by Dean Hughes
“I know. But I want to look. That’s just one more reason for me not to go to America.”
“You can decide all that later,” Alex said. “But go to England and see your family. That would be the greatest blessing you could give them. Maybe I can get you there for Christmas.”
“I do want to do that,” Peter said.
“That’s good,” President Meis said. “But what you need now is some dinner.” He laughed. “We’re blessed to have some rice. And we do have plenty of blankets. You can sleep warm tonight.”
Tears appeared in Peter’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said.
Alex took hold of him again, grasped him tight. “Peter,” he said, “this is the best thing that could have happened. Now your family can begin to heal. You can, too.”
Chapter 8
Wally was sitting between LaRue and Beverly, close to the front of the stake house chapel. They were attending stake conference this morning, December 9, and Mom was on the stand with Dad. Today he would be released as stake president.
President David O. McKay, second counselor in the First Presidency, was sitting next to Mom and Dad. He was presiding and had been sent by President Smith to reorganize the stake. Wally liked President McKay as much as any of
the General Authorities. He was a kindly man—pleasant and tranquil. Once, when Wally was thirteen or fourteen, he had sat next to President McKay at the dinner table in their home. The apostle had teased Wally about leaving his green beans uneaten. It was the sort of thing Dad had always turned into one of his speeches about hungry people in bread lines, but President McKay had only joked that he had grown tall from eating his string beans—and Wally had eaten his, not because he took the idea seriously but in response to President McKay’s attention.
President McKay was a tall man, with white hair and a broad, warm smile. He sat now with his hand resting affectionately on President Thomas’s arm. LaRue leaned toward Wally and whispered, “President McKay is the nicest man I know. At Gene’s funeral, he was the one who understood what I was feeling.”
Wally had heard the story from Mom, how Elder Joseph Fielding Smith had taught the doctrine—powerfully—but President McKay had offered consolation.
After the opening hymn, “High on a Mountain Top”—one of Dad’s favorites—and after the opening prayer, President McKay stood and walked to the stand. He smiled, nodded, and said, “There’s no doubt in my mind that you know why I’m here.”
The members laughed quietly.
“We’re going to release your good president today, but before I do that, I want to say a word or two about him.” For a few minutes he spoke of President Thomas’s leadership, his strength, his vision—all the things Wally would expect someone to say about his father at a time like this. But then he said, “I’ve also seen another side of this man—a side that I’m not sure all of you know so well. I was here, as many of you were, on the day of Gene Thomas’s funeral. I wasn’t surprised that President Thomas understood the gospel, accepted the loss, and carried on so well—never really missing a step—but I remember sitting in his office with him that day, and I remember how he wept. He had lost a son, and his theology made a great difference, but he was still in pain. I hope he doesn’t mind if I tell you what he said to me that day.” He glanced back at President Thomas, who gave a little shake of his head. “He said, ‘I have one regret. I’m not one to show my love the way I wish I could. I’m not sure Gene knew how much I loved him. I should have made that more clear to him before he left home.’”
President McKay hesitated for a moment, and then he said, “On the one hand, that’s a lesson for us all. We should not only recognize our love, we should express it. But I told President Thomas that day, ‘Don’t worry, President, Gene knew. You care about your kids—and the people in your stake—and they all know it.’”
“That’s right,” Wally whispered to LaRue.
“He cares a little too much sometimes,” she said, but she was smiling, and Wally didn’t hear any real resentment in her voice.
President McKay went ahead with the release, and then he offered the name of one of President Thomas’s counselors, James Webber, as the new president. That was certainly no surprise, and the members sustained him, with his new counselors.
President McKay asked the new presidency to come forward and take their seats on the stand, and then he said, “President Thomas is a great man. In fact, he’s almost as impressive as his wife.” The members in the congregation laughed. “I’d like to hear a few words from her today, and then we’ll ask President Thomas to speak to us.”
He turned then, met Bea on her way to the podium, shook her hand, and then leaned forward and whispered something to her. She laughed, and then she faced the microphone, pulling it down to her level. “President McKay just promised me that he’d try to find something else for my husband to do—so he wouldn’t be around the house too much,” she said.
Again everyone laughed, but Wally was surprised at how shaky his mom’s voice was when she began to speak again. “I remember the day my husband was called to this position,” she said. “I was sick at heart. I was glad that he could serve, but I wondered what it would mean for our family. We had six children at home, and I knew that Al would be gone a great deal. The burden of dealing with so many challenges, often by myself, frightened and worried me. What I didn’t know, of course, was that a war was coming, and that my worries would change so much. Many times during the war I wished that
I could have my children together at home—that I could deal with the simple problems of raising a family. And many times I thanked the Lord that I was married to a man who knew how to turn to God at the hardest times, who stood at the head of our family as a spiritual light and never once doubted his convictions.”
She raised a handkerchief to her eyes—a pretty embroidered one, trimmed in lace. Wally had given her a set of three like that one Christmas when he was in high school. Could this still be one of those? It seemed as though decades had passed since then.
