“Sounds good to me. Right now, I’m just enjoying finding out who I am, again. And mothering Andi the way I’ve always longed to.”
“Sounds good. And how do you feel about staying in Primary? Jack can’t tell you what calling you’re allowed to accept, anymore.”
“You know, I still love my little class. I’m probably better off there than in Relief Society, right now, because all those wonderful lessons about eternal marriage and families and the temple really make me hurt inside. I’d have to pick and choose which ones I went to according to what I thought I could stand. I s’pose I’m not very brave. I’m sorry.”
“That’s understandable. We’ll leave you where you are, then. How are you doing financially?”
“Well, Jack’s been coming through with the house payments and child support, so at least he’s reliable that way. And I have my little part-time job. Sometimes I’d like to move to a smaller place, but I know I shouldn’t do anything hasty or stupid, financially. I mean, nothing’s decided, yet, about our marriage, so I’ll just stay put, even though the memories there are not the best.”
“Sister Padgett, I happen to think you’re very brave—and it sounds as though you’re being very cautious and thoughtful about your decisions. Please know that the Lord is mindful of you, and that we are, too—and that we stand ready to help you, any way we can.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve already helped me more than I deserved, the way I treated you when I thought you were the one responsible for Andi being taken from me. I won’t forget how kind and patient you were.”
He shrugged. “The fact is, things might’ve come to the point that I would have had to report Jack’s behavior, and the same thing might have resulted. Your day-care lady just beat me to it. And if not one of us, eventually someone else would have done the same. It was becoming apparent that you and Andi needed help. We might not totally agree with the way the family services folks went about it, but at least they’re interested in Andi’s welfare.”
She nodded. “I know. But that sure was a bitter pill to swallow.”
“For me, too. But that part’s behind you, now, and it sounds like Andi’s responding to your love and understanding. I’ll let you get back to her. But, Melody—never, ever hesitate to call us, any time, if you need anything at all, including a blessing. All right?”
She stood, and the bishop helped her put on her coat. “Don’t worry, Bishop,” she said with a small smile. “I doubt you’ve seen the last of us, yet.”
As she left the office, he thought about that small smile, very different from the one that used to be plastered across Melody’s attractive face so continually. At least, this one was genuine.
* * *
Tiffani was seated at the kitchen table frowning at her calculator when he let himself in. Samantha the cat lay sprawled across Tiffani’s math book, taking her usual interest in whatever was going on.
“Evening, Tiff. Oh, hey—let’s not allow the cat on the table. You know how Mom feels about that.”
Tiffani frowned harder and punched a few more buttons. Finally she sighed and wrote down an answer on her paper. “It’s not so much a matter of letting her on the table. It’s a matter of finding a way to keep her down. I’ve taken her off about a dozen times, and she, like, thinks it’s a game and jumps back up and tries to scatter my homework every which way at the same time.”
“Put her outside.”
“No, it’s way too cold! Cats hate to be cold.”
“Well, here—let’s put her in the laundry room, in timeout.”
He scooped up the Siamese, who suddenly developed awkward angles and unexpected twists that made her difficult to hold on to, and deposited her in the laundry room off the kitchen and closed the door. It wasn’t heated, but it had been open to the warmth of the kitchen and was comfortable enough for a furry creature.
“She won’t like that, either,” Tiffani predicted. “She hates to be alone.”
Samantha proved Tiffani right by yowling in a deep, offended tone and throwing her body against the door.
“She’ll settle down and go to sleep pretty soon,” the bishop said, hoping he was right. “She’s just spoiled.”
“Sure she is,” Tiffani said lightly. “What’s a kitty for?” She pulled her math book closer to examine her next problem, then looked up. “By the way, thanks for letting me go out with Pete.”
“Oh—is that what your mom said?”
“Well, she said you’d talked it over, and that it was okay. But why wouldn’t it be? It’s just Pete. His dad’s, like, your best friend from forever ago. I mean, it’s not like we don’t know them or something.”
