“Maybe I have an idea,” the bishop said. “I don’t know if it could help, but what if we gave a neighborhood barbecue on the Fourth of July?”
“Hmph. And what if nobody came? Wouldn’t that be a triumph, next door!”
“Well, what if we invited a mixture of people—neighbors, ward members, other friends—surely somebody would come. Hey—what if we invited the MacDonalds? Mac’s becoming known as the new preacher in town, and he’s really friendly to everybody.”
Trish sighed. “I don’t know, Jim. It sounds exhausting to put on a big party right now, with me pregnant. I don’t know that I’m up to it.”
“No, no—you’re not to do any cooking at all. I’ll bring meat from the store and salads from the deli. And I’ll man the grill. All you need to do is supervise Tiffani’s putting together the ice cream recipe, and Jamie can tend the freezers. The kids and I can set everything up out here, and all you’ll need to do is mingle with the guests, fanning your blushing face and charming the socks off everybody.”
“Right. Just call me Miss Scarlet.”
“Invite Muzzie to come. She’ll help you with anything, you know that.”
Trish pondered. “We still have all that patriotic bunting we used at the ward party that time. There’s tons of it. We could put that up along the front porch, and the patio—and would we dare—along that monstrosity of a fence?”
“Sure, why not? It’s light stuff, right? Can’t we just fasten it with thumbtacks?”
“Right. But Jim—what if she kicks up a fuss again, about people parking on the street, or something?”
“Then she’ll just have to kick. If she makes herself look outrageous enough, maybe people will take a second look at her and wonder about her motivation.”
“If we invite people from the neighborhood and from the ward, won’t they just naturally separate into two groups—that is, if they come at all?”
“They will, but we can think up some kind of mixer, can’t we? Some game or something to make them talk to each other?”
They could and did. They decided to put a sticker on each guest’s back with the name of an important American, past or present, and have everyone mingle and ask different people “yes or no” questions about their assigned person, with the exception of questions such as, “Am I Abraham Lincoln?” After a while, they would all take turns telling their real name, as well as whose name they thought was on their back and why.
“Well,” Trish said at last, “I s’pose Maxine Lowell isn’t the only one who can make up flyers to hand out to the neighbors. If we’re going to do this, we’d better get the invitations out tonight. Come help me,” she instructed and headed for the computer.
* * *
“We’re not inviting those people, are we?” demanded Jamie, nodding toward the east.
“It’s all done,” his dad informed him. “I already took an invitation over and handed it to Marguerite. She seemed thrilled.”
“They won’t come. You know that,” Tiffani declared.
“Probably not,” the bishop agreed. “But they can’t complain they weren’t included.”
“I’m locking Samantha in my room for the whole time,” Mallory announced.
“She’ll hate that,” said Trish. “You know how she loves to be in the middle of everything and greet people. But—maybe it’s best.”
“Well, not everybody likes cats,” their father said. “Even when they’re smart and beautiful like Samantha,” he added, holding up both hands to ward off Mallory’s protest. “And we do want her to be safe. Now you kids get the rest of these flyers delivered, and Mom and I will call and invite the others.”
* * *
The bishop was as good as his word. He groomed the yard, set up tables and the barbecue, and tacked up the loops of bunting around the house and fence—just below the top of the fence, so that the Lowells wouldn’t see it unless they came to the party. He put up small white twinkling lights in the trees, placed the two ice-cream freezers on the patio, and brought home plenty of ice, soda, burgers, chicken breasts, and salads from the deli.
“Mom—what if none of the neighbors come?” worried Tiffani, as the hour approached for the barbecue to begin.
“Then we’ll just enjoy ourselves with our friends from the ward and elsewhere.”
“I don’t get exactly why we’re doing this,” Tiffani pursued. “It’s not like coming to a party is going to make people think we’re real Christians, if they don’t already.”
