The Reverend Peter MacDonald had gone on to acquire far more formal education than his friend, which had caused the bishop to study harder in the scriptures and in doctrinal works than he might otherwise have done, in sheer anticipation of future discussions with the budding minister. In fact, Mac was such a fine example of Christian thought and practice that the bishop had a difficult time understanding how he couldn’t see the veracity and worth of the restored gospel. They agreed on so many things—even things that many other Christians disagreed with in regard to the Church—yet Mac couldn’t seem to accept the idea of the need for a living prophet to guide the Lord’s Church in modern times.
Mac felt that the combined body of believers, worldwide, whatever their differences in theology or practice, constituted the church of Christ and that the Lord blessed and inspired them all according to their need and faith. He was a true ecumenical, and while the bishop was grateful for this, in that it allowed Mac to respect his friend’s LDS beliefs, it also seemed to blind him to the scriptural mandate for “one Lord, one faith, and one baptism.” Still—what a friend to have had, all these years, and how much growth he had experienced because of that friendship!
A brief break in his schedule after the interview with Claire allowed him time to sample the platter of Southwestern delicacies supplied by Sister Ramona Cisneros, who had signed up to bring dinner for the bishopric this particular Tuesday—according to the pattern the Relief Society had adopted when the new bishopric had been organized with several of its members from far-flung sections within the ward boundary who wouldn’t have time to go home for supper and make it back to the church on time for their meeting and their duties. The bishop scooped up a serving from a layered dish of refried beans, sour cream, chopped tomatoes and chiles, green onion and sliced black olives, and dug into it with a corn chip.
“How’s Ida Lou holdin’ up, Bishop?” asked Sam Wright. “Know it’s been a blow to her to lose Hildy like that. Felt bad when I saw her come in to sacrament meeting all on her lonesome, Sunday.”
“Well, she’s grieving, there’s no doubt about it,” the bishop agreed. “But she’s got her hands and heart full with other women, too, and that helps a lot. I know she visits Sister Mobley quite often, and some of the younger women rely on her like a mom, to help out with everything from recipes to sewing to tending sick babies. Then she still takes a group to the temple once a week. She’ll really miss Hilda on those days.”
“Oh, Bishop, I forgot to mention that Sister Padgett wants to visit with you,” Dan McMillan said. “There wasn’t time tonight, so I told her Sunday, after you get done with the settings-apart. Is that okay?”
“Sure, Dan. Thanks.”
“How’s she doin’, anyway?” inquired Sam. “Think there’s any hope of them two gettin’ back together?”
The bishop shook his head. “I’d sure like to see it happen, if—and only if—Jack can make enough progress with his problems that Melody can know she’s safe with him. Jack’s really trying, and I worry about how he’ll take it if she can’t bring herself to give him another chance. On the other hand, I won’t blame her if she can’t, either. She put up with an awful lot that no wife should have to put up with.”
“She’s gotta think about that little girl, too,” Robert Patrenko put in. “A child shouldn’t have to see her mother taking any kind of abuse.”
“Well, there just can’t be any hint of abuse, if they do try to get back together,” the bishop declared. “I know for a fact that Melody’s so skittish that she’d take Andi and never come near Jack again, if he so much as looked at her wrong. The man’s going to have to walk on eggshells.”
“If not on water,” Sam added wryly. “It’s hard to wipe that kinda thing out of a woman’s memory.”
The bishop nodded. “Brethren, let’s remember to keep praying for them, both personally and in our bishopric meetings. Sometimes when situations drag on and on, it’s too easy to forget how vital it is to keep doing that.”
* * *
“So, Sister Conrad, what I hear you saying is that because the visiting teachers are allowed to wear pants when they go to visit, you feel that their spirituality is being compromised?”
Tina Conrad lifted her chin high. “Certainly it is! It’s disgraceful. When those two young women came to my house the first time, I very nearly asked them to leave. And one of them actually wore blue jeans! I don’t believe in women wearing trousers of any kind. The Bible is adamant about that, and I don’t understand, if this is the true Church, why we countenance such behavior. You’ll certainly never see me in men’s clothing.”
