The House at Rose Creek

by Proctor, Jenny

  “Oh, I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet,” Kate responded. To attend church with the Mormons seemed a bit overwhelming.

  “That’s perfectly okay,” the elder responded. “I do think it would be a great idea for you to come to the family history center this week. There are volunteers there who can help you search for additional information about your ancestors, maybe even find something specific about Ian.”

  “I would like that,” Kate said. “It was Wednesday morning, right?” She walked the missionaries to their car, thanking them for their time and assuring them that she would read and call if she had any questions. As they walked, she wondered, of all the places in Rose Creek, how they’d wound up at her door. She looked at the elders.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. “Did someone send you here, or was it just chance that turned you down my driveway?”

  Elder Peterson looked at Elder Christianson, silent communication passing between them. “We were certainly sent by someone,” Elder Peterson said. “Though not someone local.” He smiled at Kate and looked at his companion.

  “I was driving,” Elder Christianson said. “God might as well have dropped a bowling ball on the brake pedal for how sure I was we needed to turn down your drive. He wanted us to find you. I’m sure of it.”

  Kate nodded her head. “Thank you for coming.”

  “We’ll meet you Wednesday morning, then, 10:00 a.m. at the church building. You’re sure you know where it is?”

  “I know the area well,” she responded. “I’m sure I’ll find it.”

  The missionaries paused before climbing into the car and watched as Leslie’s van pulled down the drive.

  Kate had been so distracted by the missionaries’ visit that she had completely forgotten Leslie was coming and had no idea how she would respond to her Mormon visitors. Leslie walked over from the van, Tommy on her hip and Emily and Nicholas following close behind.

  “Hello,” she said curiously, looking at the strangers standing before her.

  “Hi, Leslie,” Kate moved over to meet her. “This is, uh, Elder Peterson and Elder Christianson. They’re missionaries from the Mormon Church here in town.” She looked at the elders. “This is my cousin Leslie, and her three kids: Nicholas, Emily, and the baby, Tommy. The missionaries were just leaving,” she added.

  The elders took turns shaking Leslie’s hand and saying hello to each of the children. They turned to Kate one last time. “We’ll see you Wednesday morning, then,” they said.

  Leslie watched the missionaries’ little car incredulously as it wound down the gravel drive. When they were finally out of sight, she turned to her cousin. “Seriously, Kate? Mormons?”

  “They were just visiting, Leslie. It doesn’t mean anything,” Kate said, climbing the porch steps and opening the door for the children.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Leslie commented, “but you’re seeing them again on Wednesday? The Mormons have been in Rose Creek awhile, Kate. They’re persistent. You’re nice to them once, they won’t leave you alone.”

  “You talk like you’ve had personal experience with them. And what is all this ‘them’ talk? The missionaries seemed like perfectly normal people.”

  “Huh!” Leslie laughed. “Mormons are not normal people.” Leslie turned to her kids. “Run on into the family room, guys. Nicholas, will you put a movie on for Emily and Tommy?” She lowered Tommy onto the floor, and Nicholas took his hand, leading him into the family room.

  “Here,” Leslie said as she handed Kate a plastic to-go box from a local restaurant. “I tried to call your cell phone to see what you wanted, but you didn’t answer. I just got you a grilled chicken salad. There’s salad dressing in the bag. Shall we get started on the pictures?”

  “Wait,” Kate demanded. “I want to know why Mormons aren’t normal people.”

  Leslie sighed. “They’re just . . . different.”

  Kate looked at her expectantly, waiting for more explanation.

  Leslie sat down at the table and reached for a stack of pictures, slowly looking at each one. “The pastor at Tom’s church preached about the Mormons a few times, talked about the importance of guarding yourself against them. They have strange beliefs about marriage, about how to raise your children, and the pastor said they follow a false Jesus, talked about all kinds of weird things, about God being from another planet and whatnot. It was just weird, Kate. That’s all.”

  “But you don’t actually know any Mormons yourself?” Kate asked.