“I know,” her mother said. “It’s just an effort to reach out to our neighbors and to show them we’re the same people we’ve always been, and not what Mrs. Lowell says we are. I know the Briersons aren’t coming, because Mrs. Brierson called and explained that they don’t believe in celebrating holidays.”
“Why not?”
“They feel like it’s putting other concerns above God.”
“Oh. What about the Michaelsons?”
“I haven’t heard, one way or the other. I know Hestelle will come, of course, and I’m pretty sure the Rogers will, and the Oppenheimers said they would. I rather doubt the Carters will, and I know the Sumsions are out of town. We’ll just have to see about the others.”
“And who’s coming from the ward?”
“Let’s see. We’ve got the Patrenkos and the Wrights and the McDaniels, and Brother Lanier, and Melody and Andi, and the Smedleys, the Rexfords and the Warshaws. And other folks, including the MacDonalds, and Muzzie and her kids, and Art and Carol Hackney, and Mary Lynn and Dad’s friend from school who’s investigating the Church. I also invited Donna and Raegene and Ralph Morrison from the store, and the Reams and the Winslows from church, but they all had other plans.”
“Billy’s coming,” Tiffani added, with a small, satisfied smile. “He was s’posed to go to his grandma’s, but he got out of it.”
“Well, nice for you! I think we’ll have a fun evening, with whoever shows up.”
“Good thing we’ve got a big backyard.”
“Yes, and people can spill over to the inside, if they prefer. Thanks for helping me clean, Tiff. And for making the ice cream.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I didn’t want you to be too tired to enjoy the party.”
* * *
Miracle of miracles, Trish wasn’t too tired, but the bishop nearly was. However, as people began to arrive, and as he fired up the grill and turned on the patriotic music they had chosen, his spirits revived. The mixer game brought a lot of interaction and much laughter, and he was pleased to see the Michaelsons and Rogers talking with the Patrenkos and the Warshaws. Mary Lynn and Chuck sat close together in a corner of the yard, under the shade of a mimosa tree, and seemed to have no end of things to talk about. Hestelle found that she and Sister Wright were from the same hometown, and the two chatted happily about people they both knew there.
The MacDonalds, social beings that they were, made themselves acquainted with everyone present, and their children mingled happily with the Shepherd children and their friends, although the bishop thought he saw young Petey MacDonald looking Billy Newton over with a critical eye. Petey, he suspected, still had a bit of a crush on Tiffani, as she had once had on him. The bishop sighed. It was, it seemed, too often the sad lot of youth to suffer unrequited love. He also saw, however, that Petey hung on every word spoken by the school hero, Thomas (T-Rex) Rexford.
It was interesting, he thought, and perhaps natural, that Muzzie and Melody would drift together, each being alone due to the misbehavior of errant husbands. Scott Lanier seemed lost until the Warshaws reached out and engaged him in conversation with their group, retelling the story of how they came to be Americans. That was good, the bishop reflected. He hoped they would tell their story over and over, to everyone they met this evening. It was an inspiring one. He also hoped that Scott and Muzzie wouldn’t meet and compare notes. He didn’t think that either of them knew that Muzzie’s ex-husband was presently keeping company with Scott’s wife.
The Lowell
s, of course, didn’t attend—but the bishop did happen to see, at one point, Marguerite’s curious face appear over the top of the high fence, and smiled at her. He also heard her mother’s furious summons, and Marguerite hastily disappeared.
Just at sunset, several boys in the yard adjacent to the Shepherds on the south set off some bottle rockets and other fireworks, and the bishop, who had not allowed his children to have so much as a sparkler in order to avoid trouble with the Lowells, winced. And indeed he should have, for it was only a matter of minutes until a uniformed officer appeared, asking for the host of the party. The bishop tried to steer him around the corner of the house, to avoid upsetting Trish or his guests, but Big Mac spotted the policeman and came forward to see what he could do to help.
“We’ve had a complaint about excessive noise and fireworks and parking violations here, sir,” explained the officer. “Right now I don’t hear any unnecessary noise from your party, and everyone seems to have parked just fine—no driveways are blocked—but what about fireworks? You do know about our new city ordinance against the private use of fireworks, don’t you? Every year they cause injury and fires, and they’ve been declared illegal.”
