“Well.” Hazel wiped her eyes with the tail of the flannel shirt she wore over her housedress. “Reckon I love Him back.”
Trish Shepherd looked at her husband and exchanged a small smile with him. “Two or three gathered together,” she whispered, and he nodded.
Chapter Ten
* * *
“ . . . as testimony fills my heart”
His stomach growled as he reviewed the agenda for the nine o’clock ward council meeting. He had thought he was getting pretty good at this fasting business, and he was dismayed to find distinct hunger pangs already making themselves felt so early in the day. If this kept up, he’d be ready to gnaw the desk by four or five o’clock!
“Hush up,” he told his complaining gut. “You’ll get fed when I say so, and not before. I’m in charge, here. After all, one of the things we’re here to do is to learn to control our appetites and passions.”
The door to the clerk’s office opened, then swiftly closed again, as Brother MacMillan heard the bishop’s voice.
“Hey, Dan,” he called. “It’s okay. Come on in.”
“Sorry, sir. Were you praying? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The bishop felt his neck reddening. “No, I wasn’t praying. I was just talking to myself—or at least, to a part of myself. Telling my stomach to stop growling.”
Dan smiled politely. “Does it do any good to issue an order? I might try that.”
“I’ll let you know. What’s up?”
“Just wondered if the agenda covers everything, or if there’s something you’d like to add.”
“It looks pretty comprehensive. I think I’ll give Lula a call and see what the latest is on Thomas.” He looked longingly at his desk phone, then reached for his cell phone. On his wireless plan, Birmingham wasn’t long-distance.
Lula, when she came on the line, sounded more cheerful than he’d heard her for what seemed a long time.
“Bishop? Guess what—my boy squoze my hand today when I asked him to! He hatn’t opened his eyes yet, but ever’body here says he’s close to it. And it makes me feel bad, but they had to restrain his good arm ’cause he was tryin’ to pull at his ventilator and his IV tube. So I know he’s feelin’ somethin’, and I know he can understand us. We’re doin’ a lot of talkin’ to him now, real positive, encouragin’ things, so he’ll know it’s safe to wake up.”
“You’ve been doing that all along,” he reminded her. “It’d be interesting to know how much he’s been aware of, on some level. Maybe he’ll tell you, one of these days.”
“Oh, Bishop, I sure hope so. It’s lookin’ to me like maybe he’s made his choice to stay here and live, don’t you think?”
“It looks more and more like that every day,” he agreed, hoping he was speaking the truth. It would be cruel for Lula and Tom to get their hopes so high, only to have them shattered.
“I’ll come down and visit again real soon. And we’re all still praying for Thomas, and I know many of us are fasting again for him, today.”
“Oh, that’s right, it’s Fast Sunday, idn’ it? I plumb forgot, what with ever’thing here. The days just sort of run together. But did you know I slept home, last night? My sis talked me into it, and she stayed there with me so if Tom called we could jump up and head right back down here. I didn’t think I would sleep, but I tell you what, I was out like a light.”
“I’m glad. You needed that. Well, I’ve got a meeting in just a minute, but I wanted to be able to report on Thomas, and I’m so grateful the news is positive.”
* * *
After the opening prayer, the Kress family and Billy Newton were confirmed members of the Church, and the bishop warmly welcomed them into the ward family. The Kresses went to sit on the third row, and Billy went to sit with Lisa Lou Pope and her family. Lisa Lou smiled radiantly at him, and he blushed.
About a third of the way through the testimony-bearing, much to the bishop’s surprise, LaThea Winslow stood and approached the stand. He couldn’t recall that LaThea had voluntarily done this in the months he had known her. Her voice, when she spoke, was rather more subdued than usual, and he noticed her hands were trembling.
“Brothers and sisters,” she began, “I need to express my gratitude both to you and to our good bishop and to my Heavenly Father today. I appreciate so much all the generous help and encouragement we’ve received with our son’s rather sudden decision to marry. You know I like things to be nice and done right, and you all helped to make his wedding a memorable and pleasant occasion, and I’m grateful for that.
