Because of Jenny Cowper’s warning, DeAnne had noticed right away who Sister LeSueur was. A nice-looking lady, probably in her early sixties, hair dyed blond, and always dressed to show both money and dignity. She always had a smile and a word for everyone, and DeAnne rather liked her. She couldn’t understand why Jenny would have said such unpleasant things about her. Perhaps Sister LeSueur’s sweetness was a bit excessive, a bit too ostentatious, but there were many worse things that could be wrong with a person. Jenny must simply have misunderstood something that she said. Or perhaps she just has a low tolerance for people who are too careful to show that they are really good at being Christlike. DeAnne didn’t have too much use for people like that, either, but Sister LeSueur didn’t seem all that obnoxious.
She began to understand what Jenny was talking about, though, when her lesson was over and it was time for the sisters to bear their testimonies. The lesson had gone very well. It was about testimonies, and after telling several stories she got to her main point, that each sister had to have her own relationship with the Spirit of God. “The only mediator between us and our Father in heaven is Jesus Christ, and no one else, not the bishop, not our husbands, can stand between us and the Lord. Your testimony of the Lord is the one that you will be judged by at the last day, not someone else’s. As the Savior said, it is the words that we speak, not the words that we hear, that can damn us—or lift us up. Your husband’s testimony can’t possibly carry you into heaven.” They nodded, many of them, when she said that.
Then she spoke about how she and Step had not discussed their lessons with each other, and yet both of them had ended up making exactly that point—that the Lord wanted all his children to be prophets, to receive the Spirit in their lives. “Perhaps the Lord really wanted you to hear that lesson today. But I didn’t have to go to my husband to find out about it—if either of us was inspired, then we were both inspired, and that’s how it should be with our testimonies.” Again, they nodded. And when she finished with her lesson, more than a few were dabbing at their eyes.
The testimony meeting that followed was lovely, and that, too, was part of what DeAnne had tried for. It was the job of the spiritual living teacher to set the right tone, so in this one meeting each month the sisters would feel hungry to stand on theie feet and bear their testimonies to each other. There was such an air of fervor and excitement as the first few spoke. Then Sister LeSueur got up.
She began crying at once, of course—that was what one expected of people who were ostentatiously spiritual, just as from those who really were. It was Sister LeSueur’s words, not her tears, that told DeAnne that Jenny Cowper might just have been correct about this woman.
“My heart is so full after that wonderful lesson,” said Sister LeSueur. “I just had to tell my sisters how wonderful it is and how blessed I am to have my dear husband Jacob. He is such a strength to me, and I want you to know that he makes all the decisions in our lives, because he is the true head of our home, and the Lord shows him the way for us both. If I ever get into the celestial kingdom, it will be because his wonderful strong testimony carried me there. I’m so grateful that the Lord has given his daughters into the hands of good men, because without our husbands we would be utterly lost and alone. I just wish I were as spiritual as Sister Fletcher, here—I would never dare to teach a lesson without talking it out with my husband first, because that’s the reason the Lord gave me my husband, to be my guide and teacher in all things.”
She went on but DeAnne hardly heard. She felt as if she had been slapped in the face. It was bad enough that what Sister LeSueur said was false doctrine; what made it almost unbearable was that she had deeply undercut DeAnne’s position as spiritual living teacher by directly contradicting the main point of her lesson. From all that DeAnne could tell, Dolores LeSueur had enormous prestige in the ward, and if she contradicted DeAnne, then who was going to be believed? DeAnne had now been branded as an unreliable teacher by one of the leading women of the ward. It was all she could do to keep from crying. Especially when the next sister got up and bore her testimony about what a spiritual giant Sister LeSueur was, and no wonder the Lord had healed her of cancer so she could continue to live in the Steuben 1st Ward and give such wonderful guidance and such a wonderful example of faith to all of them.