“I don’t mean to cry. This is a very happy time for us. Wally has come home, and Alex and Bobbi are going to return before too much longer. And best of all, I have a wonderful little grandson I’m going to see one of these days. God has been good to us, truly. We lost a son, and that will hurt my heart as long as I live on this earth, but at least I know that that pain won’t last forever. I will see Gene again.”
Wally was taken by surprise when his mom suddenly laughed. “And I’ll tell you what else makes me happy. I’ve been working on President Thomas, trying to reform him a little. I’ve found out that you can teach an old president new tricks. He’s a better man than when I started training him.”
The congregation laughed hard, but no one harder than LaRue. She pushed her elbow into Wally’s side and said, “I’ve taught him a few things, too.”
Beverly bent around Wally and said, “LaRue, don’t talk so loud,” but that only made LaRue laugh harder.
Wally was watching his mom, who had stopped laughing as quickly as she had begun. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, when quiet fell over the chapel. “I always say more than I should. Here’s what I really should have said. Al Thomas is as good as any man I’ve ever known. He couldn’t do anything dishonest or wrong, couldn’t cheat someone or hurt anyone to save his life. His only problem is that he wants the rest of us
to be as good as he is, and sometimes he makes us feel that we can’t live up to his standards. But he doesn’t mean it that way. He doesn’t mean to tell us we’re down too low; he only wants to help us up a little higher. That’s the honest truth. And it isn’t something I’ve always understood.”
Sister Thomas bore her testimony after that, and she sat down, but Wally was lost in thought about what she had said. She did say more than she should, at times, but Wally liked what she had said today. She had hit on something about his father that he had always known and never exactly understood.
When President Thomas sto
od at the podium, he seemed solemn, as he always did on such occasions, but he said, “I was hoping to leave my calling with a little dignity, but Sister Thomas has ended all chance of that.” Then he grinned and the audience chuckled again.
“She was telling the truth when she said that she’s tried to improve me. And I’ve been trying to follow her advice. And I’ll tell you why. I want to be worthy to be with Bea for eternity, and I know that I’ll always have to stand on my tiptoes to come close to being as big a person as she is. She told you that I’ve tried to lead my family, but if I’ve learned a lesson during these challenging years, it’s that a man doesn’t walk ahead of his family. He walks alongside his wife, and that makes the leadership not double but ten times stronger.”
President Thomas talked then about the good years he had experienced as stake president, and he expressed his gratitude to the stake. But he didn’t talk long at all, and he didn’t give a sermon. Wally was surprised by that. In the end, he said, “I know that I’ve asked a lot of you. Looking back, some of my talks from this podium may have been a little stronger, a little more demanding, than they should have been. Maybe it’s made you feel that I had no understanding for the weaknesses we all share. And maybe I’ve discouraged some of you instead of giving you hope that you could deal with your weaknesses. I can only say that I’ve meant well and believed in you, and that I was admonishing myself right along with you. In the last couple of years I’ve seen my own weaknesses more clearly. I think, as I’ve done that, I’ve understood a little better that we all have a long way to go—and an eternity to make the progress we need to make. I’m not sure I would take back anything I’ve said to you, but I wish I had spoken, at times, in a softer voice and had shown a little more compassion. One thing I’ve learned is that it’s very difficult to change, and every time I think I’ve made a little headway, I have a way of slipping into old habits. I suppose that’s how it is for all of us.”
Wally was sitting close enough that he could see the tears glistening in his father’s eyes, and he was touched. He felt LaRue grasp his arm, and he knew that she was too. President Thomas thanked the members again, bore his testimony, and sat down.
The new presidency spoke after that, and each of them spoke glowingly of President Thomas, but Wally could tell this was a hard day for his father. He was a man driven to do well, and clearly he was feeling certain regrets about his service as president. Wally didn’t think he should be that hard on himself, but he wasn’t surprised that he would be.
When the meeting finally ended, a great many people crowded to the front of the chapel and shook hands both with the new presidency and with the Thomases. Wally and his sisters were caught at the front by the people coming forward, and Wally could hear the praise that was being poured out on President Thomas—but he also heard his father’s reticence. As Wally tried to work his way up the aisle, he was also greeted by dozens of people who had not had a chance to see him since his return. Most of them wanted to tell him how much they admired him. Wally was as hesitant as his father to accept such unqualified praise—and he was embarrassed.
Somewhere in the middle of all the attention, LaRue told him, “Bev and I are going to ride home with Mom and Dad. They parked where they can get out faster.” Wally glanced to see that his parents were going to leave by the funeral door exit. He realized that he should have done that himself, but his car was the other way, in the parking lot out back, so he continued up the aisle.
As he came out the door, a brother—a man whose face he remembered, not his name—grabbed him by the hand. “Wally, welcome home,” he said. “I can’t tell you how relieved we all were when we found out you had made it through that awful mess over there.”
“Thank you,” Wally said. “I’m happy to be home.” At that moment Wally felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He only wanted to escape, not shake everyone’s hand, so he was already stepping away as he turned to see who else wanted his attention.
