Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  “Bobbi, come here for just a minute first, will you?”

  Bobbi stepped into the living room. Her mother had been listening to a record on the phonograph, but it had come to an end, and she hadn’t gotten up to change it. Bobbi heard the static and the little click as the needle kept repeating its circle in the same groove. She walked over to start the record over, but Sister Thomas said, “Just turn that off.”

  Bobbi did, and then she sat down on the couch next to her mom. Sister Thomas placed a marker in her book, and she set the book on an end table that was covered by a pretty lace doily. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked straight ahead, not at Bobbi. “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you in love?”

  Bobbi almost decided to give the “right” answer, but she had wanted to talk to her mother about this, and now was probably as good a time as any. “Where’s Dad?” she asked.

  “Gone to bed, of course. Answer my question.”

  “I don’t know whether I love him or not.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Mom, I used to think love hit you so hard that you heard bells—and that was that. But that’s never happened to me, so I don’t know what to think.”

  Mom looked at Bobbi, and Bobbi wondered what she was thinking. Sister Thomas was forty-seven, four years younger than her husband. Bobbi had heard the story of how Dad, a college senior and returned missionary, had fallen head-over-heels for “Little Bea,” a twenty-year-old sophomore, and how Mom had quit college so they could get married after Dad’s graduation. But it was hard to picture. Mom was still pretty, with her deep dimples and her lively smile, but she and Dad didn’t really fawn over each other; Bobbi wondered whether they ever had.

  “Bobbi, why did you tell Phil you would marry him if you aren’t sure you’re in love?”

  “I don’t know that I don’t love him. He’s good to me. He’s handsome. He has a good future. And all the girls at the U wish they could bump me off and steal him.”

  “Those sound like impressive qualifications—not love.”

  “I know. But what can I say? I don’t hear any bells.”

  “How do you feel when he kisses you?”

  This was getting into an area that made Bobbi uncomfortable. When Bobbi had been about twelve, she and her mom had had a talk about “personal matters” and “hygiene,” and a hint or two had come across about babies, but it had all been so vague that if Bobbi hadn’t picked up information from other sources, she wouldn’t have even known what they had talked about.

  “It’s okay when he kisses me. It’s fine.”

  “Bobbi, people will tell you that . . . that part . . . is not important. But it is. It’s very important. If he kisses you, and holds you in his arms, and you don’t feel . . . something . . . then this whole thing might not be right.” She was blushing by now, but she added, “I’m afraid when we talk to girls at church, we make marriage sound like it’s all family prayer and gospel study, but there’s more to it than that.”

  Bobbi laughed. “I think the girls know on their own that they aren’t hearing the whole story.”

  Mom laughed too. “Bobbi, the point is, I wouldn’t marry him if you don’t feel . . . you know . . . some excitement.”

  “Daddy will blow a hole in the roof if I call off the engagement.”

  “Maybe. But if he does, we’ll patch it up. I can’t think of anything worse than marrying a man you don’t love.”

  “I know. That’s what I keep thinking.” She leaned back and folded her arms.

  “Is there someone else?”

  Bobbi instantly sat up straight again. “No. Not really.”

  “Not really? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There’s someone I wish Phil were a little more like. But he’s not someone I’m interested in.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not LDS for one thing. He’s not someone I could even think about marrying.”

  “Oh, Bobbi.”

  And they both knew what she meant. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything develop between us.”

  “But he’s setting off some bells, isn’t he?”

  Bobbi took a breath. “Yes.”

  “Now I wish I hadn’t asked. This is worse than I thought.” She looked at Bobbi and rolled her eyes. But she was smiling—at least a little.

  “No, it isn’t. I won’t let anything happen.”

  “Maybe you already have.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Bobbi, after I met your dad, I wanted to be with him every second. Other boys didn’t interest me at all. I suspect that’s how it ought to be. I just don’t think this is a good sign that you’re thinking about someone else.”

  “I’m not—not really.” Bobbi tried to imagine President Thomas causing bells to ring so loudly that Mom had forgotten everyone else. Bobbi did know he had been a handsome man—she had seen the wedding pictures. He had looked a lot like Alex, with the same boldness, and maybe a little more glint in his eye. But she couldn’t imagine him as romantic—or passionate.

  “So what are you going to do?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Sis, this is so hard for me. Phil could make bells clang for me. I just don’t see the problem.”

  “Maybe you ought to marry him.”

  “Maybe so. Or LaRue could. We’re both nuts over him.”

  Bobbi got up. She looked down at her mom and smiled. “Dad had better get some of the old fire back, or he’ll lose you.”

  “Don’t worry about your father. He’s got plenty of fire.”

  “Really?”

  But Mom was blushing again, and Bobbi knew that she was too. It was time to head upstairs.

  On the following morning, Saturday, Sister Thomas got up almost as early as she did on weekdays. President Thomas was already downstairs in his office, doing some sort of Church business, but he would want his breakfast soon. He always went to the dealership on Saturdays, the same as any other workday, but he usually allowed himself a little later arrival time.