“That’s true. And if Petey’s anything like his dad, we don’t have anything to worry about. Mac was always a gentleman around girls. His mom wouldn’t have stood for anything else.”
“Pete’s nice, too. All the girls like him.”
“How about the boys? Has he made some guy friends, too?”
Tiffani shrugged. “Most of them are just jealous, ’cause he’s a new guy, and cute, and the girls don’t give them all the attention anymore.”
“Mmm. Does he do any sports?”
“Pete? I don’t know. He’s tall enough to play basketball, but of course the team was already chosen, last spring. Maybe he’ll go out for that next year.”
“What’s he interested in?”
Tiffani looked up. “I don’t know! I haven’t talked to him like that, about his interests. Just about—you know—school and movies and music and stuff. We have two classes together—that’s probably why he talks to me at all. That and the family friend thing.”
“So what are you planning to see?”
“I don’t know. He’ll pick something.”
“Well, I hope . . .”
“Oh, Dad! I know what you hope, of course. Something decent, not R-rated, with no swearing or sex or too much violence or—”
“I was going to say, Tiff, that I hope you have a good time on your first date.”
She threw him a glance that plainly said, “Right. Of course you were.”
Samantha threw herself at the door again and yowled.
He sighed. He had thought of having a small bowl of bread and milk, but he decided he was too tired.
“Night, honey,” he said mildly and picked up his briefcase to haul it over to the desk in the corner of the dining room.
“Besides,” Tiffani said, apropos of nothing, as he passed her chair, “it seems to me that if I’m old enough to date, I’m old enough to decide who to say yes or no to, without having to say, ‘Just a minute, let me run ask my mommy and daddy!’ That’s beyond embarrassing.”
The briefcase went down with a thump. “Actually, Tiff, sixteen is a good age for group dates, and at the most, double-dates. Single dating is best left for eighteen and older. Check your ‘Strength of Youth’ pamphlet on that point. We’re letting you go with Petey, this once, because we trust you to be mature enough to uphold your standards and because we’re pretty sure Petey’s been taught similar standards, even though he’s not LDS. Frankly, we were hoping that you would choose to date LDS boys, to avoid conflicting standards and expectations.”
“Like who? Ricky Smedley? All he can see is Claire. Or maybe T-Rex? Oh, wait—he’s unconscious, still. And even if he weren’t, I’m not his type. Or maybe you’d like me to date Buddy? Oh, no—he isn’t old enough—thank goodness! And the Birdwhistles live too far away. Or, let’s see—the new boy, Billy Newton? Whoops, nope, he’s in love with Lisa Lou, poor guy. Or maybe I should have a crush on one of the missionaries. Elder Bussero’s pretty cute. Oh, that’s right. Arm’s length, girls, from the missionaries. So, just who should I go out with that’s LDS and my age? There isn’t anybody!”
“I’m not exactly clear what you’re so upset about, Tiff. We are letting you go, Friday night, even if it’s a little bit iffy in our book—and it’s certainly not our fault that there aren’t more fellows your age in the
ward to choose from. As for not having to ask—I’d say that while age sixteen has its privileges, it’s not quite like eighteen or twenty-one—and you do still fall under our parental care and supervision. So I’m not quite sure what you’re unhappy about.”
“Oh, just forget it, Dad. I need to finish my math, or I’ll be dead meat tomorrow.”
“Good night, Tiff. I love you.”
“Mmm.”
He trudged up the stairs and encountered his wife, all warm and fragrant from her bath, in the hall.
“Hi, babe,” he said wearily.
“Hi, honey. What’s the cat yelling about?”
“She was on the kitchen table, and I banished her to the laundry room.”
“Thanks. Is Tiff still doing homework?”
“Yep. And maybe you should ask what she was yelling about. Only, I wouldn’t know how to answer that. Maybe she needs a little timeout, too.”
“She’s so moody these days.”
