“I see. Well, I’m pleased to meet you all. I understand from Mrs. Pierce that y’all are good, Christian people. If you hadn’t been, we wouldn’t have taken the house.”
“Well, it’s nice of Hestelle to give us a good recommendation,” the bishop remarked. “We’ll surely try to live up to it. She’s a fine neighbor, herself. Now, what can we do to help you folks get settled? Jamie and I could carry some boxes to the proper rooms, if you’ll direct us.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t impose. Marguerite and I will just take care of everything, a little bit at a time. We had help getting the heavy things in, today, and we can handle the rest.”
“Is Marguerite your daughter?” queried Trish.
“She’s our youngest.”
“I see. And where did you folks move from?”
“We came up from Dothan, to be near Henry’s mother, who’s ninety-three and isn’t well. There wasn’t a place right in her neighborhood, so we took this.”
“Well, we’re glad you found this one. It’ll be good to have neighbors here again,” said the bishop.
“How old’s Marg . . . Margreet?” asked Mallory.
“Thirty-four,” responded the woman.
“Do you got a kitty, or a dog?”
“Certainly not. They make work. I have all I care to take care of with Henry.”
“Henry’s your husband?” asked Trish. “Is he not well, either?”
“He’s feeling his age, is all. As am I.”
“I understand. I didn’t catch your name,” Trish pursued.
“I didn’t give it. I’m Maxine Lowell.”
The bishop gestured toward the stacked boxes. “Mrs. Lowell, are you sure we can’t help you with these? Jamie and I are quick. It wouldn’t take us but a minute to get them distributed, and then you could unpack at leisure.”
“No. But I do thank you—and thank you for the bread and jam. Marguerite will enjoy it. Henry and I don’t eat sugar, of course.”
“Oh—I’m sorry,” Trish said. “I didn’t think of that. Why don’t I bring you over a pot of homemade soup, tomorrow?”
“No, please don’t. We have very strict eating patterns, which I couldn’t expect you to know.”
There was little more to say. The bishop cleared his throat. “Well, we won’t keep you from your work any longer, but please let us know if there’s anything at all we can do to help. If it snows again, don’t worry about your drive and walk. We’ll take care of it.”
“That won’t be necessary. Marguerite is young and strong, and she enjoys getting out in the snow.”
“Well, goodnight, then,” Trish said, turning to herd the children outside again. “And welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you. Goodnight.”
The door closed behind them with a decisive click, and the Shepherds were silent as they crossed the crunchy, frosted grass and the driveway.
“Okay, that lady’s weird,” Jamie declared, as soon as they were back in the lighted warmth of their own home. “You shoulda come, Tiff! It was creepy. She didn’t crack a smile, not once.”
“Well,” his dad said, “maybe she just doesn’t feel she has much to smile about. Maybe she has lots of problems or burdens.”
“Dad, you always make excuses for people when they’re rude or ignorant,” Tiff said, lifting her head from her book.
He shrugged. “Well, you know—I try to give ’em the benefit of the doubt,” he told her. “Lots of times, we just have no idea what folks are going through.” He smiled at his son. “I do understand what Jamie meant, though.”
“I got the feeling we weren’t entirely welcome,” Trish said dryly. “Certainly the bread and jam weren’t a big hit.”
“Does she have any kids?” asked Tiffani.
“She has a little girl named Mar-greet,” offered Mallory.
“How old is she?”
“Thirty-four,” answered Jamie. “She’s the youngest, and she likes to shovel snow.”
“We only met the mother, Maxine,” Trish added. “Henry Lowell is the dad, and I guess the other children are gone from home.”
“Well, I’d hope so!” said Tiffani, rolling her eyes. “I’m certainly not planning to be living at home when I’m thirty-four—or older. And that’s not a ‘little girl,’ Mal—that’s almost as old as Mom.”
“Maybe there’s some special circumstance,” Trish replied. “As I said, we haven’t met Marguerite yet.”
“And she doesn’t have a kitty or a doggy, because she says they make work,” Mallory reported. “Samantha doesn’t make work, does she, Mommy?”