Then, mercifully, the meeting ended. DeAnne immediately gathered her things together and headed for the door, wanting nothing more than to leave and get to the car where perhaps she could cry for a few moments before Step gathered the kids and brought them out to the car so she would have to start being cheerful again. However, she got caught in the crush at the door leaving the Relief Society room, and before she could get through, there were hands plucking at her sleeve. It was the choir director, Mary Anne Lowe. Tears were streaming down her face. “What a wonderful lesson,” she said. “It was just what I needed to hear today.” And then she was gone, back in the crowd.
Jenny Cowper was next to tug at her sleeve, drawing DeAnne away from the door after all. “I heard what Mary Anne said, and I just want you to know—her husband went inactive when blacks got the priesthood, he’s such a bigot, and it breaks Mary Anne’s heart every time a certain pinhead bears her testimony about how wonderful her husband is and how a woman is nothing if she doesn’t have a good husband. So when she said she needed to hear your lesson about how your husband can’t stand between you and God, well, it’s true.’’
“Oh,” said DeAnne. So her lesson had been good for somebody.
“That witch with a b talks that way about her husband all the time, you know.”
“You mean Sister LeSueur?” asked DeAnne.
“With a capital B,” said Jenny. “So when you gave that lesson, it was like you cleared the air of a lot of smog that we’ve been breathing in this ward for years. What a great start.”
“Great start!” said DeAnne. “I’m doomed.”
“Doomed! Nonsense. Everybody here with any brains is so glad you’re the teacher that they could kiss Sister Bigelow for calling you. You took a horrible weight off their shoulders. There are only about six good marriages in this whole Relief Society, and when the Queen B talks about her dear Jacob like that, it stabs everyone else to the heart.”
“She must not have any idea of the effect of her words, then,” said DeAnne.
“In a pig’s eye,” said Jenny. “But look who’s coming.”
DeAnne turned and there was Sister LeSueur, smiling and holding out her hand. “Oh, my dear Sister Fletcher, what a wonderful lesson! I was just telling Sister Bigelow that it’s so dear of her to give someone so young a chance to grow into such a big calling—and you are up to it, I’m telling everyone, in a few months they’ll see. I have such confidence in you.” Then she winked and squeezed DeAnne’s arm before she glided away.
“Kind of makes you want to wash your arm, doesn’t it?” said Jenny.
“Or cut it off,” said DeAnne. “She really is nasty, isn’t she?”
“But it helps to know that you aren’t the only one who realizes it, doesn’t it! Otherwise you just sit there feeling guilty for hating her, because she’s so sweet and spiritual and you know that hating her must mean that you’re ripe for destruction.”
“Forgive me for thinking you had a problem with malicious gossip,” said DeAnne. “It was pure charity. Like warning somebody that there’s a tornado coming.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” said Jenny cheerfully. “Call me tomorrow, or tonight if you get the chance. I’ve got to round up the monsters before they tear out the satellite dish by the roots.”
DeAnne laughed.
“I wasn’t joking,” said Jenny. “When the satellite dish was first installed a few years ago, my oldest two climbed the fence and pushed it over. But they’ve got it bolted down to a concrete pad now, so I suppose it’s safe enough as long as we don’t let the kids bring tools to church. Bye.”
With Jenny gone, DeAnne once again headed for the door—without the same urge
ncy now to get away and cry. Again, though, someone stopped her. “Sister Fletcher, I need to talk to you,” said Sister Bigelow.
Uh-oh, thought DeAnne. Now it comes.
DeAnne walked over to the table where Sister Bigelow was stacking up the hymnbooks. “Better put down all that stuff you’re carrying,” said Sister Bigelow.
She’s going to ask for the manual back, thought DeAnne. She’s going to release me as spiritual living teacher right now. I’m not even going to get a second chance.
But if that’s what happened, that’s how it would be, DeAnne decided, and she set down her lesson materials.
