“Well, sir, it’s possible we may have your cat. We have two Siamese at the moment, a seal-point female who was brought in—let’s see—last evening, from Fairhaven, and a lilac-point male from Blountsville. If you’d like to come and see, we’re open to the public from nine to two on weekdays, and from nine to noon on Saturdays. We’re closed on Sundays. If you’ll bring your cat’s papers from the vet showing that her shots are current, we can release her to you for a fifteen-dollar boarding fee. If she hasn’t had her shots, then she’ll have to be given them before she’s released, and that’ll be forty-five dollars. Has she been spayed?”
“She has. And I’m pretty sure she’s current on her shots. I’ll look for the papers. Thank you!”
“She’s there? She’s there?” Mallory was dancing up and down.
“Well, there’s a kitty that sounds like it might be Samantha,” he told her. “We’ll go see, okay? Let me just call the store and tell Mary Lynn I’m taking the morning off.”
He also called Trish at Ida Lou’s and apprised her of the situation.
“That witch!” she said, with an indignant squeak in her voice that reminded him of Tiffani. “Jamie was right, wasn’t he? Jim, what are we going to do about her? She’s just plain mean.”
“I honestly don’t know. I’m frankly puzzled, at the moment—and pretty mad, too. But, tell me, babe—where do you keep the cat’s immunization papers?”
She told him where they were filed, and he was lucky enough to find them all by himself, which was not something he could take for granted without Trish’s presence and sure memory for detail. She also reminded him to take the cat carrier, to transport Samantha safely home—if, indeed, it was Samantha. He tried to stifle the fear that Maxine Lowell had simply taken Samantha “for a ride” and dumped her in some out-of-the-way place, and that the cat at the shelter wouldn’t be Samantha at all. All the way to the shelter, while Mallory bounced on the truck seat in anticipation of being reunited with her friend, he tried again to think how to comfort her if it was some other cat.
He needn’t have worried. He was certain he recognized Samantha’s distressed contralto yowls as soon as he opened the door to the shelter office. There was a deeper cat voice, as well as assorted other meows, barks and howls, but Mallory also heard Samantha.
“It’s her! I can hear her voice,” she said, running to peer through the glass window in the door that led to the cat cages. “Samantha! We’re here!”
The volunteer worker who had taken their call examined the immunization papers, retrieved the cat from the holding cages, brought her back and set her on the desk. Samantha shook herself, took one look at Mallory and her dad, and told them in no uncertain terms what she thought of her ordeal. Mallory picked her up, and the cat clung to her young mistress’s coat for dear life, rubbing her chin against Mallory’s and beginning a loud purr. The bishop stroked her fur, too, immensely grateful to have found her.
“Apparently she’s yours, all right,” the volunteer said with a chuckle. She proceeded to take the fifteen dollars and obtain the necessary signature, then counseled them about the advantages of having pets wear collars, or even better, have an identification chip implanted so that lost pets could be immediately identified. “Especially when they’re prone to wander,” she added, with a significant look at Samantha.
“Actually, she isn’t all that given to wandering,” the bishop told her. “She kept being called into the neighbor’s yard by their daughter, and then the mother trapped her and hauled her off to the shelter.”
“Oh, my. Didn’t she recognize her as yours?”
“I think she did. I believe she has some kind of grudge against us.”
“Be grateful, then, that she chose the shelter,” the volunteer said. “Some do much worse. And you might want to keep a close eye on your cat from now on.”
“We sure will.” With an effort, he removed Samantha from Mallory’s shoulder and put her in her carrier, where the yowls began again.
He was relieved, he told himself as they headed back toward Fairhaven. He was also very angry because he was certain that Maxine Lowell was perfectly aware of whose cat she had captured and hauled away. He imagined the things he would like to say to her regarding the stress and pain she had caused his little daughter—and, in fact, the whole family—and he pictured the bill he wanted to send her for the boarding fee, gas and oil, and damages. He wanted to demand an apology. He wanted to know exactly what she had against his family, when they had done nothing but try to welcome hers into the neighborhood.
