All Is Swell

by Robert Farrell Smith

  “There’s not a lot of people with red hair around here,” I finally spoke up, hoping to steer the conversation back to where I wanted it.

  Sister Heck eyed me suspiciously.

  Narlette snickered. “Grace’s got red hair.”

  “Grace?” I asked, feeling my heart rate quicken.

  “Our daughter,” Sister Heck clarified.

  I had forgotten that the Hecks had an older daughter whom I had never met. She was sort of a local enigma. She was kindly spoken of, but in the last while she had become reclusive, adjusting to womanhood by pulling away. At least that was Toby Carver’s assessment.

  “Where is she?” I wondered aloud.

  “Who knows,” Sister Heck replied. “Silly girl keeps herself hidden up in the hills. Spends too much time in Virgil’s Find.”

  “Doing what?” I questioned.

  “They got that big library there. Books ‘bout everything,” Sister Heck informed me. “I think Grace is more comfortable by herself.”

  “Anyone else with red hair?” I asked casually.

  “Not really anyone else,” Sister Heck chewed. “Except old Randall down at Triplet Cove, below the falls. Of course, his hair is falling out faster than it’s growing.”

  Digby came bounding down the stairs.

  “I’m going out,” he announced, ripping off a sheet of Saran Wrap and preparing to cover his eyes.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” Sister Heck said. “You’ve got homework.”

  I guess there was something that still needed to be painted or repaired around their house. Digby blinked at us through all that plastic film and took off.

  We left the Hecks and headed up to Leo’s place on the top of Lush Point. Lush Point was so named because years ago Grandfather Leeper, apostate Paul’s grandfather, had decided that the Word of Wisdom was an item-by-item restriction and it didn’t list moonshine. So he set up a few stills on the hillside and brewed the stuff for about two years before the folks in town would no longer tolerate it.

  It was a particularly boring time in Thelma’s Way history. Pretty much everyone was doing what they should be doing—everyone except Grandfather Leeper, that is. With so many idle hands twitching about, they decided to stamp out Grandfather Leeper’s stills. Done under the guise of a ward activity, they all brought bats and beat the heck out of Grandfather Leeper’s equipment. Then they gathered down in the meadow for a light supper and poetry reading. The moonshine seepage made the grass grow wild and green and gave the place its name—Lush Point.

  Grandfather Leeper had passed away years earlier, and his son had also gone the way of dust. Now the only remaining Leeper was Paul, and he had left Lush Point to live across the river. So far he, too, had not done the family name any favors.

  Leo let us into his house and asked us to sit down. It was now around noon and obvious that Leo had just gotten up for the day. He wore a large nightshirt with a picture of Garfield the Cat on it, and his hair was sticking up and down all over. Leo had long blond hair and big teeth. He had blue eyes, the right one remarkably darker than the left. He was about two inches taller than me thanks to his fluffy hair, and he was missing the tips of his three middle fingers on his left hand. (Leo had learned early in life that squirrel traps are nothing to play around with.)

  I could smell his morning breath from across the room as he lounged on one of his fake leopard skin couches. He was quite the picture of luxury.

  Leo’s mother had never allowed him to have a dog when she was alive, so at her death a year ago Leo mourned by going dog wild. He now had about twenty hounds that he let roam Lush Point and come through his doggy door all day long. Consequently Leo’s place was always stamped with muddy paw prints and speckled with hair.

  “Looks like you’re doing all right,” I commented to him.

  “Ah, shucks,” Leo replied. “I’m getting by.”

  We had been over a couple days earlier, and had challenged Leo to have daily scripture study. “Have you been reading your scriptures?” I asked, hoping to get an idea of how he was coming along.

  Leo nodded. “It’s been a while,” he added.

  “How long has it been?” Elder Sims seemed to demand. “Two days?”

  “Few months,” he replied.

  I put my head in my hands.

  “Do you remember last week when we asked you to read your scriptures every day?” I asked.

  Leo nodded while one of his dogs came in from outside and began to lick him on the face.

