“Bishop? Scott Lanier here. What can I do for you?”
The bishop explained the situation, then handed the phone to Linda. “He wants to ask you a couple of questions,” he told her. She raised up on one elbow but looked ready to collapse.
“Yessir,” she said into the tiny phone. “About three days, now. A lot of pain, yessir, clear through my body on the right side, under the ribs. No sir, it never seems to let up for long. Oh, yessir, I can’t seem to stop, though there’s nothing in me. I can’t even keep a swallow of water down. Yessir. Okay, I guess so. Well, thank you.”
She sank back against her pillow. “He says it sounds like my gall bladder. And I’m likely dehydrated. Wants us to go to the emergency room and says he’ll meet us there, see that we’re taken care of right. He says . . .” She paused, grimacing while a spasm of pain gripped her. “Says they can give me something to settle my stomach. That’d sure be good.”
Ralph looked conflicted.
“I’ll go with you,” the bishop promised. “I know it’s way outside your comfort zone, folks, but I think it’s necessary. Let’s get you up, Sister Jernigan, shall we? Where’s her coat, Ralph? Or would it be easier to just stay wrapped in the quilt?”
“Coat,” decided Linda, pushing herself to an upright position. “Oh, mercy, here I go again,” she added, grabbing for a small, plastic-lined wastepaper basket. The bishop turned away, both for his own comfort and to save Linda embarrassment as she suffered a session of dry heaves, bringing up only a little bile.
“Sorry, Bishop,” she apologized, wiping her trembling mouth with a tissue.
“No apology needed,” he told her. “Here’s Ralph with your coat. Your truck or mine?”
“Both, if it’s all the same to you,” Ralph decided. “Then you won’t be stuck there, in case we have to stay.”
The bishop was proud of Ralph, watching how tenderly he helped his wife into her coat. Between them, the two men basically lifted her down the front steps and tucked her into the front seat of Ralph’s truck. She seemed only half-conscious as she settled back, her head drooping against the closed window.
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
“ . . . fear departs when faith endures”
Ralph followed the bishop’s truck into the emergency room parking lot, then stayed with Linda, looking around protectively while the bishop ran to get a wheelchair for her.
“Hurts so bad,” she whispered as they lowered her into the chair.
“Here comes Dr. Lanier,” Ralph told her, as Scott hurried toward them and bent over Linda, asking her questions as they wheeled her toward the building. She answered weakly.
The emergency area was all too familiar to Bishop Shepherd, and superimposed over the present emergency was the memory of Christmas night and the battered, chilled body of Thomas Rexford, his parents’ anxious faces blurring with those of Ralph Jernigan and Scott Lanier. Scott introduced them to a Dr. Copeland, assuring Ralph that this was an honest, capable physician whom they could trust. Ralph nodded curtly, his eyes still worriedly examining the premises.
“I’ll wait right here for you, Ralph,” the bishop said, patting the man’s shoulder as Linda was whisked into an examination room. Ralph nodded again, looking like a condemned prisoner as he followed Linda and the doctors.
The bishop sank into the same orange vinyl chair he had occupied while waiting for word of Thomas, bowed his head briefly in a silent prayer, then tried to occupy his mind with a magazine. After a few minutes, Scott rejoined him.
“It probably is her gall bladder,” he said. “They have to rule out a few other potentially more serious things, but that’s what it’s looking like. She may need surgery. In any case, they’ll give her something for nausea, get her rehydrated, and make her more comfortable.”
“Thanks, Scott, for stepping in. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Ralph has so many fears that sometimes they tend to paralyze him. He knew you from your testimony, though, and felt he could trust you.”
“The poor guy’s really paranoid, isn’t he?”
“He is. He’s been through some super-tough times—things that would shake any strong man—and this is how he’s reacted. It’s hard for him to venture out into any situation where he feels out of control, such as this one. So he and I both appreciate your help.”
“Oh, no problem. It’s good to be of use.”
“By the way, I saw Marybeth yesterday,” the bishop mentioned casually. “She was buying stuff for a fund-raising luncheon today—she and Dugan Winston.”
