“She talked to him. I just told her to be honest with him and to tell him she was lonely, and it was time to start a family, and that money and material stuff just wouldn’t cut it. She needed him.”
“Well, I’m also glad she finally saw the light about you and was willing to talk to you about Dirk. Honestly, she was such a high-and-mighty little toad when she was younger! I apologize for her.”
He bent and gave her a kiss. “No need for that, babe. Your sister already apologized all I need. And I’m happy for her, too.”
* * *
After their simple supper of sandwiches and fruit, and after he had checked with Dan McMillan about the next day’s schedule for appointments and with both his counselors to be sure he was up to speed on everything he should be, he stole a little time for himself to peruse the treasured documents he had collected on their trip. He spread them out on the dining table, guiltily grateful that Trish had been too tired to set out the china and silver for Sunday dinner as she often did before going to bed. He had kissed her goodnight and had had prayer with her, Jamie, Mallory, and Buddy, and then had volunteered to wait up for Tiffani’s return from her date with Billy.
He set out a couple of blank pedigree charts and a stack of family group sheets, sharpened some pencils because he didn’t trust himself to record things in ink just yet, and lost himself in plotting out the relationships and dates in the Bible record, will, and deeds. When Tiffani let herself in the front door, he looked at the clock, amazed that it was time for her to be home. His eyes felt gummy and his shoulders were a little stiff, but he had hardly been aware of time passing.
“I know, I know, I’m five minutes late,” Tiffani began. “See, what happened was, Ricky was driving, and he had to stop and get gas, only it turned out that he had left his gas money home on top of his chest of drawers, and none of the rest of us had enough between us to even buy a gallon, so Ricky had to call his brother to bring him his money, and that took about half an hour, and then we had to take Claire home first, because her dad is so strict about time, and—”
“What—and I’m not?” her father asked, frowning in mock displeasure. “I want to have the reputation as the strictest dad! What is this—Bob Patrenko getting ahead of me? Unthinkable.”
“Yeah, well—sorry, Dad, but you’re in second place on this one. Anyway, sorry I’m late.”
“Actually, Tiff,” he confessed, “I was looking at the clock because I was surprised it was already time for you to be home. I’ve been having so much fun with all this family history stuff that the time got away from me.”
“Oh—good. You know what they say—time flies when you think you’re having fun.”
“So it does. And I really was having fun. So how was your evening? Did time fly for you, tonight?”
“Sure. We had a great time. Oh, and we ran into the MacDonalds at the show. Mr.—er—Big Mac said to tell you hi, and that he’d be calling you soon. Something he wants to run past you, he said.”
“Oh, okay. Fine. How’s Billy’s ankle?”
“Wrapped up, and still pretty sore, but doing some better, he said. At least it’s not broken.”
“That’s good, although I hear some sprains can take a long time to heal. Well, night-night, Princess. Guess I’d better turn in, too.”
She paused by the table to give him a quick hug and to glance over his group sheets.
“Wow! You got all that?”
“Yep! Isn’t that amazing? We had a fruitful trip, don’t you think? I say we were blessed.”
“I guess! That’s cool. Well, ’night, Dad.”
“‘Night, Tiff. Oh . . .” He lowered his voice. “I should warn you—Buddy’s sleeping in the family room.”
Her eyes widened. “Again?” she demanded in a whisper. “We might as well adopt him!”
Her dad shook his head. “There are times,” he confided, heading toward the stairs with her, flicking off lights as they went. “There are times when I almost wish we could.”
“Well, what’s the deal? His sleazy mother out of town again, and won’t leave him a key?”
“Exactly. Although I shouldn’t allow you to call her sleazy.”
“I can think of another word that begins with the same letters—”
“Tiff . . .” he warned.
“Okay.” She sighed. “But, really, what is it with her? It’s not like Buddy’s the type to invite the whole school over to party and wreck the house while she’s gone! You’d think she’d be worried about her son—where he is, and who she’s imposing on to keep him! And what about his worthless dad?”
“Well, I understand that Gerald has company this weekend.”
“M-hmm. Likely the same kind Buddy’s mom has. Dad, how can people live that way? How can they do that to their kids—or kid, in this case?”
Her father shook his head. “It doesn’t compute to me either, honey.” They paused at the top of the stairs, still speaking in whispers.
“Well, I think they’re the ones who ought to have family services called out to investigate ’em. I mean, if they took little Andi Padgett away from her mom, surely Buddy deserves as much attention!”
“I know. But you know Buddy—he doesn’t complain. He just deals. And he probably wouldn’t want to be taken away from either of his folks, even though they neglect him shamefully, and set a rotten example for him.”
“Well, I feel sorry for him, I really do—but on the other hand, I get kinda tired of him popping up here anytime at all. I mean, people ask me if we’re related! It’s sort of—I don’t know—creepy.”
“I’m sorry, Tiff. I am planning to talk to both his parents about the key thing. There’s just no excuse for that to continue. Meanwhile, try to be patient, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“That’ll do, I reckon. Sleep well. Don’t forget your teeth and your prayers.”