Then his conscience caught up to him, and he realized how uncharitable such thoughts were—how un-Christian, just as Mrs. Lowell suspected him of being. Jamie’s family home evening lesson on charity toward those who persecute sprang into his mind, and he recalled counseling Tiffani to try to pray for people who insulted her. He winced and tried to form a silent prayer in Maxine Lowell’s behalf.
“Daddy, can’t I let Samantha out? She’s sad,” begged Mallory. Indeed, the cat’s multi-syllabic cries continued unabated from the carrier on the floor by Mallory’s feet. Normally, the sound would have set his nerves on edge, but he was so glad for the happy outcome of the incident and for Mallory’s joy that he almost welcomed the din.
“Sorry, sugar. She’s safer in her carrier and actually probably feels more secure than she would bouncing around loose in the truck. It’s kind of like her seatbelt. Just keep talking to her, and maybe she’ll calm down.” She didn’t, until they pulled into their own driveway again and the bishop lifted her carrier out of the cab of the truck. Then she quieted, sniffing and peering through the openings in the carrier, obviously aware that she was home. In the house, she shook herself again, and after a brief tour of the kitchen, settled in a sunny spot on the family room floor and began to bathe herself, washing away all the scent of fear and of alien surroundings.
“Tell you what, Mal-pal,” the bishop said. “Now that Samantha’s safely home, you and I have to go back to school and to work. But first we need lunch, and since Mom’s still not home, why don’t we head for the Dairy Kreme to celebrate?”
“Daddy, don’t you remember? I’m out of school at lunchtime. I don’t go in the afternoons!”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, then, we’ll go have lunch, and by then, Mommy will probably be back.”
“Why don’t we wait for Mommy, and she can eat lunch with us?”
“Because I don’t know how long she’ll be, and I need to get to work.”
She dimpled. “I think it’s ’cause Mommy won’t let you get fries and onion rings.”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You are far too smart, young lady!”
Mallory giggled. “I won’t tell.”
* * *
He had stewed about the Lowell situation and prayed about it for two days. Finally he decided he needed to say something, so once again he knocked on the door of the house next door. No one came. There were lights on; he knew they were there. Their car sat in the drive. He knocked again, louder. Finally, Marguerite opened the door.
“Hi, Marguerite,” he said pleasantly. “Is your mother here?”
Her eyelids flared as if with fear, but she nodded, and turned away from the door without a word. A few minutes later, Maxine came bustling forward, wiping her hands on a towel.
“What is it now?” she asked, frowning.
“I just wanted to let you know that we found our cat,” he said. “Someone had taken her to the animal shelter. We had to drive down to Oneonta to get her. From now on, she’ll be wearing a blue collar, with our name and address on the tag. If she wanders over into your yard, I’d appreciate it if you’d let us know, and we’ll come get her. I wouldn’t want her to bother you folks, or get lost again. It’s too upsetting to our little girl.”
“Cats don’t stay home. They wander by nature. Anything might happen to them.”
“Well, ours is pretty much a homebody, and she’s never disappeared before. If you aren’t sur
e it’s our cat, ask Marguerite. She knows her. Thanks.”
“Mr. Shepherd! Are you accusing me of taking your cat away?”
“No, ma’am. I didn’t ask the folks at the shelter who brought her in—if they even know. I’m just letting you know that she’s back and that we’ll try to keep her out of your way. We want to be good neighbors, and in that spirit, I feel it’s best if we give one another the benefit of the doubt and treat each other with good, Christian charity, don’t you? You have a nice evening, Mrs. Lowell.” He smiled when the door slammed as he stepped off the porch.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, the bishop drove his son, Jamie, and Buddy Osborne down to Birmingham to visit T-Rex at the rehabilitation center. The boys were excited to see their hero, and although they were suddenly shy in his presence, they grinned continually. T-Rex was sitting up in a chair, his left arm still in a cast and sling, also smiling widely at his young friends.
Buddy nodded toward the helmet. “Last time I saw that thing, it was still on your head,” he commented. “I was scared your head was split open the same way.”