“I’m aware of the ordinance, and we have no fireworks at our party, officer. Not even a sparkler.”
“And could that be because you already used them all up?”
“No, sir. We have not used any at all, nor do we intend to.”
The Reverend Peter MacDonald spoke up. “There were some bottle rockets and such set off in a neighboring yard,” he said. “Maybe whoever reported them mistook this yard for the offending one because of the barbecue going on.”
“So which yard did they come from?”
“From somewhere back there, to the south,” Mac reported. Just at that point, the unsuspecting boys set off another round of firecrackers, shouting with glee at the noise.
The police officer raised his eyebrows, then nodded to the bishop and his friend. “You folks have a good time,” he said to them. “Sorry to bother you. Happy Fourth.”
“You, too, officer,” the bishop responded.
“So who reported you for all these supposed offences?” asked Mac, grinning. “I thought all your good neighbors were here at the party.”
The bishop grinned back. “All the good ones are,” he replied, and then motioned toward the high fence on the east. “The lady on this side is of the same opinion as those who wrote the letter you brought me. In fact, she produces flyers of the same persuasion every week or so and distributes them around the neighborhood.”
“Wow. So she’ll be disappointed if you’re not tossed in jail.”
“She’s disappointed that we haven’t packed up and moved out yet, in spite of her best efforts. I don’t know, Mac—we’re running out of cheeks to turn.”
“I hear you, brother. Well, I guess, ‘Pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you.’”
“That’s about all we can do,” the bishop agreed.
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
“ . . . In a noble cause contending”
Before the party broke up so that all who so desired could go to watch the fireworks that were being professionally set off (by the fire department) at the Fairhaven City Park, the Reverend Peter MacDonald stepped forward and held up both hands for people to settle down and give him their attention.
“Uh-oh, here comes the preacher’s voice,” warned his son Petey, sotto voce, causing the young people around him to giggle. The bishop, standing nearby, smiled as well. He too knew that deep and commanding voice.
“Friends, isn’t it a great thing to be an American?” boomed Mac. There was a smattering of applause. “Isn’t it wonderful to live in a country where we have the right to peaceably assemble? To gather for occasions like this in peace and fellowship and good will? To gather for other peaceful purposes with no one putting us in prison for suspected treason? Isn’t it wonderful to be an American, free to worship how, where, and when we please, unmolested?”
It seemed to the bishop that Mac’s voice was deeper and louder than he had ever heard it, and he noticed that it was directed eastward.
“Isn’t it a blessing from God that we have freedom of speech and can speak our minds? That we can vote and elect our own representatives? That we can travel from one part of the country to another without governmental permission? That we can live peaceably with our neighbors, be they of whatever race, religion, or ethnic background? I, for one, am grateful for these great blessings, and—”
Hestelle Pierce’s gasp alerted the bishop to the presence of Maxine Lowell, who had stepped around the corner of her fence and made her way into the backyard, her arms stiff by her sides, her whole being bristling with indignation.
“I, for one,” she said loudly, “resent having to listen to all your fine Mormon speechifying and your music and your loud talking and the fireworks you no doubt provoked those boys into setting off, which is against the law of this country you’re so proud of! I, for one—”
“What Mormon speechifying would that be, Madam?” inquired Mac, his voice as deep as ever.
“You!” she screeched. “You’re the one. I don’t want to have to hear your false notions and your ranting and raving about America. You have no business even living in this country! All Mormons should be deported, and leave this country to those who worship the true God!”
“Madam, you are mistaken. I happen to be the Reverend Peter MacDonald, pastor of the Fairhaven Friendship Christian Church,” Mac boomed. “And who might you be?”
