We fished for a long time and didn’t catch anything but some of Sister Imogene’s fried apple pies. When daylight officially arrived, the sky overhead shimmered like a solid sheet of blue glass. A chorus of whippoorwills celebrated the morning with a high-pitched song. An otter took his day’s first slide down a muddy bank into the water. Turtles popped their heads above the surface to see what we were up to. A harmless water snake sunbathed on a floating log.
Brother Conrad spoke. “I got you a graduation present—actually, I got you two.”
“Don’t you need the money for other things?”
“I’ve got all the money I need, and I don’t need much. Just enough to keep Genie fed and to buy bait so’s I can fish.”
“Genie—I mean Sister Imogene—might argue with the bait part.”
Brother Conrad reeled his line in and recast. His expression was serious. “Genie and I talked about your gift. When we do something, we do it together.”
“That means a lot,” I said.
Brother Conrad reeled his line in and set his pole on the bottom of the boat. He took off his cap and wiped his forehead. “Genie and I have four daughters—four beautiful girls—but we never had a son. Did you know one of my girls served a mission? She went to Wales.”
“That’s a long way from Arkansas.”
“I’d always hoped Genie and I could serve a mission. But she had to take care of her mother. She had cancer. It was awful.” Brother Conrad shook his head at the bad memory. “Now her father’s in the nursing home. She can’t leave him. You know he’s almost a hundred years old?”
I thought about Rhanda and how she took care of Auntie Belle. “I think it would be hard to take care of someone like that.”
“It is, but Genie never complains. She’s a good woman.” Brother Conrad helped himself to another pie. “Anyway, that’s changing the subject. Let’s get back to your gift. There’s two things we want to give you. The first is this boat. When I die, I want you to have my boat.”
I didn’t like hearing him talk that way. “I don’t want to take your boat.”
“Yes you do. Besides, I’ve already put it in my will. You get this boat and the trailer to haul it.”
I refused to let my eyes get misty. I didn’t want Brother Conrad to think I was getting emotional. “You’re not planning to die soon, are you?”
He laughed. “Of course not.” Then he explained, “My girls don’t care nothin’ about fishing. I’m proud of this boat and want it to go to someone who’ll take care of it. You’re like the son I never had. I want you to have it.”
“Why are you bringing this up?”
“Because there’s two things Genie and I want to give you.”
“The boat and the trailer. That’s two.”
“No, that’s one.”
I reeled my line in.
“Genie and I want to help your parents pay for your mission.”
I almost dropped my pole.
“If we’d had a son, we would have paid for his mission. You’re like the son I never had. I want to do that for you.”
My heart felt as heavy as a two-ton boulder. I was sure my end of the boat shifted under the weight. I reeled in and laid my pole on the bottom of the boat next to Brother Conrad’s.
“What’s wrong, son? Your shoulders are droopin’ like you’ve lost your best friend.”
I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t know.”
Brother Conrad rested his hand on my shoulder. “You don’t know what?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.”
“In other words, you’re befuddled.”
I nodded, but kept my head lowered; I couldn’t bear to look him in the face.
“What’s causing your confusion?”
“How am I supposed to know why I’m confused?”
“It’s hard bein’ eighteen. You’re young and have a lot of decisions to make.”
“I’m not ready to make them.” I sat up. “And I don’t like the decisions other people are making.”
Brother Conrad scratched his chin. “You can’t force other people to do right. You can teach them, but they have to learn by their own experiences.”
“Dad said life is like the Mississippi River. If you sit on the bank, the river will eventually flood and take you downstream anyway.”
Brother Conrad chuckled. “Sounds like something Arlice would say.”
“Don’t you get it? If that’s true, then there’s no escape. Your destiny is determined for you. So where’s the choice in that? What about free agency? Doesn’t the gospel teach us that we have free agency?”
