“I’m that obvious, am I?”
Tiffani snorted. “You’re that repetitious! But if anybody really wants to know what I think about the whole wedding thing, I’ll tell you. I thought it was sick and sad and wrong.”
“Oh, come on, Tiff—don’t hold back. Tell us what you really think,” her father teased.
“Sick, sick, sick. So VerDan got her pregnant. Well, whoop-de-do! How come we all had to get dressed up and celebrate the fact that he had to marry her? If that was me, I’d be so embarrassed I’d sneak off and get married by a judge or something, and never show my face in public again! Especially around my parents’ friends and ward members.”
“I understand those feelings,” Trish said. “It sure isn’t the happiest way to do things, is it? It’s all backwards. And so many couples are taking that route, these days. Not getting married, I mean, until a baby’s on the way . . . or already here. Getting the carriage before the marriage, or something. I mean, even apart from the moral issue, which is huge—it’s just a much harder way to get started in marriage and family life.”
“You know what? I could hardly stand to look at him,” Tiffani said, frowning. “And I used to think he was so cute. Gross!”
“I admit I feel a certain relief that he’s married and out of circulation in the ward,” Trish agreed. “I never did like the way all you girls fawned on him.”
“I never fawned. I do not fawn,” Tiffani stated. “Lisa Lou fawns, not me.”
“Well, it’s true she’s a little ‘deer,’” her father commented.
“Oh, Dad—that’s pure corn,” Tiffani objected, but she smiled in spite of herself.
“Sorry—it runs in my family,” he told her. “I’ve gotta say, though—I do think there were some things worth celebrating tonight. Other than the fact that the young ladies of the ward are safe from VerDan, I mean. For one thing, a family was created. True, it had a rocky start, but if those kids truly repent and progress as I hope they will, it has the potential of becoming an eternal unit. And for once, VerDan stepped up and did the right thing. Also, now that perfectly innocent little baby boy will have a mom and a dad, not to mention a chance at life, rather than having been aborted somewhere along the way—which fortunately doesn’t seem to have ever been an option with the mother, but still—those are things to celebrate.”
“I guess,” Tiffani agreed reluctantly. “But I’ll tell you what—seeing that girl getting married with her tummy out to here . . .” She demonstrated. “That made me more determined than ever to be married in the temple, and not to do anything stupid along the way to mess up. Oh, well, I’m beat—I’m heading for bed.”
They knelt around the hassock for a brief family prayer, the younger two long since having been tucked in by a babysitter, then Tiffani headed upstairs.
“Thanks, honey, for helping with the refreshments, in spite of how you felt,” her mother called after her.
“S’okay,” Tiffani rejoined. “I did that for you more than for them.”
The bishop looked at his wife. “I reckon kids can learn from negative examples, sometimes,” he said.
She pushed her dark hair away from her face and stretched. “I hope the lesson lingers.”
“Me, too. LaThea seemed to hold up pretty well, didn’t she?”
“I think she’s still numb, and in shock. This was quite a blow to her pride. But in the end, she put her party face on and braved it through. Harville was just his usual stoic, polite self. VerDan, on the other hand, seemed really happy, didn’t he?”
“M-hmm. I think he’s euphoric from finally doing the right thing in a situation that’s been bothering him for a long time, even though he didn’t fully know why. Plus, I think he does care for the girl—and she for him. I just hope they’ll let that love grow, and not dwindle, when the tough times come—which they’ll start to do by about next Tuesday, with all the challenges those kids’ll be facing.”
“I think it’s good that they don’t plan to live with parents, on either side.”
“Oh, I do, too. And I hope Sister Pearson and the Winslows all understood my intent in advising the couple to cleave to each other and to turn to the Lord for help, and not rely on their parents to solve all their problems.”
“I hope they did, too. Well, at least the kids’ll have a nicer wedding memory than they would have had with a judge or a justice of the peace. And LaThea can feel good that she gave them at least a bit of a party.”
“I was glad for the way the ward pitched in and helped. Especially you, Sister Bishop.”