“You know, I’ve discovered something in myself during this last week that I didn’t know was there, and that’s a wide streak of pride. Not the good kind of pride that we sometimes call self-respect, but the kind that makes us think we know best in a lot of things, and that we have the right to control matters—or people—any way we can. I need to confess that sin to you, today, and ask your forgiveness—and yours, Bishop—and my Father in Heaven’s, especially. I . . .” She paused for a moment, helped herself to a tissue from the box under the podium, and blew her nose delicately.
“This is really hard for me to say. Sometimes I’ve felt, since we moved here, that I was misplaced. That because I grew up in Salt Lake City, in the shadow of Church headquarters, so to speak, that I knew more about how things should be run than most people here ever could know. I felt that my pioneer heritage set me apart from those who were new in the Church and just beginning to understand the gospel and the history we have. I even thought that because my older children grew up and served missions and married well, in the temple, that it should follow as a matter of course that my youngest son would do the same thing. When it didn’t look like he was headed along that path, I tried to force things.
“My good husband, to give him credit, tried to stop me from making a fool of myself, but I was determined to push VerDan out on a mission even though he wasn’t worthy or ready or even much inclined to go. Thankfully . . .” She turned to glance at Bishop Shepherd, seated behind her, and pressed the tissue to her nose again. “Thankfully, we have an inspired bishop who had the discernment to know VerDan wasn’t ready to serve, and to stand up to me in my demands, which isn’t always easy.”
There was a small chuckle from a few people, but most were raptly attentive, knowing that LaThea was baring her soul, probably for the first time ever. The bishop glanced at his wife, who was giving LaThea a small, encouraging smile and also plying a hanky. He looked at Harville, who sat ramrod straight, gazing at his wife with what the bishop suspected was a new respect.
“When this ward was formed,” LaThea continued, “I even had the nerve to approach Bishop Shepherd and let him know that I thought I’d make a good Relief Society president.” She smiled tearfully at Ida Lou Reams. “Sisters, aren’t you grateful that he didn’t believe me—that he relied on inspiration in that calling? I mean, could we have a sweeter, humbler, harder-working president than Ida Lou? So I need to ask everyone’s forgiveness for my pride and stubborn bullheadedness because I can see now that’s what it is. I’m going to try hard to be different from now on, but I’ve had fifty-five years of prideful living, and I know I’ll slip, so please just whisper to me, ‘LaThea, your pride’s showing,’ or ‘you’re doing it again,’ and I promise I’ll try to change. I’m afraid I’ve been one of those ‘Utah Mormons’ you hear about that give those folks a bad name in some places, and that’s not fair, because Utah has lots of good, humble Church members who don’t behave the way I’ve been doing. I do love my Heavenly Father, and I do know that Jesus is our Savior. I’ve been humbled by the realization of how quickly and unexpectedly our lives can change.”
She closed her testimony and returned to her seat. Harville didn’t look at her but reached an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. For a few minutes, no one stood to speak, as if they were all assimilating what they had just heard. Then Ida Lou made her way to the stand.
“Now, brothers and sisters, you all know my w
eaknesses, on account of they’re plenty plain to see,” she said. “But dear Sister Winslow, you need to know how much I admire you for your talents and your education. It’s just a wonder, the parties and programs you put on for the ward, and you can take real satisfaction in that. And don’t you worry about your boy—he stepped up and done the right thing by that nice young lady, and I reckon you’re gonna have a little family there that you can be proud of.
“Or . . . ” She stopped in confusion. “Y’all know what I mean. Not proud, like—I reckon ‘grateful for’ is better. You know, we don’t all grow up the same, at the same speed, I mean—and it just takes longer for some young’uns to take hold of the gospel and learn to live by it. We’re all still tryin’ to do that, if you think about it. Main thing is, I think, that we love the Lord and know Jesus is our Savior, and I want to bear testimony that I do that, and that I’m so very thankful that I can go to the temple, now, and take part in what happens there. It’s such a sweet blessing, and I hope I’ll always be grateful for it. I hope and pray that someday my good husband, Barker, will take hold and see what the gospel could do for him, but for now I’m just glad to be a-goin’, even if I’m by my lonesome. Now, Lord bless each and every one of you, and I say these things in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.”
