On the other hand, he really did want to help the missionaries, and he was concerned about the Kress family and their confusion. He knew how much a newly baptized family had to learn and become accustomed to, and he knew he played a part in making them welcome and keeping them happily involved in Church activity. However, it occurred to him, nowhere was it written that this was his total responsibility. Others needed to be involved, too—home teachers, visiting teachers, the Gospel Essentials teacher, priesthood leaders, Relief Society presidency, Primary presidency, and teachers for the children. In addition, the DeNeuves had been assigned as a special friendshipping family to the Kresses, having children of about the same age and interests. Any of them might help. But this was a delicate matter of doctrine, as well—and one that perhaps not everyone might be equipped to handle successfully. Again the bishop bowed his head.
Some minutes later, he arose and reached for his phone and his ward directory. He made a couple of calls, and then, feeling confirmed in his decision, called Trish.
“Jim? Where are you?” she queried. “You left without saying anything.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry. I should’ve at least left a note—but I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I ended up at my office at church, and I’m calling to tell you that it’s all set for us to have our evening out, after all.”
“No, no—that’s not necessary. You need to take care of whoever needs you. I’m just being spoiled and selfish, and I’m sorry. Honestly, I don’t know why I acted that way!”
“Honey, you reacted that way because you were hurt and disappointed, and I don’t blame you a bit. I was the one in the wrong on this, but I’ve got it covered, now—so let’s plan on leaving about six-thirty, okay?”
“Jimmy, what are you bypassing, to keep our date?”
“Nothing that can’t be handled as well or better by somebody else, so don’t even worry. I’ll tell you about it later. I want to be with you tonight, babe—not anybody else. They can have me tomorrow—all day, if need be. I’ll be home within an hour.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life. See you soon.”
* * *
He rang the bell at the home of the Kress family, trying to brush the icy rain from his clothing.
“Come in,” invited Deborah Kress with a curious look. “I thought you were coming tonight, with the elders,” she added. “I was surprised when you called.”
“I apologize about that. You see, what happened was that I had agreed to come with them without checking my calendar first. I forgot that my wife and I had plans to go out this evening, and I think it’s important for a husband and wife to have time together.”
“Well, I can understand that,” she agreed. “May I take your jacket?”
“Thank you. Sorry it’s so wet. Is Jacob here?”
“He is, I’ll get him. Please, sit down.” She gestured into a nicely furnished living room, where he gingerly sat on the edge of a chair, afraid that his jeans would soak the upholstery. He looked around at the family portrait over the piano, the order, cleanliness, and good taste of the furnishings. He could hear happy sounds of children playing somewhere else in the house. These, he felt, were quality people. They mustn’t be lost to the Church because of some misunderstanding of a doctrinal point that is new to them.
“Hello, sir,” said Jacob Kress, a balding young fellow with fine dark eyes. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”
The bishop stood and shook his hand heartily. “To my desire to visit you folks in your home and offer my personal welcome to the Lord’s Church. I was all set to accompany the elders tonight, but I’d forgotten that my wife and I have plans, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“That’s commendable. Please—sit down. If you were coming with the elders, I suppose they’ve mentioned to you that we’re not at all sure that we’ve done the right thing by joining your Church, I’m sorry to say. Perhaps we were too hasty in our decision.”
The bishop nodded. “They did mention that. I believe your concerns can be put to rest, though—and I’ve taken the liberty of asking one of our finest scriptorians and doctrinal scholars to come in my place tonight, and answer any questions you may have that might stump the missionary elders. That’s Brother Levi John Warshaw, who usually goes by John. Have you met him, yet?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Jacob, looking at his wife, who shook her head.
“He’s an interesting fellow. He and his wife were originally from Poland, but they were Jewish and were hidden and passed around as children because of all the persecution in Europe. Amazingly, they both ended up in Germany, years after the war, where they met and married—and where they eventually joined the Church. Theirs is quite a story.”