“Ah-hah. Well. Um, naturally you have the right to dress as you see fit, to be modest and appropriate. To be honest, I don’t know what the official Relief Society policy is on dress standards for visiting teaching, or even if there is one. I’ll have to look into that. Did you check with Sister Reams?”
“I did, and I couldn’t believe she took it so lightly. She practically laughed at me! She said I ought to be grateful my teachers even come! I’m not accustomed to having my standards ridiculed by someone who, of all people in the ward, should be maintaining the dignity of womanhood and teaching the younger women how to dress and act appropriately when they represent the Lord. In fact, it’s my feeling that Ida Lou Reams should be replaced in her position, immediately.”
The bishop took a deep breath and leaned across his desk to establish eye contact with his visitor. “That,” he stated softly but forcefully, “is not going to happen.”
Tina Conrad sat up straight, pursed her lips, and narrowed her eyes. He was almost sure he felt a burning sensation just above his nose, where her gaze was drilling into his skull. He sat back in his chair, and was the first to break the stare.
“Ida Lou Reams is a fine woman, and a wonderful Relief Society president,” he said. “I’m certain as I’m sitting here that she wouldn’t ridicule your feeling on the subject of dress standards. I promise I will consult with her on this subject, and we will get back to you on it. And please, Sister, in the meantime, try to understand that while we may not be perfect in this ward, we are sincerely trying to do our best. If you have visiting teachers who make the effort to visit you and befriend you, please try to overlook their faults in favor of their good intentions! Once again, the example you set may be as important to them as any message they bring may be to you.”
“Oh, I put them on notice. I don’t think they’ll come into my house in jeans or pants again. If they do, I’ll simply refuse to see them. I can’t countenance such blatant worldliness.”
The bishop passed his hand wearily over his face. “Thank you for coming in, Sister Conrad,” he said. “You’ve certainly—um—raised my consciousness on matters of propriety.”
“That was my intent,” she told him. “What you do about it is up to you—but I’ll be watching.”
* * *
“Welcome, Scott,” the bishop said to Dr. Scott Lanier as that gentleman shook hands and sank into the chair recently occupied by Tina Conrad. “How are things going for you?”
The bishop didn’t think things were going all that well; Scott Lanier seemed to have aged and to have dropped a good twenty pounds in recent weeks. The doctor struggled to speak, and to keep tears at bay.
“I’m—um—excuse me.” He cleared his throat and seemed to draw a deep breath. “I hate to say this, Bishop—but I’m leaving Marybeth.”
“Scott, I’m so sorry to hear that. What brought you to this decision?”
“Things have become intolerable. I don’t even know how to respond when she talks to me the way she does—so scornfully, with such contempt for all I believe in and hold dear. I—she—I don’t even know who she is, anymore.”
The bishop couldn’t imagine what it would be like. He tried to imagine how he would feel if Trish changed like that, spoke to him with contempt. He failed.
“Is it just about the gospel and the Church that she speaks that way? Or is it personal, as well—ab
out you?”
“Both.” He hung his head. “I tried to take it patiently, for a long time. To pretend that our marriage was still sound, even though she’d lost her faith. But things went from bad to worse in a hurry, Bishop, and now she—she continually taunts me, insults my intellect, belittles my belief, and even—you know—ridicules my manhood. And you were right, when you warned me about that Winston fellow. She’s taken up with him—spends all her time with him. She probably even brings him into our home, when I’m at the office. I’ve seen . . . signs.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” was all the bishop could bring himself to say. “I’d hoped that wasn’t the case, but—”
“I know. For a long time, I hoped things would change, that she’d come to herself, but that hasn’t happened. So I just wanted to tell you what I’m doing, so you won’t be taken by surprise. I’ve got to leave—I can’t stand to live there any longer. There’s only so much a man can endure.”
