A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  * * *

  On Sunday morning he looked out over the congregation, his gaze lingering here and there, looking at his own dear ones on the third row. Tashia Jones sitting with the Arnauds, sending a little wave and a big smile across the chapel to another girl in her Primary class, who smiled back. Lisa Lou Pope, resplendent in a fitted green skirt and a lacy white top, stealing glances toward the Rivenbarks across the aisle. Rand, in his wheelchair, unconcernedly thumbing through his scriptures.

  The missionaries, Elders Topham and McCall, ushered a family of investigators toward a vacant pew. He didn’t know the family, but he hoped he’d have the opportunity to get to know them well. They had a teenage son and daughter. Lisa Lou’s attention suddenly turned to them. He wondered if she knew them.

  Buddy Osborne slouched into a folding chair just inside the overflow area and stared at his printed program. Their last computer lesson, including the bishop’s introduction to the Internet, had gone well, and he knew Buddy had enjoyed his feast of cold cereal, more because of the amount he had consumed than because he said so. Such a shy, sad little guy, the bishop thought. Good for him, to make the effort to be here.

  He realized he was looking for the Padgetts. No sign of them as yet. He looked at Ida Lou Reams, chatting amiably with Hilda Bainbridge. Ralph and Linda Jernigan occupied their usual post by the door, and Junious and Nita Mobley shuffled in, supporting each other, smiling and greeting everyone they passed. Frankie Talbot slipped into the pew behind Trish, patting her shoulder and leaning over to whisper something to her as she herded her family of redheads into their places. No one sat on the front row; by mutual consent, that was left for the Birdwhistles, who had the farthest to come and the most children, so that they had to travel in two vehicles. They generally trooped in just as the meeting was starting—or just after.

  He looked with compassion at the Parsons—the young couple whose baby girl had been found to be profoundly deaf. The baby was beautiful, with her crop of dark curls and big blue eyes. He wondered what the future would bring for her. Another young couple, the Wheelers, who were waiting to adopt a baby, sat down beside the Parsons, and Connie Wheeler asked to hold little Alyssa. Connie made exaggerated, smiling faces at the baby, delighted when Alyssa waved her little arms and smiled back. He hoped Connie wouldn’t have to wait too much longer for one of her own.

  Tom and Lula Rexford came in and sat on a back pew, followed by T-Rex. The parents looked weary, but the son, as usual, was the picture of bounding good health and high spirits. He wondered what the presence of the three of them, together, meant with regard to Lula’s elderly mother, for whom they had been so constantly caring.

  Harville and LaThea Winslow took up their usual pew just behind the deacons, nodding and smiling to people as they settled in. The bishop thought what creatures of habit people were. Maybe the old-time churches with their assigned or rented or owned pews weren’t too off base.

  He sent up a prayer for the Fairhaven Ward—those who were struggling, and those who, at the moment, seemed to be doing well. The faithful and the faithless, the strong and the weak. He was surprised to feel the sting of tears behind his eyelids that accompanied the rush of love he felt for these people. He opened his notebook and looked down, shading his eyes in apparent concentration while he regained his composure.

  Toward the end of the meeting, he saw Melody Padgett slip in and take a seat in the overflow. Neither Jack nor Andi accompanied her, and he wondered what that meant. He hadn’t heard from either of them since Jack’s visit. Melody kept her face down, possibly reviewing her Primary lesson, he thought, during the closing hymn. He determined to speak to her.

  As he made his way off the stand after the closing prayer, which was always a slow process due to people handing him tithing envelopes or stopping to speak to him or ask questions, he became aware of a low, growling sound from the organ speakers. He glanced at Sister Margaret Tullis, the organist, whose face was flushed and determined as she simultaneously tried to keep the postlude going smoothly and to swat at T-Rex, who had migrated to the front of the chapel and was leaning nonchalantly over the side of the organ, one beefy finger planted firmly on a bass key.