“Naw, reckon that didn’t happen till I got down here and the doctors went to operatin’ on me,” T-Rex replied, reaching to explore the scar on the side of his head with his fingers. “Reckon I’m grateful for that there helmet, though. I didn’t always like to wear one, but I’d just got it for Christmas, and it must’ve been cold enough that night that I thought it was okay. I don’t remember, yet, anything past Christmas mornin’.”
“Yeah, you were real proud of the helmet, and the new seat and handlebar grips and stuff. I’m sure sorry, though, that you got hurt after takin’ me home. Felt like it was my fault.”
Jamie spoke up. “It wasn’t your fault, Buddy! It was just the road was bad, with holes and all.”
“That old Post Hole Road? Pot Hole Road, my dad calls it. I was real dumb to take that road at night. Ain’t no way it’s your fault, Bud. ’Sides, I’m told I invited you to go for a ride—told you I’d take you home. Ain’t that right?”
“Well, yeah. But I made you late, and that’s why you took a shortcut.”
T-Rex chuckled. “Wadn’t much of a shortcut, was it? I ain’t made it home, yet!”
“How soon do you think they’ll release you?” the bishop asked.
“They say iffen I keep doin’ this good, and can keep my balance a little better, maybe by next week. I’ll still have to go to therapy, but I figger, what the heck? Half the NFL players spend most of their spare time in therapy!”
As they were preparing to leave, T-Rex motioned the bishop over and said, “Bishop? Reckon I could have a few minutes with you, just us? There’s a snack bar on the second floor that the guys might want to check out.”
“Sure, Thomas,” he replied. He ushered the boys out with a ten-dollar bill and instructions to get themselves something good, saying he’d join them there in a few minutes. Curiously, he went back into the room and pulled a chair close to T-Rex, whose roommate was out at a therapy session. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Um—it’s just there’s this thing been botherin’ me, and I figgered you’d be the one to ask about it. It’s probably just a crazy dream, on account of my head injury and all, but I don’t know, ’cause it seems awful real, and I cain’t get it out of my mind.”
The bishop nodded. “Tell me about it.”
“Well—it’s like I dreamed I was somewheres else, someplace I never seen before, walkin’ on this little old path that run beside the bank of a river. It was just a real purty place, and had these flowers growin’ alongside the path that weren’t like none I ever seen before—they, like, glowed from inside, you know? And the grass moved, like with a little breeze, and man! I felt so good there, and so happy. And then this guy—this dude in white clothes—comes walkin’ along the path towards me, and he smiles at me and says, ‘Do you like it here?’ I kinda felt like I oughta know him, but I couldn’t quite come up with his name. I says, ‘I sure do, it’s great.’ And he says, ‘Around that bend in the path is a bridge. If you cross the bridge, you won’t be able to go back home to your parents. You’ll stay here. They really want you to come back to them and finish your life, but it’s up to you. What do you want to do?’ Well, I wanted to stay there in the worst way, ’ceptin’ I felt bad for my mom and dad, and I dithered around and couldn’t make up my mind. Then he says, ‘Look.’ I looked where he was pointing, and Bishop, I swear, it was like all of a sudden I was in our chapel in Fairhaven. Only thing was, people wadn’t sittin’ on the benches like normal. They was all kneelin’ down, between the benches, like they was prayin.’ I seen old Buddy there, kneelin’ down, and Sister Tullis, and you and your family and a whole bunch of people. I couldn’t hear nothin’ that was said, but all of a sudden I knew they was all there, prayin’ for me, that I’d come back. So right then, I decided I would, and—well, that was all there was to it. Next thing I knowed, I was startin’ to come around, and ever’thing hurt. It was real hard to open my eyes the first time. Now, is that crazy, or what?”
The bishop leaned forward and squeezed the young man’s hand. “Thomas, that was not crazy. And it wasn’t a simple, everyday dream. That was a real and very sacred experience. I reckon it’s what some folks would call a near-death experience. The reason I know it was real is that when I blessed you, out at the accident scene, before the ambulance got there, I had the distinct impression that you could recover and be just fine, if you chose to be. I knew you’d have the choice to live or die—that it was in your hands. You can ask Brother Patrenko, or my wife, or—come to think of it—your own folks. I told them about it, too. And you can ask anybody you saw kneeling in the chapel, Thomas, because we did that. We had a special ward fast for you, and we all met at the chapel at the end of it, and had a kneeling prayer. Sister Tullis was there, and so was Buddy—among lots of others. Jamie even fasted for you—it was his first time. So you see, son—you had a true and sacred experience. You were very blessed.”