“Now I can give you a hug without getting the corner of a book in my eye!” said Sister Bigelow. She was half a head shorter than DeAnne, but her hug was large and enthusiastic. When Sister Bigelow pulled away, DeAnne saw her glance around to make sure they were now alone in the room. “DeAnne, I know for sure that the Lord truly brought you to Steuben, North Carolina to be our spiritual living teacher.”
“Then the lesson was all right?” asked DeAnne.
“I think it was obvious how much that lesson was needed,” said Sister Bigelow. “I won’t say another word because I don’t speak ill of any of my sisters, but I saw that one of the testimonies might have made you feel discouraged and I wanted you to know that there’s not a blame thing for you to be discouraged about, and that’s that. You are manna from heaven to me. Now go home and feed your family.”
It was going to be fine.
Or was it? Jenny had warned her that Sister LeSueur always got what she wanted. That one way or another, she would not be thwarted. The last thing DeAnne wanted was to spend the next few years in a constant struggle—or, worse, an open war. No, she simply wasn’t going to do that. She would win over Sister LeSueur with love and kindness. She would never give Sister LeSueur the slightest cause to think of her as an enemy.
DeAnne left the Relief Society room and began to comb the halls for her children. They were nowhere to be found. Step must have rounded them up, she realized, and she headed for the car, hoping Step would have the back of the wagon open so she could set down her lesson materials and Elizabeth’s diaper-and-toy bag without having to fumble with keys or wait for Step to do it. Now that she was no longer keyed up about giving the lesson, everything seemed heavier and slower and she began to feel how much she needed some sleep. Not that she’d have much chance. Maybe Step would throw together some sandwiches for the kids while she took a nap before choir practice.
The back of the wagon was open. I may not need Step to save my soul, she thought, but he’s pretty useful when I need someone to save my weary arms.
“How’d it go, Fish Lady?”
“It went interestingly.”
“I sense a story.”
“I’ll tell you when there are fewer ears.”
“I won’t listen,” offered Robbie from the back seat.
“Speaking of ear counting,” said Step, “didn’t you see Stevie in there?”
“Isn’t he here?” asked DeAnne. She looked into the back seat. He wasn’t there. How could she have failed to notice that one of her own children was missing? She really was tired.
“I didn’t see him in there,” she said.
“No problem,” said Step. “I’ll just go in and get him.”
“Never mind,” said DeAnne. “Here he comes.”
Stevie was walking very slowly, looking down. Moping, thought DeAnne, that’s what he’s doing. He mopes to school from the car, he mopes from school back to the car, he mopes around the house all day, and he even mopes at church. “Sometimes I think he isn’t even trying, Step,” she said.
“Come on, Stevie!” Step called. “You have starving siblings in the car!”
“I’m not starving,” said Robbie. “I had three cookies.”
“Cookies?” asked DeAnne.
“Treats in class.”
“Oh, sugar. Wonderful. I thought you didn’t like cookies.”
“These ones were chocolate chip,” said Robbie.
“Were they as good as my chocolate chip cookies?” asked Step.
“Nope,” said Robbie. “They were terrible.”
“Then why did you eat them?” asked DeAnne.
“Cause I won them,” said Robbie.
“Won them how?” asked Step.
“I answered all the questions.”
“Hmm,” said Step. “I wonder what your teacher would have given you if you answered them right?”
“I did answer them right!” shouted Robbie, only he sounded cross instead of playful.
“Oh, I guess we’re getting tired now,” said Step. “OK, I’m through teasing.”
Stevie opened the door behind DeAnne and got into the car. “Glad you could make it,” said Step. “Hope it wasn’t too much trouble, coming all the way out to the car like this.”
“It was OK,” said Stevie.
“Your father was teasing you,” said DeAnne. “He was suggesting that you ought to come right out to the car after church. I worried about you.”
“Thanks for translating for me,” said Step. He sounded a little testy himself now.
“I wasn’t translating,” said DeAnne. She felt weary to the bone. “Let’s just go home.”
Step started the car and they pulled out of the parking lot onto the road.
“I really do want to know what you were doing,” said Step.
Stevie didn’t answer.
