The bishop pointed. “Get your bike, son.”
* * *
His second round of challenges came when LaThea Winslow entered Shepherd’s Quality Food Mart at approximately ten-thirty. She didn’t usually shop at Shepherd’s, and he was surprised to see her. He was showing Buddy how to stock canned goods, and he rose and went toward her, holding out his hand.
“Sister Winslow, a happy new year to you. How are you?”
She shook his hand quickly. “Bishop, I’m absolutely beside myself. She’s here!”
“Who’s here?” He looked around.
“Oh, now, you know who I mean! The girl!”
“Ah—the young lady who’s taken with VerDan.”
“All the way from Utah, Bishop. I knew it’d happen. I told you she’d hunt him down, if we didn’t get him off on his mission! And sure enough, she’s here, with her mother!”
“Come on in the office, Sister Winslow, where we can sit down and visit,” he invited, politely taking her elbow to guide her past the boxes in the aisle. “Carry on, Buddy, you’re doing great.”
Mary Lynn looked up in surprise as he escorted LaThea Winslow into the office. Her employer gave her a wink and a slight jerk of his head, and she rose from her desk and gathered up a stack of colorful new produce signs that gave nutritional information about various fruits and vegetables. “I’ll just put these up, now,” she announced as she left the office, glancing back curiously at LaThea from under her long bangs. LaThea didn’t appear to notice.
“Okay, now—you sit there, why don’t you, in my father’s old leather chair. I can guarantee it’s comfortable. I’ll sit here in Mary Lynn’s place. Now, tell me what exactly has happened.”
He might have predicted, knowing LaThea, that her next action would be to burst into tears. He offered her Mary Lynn’s box of tissues.
“Oh, Bi-bishop, it’s so awful,” she said, when she could speak. “They’re right here in Fairhaven, and they’re coming over at one o’clock, and I’m so upset. Harville tells me to be calm, but how can I do that? This girl’s determined to get VerDan—she’s been after him and after him. I’ve thrown away her letters and stalled off her telephone calls the best I could, but now she’s here, and with her mother, of all things, to stick up for her, and I just know they’re going to railroad VerDan into marrying her, and that’s not at all what I want for him! Bishop, you know he’s a good boy. Oh, if we could only have gotten him off on his mission when he first came home!”
The bishop looked at her with compassion and something else—perhaps it was amazement at the rose-colored glasses of motherhood. Or mother-hen-hood.
“Dear Sister Winslow,” he said softly. “I can see why you’re upset, honestly I can. But let’s think for a moment. Why do you suppose this young lady—what’s her name, anyway?”
“It’s—oh, it’s—um—it’s Stephanie. No—Bethany. That’s it. Bethany Pearson.”
“Okay. Now, why do you suppose Bethany and her mother have come?”
“I told you! To try to coerce my VerDan into marrying that little—”
He held up one hand. “And why might they be doing that?” he asked. “Is there a reason, perhaps, why VerDan might want to consider marrying her?”
“Certainly not! She’s just determined to have him. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve been telling you how she’s pestered him, for months now.”
The bishop knew he needed to tread lightly, and so it was with more than a little hesitation that he said, “LaThea . . . might she be carrying his child? Could that be what she’s been trying to tell him in those letters you threw away and those phone calls that you stonewalled?”
LaThea fairly yelped. “Of course not! That would mean—honestly, Bishop! My children have been taught better. We have high standards in our family! VerDan would never—”
“Many a young person with high standards has slipped and given in to temptation. If he has, it needn’t reflect on the excellence of your teachings and your home life. Remember when we talked about why I couldn’t in good conscience recommend VerDan to serve a mission at that time? You admitted then that you weren’t entirely sure whether VerDan and this girl had been intimate.”
“But he’s never said—never admitted—I really didn’t think he would!”
“Maybe he hasn’t seen a need to admit to it—especially if he thought nobody would know and he could escape the embarrassment of telling us. But I’ve never felt that he was being entirely open and honest with me in our interviews. Maybe this is what he’s been holding back.”