“The way I see it,” Brother Conrad said, “is that once you’re in the river, you have two choices. One, you can choose to fight the current, wear yourself out, get your lungs waterlogged—maybe even drown. Two, you can choose to build yourself a raft, float downstream, enjoy the view, see where the river can take you—and maybe do a little fishing while you’re at it.”
It was easier to feel sorry for myself than to decipher Brother Conrad’s cryptic words of wisdom. “All that stuff you said makes no sense at all.”
“It doesn’t make sense because you don’t want it to,” Brother Conrad said sternly.
I picked at the frayed hole in the leg of my jeans and tried to come up with something to say that would turn the conversation around. I reached in my pocket and took out the fishing worm. “Remember this?”
Brother Conrad’s eyes softened. His mouth curved into a gentle smile. “I can’t believe you kept it.”
“You gave it to me at Cletus McCulley’s visitation.”
He took the worm from my hand. “I remember that night very well.” He rolled the worm around between his fingers as if it were a prized and delicate possession.
“You told some funny stories. I still remember the one you told about Cletus and the water moccasin.”
“I miss Cletus. Most Christ-like man I’ve ever known. You would have liked him.”
If Brother Conrad believed it, I knew it was true. “What made him Christ-like?”
Brother Conrad took a deep breath. He settled back in his seat and tugged the bill of his cap down to deflect the hot sun. “Cletus always tried to do what he thought the Lord wanted him to do. Didn’t matter if it made him uncomfortable or meant he’d have to go without—if the Lord needed him, he didn’t hesitate. He was an unselfish, willing servant.”
I stared at my shoes. The sun beat down, burning my back through my T-shirt. My ribs ached from holding everything in, and the words were fighting their way up to my throat, like when you have to throw up and know that once it starts you won’t be able to stop.
The words gushed out. “I got a full scholarship to Nelson–Barrett University.”
“I know,” Brother Conrad said.
“If I go on a mission, I’ll lose it.”
Brother Conrad held his hand out, palm open, and let the sun shine on the worm. “I’m sure you will.”
“I’ve lost Dani too.”
“You’ve lost Dani?” Brother Conrad asked as he placed the worm in my hand. “What’d you do—forget where you put her?”
I stuffed the worm back in my pocket. “No.”
“Don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control. She knows the truth. It’s her choice to stay away from church, not yours.” Brother Conrad started the trolling motor, and we puttered across the lake to an alcove hidden by the drooping branches of a large willow tree.
“I know you’re right,” I said as Brother Conrad stopped the boat. “But I do feel like I’ve lost her, like she’s distanced herself from me.”
Brother Conrad picked up his pole again. “So now you’re friendless.” He removed the bait from the hook, chose a nice artificial minnow from the tackle box, and attached it to his line. He cast and the bait hit the water with a soft ker-plop. “Sounds more like you’re feelin’ sorry for yourself.”
I clenched my fists in frustration. “Yes—well, no. I mean, I know yo
u’re my friend. And I have my family.” I shook my head and the chaotic thoughts rattled around inside. “You don’t get what I’m trying to say. I wish I hadn’t told you about Dad’s analogy. I didn’t think you’d use it against me—especially since I still can’t figure it out.” I picked up my pole and rebaited.
“You want my advice? Build a raft,” Brother Conrad said—and then his pole jerked. He let the fish run with the bait for a second, yanked the line back, and reeled in a gorgeous large-mouth bass.
“I don’t want to have this conversation anymore. Let’s just forget it.” I cast out close to where he caught the bass.
My attitude didn’t faze Brother Conrad at all. He put the fish on the stringer and rebaited. “If we catch a few more like that one, we’ll have a good supper.”
“As long as you clean ’em. You know Sister Imogene won’t.” I forced a grin, hoping to lighten the mood.
Our conversation idled for a while after that. I didn’t think that Brother Conrad was thinking about anything in particular, so I figured he wasn’t upset with me. But I mulled over Dad’s river analogy some more. And why would Brother Conrad say I needed to build a raft?