“My pleasure, Bishop dear. It’s sure sweet of Ida Lou to promise to make them a wedding quilt—and to collect for the ward gift, with such short notice. Did you hear how much it came to?”
“About two hundred and twenty-five dollars, I think. And then I’m sure Harville and LaThea will add their bit.”
“I’ll bet they’ll be adding a lot, for a while. LaThea’s not one to let her kids struggle too much.”
* * *
Saturday morning, many of the same people who had helped at the wedding met again at the ward meetinghouse to welcome five new members of the Church on the occasion of their baptisms. The font was filled and the participants, dressed in white, sat on the front row of the chairs set up in front of the font. The bishop had met the baptismal candidates and taken a few minutes to get acquainted with them. The Kress family, youngish parents with a ten-year-old daughter, Abigail, and an eight-year-old son, Josh, seemed nervous but excited at the prospect of their baptism.
The fifth candidate, Billy Newton, was sixteen years old, and a friend of Lisa Lou Pope, who sat beside him, beaming and giving little waves to people as they came in. Billy’s parents had declined to attend the service, being somewhat put out that their son had made the decision to join this church rather than the Presbyterian one that they occasionally attended. The bishop was impressed with Billy; for once, he agreed with Lisa Lou’s assessment that the boy was “nice enough to be a Mormon already.” Who would have thought that flighty, boy-crazy Lisa Lou could serve as a missionary? He hoped the young man was truly converted to the Lord and His gospel rather than to the girl. He supposed time would tell.
As Sister Tullis played soft hymns on the piano, he bowed his head and offered a silent prayer for the five people who would enter the waters of baptism—that they would understand and take seriously the covenant they were entering into, and that they would find fellowship and joy with the Saints and continue to progress in knowledge and faith.
He loved baptismal services, enjoyed the sweet spirit that attended them, and loved to see the Church grow. He only wished there could have been one more little person dressed in white. Tashia Jones wanted so badly to be baptized—but so far, her grandmother, who was her guardian (and the bishop’s fifth-grade teacher), hadn’t seen fit to give her permission. He included Tashia and Mrs. Martha Ruckman in his silent prayer.
* * *
After lunch, the bishop piled the whole family into the car and drove up to visit Sister Hazel Buzbee, to see how she was faring in the winter cold. They took her a roast chicken from the rotisserie at the store and a package of dinner rolls.
“I feel bad I haven’t had time to make her anything,” Trish fretted. “But maybe it’s just as well, considering how she received my first effort!”
Her husband laughed, remembering the sweet-potato pie Trish had so carefully prepared, and its rejection by Sister Buzbee for insufficient nutmeg. “Honey, that was the best sweet-potato pie I ever ate,” he told her.
“Good thing you liked it,” she replied, grinning. “Else I’m sure her old hound dog would have had a treat.”
“She’s got a dog?” Jamie asked.
“She does,” his dad replied, “and I think it’s about as old as she is.”
“Does she got a cat?” inquired Mallory.
“Yep. But I don’t think it’s used to little girls, so don’t try to pick it up, okay?”
“How far out does she live?” demanded T
iffani. “We’re already past the back of beyond!” The bishop’s eldest was predictably annoyed at giving up her Saturday afternoon for a family drive to visit an elderly woman she’d never met.
“So far that she practically never goes anywhere,” her dad responded. “When I first came to visit her, she scared me half to death with an old shotgun she carries around.”
“No way! Was she gonna shoot you, Dad?” asked Jamie.
“No, the gun wasn’t loaded. It’s just her way of scaring off insurance salesmen and other strangers. Actually, she used to know your Grandma Shepherd, back when we all first joined the Church. That was when we used to hold our meetings upstairs in the social hall of the Fairhaven BBB, downtown. You know that old brick building, next to Sears?”
“Is BBB anything like KKK?” asked Trish, smiling. “Or is it the Better Business Bureau?”
