Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  * * *

  Early Tuesday evening, Bishop Shepherd inserted his key into the door of the bishop’s office and let himself in. He was the first one to arrive, and when he turned the light on, a gray tithing envelope on the floor just inside the door caught his attention. He picked it up and could tell it was full of coins. In the upper left corner, in the space for a return address, was printed, “T-Rex.”

  He smiled and opened the envelope as he headed for the clerk’s office. He couldn’t wait. The donation slip inside listed a fast offering of three dollars and ninety cents exactly the price of a half-dozen cinnamon twists. The bishop laughed out loud, stuffed the slip back into the envelope with the money, and left it for Brother Perkins to find.

  * * *

  He had two couples to interview for temple recommends Don and Connie Wheeler and Gene and Frankie Talbot. The interviews were a pleasure; he wished every couple in the Fairhaven Ward had the faith and determination to do right that these two couples had. Don and Connie were cheerful and uncomplaining in spite of their inability to have children and the seemingly endless adoption procedures they were going through. Gene and Frankie were solid, service-oriented folks who also declined to complain in spite of the rigors of bringing up five very active children, Frankie’s calling in the Relief Society presidency, and Gene’s job that took him away from home for days at a time. They were organized and energetic and somehow found time to do things for people. Word of their good deeds only some of them, the bishop felt sure filtered back to him from time to time. A lawn mowed or raked, a meal taken in to the sick or tired or elderly (though none had been asked for), a sack of school clothing, all properly sized, for a family without the means to provide their own all evidence of the Talbots’ love of God and fellowman.

  His Relief Society president, Ida Lou Reams, popped in for a brief chat just as the Talbots were leaving.

  “I declare, that little Frankie’s got the most spunk and energy of anybody I know,” she said, sitting in one of the chairs across the bishop’s desk. “She sure keeps us on our toes in the Relief Society.” A look of alarm suddenly crossed her face. “You’re not taking her away from us, are you, Bishop? They weren’t here about a new calling, were they?”

  He smiled. “No, no, Ida Lou, no fear of that. They were just renewing their temple recommends. They’re sure a fine couple, and so are the Wheelers, who were here before them. It does a bishop’s heart good to be reminded that there are such good stalwart people in his ward. Now, how’s the Relief Society doing? Anything I can help with?”

  “Well, shoot, Bishop, after what you just said, I hate to give you my news.”

  “Uh-oh. What’s the problem?”

  “Well, I don’t know why he come to me I reckon because he thinks I might help, woman-to-woman, or that the sisters might could rally round her, and he said he hatn’t talked to you about it, yet but he said I could, iffen I thought it’d help, so that’s why I’m here.”

  The bishop’s mind raced like a search engine through the ward list, trying to match Ida Lou’s words with any potential sisters with problems. He was concerned about Melody Padgett, of course, and Lula Rexford, with her husband’s unemployment, and Sister Bainbridge, widowed and nearly blind, and Nettie Birdwhistle, homeschooling her ten children in her log house in the hill country, and others of slender means but none of them seemed to fit what Ida Lou was saying.

  “Who?” he blurted.

  “Oh, didn’t I say? Sorry, Bishop, reckon it addled me it was Brother Lanier, talking about his wife. Says he thinks she’s losing her testimony.”

  The bishop felt as if he had been blindsided. Marybeth Lanier, losing her testimony? Why hadn’t he known? Why hadn’t he felt it, when he looked out over the congregation, or had a prompting about her during his prayers?

  “Why does he think so?” he asked.

  “He said she’s been questioning some things about the gospel for a long time. I don’t know just what. She’s a real smart lady, and I don’t see how I could help her out, but I told him I’d pray for her. I think he’s real concerned.”

  “I’ll bet he is.” Scott Lanier was a medical doctor a podiatrist, actually and a kind, quiet man who seemed to know the gospel well and to do his best to live according to its precepts. Marybeth, his wife, was also very quiet, but, as Ida Lou said, “smart,” and very capable in anything she set her mind to do. They had been stalwarts in the Fairhaven Ward for a number of years, and he would have never imagined that she would be entertaining doubts about the Church or its teachings.