  “How ya doin’, anyway, Sister Tullis?” he asked innocently. “I sure do like the way you play the organ. It always sounds so . . . oh, hey, Bish!” The bishop collared him and pulled him away from the instrument, and the deep growl stopped.

  “Thomas, what’re you up to, harassing this good lady?” the bishop inquired sternly.

  T-Rex looked over his shoulder and grinned at Sister Tullis. “Aw, she knows I love her, don’t you, Sister Tullis? Been one of my favorite ladies since she was my den mother in Cub Scouts.”

  “Haven’t changed much since then, have you, Thomas?” she asked, with asperity. There was, however, an upward tug at the corners of her mouth.

  “Well, I’m a lot bigger,” the boy responded. “Actually, Bishop, what I come up front here to say, is that they took my grandma to the hospital last night, and it’s likely she won’t make it for long. My mom asked me to tell you that. She and Daddy went home to take a little nap, and then they’re heading over there to be with her.”

  The bishop nodded. “Good for them. I’ll check on them later today. Or tell them to call me, or you call, if she passes away. I’ll want to go be with them when that happens—see what I can do to help.”

  “Right. Thanks, Bish. Bye-bye, Sister Tullis—that’s a real pretty piece.”

  The bishop and the organist exchanged wry smiles.

  * * *

  He was surprised at who tentatively knocked on the open door of his office during the Sunday School hour. He had just about decided that no one needed him, and it would be a good chance to slip into the Gospel Essentials class and see if he could meet the new investigators.

  “Sister Linda! Come on in, good to see you.” He stood up to greet her.

  Linda Jernigan left the door open but came to stand in front of his desk, clutching her purse before her. She seemed agitated, her prominent blue eyes worried, her mouth tense.

  “Sit down, won’t you?” the bishop invited.

  She shook her head briefly. “No, thanks. I just wanted to tell you something.”

  “Sure, what’s that?”

  “See—Ralph, he can’t bring himself to talk about it, but—well, that little girl in the picture at our house? You know, you asked about who she was . . . ?”

  “Right, I remember.”

  “Well, she was our daughter. Jodie Lee.”

  “Was—did something happen to her?”

  Linda nodded and tensed even more, if that were possible. “Kidnapped.”

  In his shock, he hardly knew how to respond. “Linda—did they find her?” he asked softly. All kinds of things were beginning to click into place in his mind.

  Linda shook her head again. “No trace.”

  “Where—where’d this happen?”

  “Arkansas. Where we used to live. She was playing in our yard. I called her in for supper, and she—she was just gone. Taken.”

  “How long ago? How old was she?” He was trying, in his mind, to grapple with the magnitude of the shock, the sorrow. Thinking of his own children—what he and Trish would do, would feel, if one of them—but it didn’t do, to go there.

  “She was eleven. In that picture, she was almost ten. Her last school picture. She’s—that is, she’d be—twenty-three now.”

  Twelve years. Twelve long years of not knowing.

  “Linda, I am so sorry.”

  “I know. There’s nothing to be done. We stayed there for about seven years, searching, waiting for her to come home. But—she didn’t.”

  He nodded. “She would have, if it was possible.”

  “Yessir. She would. Anyways, I just wanted you to know, that’s all. Thank you.”

  He stepped around his desk and escorted Linda to the door. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  She paused. “Just don’t—please
don’t—bring it up to Ralph. He can’t . . .”

  “I understand. I won’t. Would you rather I didn’t mention it to my counselors?”

  She considered. “I don’t mind if Brother Patrenko knows. But he can’t, either, you know . . . say anything to Ralph.”

  “Understood.”

  “And your wife? Can she keep secrets?”

  “She can,” he said, grateful for that fact.

  “Then you can tell her, if you want. Just, you know—so she’ll keep a close watch on your kids. You have really nice kids.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure your daughter was really nice, too. I’d like for you to tell me more about her, sometime, when you feel like it.”

