gave ’em presents, Nana?”
Ivy snapped her fingers. “That was our problem! We forgot to bring hostess gifts.”
Amid the laughter, Trish went to gather Mallory from Meredith’s lap. “Time for sleep, little one.”
“No, I want to sleep with Aunt Merrie!”
“That wouldn’t be very comfy for Aunt Merrie, love—your bed’s too small for two people. But Tiff’s bed is big enough for you.”
“But Aunt Merrie’s got my bed—and it is, too, big enough for me and her! I’m just little.”
Meredith hugged her niece. “We could snuggle up tight for just one night, couldn’t we, Mommy?” she asked, smiling up at her sister.
“She kicks and flops around, Aunt Merrie,” warned Tiffani.
“I can take it,” Meredith insisted. “And then Tiff can get a good night’s sleep, too.”
“Are you sure?” Trish asked. “Don’t feel obligated—”
“I don’t. I’d really like to have a sleep-over with my little niece.”
“Okay—but if things get too wild, feel free to sneak in and bunk with Tiffani.”
“No problem. Shall we go up now, chickadee?”
The bishop smiled to himself. Chickadee was a nickname Trish herself often used for the children. He now suspected it was one Ivy had used with her girls. Funny, the little things that got carried over in a family through generations. He hadn’t thought of it for years, but his father’s nickname for him as a child had been little buddy. The memory caused an unexpected tightness at the back of his throat. He wished his dad could have lived to see and enjoy his grandchildren. Did he know them? He wondered. What kind of “visitation rights” did heaven allow? Were the
re interactions between those spirits who were yet to be embodied and those who had finished their mortal lives? He had heard stories of children who claimed to have known deceased grandparents before they were born and to have been prepared by them for their experience in mortality. But what if the grandparent hadn’t accepted the gospel on earth? He and his mother had seen to it that his dad’s temple work had been taken care of a year after his passing—but had his father accepted it? There were things he wished he knew.
Meredith made the rounds, holding Mallory like a little airplane in her arms and zooming her in, giggling, to parents and grandparents for her goodnight kisses. He watched as Meredith bore the child off to the house, wondering again that she and Dirk had no children.
The conversation continued for a while, until they all began to yawn and long for their beds. They finally agreed that the next day was bound to come and they needed to be ready for it. After he saw that the house was locked and the lights out, the bishop was the last one up the stairs to bed. Samantha sat in the hallway beside the door to Mallory’s room.
Now? she asked, brushing significantly against the closed door.
“No, not now,” he replied softly. “Sorry, but they don’t need another warm little body on that bed tonight.” Encouraged by his voice, she wound around his ankle and followed him to his and Trish’s room.
“I think not, my friend,” he told her, holding her off with his toe as he closed the door. “Go chase yourself.”
“Meow,” she said sadly.
* * *
The temple excursion to Birmingham worked out well. The day was warm and breezy with a few puffy clouds to set off the blue of the June sky. It was still a particularly poignant thrill for him and for Trish to be able to travel only a little over an hour to a temple—to see that spire rising against an Alabama sky—a phenomenon that only a few years earlier had seemed an impossible dream. The white marble structure was actually located in the northern Birmingham suburb of Gardendale, for which he was especially grateful, since it meant he could avoid downtown traffic and congestion. As a small-town boy, he had no particular love for the rigors of city driving.
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