“And what would bring on that kind of look?”
“Oh—anything dishonest or mean, or way below the standard she felt you were capable of achieving. You just didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Ruckman.”
* * *
They dropped in on Buddy at the mobile home belonging to his mother, Twyla Osborne. Twyla admitted them, unsmiling, and yelled for Buddy, who came and invited them into his small bedroom. They sat on the edge of the bed, which was the only place to sit, and Buddy sat Indian-style on the floor.
“You see all this artwork, Brother Patrenko?” inquired the bishop, gesturing at the walls. “Buddy did all this. Can you believe his talent?”
“It’s impressive, all right,” agreed his counselor, while Buddy looked embarrassed.
“It’s just a hobby,” he said dismissively. “Passes the time, you know?”
“It’s a wonderful use of your time—to develop the gifts Heavenly Father gave you,” the bishop advised him. “The Lord loves you, Buddy Osborne—and so do we.”
Buddy ducked his head. “Reckon I don’t know why, but that’s good.”
Bob Patrenko smiled. “He loves you because you’re his child, and he knows you inside and out. He knows what you were before you were born, and what your potential is, both in this life and in eternity. He knows the righteous desires of your heart, and he hears your prayers.”
Buddy thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “That’s what the scriptures say, huh? Reckon it takes a while, though, for some prayers to be answered.”
The bishop nodded. “It can. Sometimes the answer is, ‘Just wait awhile,’ and sometimes it’s ‘No, that wouldn’t be right for you,’ and sometimes it’s ‘Yes, my child, I’m happy to bless you in that way.’ Our challenge is to be patient and to learn to be sensitive enough to hear the answer when it comes.”
Buddy frowned. “Well, so how’s it sound, when He answers? I’m not sure I know how to recognize when it’s Him and when it’s just me, you know? My own mind. That make any sense?”
“Sure it does,” Bob Patrenko replied. “We all face that challenge, like the bishop said. And it’s easy to fool ourselves into thinking we’ve had the answer we want to get. For me, though, over the years, I’ve learned that the answers that come into my mind from the Lord feel a little different from the things my own mind conjures up. And the way I’ve learned that, is that sometimes I’ve received answers that I didn’t want or didn’t expect, and I’ve compared how that felt with other occasions when I suspected it was my own mind answering me, and there was a difference in intensity, somehow. What’s been your experience, Bishop?”
The bishop nodded. “Very similar. And I’ve also noticed that I don’t forget the true answers. It’s kinda like they’re stamped on my mind indelibly, word-for-word. Not that they’re necessarily wordy. Sometimes it’s just brief, like ‘Have faith,’ or a simple ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ And sometimes it’s just a prompting, such as ‘Talk to her,’ or ‘Go see him,’ or ‘Turn right.’ I may never know, in that case, what would’ve happened if I turned left at a given intersection—maybe I would have had a wreck and hurt someone. But it’s enough to know that I was directed. ’Course, that doesn’t happen all the time. Most of the time He expects us to find our own way, based on what he has revealed in the scriptures and to our leaders.”
“And I s’pose you know, Buddy, the pattern we follow when we’re praying to make a correct decision, don’t you?” Bob queried. “How we study it out in our own mind, and make the best decision we can, and then present that plan to the Lord for His confirmation? He doesn’t want to have to do all the work for us. But if we make a choice that’s displeasing to him, he’ll cause us to feel confused or doubtful about it, or to forget all about it, or maybe we’ll get a clear, ‘No.’ It just takes practice in learning to follow his promptings and answers. The more we follow them, the easier it gets to recognize them.”
The bishop spoke. “I think, too, if we’re uncertain about an answer, it’s just fine to ask for a clarification, like ‘I thought I had a confirmation from Thee that this was the right choice. Is that really what I was feeling?’ Because I believe He understands how distracted and weary we can be, even when we’re trying really hard to discern his answers. So—does that help, my friend?”
“Reckon it does. And I reckon I’ve got a ways to go.”
The bishop wondered what prayers Buddy was sending up and listening for the answers to. He hoped those answers would come.
