Through Cloud and Sunshine

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “It’d be tough not to,” the bishop agreed. “I understand how it is—you’re in limbo. Married, but with no access to your wife—not even allowed to communicate with her. Anybody’d find that frustrating. Anybody with morals, anyway—and a belief in the sanctity of marriage—and I know that includes you.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Well, sure—I believe in those things.” He glanced out the window again. “And Mel always wanted to go to the temple. Oh, well—guess that’s a forgotten dream.”

  “Not necessarily. It may take a while, but it’s still in the realm of possibility. If, of course, you folks both want it and are willing to work for it.”

  “I am, honestly, Bishop. If I can just get through this. I thought it’d get easier with time, but I was wrong. It’s getting harder. That’s why I contacted you. Any suggestions you have, I’d be grateful for.”

  The bishop sent up a quick and silent prayer for wisdom. He was given a brief reprieve as their food arrived and they buttered their rolls and settled into eating.

  “Jack, how did you come to join the Church?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t raised LDS, were you?”

  Jack snorted. “Not hardly! No—I joined when I was in the Marine Corps. One of my buddies was a member, and he used to take me and another guy to church activities with him. Funny, now that I think of it, that I actually enjoyed going. It was so different from anything I’d ever done—and the girls were so cute, and so nice—there was a good feeling there. I guess you’d even say a homey feeling, although that word didn’t have the same meaning to me that I s’pose it does to most people. But it was all light and friendly, and I thought it was so cool that people could laugh and dance and have a good time without hangovers the next day!

  “Anyway, finally I started going with my pal on Sundays. I’d never had any kind of religious training, growing up, and at first I thought it was all pretty weird and hard to swallow. Then I got into a Sunday School class that was taught by a really great guy. He was a test pilot in the Navy, and he was sharp and very knowledgeable about a lot of things, the gospel included. He convinced me that I could find out for myself if the Book of Mormon was true, if I would sincerely read and pray about it.”

  “So you did?”

  Jack looked at his plate. His voice, when he answered, was hoarse. “Yeah. I did.”

  “And you got an answer?”

  “Yeah. And I think it was real. But over the years, I kind of forgot about it. I started to think, ‘Nah—all that’s a bunch of bunkum.’ But I still went to church because it meant a lot to Mel, and I thought it was okay for Andi to learn all that stuff about Jesus that I’d never known about as a kid. But I’d begun to be a doubter. I’d listen to people bear their testimonies, and I’d think, ‘Yeah, right. Tell me another one.’”

  “I see. How do you feel about it now?”

  “I’ve been trying—my therapist, Brother Tappan, he’s been helping me—to get back in touch with what I felt back then—when I first joined the Church and when I first met Mel. It’s hard.” He chuckled, but it was a choking sound with an overtone of unshed tears. “I guess you could say I’ve come a long way, baby—in the wrong direction.”

  “That can be reversed,” the bishop said quietly.

  Jack drew a ragged sigh. “Man, I sure hope so. Looking back, that’s the only really happy time in my life. I’d sure like to feel that way again.”

  “You know, Jack, repentance is a great blessing. It’s the only way back to that clean, free, happy feeling. God’ll forgive you, when you’ve truly gone through the repentance process. In fact, He says He’ll forget all about your sins.”

  “Yeah—but how can I? And should I?”

  “Yep, you’ll need to do the same. Forgive yourself—and others.”

  “Brother Tappan says I need to make peace with the memory of my folks. That’s pretty nigh impossible. ”

  The bishop nodded. “Just try to let them go. They did their damage to you and your brother, but then, they didn’t have the benefit of the gospel in their lives, either. Maybe they had no faith, no belief, no understanding of their relationship to God—or yours. It’s hard to say, now—but they might’ve done differently if they’d had that understanding.”

  “Hard to imagine either one doing any different.”

