by Dean Hughes
Dad was stopped. He thought for a time again, and then he leaned forward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no right to question your knowledge of the Spirit. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Thanks.” Alex sat for a few seconds and then reached across the table and touched his dad’s hand. “Dad, you will love Anna someday. You’ll thank the Lord for her.”
“I hope so, Alex.” Dad got up. He stuck his plate into the basket. “Does she know how you feel?” he asked. “Will she wait for you?”
“I’ve written her, but I don’t know whether my letters have gotten through. Can you think of any way I could contact her—like through the Church?”
Dad left the chicken and potato salad on Alex’s desk, but he put the plates and utensils and napkins in the basket. He seemed to be thinking. “I could talk to J. Reuben Clark,” he finally said. “He was with the State Department for a long time, and he served as an ambassador. He has contacts all over.”
“He made some kind of official visit to Berlin during that first year I was on my mission.”
Dad nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he’s been there many times, and I know he keeps in touch with the American ambassador to Germany. Maybe there’s a way to get a letter to the ambassador, and from there to Church leaders.”
“Dad, that would be great.”
“All right. I’ll call him. I’ll see what he says. Or maybe I can make an appointment for you. I’m sure you can make a better case than I could.”
“Do you still think I’m making a mistake?”
Dad had taken a step toward the door, but he turned back now, and he looked at Alex. “Son, this breaks my heart. I hate to see you put off marriage that long, and I worry whether it will all work out. If you had told me she was a swell girl and you couldn’t live without her, I would tell you to stop kidding yourself. But you’re telling me God is guiding you in this, and I’m not going to take that lightly.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Alex smiled. “I’ll tell you something else. She’s the prettiest girl who ever lived.”
“Sorry, son. I married the prettiest girl who ever lived—a long time ago.” Dad smiled, but only with some effort. As he turned to leave, Alex saw in his eyes, in his posture, how deeply disappointed he was.
***
When Alex stepped into the office, President J. Reuben Clark, first counselor to President Grant, glanced up and said, “Yes. Sit down.” He was making a note on a sheet of paper, and he finished before he finally set his pen down and looked at Alex. “You’re Al Thomas’s boy, I understand.”
“Yes.” Alex sat in the chair President Clark had pointed to, directly in front of the big, dark-walnut desk.
President Clark was a heavy man with a round face and a thick double chin. His hair was full, mostly gray, shading to white at the temples. His desk was covered with papers, and he had seemed deep in his work, but now that he had set it aside, his smile was welcoming.
“So how is your father? Is he like me, still feeling bad that the Saints have no more sense than to vote for FDR?”
“I don’t think he ever held out much hope for anything else.” Alex wasn’t about to mention his own vote.
“That’s smart. I always think that if I make a good speech, I might change some minds. But I never do.” He laughed at himself, the flesh under his chin shaking. President Clark was the most prominent Republican in the state and was nationally known for his opinions on international relations. Alex knew that plenty of people did listen to what he said.
“I remember President Thomas telling me that you served a mission. Where was it you went?”
“The West German mission. I was there when the war broke out.”
“That was a busy time around this office, I’ll tell you.” President Clark pointed to his phone. “I ran up a mammoth telephone bill trying to keep in touch with what was going on. It’s good we didn’t wait another day before we got you out.”
Alex smiled. “We were a little busy ourselves,” he said.
“Tell me something.” President Clark leaned back and rested his arms on his heavy chest. “How did the members of the Church feel about Hitler?”
“Most didn’t say much. But the ones who spoke up usually said they thought well of him.”
“Now, see, that’s what I’ve been saying.” He waved a finger in Alex’s direction. “I’m not going to sit here and tell anyone that Hitler is a fine fellow. But people here don’t understand what he’s done for Germany. The Treaty of Versailles was wrong. It was punitive beyond reason. The Germans had no hope of recovery until they defied that treaty. What I say is that England and France created Hitler, and now they can live with him.”
Alex would have liked to talk more about that, but he was nervous. He wasn’t sure how President Clark would react to his request. He ran his hands along his trousers and then leaned forward a little, his hands on his knees. “President, I don’t want to take a lot of your time. I merely wanted—”
“Tell me a little about yourself, Alex.”
“Well . . . I went to the U before my mission. I have a year to go to get my degree in history, but right now my dad and I have started a business. We’re making parts for the big munitions companies.”
“So have you decided not to finish school?”
“No. Not at all. I want to go back as soon as I can. Actually, I’d like to do what you did—go east to graduate school. I want to be a professor.”
President Clark seemed to consider that, but he looked rather solemn for the first time. “Well, I’ll tell you, I don’t regret for a minute what I did. I got my law degree at Columbia, and then I stayed in the East. I made my way in Babylon and did all right, and then the Church called me home to do this job. So that worked out fine for me. But I used my law training to get some work done—work I believed in. Sometimes I’m not sure whether these fellows with Ph.D.s believe in anything at all. I’d be careful about going that direction.”
“You do sound like my dad.”
“Well, now, that’s a compliment. Thank you very much.” He laughed out loud. “Tell me now, what can I do for you?”
