The House at Rose Creek

by Proctor, Jenny

  “Andrew, will you tell me about your job in Virginia? Why did you leave?”

  Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s kind of a long story,” he finally said. “I . . . Listen, I want to tell you. Just not right now. It’s not, I mean, it’s not anything you need to worry about. Nothing criminal—nothing even business related. I left for personal reasons.”

  “It’s okay,” Kate said, reaching out to touch his arm. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready.” It wasn’t hard for her to see his relief.

  They talked companionably for the rest of the drive, mostly about Andrew’s sister and her excitement about seeing Ian’s journal. A part of Kate felt guilty that she was so willing to share such a treasured item with a complete stranger, yet she still had not told her family of its existence. They were, after all, descendants of Ian just like she was and had just as much right to read the journal. Part of her hesitancy was the unmistakable connection Ian had to her investigation of the Mormon Church. She felt with great intensity that it was not coincidence or mere happenstance that brought the missionaries to her door. When Elder Christianson had boldly echoed Ian’s words, mentioning a unification of purpose and spirit, Kate felt as if Ian had been calling to her, urging her to listen, learn, and read. That was something she was sure her family would not understand.

  Their reaction to her interest in the Church had opened her eyes to a strain of persecution in the South she had never known existed. There seemed to be so much ill-placed hatred. Judgments and assumptions based on little fact or foundation and an attitude of fear—a wide-eyed, whisper-behind-your-back sort of attitude that irritated Kate. As Andrew drove, Kate asked him what he thought.

  “There are places where Latter-day Saints aren’t so much a minority,” Andrew explained. “Out West in Utah, of course, then parts of Arizona and Idaho, even California. It’s definitely different growing up in a place like this, where you might have five kids in your high school who share your faith and where your Sunday congregation might reach one hundred on a good day. But at the same time, I think it’s worth it. When you live in the Bible Belt, you have to decide if the persecution, the questions, the rampant misinformation is going to get to you, and you have to be willing to stand up for what you believe in, regardless. You have to develop a little bit of a thick skin, I guess, but then, I think that’s a good thing. One thing’s for sure, your feet have to be firmly planted. Sometimes the winds of opposition can be pretty strong.”

  She was glad to hear Andrew offer an opinion. He’d been a little tight-lipped as of late when it came to matters of religion. At first, he had been really involved, attending her meetings with the missionaries and answering her questions. In the past few days, however, he’d pulled back, deferring her questions to the elders and frequently changing the subject. Before getting out of the car at the Spencers’, Kate finally confronted him. For this question, she was sure she deserved an answer.

  “Before we go in, can I ask you something?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “I like this. I like hearing you offer an opinion and discuss your faith with me. But aside from just now, you’ve totally been avoiding the subject. Why?”

  Andrew sighed, looking down at his hands. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

  “What gives, Andrew? You’ve served a mission too; you’ve answered all the questions before. I don’t mind talking to the missionaries. I like them both a great deal, but you and I can’t discuss it as well?”

  Andrew looked up, eyes locking into Kate’s. “It’s because I like you so much.”

  She paused and pulled her gaze away from his. “What do you mean?”

  “Kate, this religion, my faith . . . it’s who I am. It’s priority for me, for my wife, whoever she may be, and for my future family. I had a relationship once with a girl who wasn’t Mormon, and it was hard—hard to be so different, to have such different ideas about what our life together would involve. I don’t want that again.” The words came quickly but were focused and well thought out. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that first morning we ran into each other. I tried though, because I didn’t want to fall for you . . . didn’t want . . . but then you just kept popping up everywhere—the hardware store, downtown. I saw you that afternoon too,” he said. “I told myself that next Monday morning that I would give it one chance. If you showed up, then we’d talk. If not, I would try to stop seeing your face every time I closed my eyes.”

  Kate wondered if Andrew could hear her heart pounding in her chest or see the ripples of goose bumps rising on her arms.

  “Kate, when you walked into the family history library and I realized you had met with the missionaries and you actually had a Book of Mormon in your hands, it almost seemed too good to be true. At the same time, this,” he motioned to the two of them, “anything happening between us, has to be totally separate from what you do when it comes to the gospel. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not sure my motives are pure enough to discuss it. I can’t say I wouldn’t largely be thinking about what it would mean for me if you were to join the Church. And I shouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Wow,” Kate said softly. She felt him looking at her but was afraid to raise her eyes to meet his.

  “I said too much, didn’t I?” Andrew said.

  “No,” Kate quickly responded. “I mean, you did say a lot, but I don’t mind. I’m glad you did.” Finally, she looked up. “Andrew, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. I’m nearly finished with the Book of Mormon. I’ve even stopped drinking coffee.” She smiled shyly. “I can’t say that I haven’t thought about what it might mean for you and me if we shared a common faith. But I’ve been on my own for a long time. I’ve made decisions for the wrong reasons too many times to jump into something without knowing why I’m doing it. I like you a lot too, but I wouldn’t do this just for you. Even with this,” Kate picked up Ian’s journal from her lap, “even with Ian searching for a truth I’m pretty sure he would have found in your church, I won’t do this just for him either. I’ll know for myself, or I won’t do it. Not for you, not for Ian, not for anyone but me.”

