Tara glanced out the window at the pouring rain. Part of her—like ninety percent—was ready to let Maddie stay outside and get hypothermia. But another part, small though that might be, thought of Jane and the added worry she’d have if her daughter were sick.
Last night Tara had overheard Jane talking to Peter on the computer. She’d envied the love and concern in their voices, the way they laughed easily, the plans they made for their future together. But she hadn’t envied the worry in Jane’s voice or the tears she’d seen fall when Jane laid her head on the desk and wept at the end of the call.
Knowing she couldn’t add to that burden, Tara reluctantly left the bedroom and returned to the backyard.
“Madison!” She tried for the tone of voice she’d heard Jane use with her daughter exactly twice during the past few weeks. “Come in this house right now.”
Maddie paused for a moment, stared at Tara, then shook her head. “Not until the mommy bird comes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tara called. “You’ve got to come inside and get dry.”
“Mommy bird.” Maddie acted as though she hadn’t heard her.
Tara looked up at the angry sky and swore. Then she ran out to the swing set, climbed the ladder partway, and grabbed Maddie’s arm. “You’ll get a chill if you stay out here, and then your mom will be upset with us both.”
Maddie turned, and Tara saw that, in addition to the rain, tears were dripping down her cheeks. “We can’t let them die.”
Tara leaned to the side and stared down at the nest. The baby birds were silent now—and unmoving. “I think they’re already dead,” she said as gently as possible.
“No!” Maddie ran to the side and swung herself over before Tara could stop her. With all the agility of an active five-year-old and the passion of a tender heart, she descended in seconds, dropping to the ground beside the nest.
“Don’t die, birdies. Please don’t die.” Eyes pleading, she looked at Tara. “Help them—please.”
With a half-sigh, half-groan, Tara climbed down. Grassy, muddy water squished around her Jimmy Choo sandals with each step as she made her way over to Maddie, squatting beside the nest. Tara broke a twig from the nearby bushes then bent over and used it to touch the birds, trying to determine if they were alive.
The first bird was stiff enough that it fell over when she poked at it. Definitely dead.
“Nooooo,” Maddie wailed.
The second’s eyes were open and unmoving. “I’m sorry, Maddie,” Tara said.
The little girl was now near hysterics. “Is-is tha-at one . . .”
Tara reached the twig out once more then paused, offering a silent prayer—of sorts—of her own. God, if You’re really there, please give Maddie a break and let this bird be alive.
The third baby bird let out a pathetic little cheep when the twig touched it.
“Oh!” Maddie cried and stretched out her hand to pick it up.
“No,” Tara said, her own hand stopping Maddie. “We shouldn’t touch it. We should just—just—” What?
Maddie raised two solemn eyes to hers. “What would Jesus do?” she asked. “Would He leave a little bird alone in the rain?”
It was on the tip of Tara’s tongue to say that she wasn’t Jesus and had no aspirations to be, but she couldn’t seem to say the caustic words. She knew that it was partly the hopeful smile Maddie bestowed upon her, but there was something else too. Some other force held her here in the mud and cold and rain, messing up her hair, ruining her shoes.
I can’t say stuff like that anymore, she realized with a sort of bewilderment. Because I know about Jesus. I know who He was and what He did. Who He is.
She’d used both God’s name and His Son’s in common conversation for as long as she could remember. But Maddie’s question made her think. She couldn’t brush it off because she knew what Jesus would do. For the past few weeks she’d been reading about the many things He had done. And somehow, that knowledge translated to responsibility. For her language and attitude. And—
For this bird.
Tara threw the stick aside and, gritting her teeth, picked up the wet, slimy, disgusting nest. Walking as fast as she dared, she returned to the patio and set the nest on a chair, safely out of the rain.
“It’s too cold out here for the bird. And she’s hungry. Plus she’s sad sitting next to her dead sisters.” Maddie stepped toward the chair, hands outstretched.