Little Tashia Jones, who had been teetering on the front row, scooted up to the stand and leaned over to whisper to the bishop, “Is it okay for me to bear my testimony, even though I’m not baptized?”
“It sure is,” he told her with a smile.
She stepped up and pulled the microphone down to her level. Her many braids, with their vari-colored elastics, bobbed with her excitement.
“Hey, brothers and sisters. The bishop says I can bear my testimony to y’all, even though I haven’t been baptized, yet—’cause my grandma hasn’t given permission. But I’ve wanted to join the Church for a long time, and I’m real glad she lets me come, instead of going to her church where the minister is real educated and real long-winded when he preaches, and I don’t get more’n half of what he says. But I like how things are done here, better, and I have a testimony that this is Jesus’s true church, brought back to earth through Joseph Smith. I know that because when I read the little book the missionaries left at our house a couple of years ago, I did what it said, and prayed to know if it was true, and I got a real strong, warm, good feeling all over me, like nothing I’d ever felt before. I told Grandma, and she said I could come to visit one of your meetings if I wanted to, and see what I thought. She said I might not be welcome, ’cause there aren’t very many black Mormons around here, but I always felt welcome.
“So I came in and sat down, and people were nice to me. Somebody handed me a hymn book, and somebody else asked me my name, and showed me where to go to Primary. My teacher there was Sister Spendlove, and she was so sweet to me, and taught me so much about the scriptures that I’d never known. I hated when she had to move away. Then I had Sister Padgett the next year, and she’s been real nice, too. I love Jesus—I always did, even before I came here, ’cause my grandma’s a good Christian lady, and she taught me about Him. And I feel close to Him, here, and that’s why I come. Um . . . thank you. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen!” echoed the bishop and reached to shake Tashia’s hand as she passed by to return to her seat. His heart swelled with affection for the little girl, and again, he sent up a prayer to know what might be done to persuade Mrs. Martha Ruckman to allow Tashia to be baptized. There was another quiet spell, and then Doctor Scott Lanier suddenly stood and hurried to the front, as though he might think better of it if he delayed. He cleared his throat and ran one hand over his thinning but impeccably groomed hair.
“I would like to bear my testimony of the truthfulness and efficacy of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I’m grateful for the knowledge and the testimony I have, and I pray it can always remain strong. That it will, is something I used to take for granted, but because of events in my own household this last year, I no longer do. I understand now that testimonies, like love, need to be nurtured along the way and expressed.
“Most of you are aware, I know, that this last year has not been a very happy one for me. My wife, Marybeth, has chosen to have her name removed from the rolls of the Church, and in fact, informs me that she no longer even believes in a Supreme Being. She has decided that all religions are manmade, and that people of strong mind and will have no need to rely on such superstition. She regards herself as enlightened and freed from pressure to conform, and she fully expects that in process of time I’ll mature to the point that I’ll follow suit.”
He bowed his head in an effort to control his emotions. “I fervently hope and pray that I will never ‘mature’ in that direction. I love my wife, and it breaks my heart to see her take this stance, and throw away all that I cherish and hold dear with regard to the Savior and our hope for eternal families. I can’t even begin to comprehend her thinking process, and I feel that I’ve aged ten years in the last ten or so months. I wasn’t anymore dismayed by the collapse of the towers in New York and the Pentagon than I’ve been by this collapse of all I’ve hoped for. But I’m so very grateful to our good bishopric and stake presidency and my priesthood leaders, and all of you good people for the support and encouragement you’ve given me.