“It’s like beyond moody,’” he said, imitating their daughter’s voice. “It’s, like—Dad can’t say the right thing—ever!”
“I know. I don’t do so well, either. Come talk to me,” she invited. “I like what you say and how you say it.”
He slipped an arm around her waist. Home at last.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
“ . . . through cloud and sunshine”
Bishop Shepherd and Trish arrived early Wednesday evening at the Forelaw home, armed with a flannel-board Book of Mormon story for the children. He was warmed by the way they sat forward on the edge of the sofa, following the narrative and solemnly advising Trish which figure to move where as the story progressed. Sarge Forelaw hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, munching a sandwich and observing the activity. The bishop pretended he didn’t see him, and Elaine didn’t say anything, either, just watched her children and smiled. Once the story was done, she told the little ones to scamper off to bed, and Trish packed up the flannel board.
“You know,” the bishop said, “I think we can all understand what Lehi was experiencing at the Tree of Life in his vision. I know that as soon as I find out any good news or learn something important or helpful, the first thing I want to do is to share it with Trish and the kids. I want them to know what I know and feel what I feel about the Lord and his gospel.”
“And you just gotta hope they’ll understand you’re sharing something good,” Elaine agreed, nodding.
“Right. And what we have to realize, and what Lehi had to come to grips with, too, is that each person receives what’s offered to him in his own way, and of course everybody’s free to accept and believe good, true doctrine if they choose to, or to reject it and turn away from it. That’s part of Heavenly Father’s plan for us, from the beginning. We hope and pray that those we love and care about will be like Nephi and Sam, rather than Laman and Lemuel, and accept and partake of the fruit of eternal life, but it’s ultimately up to them. Laman and Lemuel in this vision chose not to partake of the fruit that Lehi had found, and that was prophetic of their later lives, when they turned totally away from the truth and from their parents’ wishes.”
Elaine nodded. “Reckon that’s how it has to be, else it wouldn’t be fair. But it’s hard, idn’ it?”
“It sure can be. Heavenly Father guarantees us our moral agency in this life, to choose good and happiness or to choose evil and reap the results of that choice, which is misery. He absolutely will not force us to do good. That’d be Satan’s way. However, as the hymn says, ‘He’ll call, persuade, direct aright, and bless with wisdom, love and light. In nameless ways be good and kind, but never force the human mind.’”
He paused and grinned at Trish. “Of course, when our kids are small we’re pretty much in control of everything they do. Then suddenly, they’re teenagers, and lots of times we wish we could continue to be in control or force them to be good. But that’s when we have to learn to follow Heavenly Father’s pattern, and ‘call, persuade, direct aright.’ Sometimes it’s tough. Trish and I are just beginning to learn.”
“We sure are,” Trish agreed. “But when you think about it, being good, or doing good, wouldn’t mean a thing if we were forced to do it. We wouldn’t even appreciate the blessings that we’d get because we wouldn’t have known anything else. We wouldn’t know that it hurts to touch the stove and burn your finger or that it makes you feel sick and sad inside when you’ve broken a commandment, if nobody was ever allowed to touch a stove or commit a sin.”
“Reckon that’s true,” Elaine said. “Only, it seems like some folks just keep goin’ back to touch that stove, even after they know it hurts.”
“That happens, all right,” the bishop said. “Especially with things like addictions—whether it’s to alcohol, drugs, gambling, pornography, or whatever. But even those cycles can be broken, with the help of the Lord. It’s hard, but it can be done, with the proper kind of counseling and determination and constant prayer. I often think about one fellow I know who stopped smoking after twenty-six years by, first of all, getting rid of all his cigarettes, and by avoiding stores where they were sold and by praying each morning as soon as he woke up, asking the Lord to remove the craving for tobacco from him for that day. It worked. I remember him saying how good his food tasted, after just a week or so of not smoking. He’d forgotten how much flavor an orange had, and he was thrilled to death with the taste of it, like it was the first one he’d ever had! He hadn’t realized how smoking had dulled his sense of taste and smell.”
“Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to be addicted to anything,” Trish added. “He wants us to be free and healthy and to enjoy life. Anytime we’re addicted to something, we’re not free. We’re slaves to that thing or that activity. We’re controlled by it. And like we just said, control and force are Satan’s way. Jesus said, ‘ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ I suppose that has a lot of meanings, on several levels, but I sure do think freedom from addictions is part of it.”
“You know,” her husband added, “some folks think the gospel is restrictive and binding, but it’s been my experience that it’s liberating. Repentance and the atonement of Christ free us from the effects of sin, so that we can move forward again and not be bound by guilt or addiction or spiritual blindness. Repentance is a great blessing—don’t you think so, Sarge?” He turned toward the kitchen doorway.
“Hmm? Oh. Hatn’t never quite thought of it thataway, but reckon it makes sense,” said the man of the house. “Always thought more about bein’ punished for sin than about repenting and gettin’ free of it. Where do y’all reckon punishment comes in? My old preacher used to be real big on punishment and hellfire.”
The bishop’s heart sang. Sarge was listening; he was thinking!
“There is a place for punishment,” he agreed. “That’s what happens to those who refuse to believe and repent and follow the Savior and who turn down or ignore what He did for us in the garden of Gethsemane and on the cross. See, our sins have to be paid for—either by the Savior, who suffered and died for us for that purpose—or by us, if we’re so stubborn that we refuse to go through the repentance process and accept the Savior’s offering.”
“Huh,” said Sarge. “Hatn’t never thought of it just thataway,” he repeated. “Y’all excuse me, now,” he added, and took himself away from the doorway. Elaine looked at the bishop, smiling broadly, her eyebrows raised. He winked at her, and the three of them had a prayer before the bishop and his wife left the Forelaw home.
* * *
“The new neighbors are moving in,” Jamie informed them importantly when they returned home. “But I ain’t seen any kids yet.”
“I haven’t seen any kids,” Trish corrected him absently, peering out the kitchen window.
“You, neither? Shoot.”
Trish exchanged a suppressed smile with her husband. “It does appear there are lights on over there, all right. I suppose we should take something over and say hello and see if they
need any help.”
“You made bread today, didn’t you?” he asked.
“I have a loaf of wheat bread, but you never know if folks like that. Maybe if I included a jar of peach jam . . .”
“Bound to please. Do we all go, or just the two of us?”
“I want to go,” offered Mallory.
“Me, too,” said Jamie.
“Count me out,” said Tiffani. “I’m swamped with homework.”
The house to the east of them was a two-story structure of about the same vintage as their own, but it seemed much older, not having undergone the updating and renovation theirs had enjoyed. The porch was sound, but the floor boards were warped and uneven, and the doorbell sounded with a wheezy buzz. A thin wedge of light spilled out upon them as the door was opened to the extent that a chain lock would allow, and part of a woman’s face appeared.
“Yes?” she said guardedly.
“Good evening,” said the bishop cheerfully. “We’re the Shepherds, your next-door neighbors, and we’ve just come to say welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Oh. Well, step in a minute. We’re in a mess, here, since we just started moving in, so I’m sorry I can’t offer you a chair.”
“We won’t stay. We know how busy you must be,” Trish said, ushering the children forward into a small front hallway paneled in dark wood and stacked with cardboard boxes marked “Kitchen” or “M’s room” or “Bathroom.”
“We thought you might enjoy a fresh loaf of bread and some jam,” Trish continued, holding out her offerings to the woman, who took them with no change in her sober expression. She was probably in her sixties, with a narrow face, and dark, gray-streaked hair pulled back into a bun.
“Thank you very much, but you needn’t have bothered,” she said.
“It’s no bother,” Trish told her with a smile. “I’m Trish Shepherd, this is my husband Jim, and our two youngest children, Jamie and Mallory. We have a sixteen-year-old daughter, Tiffani, as well.”
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