“Really,” Tara said. But she picked up the nest before Maddie could and took it inside the house. “As if I wasn’t doing enough already. Now I’ve got to play veterinarian.”
Once inside, she set the nest on a piece of newspaper on the floor.
“Find a box,” Tara ordered. “And some tissues.” Maddie scrambled off to do her bidding.
Sure. Now she obeys. Tara tore a paper towel from the dispenser and used it to remove the one, live bird from the nest. She held it carefully, doing her best to wipe the rain from its almost nonexistent feathers. A hint of compassion stirred in her soul as she stared at its tiny eyes. The poor thing really was cold. And no doubt terrified too.
“I’ll bet she’s hungry,” Maddie said as she entered the kitchen, the pink box from her Easter shoes in hand. “We have good worms in our yard. Want me to go find some?”
“No. Go change your clothes. Then we’ll worry about feeding the bird.”
“Her name is Fran.”
“Wonderful. Go change your clothes.” Tara placed the bird on the pile of toilet paper in the box. As soon as she set it down, its pitiful cheeping began again. Ignoring it, she went to her room to change her own soaked clothes and to have a moment of silence to mourn her shoes.
After removing the drenched, muddy, grass-stained sandals, Tara sat on the bed and tried to wipe them off, but the damage seemed pretty permanent—and thorough. Her favorite and funky Phyllis-printed leather wedges were officially dead. Another $375 down the drain. Could have rented a penthouse for what living here is costing me in clothes and shoes. She placed the shoes in the box with far more care than she’d carried Maddie’s precious nest.
Feeling frustrated and sad, Tara stared at the floor of the closet for a few moments then finally decided that her other pair of Jimmy Choos—cosmic snakeskin platform pumps—would have to do as a substitute for now. There was no way she could afford to buy new shoes—good ones, anyway—until she was working again.
By the time she returned to the kitchen, Maddie was there peering over the box, probably breathing on the bird, she was so close. Tara was about to tell her to back off so she wouldn’t catch some bird disease when she saw Jane, looking tousled and sleepy, already pulling Maddie away.
“Nice nap?” Tara asked in not the nicest tone.
“Yes,” Jane said. “Though I see I missed the excitement.”
Tara shrugged. “I don’t know what to do with it now. I’m sorry, but I draw the line at digging for worms.”
“You don’t have to,” Jane said. “Mix a little ground beef with some cottage cheese and a little bit of dirt. Warm it just a little—to room temperature—and I’ll feed the bird.”
“How do you know—never mind.” Tara waved off her own question.
Jane answered anyway. “When you spend as much time as I do working outdoors, you’re bound to come across a baby bird or two.”
“Have any of them made—” She stopped, watching Maddie from the corner of her eye.
“None,” Jane said sadly. “But we have to try, you know?”
Tara watched Maddie’s sweetly hopeful expression as she leaned across the table, singing to the bird. “I know.”
* * *
Tara sprawled on the sofa while Jane sat in Peter’s chair, a pair of tweezers in her gloved hand as she fed the baby bird for the eighth time since they’d rescued it that afternoon.
“I’d forgotten how often baby birds have to eat,” Jane said, carefully maneuvering the particle of food into the bird’s open beak. “I’m afraid this is good pract
ice for what’s coming.”
“Times two,” Tara said, reminding herself that she had to have a place of her own by the time Jane’s babies were born.
“I’m sorry Maddie gave you such a hard time today,” Jane said.
“It’s okay,” Tara said and meant it. “She’s your daughter, all right—ready to dig worms, completely content being outside in the middle of a major downpour . . . She was actually pretty cute out there in the rain, standing up on her fort pretending to be some king.”
“She got the idea from Primary last week. Maddie told me all about the lesson they had and how they got to dress up and pretend to listen to King Benjamin.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Tara murmured. She could feel herself falling asleep and knew she should get up and go to bed. Peter would be calling soon, and she didn’t need to eavesdrop on any more intimate conversations.