  “Thanks, Sister Reams. I’ll talk to Brother and Sister Lanier, and see if I can find out what it’s all about. You do just what you said pray for her and ask your counselors and Trish to do the same, but remind them not to say anything to anyone else about the situation. You can just imagine how it’d make Marybeth feel to find out everybody was talking about her behind her back.”

  “That wouldn’t help atall, would it?” she agreed. “Well, other than that, far as I can tell, the sisters are all perkin’ along pretty good.”

  “You know, I wonder, when I go out to visit Sister Hazel Buzbee next time, whether you’d be able to ride along and get acquainted with her? Trish will be going, too.”

  “Reckon I’d like that. I have a real vague memory of her, but it’s been so long, I cain’t put a face to the name. I should know every sister in the ward, that’s for sure.”

  “We’ll be going on the first of November, so if that fits into your schedule, I’d be grateful. I’ll let you know what time. Oh and does Sister Lanier receive visiting teachers?”

  “Well, there’s some assigned, but I noticed on the report that they’ve had a hard time catching up to her, of late.”

  The bishop nodded. “Well, I reckon now we have some idea why,” he said sadly.

  * * *

  Thursday evening Bishop Shepherd left work a little early and cleaned up a bit before going to visit another of the extra people he had assigned himself to home teach. Sister Elaine Forelaw was a lifelong member of the Church who had grown up in Mississippi and had married a fellow named Sergeant Forelaw there before they had moved to Fairhaven. It was a matter of speculation whether her husband had earned his name in service of his country, or his folks had given it to him as an honorary title at birth, or he had acquired it as a nickname because he behaved like a drill sergeant with his kids. There were Forelaws in Fairhaven; the bishop had gone to school with them, and he thought it was high time he found out what relationship there might be. Sergeant Forelaw was not a Latter-day Saint, that much was known. Elaine and the three children came to church now and then, but not with any regularity.

  He pulled up in front of their house, which was quite an ordinary white frame house set on concrete blocks. The spacious yard was dotted with pine trees and enclosed by a chain link fence. He looked around carefully for dogs as he approached, but there appeared to be none, and there was no sign of children at play, either.

  His knock on the door was answered by Elaine, a cheerful young woman with light reddish-brown hair and rosy cheeks.

  “Bishop Shepherd? I thought that must be who you were, but I haven’t happened to be at church when you were conducting, so I wasn’t sure if you were the bishop, or if it was the man with black hair. How’re you doing, tonight?”

  “Fine, thanks, Sister Forelaw. The fellow with black hair is Robert Patrenko, my first counselor. Second counselor is Sam Wright.”

  She nodded, smiling. “I know Brother Wright. He’s a nice man. Won’t you come in?”

  “Is your husband at home? I’d be pleased to meet him.”

  “He’s here, like he promised he would be. He’s in the kitchen.” She turned and called over her shoulder, “Sarge! Bishop would like to meet you!”

  Sergeant Forelaw ambled into the room with an open can of beer in one hand. He offered his other hand to the guest.

  “Good to meet you, Mr. Forelaw,” the bishop said, shaking Sergeant’s hand firmly
and ignoring the beer. “I grew up with Jakey Forelaw. Is he ”

  Sergeant nodded. “Jake’s my cousin, and the reason we’re up here in Alabama. I come up here to work with him in the tire business.”

  “Oh, tires of course. Forelaw Tires, over on Second Street. Well, it’s good to meet you. We enjoy Sister Forelaw and the children in the ward, and since I’m the new bishop, I decided it was time I got better acquainted with the family. I appreciate you letting me visit. Are the kids here?”

  “Oh, they’re in bed, already,” Elaine said. “They go down at six-thirty.”

  The bishop tried to hide his surprise. He also tried to imagine getting any of his three in bed by six-thirty. Of course, the Forelaw children were mostly younger. “How old are they, now?” he asked.

  “Eight, four and three,” Elaine said easily. “Won’t you sit down, Bishop?”