“Not the first, thankfully, but kind of like the second. It stands for Brotherhood of Business Boosters. Just local businessmen who had a kind of ‘good old boy’ network going. I think my dad belonged, for a while. Maybe that’s why they let the Church use their hall on Sundays. Not that Dad ever attended our meetings, himself. It was amazing, when you think about it, how strongly we could feel the Spirit under those circumstances. I used to go early with the missionaries sometimes, and we’d sweep up the cigarette butts and ashes and throw away the beer bottles so we could set up for church.”
“That’s gross,” Tiffani said. “Why didn’t they clean up after themselves?”
“Oh, they had a janitor, but he didn’t work on Sunday. He came in on Monday. I expect he was grateful for our help.”
“But didn’t it stink?” Tiffani pursued.
“First thing we did was throw open the windows—even in winter,” her dad replied. “Sometimes we froze through Sunday school, until the building could warm up again.” He chuckled. “I think we must’ve had a special bunch of extra-bold missionaries to be brave enough to invite investigators to a place like that. And there were so few of us—sometimes only ten or fifteen, at first.”
“Yuck. I don’t think I could’ve felt the Spirit there.”
“You know, there’s a scripture that applies, Tiffi,” Trish said.
“There always is,” agreed Tiffani in an exaggeratedly patient voice.
“Well, this one’s in Matthew, as I recall, and it’s Jesus speaking, saying, ‘where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’ So I think we don’t have to have a big congregation or a nice chapel. The Spirit can be present in a tiny hut in Guatemala or a hogan in New Mexico or in the social hall of the BBB, or wherever—as long as the people gathered there are sincere and want to worship the Lord.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember—we read that one in seminary,” Tiffani agreed. “But I’m still glad we have a nice chapel, with no cigarette butts to sweep out.”
“Me, too, Tiff. Me, too,” agreed her father. “Although I’ve gotta say, those were sweet days.”
* * *
Hazel Buzbee was delighted with their visit and passed a package of Fig Newtons around to the children, bending to peer into each face to see them better.
“Well, this here’s a fine crop of young’uns, Bishop,” she pronounced loudly. “Now, y’all have another cookie, all right? I can have my neighbor get me some more. These here are real good to keep a body reg’lar, now that I don’t have my fresh collard greens to do the job. I do hate to be bound up.”
The bishop didn’t dare look at any of his family. “Are you keeping warm this winter, Sister Buzbee? How’d you fare during that big snow? I worried about you.”
“Oh, I was fine and dandy. My good neighbor come down with that blade-thing on the front of his truck and plowed a path to the house, and made sure my chimbley flue was open—and his little wife cleared off the porch steps for me, but I didn’t hardly poke my nose out for a day or so. I brung my critters inside, and my kitty slept against my back, and ol’ Buster here, he kept my feet warm for about half the night, then went to stretch out by the door with his nose to the crack. Liked the fresh air, I reckon.”
“What’s your kitty’s name?” asked Mallory.
“What’s that, honey? I don’t hear good.”
Mallory repeated her question, and then Trish did too, with added volume.
“Oh, she’s just kitty. I didn’t never give her a name. Would you like to give her one, sweetheart?”
“My kitty’s named Samantha. I’ll think of a good name for yours, okay?”
“All right, baby. I swanny, y’all are good to me, to drive clear out here and bring me this chicken! You’ll purely spoil me, ’tween you and that Miss Ida Lou. She shore is a nice woman.”
“She sure is,” Trish agreed warmly. “She’s a wonderful Relief Society president.”
“Relief Society, you say?” shouted Hazel. “I ’member I used to like that meetin’.” Didn’t always understand the lessons, ’specially them culture ’finement ones, but I liked bein’ with other women. All of us believers, you know.”
“I don’t even remember those lessons, but my mom used to talk about them,” Trish told her. “Now we have lessons from a different Church president each year.” She looked around. “Do you have a tape recorder?”
“A what, honey?”
“A tape recorder.”
“No, no, all I’ve got’s a radio. Wouldn’t know what to do with one of them gadgets.”
“It’s real easy to work. We could send you tapes of the Relief Society lessons to listen to, if you wanted.”