“Well, not for you, my sweetie. But who do you think usually feeds her and cleans her litter box and picks up all the strange stuff she chooses to drag around the house and play with?”
“You,” admitted Mallory with a giggle.
When the children were in bed and Trish was finishing up in the kitchen, the bishop sat at the kitchen table enjoying a bowl of bread and milk. Trish glanced out the window at the house next door, where the lights were on in several rooms.
“Well, we tried,” she said with a sigh.
“Sometimes that’s all that’s required,” her husband responded. “Kind of interesting, though, that she quizzed Hestelle about the neighbors’ religious preferences, before moving in.”
“It is. Maybe they’ve had a bad experience somewhere, with somebody of another faith.”
“Could be. Maybe we’ll find out about it. And then again, maybe we won’t, given her preference for privacy. Well, we’ll do the best we can to be good neighbors and hope things work out. But between you and me—she was a little weird, wasn’t she?”
Trish raised her eyebrows. “Way weird,” she agreed.
* * *
The phone on the desk rang at eight-thirty Thursday evening. The bishop was seated there, poring over three bids from food services to set up a salad and sandwich deli in his store, and he picked up the phone ready to be diverted for a while. A young man’s voice spoke in his ear.
“Bishop Shepherd? This is Elder Rivenbark. I’m calling to let you know I’m back in Fairhaven, and I’ve been reassigned to work with the full-time elders here.”
“Elder! It’s great to hear from you. Welcome back—and I don’t know how you feel about this, but I’m grateful you can continue your mission with this assignment.”
“Frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I’m grateful, too, that I wasn’t just flat-out released, but it feels really strange to be back with my family and still on my mission! I guess I’ll get used to it. And I wouldn’t want to slow down the elders in my mission in Cali—I guess that’s what I was doing, though.”
“I think the concern was for your health and comfort, not for your companions’ convenience. That was the understanding I had, from the letter I received.”
“I didn’t complain, Bishop.”
“Well, you wouldn’t. I know that much about you. You’re a valiant missionary—and you’ll be just as valiant and valuable here as you were there. It’s just a change of scenery.”
“That’s pretty much what President Butler told me. And I’ll do my best to stay upbeat and not get discouraged. But I can’t help feeling like I failed, to some extent.”
“You absolutely did no such thing! Every report I’ve heard or read has been glowing with praise. The mission here is glad to get you—and so are the elders. You’ll be a great asset.”
“Well, I’ll try. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bishop. And my first assignment is here in the Fairhaven Ward with Elder Bussero, so I guess I’ll see you Sunday, if not before. I’m supposed to get up every morning and do my personal study at the same time as usual, and then meet with the other elders for companion study before we go out and work. It’ll just seem strange to come home and sleep in my own room instead of with my comp. And I’m supposed to rest for an hour every day after lunch.” The wry tone of his voice told what he thought of that.
“You know what? I’ll
bet the elders’ll be at your house as much as possible. Your mom’ll probably feed ’em every chance she gets.”
“Apparently she already has been,” Elder Rivenbark said. “Elder Bussero keeps raving about her cherry-apple pie.” He chuckled.
“Well—sounds like a man of good taste.” The bishop was glad to have heard at least a small improvement in the missionary’s spirits. “We’ll continue to pray for your success, Elder—and thanks so much for calling. Who knows but what there’s somebody here whose life you can touch in a way that the others can’t.”
“I s’pose that’s possible. Thank you, Bishop. And thanks for all your letters and prayers while I was in California. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
He talked over the deli proposals with his produce manager and his office girl, Mary Lynn Connors, who had suggested the idea in the first place. They debated whether to go with a supplier that would bring all the food in each day, prepared and ready to sell, or whether they wanted to hire cooks to prepare the food on-site, which would include constructing a health-department-approved kitchen behind the scenes. They also talked about the advisability of setting up a few tables and chairs, so that people could eat their selections on the spot.