“I understand. Where will you live?”
He shrugged. “I’ve lined up a small apartment over on Bessemer Street. If my practice weren’t here, I’d move somewhere far away. Maybe I’ll do that, anyway, one day. It’s hard to see patients, and to wonder if they know—if they’ve seen—I mean, this is a fairly small town, and a lot of people know who Marybeth is. And, apparently, she hasn’t made any effort to be discreet about things.”
“It doesn’t seem fair that you should have to be the one to leave your home,” the bishop said.
Doctor Lanier shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. I built it for Marybeth, and she chose most of the furnishings. None of that matters to me, in my present situation. I’ll just take my clothes and books and a few personal belongings. She can have the rest.”
“How’s your son taking all this?”
“He feels terrible. He’s as baffled by the change in Marybeth as I am. But he’s busy with his life and his young family. I think that helps.”
“Do you have an attorney, Scott?”
Scott shook his head. “I haven’t talked to anybody. Bishop, I don’t care. She can take it all. It doesn’t matter.”
“I think you need to retain somebody good,” the bishop advised. “Right now you’re understandably depressed over this whole miserable situation, but I firmly believe that will pass, although you certainly might want to see a doctor in that regard, as well. Marybeth’s tried to deprive you of your marriage and your happiness and dignity and even your faith—and now your home. She’s apparently become ruthless. It’s not in your best interest—or hers, for that matter—to allow her to continue in that path without any checks or balances at all.”
Scott shrugged. “If she wants my coat, I’m willing to give her my cloak, also.”
“That’s great, if you’re doing it out of love and kindness and obedience to the Savior. But I don’t think the Lord would want you to act out of hopelessness and despair, and just throw up your hands and say, ‘Whatever—destroy me. I’m not worth anything, anyway.’”
Scott frowned. “But that’s how I honestly feel, Bishop. Like the rug’s been pulled out from under me. What’s left in life? What do I have to look forward to?”
“So much, though I know it’s hard to see it now. You’re a gifted doctor. A wonderful person. A faithful, obedient servant of the Lord and your fellow man. A dad and a grandfather. A solid citizen with absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Marybeth’s the one who should feel ashamed!”
“Then why doesn’t it work that way? She’s flaunting herself, and I can hardly hold my head up and meet anyone’s eyes.”
“That’s how she wants you to feel, but you don’t have to go along with everything she wants, not financially, emotionally, or spiritually. Right now you’re in the depths of this, but you can fight your way up to the surface with the help of the Lord and whatever professional help you may need, as well. Just keep breathing, my friend. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and let the Lord carry your burdens for a while. He’s fully capable of doing that and even eager to do it for you. Remember he bore our sorrows as well as our sins. Just turn those sorrows over to him, Scott. He invites us to lay our burdens at his feet.”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”
The bishop stood up. “Come on, Brother—let’s kneel together.”
* * *
When he arrived home later that evening, the bishop stood outside on his patio for a few minutes, breathing the fragrance of Trish’s flowers and looking at his family gathered in the lamplit room beyond the long windows. Trish was doing something with a pair of scissors, Tiffani and Jamie were playing a board game, and Mallory sat near Trish’s feet, moving two Barbie dolls through a drama of her own making. His heart swelled with love for each of them and with gratitude to his Heavenly Father for allowing him to share their lives. He sighed with compassion for all who were without such blessings—for Scott Lanier, whose wife had unaccountably changed so drastically, and for Muzzie Winston, whose husband had left her and their three children to gravitate to Marybeth’s new persona. He thought of Buddy Osborne, a fine son by any standards, neglected or ignored by both his selfish parents. He felt for the Padgetts, once newly in love but now deprived of each other’s company by Jack’s unbridled temper and need to control his wife and daughter. Then he thought of the joyful reunion of the Bainbridge family that must have occurred when Ross and Carolyn came to “take home” their precious wife and mother. Now, that—that was how it should be, he thought—a happy reunion in the end, no matter what earthly sorrows had intervened for a while.