Must be nice to have even a phone call to look forward to. I wonder what would happen if I called Ben. She indulged in a memory, as she did more often than she knew she ought. She’d never see Ben again. He might as well be a figment of her imagination. He might as well be, but he wasn’t. When she allowed herself to think of him, to remember, she always returned to that spot on top of a snowy Colorado mountain, just before he had kissed her. He was telling her she was a spoiled princess.
At least I wasn’t named after a dog. Tara cringed, remembering the awful things she’d said. In her mind, she could still see Ben’s face, indignant, and hear the anger in his voice.
I wasn’t named after a dog. I was named after a king. King Benjamin was one of the finest men . . .
Tara’s eyes popped open, and she sat up and turned to Jane. “What did you say that king’s name was?”
“Benjamin,” Jane said. She paused, the tweezers poised in midair. Beneath them, the baby bird’s open beak waited expectantly.
“Who is he?” Tara demanded.
“A prophet in the Book of Mormon.” Jane studied Tara curiously. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Tara swung her legs over the side of the couch. “That’s the book the missionaries gave me?”
“Yes. The one you haven’t opened yet,” Jane said, resuming her task.
“I’ve been busy,” Tara said. “Do you know of any other kings named Benjamin?” She’d thought about it a few times since Ben had mentioned the name but never seriously or for very long. It was obvious this Benjamin wasn’t some well-known historical figure like Napoleon or George Washington, but still, she’d been kind of curious. It had never occurred to her—until now—that he might be someone in the scriptures.
“He’s the only King Benjamin I know,” Jane said. “A good guy, too. You ought to look him up.”
“I’ll get around to it,” Tara said, her voice nonchalant. She stood and stretched then walked toward the hall.
“Good night,” Jane called.
“Night,” Tara said, walking a little faster as soon as she was out of the room. She intended to get around to it right now. Before she’d taken three steps, Jane called to her.
“Yes?” Tara said.
“Try Mosiah.”
Tara backed up then leaned her head through the doorway. “What?”
“Mosiah,” Jane repeated. “It’s the book in the Book of Mormon where you’ll find King Benjamin.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Tara’s eyes narrowed. “How did you—”
“Just a guess.” Jane smiled sweetly. “Ben. Benjamin. I figured there might be some connection. Something that—interested you.”
Tara shook her head as she gave half a laugh. “You keep this kind of intuition up, and Maddie is going to hate you when she’s a teenager.”
Jane laughed. “Good luck,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Twenty-Eight
Tara sat cross-legged on her bed, the closed copy of the Book of Mormon on her lap. For the past five minutes she’d been staring at it but hadn’t found the courage to open it. For all her earlier eagerness to read about Ben’s namesake, she was suddenly afraid to do so.
Which is ridiculous, she told herself. What’s so scary about reading about some old, dead king?
Nothing. A shiver of apprehension accompanied the thought. There was a feeling in the room—not quite like either of the feelings she’d felt during that first meeting with the missionaries, but a strange sensation just the same. And somehow she knew it had to do with this book. She was afraid that if she opened it—
Things will never be the same.
She stared at it another minute then picked it up—still keeping it closed—and gently bent the soft-covered volume back and forth like a wave.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. After all, she was enjoying the New Testament. Reading about Jesus was interesting and brought a sort of peace—like she’d felt when she’d been outside this morning before it rained. Her own problems and concerns seemed to dissipate in the vast, overall picture the scriptures presented. They had opened up her world by a couple thousand years and several thousand miles. It was impossible to feel despair when reading them. It was easy to feel courage and hope.
To feel my burdens lightened. Just as Jesus promised. I love that feeling.
There. She’d said it—or thought it, at least. She was pretty sure that not even Jane knew this about her. The missionaries certainly didn’t. Sister Ayer and Sister Henrie had been more than patient the past few weeks, but Tara could tell they were frustrated by her lack of progress.