“I don’t know, Jim,” said Art Hackney, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “It’ll take a chunk away from our produce stands as it is, just to put in the new counter and deli case. I’m not sure we could keep up all the varieties of produce we sell now if we was to cut back too much on the space.”
“Personally, I don’t reckon I’d sit and eat my food right out in plain sight in the grocery store,” commented Mary Lynn. “I mean, it’s not like we’re a diner or somethin’. We’re just tryin’ to save folks a little time with some prepared salads and meats and stuff.”
“Well, I feel pretty much the same, on both counts,” agreed their employer. “And, frankly, this bid from the Southern Belles’ Caterers is just too steep, and the foods they offer seem a tad too exotic for our customer base. So I think we can eliminate that one. I also think the expense of putting in a kitchen and keeping it up to standard, and hiring cooks whose food we’re not familiar with is a bit beyond what I’m bargaining for. So my feeling is that we go with Libby’s Catering Service. They’ve got a pretty good-sounding menu that we can choose from, and we can vary what we offer from time to time and see what folks will buy. They also include a couple of soups every day, which the other caterer does not. What do y’all think?”
“I’m with you on that one,” agreed Mary Lynn. “That other outfit, I didn’t even recognize half the stuff on their menu by name! I’d be scared to eat it, and I reckon at least some of the folks who shop with us would feel the same.”
Art nodded deeply. “Most of our customers ain’t the high-falutin’ society types that’d run in to pick up a pint of pickled mushrooms or some anchovy and artichoke pasta salad. I think if we offer ’em a real good potato salad, and a macaroni, and some fresh green stuff, maybe Caesar’s salad on some days and somethin’ else on others, and have some sandwiches and all the ham and turkey and beef and cheeses and stuff available, and the soups you’re talkin’ about, why, I reckon we could do right well. We’ve already got the chicken rotisserie, and it’s been popular.”
“Sounds right to me. I’ll start the ball rolling, then. I thank y’all for your input.”
“We’re protectin’ our own interests, too,” Mary Lynn reminded him. “We don’t want you to go belly-up on account of investin’ in somethin that ain’t gonna work.”
Her employer grinned as he turned away to make some phone calls to set things in motion. He intended to use the desk phone in his office, but the cell phone in his pocket played the little melody that Tiffani had programmed into it for him.
“Hello!” he answered, sounding gruff and hurried after fumbling with the buttons.
“Bishop? Is this Bishop Shepherd?” The tearful voice of Lula Rexford sent chills through him. He reached for the back of his grandfather’s desk chair and pulled it toward him.
“Yes, Lula? What is it? How’s Thomas?”
“Oh, bishop! He—he . . .” She broke off into gasping sobs.
“Take it easy, Lula. Take your time. What’s going on?”
“He—Tommy—he opened his eyes! He looked right at me, and he wiggled a finger at me, I know he did! He’s—he’s wakin’ up, Bishop, and I confess all this time I wadn’ too sure he ever would.” She began to sob again.
“Lula! Lula, that’s wonderful,” he said, flopping back against the chair in relief. He had been so afraid—but no time to think of that, now. “Lula, I’m so thrilled,” he told her. “I’m going to come down there as soon as I can, in hopes he’ll wake up again while I’m there. You and Tom just hang in there and say your prayers to let the Lord know how grateful you are for this moment. Hopefully, it’ll be steady improvement from now on, but you know it’ll still take a while.”
“I know. I’m just so happy. I’m so relieved. I cain’t stop cryin’! Ain’t that the dumbest thing?”
“No,” he told her gently, past the lump in his own throat. “Not dumb at all.”
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
“ . . . the stranger we have welcomed in”
Bishop Jim Shepherd, proprietor of Shepherd’s Quality Food Mart, quickly related the news about T-Rex to Mary Lynn, whose eyes lit up with delight even though she had never met that young man. He forced himself to make the requisite call to the caterers chosen to supply the proposed deli counter before he called Trish and gave her the news and got on the road to Birmingham. The day was sunny and brisk, and the traffic wasn’t too onerous, so he made good time, arriving at the now-familiar hospital by one p.m.