Chapter Seventeen
* * *
“ . . . strength to dare”
Thursday on his lunch hour, he sped to the hospital and visited Linda Jernigan, who was sitting up in bed, still pale but with an expression of weary peace. A vase of assorted flowers stood on her bedside table and another on a shelf. He knew one of them had arrived the night before with Ida Lou Reams and Rosetta McIntyre.
“Hi, Bishop,” she said. “I want to thank you for everything you did—helping us get here and then staying with Ralph, and all. He told me how good you were to do that.”
“You’re most welcome, Sister Jernigan. I hear your surgery went very well, and I’m so glad.”
She nodded. “Me, too. I feel tired and sore and bloated, but I don’t hurt like I did, and I’m real glad the worst is over with. They say if I keep doing okay, I can go home tomorrow.”
“That’s super. Where’s Ralph?”
“He just stepped out to the restroom. He’ll be right back.”
“Linda, I just want to tell you that Ralph’s a good man, and he loves you with all his heart. That’s been plain to see, through all this.”
A faint blossom of color began to bloom on her cheeks.
“Well,” she said. “Thanks. I know he’s good, but I also know that some folks think he’s plumb crazy. But he’s just fearful, and cautious, is all. He got that way after we lost our Jodie Lee. He watn’t never that way, before.”
“I understand. We’ll just try to help him be reasonable about things. I think he knows his fears overwhelm him, but it’s not something he can just shrug off or set aside. I believe he’d need some really good professional help to get over his problem, and I suspect that right now, he wouldn’t go for that.”
Linda shook her head. “He wouldn’t touch psychiatric treatment with a red-hot cattle brand,” she affirmed. “He’d be afraid of being brainwashed and—what’s the word? Manipulated.” She looked up at him shyly. “But you know what, Bishop? You been more of a help to him than anything or anybody else, so far. You’re like a voice of reason that he’ll listen to. I’m real surprised how he trusts you. And you’re about the only one.”
“I’m happy to help, however I can. Feel free to call me, okay? Anytime I’m needed.”
“I thank you, Bishop. We thank you.”
* * *
“So, guys,” Tiffani began that evening when dinner was over and the younger children had repaired to the family room, “Claire and I’ve been thinking . . .”
“Guys?” questioned her dad, looking around. “What guys are you talking to?”
“Okay, okay—Mom and Dad. Anyway, Claire and I have an idea I wanted to run by you. See, the Girls Preference Dance is coming up at school, you know? And we thought it’d be fun to double date. She’d ask Ricky Smedley, and I thought I’d ask Pete. What d’y’all think?”
He and Trish exchanged glances.
“It does sound fun,” Trish said cautiously. “But Dad and I were thinking that a good policy, at your age, might be to not date the same fellow twice in a row. Kind of break it up—date several boys so you’ll have a chance to learn to talk and associate with different people.”
Tiffani gave her mother a weary glance. “Right, Mom. Like I have all these cool LDS guys lined up just waiting to take a turn going out with me. Maybe in your day it was like that, but now? Get real! There isn’t anybody.”
“It’s not that we have anything against Pete,” the bishop began. “It’s just—”
“I kn
ow. It’s just that he’s not LDS. He couldn’t take me to the temple. But honestly—you think Lisa Lou Pope jumps ahead of herself and makes assumptions! I’m not talking about getting married. All I’m talking about is one double-date, in high school, when I’m sixteen! I’m talking about one fun evening with friends. Three of the four of us would be LDS, and Pete’s not the type to do anything bad, anyway. He’s a nice guy.”
Her mention of Lisa Lou gave her father an idea.
“Hey, I know—why don’t you ask Billy Newton?” he inquired.
“Dad! Tell me you don’t know that he and Lisa Lou are practically engaged! Everybody else knows.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Why don’t you ask him and see?”
“Because—if Lisa Lou’s already asked him, I’d feel like a dork. And if she hasn’t, he’s going to want to hem and haw around because he knows she’s going to—and again, I’ll be the dork. I don’t enjoy being a dork.”
