It was good, as his mother-in-law had anticipated, to be together as a family in the temple. He felt strength from Larry, seated next to him, and it was good to look across the small endowment room and see Trish seated between her mother and her sister. The three Langham women were an attractive group, all dressed in white. He wished his own mother had been able to join them. She had looked forward to this temple, but her stroke had occurred just prior to its dedication, so she hadn’t yet been able to attend. He bowed his head, silently praying that she would recover sufficiently to be able to come with them one day. It wasn’t a prayer that he had a great deal of confidence would be answered affirmatively, but he had placed his mother’s name on the temple prayer roll, and he believed in miracles. At least his mother had been able to make a few earlier excursions to the Atlanta Temple, where she had been sealed to his father, and he, the son, sealed to them. For that he was profoundly grateful.
After the endowment session, they were invited to participate with another couple from their stake in some family sealings. That was another special privilege, to kneel at the altar again with Trish and look into her eyes as the vows and promises were repeated for deceased couples—the same vows and promises he and Trish had participated in nearly seventeen years earlier. He gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled at her, hoping she would get the message that he would do it all again—and that he wanted their marriage, their family, to be truly eternal. She smiled back—a small, serene smile that reassured him.
As they stood to allow the other couple to take their places at the altar, his glance happened to fall on Meredith, seated against the mirrored wall waiting her turn to act as a proxy daughter or wife. She ducked her head quickly, but not before he noticed that her cheeks were wet with tears. Her mother, sitting beside her, had noticed, too—and silently pulled a tissue from her dress pocket and put it in her hand. She slipped an arm around her younger daughter’s shoulders for a brief hug and a pat. He wondered what had occasioned those tears.
Was Meredith missing Dirk, remembering their own vows, or was she just touched, as often happened in these circumstances, by the Spirit bearing witness of the validity of these ordinances? Trish often shed tears in the temple, and he had been known to choke up a bit himself. It was not unusual—it was just unusual for him to witness such feeling in Merrie. He chided himself for having kept her, in his opinion, relegated to the past, still the teenaged Meredith, who had looked upon him as less-than-worthy to marry her big sister. For that matter, he conceded, she had probably been right. He fully realized that he was lucky—no, blessed—that Trish had agreed to take him on. In this sacred setting, seeing her in her white temple clothing, even a glimpse of the magnitude of that blessing was almost overwhelming.
* * *
Of late he had developed the habit of keeping a couple of appointment times open on Sunday, either during the auxiliary meeting times or after the block. He had found that as he sat on the stand during sacrament meeting and prayerfully glanced around the congregation, the Spirit would often prompt him to call in certain people for a visit. Sometimes he knew why—often he did not. Frequently the reason would become obvious during the course of the visit. When he received no prompting, sometimes he would simply leave the door to his office open as an invitation for anyone who wanted a word with him. On this particular Sunday, with Trish’s family present, greeting people they remembered from twenty or so years ago, he wondered if he ought to schedule anything more than absolutely necessary after meetings. He knew Trish had a pot roast simmering at home and fully expected him not to be late for this last family dinner before her parents and sister left to meet their flights for home the next morning. Also, later that afternoon, Larry and Ivy wanted to go with him and Trish to visit his mother, while Meredith held down the fort with the children at home.
He allowed his gaze to move from one person to another, trying to be open to the Spirit as he looked on each face. It startled him how beloved they were becoming, how much he cared about their individual circumstances and needs. He saw Hilda Bainbridge, stalwart as always, sitting beside Ida Lou Reams. He knew Hilda couldn’t see him looking at her and saw her gently wave away the hymnbook Ida Lou offered to share with her. She couldn’t see to use that, either. I hope we’re taking good enough care of her, Roscoe, he thought. He saw Rand Rivenbark come in with his family—this time, in his chair—and noticed the greetings he received from his peers—lifted hands from the boys and little waves and smiles from the girls. Rand, he realized, had the power to influence a lot of the kids for good—and probably many adults, too—just by being himself and doing what he could to progress and live as normal a life as possible, despite his painful affliction.
His gaze fell upon Thomas Rexford, who was sitting in one of the folding chairs in the overflow at the back of the chapel, even though the pews were nowhere near full. T-Rex leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as he rocked slightly back and forth, his eyes searching the air above the congregation for . . . what? Inspiration? Escape?
How would you react, T-Rex, if what happened to Rand happened to you? the bishop’s internal dialogue continued. What would you do if you suddenly found yourself—the admired, sought-after athlete—barely able to get out of a wheelchair because of painful limitations? And would the girls still be attracted to you, as they seem to be to Rand?
That likely was not a fair question, the bishop conceded. Rand’s test was probably tailor-made for him, and not more than he could bear, with the Lord’s help—while T-Rex’s test might be in the form of popularity and temptation, suited to his own spiritual growth-needs. He hoped it wouldn’t be a harder test than he could handle, especially since he doubted that T-Rex had so far felt all that much need for the Lord’s help. He glanced around. The Rexford parents had not yet made their appearance. He hoped that didn’t indicate any new problems for the family.