“Oh, I ’spect I’m too old and ornery to learn how to use it. Likely I’d break it or something.”
“You know, a tape recorder’s a real good idea,” the bishop said. “Maybe we could even tape some sacrament meeting talks for you, too. Bring a little church to you, since you can’t get in, that often.”
“Wal—reckon I could try. Think I could hear it?”
“Sure, you could turn it up real loud, like your radio. It wouldn’t bother anybody out here.”
Hazel Buzbee cackled. “Reckon not,” she agreed. “’Ceptin’ old Buster and kitty. How ’bout it, baby doll—you got a name for kitty, yet?”
“I think her name should be Stormcloud, ’cause that’s what color she is.”
“Say what, honey? You got you such a little bitty voice.”
Mallory stepped close to Hazel and shouted in her ear. “Stormcloud! Maybe Stormy, for short.”
Hazel hugged the little girl and kissed her forehead. “Stormy it is!” She looked at Trish, her eyes growing misty. “Been such a long time sinc’t I held a little one,” she said. “A body fergits how soft and sweet they be.”
Trish nodded.
“Dad, can I ask her about—you know?” Jamie asked softly, nodding toward the back door. His father nodded, and Jamie stood up and leaned over to say loudly, “Sister Buzbee, can I see your shotgun?”
She laughed again. “My old blunderbuss? Shore. It was my daddy’s, and I don’t reckon it’d even shoot anymore, but it’s scared off more than one troublesome sort.” She stood up and took the old gun from its place by the back door. “Serves me as a walkin’ stick and a snake-discourager sometimes, too.” She offered the butt end to Jamie, who sagged under the weight of the weapon.
“Whoa, it’s heavy!”
“Yessir, it’s made for a man. Here, looky.” She broke the action open and showed the boy where the shells should go and how to look down the barrel. “You just remember that guns ain’t toys, sonny. All right? They’re meant to discourage varmints, two-legged or four-legged.”
Jamie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He handed the gun back to her. “That’s cool.”
“Been a good friend to me. Didn’t scare off your daddy, though, not that I’m callin’ him a varmint. He kept comin’ back, even though I told him I drink coffee. I still do,” she said in the bishop’s direction.
“All right,” he said mildly. “Could I read you a scripture or two befo
re we go, Sister Buzbee?”
“Land, ain’t nobody called me Sister Buzbee for so long! It sounds right sweet to me. Yessir, please read me a scripture—only not that one about no hot drinks.”
The bishop grinned. He read a passage or two about love from the New Testament, including John 14:15: “ . . . if ye love me, keep my commandments.” Then he turned to Moroni, chapter ten, and read, “And again I would exhort you that ye would come unto Christ, and lay hold upon every good gift, and touch not the evil gift, nor the unclean thing. . . . Yea, come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness . . . and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ; and if by the grace of God ye are perfect in Christ, ye can in nowise deny the power of God.”
He paused and took a deep breath. It was tiring and went against his grain to read the word of God at such a decibel level. Then he asked if they could have a prayer and who she would like to give it.
“Wal, I’d like that young lady, thar—ain’t heard a peep outa her the whole time you been here,” Hazel said, pointing to Tiffani.
“Me?” asked Tiffani, looking dumbfounded.
“Sure,” encouraged her father in a whisper. “Just bless Sister Buzbee to be safe and well and so forth, and do it loud.”
“Okay,” she said doubtfully, and stood with her arms folded. “Heavenly Father, we’re thankful for this day, and the chance to come see Sister Buzbee. We ask thee to please bless her to be safe and well and protected from harm and evil of all kinds. We pray she’ll be able to use the tape recorder, if she gets one, and to learn more about the gospel. Please help her to feel thy love for her. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” they all echoed, including Hazel, who stood and enfolded Tiffani in a warm embrace.
“That’s the sweetest prayer I ever heard said, especial for this old sinner,” she said, her voice quavery. “Thank you, darlin’.”
“You’re welcome,” said Tiffani, whose voice was quavery, too. “Heavenly Father does love you, Sister Buzbee. He let me feel that while I was praying.”
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