“Oh, right—the Youth Sports Association lunch. She wanted me to go, but for some reason, I didn’t feel I wanted to. Maybe it’s because I would be needed here. Anyway, I gave them a donation.”
“That’s what I’m doing, too.” The bishop fought his normal inclination to avoid anything resembling gossip, but he felt a strong need to warn Scott. “Do you know Winston?” he asked.
“Dugan, known as ‘Dugie’? Met him a time or two. Why?”
“What’s your take on the man?”
“I don’t know. Kind of a high-energy, supercharged type. Rah-rah for the cause, and all that. Why do you ask?”
The bishop shrugged. “I don’t know him very well, but his wife is Trish’s best friend from high school, and she’s told Trish some pretty unsavory things. Their marriage is apparently over.”
Scott sighed. “So many are. I’m not real sure about mine.” He looked up. “Are you suggesting that he might try something with Marybeth?”
“I hope not, but I’m afraid he’s not above it.”
“And she does seem to admire him. Talks about all his good works for the community and so forth.”
“Right. And it’s hard to fault a man for that.”
“Exactly. But I never thought—I guess I’m naive, in some ways.”
A long silence ensued. Finally the bishop spoke.
“He wouldn’t be good for her. Wouldn’t make her happy. But I reckon I shouldn’t judge him because I hardly know the fellow—just what his wife says.”
“Well, she should know.”
“That’s how I see it. And she’s a nice woman. Good mother. Well, Scott—I hope there’s nothing to it. But just be aware.”
“Thanks. But how can I say anything to warn Marybeth? She’s so doggoned bound and determined to do whatever pleases her! Nothing I say holds much water these days.”
“Me, either—obviously. And of course, since she removed herself from the Church, I no longer have any kind of jurisdiction or influence over her.”
Scott sighed again. “Who does?”
An answer to that question popped into the bishop’s mind, but it wasn’t one he wanted to articulate to this sorrowing husband. It would be no comfort at all.
* * *
By the time he met with his first appointment that evening, the warm breezes had fulfilled their promise and blown in a cold front that dropped the temperature a good twenty degrees and flung an icy, slanting rain-mixed-with-snow across the landscape.
“Hang on just a second, Pratt—I just need to tell Sister Reams something before the ladies start their Enrichment meeting,” he said to soon-to-be-Elder Pratt Birdwhistle, holding the door to his office open for the young man.
“Ida Lou?” He took her aside in the hallway. “I wanted to let you know that Linda Jernigan’s in the hospital with a bad gall bladder attack. They’re planning surgery for tomorrow morning. I’ll be going over there about eight o’clock to sit with Ralph for the duration, and I thought you’d want to alert the sisters. Anyone who’s close to Linda at all might want to check on her afterward. I wouldn’t have anyone call tonight, though—she’s sleeping now, and exhausted from three days of misery.”
“Oh, pore little thing! I had that gall bladder business onc’t, and it’s no fun at all. I was glad enough to part company with that little rascal. I thank you for letting us know. Anything else we should be aware of?”
“I don’t think so, but
I also wanted to thank you and Barker for taking that tape recorder up to Hazel Buzbee. How’d she do with it?”
“Well, she cottoned onto it pretty quick, and I b’lieve it’ll be a pure pleasure to her. We’re recording all our Relief Society lessons for her, and different sisters are bringing in other tapes they think she might enjoy.”
“Wonderful. Thank you all—I really appreciate it.”
He went back to his office and his meeting with Pratt with a smile on his face. Ida Lou was one of the people in the ward who helped to sustain and comfort his soul—and the souls of many others, he realized, if the truth were known.
His smile remained throughout the interview. Pratt was an excellent, cheerful, hard-working young man with a strong testimony and desire to serve—a typical product of the large Birdwhistle family, with their pioneer attitudes and practically self-sustaining log home and farm up in the hill country.
“Hey, and guess what, Bishop?” the young man said, pausing as he turned to exit the office. “We got us a computer for Christmas, and we’re all learning to use it—even the little kids! They get to use it as a treat—after their other work is done. Sometimes we get stuck, though. Seems like even the manual doesn’t have all the answers to the dumb things we pull!” He laughed.