Jacob and Deborah looked at each other. “Did you know that we’re of Jewish ancestry?” Deborah asked slowly.
“No, I had no idea,” the bishop replied. “Where were your folks from?”
“My grandparents were lucky enough to leave Germany and migrate to America a few years before the war,” Jacob said. “My parents converted to Christianity in Cincinnati. Deborah’s people were from Holland, and she’s a first-generation Christian.”
“Well, that’s interesting! You and the Warshaws will have that in common. They’re wonderful people.”
“Um—sir—Bishop,” Jacob began. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to hear your take on this idea of a mother in heaven. It distresses us to think of God as a married man. It seems rather sacrilegious. Absurd, in fact! And we can find nothing in the Bible to support it.”
The bishop nodded, and sent a silent prayer heavenward. “I understand your feeling. It’s a radically different concept from any you might find in Judaism or mainstream Christianity, isn’t it?”
They nodded in turn.
“I’m a convert, myself, so I understand a bit about what it takes to grapple with new and unfamiliar concepts and put them all together to make a cohesive picture. Frankly, I’d rather leave the deep, doctrinal explanations to the elders and Brother Warshaw. All I’d like to do is ask you a simple question or two. All right? Just to give you some food for thought.”
“Go ahead,” invited Jacob.
“What does a puppy grow up to be?”
They looked at each other. “A dog,” replied Deborah.
“What does a tadpole become?”
“A frog,” said Jacob, frowning.
“And a boy?”
“A man, of course,” said Deborah.
“Then what may a child of God eventually become?”
“A . . . a god, perhaps,” ventured Deborah. “But that doesn’t mean that God Himself has a wife! He’s the Almighty Creator, all by Himself! He wouldn’t need a—a goddess—to create man, would he?”
“What have the elders taught you about eternal families?” the bishop asked quietly. “Did they explain that you and your children have the potential to become an eternal family unit?”
“They did,” Jacob said. “It was one of the doctrines that seemed to ring true with us. Something that we’d dearly love to hope is possible.”
“So if that is possible, and you achieved it, you would be married throughout the eternities. Does our Father in Heaven ask us to do anything that he hasn’t done, or isn’t willing to do?”
They were silent, obviously preoccupied with the concepts that were new to their thinking.
“But the Bible . . .” Deborah began.
The bishop smiled and held up his hand. “I know. This isn’t something that’s specifically taught in any of our scriptures, ancient or modern. Rather, it’s implied. However, I’ll save that for Brother Warshaw and the elders,” he said gently. “Except that I would encourage you both to pray sincerely about this, just like I’m sure you did about the other concepts the missionaries taught you. Remember what we’re told in Moroni, chapter ten, verse five: ‘And by the power of the Holy Ghost, ye may know the trut
h of all things.’”
The Kresses looked at each other. “Fair enough,” Jacob said.
* * *
“Whoa, Jimmy—you didn’t have to spring for the most expensive place in town, just to say you’re sorry about forgetting,” Trish whispered as they were ushered into a dimly lighted and posh restaurant where soft music obscured even the distant clatter of dishware. A subdued fire flickered in a three-sided fireplace, giving off a cozy warmth against the wintry rain that persisted outside. When they were seated, with menus placed before them, he replied.
“Once in a while we can afford this sort of thing. But the real reason I wanted to come here is because it’s about the only place in town where we can have a conversation over dinner without having to shout over noisy music or noisy kids. In fact, it’s surprising, when you think about it, that Fairhaven has such a place. I bet they don’t even serve hamburgers or meatloaf!”
They opened their menus, declined the offered wine list, and thanked the hostess who lit two slender candles on their table.
“Nope, no meatloaf,” the bishop confirmed. “Not that I would order it here, anyway, when I live with the best meatloaf cook in the world. Since I can’t have that tonight, let’s see—what looks good?”