  Once Sister Thomas had the bacon and eggs on, she gave a little knock on her husband’s office door. “I’ll be right there,” he answered. And in another couple of minutes, he pushed his way through the swinging door and into the kitchen. “Who’s up?” he wanted to know.

  “No one,” Mom answered. “No one in this whole town. You’re the only man I know who wants his breakfast at six-thirty on Saturday.”

  “Half the day is gone,” he said, but he was grinning. He sat down at the kitchen table, which was set only for him. “Aren’t you eating?”

  “I will a little later—when the kids are up.”

  “Everyone ought to be up by now—so you don’t have to cook all morning.”

  “Yes, and pigs would fly if they were good little pigs.” She set a plate in front of him. It was his usual breakfast: two eggs, fried, over easy; two strips of bacon; two slices of toast.

  “Thanks, honey. Has the paper come?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t checked.” The truth was, she had chosen not to look. She wanted to talk to him and not have to watch him read his paper while he ate. She sat down at the table across from him. “Have you talked to Bobbi about her wedding?” she asked. Sister Thomas was wearing an old cotton bathrobe with rips in the elbows, and she had her hair pinned up. That was something President Thomas didn’t like, but this early on Saturday morning, he was going to have to live with it.

  “No. I’ve asked her a couple of times when it’s going to happen, but she won’t give me an answer.”

  “Do you think she’s really in love with Phil?”

  “What?”

  “I asked her last night why she didn’t show more excitement about getting married, and frankly, I didn’t like her answers. I don’t think she knows what she wants.”

  President Thomas looked utterly baffled. “I don’t see that at all,” he said. “Bobbi isn’t a giddy
little girl. But any young woman in her right mind would be thrilled to marry Phil.”

  “Maybe so, Al. But our girl is struggling.”

  President Thomas stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Bea, I just can’t believe that. Struggling about what?”

  “She’s not really sure she loves him.”

  “That’s nonsense. What’s not to love about the boy?” He decisively shoved a big chunk of fried egg into his mouth.

  Sister Thomas knew she was on thin ice with her husband. She didn’t want him to go crashing up the stairs to wake Bobbi. “Love isn’t quite that simple, Al. You know that.”

  “I’ll tell you something, Bea.” The president set his fork down. “This is the kind of silliness we let young people get away with these days. My Grandfather Thomas walked across a pasture to the next farm and told my grandmother he wanted to marry her. She hardly knew him, but he was an honest man from a good family. She accepted, and that was that. That’s how people did it in those days. And they had good marriages, too.”

  “You’re right, Al. I’m glad I didn’t marry for love. I just took the first offer that came along.”

  President Thomas began to smile. “You were nuts over me. Admit it,” he said.

  “And shouldn’t Bobbi be nuts over the man she marries?”

  “Yes. Definitely. She should be nuts over Phil Clark.”

  Sister Thomas knew that her husband was being ironic, but she also knew what he expected. “Well . . . maybe she was just feeling blue last night. I don’t know. But we need to back her up, whatever she decides.”

  “No. I think that’s exactly the wrong thing to do. She’s found a good man, and she needs to go forward and not look back.”

  “So why didn’t you marry LaVerl Stevens?” Sister Thomas asked. “You went with her a whole year, and you told me yourself that your family thought you ought to marry her.”

  She had him, but it took him a good long while before he could bring himself to say, “That was different. She had a squeaky little voice that drove me crazy.” He began to chuckle as he spread apricot jam on his toast.

  Sister Thomas wasn’t going to be derailed at this point. “Al, young people these days are different from our grandparents. They think for themselves whether we like it or not. And Bobbi is about as independent as any girl I know.”

  “You say that as if you admire her for it. Maybe she would be better off if she listened a little more and didn’t get her back up the way she does.”

  “Yes, and if you had listened better, you’d be raising a bunch of squeaky-voiced little kids with LaVerl Stevens.”

  “And maybe I’d be better off. She never talked back to me.”

  “I think you’re right. You got more than you bargained for, didn’t you?”

  They sat and smiled at each other for quite some time, but then President Thomas said, “I love you, Bea. And I love that daughter of yours, who’s just like you.” His smile faded. “Sometimes, though, I feel like this whole family is heading off in all directions and I can’t do one thing to keep us on track. Everyone in my stake seems to think I’m a pretty wise fellow. Why can’t I get my own kids to think so?”

  “That’s probably the same thing your father said when you broke it off with LaVerl.”

  President Thomas waited until he had finished chewing and had swallowed. “He did say that. He told me outright. And a year later, he told me I had done the right thing to wait—that you were head and shoulders better than LaVerl.”

  “Well?”

  “It proves I’m smarter than my dad,” President Thomas said. “It doesn’t prove that my kids are smarter than I am.” He grinned.

  “You’re hopeless,” Sister Thomas said. She reached out and gave his hand a little slap.

  But President Thomas looked down at the table, and

  when he looked back up, his wife saw his concern. “I know I overrate my own wisdom,” he said. “And I know the kids have to think for themselves. But I see them walking right off cliffs sometimes, and the minute I say, ‘Take a look where you’re heading,’ they act like I want to hogtie them to the back porch.”