Brother Conrad caught two more bass, and I caught a small bluegill. We released the bluegill; he darted away from the boat and disappeared into the murky green water.
“Do you remember what happened to Saul on the road to Damascus?” Brother Conrad asked after I put my line back out.
“Yeah. We studied that in seminary. The Lord blinded him and told him to stop persecuting the Christians. A few days later he converted and his sight was restored. The Lord changed Saul’s name to Paul.”
“What did the Lord say to Saul when He appeared to him?”
“He told Saul to leave the Christians alone.” I got a nibble on my line. I pulled back. False alarm.
“He also said, ‘I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.’”
“Are you saying I’m a persecutor? I’m not persecuting anybody.” I reeled in a huge clump of smelly moss. I pulled it off and dropped it back in the water.
“Your skull’s as thick as Toad Suck Dam. Here.” He handed me a threadbare bandanna to wipe the moss slime from my fingers. “Saul was afraid of the truth.”
“I’m not afraid of the truth.”
Brother Conrad started the trolling motor and pointed us toward shore. “The truth is lapping at your feet, boy. And you’re scared to death of what’ll happen if you let yourself get pulled into it.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Sunday before high school graduation I decided it was time for me to grow up and quit hiding from the missionaries. I caught up with them after priesthood meeting.
“Are you going to see Auntie Belle this week?”
Elder Peachey’s face lit up. “We’re going this afternoon. Want to come? She’s been asking about you.”
“That would be great. When is she getting baptized?”
Elder Hall’s smile faded. “She’s not.”
“What happened?”
“Rhanda, her great-niece, won’t allow it.”
“She can’t do that. Auntie Belle is an adult. She can think for herself. She can decide if she wants to be baptized or not.”
Elder Hall shrugged. “Rhanda is Auntie Belle’s caregiver. We can’t go in and take Auntie Belle out of her house and baptize her behind Rhanda’s back. That would be dishonest. We’re hoping that Rhanda will soften her heart.”
Elder Peachey nodded. “At least Rhanda still lets us visit.”
While I waited for the missionaries to pick me up that afternoon, I sat outside by the koi pond and thought about Auntie Bell. I remembered that I’d promised to pray for her, and for Rhanda. I hadn’t. In fact, I realized it had been a long time since I’d prayed about anything.
The koi were swimming around the edge of the pond, making one complete circle after another. I leaned over, elbows on my bony knees, so I could see the fish better. They circled round and round, their unblinking, zombie-like eyes bulging out from the sides of their heads.
I rested my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Heavenly Father, I’m thankful to be able to visit Auntie Belle today. Please soften Rhanda’s heart so she will let Auntie Belle get baptized.
I opened my eyes. The fish swam as if they were on autopilot. I hoped they didn’t have feelings. It would be miserable to know that no matter how hard you swam, you’d never get anywhere.
I thought of Marcy and Marshall. They’d been reading the scriptures, wondering if the church was true. I’d convinced myself there was no way I could help them; I wasn’t good at teaching the gospel.
A sick feeling came over me. Why hadn’t I prayed for them? If I wasn’t willing to do anything else, I could have at least prayed for them.
I closed my eyes again. Please forgive me for not praying. In Jesus’ name, amen.
The missionaries pulled up and honked the horn. I got in the backseat and we headed to Rhanda’s.
“So Dani’s little Mormon friend is back,” Rhanda said to me when she let us in. “Auntie Belle’s been wondering where you’ve been.”
“Thanks for letting me visit her,” I said.
“Just don’t get her started on baptism. I won’t allow it.” Rhanda shuffled to the TV room. I heard the click of her cigarette lighter.
When I walked in the room, Auntie Belle reached out for me and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m so glad to see you, sweetie.”
“I’m glad to see you too.” I gave her a peck in return. The skin on her cheek felt thin and fragile.
“How are my boys?” she asked the elders.
