I missed Thelma’s Way. I had gotten lost there and in the process been found. I tried not to be one of those ex-missionaries who spends all his time yearning for the past. I tried to distance myself from the people of Thelma’s Way. I tried to find the positives in Southdale. Paved streets, large stores, cable TV—big deal. Where were the heart and purpose of it all?
College had been going well, but I was keeping to myself more than I probably should have. Often I would sit out on the benches watching the beautiful sun-kissed coeds and missing my Grace. Their tans would fade long before I was fully over her.
I had tried to talk about it with my father. He told me to forget about Thelma’s Way. “Life is business, my boy, business,” he had said. “You’re polished past the point of worrying about those people.”
I talked to my mother, hoping she would be kinder than my father. She too had little good to say. “Part of a mission is forgetting about those you served.”
I wondered what manual Mom had been reading.
As October came to a close, I could feel my memories of Thelma’s Way slipping. I had gotten a letter from President Heck about a month back. It was a long one explaining how CleeDee and Leo had gotten married in the Atlanta Temple on August eleventh. I had not been notified because Leo had wanted to test the branch’s spirituality by not telling them about the wedding. He wanted to see if the Spirit would invite folks for him, prompting people to just show up. It was a lot cheaper than announcements, and it seemed to Leo to be a great barometer of local righteousness. Consequently, Leo and CleeDee got married without a single friend on hand.
Since Leo was now married, and had no need for his bachelor-mobile, he gave the car to Digby, who in turn gave his old motorcycle to Ed Washington. Ed was using it to commute back and forth to Virgil’s Find, where he was taking a couple of college courses in business management. Ed had become a new man since he had moved out of his mother’s place. And so had his mother. Apparently, she was using her newfound free time to make eyes at Briant Willpts. Who knew that all these years Ed had been cramping her style?
Sister Lando was coming out to church every week now with Teddy Yetch. President Heck had helped solve Sister Lando’s desire to wear her witch hat by assigning his wife, Patty Heck, to be her visiting teacher. Patty Heck had tactfully offered to make Sister Lando a dress incorporating the hat material in it. Since then, Sister Lando showed up every week in her black and white dress, smiling as if she had fooled the system.
The town had no problem forgiving Roswell. These people were pros at forgetting. Roswell had even come out to church a few times in honor of his departed brother. Yes, instead of people being mad about what he had done, most folks viewed it as a miracle that he had returned. President Heck said it was kind of nice to spot him sitting on the porch like old times. Besides, he was old and wouldn’t be around forever. Why argue his presence when time was not on his side?
The Book of Mormon still had not turned up. Folks were waiting for someone to start purchasing a lot of nice things—increased spending power would be a surefire giveaway if someone had hocked it for cash. As of yet, no one had purchased anything out of the ordinary.
While shopping for an engagement ring, Miss Flitrey and Wad had found an old-fashioned hearing aid at one of the Virgil’s Find garage sales. It was an awkward thing that had an antenna and a thick head strap. It wasn’t modern, but it worked, and it was too big for Nippy to swallow. She wore it everywhere now, walking around the meadow looking like a wrinkled space alien.
Since there were no longer any full-time missionaries in Thelma’s Way, President Heck and Toby Carver were teaching the lessons to Judy Bickerstaff. She had been out to church once, and was willing to come again as long as it didn’t interfere with any of her possible acting auditions.
Sybil Porter, Frank Porter’s strong daughter, had moved in with Sister Watson. Sybil had wanted to get out on her own for a while. Sister Watson was presently teaching Sybil grooming and how to act like a lady. Sybil gave Sister Watson something to focus on besides the upcoming Christmas play.
It had been over six months since our exclusive one-night engagement of “All Is Swell.” The fallout had subsided—President Heck had even received a few letters from people around the state wanting to know about Mormonism. They figured any group of people who would go through so much trouble for nothing were worthy of investigation. President Heck sent them out what he called a “Thelma’s Way care package,” containing a Book of Mormon, a Church magazine, a complimentary bar of Sister Watson’s soap, and a picture of the ward members at the Labor Day breakfast. I figured anyone who joined after seeing that picture would have to have been converted by the Spirit.
Amazingly, Paul had come around. According to President Heck’s letter, Paul had had a vision of a red avenging angel who had scared him into coming back to church. He was so unnerved by the incident that true humility had finally gotten a chance to work him over. President Heck used words like kind, submissive, and willing. Paul was begging for forgiveness. It looked like the town would hold no grudge. President Heck also mentioned that once when Sister Watson showed up to church wearing a red dress, Paul had almost passed out.
President Heck had high hopes for the branch. He felt that Paul’s new activity could help the meadow to mellow spiritually. Perhaps the numbers would begin to come back to where they were before Paul had pulled things apart.
Perhaps.
President Heck’s letter had been great. Still, as I folded it and put it away for safekeeping, I knew he had failed to tell me what I most wanted to know. Forget all the other outrageous and quirky doctrines of Thelma’s Way, I wanted to hear something about Grace.
He had written not a word.