  “Well, no,” Leslie answered. “I guess not. Do you?”

  “Just the two I met today.” She paused for a moment, reaching for her own stack of pictures. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally continued. “I’m not even sure I’m going on Wednesday. Even if I do, it’s not even church, just some sort of a history library they want me to see.”

  They worked in silence for a few moments.

  “I didn’t realize you were going to church, Leslie.”

  “Who, me?” Leslie asked. “I don’t really, though before Tom died, we went every now and again. I’ve been back a few times, but it’s miserable having all of those old ladies asking me how I’m holding up all the time, telling me it would be easier if I would come to church more. Really, it would have been easier if God just hadn’t let Tom die.”

  “Yeah.” Kate sighed, agreeing softly with her cousin.

  “Nice of God, though, to take Mother as well, wasn’t it?” Leslie continued, her voice laced with bitterness. “You know,” she said sarcastically, “raising three kids isn’t already hard enough. Let’s try it with your support network ripped completely away.” Tears spilled over onto Leslie’s cheeks. She angrily wiped them away. “Ohhhh!” she said, voice full of frustration. “I have cried too many times this week. I really don’t want to do it again.”

  Kate moved closer to her cousin and reached for her hand.

  “It stinks, Leslie, and it isn’t fair—not to you or your kids.” Kate had certainly shed her share of tears over losing Aunt Mary, but she felt her grief was but a drop compared to what her cousin was enduring.

  “I just don’t think I can keep doing this by myself,” Leslie said softly.

  “I’m here, Leslie. I can help,” Kate offered sincerely.

  “You’re here, Kate? For how long? For a few more weeks until work calls you back and you return to Atlanta and forget about your family here in Rose Creek? I know you mean well, but you don’t have the best track record. I tried to rely on you once, and we both know how well that went.”

  Leslie’s words stung Kate to the core. This was not where she’d imagined the conversation going. She didn’t want to be angry, but she couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out. “How many times do I have to apologize, Leslie? You want me to say I was wrong? I was. I know that. If I could go back and change the choices that I’ve made, I would. But I can’t. All I can do is apologize and try to be different from now on. But that’s going to be really hard if you’re going to be angry at me forever for my past.”

  Leslie took a deep breath. “I know you’ve apologized. I’m sorry. But seriously, Kate, even if you have changed, if you do visit more, call more, you still live in a different city. And you shouldn’t feel guilty for that. But I’m here, and when you’re gone in two weeks, I’ll be here, without Mom, without this house to come to when I need someone to talk to, someone to help with the kids. I’m so terrified of that—so terrified of being alone.”

  Kate closed her eyes as she listened to Leslie, her heart breaking for how overwhelmed she must feel.

  “You’ll have Linny,” Kate suggested.

  “I know I have Linny, and she’s wonderful. But she’s just one person, and she stays so busy with all of her volunteer work and taking care of Charles.”

  “She’d put all that down in a second if she thought you needed her. You know that.”

  “You’re right. I do know that, but I can’t ask her to give up what she loves doing to help fix my ki
ds Hamburger Helper so I can stay in my room and cry for one more night.”

  “Yes, you can. If that’s what you need. You know she would,” Kate insisted.

  Leslie still gripped a stack of pictures but finally relaxed enough to put them down. The picture on top was of Aunt Mary, holding a new baby—Sam, if Kate had to guess, based on the length of Mary’s hair and the smooth planes of her young face.

  “I just don’t get it,” Leslie said softly, shaking her head as she looked at the picture of her mother. “Why does life have to be so hard?”

  Chapter 17

  Later that night, Kate lay in bed, unable to sleep. The various conversations she’d had throughout the day kept playing over and over in her head. The Book of Mormon the missionaries had left lay unopened on the nightstand by her bed. She didn’t think the missionaries had seemed unusual in any respect. She was actually quite impressed with how well-spoken they’d been and with the respect and intelligence they’d demonstrated. At the same time, a pastor of another church surely wouldn’t stand at the pulpit and lie to his congregation, telling them things about the Mormons that weren’t true. Or would he?