They ended up with an appetizer of barbecued prawns—over which Trish made happy little moaning sounds—to be followed by salad, prime rib, roasted potatoes, and a medley of steamed vegetables.
“These prawns are fantastic! I’ve got to learn to season them like this.”
“They are good, though I’d have called them shrimp. And it feels good to be here with you. Much as I love our kids, there are times when I like it to be just us.”
She reached for her purse. “Speaking of our kids—look what I found when I was vacuuming Tiff’s room today. It was wadded up by her wastepaper basket, so I figured it was meant to be inside. I don’t know what made me look at it.”
He took the half-sheet of crumpled paper and smoothed it on the table. It was covered with variations of the name of Peter MacDonald—Pete, Petey, and even a couple of Mrs. Peter MacDonald and Tiffani S. MacDonalds. He stared at it in horror and looked at Trish openmouthed. She was smiling at his reaction.
“You wanted some indication from Tiffi how her date went—how she felt about Petey. So—here you go. Offhand, I’d call it a major crush.”
“But Tiff’s always been so sensible! Look how she’s always made fun of Lisa Lou. And even you said you didn’t think she’d ever behave like that . . .”
“Keep in mind that we’re viewing something meant to be private. Even something she probably meant to throw away. I think she’s just kind of trying on roles, you know? She’s obviously attracted to Pete—he is a good-looking kid, and bright and personable—and she’s sure to be flattered that he’s showing some interest. I don’t even know whether she’s ever had a big crush before. Unlike Lisa Lou, she doesn’t advertise her feelings to one and all—but it doesn’t mean she has none.”
“Sure, but this . . . this is kinda scary.”
Trish shrugged. “I don’t know—I used to do that with your name. Wrote it all over the inside covers of my school notebooks—and even with the ‘Mrs.’ attached, like this.”
“You did? When was that?”
“Even before we moved away from here. And afterwards, when we were corresponding. Actually, I guess I never quit! And then one day, we went to the temple—and after that, I could write it legally, for all the world to see. You were my big crush, Jim. Thankfully, it worked out. Most of them don’t.”
“Yeah. Thankfully, indeed, ours did. But Tiffani and Pete . . .”
“Probably won’t amount to a hill of beans.”
“You think?”
“I really do. She might pine and wish and hope, for a while, but she’s pretty firm in her feelings about a temple marriage, and Pete just doesn’t fit in with that. I think once she realizes that, and reality sets in, it’ll all just dissipate.”
“But what about Pete’s feelings? What if he really likes her, the way I liked you?”
“But I think your personalities are way different. You were capable of long-term patience and shy around other girls, so it was maybe a little easier for you to maintain a long-distance relationship. I doubt Pete would even consider such a thing, in the same circumstance. Nor should he—he should date lots of nice young women and find a girl who’s on the same page he is. He’s just a kid, and likely won’t be ready for a committed relationship for a long time. Boys, after all, usually mature a little later than girls—which is why most husbands are a little older than their wives. At least, that’s my theory.”
“Oh, really?” He passed his skewer, one prawn remaining, across to her. “So we’re a slow bunch, are we?”
“Thanks, honey.” She accepted the skewer. “You catch up nicely, however. Most of you, anyway. Some never seem to.”
“Yeah. Such as Dugie Winston, Jack Padgett—”
“To name a couple.”
“How’s Muzzie doing, anyway?” Muzzie Winston, Trish’s old and dear friend, had parted ways with her husband after his lifestyle had grown too wild for her and their children to tolerate.
“She’s okay. She’s working full-time and studying for her real estate license. She filed for divorce, and that was hard, but I think, overall, she’s feeling a little more upbeat. And, Jim—she told me she prays everyday, by herself and with the children. And she attributes that to you and the good counsel you gave her. I thank you again for that, too.”
He lifted both hands, a self-deprecating gesture. “I’m just grateful the Lord gave me something to say to her, ’cause I sure didn’t know what it should be!”