“I—you lie! You’re a Mormon, or a Mormon-lover—all of you! You’re deceived, you’re entrapped by the lies of these people. I know you’re having this party just to get back at me, but I’m not backing down. I’m going to continue fighting for Jesus. But none of you should even boast about being Americans, because you have no right to call yourselves that! America’s a Christian nation.”
Bob Patrenko stood. “Ma’am, I fought in Vietnam, and my father died in World War Two. I am a Mormon, and I believe I also have a right to call myself an American, which I’m proud to do.”
Brother Warshaw stepped forward. “And I can tell you that my wife and I have come to this country from Germany and Poland, where they killed our families because we were Jews. I have studied the history of this country, I have been tested on it, and I have made oaths to uphold and defend the Constitution and to be a good citizen. I believe I know what it means to be an American! I also happen to have learned to love and worship the Lord Jesus Christ, as a so-called Mormon.”
Jackie Rogers was right behind him. “Well, I’m not a Mormon. I’m an active Methodist, but I’m insulted on behalf of these folks, who’ve always been the finest kind of neighbors and very active, involved citizens of this town and this country. I might not agree with all that they believe, but I do believe they worship the Lord Jesus according to their own lights, and I know they’re good Americans and not deserving of the kind of abuse you’ve been heaping on them with your mean-spirited little letters. Don’t bring any more of those to my house!”
“Yeah,” chimed in Mick Michaelson. “Maybe we ought to ask what kind of American you are, since you apparently don’t support freedom of religion for some groups!”
“Hear, hear!” several people called out.
Maxine Lowell looked confused but still furious. She sought out the bishop. “You did this to me, to humiliate me,” she accused. “You invited all these people here to trick me!”
“We invited you, too,” the bishop said mildly. “We invited the whole street, plus other friends, just to celebrate the Fourth of July. Since you’re here, why don’t you come on and have some food and get acquainted with these folks? Maybe you’d like them if you got to know them.”
“Never!” Maxine cried, and turned on her heel to march back to her own house.
Mac spoke up again. “Isn’t freedom of speech wonderful?” he boomed, with a twinkle in his eye. “And fre
edom to assemble? And isn’t it great of Jim Shepherd and his family to throw this delightful party for all of us? I say he’s a jolly good fellow!”
“My dad’s unbelievably corny,” Petey said, covering his eyes, and Tiffani answered sympathetically, “I know. So’s mine.”
The bishop chuckled. It was apparently requisite for teenagers to be embarrassed by their parents.
Mac began singing the “jolly good fellow” song, and the whole group chimed in, clapping at the end. The bishop stole a glance at his wife, who still sat staring at the space vacated by Maxine Lowell. Finally, she shook herself and rose to smile and bid their guests goodbye and thank them for coming.
“Who is that woman?” Billy Newton asked Tiffani, as the group of young people headed out to watch the fireworks.
“That’s Mrs. Lowell, our Mormon-hating neighbor,” Tiff replied. “Dad calls her our ‘thorn in the flesh.’”
* * *
The Patrenkos and Wrights stayed behind to help the Shepherds clear up and put away the tables and chairs.
“That ice cream was yummy,” Sally Patrenko commented. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted blueberry ice cream before. And the fresh strawberry was great, too.”
“Just an effort to be patriotic with our colors,” Trish answered with a smile. “Thanks so much for coming, folks, and for helping out.”
“Honey, it’s our pleasure,” Mamie Wright told her. “Don’t know when I’ve had more fun at a party. Even your neighbor was entertaining!”
“Can you imagine behaving like that—calling the police, then coming over here spouting off like she did?” asked Sally. “Is she all right, Trish—mentally, I mean? She was practically foaming!”
Trish shrugged. “She seems obsessed with ridding the neighborhood of Mormons—and since we’re the only ones on this street, we get to be the targets of her wrath. It’s a challenge, I can tell you that. This is the second time she’s called the police on us. The first time was when I hosted the visiting teachers last year. She complained about the parking then, too, although like tonight, nobody was blocking anything. Then she stole Mallory’s cat and took it to the animal shelter.”
The Thorny Path Page 16