  “Oh, sure. Thanks.” He sat on the edge of a clean, but worn, blue sofa. The room was spotless no toys, no mess, but also no books or magazines or needlework or plants or anything to show the interests of the occupants.

  “Something to drink?” inquired Sergeant, lifting his can.

  “Sarge,” said his wife, with a slight hint of admonition in her voice. “Glass of ice water, Bishop? Or apple juice?”

  “Neither, thanks. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” Sergeant said and strolled slowly back in that direction. He was a large man with sandy blond hair and freckles under what appeared to be a perpetual sunburn.

  “So you folks are both originally from Mississippi?” the bishop asked.

  “Meridian,” Elaine agreed. “Eastern part of the state.”

  He nodded. “Right.” He knew where Meridian was. “Lived there all your lives?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Well, Fairhaven’s my hometown. Been here all my life except for a couple of years away at college. So I haven’t gone far afield, but my wife, Trish, isn’t originally from here. She was an Air Force kid. Her dad was here on special military assignment when she was a teenager, and we met then. Corresponded, finally got together again, and married. Lucky for me she likes it here. At least, she claims to.” He smiled.

  “I’ll bet she does,” Elaine said. “I do. It’s a pretty town.”

  “Have you met Trish? She has dark hair, greenish eyes. She was teaching Primary, but now she’s Relief Society secretary.”

  She shrugged. “Probably, but I’m not sure, sorry. I know I met the Relief Society president. I’ve met people whenever I’ve been to church, but it’s hard to remember their names.”

  He nodded. “That does take a while, putting names with faces. And even longer to place children with their parents.”

  “That’s true.”

  There was a momentary silence, which seemed to the bishop to stretch on and on. He was uncomfortably aware of Sergeant, sipping his beer in the kitchen, no doubt listening very carefully to the conversation between his wife and this Mormon bishop.

  “One day, when I visit, I’ll bring Trish along, if that’s all right,” he suggested.

  “That’d be nice.”

  “So how are things going for your family?” he asked. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

  “Oh, no we’re just fine. But thanks.”

  “Lots of folks are having some uneasy feelings after what happened on nine-eleven. Are your kids okay about that?”

  “I don’t think they even realize much about it. We don’t let them watch much TV and mostly just stuff like Sesame Street when they do.”

  “I believe that’s wise. My ten-year-old son’s been kind of upset about it. He had to write a paper for school about his feelings, and I think that helped him a little, to express his confusion and fear.”

  “I try not to think about it. I won’t listen to all those lists of people who died, and the tributes to them. Makes it too real. I start feeling like I know them, and then I get sad.”

  “I understand. I surely do hope there’s some good that can come out of all of it, but it’s hard to see what that might be, except for the heroism of the police and firemen. That’s been impressive.”

  “I’m just sorry they needed to be heroes for such a reason,” Elaine Forelaw said. “Now so many of their best people are lost, and they have to try to replace them, and train new ones.”

  “It’s tragic, all right, and a very tough situation for everybody. But President Hinckley said he doesn’t believe this is the beginning of a huge, worldwide calamity. However, he did encourage all of us to do our best to prepare, to get out of debt, to put away our food supplies, and so forth. That’s always been good advice, of course. I’ve known families who’ve pretty much lived on their storage food during times of personal problems, such as illness or job loss.”

  She nodded. “Sarge and me, we don’t owe anybody except for our house, and a few more payments on his truck. I bottle whatever fruits and vegetables I can get cheap, and we’ve got a freezer for meats and such. Sarge hunts when he can, so we’ve got venison and pheasant in the freezer, as well as chicken and beef we’ve bought on sale.”

  “Sounds like you folks are right on track. I believe it’s important, these days, to keep on hand the things we need and use the most. Be prepared, as the Scouts say.” He raised his voice slightly. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Forelaw?”

  Sergeant Forelaw appeared in the door to the kitchen. “What was that?” he asked. “I wasn’t listening.”

  “Bishop was just saying it’s good to be prepared, like the Boy Scouts say. For emergencies, and all.”

  “Oh, yeah. I was a Boy Scout once, for a couple of years. Learned some good stuff.”