  “I know. But according to our belief, they’re in a place now where they can learn a happier way, if they will. They may already be aware of the truth and wishing they’d done better by you boys.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “I’ve always pictured them roasting in hell, yelling and cursing and blaming each other, just like back home.”

  The bishop smiled faintly. “That’d be a temptation, all right. I’d imagine they’re in the spirit prison, from what you tell me of their character, and I suppose that’s not always the happiest place, or the best company. But real hell—I believe that comes later, after the final judgment, for those who won’t repent in this life or the next or who’ve committed unpardonable sins. But even that apparently isn’t a permanent situation, except for those who are cast into outer darkness. Most who suffer in hell and pay for their sins themselves are eventually saved in a kingdom of glory.”

  Jack snapped his fingers. “Shoot! And here I was hoping they’d suffer forever.” He smiled sadly. “I’m kidding—I guess.”

  “Well, one thing you can be sure of—that the Lord knows exactly how to handle your folks. But the important thing right now is you. Getting yourself back on track, emotionally and spiritually. Breaking the abuse cycle, letting that part of the family heritage be stopped forever.”

  “I know that if Mel and I ever get back together, things’ll have to be totally different. And I realize now that controlling her doesn’t work. It wasn’t even what I needed to do—I just thought it was the only way to keep her. Like I’ve said before—I thought she’d take Andi and leave if I didn’t watch her every minute and control where she went and who with. I s’pose I knew, deep inside, that was what I deserved to have happen. Them leaving, I mean.”

  “I’m no therapist, as you know, but I wonder, Jack, when did you start that kind of controlling behavior? Was it early on, when you were dating Melody or first married?”

  Jack thought. “I know I felt jealous when we were dating and she’d talk to other guys. I mean, she was so gorgeous, and she was this sweet, innocent little Mormon girl, and a lot of guys were attracted to her. I felt incredibly lucky that she liked me back. But I didn’t do anything about my jealousy then. After we were married, I told her I didn’t want her talking to other men, especially not alone. Not at church or anywhere. One time I really embarrassed her when she was talking to a guy who stopped by the house. I kind of threw her back into the living room and told him to get off the premises and stay off. I thought he was making a pass at her. Turns out he’d been assigned to help with the Church magazine drive, is all. So it all just kind of grew—and then, when Andi was born, I was so crazy about her I got kind of paranoid about losing her. I was jealous even of Mel getting to spend time with her without me. Now, look at me—I don’t have either of them, and haven’t even seen them for months. Great job, huh!”

  “We all make mistakes. Yours are more serious than some, that’s true. But I still think with complete repentance and therapy to help you realize the whats and whys of your behavior, you can get through this in good shape.”

  “Bishop, I sure hope you’re right. But what do I do about looking at women? About the thoughts and temptations?”

  “Same thing any single LDS man has to do. Distract yourself with acceptable things. What do they call it? Sublimating. That’s it. And it might sound kind of simplistic, but it really does work to replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Keep good reading material handy, including the scriptures and the Ensign. And other good books, on whatever you’re interested in. Get yourself a hobby. Learn to tie flies or build furniture or play the guitar. Something you’ve never had the time to try. Take a night class.
Learn a new language. Get into genealogy—maybe see what you can find out about your mother’s parents. Maybe you’ll come to understand her better. Stuff like that can help to pass the time for you and make you a stronger and more interesting person at the same time.” The bishop sat back. He felt, suddenly, as if he were counseling Lisa Lou or T-Rex or VerDan.

  Jack was nodding thoughtfully. “What hobbies do you have?” he inquired.