He noted that the former First and Second Ward members still sat in pretty much segregated groups. Maybe that was normal—just human nature to migrate to those they knew best. The mixer social had been hailed as a great success by all, and still they sat in clumps. Probably it would just take time. The teenagers had fewer problems mixing than anyone else—they had already been together in school and in early-morning seminary and were just delighted to be together on Sundays as well, though in sacrament meeting they usually sat with their families, as the Church had requested. They were few enough in number in their high school that they were, by and large, fairly close and supportive of each other.
Ralph and Linda Jernigan sat on the last pew, by the door. Ralph sat turned sideways, his back against the wall, his eyes, like the bishop’s, scanning the congregation, though for different reasons. Ralph, he knew, was looking for signs of danger. Linda, beside him, also glanced around nervously from time to time.
The Ernie and Nettie Birdwhistle family—all fourteen of them—filed into and filled up an entire pew. He was glad they were all here. With so many children, it was seldom that everybody was well enough to come together from their home thirty or so miles away, up in the hills.
Nettie was a large woman with a cheerful, florid face and an affectionate but no-nonsense approach to parenting. The children were remarkably well-behaved, with the exception of occasional squabbles between Limhi and Lehi, the nine-year-old twins. They usually ended up sitting on either side of their father, a short, rounded fellow who had little to say, but whose occasional word was law. The twins would lean forward when they were feuding, sending each other malevolent glances around their father’s bulk, but remaining silent. When the twins weren’t squabbling, they often went everywhere together, with their arms companionably over each other’s shoulders. The bishop, who had never had a brother, wondered what it might be like, not only to have six brothers, but to have one who was exactly like oneself.
In their remote log home, the Birdwhistle children relied primarily on each other for company. Their mother home-schooled them because of the distance
to school—and, he suspected, because of the expenses involved in dressing and providing school fees and transportation for all twelve. He wondered how difficult it might be, one day, for Limhi and Lehi to establish separate lives. He smiled to himself, envisioning them at age sixty, still alternately arguing or going around arm-in-arm.
His gaze fell upon Jack and Melody Padgett, and a small, nagging worry began to nudge him. It was familiar, that worry—it had been edging around the corners of his consciousness for several weeks, like heat-lightning on the horizon with far-off grumbles of thunder that never really materialized into a storm, but always threatened. What should I do, Lord? he prayed silently, and the answer came, unmistakably: Talk to her.
He took a deep breath. All right, he agreed, and he realized that the perfect—probably indeed, the only possible—time to talk to Melody alone was during Primary, when Jack would presumably be in priesthood meeting.
Accordingly, he acted on the prompting, asking the Primary president if one of the counselors could sit with Melody’s class for a few minutes while they visited. She agreed, and he beckoned, smiling, to Melody as the counselor went to take her place. Melody smiled, too, but her expression was quizzical as he asked if he might have a few words with her in his office. They moved silently through the building, cutting through the empty chapel to avoid going by the room where the elders quorum met.
Melody sat in one of the chairs across the desk from him and folded her hands in her lap.
“What can I do for you, Bishop?” she asked.
He drew a deep breath. “Melody, I’ll be honest with you. Something keeps troubling me, and I feel prompted to ask you about it. Please be honest with me, all right?”
“Of course.”
“Is Jack abusive to you—or to your daughter—in any way?”
Melody’s eyebrows rose slightly, and there was the slightest hesitation before she said, “Of course not, Bishop. He isn’t. He’s crazy about Andi. He wouldn’t hurt her. And I’m fine.”
“Then why do I keep getting this prompting?”
Her gaze fell to her hands. “I sure don’t know. I mean, it’s true that Jack has a temper, but no worse than most other guys I know.”
“How does he express his temper?”
“Well, he raises his voice sometimes.”
“Does he hit you, or abuse you physically in any way?”
She hesitated, then said, “Um—well, he’s grabbed my arm a time or two. It’s not like he beats me up, or anything. He was a Marine, you know—and they’re taught to be pretty tough.”
“Not with their wives, I’ll bet.”
“Of course not, but—you know—the training kind of comes back to them when they’re under stress, and they just sort of react.”
“Is Jack under a lot of stress?”
“He is, what with trying to establish his business, and all. It’s growing really fast, which is good, but it means he has a lot of people to keep an eye on, to keep things running the way they should. Then we’re just finishing up our house. We’ve been building a new one, you know, and that can be really stressful, especially if you’re your own contractor, which Jack was. People just don’t always show up and get things done when they say they will, and that drives Jack nuts.”
“They’re not as disciplined as the Marines.”
“Well—no. They’re not, that’s for sure.”
“So Jack brings home a lot of his stress, does he?”
“I try to help him relax when he gets home. I figure that’s part of my job. I try my best to keep a clean house, and have dinner ready just when he wants it, and Andi on her best behavior. It seems to help if everything’s in order at home, even if it isn’t in the rest of his world. Don’t you think a man likes to come home to a clean, orderly house and a good meal?”
The bishop smiled. “I sure do. But sometimes that just isn’t possible. How does Jack react if you’ve had a bad day, and dinner isn’t on time, and Andi’s on a tear?”