“I don’t know what the end of all this will be, but I hope for the best, and I know the Lord is aware of me and my situation. I feel His love and His comfort extended to me daily, and without that, I can’t imagine what life would be. I bear testimony that He lives, that He hears our prayers and answers them—though not always when and how we think is best, but according to His own infinite wisdom and understanding.”
After Brother Lanier sat down, Sam Wright stood to announce the closing hymn and prayer. Bishop Shepherd found he had a hard time singing, so he just mouthed the words. He thought how, a year ago, he would have listened to the testimonies of ward members with a degree of sympathy and understanding, but what a change had been wrought in him since that time! He now felt intimately involved with each one, and attuned to their needs and their situations as never before. He felt a love and responsibility for them that was superseded only by the love and responsibility he had toward his own family. No wonder, he thought, the bishop is often referred to as the father of the ward.
* * *
He peeked into the chapel a few minutes after the third hour and was relieved to see a fair number of people occupying the choir seats. Sister DeNeuve was passing around hymnals, and Sisters Tullis and Patrenko were settling themselves at the organ and piano respectively. He would have joined them, but he had several settings apart and one interview to take care of.
* * *
At dinner late that afternoon, he rejoiced in the opportunity to relax and be with his family while they enjoyed Trish’s baked beef stew and homemade rolls. Her willingness to cook good meals for the family was a trait he appreciated, and his comments to the children about having married her for her meatloaf and lemon icebox pie, while teasing, had a basis in truth. As she reminded him, he had never tasted her cooking before they were married, but he had been pleasantly surprised at the quality of it. Her mother was a good cook and had taught her daughters well. On days such as this, having been fasting for more than twenty-four hours, his hunger-sharpened appreciation was greater than ever.
“Oh, I had a call from Miz Hestelle when I got home from church,” Trish remarked. “She seems to think we’re getting new neighbors next door.”
“Is that right?” Hestelle Pierce lived west of them, but the house on the east side had been vacant for a couple of years. It belonged to an elderly man who had gone to live with his daughter in hopes of being able to recuperate from a kidney disease and come back to his home. “So it’s not Mr. Jenkins coming back? Or some of his family?”
“I guess not. Renters, Miz Hestelle said. I didn’t even know the place was up for rent. She said Margery Roane talked to Mr. Jenkins’s d
aughter last week when she was over there cleaning out his personal effects. The daughter said he’s doing pretty well, for his age, but can’t live on his own anymore, so he’s just going to stay on with her, and they’ll rent the place furnished. I guess they must have advertised the place in the paper or something because I sure haven’t seen a sign up.”
“Neither have I. The only people I’ve seen there are the usual crew they hired to come in and keep the place up. Well, that’s too bad, about Mr. Jenkins. Nice old fellow—I was hoping maybe he’d get to come back for a while.”
“I don’t know him,” said Mallory. “Do I?”
“Sure you do,” replied Jamie. “Remember? He used to give you peaches from his tree, ’cause he said you had a peaches-and-cream complexion.”
Mallory shook her head. “What does that mean?”
Her mother smiled at her. “Means you have pretty skin and rosy cheeks. You were probably too young to remember.”
“He didn’t give me peaches,” Tiffani said darkly. “He gave me what-for when my friends and I played our music, out in our own backyard.”
“Well, he probably wasn’t feeling well, and needed to rest,” soothed her mother. “Anyway, it looks like we’ll be having neighbors on that side, again, so let’s all be sure to be nice and make them feel welcome.”
* * *
Jamie was laboring through a lesson on choosing to act as Jesus would at their Monday family home evening when the phone rang.
“Excuse me,” his dad whispered, removing Mallory from his lap and setting her in his vacant chair. He thought the call might be from the Rexfords, or someone else who needed his attention, and he answered it at his desk. It was a youthful male voice, asking for Tiffani.
“Tiffani’s busy with a family activity right now,” he replied. “Can she call you back, or would you like to try again in about an hour?”
“I’ll call back,” the voice promised.
“And your name is . . . ?” prompted the bishop, knowing Tiffani would ask.
Through Cloud and Sunshine Page 11