Trish leaned over the table to remove a plate of bread. “I don’t think it’d be automatic dorkdom to ask him,” she said. “You could say something like, ‘You’ve probably already been asked, but if not, would you like to go with me?’ He’ll be flattered.”
“Mom, that’s not even how it’s done! You have to be creative. You have to do something spectacular, like put one word of your invitation inside each of a bunch of balloons or in wrapped candies and deliver them at school or a game or someplace, so that he has to pop all the balloons or unwrap all the candy to get your name. You don’t just ask. That’s way old-fashioned.”
“Seems simple and straightforward, to me,” her dad said, scratching his head. “And then you know, right away, yes or no, so if you need to, you can move on to someone else.”
Tiffani rolled her eyes. “How dull! Dork city. Sorry, Dad. So, may I ask Pete? I mean, if I really need permission about who I ask.”
He and Trish looked at each other, seeking to communicate. Finally, he spoke.
“Look, honey—humor us on this, okay? Try Billy Newton first, and if Lisa Lou or somebody else is taking him, then you can ask Pete.”
“Why don’t you just come right out and ask Lisa Lou if she’s planning to ask Billy?” asked Trish.
“Why are you guys so determined to get me together with Billy Newton?” Tiffani asked, scowling. “I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, but so is Pete, and I have fun with him. Besides, he asked me out first, so it’s only fair for me to ask him now.”
“Why don’t you call Lisa Lou right now and see what her plans are?” suggested her father. “Then you’ll know for sure if Billy’s spoken for. If he is, by all means invite Petey.”
Tiffani looked from one to the other of her parents. “Y’all are weird,” she pronounced, but having won a conditional permission to invite Pete, she headed for the phone on the dining room desk, preferring that to the wall phone in the kitchen where her conversation would be overheard.
Trish closed the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. “We won’t eavesdrop, will we?” she said virtuously.
“No, but we’re weird. Us and the neighbors.” He gestured toward the east.
“Oh! That reminds me. Hestelle came over this afternoon and brought a jar of her homemade picalilli.”
“That was nice of her. How is she?”
“She’s fine, since I didn’t mention the symptoms of any dread illness for her to adopt as her own—like some people might do, just to torment the poor lady!” She gave him a significant look.
He grinned. “She’s weird, too, huh?”
Trish tried not to smile. “In a way. We’ve always known that. But she’s also a love. Of course she came to tell me that Maxine Lowell has been over to see her—already—to take her to task for saying we were Christians when we obviously are not.”
“Oh, boy. Already?”
“Sure. Maxine couldn’t waste one minute before trying to destroy our reputation with Hestelle. But Hestelle, bless her heart, took up for us. She said, ‘I told her that if it looks like a Christian and walks like a Christian and quacks like a Christian, then it must be a Christian!’”
The bishop laughed out loud. “That’s just ducky,” he said, chortling. “That’s classic!”
“It’s pure Hestelle. She’s priceless. But seriously, Jim—if Mrs. Lowell goes around and does that with all the neighbors and spreads who knows what kind of lies about us—what’ll we do?”
He shrugged. “Reckon we’ll just keep being the same people we’ve always been—the same neighbors, the same friends, the same Latter-day Saint Christians, as best we can. Most folks around here know us pretty well and knew my family. I don’t think they’re going to be taken in by that kind of nonsense.”
“I hope not. I feel bad enough that Maxine, herself, believes it. I suppose I should try to talk to her—but I’m not sure it’d do any good. Her mind’s obviously made up, and she doesn’t seem the type to change her thinking easily.”
“Well, we’ll see what opportunities may arise. So—are you in agreement with me about Tiffani asking the Newton boy, this time?”
“Sure, he seems like a great kid—but Lisa Lou does appear to have dibs on him. Or do you know something I don’t?”
“I might. I’m not sure. But I thought it was worth a try.”
Tiffani pushed through the swinging door and pointed a finger at her father. “You knew,” she accused. “Lisa Lou obviously already told you that she broke up with Billy.”
“Um, not exactly. But I figured it wouldn’t be long in coming.”
“Then you knew that she’s already invited Pete MacDonald to Preference.”