“Tell me all about it,” he encouraged Lula, who by this time had stopped crying and was smiling tremulously, as though a more confident expression of her joy might cause a relapse in her son’s condition. She gripped his hand in both of hers, while Tom stood by, nodding, a gleam of hope in his eyes that the bishop hadn’t seen for some time.
“He knew me, Bishop,” Lula said. “I could tell. He cain’t say nothin’ yet, of course, with that breathin’ tube still in him, but I could tell by his eyes and by the way he moved his finger. Like this.” She demonstrated a little forefinger wave. “And then, he did this.” She moved the same finger sharply sideways three times. “I says, ‘Tommy, you want the breathin’ tube took out, don’t you, hon,’ and he blinked his eyes at me and tried to nod his head. I told him I was sure they’d be doin’ that pretty soon, and for him not to worry about anything, and just relax. Then it was like he drifted off to sleep again. We’ll go in again in a few minutes, and I’ll try to rouse him. They say all his signs are real good, right now. We’re just so relieved, I cain’t even tell you!”
“Now, it ain’t all over, hon,” Tom cautioned. “Boy’s got a lotta ground to cover to get well, yet.”
“Oh, I know that,” she replied. “But you wasn’t in the room! Just wait till you look in his eyes and actually see he’s awake, in there!”
* * *
“So, like, what’d you say to him?” Jamie questioned at the dinner table that evening.
“I said something like, ‘Welcome back, Thomas! We’re mighty glad to see you improving. You had quite a spill on your motorcycle, and we’ve all been concerned about you.’”
“And what’d he do?” Jamie pursued.
His elder sister gave him a scornful glance. “What d’you think he did, James—jump up and hug everybody? He’s just waking up from a coma!”
“I know, but—”
“Actually, what he did was wiggle a couple of fingers at me, like this.” The bishop demonstrated, as Lula had done. “They’ve still got him restrained, so he won’t yank out important tubes and things, and he can’t talk yet because of them, but it was so good to know he was aware.”
“That’s such a blessing,” Trish concurred, coming to the table with a bowl of mixed vegetables. �
��Let’s remember to thank Heavenly Father for that in our prayer.”
* * *
The news of Thomas’s improvement spread like floodwater through the Fairhaven Ward, as well as to his many fans and friends in school and in the town. The bishop took calls on his cell phone and his home phone and talked to people on the street and in the store who were interested in the boy’s progress. Most were delighted with the news; a few pessimistically opined that he would probably never “be the same.” The bishop didn’t know how Thomas would eventually be, but given the assurance he had received in blessing the young man, he was optimistic.
Doctor Scott Lanier stopped in at the store late Friday afternoon to pick up a few items, and ran into the bishop just as he was preparing to go home for the day. He was one of the optimistic ones.
“The human body has wonderful capabilities to heal itself, given the proper treatment and nutrition, and considering T-Rex’s condition going into this accident, I’d say he should be fine. Of course, brain injuries are tricky and often take a long time to heal, but from what I’ve heard, I think he has a great chance at full recovery.”
“I think he does, too,” the bishop agreed. “Thanks again, Scott, for your prayers and support—especially for the financial boost you gave the family. Tom and Lula were bowled over.”
“I was happy to do that,” Scott said. “You know how it is when something major happens to people you care about. You cast around for something—anything—you can do to help, and in this case, there was a little something I could do.”
“More than a little, my friend. And how are your spirits, these days?”
Scott frowned slightly. “Christmas was tough,” he admitted. “Marybeth decided not to put up any decorations—no tree or anything—because she said they were the trappings of outmoded superstitions. So it was just another day. She spent most of it helping out at a soup kitchen down in Birmingham—and asked what I had done to help humanity’s situation when she got home. I mean, she said it in a teasing way, but there was a definite barb, there.” He smiled sadly. “And after all, what had I done? Moped around the house, read, called John and Meg, watched a couple of Christmas concerts on TV. Nothing, really.”
Through Cloud and Sunshine Page 14