“Dad! This is me, Tiffani—not Mallory.”
* * *
“Bishop? May I see you for just a tiny second?” inquired Sister Conrad, hovering in the open doorway he maintained whenever he could during the Sunday School hour, just for such drop-in visits. A bishop, he felt, should be accessible. He had hoped to catch the eye of Linda Jernigan, but the couple had not put in an appearance this Sabbath.
“Of course,” he said warmly, rising to greet his visitor.
Tina Conrad was a large woman with unusually slender legs and feet, and the bishop suspected her of being naturally rather vain about those dainty portions of her anatomy, since she always wore elegant, strappy high heels that showed them off to good advantage. She reminded him of a plump robin. She and her husband, Wallace, had moved into the ward the previous March, and while they seemed to be good, solid members, he had to admit that there was something about Tina that bothered him. He pushed that something aside as he stood to shake hands and invited her to sit down.
“How’s everything, Sister Conrad?” he asked pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s just a little thing, and I wouldn’t bring it up, except it keeps troubling me. It’s my daughter-in-law. They’ve been married in the temple, but she just doesn’t seem to care for my son’s underclothing properly. His garments, you know. I’ve always maintained that all underclothing, whether Gentile or Mormon, should be folded in such a way that the—um—the front, you know—doesn’t show when you open a drawer or a suitcase. But she said she’d never heard of such a thing—and she’s from a good LDS home, too—and I just wonder if you don’t stand beside me on that?” She cocked her head to one side and awaited his answer, again reminding him of a watchful bird.
Bishop Shepherd was not about to take sides in a mother-in-law, daughter-in-law dispute, and certainly not one over the correct folding of underwear, about which he had no clue. He had a sudden impulse to laugh—to just let go and laugh until tears came. But he could not. Sister Conrad was obviously serious. He tried to picture his own underclothing as Trish folded it into his drawer. Did the “front�
� show? And how could it possibly matter?
“Well, now,” he said judiciously, “I’m just wondering how you became aware of how your son’s underwear is folded. Did he complain?”
“Oh, no. He’s so besotted with that girl that she could do things any old way and he wouldn’t say a word.”
Good for him! cheered the bishop silently.
“So then, how’d you discover the problem?” he pressed.
“I first noticed it when they were visiting in our home and she did some laundry before they left, but I thought surely she would do better at home. So when we were at their house, I just happened to peek into the bedroom, and a drawer had sort of been left open, and I saw that she hadn’t been careful about it, at all.”
“Um, I see. Well, it’s true that the garment is a symbol of the sacred covenants we make with the Lord in the temple and should be treated with respect, but on the other hand, I think it’s pretty natural for most women to have their own preferences and standards in matters of housekeeping, and unless your daughter-in-law’s doing something so awful that it endangers the physical, mental, or spiritual well-being of your son, why, I don’t think I’d be too concerned. It sounds like she makes him happy, and that’s something to be grateful for.”
“So am I to understand, Bishop Shepherd, that you refuse to back me in this?”
Oh, dear. This was not going well. Apparently, it was he who was on trial here, as much as the errant daughter-in-law. He bowed his head and thought for a moment.
“You know,” he said, “someone once gave me some really helpful advice on bringing up children, and I find it applies to other situations as well. It was simply, ‘Pick your battles.’ I took that to mean that some things just aren’t worth fussing over, especially if doing so would damage a meaningful relationship. You’ve obviously already brought the matter to your daughter-in-law’s attention, and she knows how you feel about it, so I’d say you’ve done your part. Who knows? Maybe one day, if you keep good feelings between you, she’ll come around and see it your way.”
Tina Conrad shifted in her chair and frowned. “I’ve been careful to maintain very high standards in my home,” she stated.
“I’m sure you have,” murmured the bishop.
“I just hate to see those standards lost to the next generation. What will my grandchildren know about propriety?”
“When your grandchildren come to your house, by all means show them how you fold underwear. Let them help you. Maybe they’ll pick up on it. By the way, what does your daughter-in-law do that pleases you?”
Tina had to think long and hard on that question. Finally she said, “She’s patient with the children—to a fault. They’ll be spoiled rotten if she doesn’t watch out. But I do have to admire that patience.”
“That’s great. What else does she do that you think is positive?”
“Oh, she makes a nice chocolate layer cake. And she helps my son with the yard, though I wonder if that’s proper work for a woman.”
The bishop ignored the comment about the division of labor and said, heartily, “Excellent! Will you do something for me? Next time you see her, will you be sure and compliment her either on the yard or on her patience with the kids? And will you ask her either to make that chocolate cake for some special occasion, or to share the recipe with you? And don’t even bring up the subject of underclothing. Just as an experiment. Will you do that?”
“But I’m not concerned about her cake or her yard! I’m worried about her sense of decency and right. I could teach her these things, if only she’d let me—”
The bishop leaned across his desk and looked Tina Conrad in the eye.
“I know you’ve heard this saying before, Sister Conrad, and I want you to apply it here: ‘She won’t care how much you know, until she knows how much you care.’ Or how about this one—‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.’ Next time you’re with her, just think ‘cake and compliments, cake and compliments,’ over and over, and see if that doesn’t help.”