“Well, I don’t have to work outside the home, and Andi goes to a nice day-care every afternoon so she can get all her playing and wiggles out. So I have plenty of time to make sure things are nice and dinner is ready.”
The bishop persisted. “But if it weren’t ready—say the washing machine leaked all over the floor, and you had the flu, and the steak got overdone because you were chasing the neighbor’s dog out of the petunias he was digging up that you and Jack had just planted—what would Jack do?”
She shrugged, and smiled weakly. “I guess the Marine might come out and start yelling. But I would deserve it, wouldn’t I, if I didn’t have more control over things than that?”
“Would you deserve it, really?”
“Now, Bishop, don’t you ever yell at your wife when she doesn’t do things right?”
“Heaven help me, Melody, I have sometimes raised my voice and criticized the way things were going—but not often. And I’ve never hurt Trish physically. The very thought of it makes me sick. I try hard, but I’m not a perfect man, a perfect husband, or a perfect bishop. But this isn’t about me. I’m concerned for you. I keep feeling that Jack is very controlling of you and Andi, and that he is either harming you in some way, or coming close to it. And that feeling comes from the Holy Ghost, Melody. He knows all things. He knows exactly what goes on in your home.”
Melody’s face paled slightly. “I’m not complaining about anything Jack has done,” she said staunchly. “He’s a good dad and a good provider, and I’m lucky to be married to him.”
“I saw bruises on your face, when you and Jack were in my office a few weeks ago.”
“There are lots of ways people get bruises.”
“And one of them is getting hit by an angry spouse, who lost control long enough to do damage where it showed.”
“I never said so. I told you, Bishop, I have no complaints.”
“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it, is that it, Melody?”
“That’s about it.”
“Well, I admire your love and loyalty for Jack—if that’s what it is. But if it’s fear of retaliation, my dear sister—that’s a different story. You know, there are anger-management classes, therapists who can help people overcome the tendency to abuse others. Maybe Jack would benefit by something like that. Maybe he wants to do better but doesn’t know how.”
Melody’s laugh was brief and humorless. “He’d never— ever—go to anything like that.”
“Well, then other measures may need to be taken.”
Her eyes widened. “Bishop, you wouldn’t—you’re not going to call the police, are you?”
“I don’t know. You see, the thing is, I have to do what the Spirit directs and what the law requires.”
“Have you spoken to Jack about this?”
“Not yet.”
“Please don’t. Please, please don’t. Let me deal with it, Bishop, all right? I promise I’ll come to you if anything really bad happens. But I really don’t think it will. He just has a little temper, is all. He’s not a bad person.”
The bishop looked searchingly at Melody. Her smile, for once, was gone, replaced by pleading and stark panic. Her hands were visibly trembling.
“You know, Melody,” he said gently, “just looking at you convinces me that my fears are based on fact. You’re always smiling and appearing calm and confident, but I see through that facade. I see a lady who is scared to death, the way you look right now. Whatever’s going on, please realize that you don’t deserve any kind of abuse—not physical, verbal, emotional, or sexual. And neither does Andi. Jack obviously has trouble managing his temper and his need to control you. As your bishop and friend, I can’t just stand by and ignore the symptoms I see. Tell me this much—are things getting worse? Is the problem escalating?”
“I—I don’t think so. As long as I do my part, everything’s okay. Most days are just fine.”
“But you never know when the volcano’s going to erupt, do you? Or what’s going to set it o
ff.”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes on the floor. “If I could just learn to anticipate everything that might go wrong, and head it off, then—”
“But how could you do that? How could anyone? This is not your fault, Melody. I can’t say that often enough, or strongly enough. You do not deserve any of these eruptions. Jack just plain needs help.”
She looked up, her eyes pleading. “But he won’t—he doesn’t—please don’t say anything yet, Bishop, I’m begging you. Please let me handle it.”
He sighed. “I don’t know how long I can. I’ll try to be sensitive. But I’m really worried for you, and I’d be criminally liable if I knew something was going on and didn’t report it. Not to mention feeling that I had totally let you and Andi down, as your bishop.”
“But we’re okay. If you did report it, I’d just deny it. But then he’d think I’d complained to somebody—and I haven’t. Please give us a while? I’ll do better. I can improve things, I know I can.”
He sighed deeply. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises, Melody. I’m afraid in cases like Jack’s, better is never going to be good enough.”
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
“ . . . with a load of care”
When Melody had composed herself and fled back to the sanctuary of Primary, the bishop left the door to his office open while he reviewed a pamphlet on spousal abuse passed on to him by one of the former bishops. The statistics and outlook for men who committed such offenses were not comforting. He knew he would have to confront Jack Padgett. That knowledge was of no great comfort, either.
“Hey, Bish!” Thomas Rexford put his head in at the door and grinned. “How ya hangin’?”
Hanging. A good term, the bishop reflected, for how he felt just now. “I’m okay, Thomas, how are you? Come in and visit for a minute.”
“Aw, I cain’t stay. Gotta go spell Mom off, watchin’ Grandma. She was up with her all night, but she wanted me to come to church at least for part of the time, so she’s still over there. Figgered I’d better go take over for a while.”
A Fresh Start in Fairhaven Page 18
