A Fresh Start in Fairhaven

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “Okay, Bishop. That’s cool. That’s good. I’ll remember that. Well, I reckon I’d better get on home and finish up my homework and all.”

  “How are things at home?”

  “Just fine,” the boy said, but his eyes had grown wary, and he stood up, preparing to leave.

  The bishop stayed seated. “Folks doing okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s your dad doing these days?”

  “Uh—he’s just between jobs right now, but he’ll get something soon. The base closure set him back a little, but he’ll be okay.”

  “Mom working?”

  “Uh—couple of afternoons a week, at K-Mart. But she has to spend a lot of time with my gramma. She’s not doin’ too hot. She’s eighty-nine, and kinda like weak and confused.”

  “I see. You tell your folks I’ll help any way I can, okay, Thomas? I’ll be in touch with them. And thanks for coming to see me. We’ll work on getting you advanced in the priesthood, too, all right? I see you’re still a deacon. No shame there, but you’d make a fine priest.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I can’t see me up there sayin’ a sacrament prayer in front of ever’body. I mean, that’s just not my style.”

  “Well, that’s a ways down the road. One step at a time, right, Thomas? You took a big step today, coming in to see me. Thank you.”

  “Sure, Bishop. No problem.”

  The bishop stood, they shook hands, and the bishop opened the door to see him out. Lisa Lou was sitting on the sofa in the hall, waiting. Immediately Thomas’s eyes brightened, and his grin returned.

  “Hey there, Lisa Lou! How’s my favorite girl today?”

  Lisa Lou looked around. “Now, who would that be, T-Rex?” she asked, rising and coming forward with a self-conscious smile.

  “Why, you, sugarfoot, who else?” Thomas waved and was out the door. “See ya, Bish!” he called back over his shoulder. And a considerable shoulder it was.

  “Come in, Lisa Lou. How are you?” the bishop invited. He left the door slightly ajar, for propriety’s sake. Lisa Lou seated herself decorously.

  “I’m just fine,” she said shyly. “That T-Rex, he’s a character.”

  “He is that,” the bishop agreed. “I guess a lot of girls like him, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah, I mean, yessir, they sure do. I used to, but not anymore. Not like that.”

  “Oh?”

  She bent her head down a little, and her shiny light brown hair fell forward, hiding her face. “Yessir. I like somebody else, now.”

  “That right? Anybody I know?”

  “Well—prob’ly you do. Ricky Smedley?”

  “Oh, sure, I’ve known the Smedleys for a long time. Nice family. Let’s see—Ricky’s the second boy, isn’t he?”

  “Yessir. He’s real sweet. In fact, I think I’m in love with him.”

  “Really. How old are you now, Lisa Lou?”

  “Well, I’m sixteen, but—are you saying I’m too young to be in love, Bishop?”

  The bishop sensed turbulence ahead. He tried to defuse the situation with a smile. “All depends,” he hedged. He thought of his own great-grandmother, who, at fourteen, had married a man eleven years her senior and to all appearances had enjoyed a happy life with him. But those had been different times. Simpler times. “Depends, I guess, on your maturity level, and what you mean by ‘in love.’ Maybe you could define that for me.”

  Lisa Lou looked affronted. “Well—I mean, you know—it’s like how you feel all jittery when you see somebody, how you think about them all the time, and want to write their name all over your notebooks, and get all flustered if they talk to you. How you feel like you’ll just die if they don’t ask you out, but you’ll just die if they do? And you think they’re just the cutest, sweetest thing in the world, and you can’t stand it if somebody else is talking to them, instead of you? Like that . . .” she finished. “I mean, I expect you’ve felt that way before, haven’t you?”

  “I do seem to recall some of those feelings, sure enough,” he agreed. “Now, answer me this: what do you want for Ricky?”

  “Say what, Bishop?”

  “What would you wish for him, if you had the power to do anything for him?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I’d wish that he loved me back, and would be with me forever.”

  “Uh-huh. Doing what?”

  She frowned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

  “What would you be doing together? Oh, I know about the romantic side of things—I’m not asking that. I mean, what would you like to be doing with him, forever, other than that?”

  “I don’t know—whatever, I guess. I’d like to be his wife.”

  “And what would he be doing, while you were cooking and cleaning and taking care of his kids?”

  She shrugged. “Working, I reckon. Is that what you mean?”

  “What kind of work does Ricky want to do?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “How much education does he plan to get?”

  “College, I guess. He’s never said. See, he doesn’t—I don’t think he knows—how I feel.”

  “Does he like you?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Well, like—I don’t know! Some times I think he does. I mean, he smiles at me in the hall at school, and he asks me to dance, and stuff. One time he winked at me, and I took that to mean something.”

  “I see. More than it would mean if T-Rex winked at you, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Oh, way more. ’Cause, Ricky, he doesn’t just go around flirting with everybody, like T-Rex.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.”

  “Yeah, it is. T-Rex, he’s cool and all, but he—you know—he gets around, and it never means anything, but Ricky, he’s different. He’s special.”

  “Okay, I understand. Now Lisa Lou, what are your ambitions? Let’s talk about your goals and plans. How about your education—are you planning for college?”