  “That’s good to know,” Andrew said softly, nearly whispering.

  “If something were to happen between us,” Kate said, voice low to match his, “if this did work out, I think it might be nice for you to have been a part of the process, don’t you think?”

  “I think I’d like that,” he said, smiling one more time. He offered his hand to Kate, palm up. “But for the right reasons.”

  She slipped her hand into his, surprised by how well it seemed to fit.

  Chapter 24

  Caroline Spencer met them at the front door. “Good heavens, Andrew, what took you so long? I thought I’d have to hold dinner till tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Caroline, it wasn’t intentional.”

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, looking first at Andrew then over at Kate.

  “Everything’s fine,” Andrew said. “We were just talking.” He smiled at Kate, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks.

  “Uh-huh,” Caroline said. “I’m sure that’s all you were doing. Let’s go eat, then; everyone’s waiting on you.”

  She bustled off to the kitchen, motioning for them to follow. “It sure is nice to see you again, Kate,” she called over her shoulder. “You look just lovely this evening.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said as Caroline disappeared into the kitchen. They followed after her, passing through the kitchen into the dining room. The table was set, with Dan Spencer, a woman Kate assumed was Andrew’s sister, and Elders Christianson and Peterson already sitting, waiting for them to arrive.

  “Oh, Sister Spencer, I’m so sorry,” Kate offered. “I didn’t realize we were keeping you.”

  “Nonsense,” Dan said. “We just sat down.” He stood and extended his hand to Kate. “It’s good to see you again,” he said warmly. “Hope you don’t mind the elders joi
ning with us tonight. Whenever they don’t have anywhere to eat, they come crawling here like lost puppies.”

  Kate shook her head and laughed. “No, I don’t mind at all.” She smiled at the elders and said hello, shaking their hands as they stood to greet her. She turned to Andrew’s sister. She guessed she was in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Her hair was short, a spiky cut that accentuated her prominent cheekbones and near flawless coloring. She had the same chocolate-brown eyes Andrew had and a warm, welcoming smile. Overall, Kate thought her to be quite lovely.

  “This is my sister Valerie,” Andrew said as he wrapped his arms around his big sister. “How are you, Val?” he said softly. “It’s good to see you.” He stood back and extended a hand to Kate, pulling her forward. “This is Kate.”

  The way Andrew said it made Kate feel silly, like she was being presented at court for the grand duke’s approval.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Valerie said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Likewise,” Kate said, casting a sideways glance in Andrew’s direction. She couldn’t help but wonder what he had told his sister. Sometimes she forgot she’d really only known this man for a few weeks. It seemed odd that she cared so much what he thought of her and what he might be saying to others when so little time had transpired.

  “Well then, we’ve all been introduced, and I would imagine we’re all hungry,” Caroline interjected. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

  Andrew had mentioned his aunt’s ability to cook when he’d offered the invitation, claiming the food was good enough to make up for the worst kind of company. He had not exaggerated. The food was delicious. Kate was equally delighted with her dining companions, though, and was seated comfortably in between Andrew and Valerie. Kate and Valerie talked for much of dinner. Kate told her all about Ian’s journal and pieced together as best she could what she knew of her family’s history all the way back to Ian Wylie. Valerie was intrigued and was obviously anxious to finish her meal and get a firsthand look at the journal.

  Andrew spent a good bit of time talking to his uncle about a construction job that was giving the company a bit more trouble than they had originally planned. Kate was much too involved in her discussion with Valerie to follow all that was said, but she did remember noting how intelligent and well spoken Andrew seemed. He had a quiet confidence that was puzzling to Kate, almost inexplicable. He wasn’t trying to impress her by using big words and wasn’t trying to be something he wasn’t; he was just himself. Kate had met men in Atlanta who dropped their education and career in her lap in the first five minutes of conversation in an effort to impress, yet Andrew had almost made an effort, it seemed, to not discuss what he did for a living. She had her reservations about that but was still pleased that he didn’t seem the kind of guy that would flaunt it, constantly playing the how-much-do-I-earn, how-much-do-I-spend, how-big-is-my-house game that had so frequently fogged the dating scene in her previous life.

  It most certainly was a previous life—a life where she never would have imagined staying in Rose Creek and eating dinner with a room full of Mormons she hoped to spend the rest of her life with. She laughed silently to herself—and she’d thought all she was coming home for was a funeral.

  After dinner, the small party moved into the family room. Before Kate had the chance to retrieve the journal from her handbag in the foyer, the missionaries engaged her in conversation, asking if she had been reading the Book of Mormon like she had promised.

  “I’ve nearly finished it,” Kate said, excited to tell them. “It’s been so fascinating; it’s filled almost every moment of my spare time.”

  Elder Christianson was beaming. “That’s really wonderful. Do you have any questions?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kate responded, sitting down in a soft overstuffed arm chair. “Though I still feel like there is so much I need to learn.”