“Well, you’re just full of pithy sayings today, Bishop Shepherd, but I prefer to rely on the scriptures, and they talk about the righteous being clothed with purity, and having clean hands and a pure heart, and letting virtue garnish our thoughts unceasingly. Those are the sayings I live by.”
“Those are excellent. But the scriptures also admonish us to live together in love, and to forgive all men, and to add to temperance, patience—and to patience, godliness. I counsel you to be patient with your daughter-in-law, Sister Conrad, and to love her the best you can.”
He stood up, indicating that their visit was over, whether she thought so or not, and held out his hand. She shook it, but she looked disgruntled as she took her leave. He closed the office door behind her and leaned against it. He no longer had a desire to laugh. He shook his head, then bowed it.
“Help me, dear Lord,” he pleaded. “Solomon, I’m not—nor Job.”
Chapter Nine
* * *
“ . . . Mocked on every hand”
“I’ve heard a change is as good as a rest, and I reckon I believe it, now,” Bishop Shepherd remarked to his wife as they strolled hand-in-hand through their shaded neighborhood on Sunday evening. It had been a long, hot late June day, but now that the sun was dropping behind the houses and trees of Fairhaven at last, a little breeze found its way along the streets to bring a suggestion of change.
“You’re referring to our trip, I suppose?” Trish asked.
“M-hmm. It was funny—when I looked over the congregation in sacrament meeting, I felt like I’d been away a long time, even though I realized I hadn’t missed a Sunday.”
“In some ways, it does feel like we were gone more than five and a half days,” she agreed. “Maybe it’s because we learned so much and met interesting people. Speaking of those people, I wrote thank-you notes to Miss Susie, Leanore St. John, and May Hinton. And I made chocolate-chip cookies for Junior, with no nuts. I wasn’t sure about his chewing capacity.”
The bishop grinned. “He chews some things just fine.”
His wife socked his arm lightly. “Snuff isn’t crunchy and hard—and besides, you don’t chew that, do you? Don’t you just sort of stick it inside your lower lip and suck on it?” She made a face at the thought.
“I sure don’t. Do you?”
“You’re naughty. Anyway, I’m going to fix up his box first thing in the morning, including of course his copies of the Bible record. Plus, I thought I’d send him a new pair of PJs, since he’ll be living around other folks and might need more than an undershirt.”
“Thanks for doing that, babe. You’re a real sweetie.”
“Well, so is he, in his own way. Jimmy, I’m still so amazed by how we came to find him and how you were led back there for a second visit. I was writing it up in my journal a little while ago, and the awe just washed over me all over again. It’s very humbling.”
He squeezed her hand. “It was a sweet experience,” he said. “All the sweeter for sharing it with you and the kids.”
“It wasn’t lost on Tiffi, and I’m glad of that.”
“Me, too. Now I’m excited to try the census records again, under R-H-Y-S.”
“So am I—we’ll have to get right on that. Soon as you have a little time, of course.”
“Ah, yes—time. That rare commodity.”
“What do you have to do for the rest of the evening?”
“Um—write a couple of letters, and figure out some tough home-teaching changes the elders quorum president requested. I don’t know—maybe there’ll be an hour or two to get on the computer, if I’m efficient—and if no one calls.”
She smiled knowingly at him. “Fat chance,” she said mildly.
“I know. Plus, I’d like to spend a little time with the kids—but after all that togetherness of the last week, maybe they need a break.”
“Let’s play it by ear.”
“Hey, babe—how well do you know Sister Conrad?”
“Uh-huh. Okay. Um—let me ask you something—when you fold our family’s underwear, does it matter to you whether the—er—front shows?”
Trish frowned. “The front?”
“You know—the crotch part. I mean, is there some unwritten rule somewhere that nice people fold their undies so that part is hidden?”
She stopped and stared at him. “What in the world? Does this have something to do with Tina Conrad? Oh—of course it does.”
“She’s a little concerned that her daughter-in-law isn’t caring for her son’s garments properly.”
“I see. Sort of. Well, let me think. I’m sure I probably fold all our clothing the way my mom taught me.” She sketched a few movements in the air. “I think that part probably doesn’t show, the way I fold it, but it’s not deliberate. We’ll look, when we get home.” She shook her head in confusion and chuckled. “What a thing to worry about!”
“Now, see, that was my first reaction—but then I began to second-guess myself.”
“I remember one time she was talking about how she makes every little thing in her day a matter of prayer,” Trish said. “I mean, like, which outfit she should wear, whether to serve potatoes or rice, what to name her new puppy, and which store she should shop in. I felt guilty at first for not living quite that close to the Spirit, and then I decided her approach was a bit extreme. I mean, I do believe we’d weary the Lord with such detail and that He expects us to be able to make some decisions on our own! There is that scripture about having our hearts drawn out in prayer continually, but I’m not sure that means praying about every tiny decision in our day. Don’t you think?”
The Thorny Path Page 10