Alex had thought out his little speech, but suddenly his reason for coming was embarrassing. This was a man who had worked out treaties between nations, negotiated with world leaders. “While I was in Germany I baptized a family,” Alex began—carefully. “I need to get in touch with them. I’ve written, but I get no answer. I was thinking that a letter could be sent through the American ambassador, or maybe through Church channels. I need to know for sure that the letter gets through.”
President Clark looked mystified, his eyebrows, much darker than his hair, gathering over his eyes. “I could possibly get something through, but we use those channels only for very important matters. I can’t be a conduit for ordinary mail.”
“I understand.” Alex took a breath. “I . . . well . . . I want to marry the daughter in this family. The Lord has answered my prayers about that. But she doesn’t know my intentions.”
President Clark smiled. He looked down at his desk for a time. “Alex, I could tell you that’s too minor a matter to require diplomatic intervention—but I’m sure you would disagree. So let me answer another way.” He waited until Alex looked up at him. “Find a local girl. Marry her. Let the German girl find a husband in Germany. This war could last a long time, but even if it doesn’t, I still think that’s good advice.”
Alex didn’t feel he could argue with a member of the First Presidency, but he also couldn’t accept the answer. “Can you think of some other way, then, that I could possibly contact her?”
President Clark chuckled. “Then I take it you’re not going to accept my advice?”
“Well . . . no. President, I haven’t had a lot of experiences in my life where I was sure the Lord had spoken to me. But it happened once when I blessed Anna, and her life was restored. And it happened again when I asked him whether I should marry her.”
“Well . . . if it’s right, the Lord will
preserve her for you.”
“All right. And maybe I’ll just have to live with that. But I want her to know how I feel, and that I’m waiting. I think it might help her get through the war.”
“What if she’s not as interested in you as you are in her?”
“We didn’t say anything to each other about that—but I knew how she felt.”
President Clark smiled again. “Oh, my,” he said. He drummed his fingers on his desk.
“President,” Alex said, “I’m sorry I’ve taken your time.” Alex got up.
“Now wait a minute.” President Clark motioned for Alex to sit down. “I was born in 1871, Alex. That’s the dark ages to you. We didn’t think the way you young folks do. But I’ll tell you one thing. When a man falls in love, I guess it always feels about the same way. And if some old fellow had told me to forget about Luacine and find another girl to marry, I wouldn’t have listened to him any more than you’re listening to me.”
“President, I meet the girls around here, and they’re fine. But Anna almost died. When she came back, her spirit was changed. I’ve never met a young woman who’s so close to God.”
“And I suppose she’s rather a plain young woman? You only love her for her spirit.”
Alex felt his face get hot. “No,” he said, without looking at President Clark. “She’s beautiful.”
“I had a feeling she would be.” Alex was still unsure what President Clark was going to say, but he sensed something positive, so he looked into his eyes. “All right, since you won’t take my advice, go out to my secretary’s office and write your letter. I’ll see if I can get it through. I can’t make any promises, but I think I know how to do it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Alex stood again. He tried not to show his elation. “Let me say one more thing,” President Clark said. Alex nodded and waited. “Some people call me a pacifist, and I’m not sure that’s exactly the right word to describe me, but what I do know is that war is evil and Christians should avoid it if they possibly can.”
Alex was surprised. He knew that President Clark was known for his opposition to American involvement in the war, but he seemed to be saying more than that.
“Alex, I hate to see you building parts for weapons, but I also hate to see you sell your soul in graduate school. I want to see our bright young people step forward and lead this world. I did a little of that. Future generations could do a lot more.”
“I guess I don’t see myself as a leader.”
“Do you think I did when I was growing up in Grantsville? I was just a dirt-poor, barefoot kid. You’re way ahead of what I was. That’s easy to see.”
“I do want to do something worthwhile with my life.”
“Alex, Roosevelt is already in this war. He can’t build airplanes for England and then claim to be neutral. So we’ll be sending troops to Europe, maybe before the year is out, and that means you’ll probably be fighting Germans, not marrying them. And once the shooting starts, you’ll be ducking bullets, clinging to life, and if you’re not careful, you’ll be hating the German people. War only sounds good in the newspapers back on the home front. In reality, it’s the most evil force that Satan has invented. The horror of war is not just that people get killed—it’s that it creates killers. And it throws young people into vile, corrupt environments. You remember that. If you end up having to go, find a way to keep the Spirit alive in you.”
Alex nodded.
“We can’t forget our purpose, Brother Thomas. This war is splitting our church up—separating us from our own brothers and sisters, stopping our missionary work, diverting our attention from the real work we have to do. It breaks my heart. I look at a young man like you, and I see Satan trying to enlist you in his service—wreaking havoc, spilling blood—when you need to be building the kingdom, raising up a family unto the Lord.”
President Clark’s volume—and power—had gradually risen, and Alex was moved. “I don’t like spending my time building weapons,” Alex said. “No one seems to understand that.”
President Clark nodded, but then he smiled. “Well, sometimes I get up on my high horse, and I have to be careful. But tell me this. If you end up killing Germans—hating them—are you going to be able to love your Anna?”