  “Me?” The bishop sighed. “Certain things have developed a new value for me, this last year. Sleep. Spending time with my kids—and time alone with Trish. Hobbies? I like Nascar racing. Love truck races, ’cause that’s what I did as a kid—souped up my old pickup and raced it on Saturday mornings. I like to read—mostly history and Church books. Like country music—the old style, not so much all the hybrid stuff they play now, the so-called ‘new country.’ Give me Hank Williams and Loretta Lynn. Come summertime, I don’t mind working outside in the yard and garden, though I complain about it. Really like to go hiking and tramping around up at my great-grandpa’s old place up in the hills. Best thinking place I know. Enjoy taking my boy fishing and camping and to ball games. And I like working with people. I’ve pretty much enjoyed all my Church callings.” He grinned. “Maybe some of those things qualify as hobbies.”

  Jack was pensive, gazing out the window again. “I used to like building model airplanes,” he said softly. “I’d be so careful to do it just right, and put extra touches on ’em, like they were real planes that I was personalizing. My old man smashed most of ’em one day, in one of his drunken rages. I didn’t do it anymore, after that. But it’s funny—it wasn’t my planes I missed so much—it was the making of ’em. That make sense?”

  “Whole lot of sense. In lots of things, I think it’s the process that counts, much as the end result. It’s good to enjoy the journey. Maybe life’s like that, when you think about it. So allow yourself some pleasures along the way, Jack. Life needn’t be all work and struggle. Just keep away from the forbidden pleasures. You know what they are.”

  “I’ll do it, Bishop. I swear to you, I will.”

  The bishop believed him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  “ . . . should you feel inclined to censure”

  And then, she had the nerve—the unmitigated gall—to say that we were violating a city ordinance by having so many extra cars parked along the street! Have you ever heard such a thing?”

  Bishop James Shepherd looked at the sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks of his beloved wife, thinking that such a display of temper was, thankfully, rare with her—but also that it was undeniably becoming, something he didn’t dare say while she was in the heat of battle—or, in this case, the rehash of a battle.

  “So what’d you say?” he asked.

  “Well, I pointed out to our dear neighbor that no one’s driveway was blocked and that there was plenty of room for people to back out into the street and for two-way traffic, so I didn’t think she had cause for alarm.”

  “And she said . . .”

  “She said that we had no business hogging all the street parking, no matter what kind of Mormon meeting we were having over here, and that we shouldn’t invite more people over than we can accommodate in our own driveway.”

  “That’s absurd. There’s street-side parking all along this street, both sides, and everybody has access to it, whenever they need it. Always been that way.”

  “I know! She just wants to cause trouble. Any excuse will do. And you should have seen her craning her neck to get a look at the sisters in the house! I stood back and asked if she’d like to come in and discuss things, and she said, ‘Certainly not! I’ll take the matter to the proper authorities. I’m just giving you fair warning.’”

  “My goodness. Did any of the ladies hear all this?”

  “Most of them were in the dining room, but Ida Lou caught a little of it, and Rosetta could see that I was upset and took me aside to ask about it. She thought it was outrageous, too. I didn’t tell anybody else because I was afraid people would leave early. Oh! That woman! I wish she’d never moved here.”

  “Sounds like she’s determined to try our patience and our faith,” he agreed. “Reckon we’d better be up for the challenge. Maybe I’ll step over and have a word with her.”

  “Do you think you should? She’ll probably call the police and say you’re harassing her.”

  “Hmm. Too bad we can’t take over a pie or something, with a nice note, apologizing for causing her any inconvenience. Turn the other cheek, you know?”

  This was not a concept his wife was ready to entertain. “Jim Shepherd! You think I should apologize to her? I can’t believe you said that!”

  “Babe—I don’t mean that you ought to have to apologize. You did nothing wrong. But sometimes a soft answer really does turn away wrath.”

  “I doubt it would, in her case.”

  “Well, maybe not. Did the kids get home all right?”

  She nodded. “Thankfully. The poor things saw the state I was in, banging things around the kitchen when they came in, and scattered to their rooms for the duration.” She allowed herself a tight little smile. “I haven’t been this mad in a long time.”

  He held out his arms, and she came into them, but stiffly, and still trembling with indignation. “No, you haven’t—not since I tried to break our date.”