  “Well, you know—if I’m not married by then, I s’pose I’ll go.”

  “And what would you like to study?”

  She frowned. “Um, maybe like home-ec, or something. The truth is, Bishop, I just want to be a wife and mom.”

  “Not a thing wrong with that, either. Only problem is, things are more complicated these days than they used to be. So many young women find they need to work, to help put their husbands through college, or to supplement the income while he’s getting started in a career, or they find themselves as single moms, for one reason or another. It’s good to have some education, some kind of training to fall back on, when those times come along. And it’s a lot easier to go to school before you’re married than after. Even if you learn secretarial skills, or how to be a dental hygienist—short term courses rather than a four-year degree—you’ll probably be mighty glad you did. Also, I’ve always thought that a girl with some education is so much more interesting to be with than one who doesn’t know much. I know I’m glad my wife had the opportunity to get some college in before we married.”

  Lisa Lou looked at him speculatively. “Your wife’s a real neat lady,” she admitted, “I’d like to be like her.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I have to say, you couldn’t pick a better person to pattern after. Now, let’s see. You’re a Mia Maid, right?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Great. And you’re working on your Personal Progress goals?”

  “Well—when I have time.”

  “All those goals are designed to help you become the best person—and the best wife and mother someday—that you can be. They’re well worth the time they take to accomplish. Now, Lisa Lou, I’ll tell you what: I’d like to meet with you again in a few weeks, and there are two special assignments I’d like you to do before we meet again.”

  “What would they be, Bishop?”

  “First of all, I want you to think deeply about Ricky Smedley.”

  Her blush returned, and her smile. “Oh, I can do that, all right!”

&n
bsp; “I want you to think about what I asked you before. What, if you love him, would you wish for him to have, if it were in your power to give it to him? Of course, I don’t mean a cool car or anything like that. And I want you to find out, by talking to him, what he wants out of life. What his dreams are, at this point. What’s important to him. Can you do that?”

  “Sure!”

  “Then I want you to think deeply about yourself. Get in touch with the real Lisa Lou, who is an eternal spirit with gifts and talents and hopes and dreams of her own. Ask her what her real interests are—what she likes to do, what she thinks is important, how she wants her life to be in two years—in five years—in twenty years—and in eternity. Can you do that? And I want you to write all your thoughts down, and bring them back to discuss with me the next time we get together. All right?”

  “Nobody ever asked me that stuff, before.”

  “Well, then—maybe that’s why I feel impressed to ask you now. Maybe Heavenly Father wants you to think about these things.”

  “Wow.” She looked at him solemnly. “I’ll sure try.”

  “Good girl. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

  “I guess not.”

  “How’s your family? Mom and Dad okay?”

  She nodded. “Fine, I reckon, far’s I can tell. I’m not home a whole lot, what with school and seminary and work and Young Women and hangin’ with my friends.”

  “Where are you working?”

  “Dairy Kreme, Wednesdays and Saturdays.”

  “Really? I’ll stop in sometime, have you make me a malt.”

  “I’ll make you a good one,” she promised. “Thank you, Bishop. Um—don’t tell Ricky, what I told you, okay?”

  “My lips are sealed,” he assured her, seeing her out.

  He sank back down into his chair and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, wondering if the air-conditioning in the building was as efficient as it needed to be.

  * * *

  It was time, as he had come to think of it, for the “frog-blessing.” After supper he and Tiffani and Trish went into Tiff’s room and had her sit on her desk chair while Trish sat on the edge of the bed, and he placed his hands on his daughter’s head and tried to open his mind and heart to the Spirit. The blessing, when it came, was less about the frog and more about the Lord’s desire that his children improve themselves and learn all they can in this life, both temporally and spiritually. He blessed Tiffani that her fears would subside and her natural desire to learn would be enhanced, not only in biology, but in all her classes and with regard to the gospel as well. He assured her that she had an excellent mind and memory and that the Lord desired her to make good use of them, both for her own good and for the eventual blessing of the lives of others. After the blessing, he hugged her and told her how pleased he was with her as a daughter, and how much he loved her.

  “I love you, too, Daddy,” she whispered. “Thanks. I think that’ll help.”

  “You just exercise your faith, sweetheart, and I think it will, too.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you give me a blessing, how much of what you say comes from what you want for me, and how much is really from Heavenly Father?”

  He joined Trish on the edge of the bed. “Boy, that’s a good question, Tiff. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, and other times, I know I’ve found myself saying things I never had thought of myself. Things that just sort of came through me, you might say. But I like to think that the things I want for you and the things your Heavenly Father wants for you are not so different.”

  “But—did any of those surprise things come through, this time?”

  “Well, I wasn’t entirely sure what was meant by the part about you using your education to serve other people. I don’t know if that means your own family someday, or if you’ll be a teacher, or in the medical field, or whatever . . .”

  “Ooh. Not the medical field. Too yucky.”

  Her dad smiled. “Don’t limit yourself, baby, by your present squeamishness. That can be overcome. Besides, that was just an example. There are lots of ways to serve people.”