“Well, it helped her. Dugie’s being a rat, fighting her and contesting everything she wants to do, trying to get custody of the kids—but he doesn’t have a prayer, according to her lawyer.”
“Will he get visitation rights?”
“Probably, supervised. After the way he snatched Brad from his boarding school and took off with him, that’s about the most he can expect. How’s Jack Padgett doing? Have you talked to him, lately?”
“I haven’t. I need to do that. Last couple of times we talked, he was still pretty bummed about the whole thing and missing his wife and daughter.”
“Does he seem to be changing his attitudes, at all?”
He considered. “I think I see a little change. He kicks and complains about his counseling sessions, but I think he’s figured out that he had unreasonable expectations and that they were born out of the fear of losing Mel and Andi. Boy, I’ll tell you—his childhood, his whole background, was such a mess, and it seems like he’s starting to realize what an effect that had on him, too. I don’t know—I have hope for Jack. I don’t know whether Melody will ever want to take him back, though. That’s still an unknown factor.”
“I don’t think she has a clue yet, herself. It’s good they have time apart, for each to find out who they are, before they try to be a family again.”
He sighed. “Man, I hope we’re not doing anything awful to our kids, messing them up for the future! Do you think it’s okay for Tiffani to not share her feelings and her crushes with us?”
“I do. I think she just has a private personality. Plus, she probably has figured out that there’s not a young man out there who’ll ever be good enough for her, in your eyes. Also, on some level, she probably knows she’s going to have several crushes or little romances before she settles down, and she doesn’t want to be like Lisa Lou, who thinks each one is ‘it!’”
“Ah. I hope you’re right. It’s funny how, as a dad, I’m almost more anxious for my children to avoid any major mistakes than I ever was for myself.”
“Mmm. Maybe it’s like driving a car. When you’re in the driver’s seat, you feel more confident in scary situations than you do watching somebody else at the wheel.”
He nodded. “Could be.”
Their prime rib arrived, looking succulent and delectable. Th
ey ate quietly for a few minutes, and then Trish said, “So, Jimmy—what is it you gave up for me tonight? You said you’d tell me.”
He described the situation, while she listened intently.
“And you didn’t know the Kresses were Jewish, when you invited Brother Warshaw to stand in for you?”
“No idea. Hadn’t entered my mind.”
“I think that was inspiration. Not that being Jewish has anything to do with the question that’s bothering them, but it gives them something in common anyway. Plus, Brother Warshaw knows practically everything there is to know about the scriptures and Church doctrine.”
“Right—and that’s why I thought of him. At least, I think that was the reason,” he added with a smile.
The restaurant wasn’t crowded, and they decided to skip the movie, preferring instead to linger over their dinner, sharing a piece of Key lime pie for dessert and continuing their chat. The bishop felt himself unwinding, when he hadn’t even realized he’d been uptight. It was a much-needed treat, to talk at length, uninterrupted, with Trish. He promised himself (and her, in an unspoken vow) that it would happen more often. She wasn’t the only one who needed it.
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
“ . . . to mingle with my fellowmen”
Bishop Shepherd was in his office early on Sunday morning, pondering some needed changes in the Sunday School faculty, when an energetic knock sounded on the door. He opened it to see two beaming young men with shiny missionary tags on their lapels. One of them leaned on a pair of crutches.
“Elders! Elder Rivenbark, good to see you—welcome to your new mission field!” he said, shaking that young man’s hand and then giving him a hug. He was glad he had caught himself. He had almost said, “Welcome home,” and that would never have done.
“Thanks, Bishop—good to see you, too,” responded Elder Rivenbark.
“And Elder Bussero, how’re you?” the bishop continued, ushering them into his office.
“I’m good. Wow, Bishop—this one’s somethin’ else,” said Elder Bussero, gesturing toward his new companion. “You shoulda heard him last night at the Kress’s! He laid it all out on the line, point by point.”
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