“I’ll never hate the German people.”
“I hope you’re right. But you think about what I’ve just said. Go write your letter, but be very careful about the promises you make.”
Chapter 27
Bobbi hadn’t gone into nursing with any enthusiasm, but as it turned out, she liked it. She had always loved to learn, and she found the science—biology, anatomy, chemistry—more interesting than she had expected. But what she liked best was being in the hospital, even with the long hours and the miles she ended up walking every day. Knowing people who were suffering made her own problems seem less significant, and she liked the contact, the little chats, the life stories she heard, and even the physical touch.
She had never wanted to deal with bedpans and vomit and all the rest that she associated with nursing, but that was actually the most comforting to her—to find that she could accept smells and secretions as part of life. She no longer had to see people in some best-dressed state to accept them. Some people were nasty in their suffering, others serene. But people seemed to become what they really were in that state, and for the most part, Bobbi liked them that way.
Still, Bobbi missed the university and the literature that she now had no time to read. And the simple fact was, she still missed David. She missed her talks with him, the sharing, and the wonderful way he had of probing her mind and liking what he found there. She missed the beauty she felt in herself when he looked at her. Sometimes at night, she lay awake and imagined him holding her, kissing her the way he had those few times, and she was almost certain she would never feel that much pleasure again.
She was not dating. She wanted to believe that she was out of touch, being away from the university, and that she wasn’t meeting many boys. And yet, she suspected that she was not very attractive, that Phil’s devotion to her had been a sort of aberration, and that David’s was a meeting of minds of a kind that wasn’t likely to come around again.
Bobbi had always been happy. It wasn’t in her to feel sorry for herself, and she didn’t do that now. She took life as it came, and she was cheerful most of the time, but when she stopped to look inside herself, she felt a relentless emptiness, and she was worried that it would never go away. Her answer for that was not to look inside very often, not to let herself dwell on her own problems, but a little sense of loss never seemed to leave her.
One night early in April, she was finishing a long day at the hospital and was feeling particularly dragged out. She got her coat from her locker, and even though it was already late, grabbed a couple of books she needed to study when she got home. Then she headed out the front doors to her bus stop. But there was Phil standing at the bottom of the steps in a wool topcoat and a classy felt hat. It was a cool evening, and he had his hands tucked into his pockets as though he had been waiting around long enough to get cold.
When he finally spotted her, she saw his face light up. “Hi,” he said, quite naturally. “Could I give you a ride home?”
“Is that legal—for an engaged guy?” She laughed.
But he took the question more seriously than she had meant it. “Not really, I guess. But I want to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
“You look good.” He was standing rather close, with his shoulders hunched, looking down at her.
“White is a good color for me,” she said, and she laughed. But she glanced down and realized that little white was showing. She had her gray tweed coat on. She knew she had worked too hard to think of something to say, and she was embarrassed.
But then, with that strong hand of his, he was taking her arm, turning her. His touch still seemed to say, “I’ll take care of you.” He opened the door for her, held her arm as she got in, and then he tucked her coat aga
inst her so it wouldn’t catch in the door. It all seemed so normal, so right.
When he got into the car, he started it and then pulled out from the curb, but he didn’t head south, as she had expected. He turned east and drove through the avenues.
“I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes, Bobbi.”
“I’m glad you did. It’s nice to see you. When are you getting married?”
“The date is set for June. But Bobbi, I’m still in love with you. I just wanted to ask you whether there was any chance that we could get back together.”
Bobbi’s first reaction was a lovely kind of satisfaction, but she knew she had to be careful. “You mean you would break up with Ilene, and we would start dating again?”
“Yes.”
“What if everything went the way it did last time?”
“I don’t know. It would be a mess, and my family would be upset with me, but I’d like to take the chance. I can’t tell you how awful it is to be in love with you and planning to marry someone else.”
Bobbi was touched. Phil sounded more vulnerable than she ever remembered him. Maybe he had grown—and deepened. Maybe Bobbi could thrill her parents and end this loneliness she had felt the whole past year. If David wasn’t an option for her, maybe Phil could be again.
“Bobbi, things are better now. I’m almost through my second year of law school, and you’re moving ahead in nursing school. Maybe this delay is what we needed. Now we could go forward, and we wouldn’t have the stress we had last time.”
But the analysis was wrong. Phil never had understood the problems between them.
“I’ve learned a lot in the past year. I’ve dated some beautiful girls, but they all seemed shallow. There’s something special about you, Bobbi. You weren’t trying to catch me. You were always yourself with me.”
“But Phil, we’re so different.”
“We both love the Lord. That’s the center of everything. And we have things to offer each other. Maybe our differences will become our combined strength.”
The words were right. And Bobbi felt herself wanting to believe them. Maybe this was meant to be. She had always known Phil would be a stalwart, a good father, a steady influence in her life. Maybe she could learn from that steadiness, and maybe she could help him take more interest in the things she loved. “Phil, I don’t know. It would be so complicated to do this now. We’d be the talk of the whole town. You’ve already had pictures of two fiancées in the Deseret News. Do you want to have the paper re-run the first picture?” She laughed.