The mighty T-Rex, tough, popular football player, sat with tears running down his cheeks. “I . . . I kinda died, then, didn’t I?”
“I believe you must have been out of your body, briefly. And now you know, for certain, that there is life after death.”
“Yeah—I do, don’t I? I was there, huh? Not all the way, I reckon—but almost to the bridge. Who d’you reckon that fella was?”
The bishop shook his head. “I don’t know. Could’ve been an angel, or maybe one of your own ancestors. Somebody you once knew, certainly—maybe in the premortal life, before you were born.”
“Wow. I’d’ve known if it was the Lord, Himself, wouldn’t I?”
“I expect so. My guess is he was a representative of the Lord, and spoke the truth to you, and showed you a true vision, too. Did he say anything else?”
“Iffen he did, I don’t remember. All I remember is what I told you. What should I do now, Bishop?”
“Live to be worthy of your second chance, Thomas. Pray. Learn all you can about the Savior and His gospel. Honor your priesthood. Be clean and true. And first of all, when you get a chance, write your whole experience down in a journal. But it may not be something you want to tell everybody about. Sacred things like this should be kept mostly personal, unless you feel a strong prompting to tell somebody, like you did today. Mostly, just keep it in the back of your mind and ponder it. Let it guide your life.”
Thomas nodded. “I don’t see myself tellin’ nobody about it, ’ceptin’ maybe my folks. Reckon that’d be okay?”
“Very much okay. Thank you so much, Thomas, for sharing it with me.”
The familiar grin returned. “Well, sure, Bish. Um—Bishop. I mean, you da man!”
The bishop hugged him gratefully. T-Rex was back.
* * *
“What if the rain gets on it? Won’t it spot?” Tiffani fretted, turning around before the dining room mirror to gauge the effect of the light on the off-white, pearlized sheen of her gown.<
br />
“The only evening wrap I have is velvet, and that’d spot, for sure,” her mother replied. “You’ll just have to wear a regular coat, and remember to pick up the hem, and be careful getting in and out of the car so you won’t splash on your skirt. It would be raining, wouldn’t it! But at least it’s not icy. You look absolutely delicious, Tiff! Like vanilla ice cream.”
“Exactly,” her father agreed proudly. “With strawberry cheeks and butterscotch hair.”
“You guys are weird,” Tiffani said, as she had said before—but her voice was soft and pleasant. Her father was grateful and knew his wife was, too—perhaps more than he—that the problem of the dress had been solved, with the expert help of Ida Lou Reams. Working together, she and Trish had altered a pattern to make it a little more modest, and the result was stunning—a slender column of a dress that made Tiffani look like the living statue of a graceful Greek maiden. Lucky Billy Newton tonight! How could he possibly appreciate all that had gone into this evening? Boys had no clue.
Billy did, however, look properly appreciative when he arrived, wearing his suit and carrying a corsage of pink rosebuds for Tiffani, who had a matching boutonniere for his lapel. The flowers had been arranged for by Ruth MacDonald, who had called Trish to ascertain the colors the girls were wearing. After some discussion, Lisa Lou and Pete had been included in the group date, and Pete’s dad, Big Mac himself, had volunteered to chauffeur the three couples in his capacious car. They would be a little crowded, but that didn’t seem to bother the young people. After the dance, Mac would pick them up, drive them to his home for a midnight feast, and then take them each home—girls first, of course. Tiffani’s dad was grateful to his old friend. He also hoped that the presence of the five LDS young people in the MacDonald home would be a good example of their faith to Pete and his parents.
He and Trish stood at the door and watched Tiffani pick her way daintily down the walk, holding Billy’s arm. A few raindrops glinted on her amber curls in the gleam of the porch light.
Through Cloud and Sunshine Page 23