“Oh, Bishop! That’s such an awful thought. What’ll I say to them, if that’s what it is?”
“More to the point, what do you think VerDan will say? What’ll he say to Bethany, if she says she’s carrying his child? What’ll he say to you, when he finds out about the letters and the calls?”
LaThea paled, then gave a little flick of her carefully coiffed head. “Oh, he won’t be angry with me. He’ll appreciate what I’ve done—he’ll know it was in his best interest. He was glad—relieved—to get away from her. That’s why he came home from the U.”
“And if you shield him from taking responsibility for this situation, how does that affect his character?”
“I—but Bishop, how can he take responsibility for a wife and child—if that’s what this is about? He’s just a boy! He hasn’t finished school, and he doesn’t even have a steady job. He has his mission yet ahead of him, and—”
“No, he doesn’t, LaThea. Not if he’s had sexual relations with this young lady—or any other. The rules are very strict, now—and very clear.”
He watched as the truth was borne in, at last, upon the mind and heart of LaThea Winslow. It was painful to watch; it must have been even more painful for her to bear. All her defenses crumbled—her pride of family, her hopes for her son’s mission call, her power and control over circumstances that might bring him shame and discomfort—all fell away into dust, and she looked up, devastated and fearful.
“What’ll I do?” she whispered.
“Well, I think the very first thing is to remember that this is not about you,” he told her. “In all likelihood, this is about VerDan and Bethany—and between them. Her mother may be here for moral support, and that’s fine. You can give that to VerDan, too, but not by excusing him or trying to get him out of this. It may be that it’s growing-up time for that young man, one way or another. Whether he and Bethany marry is up to them. They’re of age. At least, he is—I don’t know how old she is.”
“But I don’t . . . I’m just so scared. I don’t know how to act. What to say to them. I . . .”
“Okay, now—this is what you do. First thing, you go home and sit down with both Harville and VerDan and level with them about the calls and letters. And you ask VerDan to level with you, so you’ll know the truth. I hope he’ll give it to you. And then you and Harville counsel with him about the best options he has, assuming there is a pregnancy—which, I’ll admit, we don’t know for sure. Then, it’d be wonderful if you could have a prayer together, the three of you, before the girl and her mother arrive. When they do get there—well, you certainly know how to be a gracious hostess and how to make them feel comfortable. Because—keep in mind, LaThea—this just may be your future daughter-in-law, and you’ll want to make amends and get off on the best footing possible, if that’s the case. Otherwise, if she doesn’t like you—you might not see much of your son and grandchildren down the road.”
LaThea regarded him with a blank, horrified look. “I’ve—I’ve messed up, haven’t I?”
“We all mess up, from time to time. Let’s just be thankful for the possibilities of repentance and forgiveness. The Lord knows you meant well, and were trying to protect VerDan—and hopefully, VerDan himself will understand that, too. Now, you’d better hurry on home, LaThea—you have a lot to do.”
She stood, her fingertips resting on the edge of Mary Lynn’s desk. “Yes, I do, don’t I? But Bishop—one thin
g. You’ll be there, won’t you? At one o’clock, or a little before? Because I’m afraid I’ll mess things up even more, if you’re not!”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. I feel that this should be a private family occasion, don’t you? There’ll likely be a lot of very sensitive feelings expressed, and I’m not sure that I’d be of any use—”
“Yes, you would. You can make me see things straighter than anyone else—even Harville. He just—you know—keeps a stiff upper lip, and tries not to show emotion. Sometimes I call him my tin soldier! But I’d feel so much calmer if you were there, Bishop. You could—you know—kind of defuse the situation, if it gets too explosive. Please.”
He sighed. “All right. But only if Harville wants me there, too. He presides in your home. I’m not going to usurp his place.”
“He’ll be grateful to have another man there, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, one of you be sure to call me if he objects, all right? Otherwise, I’ll see you in a little while.”