  “Do you remember saying yes?” I asked.

  “Been meaning to,” Leo replied, inviting the dog up onto the couch. “Shucks, CleeDee’s been taking a lot of my time lately. You know how women are,” he assumed.

  “It doesn’t have to take a long time, Leo,” Elder Sims said. “Just try to read a few verses a day.”

  “I don’t see what the gawl awful rush is,” he pointed out. “I can’t be baptized until I die anyways. Daddy’s waiting in heaven to dunk me under. If I got baptized here on earth he’d be pretty sore.”

  “I think he wants you to be baptized here,” I said. “He knows how important it is.”

  “Shucks, how do you know that?”

  “I just know how he must feel.”

  “Seems awful bold of you to say so,” Leo added.

  “What about CleeDee?” I asked. “Don’t you think she’s looking for a husband who can take her through the temple?”

  “Why, what have you heard?” Leo jumped up. “That girl’s eyes wander like the birthmark on my back. I tell you I can’t leave her alone for a minute without her looking at some other guy. Well, if I can’t have her then no one can—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I interrupted. “Don’t you think CleeDee is looking for you to take her through the temple?”

  “Ah, shucks,” Leo blushed. “CleeDee and I aren’t serious.”

  I contemplated pulling out my hair strand by strand.

  My soul had turned soggy and my existence was beginning to run down my leg, surrounding my feet with the muck of failure. I had to get out of Thelma’s Way.

  I slowly put my scriptures back in my bag.

  “What’s the matter?” Leo asked.

  “We need to be going,” I answered.

  “But we’re not done,” Elder Sims said, pointing out the obvious.

  “I don’t feel well,” I insisted while standing up.

  “CleeDee’s coming over in a bit,” Leo said. “She could make you some soup.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, looking around for my backpack. It was not there. One of Leo’s dogs had grabbed it and was dragging it outside. I guess he had smelled the half chicken inside. I tried to catch him, but the moment I advanced, he took off with my pack through the doggy door.

  “Leo!” I complained.

  “Shucks, don’t worry none. Wanda will bring it back when she’s done with it.”

  I could see out the back window that Wanda was on her way to being long gone—running swiftly, shaking my backpack in her mouth.

  “That’s all my stuff,” I complained.

  “Don’t worry. Wanda will probably bury it someplace and keep it nice and safe,” Leo informed me.

  “I thought you said she’d bring it back.”

  “Dogs is fickle,” he yawned.

  Great, I thought. Just great.

  19

  Half an Inch Deep

  Lucy was far from flattered. There was a giant ring on her dainty finger, but that was to be expected. The diamond band looked brilliant against her tan.

  Lucy and Lance had taken a vacation to the Caribbean to discuss the issue of becoming engaged. In the process Lucy’s fair skin had darkened nicely, and she had procured herself a fabulous ring and a fiancé that most women would have died for. “Of course, they would have to die and then be lucky enough to come back as me,” she mused to herself.

  Lucy giggled.

  “What a snot I am.” She smiled. “And justifiably so.”


  She and Lance made one attractive couple.

  Lucy did worry over Trust. She had mailed him the happy news a few days earlier.

  She felt a tinge of guilt. She had sort of promised that she would be around when Trust returned.

  Then she chastised herself, “Once again I’m thinking of others when I should be concerned about myself. Oh, poo,” she swore. “I’ve got to stay focused on what’s important.”

  She went back to matching color swatches.

  20

  Fork in the Road

  I was no dummy. I was not oblivious to the fact that Lucy and I had been sort of drifting apart. But I had thought that we would drift back together before the end of my mission. Certainly our relationship would be strained while I was gone, but I believed we would be stronger because of it. I had thought that no matter what, she would be there for me when I returned home. I was wrong.

  Lucy was engaged.

  I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t imagine a more cold-hearted way for her to break the news to me. I searched every inch of my brain trying to remember if she had always been so cold. True, she put me in a fog whenever I was around her, but had I really been so blind?