“Stevie,” said Step.
“What?”
“I said I really do want to know what you were doing that made you late getting out to the car.”
“Talking,” said Stevie.
“Who with?” asked DeAnne. Maybe Stevie had found a friend, in which case she was glad he was late getting to the car.
“A lady.”
Not a friend, then. “What lady?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
DeAnne could feel Step suddenly grow alert. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she always knew when he started to pay serious attention. He was still driving, but perhaps there was a bit more tension in his muscles, a slowness about his movement. Deliberate, that was it. He became intensely deliberate. Dangerous. Someone has come too close to his children, and the primate male has become alert. Well, she rather liked that; it felt comfortable to feel him bristle beside her. Of course, that feeling of hers was probably the primate female, gathering her children near her mate at the first sign of danger. We are all chimpanzees under the skin.
“What did she say to you, Stevedore?” asked Step.
“I didn’t like her,” said Stevie.
“But what did she say?”
“She said she had a vision about me.”
His words came to DeAnne like a flash of light, blinding her for a moment: She had a vision. “Dolores LeSueur,” murmured DeAnne.
“Yeah,” said Stevie. “Sister LeSueur.”
“And what did she say about her vision?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“You’ve got to,” said DeAnne, barely able to control the emotion in her voice.
Step reached over and gently touched her on the thigh. He was telling her to keep still, that she was too intense, that she wasn’t going about it the right way. For a moment she resented him for daring to police her comments to her own son, but then she realized that she was simply transferring the anger she felt toward Dolores LeSueur to the nearest target, her husband. And he was right. They’d learn more from Stevie if he didn’t know how upset they were.
“The reason we need to know, Stevie,” said Step, “is that no matter what she thinks she saw, and no matter whether it was really a vision or just a dream or just something she made up, she had no business telling you about it.”
“It was about me,” said Stevie.
“In a pig’s eye,” murmured DeAnne.
“Sister LeSueur doesn’t have a right to get visions about you, Stevie. She’s not your mother and she’s not your father, she�
�s not your anything,” said Step. “The Lord’s house is a house of order. He isn’t going to send visions about you to somebody who has nothing to do with you. So if she got a vision, I bet it didn’t come from the Lord.”
“Oh,” said Stevie.
Step had laid the groundwork well, but now DeAnne was ready to know. “So what was the vision?”
“He’ll tell us,” said Step, “as soon as he realizes that it’s right to tell us. You had a bad feeling when she was telling you, didn’t you, Stevie? That’s why you said you didn’t like her.”
“Yeah,” said Stevie.
“Well, don’t you think that maybe that bad feeling was a warning to you that the things you were being told were lies? It made you feel bad, didn’t it?”
“Some bad and some not,” said Stevie.
“Did she tell you not to tell us?” asked Step.
“Yes,” Stevie said quietly.
“What?” said DeAnne, outraged.
“He said yes,” said Robbie.
“I heard him,” said DeAnne.
“Then why did you say ‘what’?” asked Robbie.
“Your mother was just surprised,” said Step. “Stevedore, Stevie, Stephen Bolivar Fletcher, my son, you know what we’ve told you before. If someone ever tells you children that you mustn’t tell your parents something, then what do you do?”
“I know,” said Robbie. “We promise that we’ll never tell, but then the very first chance we get we do tell you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because no good person would ever tell us to keep a secret from our mom and dad,” said Robbie.
“Remember that, Stevie?” asked Step.
“Yeah,” said Stevie.
DeAnne heard something in his voice. She turned in her seat, turned all the way, and saw that he was crying. “Stop the car, Step,” she said.
Step pulled the car at once into the driveway of a Methodist church parking lot. The parking lot was emptying out—apparently the Methodists got out of church about the same time the Mormons did.
“Why are you crying, honey?” asked DeAnne.
“I don’t know,” said Stevie.
“Stevie, whatever this woman said to you, it’s time for you to tell us.”
Lost Boys: A Novel Page 15