* * *
He was still sitting at the desk, gazing unseeingly toward the floor, when Mary Lynn tiptoed back in.
“I saw that lady leave. She looked plumb frazzled. Is ever’thing okay?”
“Oh—sure. More or less. Here you go, Mary Lynn—sorry to kick you out of your place. Thanks for understanding. She just had a family problem she needed to run by me.”
“Got a family, got a family problem, is the way I see it.”
“They do crop up from time to time,” he agreed with a sigh.
“What’s with that kid you’ve got stockin’, out there? He a new employee? I hatn’t seen any paperwork on him.”
“No, I’m just keeping him busy this morning. I’ll pay him out of pocket. He’s a boy from my ward. Another family problem.”
“Well, he looks to be a good little worker.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s a quality kid, but so quiet he goes unnoticed a lot of the time.”
She sighed. “The quiet ones do.”
* * *
By a quarter to twelve, he still hadn’t heard a report from Tom or Lula, and he called home to see if Trish had received any word. She had not, so he checked with Rosetta McIntyre.
“Bishop, I’m glad you called. I was just going to call you. Thomas’s temperature is still down—in fact, it’s a little lower than normal, which they said was pretty common after a bout with a major infection. He still hasn’t woke up, but he’s starting to move a little bit, and kind of moan, which might mean he’s fixing to come to. The moaning really gets to Lula, but the nurses are tickled about it and see it as progress. I reckon that’s about all. Oh, and Lula’s sister is there, and she’s been a big help, bringing them food and magazines and clean clothes. She’s taken over at their house, now, so I don’t need to worry about the plants or the mail or anything. She sleeps there, and runs down to the hospital every day.”
“Rosetta, thank you so much for all you’ve done for Lula and Tom. You’ve been Johnny-on-the-spot ever since the accident, and I’m not sure what any of us would’ve done without you.”
“Well, I’m glad I was available, what with Ida Lou being out of town, and Frankie and Trish busy with young kids. My daughter Kellie rode with me down to the hospital a couple of times, and it was a good chance for us to talk. Not too many of those chances these days, with her away at college.”
“Have your kids gone back to school now?”
“Kellie flew out yesterday afternoon, and Kevin goes tomorrow. The nest’ll be empty, again.”
He hated the idea. “Is that hard to get used to?” he asked.
Rosetta chuckled. “At first. Then you kind of take to the peace and the freedom to go and do whatever you want or need to, and to eat whatever or whenever, or not at all—then all of a sudden, they’re back, wanting regular meals and your attention and your car—and their friends are in and out—and you find you’re exhausted, even though you love it. So there are pluses and minuses, I s’pose. Anyway, you’ve got a ways to go before you’re there!”
“Right. Although I’m already dreading the time when Tiffani goes off to school.”
“Well, maybe she’ll do what Kellie did. By the time she actually left, she’d gotten so ornery and out of sorts that I was almost glad to see the back of her. I know now it was just nerves and excitement, but it was a rough patch for both of us.”
“You know, maybe Tiffi’s working on that angle already,” he said. “She can get so emotional and defensive all of a sudden, when I least expect it.”
“Trish said pretty much the same thing, the other day. But girls are just that way. Easier, usually, when they’re small, than little boys, but harder to deal with in the long run. And way more high-maintenance!”
“Beginning to notice that, too,” the bishop agreed. He said goodbye and went to warm up his tortilla soup. It was good, sometimes, to talk to someone who’d been through the parenting mill and survived. And Rosetta had done it on her own, having been a widow since her children were in fourth and sixth grades. Admirable.
* * *
He paid Buddy for the hours he’d put in and promised him a summer job if he wanted one. He also made him choose something he’d like to take home to eat, laughing when the boy picked a box of chocolate-flavored cereal.
“It’s way good, Bishop, you oughta try it,” Buddy advised. “A body gets tired of oatmeal ever’ mornin’. That’s all Deddy makes. Mama, she don’t make breakfast, but she favors granola and gritty bran stuff. This’ll be a treat!”