  She sent me a piece of paper with two pictures taped to it. One was of Lucy and me at a high-school dance years ago. It had been my first such experience and I hadn’t yet found a way to put the words “hair” and “style” together in the same place. My hair was parted down the middle and poofy, and my smile showed off my nice silver braces as they glimmered under the camera lights. Lucy of course looked perfect, even back then. The other picture on the paper was a photo of Lucy and this Lance guy on a tropical beach. They looked like a Club Med Vacation ad, like some fake ideal that no one could ever achieve. I practically got an eating disorder just looking at it.

  Below the snapshots were two lines of Lucy’s perfect penmanship.

  “I think it’s obvious why you and I are off.

  The wedding is set for this coming April. Lucy”

  I took one last glance at the picture of the two of us at the dance and then tore the paper into shreds. Enough was enough.

  I pulled my suitcase out from under my bed and began throwing clothes into it. Elder Sims was frantic.

  “Elder, this too shall pass,” he nervously reasoned.

  “I’ve been waiting over six months for this to pass,” I moaned. “I’m going to Virgil’s Find until President Clasp transfers me.”

  I fumbled with my shirts and socks.

  “Elder, this is not the answer,” Elder Sims whined. “C’mon, let’s go to the boardinghouse and call the Mission Home.”

  I slammed the suitcase shut.

  “I’m out of here,” I declared.

  “You’re going to regret this.”

  I wasn’t even listening anymore.

  Elder Sims grabbed his backpack so that he could follow me. There was no way he was going to be left there alone. I was going to self-righteously storm out the door and over to Virgil’s Find to wait for President Clasp to send me my marching orders, but as I threw open the door Brother Heck was standing there. He looked at the suitcase in my hand and shook his head.

  “I heard you got some bad mail,” he said, solemnly offering his condolences.

  “Yeah, well,” I huffed, knowing that since the mail came through the boardinghouse, all news was everybody’s business here.

  “Can I talk to you fer a moment?” he asked me.

  “I actually needed to get going,” I explained.

  “Won’t take but a tick.”

  What was a tick in the eternal scheme of things?

  I looked from Brother Heck to Elder Sims.

  “All right,” I said, setting down my suitcase and letting my shoulders drop.

  I followed Brother Heck over to the front of the cemetery. Elder Sims sat down against the side of our cabin so that he could keep an eye on me as I conversed with Brother Heck. Ricky Heck and I took a seat on a log next to the statue by the cemetery gate. It was cold and gray. Wind, like emotion, swirled up my arms and around my face.

  “Do you know who that is?” Brother Heck asked me, pointing at the monument.

  I had never really paid the statue much mind. I had been living by it for over six months now, and I still hadn’t taken the time to get to know my bronze neighbor.

  “I have no idea who that is,” I answered.

  “Guess.”

  “Your mother,” I tried.

  “Nah, my mother was a lot heavier.”

  “Not literally, I hope,” I replied. “That statue must weigh a ton.”

  “Guess again,” Brother Heck went on.

  I shrugged my shoulders. The last thing I wanted to do was play games with Brother Heck.

  “That’s Thelma,” Brother Heck said, pointing towards the statue and telling me this as if he were sharing the secrets of the kingdom.

  “The Thelma?” I asked.

  “Nope, just Thelma.”

  “As in Way?”

  “Yep.”

  I took a real good look. The statue was about five feet tall, and it stood upon a big wood base. Thelma had her right hand over her eyes as if she were looking forward, and her left hand on her hip. She had a bronze bonnet on and reminded me of some of the more famous Mormon pioneer statues I had seen in pictures. I had never really thought about the origin of the town’s name. I just sort of figured that it, like the locals, wasn’t supposed to make sense. I had no clue there had been an actual Thelma.

  Imagine my delight.

  “Have you ever heard her story?” Brother Heck asked.

  I shook my head no. I was beginning to cool down.