  “I was telling Sister Forelaw that it sounds as if you folks are on the right track, with no unnecessary debt, and food put away for the winter, or for hard times. The Church encourages us to do that, so that we can be as self-sufficient as possible.”

  “That’s just good, plain common sense, seems to me,” the man commented. “Don’t know why a church needs to say so.”

  The bishop smiled. “It is good sense, but not as common as you might think. I own a grocery store, and you’d be surprised how quickly the shelves empty out whenever there’s a storm coming, or a trucker’s strike or such. Seems like nobody keeps basics on hand like they used to. Anyway, I think the Church leaders encourage us to look out for our own needs by planning ahead, and then we won’t be a drain on anyone else, be it the government or the Church or our neighbors. We might even be in a position to help other people out.” He stood up. “Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you folks. Next time, I’ll try to get here a little sooner, to meet the kids, too. Thanks for letting me come.”

  “Thanks for coming, Bishop. It’s good to meet you,” Elaine responded.

  Sergeant Forelaw raised his can in salute. The bishop wondered if it was the same one the man had been sipping when he arrived or did he go through several in the course of an evening? Could that be why the children were tucked safely in bed so early? That was an uncomfortable thought.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  “come unto him, all ye depressed”

  Rain had fallen, off and on, for three days, leaving the air washed and cool and smelling of the sad-sweet fragrance of damp leaves. On Friday afternoon, the bishop sat in a patch of late sun on his patio, stealing a quiet moment, trying to deal with the news about Marybeth Lanier that had left him reeling with regret and confusion. He should have known something was amiss with Marybeth, he scolded himself for the hundredth time. Why hadn’t he known? Had the Spirit tried to whisper something to him, and he’d been too busy, or too caught up in things like football games or reports of the war in Afghanistan to listen? And, more to the point, now that he knew what should he do? He thought back over the meeting he’d had with Dr. Scott Lanier on Wednesday. Scott had agreed to meet him for lunch at a soup and salad restaurant that had recently opened downtown.

  “Bishop, thanks for taking the time to s
ee me,” Scott had said. He was a slight man in his early forties with glasses over kind blue eyes, and hair that was just beginning to gray and to recede. He had a gentle manner and a quiet voice, but the bishop knew of his inner strength and testimony. He and Marybeth had one son, married and in graduate school at Duke University.

  “Dr. Lanier, I’m glad for the opportunity,” the bishop said.

  The man shook his head. “Just Brother Lanier, between us,” he requested. “Or, better yet just Scott. Not enough people call me Scott, anymore.” His smile was deprecating. “I guess I know why you asked to see me. Sister Reams spoke to you?”

  The bishop nodded. “Let’s get our lunch, and then we’ll talk,” he suggested, and once they were settled in a corner booth, he said, “Why don’t you just give me some idea of what’s been taking place with Marybeth? And, by the way, I apologize for not being aware of this.”

  Scott shrugged. “How could you be? I’ve only known for a couple of weeks although now, with good old hindsight, I can see hints going back for months or more. For example, she started making excuses not to go to the temple with me. She didn’t feel up to it, she couldn’t take the time away from her house or yard work, or she was already committed elsewhere.” He took a bite of salad and swallowed. “You may know she’s quite active in a couple of community charities. She helps with the local March of Dimes effort, and she’s very involved with the county shelter for battered women.”

  “Good causes,” the bishop said.

  “They are,” Scott agreed. “And I didn’t think much of it for a long time. I just thought it was hard to pick a good block of time for her to get away. Then, more recently, it began to be difficult to find a time to have prayer together as a couple, or if we did, she’d prefer for me to say it, never her. And if I came home late for dinner which happens, with doctors, even podiatrists she would keep a plate for me, and if I started to ask a blessing, she would say, ‘Oh, it’s already been blessed,’ so I’d just say, ‘Well, then, amen,’ and go ahead and eat. Lately, I realized that I hadn’t seen her open her scriptures for longer than I could remember, and I found them tucked away in a bookshelf in our study, instead of where she used to keep them, in her bedside table.”