“Let it be that way for us, dear Lord,” he whispered. “Please help our family so live that we can be sealed by the Holy Spirit of Promise and be together someday in the heavenly worlds.”
* * *
It was something he had meant to do for some time, but had put off for fear of making things worse. Wednesday evening was his time for home teaching and for visiting ward members, and Twyla Osborne was, technically at least, a ward member. He took Sam Wright with him, because Sam had known Twyla since she was a little girl and might possibly have some leverage with her. They drove to the mobile home park where Twyla lived with Buddy and her boyfriend, Jeter, and after a brief prayer for guidance, approached the door. Jeter’s little sporty red car was not there, for which the bishop sent up another prayer of thanks. It was a muggy, warm evening and the place was closed up, the air conditioner running.
“Buddy ain’t here,” Twyla said when she opened the door to emit a blast of chilled air. The bishop knew that; he had made certain that Buddy was with the Young Men of the ward, doing a service activity.
“That’s fine, Twyla, it’s you I’d like to talk to, this evening. You know Brother Sam Wright, I believe.”
“Hey there, young lady,” Sam said in a friendly tone. “How you been? It’s been a while sinc’t I seen you. How’s your mama?”
As if propelled backward by Sam’s friendly barrage, Twyla backed up and held the door for them.
“Mama’s doin’ okay,” she replied. “Got arthritis pretty bad, but otherwise she’s all right. Now, what do y’all want with me? It ain’t like I go to church no more.”
“We actually came to talk with you about Buddy,” the bishop said.
“Mm. Y’all go ahead and sit down. Good of you to give him summer work at your store, Mr. Shepherd,” she added reluctantly.
“Oh, Buddy’s a good worker. In fact, he’s a great kid, all around.”
“He sure is,” put in Sam. “Responsible, talented, teachable, polite—you done a real good job with him, Twyla.”
“Well, it ain’t easy, bein’ a single mom,” she said defensively, as if they had criticized her mothering. She reached for a cigarette and her lighter.
“Wouldn’t be easy, all right,” the bishop agreed. “Y’all doing all right financially? Is there anything we can do to help?”
She gave him a look that was half suspicion and half anger.
“I know
you don’t come to church these days,” he explained, “but you’re still a member of the ward, and we like to look after our folks.”
“Huh! Then where was you when me and Gerald first broke up and I was stuck with a sickly little baby and couldn’t hold a job? Just where was all the lookin’ after folks, then?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry if the Church failed you then—I wasn’t in leadership and didn’t know anything about it. But I’m bishop now, and Sam here’s one of my counselors, and if there’s anything we can do to help you, we’d be glad to try.”
“I don’t need nothin’ from nobody. I bought me this place on my own, and it’s almost paid for, and so’s my car, though it ain’t new. I keep food on the table and clothes on our backs, and I dare anyone to say otherwise—especially his no-good daddy!”
“No one says otherwise, Twyla. We haven’t talked to Gerald, and certainly Buddy doesn’t complain about anything.”
“Then how come you’re here, wantin’ to talk about Buddy?”
“Well, he’s such a good, responsible kid. Sometimes when you’re out of town, and it’s not convenient for him to stay with Gerald, he comes to our place for a night or two, and we sure enjoy having him there. My little boy really looks up to him, and Buddy’s good to play with him, almost like they were the same age. But it’s a little awkward for Buddy.”
Twyla pointed a finger at him. “Mr. Shepherd, I don’t never go out of town ’ceptin’ when it’s Gerald’s weekend to have Buddy!”
“I understand. But there’ve been times when Gerald’s had company staying over, or he hasn’t been feeling well, and Buddy gets kind of caught in the middle, if you know what I mean . . .”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean—when Gerald’s got a woman there, or he’s fallin’ down drunk! That lousy, shiftless, no-good excuse for . . . Buddy hatn’t never told me about that!”
The Thorny Path Page 14