“Happy to oblige.”
* * *
It was ten to one when he pulled up in front of the Winslow home—a gracious brick and stucco place with a front courtyard effect that reminded him of places he’d seen in Arizona when they had visited Trish’s parents. He bowed his head for one more quick prayer before throwing himself to the wolves, emotionally speaking, that he suspected were lying in wait for them all.
He had hoped beyond hope that his phone would ring—that Brother Harville Winslow would feel that the bishop’s presence wasn’t needed at this confrontation—but that good brother opened the door to him with a look of obvious relief. Harville closed the door, and the two men stood in the entryway.
“Good of you to come, Bishop,” he said. “Not quite sure what we’re up against here, but we’ll hope that cool heads prevail. The womenfolk are likely to be a little . . . you know . . .” He flapped his hands by his face to indicate his meaning. The bishop nodded deeply.
“Have the two of you had a chance to sit down with VerDan and discuss this?” he asked.
Harville closed his eyes briefly. “Oh, yes. It seems LaThea’s been trying to protect the boy from being bothered by this girl. Always been a little on the overprotective side, you know, with VerDan especially. Maybe because he’s the youngest, I don’t know. So we don’t really know what’s coming down the pike. Says she didn’t read any of the letters—just consigned them to the round file, as they say.”
“How did VerDan react to that?”
“Didn’t say much, actually. To tell the truth, I think the boy’s scared spitless. You might say reality reared up and slapped him in the face, just when he thought he was safe.”
“Well. Yes, that would be unsettling. What’re your feelings on the subject of a possible pregnancy, if that’s what this is about?”
“A young man needs to take responsibility, if that’s the case. Depends, of course, on what the young lady has in mind, too. Whether she’s planning to keep the child, or adopt it out.”
“Right. And on how she and VerDan really feel about each other.”
Harville shook his head. “So young. What do they know? Hormones going crazy, they think they’re in love—and tomorrow it’s all different. Don’t know about you, Bishop, but I wouldn’t want to go through that age again, myself. Well, come on—let’s go sit down for a minute’s peace before the war breaks out.”
Chapter Eight
* * *
“
. . . all our follies, Lord, forgive”
The opposing forces arrived as expected. At the sound of two car doors slamming, LaThea pressed her hand against her chest, and VerDan’s head, which had been hanging low, jerked up. He sat slumped on a piano bench, knees spread apart and elbows resting on them. Gone was the jaunty confidence he had exhibited in his prior interviews with the bishop.
“Stand up like a man,” his father snapped as he went to answer the bell. VerDan dragged himself to his feet with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man bound for the gallows. LaThea cleared her throat and stepped forward, arranging her face in an expression that her bishop assumed was meant to be polite and curious.
There was a murmur from the hallway, and then Harville ushered the two women into the room. The bishop stood back, taking the opportunity to study them. He was especially interested in observing the young woman’s attitude toward VerDan. She was a slight figure in a black leather coat over jeans and a turtleneck. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face, though attractive, was pale. She looked thoroughly miserable.
She flicked her brown gaze quickly toward VerDan. “Hey, Dan,” she said softly.
“Beth,” he acknowledged, also in a low voice.
The mother was short, like her daughter, but carried considerably more weight. Her cheeks were very pink, and her eyes, also brown, looked around at the collection of people with interest. She appeared, to the bishop, to have the absolutely fearless aspect of a woman who knew she was in the right.
“Nina Pearson,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand to LaThea, who pressed the fingers lightly.
“LaThea Winslow,” she said, and cleared her throat again. “You met my husband, and this is our bishop, James Shepherd.”
Nina Pearson gave his hand a firm shake, and the young lady offered a rather limp one. Her hand was icy.
“Bishop,” the mother acknowledged. “Good to meet you. My daughter Bethany. And you’re Dan, of course,” she said, holding out a hand to VerDan.
“It’s VerDan,” LaThea corrected almost automatically.
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