I haven’t followed through with what they asked. I haven’t opened this book. Her fingers traced the small, gold lettering beneath the title.
Another Testament of Jesus Christ
She would find Jesus in this book, as well, she knew. And King Benjamin too. What was his role? Was he a man of position like the Pharisees in the Bible, who knew of Jesus but didn’t know Him? Or was he like the disciples who had left their nets straightaway and followed Christ? Since Ben was named after him, Tara knew it had to be the latter. And she wanted to read the story, wanted to know and understand it for herself.
Even if it means that some things will never be the same. She thought of this morning again, the way Maddie’s question about Jesus had given her pause. Tara realized that some things had already changed.
But nothing that I can’t live with. Changing her vocabulary wasn’t too difficult. She could always change it back. And all of her clothes that hadn’t passed the head, shoulders, knees test were still in boxes in the corner. She could always unpack them. She could leave. She could get in her car, drive to LA or anywhere else she wanted, and start over, on her terms.
I can do anything I want. Agency had been one of the first lessons the missionaries taught. Right now, she wanted to use it to read. With hands shaking slightly, she opened the book.
* * *
King Benjamin was one exemplary guy. Tara lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She felt exhausted, drained to the point of being light-headed as she came back to the present after spending two hours in ancient America. She’d read the Words of Mormon—beginning where she’d found the first reference to King Benjamin—through Mosiah chapter six, when King Benjamin died—four times. Using the colored pencil Sister Henrie had given her, Tara had marked scriptures—a lot of them—that she wanted to remember.
King Benjamin’s story was inspiring, but it was his beautiful words that still echoed in her mind and heart and made her eyes water. Equal parts of shame and longing rolled over her. She would have been one of those he chastised. She longed to be one of those who repented and had a . . . Tara held the open book above her head near the beginning of chapter five to read it again.
“A mighty change in us, or in our hearts, that we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually.”
Her own heart literally ached with the same desire. She’d been lying here for some time, doing as King Benjamin had suggested and considering— She flipped back to chapter two.
“On the blessed and ha
ppy state of those who keep the commandments of God.”
Jane and Peter did seem to be blessed in all things, though Tara knew their life was no picnic. They worked hard. They served. They loved. All things that King Benjamin himself had done.
All things that Ben did too. Surprisingly, she hadn’t thought of Ben much while reading. King Benjamin’s tale had consumed her. But now that she made the comparison, she could see that Ben was aptly named.
From the moment she’d first met him, he’d worked and served, from helping out with Ellen’s kids, to packing up a houseful of stuff that wasn’t his responsibility, to driving it all across the mountains, and then unpacking the truck. She’d left him that way, snuck out like a coward to her rental car, while he labored carrying a piano into the house.
Then there were all the things he’d done for her during those few days. First he’d offered to help—when no one else around bothered. On the elevator he saw that I was ill and took care of me. He’d taken her shopping, when clearly it had been the last thing he’d wanted to do. He walked with me in the snow when he didn’t have to. When she thought back to those three days, she couldn’t think of a time Ben hadn’t been serving someone.
Like King Benjamin, he used the strength of his own arm but relied upon the strength of the Lord. Also like King Benjamin, he’d used bold words in chastising those who needed it.
I needed it. Tara squeezed her eyes shut, as if that somehow might shut out the shame she felt at the way she had acted. She’d used terrible language in front of Ellen’s kids, and she’d complained and whined and thought of no one but herself during that entire weekend.
It’s a miracle Ben didn’t dump me at the side of the road somewhere.
Tara wondered why he hadn’t, but it didn’t take long to guess the answer to that, either. It had to do with Maddie’s question. What would Jesus do? It was something she herself was just starting to consider. But people like Ben and Ellen and Jane had likely been considering it for years. That’s why Jane was so hard on herself about not telling me about her church when we worked together. She must believe that sharing her beliefs is what Jesus would have done.
My Lucky Stars Page 19