“Well, don’t come to me for help,” the bishop advised, laughing with him. “But as I said before, my guru is Buddy Osborne. The kid’s a natural—and I’m sure he’d be glad to help.”
“You know what we oughta do? We oughta invite him up for a weekend, let him show us a few things. We could bring him back down for church on Sunday. But d’you think he’d even come? He seems awful shy.”
“He’d come. He’s shy, all right—but not so much, once he gets to know you. And I know he’d enjoy seeing how your family lives. It’d be something new and different for him. Ask him.”
“I’ll talk to the folks, and I bet they’ll go for the idea. Thanks, Bishop!”
* * *
Trish was seated at the kitchen table, looking through the latest copy of the Ensign, when he let himself in the back door, dripping with sleet. He slipped out of his jacket and hung it on a peg in the laundry room
“Some storm, huh?” he commented. “Glad you got home okay. Hope everybody did. How was enrichment meeting?”
She smiled. “It was good, but now say it right: Home, Family, and Personal Enrichment Meeting. If we have to say the whole thing, so do you!”
“Can’t get away with anything, can I? How about HFPE? I mean, we have PEC and FHE and BYC and BSA and—”
“And think how confusing all that must be for investigators and new members! But hey—try this one on for size—TJU.”
“TJU?” he repeated, unable to think of any phrase so designated.
Trish waved the copy of the Church magazine. “The jig’s up,” she said. “Or maybe, WFO—we’re found out.”
He sat down across from her and crossed his arms on the tabletop. His wife usually made sense, and he couldn’t decide if she was teasing him by being deliberately obscure or if his long day had taken more of a toll on his brain than he realized.
“Sorry to be slow, babe, but I’m a couple of steps behind you here.”
She relented. “It’s the neighbors. They know the bitter truth, now. We’re Mormons.”
“Oh?”
“You know how the Ensign comes in a plastic wrapper?”
Had he known that? “Umm—okay.”
“Well, today it didn’t—and it was delivered this afternoon by Mrs. Maxine Lowell, who slapped it into my hand in a state of high dudgeon, whatever that means. I read it once in a novel, and it seemed to fit her mood. She said, ‘Here’s your church’s publication, Mrs. Shepherd. It was delivered to our house by mistake—if you believe that the good Lord makes mistakes. I think it happened for a reason!’ Then she stomped off, muttering something about wolves in sheep’s clothing. Obviously she had taken the wrapper off, peeked inside the magazine, and discovered the awful truth about us.”
“Whoa. Well . . .” He reached over for the magazine and looked through it. “‘We Believe in Him,’ ‘Preparing the Way,’ ‘Gifts of the Spirit,’ ‘The Lord Is among Us,’” he listed. “Sounds like a pretty Christian concern, to me. Don’t know what she’s worried about. Listen to this: ‘The message is clear. We believe in Jesus Christ. We believe in doing what He taught. We believe in Him as Savior of all mankind and as the Head of the Church.’”
“Right, but didn’t I tell you she was one of those people who see Mormons as among the worst of the heathen hordes? I could just tell.”
“You had her pegged, all right. It’s too bad. I reckon she’ll just have to think whatever she chooses to. But it’s just ignorance, honey—and misinformation.”
“I know that. But I hate it. I hate to be thought of as bad, when I try so hard to be good!”
“I know, babe, and you don’t deserve it. It happens a lot, though. Certainly happens to the missionaries. Happened to Joseph Smith. Happened to the Lord, Himself, for that matter, and his Apostles. It’s nothing new.”
“True, but I haven’t had to deal with it that much. I suppose it’ll be a growing experience, if nothing else.”
He grinned. “Well, it’s not like the lady was all that inclined to be friendly, anyway. She wasn’t likely to become your bosom buddy.”
“Nope. But now she thinks we tried to deceive her. Or that poor Hestelle did. I bet now she’ll be filling Hestelle’s head with all kinds of poisonous nonsense.”