  “Actually the big pageant play will be kinda based on her life,” Brother Heck began. “Thelma was a brat. She was the only child of a wealthy Mormon family back east. Her full name was Thelma Fortsyth Palmer. Her parents and she had joined the Church when Thelma was only twelve. A year later they left New York state to join the Saints in Nauvoo. They set out with a big group of people. Called themselves the Palmer party. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

  I shook my head.

  “Most of the Palmer party was poor, dirt poor. Done sold all their stuff to be able to afford the trip. But the Palmers weren’t poor. Nope, not by a long shot. They had their servants make the trip with them. Thelma’s own personal handcart was pulled by her butler while she fanned herself in comfort.

  “Well, the trip became disastrous almost instantly. People’s carts fell apart, the weather was bad, and there was lots of arguing as Sister Palmer bossed everyone around. They pressed on. Eventually, however, they got lost—somewhere in South Dakota, I think. Real lost. They made a camp and decided to hunker down ‘til the bad winter was over. After three days of hunkering, Brother Palmer volunteered to go in search of assistance. They never saw him again. Sister Palmer assumed he had died in the cold struggling to find them help. Everyone else just figured he rode off to get away from her and Thelma.

  “Well, Sister Palmer became real sick, and the party started to run out of food in their makeshift winter camp. So, they pulled up their stakes and commenced traveling while they still had strength. They traveled for weeks, not having a clue as to what point on the map they was occupying. They saw no one, no roads, no towns, nothing. Finally a brother Dan Biggy organized a party-wide fast. It wasn’t hard to do, really, seeing how they was out of food, but at the conclusion of the fast Brother Biggy felt inspired to head in a different direction. Sister Palmer was too sick to protest, but young Thelma was livid. How dare a poor person tell a wealthy person which way to go. Thelma demanded that they go her way. She said Brother Biggy didn’t know squat.

  “The party split.

  “Those interested in following the Spirit went with Dan Biggy, and those who were too frightened by Thelma’s thirteen-year-old rage to disagree with her went Thelma’s way. Months later Thelma’s party rolled into this meadow. Thelma took one look around and declared, ‘This is a disgrace.’


  “But Thelma’s mother died while they were encamped, so Thelma refused to leave. A couple of people struck out on their own, but most folks stayed and put down roots right here, accepting the consequences of going Thelma’s way.

  “Once things were settled, Thelma used some of her money to commission this statue. She died two days after it was put up, trying to cross the Girth. They found her body down river below the falls.”

  “How come I’ve never heard this before?” I asked, still not sure if I should believe him.

  “It’s not the kind of thing we tell just anyone. Shoot, the kids here would be so disappointed if they found out Thelma was selfish and spoiled. Most of them think Thelma is Santa’s wife.”

  “Why do they think that?” I asked.

  “I told them,” he said, embarrassed.

  I shook my head.

  “She doesn’t seem like a very good person to look up to,” I observed.

  “Maybe not, but you’ve got to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else what I just told you. I could get in real trouble, you understand? Don’t even tell your companion. It’s a secret, okay?”

  “So why did you tell me?” I asked, confused.

  “Because if you listen to those loud voices in your head, you could end up in the wrong place. But if you take time to let God guide you, you could end up in a much better mess. Brother Biggy listened, young Thelma didn’t. Take heed.”

  “What happened to the Biggy party?”

  “They made it to Nauvoo. Brother Biggy opened his own cabinet-building business. Made quite a nice living. I guess Thelma was wrong after all; he did know squat.”

  I sighed. The afternoon was collapsing. The sky was folding in on itself as winter chalked up another day.

  “I know Thelma’s Way ain’t exactly paradise,” Brother Heck said after a couple moments of silence. “But it could be worse.”

  I thought about asking for proof.

  “We’re real glad you’re here,” Brother Heck said shyly. “We might get under your skin, but we’re real fond of you.”

  “Me?” I laughed. “Will of the Underworld?”

  “Ah, Paul’s just plain nuts. We all know that. I tell you what, Elder, it’s nice to have him pick on someone else for a change.”