It was Lorraine.
Wally stopped and took a breath. She was wearing a green dress, and her eyes were picking up the color, her cheeks aglow from her own obvious self-consciousness. “Welcome home, Wally,” she said.
He tried to say something, but he was a little too off-balance.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“Fine. Just fine.”
“It’s really good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” But the words sounded perfunctory, as though he were talking to an old school chum.
“Well, I just wanted to say hello.” She glanced down, and he could see that she was embarrassed. She was about to walk away.
“I heard that you’ve moved back to Salt Lake,” he said.
“Yes. I quit my job in Seattle. I wanted to be home for a while . . .” She didn’t finish, didn’t say, “before I get married.”
Her voice brought back everything—all the feelings he had never managed to overcome.
“I’m living with my parents again—for right now.”
“I am, too. For now.” He drew in some breath. “When are you getting married?” He had meant to use her name, but the word carried too much affection for him. At the last moment he had known that he couldn’t say it.
“I’m not exactly sure. My fiancé is staying in the navy, and he’s still at sea.”
“Well . . . that’s . . . too bad.”
“Yes. It’s hard to plan anything.”
“But it shouldn’t be too long now, I wouldn’t think.”
“No. Not long.”
Wally was still nodding, glancing away, but always coming back to her eyes, her skin, her contours. She was made of perfect lines, always had been—curved but delicate, subtle—and her motions so much a part of her beauty.
“What are you going to do now, Wally?” He was about to answer, but someone else wanted to shake his hand, had hold of him by the arm.
He turned and greeted the couple, thanked them, said something, and then turned back, but she had moved off a little. “Well, I need to go. My parents are waiting.” Wally saw that they were standing not far off. They waved to him and smiled.
“I’d love to talk with you just a little. It’s been so long.”
“Well, sure. That would be nice.”
“Could I give you a ride home? I have my car here.”
He saw the color in her cheeks rise, saw her hesitate. “Well . . . I suppose so,” she said. “Let me tell my parents.” She walked away, and Wally watched those lines, saw them flow, her skirt swinging easily, her arms.
Someone else was talking to him now, but he kept glancing at Lorraine. She was talking too long, too seriously, with her parents, and he knew what they were saying, that it wasn’t proper for her to ride home with him. As Wally continued to talk to the family in front of him, he watched her return, and he feared the worst, but at least her parents were leaving, and she was standing, waiting.
When he walked to her, she said, “My parents think people are going to see us together and talk.”
Wally laughed. It was the first time she had sounded natural, and Wally thought he had picked up on something else. In her voice, her expression, he thought he had caught just a hint of flirtation. Or maybe not. He told himself not to think so.
By the time Wally and Lorraine headed for the parking lot, it was mostly empty. Wally opened the door for her, and he was struck by how familiar that seemed, how many memories it brought back. “Where did you get the car?” she asked.
Wally walked around and got in before he said, “I got some back pay for the years I was gone. I also happen to know a car dealer. He gave me a good price. But the old thing is kind of a wreck.”
“So is that where you’re working—at the dealership?”
“No. I’m working at the parts plant—where you got your career started.” He was glad that he was relaxing enough to joke a little, but he still found it easier not to look at her.
“Are you going back to college?”
> “I probably will at some point. But Dad needs the help, and I need to get back into the swing of things. So I’ll work for a while and then decide what I want to do for sure later. Dad’s paying me a lot more than I deserve. It’s really too good of a deal to pass up.”
“That’s great, Wally. I can’t believe how good you look. I was expecting you to be skinny as a scarecrow.”
“Hey, I was, believe me. I still weigh less than I did when I left here. But all I do is eat.” He started the car and drove forward, lined up behind the last of the cars heading out of the driveway from behind the stake house.
“You seem older, Wally.”
“Well . . . I am older. About twenty years older, probably.”
“Was it really awful?”
Wally glanced at Lorraine, who was sitting all the way across the seat, close to the door. He remembered teasing her about doing that, long ago. “I think we manly Gary Cooper types are supposed to say something like, ‘Ah, shucks, ma’am, it weren’t much.’” He laughed. “But sure, it was bad. Worse than I know how to tell you.”
“I always thought about you and wondered what was happening. I prayed for you all the time.”
“I thought about you, too, Lorraine.” He hesitated, glanced at her again, and then drove the car out onto the street and turned north. “I know you’re getting married right away, and I don’t want to be out of line in what I say, but thinking about you was one of the main things that got me through. I always figured that you were married, so I didn’t really think I’d come back and find you here, still single, or anything like that, but I would go over my memories. I’d try to relive them in my mind—just so I could recall what life was like, and that I had something to stay alive for.”
“What were your favorite memories?”
He laughed again. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“No, come on. Because I have a lot of nice memories too. I’m just wondering which ones stuck in your mind.”
“My favorite was always that night we were up at Lagoon on the Twenty-Fourth of July. We watched the fireworks, and then we danced . . . out in the parking lot.”