“Miz Hestelle’s known us for a long time. I don’t think she’ll be swayed.”
“I hope you’re right.” Trish sounded dubious, and he didn’t dare let her know how dubious he felt. People like Mrs. Lowell could do a lot of harm, if they set their minds to it.
“Sure I am. All we have to do is keep being kind to her and her family, and her hostility will melt away.”
Trish’s nose crinkled in disbelief. “I don’t think we’ll be given many chances to be kind,” she stated. “We’ve already been turned away in practically everything we’ve offered.”
“There’ll be something,” he promised. He hoped he was as right as he sounded.
* * *
Promptly at 8:00 a.m. the next morning, he presented himself at the surgical waiting room to be with Ralph, who looked about as distraught as the bishop had ever seen him.
“Hate to lose sight of her, Bishop. Doesn’t feel right. Anything might happen.”
“It is scary to see a loved one go into surgery,” the bishop agreed. “But this is a pretty routine procedure, and Scott Lanier tells me it’s a much simpler, less invasive technique than they used to have. Much quicker recovery period. She’ll be home and good as new in no time.”
“That’s good, but I should be there with her. The enemy can take advantage, when we’re separated, or unconscious. She can’t watch out for herself. And they won’t allow me . . .”
“Ralph, the enemy in this case is Linda’s diseased gall bladder. The medical folks in there are your friends, and they’re fighting the enemy for you. They’re the ones with the weapons. Now, what did the ultrasound show?”
“Bunch of small stones, one trying to slip into the bile duct. Doctor said that was what was hurting her so bad.”
“Right. And in order to deal with that, we have to trust the doctors and nurses long enough to let them do their job in peace and in a sterile environment. Everybody’s all scrubbed and masked to keep germs out. We’re doing them—and Linda—a favor by staying out here.”
Ralph leaned forward, looking at his hands—strong, capable hands with black hair on the backs and bitten nails. “Know you’re right, Bishop,” he admitted softly. “Just can’t—can’t deal with the thought of maybe losing her. Things happen. You know.”
“I understand. It’s unthinkable. But you know what? I don’t think the Lord would have prompted me in the blessing we gave her to advise you to seek medical aid if it wasn’t in her best interest. We
just have to hang on to our faith that things will work out right.”
“Yes, sir. Stay by me till it’s over? Till we know she’s all right?”
He did.
* * *
On Wednesday evening, Bishop Shepherd and his first counselor, Bob Patrenko, emerged from an enjoyable visit with Tashia Jones and her grandmother, Mrs. Martha Ruckman.
Bob chuckled. “Mrs. Ruckman’s quite the lady, isn’t she? You can tell she’s strict with Tashia, but you can also plainly feel the love they have for each other.”
“Strictness and love, that’d be Mrs. Ruckman,” agreed the bishop. “You know she was my fifth grade teacher?”
“Believe you mentioned that. What’s the story on Tashia’s parents? How come Grandma’s bringing her up?”
“I asked Mrs. Ruckman about that, and she said they were both deceased. I got the feeling that the less said about them, the better, so I haven’t brought the subject up again.”
“Well, the girl’s in good hands.”
“She sure is. I just hope Grandma’ll keep allowing Tashia to come to church. And I pray she’ll see fit to let her be baptized. She wants to, so badly.”
“I’d like to see the grandmother come into the Church, for that matter,” remarked Bob.
“Boy! You and me, both. Can you picture her teaching Primary? She could handle those Valiant-11 Boys with one hand tied behind her.”
“Now, we wouldn’t want to drive her out of the Church,” Bob cautioned with a laugh.
“Let me tell you something. Nothing and nobody could drive Mrs. Martha Ruckman out of any place she wanted to be! She’s tough. She used to have us boys begging for mercy when all she’d done was look at us.”
“How’d she do that?”
“She’d say, ‘Look at me,’ and her expression would be all sad and stern and disappointed and unflinching. One of the guys, Carey Plimpton, used to say it was like facing Mrs. God. A little irreligious, I reckon, but I sure knew what he meant.”
Through Cloud and Sunshine Page 18