I had tried writing to Grace once. I spilled out my heart. I told her everything. I tried to explain my feelings and my confusion. Did we have a future? I asked. Then I tore it up into little pieces and threw it away.
I had gotten a letter from Elder Jorgensen. He was still serving in Tennessee. His leg had healed, and he was currently companions with Elder Herney. He went on and on about how fantastic he and Elder Herney were doing. Elder Jorgensen’s amazing attitude was just what Elder Herney needed. He had also included a picture. It was a snapshot of him and me at Leo’s baptism. I got homesick every time I looked at it.
It was early afternoon. I had spent the day raking up leaves in our front yard. The big trees had shivered themselves bare, their naked branches ripping across the sky. I had raked the leaves into piles, tiny communities organized beneath the barky overlord. Leaves that had traversed the space from limb to soil, willing to rot and nourish the very trees that had let them go.
I cleaned up and drove to the local super-sized, bigger-than-necessary grocery store where, for your convenience, you could pick out new car tires while pinching tomatoes for freshness. When I finally found an employee to help me, he couldn’t tell me anything except where the bathroom was and that the registers were up front.
I was perusing the more than one hundred brands of pancake syrup when I heard a recognizable voice one aisle over. Because of sky-high shelving I couldn’t see who it was. I tried to place the voice, but I drew a blank. I walked around the aisle ready to say hi and saw them there. It was Lucy and Lance. Larger and glossier than life. They were trying to decide which self-tanning lotion to buy. I couldn’t believe it.
I had wanted to see Lucy, thinking it would be such a big deal when I did. I had wanted her to know that I had grown up. I had turned out, despite her lack of confidence. I thought we would see each other and be blown away by all the sweet memories, the could-have-beens and should-have-beens.
That didn’t happen.
They didn’t notice me until I had ahemed a few times.
“Trust?” Lucy finally clued in.
Her skin was too dark for late October. Her hair was too shiny, and her lips were too thin.
“Hey, Lucy,” I replied.
Lance sort of smil
ed, his big, perfect head tilting in condescension.
“So this is Trust,” he ho-ho-hoed, his hands on his hips, looking like a poster boy for imitation humans.
Lucy struck a pose. I had caught her condescending to shop in a common supermarket, and that made her uncomfortable. She placed the tanning lotion back on the shelf like a hostess on a game show.
I wanted to say something to her but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find a single word worth wasting on her. I couldn’t believe I had ever wanted what now stood before me. Lucy was a nice person, but she lacked soul.
“How was your mission?” she finally asked, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that had developed.
This was a great moment. True, I was no Lance, but I had never felt better about my appearance than now. Yes, here I was, looking better than Lucy had ever seen me look, and she looking like less than I had preceived she could possibly be. Most people would probably think she was perfect, not me. She was everything I no longer watned. She was salvation by works.
“My mission was great,” I replied.
“Did you ever get out of that weird town?” she asked, gazing at me curiously, as if I were behind glass.
I didn’t answer. I just stood there thinking until she and Lance became self-conscious and walked off.
“Weird guy,” I heard Lance say, as they carted themselves away.
I put my tomatoes and pancake syrup back, went outside, got into my car, and drove to the airport.
I had some unfinished business to take care of.
42
Restoration
The path to Thelma’s Way had never seemed so long. It had taken me just over a day to get to Virgil’s Find. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon. I had made decent time, but couldn’t help feeling I was months behind schedule. I picked up my feet and ran. The late October air filled my lungs.
When Thelma’s Way finally came into view, my heart just sort of liquefied. It pushed through my veins and up into my throat. Still, I managed to stroll into town looking nonchalant.
There were kids in the meadow and folks hanging out on the boardinghouse porch despite the cold. I could see Leo walking hand in hand with CleeDee, and Digby in Leo’s old car. As much as I loved each and every one of these people, they weren’t the ones I had come to see. I walked with purpose to the old wagons and turned, heading towards the woods. For a few moments folks ignored me, not realizing who I was. But the second Narlette climbed up on one of the covered wagons, she recognized me. She then made the announcement I was longing to holler.
“Elder Williams is back!”
Folks froze. They put their hands to their hearts and mouths. I wanted to stop, to clap backs and give hugs, but I couldn’t let them slow me down.
I was on a mission.
I watched people dive off the boardinghouse porch and chase after me. I’d never seen old Roswell move so quickly. Wad, who was giving Miss Flitrey a haircut, put down his scissors and rolled over to greet me. Kids clustered about me like bees on a hive. Narlette grabbed my hand as I walked.
“Elder Williams,” she cried happily. “What are you doing here?”
Four words.
“I’m going for Grace.”
The crowd burst into cheers and guffaws.
“He’s going for Grace,” they told each other, beginning to understand as they said it.
I walked quickly. The crowd fell in behind me. I had kind of hoped to do this on my own, but as I reached the edge of the forest no one turned back.
“What’s going on?” people would ask as we passed them on our way. “He’s going for Grace,” someone would yell and they would join in, cheering and whooping.
When we got to the Heck house, everyone grew quiet to see what would happen next. I pushed back my longer-than-missionary hair and tried to calm down. I knocked on the door and waited. Practically the whole town was circled around me. My nerves were shorting out, and my fingers and arms felt loose and rubbery.