  Elder Peterson, normally quiet, spoke up. “Kate, have you taken the opportunity to pray about what you’ve read?”

  Kate looked down, her face flushed with embarrassment. The missionaries had asked her to pray before, and though she’d certainly thought about it, whenever she told herself she was going to, she seemed to come up with some reason why she shouldn’t. She felt silly, inadequate, and completely incapable of saying a prayer worthy of God in the first place.

  The quiet tones of Elder Peterson’s voice were soothing to Kate’s nerves. “It’s all right,” he said, not waiting for her to answer. “You don’t have to be an expert to say a prayer worth hearing. Whenever you feel ready, just do your best, and your Heavenly Father will hear you.”

  Kate looked up and saw Andrew listening to their conversation. She smiled, and he came over, sitting on the ottoman next to Kate, opposite the missionaries.

  “When I was on my mission in Scotland, there was a man, a convert to the gospel, just like you,” he said, looking at Kate, “who was serving as stake president.” Kate nodded her head in understanding, and Andrew continued his story. “He shared his conversion story at a conference I attended. I’ve never heard such a powerful testimony of conversion and of the efforts the Lord makes to touch our hearts. This man talked about how there came a point in his conversion where his mind knew all he could about the gospel. He’d read the Book of Mormon, he’d asked all the right questions and thought the gospel, as he had been taught, made sense. But it wasn’t until he knelt down and asked God to let him know if all he had learned was true that he really felt converted to the Lord. After he knelt down and prayed, he got in his car and was driving home. He was touched so deeply that he had to stop the car. At that moment, he felt the Lord’s presence, felt His love and awareness, and knew that he had to be baptized. You are entitled to that same witness, Kate. It isn’t just principles and logic. You can receive spiritual confirmation if you seek it. The Lord will make Himself known unto you.”

  Kate knew what Andrew said was true, and she knew if she was going to join this Church, she would have to ask. It just seemed so overwhelming and a bit impossible, if she was completely honest. She had a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea that God would speak to her and reach out to her individually. She, who had never reached out to God, had never relied on Him; she, who had spent so many years doing as she pleased, thinking about herself, breaking even the most basic commandments. And then there was a part of Kate that was simply frightened by the changes that such personal revelation would bring about. It felt right, and it made sense, but it was still scary.

  “Will you pray about it?” Elder Christianson asked gently.

  He wasn’t pushing Kate. She knew that. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, and she felt love and concern fill the room, touching her inside and out. But they couldn’t understand. “Why would God want to speak to me?” she asked simply. “I’m not anyone special. My life, the way I’ve been living, I just . . .” She struggled to translate her feelings into words, her emotions so close to the surface. “I’m not good enough. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Andrew said gently. “But the power of the Atonement extends to everyone. Christ suffered so we don’t have to—so you don’t have to. Though you may not feel you’ve been aware of God, He’s always been aware of you.”

  Kate wanted to believe him and the missionaries. It just wasn’t that simple. “I’ll try,” she said. “I promise I’ll try.”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Valerie said, coming in from the kitchen. “But the dishes are done, and there’s a piece of history I’d like to get my hands on before I get back on the road.” She smiled at Kate. Kate quickly stood and retrieved the journal from her handbag. She sat down next to Valerie on the couch and gently handed the book to the historian.

  Valerie was silent as she turned the brittle pages, shaking her head in wonder and amazement.

  “It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” Andrew had moved to stand behind the couch, looking over his sister’s shoulder as she examined the journal.
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  “It’s amazing,” she said. Valerie looked up at Kate. “It’s really wonderful to have a record from so long ago, especially one that is so well preserved. The conditions must have been perfect in your attic—no moisture, no heat—journals like this don’t always survive.”

  “There is a lot I wasn’t able to read,” Kate said. “I tried to piece together what I could, but there were some pages that were so faded or so blended together I couldn’t figure it all out.”

  “There are specialists who could help with that. It’s amazing what they can discover with a bit of special treatment,” Valerie said. “But still, there are pages here that are near perfect. You can read it as if it were written just yesterday. Look at this entry. It sounds a little like our dinner here tonight.

  ‘14 January 1845

  I felt great joy this day as my family and friends gathered around my table for a meal. It is God’s design, I think, for us to have one another—to have family that fills and enriches our lives. Jennie made an amazing meal, as always. I pray that all who left our hearth this night did so full of food and full of goodness. May God’s blessings be upon them all.’”

  Valerie asked if she could photocopy a few of the pages to show her colleagues back at the university. She also suggested a number of things Kate could do to help preserve the journal so it wouldn’t deteriorate any further than it already had. The conversation eventually turned to Kate’s house, and Kate, with Andrew’s help, detailed to the small party the struggles she was facing. They were all very compassionate, Dan even offering to make a few phone calls to contact people he knew who worked for the county. Kate was grateful for any positive efforts on her behalf, but it was Valerie who gave Kate the most hope.

  “Kate, was it in the farmhouse that you found Ian’s journal?” she asked.

  “It was,” Kate confirmed. “The lineage is direct, father to son, from Ian all the way down to my grandfather George Wylie, who built the house.”