“No! She did? Honestly, I had no idea about that.”
“And he accepted. Oh! That steams me! Lisa Lou only wants him because she knows I like him. Kind of, that is. Boy, I’m so glad I didn’t go to all the trouble to invite him! How embarrassing would that be?”
“So—do you think you’ll invite Billy, then?” Trish queried carefully.
“Of course. And I’ll have to do it quick, before everybody at school finds out Lisa Lou dumped him. I’ve gotta call Claire!”
She headed back for the dining room desk, and the bishop looked at his wife, eyes wide and hands spread.
“I don’t know about you,” she said suspiciously. “Are you sure you didn’t know about Lisa Lou and Pete?”
“I promise I did not. Lisa Lou confided that she didn’t want to go steady with Billy, that’s all. He’s a nice boy and a new convert, and I wanted the other kids in the ward to rally around and keep him feeling welcome at church. What better way than to be asked out by another LDS girl—and one with a bit steadier head on her shoulders than Lisa Lou has?”
“Should be a win-win situation, if it works out. It might distract Tiffi from her crush on Pete.”
“M-hmm. And keep Tiff from lighting into Lisa Lou for pre-empting her choice.”
“What if Billy’s already accepted another date?”
The bishop looked at his wife with horror. “That’s something I don’t even want to contemplate,” he said.
* * *
Friday night basketball games were not quite the major sporting and social events that football games were in Fairhaven, but they ran a close second and were well-attended by students and townspeople alike. Collecting Buddy, the bishop and Jamie knocked on Twyla Osborne’s door, which was opened by Jeter, her current boyfriend, whose chain-smoking habit had thickened the air with a grayish haze that floated visibly between the visitors and the television screen.
“Who is it?” called Twyla from the hallway.
“I dunno,” replied her friend, giving the man and boy a quick glance. “Couple of guys.”
“We’re here for Buddy,” the bishop said. “For the basketball game.”
Buddy hustled into the room, carrying his backpack. “Bye, Mom,” he called. “See you Sunday, sometime after church.”
“Are we dropping you at your dad’s, then, after the game?�
�� the bishop inquired, as Twyla sauntered into the room.
“No, sir. The Birdwhistles want me to come up to their place to help ’em with their new computer and all. Pratt and some of the kids are coming down for the game, and I’ll ride home with them. Said they’d bring me back down to church with ’em, on Sunday.”
“Oh, you’ll enjoy that,” the bishop told him. “It’s fun, up at their place.”
“You’re just gettin’ to be a real little nerd, aren’t you, Bud?” his mother commented. “Shoulda known you would, when your father bought that dang machine. I don’t see what use they are, in people’s houses. Stupid waste of good time, if you ask me. ’Course, your dad was always good at wasting time—and money.”
Buddy didn’t answer but looked at his shoes.
“Oh, Buddy’s good at this stuff, though,” the bishop told her. “He taught me what I know. He’s real bright and knowledgeable. You can be proud of him. Well—ready to go?”
“Yessir.”
“Okay, then. See you folks!”
Neither Twyla nor her friend answered. She shut the door firmly behind them.
* * *
The basketball game was fast-moving and interesting, but the activities at half-time were of even more interest to the bishop. Pratt and Moroni Birdwhistle and two of their younger siblings spotted them and came to sit beside Jamie and Buddy. Tiffani, of course, pointedly avoided them all until half-time, when she and Claire Patrenko came bouncing up and addressed Jamie and Buddy in a stage whisper.
“We’ve got a little job for you guys,” Tiffani whispered. “If you’ll do it, I’ll buy you each a bag of caramel corn. It’s real easy.”
“What?” Jamie asked, suspiciously.
“All you have to do is take a bunch of balloons over and hand them to Billy Newton. He’s sitting right over there, see? With his brother and some other guys. Okay? Will you do it?”
“Nope,” stated Jamie with conviction. “I don’t want any caramel corn. I’m stuffed.”
“Jamie, please? For me? I’ll do something else for you, later. I’ll do one of your chores. I’ll get you whatever you want—as long as it doesn’t cost more than the caramel corn.”
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