  She wondered for the second time that day how she was ever supposed to know what to believe. Elder Christianson’s words echoed in her head. “You ask.” Sure. Asking was easy for someone who knew how to pray and felt comfortable with the notion of communicating with God. But Kate didn’t pray. The idea of it felt awkward, almost silly. And really, did she actually want to be a Mormon herself? Her life had gone just fine without any kind of religion. She was happy, successful, well connected . . . lonely, empty, and not really that happy after all.

  Still, she had no idea what being a Mormon even involved. Would she do something so drastic just because her ancestor, dead nearly two hundred years, had written in a journal that he sought a restoration? What if it was the wrong restoration? And what good would it do him for her to join the Church anyway? He’d still be dead. She sighed in frustration and rolled over. She fluffed her pillow and collapsed onto her stomach, burying her face in the soft fabric of the sheets.

  “Oh, sleep already,” she said, frustrated and annoyed by her insomnia.

  But she didn’t sleep. Instead, her thoughts turned to Leslie. She hated to admit it, but what Leslie had said was true. Kate would go back to Atlanta in a few weeks and leave Rose Creek behind. Certainly, she would visit and call more frequently—she would have to just to take care of the house. But there was little, other than moral support, that she would be able to offer Leslie. And that wasn’t what Leslie needed. She didn’t need a long-distance friend—someone good for phone calls and moral hoorahs. Leslie needed someone close, who could help with the kids and help her cope with the desperation of her situation. Leslie was a fighter, and Kate didn’t believe she would ever give up, but she was standing on a very slippery slope. Without enough support to keep her going, Kate could see her rapidly sliding into some very dark emotional places.

  It was her. It had to be her, Kate realized. There really wasn’t anyone else besides Linny who could be here like Leslie needed. Sam had his wife and baby and perhaps even another baby on the way if they would ever get around to telling everyone. And he and Teresa both had great jobs in Asheville. And Bryan—Kate didn’t know what to think about Bryan, but she didn’t see him moving back to Rose Creek anytime soon. As great a guy as he was, he wasn’t what Leslie needed either. Leslie needed Kate.

  Leaving her job would be easy. She even thought that with a little bit of persuasion, she could convince Mr. Blanton to let her work from Rose Creek, consulting and analyzing contracts. It would mean a huge cut in salary, but she could still make more than enough to take care of her needs—especially the simplified needs that accompanied small-town life. Her mind raced as she continued to make plans. Her condo would sell in weeks, if not days. Even in a slower market, it was in a prime location just outside the business sector, with convenient parking and a great balcony. If it were priced reasonably, someone would snatch it up right away.

  It surprised Kate and even saddened her a bit that moving seemed like such a simple decision. Really, her job and condo were the only loose ends she would need to tie up. A handful of friends might be sad to see her go, but there really were only a few. Steve would probably rejoice at her exit—a cat ready to pounce on her client list and corner office. He could have it. Suddenly, there seemed much more important business to attend to—business like Leslie and business like Andrew.

  Kate sighed. She’d had the conversation with herself far too many times throughout the day, but she still wondered. Why had he left so quickly? What was he running from?

  Eventually, Kate started to drift off, but just before sleep finally claimed her, a memory—years, even decades old—crept to the surface of Kate’s consciousness: an activity bus driving the swim team to a regional meet in Charlotte, and Tracy Spencer, Andrew’s cousin and Kate’s fellow teammate, pulling out a little blue book, softbound with gold lettering across the front. She’d given the book to another teammate, explaining what it was and offering to answer questions if any arose. It was a Book of Mormon. Tracy Spencer was Mormon.