  “Oh, come on. Alex has never come close to a cliff in his life. And Bobbi is wise beyond her years.”

  “I notice you didn’t mention Wally.”

  “He’s just young.”

  President Thomas thought about that for a time. “You’re right about Alex. He’ll listen. But the boy would rather think than do. I don’t know how to get him to be more practical.”

  “Life will take care of that.”

  “Maybe. In time. But he might have to learn some hard lessons. And Bobbi will, too. But it’s Wally, right now, who worries me sick. He’s told me already that he doesn’t want to go on a mission. And I’m afraid if he did go, he’d quit the first time it got a little hard.”

  “We just need to be patient with him. He’ll be all right.”

  “I hope so. But I don’t see any sign of it yet. And I worry about the other kids, too. Gene is a good boy—easier to deal with than most of our kids—but the only thing he really cares about is sports. And LaRue’s ten years old and already has a mouth on her.”

  “I worry more about Bev. She lives too much in LaRue’s shadow. She doesn’t know how to speak up for herself.”

  President Thomas shook his head. “I had no idea raising kids would be like this,” he said. “I thought all I had to do was teach them the truth and they would follow.”

  “It gets worse. My mother says she worries more about her grandkids than she did about her own children.”

  President Thomas pushed his plate away even though there was another slice of toast on it. “I’ll tell you the worst part, Bea. This business of being a parent in Zion is going to get harder. Things are changing way too fast around here.”

  Sister Thomas sometimes grew weary of her husband’s lectures on the problems in Zion, but she felt his honest concern now. She reached across the table and took hold of his hand. “I still think our kids will be okay,” she said.

  “I sure hope so,” President Thomas said. He sat for a long time, smiling a little, seemingly lost in thought, but when he finally got up from the table, he took his wife’s hand and pulled her up from her chair. Then he took her in his arms. “I love you,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t marry LaVerl.” And he kissed her longer and more ardently than Bobbi ever would have expected.

  Sister Thomas liked that, but when her husband was gone, she sat down at the table, ate his slice of toast, and tried to think what she could say to Bobbi. But everything had been said. And the truth was, she felt much like her husband: she wished she could just tell Bobbi what to do. The choice seemed so obvious. If only her kids’ problems were still skinned knees and bad colds. But wishes weren’t fishes, she told herself, and she got up and cleared the table.

  Chapter 12

  It was one of those perfect April evenings in Utah when spring is trying—one last time—to muscle winter aside. Wally was on his first date with Lorraine Gardner, and he was driving his dad’s Nash. That, in and of itself, made this a special occasion. The car, retail, sold for over eight hundred dollars—and it felt expensive, too. The ride was cushioned, and the upholstery was more plush than any furniture in the Thomas home.

  Wally had taken Lorraine to the lavish new Centre Theater, downtown, and they had seen “The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle,” with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Wally liked the dancing, but he thought the story was pretty corny. Still, Lorraine had loved it, and Wally was in a better mood than he had been in for some time.

  The past few weeks had been hard for Wally. East had lost its track meet to South, and Wally knew he might have made the difference. The guys on the team were furious about it, too. Wally had heard most of the complaints secondhand, but a few of the boys had confronted him and told him what they thought. Wally hadn’t defended himself. In fact, he had passed it all off with apparent nonchalance. No one knew what he really thought, n
ot even Mel.

  Tonight Wally was feeling an almost desperate need to have fun. Not only was he an outcast at school, but a stiff compromise had set in at home. Dad had always expected a great deal of his kids, but he was usually good-humored about it. Now, he joked with Gene and the girls, but around Wally he had become reserved and distant. But that was exactly what Wally didn’t want to think about. He was going to prove he could still work his charm with the girls—even the untouchable Lorraine Gardner—and then he would announce to Mel what he had accomplished. Poor Mel would be in agony.

  So Wally drove far south of Salt Lake to Thirty-Ninth and State, and he and Lorraine drank malts at the “Do Drop Inn.” Then he took her for a ride into the foothills. He followed a dirt road that curved its way onto a prominent crest where the lights in the northern part of the valley were clear in the distance, and then he turned off and stopped the car.

  “Wally, come on,” Lorraine said. “I don’t do this.”

  “Do what? Look at the lights?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t park.”

  “What do you do, drive forever?”

  Lorraine laughed. “I don’t park with boys.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll keep my distance. And you keep hugging that door, the way you’ve been doing all night.”

  “Or, better yet, we could go home.” But she didn’t seem adamant, and Wally considered that a good sign. He wanted to get some idea what her eyes were saying, but the moon was angling through the back window, and he couldn’t see her face. What he could see was her pretty hair, loosely curled and almost down to her shoulders. In the moonlight, it looked the color of varnished oak, light and rich and shiny.

  “So what are you worried about? Don’t you trust me?”

  “No. I don’t. I know what a Romeo you are.”

  “Me? Hey, that’s not true at all.”

  “No? Then tell me, Wally, what are you really like?”

  The question seemed more sarcastic than genuine. Wally could see he had his work cut out for him. “Lorraine, can we be serious for a minute?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t think so. You’re never serious.”