President Heck answered the door.
“Elder Williams,” he said in amazement, his gray hair shorter than I remembered it, and his eyes more alive.
I spoke before I chickened out. “Is Grace here?” I asked.
“No,” he answered, surprised.
The crowd behind me “ohhhhed” in disappointment.
“Do you know where she is?” I asked desperately.
Patty Heck came up beside him to see what was going on.
“I haven’t seen her for a couple days,” Brother Heck replied, acting like he was thinking extra hard for my sake.
Before he said another word, I stepped off the porch and marched further into the forest. I knew where I had to go. I had to find that cabin. Grace would be there. I just hoped I could remember the way.
President and Sister Heck joined our merry band. I heard Pete Kennedy fill them in behind me.
“He’s going for Grace.”
“Our Grace?” Patty Heck questioned.
My Grace.
We hiked over a couple of hills and down a ravine. More and more people gathered, all of them staying in my wake. As we passed Toby Carver’s place I ran smack dab into Toby and Paul standing outside. They were arguing over the price of firewood, or some such thing. Toby, I was thrilled to see. Paul, on the other hand, still looked to me like the self-righteous apostate I had known so well. His face puckered when he realized it was me.
We stared at one another. Everyone hushed. I thought of a million things I could say to make him see the damage he’d done, and to check if he really had changed. But all that would take time, and I had an appointment to keep.
So I stuck out my hand, and he stuck out his. We shook and everyone cheered. I began hiking again. Paul patted me on the back, falling into step directly behind me, acting like we had been best friends for years. I was more than willing to let him feel that way. This, after all, was my town, and these were my people.
This was a big day.
Finally I spotted the rock chimney above the trees. Smoke curled from the top.
She was home. She was in there.
I thought I was going to pass out.
Softly, I pushed Narlette aside. Everyone stayed just where they were. The forest crunched beneath my feet. My blood turned from whole milk to skim.
I stepped up to the door and knocked.
No one answered, but I thought I heard movement inside. I knocked again and then tried the knob. It was locked. I felt the crowd step closer behind me.
“Grace,” I hollered. “It’s me, Elder Williams. Trust.”
No answer. Pete Kennedy coughed.
“Grace, if you’re in there, open up,” I said.
Closed door. Miss Flitrey sneezed.
“Gesundheit,” Wad whispered.
I wanted to see Grace now more than ever. I wanted to look into her face like only a returned missionary could. I wanted to tell her the things that my mission had prevented me from saying. I wanted to say I remembered what I had said on the boardinghouse porch almost exactly a year ago. I wanted to say I was I was wrong. I thought about breaking down the door. I thought about climbing down the chimney.
I turned to face the crowd and shrugged.
These were the people I had come to love. These were the ones who had watched me become the man I now was. God had given me the patience to discover their secrets and their accomplishments. Like a pop top, He had twisted my life and revealed my purpose—I could feel the guiding pressure of His palm. Now here He was pouring me back into the half-full glass of Thelma’s Way.
Feeble had been right all those years ago. His prophecy had come to pass. Things had changed. The person I was today would hardly have recognized the reluctant boy who once wandered into this valley.
How could I have ever doubted a Creator who saw it all? He had changed me. I had been too busy trying to figure it out to notice. He had planted me here, provided the sun and water, and let me push my own way out of the seed. So often on my mission I had t
hought that I was doing God some great favor by serving. Now I knew that He had given me more in those two years than I could ever account for. He didn’t mold me into some suave businessman. He carefully shaped me into a true son of God. He had sent me home safely and pushed me back here to see what the future could bring. I stood in front of that door smiling as the cosmos whispered its secrets into my ear.
I knocked again. I would knock all day if I had to. I would stand in front of that door forever, if there were the slightest possibility that someday Grace would open up and let me in.
I’ve heard it said that when God closes a door, He splits a crowd, or something to that effect. God was working His wonders. As I stood there staring through the window, I could hear the townsfolk begin to whisper.
“There she is.”
“Move over.”
“Here she comes.”
I looked around and saw the ring of spectators shift, opening up for Grace to walk through. Grace had not been in the cabin, she had been about the forest as usual. She had small branches in her hands and wind in her hair. She looked at me as if I were a mirage—I drank her in as if she were an oasis. She was wearing jeans and a white shirt. Her red hair looked dark against the contrast of white, her deep eyes made the evergreens look dull. I watched her pink lips as they tried not to smile. I could see she was thinking. She was calculating me in. My feet turned to clay, my toes chipping off and rattling around in my shoes. I could feel the back of my neck fizzle, like cold water running over a hot pan.
She was calculating me in!
She walked through the crowd and right up to me. Afternoon light surrounded her like a heavenly aura. She stopped and looked into my eyes.
“You came back,” she said softly.
“I love you,” I answered.
“I thought you might,” she replied, believing the words as she spoke them.
“I wanted to give us a try.”
Grace smiled, giving bliss a whole new definition. “It might take a bit,” she reasoned.
All Is Swell Page 21