  Kate sat up, heart racing as she realized what this meant. If Tracy was Mormon, then Andrew was quite possibly Mormon himself. It ran in families like that, didn’t it? At the very least, Andrew would know something of the Mormon faith, perhaps even have some insight to share with Kate. Remembering the Book of Mormon sitting on her nightstand, she rolled over and turned on the lamp, opening the front cover of the book. There she saw the missionaries’ contact information, a telephone number, and the street address and telephone number for the branch building. Then, down at the bottom of the insert: Dan Spencer, Branch Mission Leader, with a home and cell number. Dan Spencer—Andrew’s uncle and the branch mission leader. Kate had no idea what the title actually meant, other than the general assumption that he had something to do with the efforts of the missionaries. She wondered if the missionaries knew Andrew. If they went to church with his uncle, they probably had some awareness of who he was. She lay back on her pillow, mentally exhausted. She put the Book of Mormon back on the nightstand, on top of Ian’s journal, and noticed the two letters tucked neatly into the back of the book. Kate realized she’d only read one before she’d lost herself in the pages of the journal. Curious about the contents of the second letter, she reached for it and delicately unfolded the ancient paper.

  My Dear Ian,

  I’ve just received a letter from Jennie telling me of your dear father-in-law. I’m sorry to hear of his passing, as I know he meant a great deal to you. I am forever grateful for his reaching out to you and caring for you in your time of need. Though I never met the man, I will honor him always, for your sake. Now, I must ask you to bear with me because I fear I may sound like I’m trying to tell you what to do. You must remember that the Ian I remember was just a boy the last time I saw him, and though I know you’ve grown into a man, it’s hard to really know you as such through letters. So if I sound like I’m writing to you like you are a child in need of guidance from his mother, just sit down and take it like a man. Perhaps you are in need of guidance. Jennie tells me of the disagreements you find yourself in with your mother-in-law regarding matters of religion. It appears you don’t worship as she pleases? Your wife seemed compassionate to your cause, though expressed concern that your stubbornness was perhaps inhibiting you from complying in the least degree. Jennie seems to think that if you would just attend Sunday services, even if in your heart you disagree with what’s being taught, you might perhaps preserve the peace at your hearth. And now she appeals to me. I wish I had an easy answer. You’ve made your own feelings of religion known to me in past letters. I know you to be a religious man and have no doubts that you honor God—that you praise Him and recognize His many works and miracles. I taught you as a child to study the Good Book, to learn from it, to follow the examples of those within, and I believe you have done so. And I recognize that you don�
�t have to worship with the Methodists or the Presbyterians or Baptists or even the Catholics to live a life patterned after God, though the opportunity to learn from those who’ve given their lives completely to God, who preach in His name, certainly can’t do us any harm. I guess all I can tell you, Ian, is that you must follow your heart. Pray for guidance, and the good Lord will lead you in the ways you should go. For you, perhaps that is staying home on Sunday, reading the words of your Roger Williams, waiting for this restoration you claim must come about. But remember, Ian, it is also your responsibility to lead and guide your family. You want your children to respect God and learn the good word, and the best place for them to learn it is in a church. I know their mother takes them, but they will always question if their father is not there, will they not? Only you can determine such a thing, and I trust you will forever turn to God and make the right decision. Beware of your pride though, my dear boy. You’re just like your Da in that regard, and you best not stay home just to spite that mother-in-law of yours, no matter how tempting it is. I love you and will pray for the peace and comfort of your family.

  Your sister’s condition grows worse every day. The doctors still call her the miracle child. They never imagined she’d reach her fifteenth year, and yet here she is, nearly twenty. She’s still so tiny though—looks more like a mere child of eight or nine rather than the blossoming young woman she should be. Just the same, I’m grateful for every day I have with her. She has blessed my life in so many ways. Truly, when she is gone, the happiest part of my life will be over. Yet, perhaps not, if the future allows me the opportunity to come see you and meet your sweet children and wrap my arms around that wonderful woman you call wife. And best of all, to see my young Ian grown into manhood, into fatherhood. I can’t imagine how truly lovely you must be. God be with you, Ian. Think about my words, and be smart. I know you will.