  “I wasn’t even this mad, then. Just a little hurt. But honestly, this woman brings out the worst in me.”

  He nodded against her hair. “Some people have a gift for that,” he agreed.

  A sound of building, hammering, worked its way into his consciousness. He realized that it had been going on for some time.

  “What’s going on? Who’s building?” he asked, lifting his head.

  “I have no idea. I’ve been too upset to notice.”

  “Think I’ll check.” He squeezed her arms, released her, and went out the kitchen door, his ears attuned to the direction of the sound. It seemed to be coming from behind his garage. He went around that building and found two workmen constructing a six-foot-high board fence just inches east of his own three-foot pickets.

  “Hey, there,” he greeted. “You fellows putting up a fence for the Lowells?”

  One of the men squinted at him in the summer sunlight. “Yessir, that’s what they hired us to do. Six foot high, clear to the sidewalk. Didn’t check with y’all first, huh?”

  “No, indeed. We’ve always kind of enjoyed having an open view between our yards—at least when Mr. Jenkins lived here. But I reckon the Lowells feel differently.”

  “Seems like it, all right. The lady seemed in a big hurry, told us she needed it up on the first day the weather would allow.”

  “I see. Okay, thanks.”

  He stalked back into the kitchen, feeling a bit warm under the collar himself.

  “A fence,” he told Trish. “Lowells are putting up a board fence, just the other side of ours—except theirs is six feet high, all the way out to the sidewalk.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! Why would they do that? Is that even legal? Do the codes allow it? Did Mr. Jenkins give permission? They’re only renters!”

  “I don’t know, but you can bet I plan to find out.”

  He called a friend from high school, Rand Ezell, who served on the Fairhaven City Council. Luckily, Rand had just returned from a round of golf in the winter sun.

  “Yep, Jim, I’m afraid they’re within their rights, long as they have permission from the owner,” he confirmed. “If it was a corner lot, they’d only be able to put up three feet of fencing for the first five yards back from the street or sidewalk, so the fence wouldn’t block the view of drivers. But between inner lots, like yours, six feet is the allowed height, all the way front to back. Now, it’d only be common courtesy for them to visit with you about their plans before they carried them out, but it’s not required. Sorry, chum!”

  He thanked Rand and sat back, thinking for a minute. Then he flipped op
en the phone book and searched for a number—that of Margery Roane, a friend of Mr. Jenkins’s daughter Rosemary. He called and asked Margery, whom he knew slightly, for Rosemary’s number, telling her he wanted to contact Rosemary’s dad.

  “You know what?” Margery replied. “I had a call from Rosemary the other day. Her dad passed away very suddenly, just over a week ago. They went ahead and buried him down in Talladega, by his wife, with just a graveside service. He didn’t have any family left up this way, so they didn’t plan a funeral or anything here. I didn’t even see a notice of it in the paper.”

  “Is that right? Well, that’s too bad. But there should have been something in the paper—he still has lots of friends here, I’m sure. My problem is, I wonder if Rosemary gave the renters of her dad’s house, which is next door to mine, permission to put up a six-foot fence?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, of course, but it seems like she said the renters were actually planning to buy the place, on kind of a rent-to-own basis for a while, so she’s prob’ly told them to do whatever they want to it. I have her number, if you’d like to ask her.”

  “Would you mind giving it to me? I just might decide to check with her.”

  Margery supplied the number, and he thought for a few more minutes. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed. He offered his sympathies to Rosemary Jenkins Beade, told her that her father had been missed since he moved away and had been a fine neighbor, then asked his question.

  “The Lowells? Right—they’re renting with an option to buy. They asked if they could do some fixing up, and I thought sure, why not? A little painting, landscaping, a new fence—it all sounded like it would improve the property. I’m sorry if they’re annoying you folks, though.”

  The bishop was curious. “D’you mind if I ask if they had references, when they accepted your offer?”