  “So, you didn’t plan to say that part, huh?”

  “I truly did not.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know, the best thing about doing well in school,” Trish said, “is that then you’re expanding your future options, instead of limiting them.”

  “What do you mean, Mom?”

  “Well, if you take all easy classes, and only get so-so grades in them, you might not be able to get into the college or program or have the career you might one day want. But if you’re prepared with good grades in important classes, then you’ll have more choices down the road. And where you go to school, and what you study, will determine the people you meet and associate with, and since you’ll choose a husband from among your associates, that could be a really important thing, too.”

  The bishop smiled to himself. Seemed like, with women, it all came down to marriage. How many guys did he know who considered that they needed good grades to get into a good program to meet the best girls?

  “Besides,” his wife continued, “the more you know, in all fields of study, the richer you’ll be, inside. If you know about history and art and music and literature, your inner life—your mind and spirit—will be wealthy, whatever your circumstances. And if you learn about science and current events, you’ll be more at home in the world around you, and better able to make good choices and decisions. And the more you know about the gospel, the stronger and happier you’ll be, all lifelong.”

  All right, the bishop admitted. It wasn’t all about romance. His wife was a wise woman. And he was a blessed man.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  “ . . . for the joy of human love”

  The cooler hours of early Saturday morning were generally heralded by a raucous chorus of lawn mowers around the neighborhood, and Bishop Jim Shepherd added the voice of his to the song. A few folks preferred to mow on Sunday, or in the evening, but the consensus was still in favor of Saturday morning. That way, the wives were happy to see that chore, at least, out of the way, and more likely to agree to whatever other activities their husbands or sons had in mind for the rest of the day, whether it be a fishing trip, ball game, golf at the club, or just lazing in the hammock, inhaling the rising fragrance of new-mown Zoysia.

  He mopped his face and happily steered his mower into its corner of the garage, then stepped outside to admire his handiwork. The shade was still deep, the corners of the yard bright with Trish’s caladiums and begonias. Surely, he thought, green had to be his favorite color, and the Lord must love it, too, with all the shades and tones of it he used in his creations.

  “Your yard looks plumb lovely,” offered Hestelle Pierce from her side of the fence. “I declare, your little wife has a way with flowers and such!”

  “Does, doesn’t she?” he agreed. “Left up to me, I’m afraid we’d just have grass and trees. But I sure enjoy her touches of color.”

  “So do I. How’s ever’body at your house, Mr. Shepherd?”

  “Doing well. I’ve had just a touch of allergies—a little sneezing and that, but nothing serious. How about yourself?”

  “Oh, mercy—my allergies have been so bad this year! I declare, I’ve sneezed till I thought my head would like to pop off! And my eyes are so red and itchy I can’t hardly see out of ’em. Reckon why we have such things—do you know? Why can’t we just get along with God’s creation, and not suffer from it?”

  Hestelle’s eyes looked perfectly clear to the bishop, but he didn’t remark on it. “I’m not sure, Miz Hestelle. Maybe it has to do with all the weeds and things that were put on earth after the fall of Adam, you know, to ‘afflict and torment man.’ Allergies surely can afflict and torment a body, that’s certain.”

  “Well, I sure wisht Adam hatn’t of fallen! Reckon it must have been pure delight in the Garden of Eden—no allergies there, I’d
wager. And we could all still be enjoyin’ that, hatn’t of been for the Fall. But I reckon Eve was just too much for him.”

  “I know what you mean, but then again, I don’t suppose we’d even be here, would we, if it hadn’t been for the Fall? They wouldn’t have ever had children, in their innocent state, so it’d still just be Adam and Eve, all on their own.”

  Hestelle Pierce regarded him with surprise. “Well, I hatn’t never looked at it like that,” she said. “But I do b’lieve you’re right! So you reckon weeds and allergies are what we’ve got to put up with, to be here?”

  “That’s how I see it. Like learning to work, and to choose between good and evil, and all that.”

  She nodded. “Earn our bread by the sweat of our brow, like the Good Book says.”

  “Exactly. And I think right now I’m going to go shower off some of this sweat and eat some of that bread. You have you a fine day now, Miz Hestelle.”

  “I thank you, Mr. Shepherd. Y’all do the same.”

  He wondered why, in all the years they had been neighbors, he had called her Miz Hestelle, while she, many years his senior, still insisted upon calling him Mr. Shepherd, instead of Jim. Oh, well, he thought. If that’s what she’s comfortable with, I can go along.

  He took a hand towel from the branch of a chinaberry tree where he had left it, wiped his face and neck, and draped it across one shoulder. It was May, now, and the sun felt hot as soon as it was barely up. Nothing to what July and August would be, of course, but hot all the same.

  “Jim, guess what!” Trish called happily from the range in the kitchen where she was turning hash browns. Most mornings she insisted they eat healthy cereals and fruit, but Saturday was their day for eggs, with pancakes, hash browns, or grits and bacon, ham, or sausage. On very special occasions, there would be Belgian waffles made with egg whites beaten to a fluff and topped with berries and real whipped cream.

  “What, babe?” he asked, pausing to snitch a link sausage.