“Great,” said Elder Peachey.
“We’re happy to be here,” Elder Hall replied.
“Pull your chairs up. You know where they are.” Auntie Belle motioned to the three chairs next to the wall. “I always make sure there’s a chair for you, Kevin, just in case.”
How many Sundays had I let my chair be empty? I was ashamed to think about it. I scooted the chair beside Auntie’s bed and sat down.
Auntie Belle opened her Bible. “I have a good subject for today’s discussion. I’ve been reading in Acts, chapter nine.” She waited while the elders found the right page. I hadn’t brought my scriptures, so Elder Peachey held his out so we could both see. As I looked over the verses, I tried to calm my pounding heart—Auntie Belle had chosen the story of Saul’s conversion.
This is a coincidence, I struggled to reassure myself. So what if Auntie Belle’s reading the same verses Brother Conrad told me about? This is a coincidence, nothing more.
Auntie Belle adjusted her reading glasses. “Saul went from persecuting Christians to becoming a Christian himself—not only a Christian but a great missionary. What makes someone want to be a missionary?”
Elder Peachey answered first. “I’m serving a mission because I believe in Christ. I feel like He’s done so much for me that I want to give something back.”
“I knew it was the right thing for me to do,” Elder Hall added. “I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know how hard it would be to be a missionary. But my testimony of Christ and of the gospel has grown since I’ve been on my mission.”
Auntie Belle turned to me. “And you, sweetie?”
“I’m not a missionary. I live in Armadillo, remember?”
Auntie Belle lowered her head and eyed me above the rim of her glasses. “I know where you live. My mind is perfectly clear. It’s my body that doesn’t work right.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
Auntie Belle smiled and patted my hand. “You’re excused.”
“Know what I thought was interesting about Saul?” Elder Peachey asked. “He saw Jesus Christ, but it wasn’t the vision that changed him. It was the truth that kept nagging at him and pricking his heart that led to his conversion.”
“Exactly,” Elder Hall added. “Visions alone don’t change people’s hearts. Look at Laman and Lemuel in the Book of M
ormon.”
“Truth is what changes us, then.” Auntie Belle’s eyes shined. “That’s what I was trying to figure out. I didn’t understand verse five—now I do. It’s talking about the Spirit. Read it for me, sweetie.” She motioned for me to look again at Elder Peachey’s scriptures.
He handed me his quad. I found the verse: “And he said. Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.”
Auntie Belle’s tone was firm and certain. “You can try to deny truth. You can try to fight against it. You can even try to avoid it. But truth never goes away. Once you know it, it tugs at your heart until you have to acknowledge it. That’s what Saul discovered.” She sighed and closed her scriptures. “I know the truth—and you know what? I think Rhanda does, too. She knows that once she admits to the truth, she’ll have to make changes in her life—changes she’s afraid of or isn’t sure she’s willing to make.”
“Maybe someday Rhanda will stop ‘kicking against the pricks’ of the truth she feels,” Elder Hall said.
Auntie Belle nodded. “When she gets tired, she’ll find it’s easier to swim with the current than against it.”
My skin prickled. I wanted to believe that Auntie Belle’s analogy was a coincidence. I wanted to believe that more than anything.
The burning in my chest, however, wouldn’t let me.
The day after graduation, I packed a lunch, my scriptures, a notebook and pencil, and the letter I’d received from Nelson–Barrett U. I left a note on the kitchen table for my parents:
Gone for a drive. I have my cell phone. Call if you need me, but only if it’s important. I’ll be home before dark.
Love, Kevin
I couldn’t live with the turmoil in my mind and heart any longer. I had to be certain once and for all that accepting the scholarship was the right thing to do.
Paul confronted the truth on the road to Damascus. I couldn’t go to Damascus. But there was a place I knew would work just as well.
Dad had to go to the river. That was where he found his truth. I figured if it worked for Dad, it would work for me.
The Final Farewell Page 10