  “I don’t—we don’t—talk about her. At home, I mean. It’d be nice to be able to do that. I haven’t—you know— forgotten.”

  “Of course not. You never would.”

  “No. Thank you, Bishop. ’Bye.”

  He closed his door behind her and sank into the nearest chair. “Oh, Father,” he prayed brokenly, “no wonder. No wonder poor Ralph’s the way he is! And that dear mother, not even able to talk about her lost child. There’s so much pain, Lord, so much responsibility. How can I help these people? Who am I, that thou hast called me to this position? I feel like such a flimsy instrument, even in thy hands! All these folks, surely they deserve better than I.”

  He sat pondering the various needs of his ward, praying for this family and that, missing priesthood meeting and the lesson in the priests quorum, feeling guilty but trusting the advisor to handle things. Finally, he wiped his face and blew his nose, hoping he looked presentable enough to face people for after-church interviews and meetings. He strode down the hall toward the Primary area, watching for Melody Padgett. She emerged from a small classroom and headed for the library, carrying a chalk bag and some pictures to turn in. He waited for her to come out, but when she did, she brushed by him with her eyes averted, her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Melody?” he said. She didn’t turn. This was not good. “Melody! Could we visit a minute?”

  She whirled. “I thought we could trust you!” she whispered fiercely. “Even after the other night, I thought you cared about our family!”

  He took her elbow and steered her into a nearby classroom, partially closing the door.

  “Let’s sit down, shall we?” He opened two folding chairs and sat in one. “Tell me what you’re talking about, would you? I’m lost.”

  She flung her Primary bag into her chair and chose to stand behind it, gripping the back with white-knuckled fingers. “They’re both gone, thanks to you. The nice people from the child protection agency came this morning, before six o’clock, pounding and ringing the doorbell and waking us all up, and they took Andi away. Protective custody, they called it, until it can be determined if she’s in danger in our home. She was crying and struggling, Bishop. Too bad you weren’t there to see that. I couldn’t do anything, not even pack her things or give her her teddy bear to take along. They said all her needs would be provided. What about her need for her mommy and daddy? And right on their heels, came the police, and took my husband in for questioning. He hadn’t come back, by the time I left. I don’t know what’s going to happen to either of them! But that doesn’t matter, does it? I’m just the mother, just the wife, just the one everybody’s trying to protect. What am I supposed to say to you, Bishop? Thank you? Is that what you want me to say?”

  He sat in stunned silence, staring up at her furious white face, her eyes that he now saw were swollen from crying. There was no smile on her lips now, no pretense that all was well.

  “I came to teach my little class one last time, because I love them, and because I didn’t want to leave them without a teacher. But you can call somebody else for next week, Bishop, because I can’t come back to a church that’s out to destroy my family!”

  He found his voice. “Melody, I don’t know who contacted the authorities about your situation, but it wasn’t me!”

  “You expect me to believe that? After you told both me and Jack that you’d be obligated by law to contact them if you believed there was abuse going on? You just couldn’t wait to exercise that obligation, could you?”

  He shook his head over and over. “It was not me, nor anyone I know,” he insisted. “I told Jack I wanted to refer your family to LDS Social Services for counseling. I know I mentioned that I might be forced to contact the authorities, but I wasn’t ready to do that, and I promise you I did not. Please believe me, Melody! It must have come from somebody else who saw your situation. I’ve been awfully concerned for you, as you know, but I haven’t believed that Andi was in any imminent physical danger from Jack.”

  Melody shook her head, tears beginning to form and run down her cheeks. “He’s never hit her. Not ever.”

  “And I felt the other night that Jack and I were beginning to reach an understanding. I was hopeful, not desperate! I haven’t even talked to my counselors about the situation. This didn’t come from me, truly. As far as I know, it didn’t come from anybody in the Church.”

  Who had it been? he wondered. The day care lady? An observant neighbor?

  Melody’s tears were falling fast, and she edged around the chair and sat down, pushing her bag to the floor. The bishop leaned forward and grasped her hands in his.

  “I’m sorry this happened, Melody. So sorry.”

  “They didn’t even let me give her her bear,” she repeated, her voice squeaking with tearful indignation. “What harm could that do? I think they were abusive!”

  He shook his head in confusion. “Hopefully she’ll be home soon. I probably don’t have any clout, but I’ll look into the situation for you if you want. You do believe, now, don’t you that I didn’t call them in?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. What’ll happen to Jack? What if his company hears about this?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’ll go to bat for him, too. I really do believe he can get past his problems. I think he just hasn’t known how to stop. But I believe in repentance, and in change. I mean, what point would there be to the gospel of Christ, if people couldn’t change, and improve? That’s what the Atonement’s all about.”

  Melody sniffed and nodded. “I hope he can. I hope they’ll let him.” Then a fresh flood of tears fell. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I should’ve told somebody a long time ago, before things got to this point.”

  “I wish you had, just for your own safety and well-being, but listen—none of this is your fault. Nothing you did should have provoked Jack to the kind of behavior he’s been spiraling into. The problem is within him, and it’s something he needs help overcoming. It’s not your fault at all.”

  “Are you—are you sure?”

  “Sure as I can be.”

  “Bishop, I’m sorry. I felt so . . . so betrayed, when I thought you’d sent the law after us. I know Jack has a bad problem, a serious one—but he’s not bad, clear through. There’s a lot of good in him.”

  “I know there is.”

  “Then you’ll still help us?”

  “I’ll do my best. And if we all do our best, the Lord will do the rest.”

  She stood up shakily. “I’m going home now, to see if Jack’s back, or if anybody’s called.”

  “Listen—why don’t you come over and have dinner with us, about three?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I can’t. I can’t bear to look at happy people—families—right now.”

  “I understand. Call me, then, as soon as you hear anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Melody? I’m not going to look for another Primary teacher.”

  She nodded, tears starting again as she picked up her bag and left.

  * * *

  He gripped Trish’s hand in his and then tucked it into the crook of his arm so that she was even closer to him as they slowly paced the uneven sidewalks of their neighborhood that evening. Honeyed sunlight spilled along the streets, pouring
between the trees and houses in sharp contrast to the deep patches of shade.

  “Sunshine and shadows—that’s life, I guess, isn’t it?” Trish commented. “Trite, but true.”

  “M-hmm,” he agreed, trying to live in the moment, trying not to think about anything except the warmth of the sun on his shoulders or the sweet smell of honeysuckle on a neighbor’s fence. He’d had enough of shadows for one day. He hadn’t yet told Trish about the Jernigans’ little daughter, nor about Jack and Andi Padgett being taken into custody. He would—perhaps even later tonight—but for now he didn’t want to add any shadows to her sunshine.

  “Evening, Miz Hestelle,” he said as they finished their rounds and neared their home again.

  “Hello there, neighbors! How’re you folks doin’?”

  He felt Trish’s hand tighten on his arm. “We’re doing great,” she answered, before he could say a word. “We’re doing just fine, and how are you? You’re looking good.”

  “Well, I . . .” Mrs. Hestelle Pierce put up a hand to smooth her graying hair back from her face. “I do believe I’m feeling as well as ever I have, now that you ask.”

  “That’s wonderful. Have a good evening now,” Trish said.

  “Good night,” the bishop added, as Trish pulled him firmly toward their gate. She gave him a look that plainly said, “See? That’s how you do it.”

  “Positive suggestion,” he murmured.

  “Exactly. Much better than negative.”

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind. I love you, Mrs. Bishop Shepherd.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I guess it’s not so bad, being the bishop’s wife.”

  He kissed her lightly. “Got to admit, there are times when it’s not so bad, being the bishop.”