Through Cloud and Sunshine Read online

  * * *

  The snow reminded Jim of the words from the old carol: it was “deep and crisp and even,” and it sparkled as though diamond dust had been sprinkled on the surface. He had found an old pair of sweats for Buddy, which he cinched up with the drawstring at the waist and stuffed into a pair of Trish’s boots. The bishop had offered the boy a pair of his daughter Tiffani’s jeans, but Buddy had reddened and shaken his head, backing off.

  “I ’preciate it, Bishop, but I cain’t—I just cain’t wear a girl’s jeans. No offense.”

  The bishop grinned. “None taken.”

  They manned the two snow shovels on his driveway, then moved next door to clear Mrs. Hestelle Pierce’s walks.

  “You know, if we got this kind of snow very often around here, I’d invest in a good snowblower,” the bishop remarked, as they stomped their feet before entering the kitchen door.

  “Daddy! It snowed all beautiful!” Mallory exulted, coming forward with Samantha the cat in her arms. “I tried to put Samantha out, but she just poked some holes in the snow and came running back in.”

  “Well, it’s the first snow she’s seen in her young life, isn’t it? Think how cold it must feel to her paws.”

  “Maybe I ought to put shoes on her. I could make some.”

  “Um—no, I think it’s better to let her get used to the feel of it. Anybody else up yet?”

  “Huh-uh, not yet. Hey, Buddy. How come you’re here?”

  “Buddy came home with me in the middle of the night,” her father explained. “He was helping us search for Thomas Rexford, who got in an accident last night.”

  “Do you mean T-Rex?”

  “I do, sugar.”

  “Did he get hurt?”

  “Yes, he did, and we’re all going to pray for him to get better. Will you pray, real hard? I’m sure Heavenly Father listens to your prayers.”

  “I know,” she agreed nonchalantly, then spun off to head upstairs. “I’m gonna tell Jamie!” she said.

  * * *

  The story was told twice more in the Shepherd household, for Jamie’s benefit and an hour or so later for Tiffani’s—and countless other times throughout the Fairhaven Ward and among others who knew and admired the indomitable Thomas (T-Rex) Rexford. People called in to the bishop for updates, and he finally left the phone duty to Trish and with Buddy in tow, mushed his way to the store, where his right-hand man, Arthur Hackney, had opened the doors and turned on the lights, which the bishop was grateful to have working after such a pounding by Mother Nature. He had already called his office girl, Mary Lynn Connors, and told her to take another day off, that it wasn’t necessary for her to try to come in on such a day.

  Very few customers appeared, but those who did, most driving four-wheel-drive vehicles, seemed grateful to find the store open for business.

  “Hey, Jim,” greeted Ronald Westlake, a fellow he’d known since grade school. “How ’bout this snow, eh? I figure we got the whole winter’s allowance in one night.”

  “Boy-howdy, I guess!” agreed the bishop. “Hope we don’t have folks dropping in their tracks from too much shoveling.”

  “Likewise. Hey—tell me I heard wrong about this—but did T-Rex cream his bike last night? He goes to your church, doesn’t he? Figured you’d know.”

  “He does, and he did. He’s had emergency surgery for head trauma and some other injuries, down at Birmingham Princeton Medical Center. We’re all just waiting and praying, now, hoping he pulls through in good shape.”

  “Shoot, that’s tough. Sure hope he does okay. He’s a heck of a football player.”

  “He is—and a great kid. He has lots going for him—youth and strength, plenty of support from family and friends. We’re all hoping for the best.”

  “Well, I bet he’ll be fine. You take it easy, Jim.”

  “Thanks.”

  He’ll be fine if he chooses to be, the bishop kept thinking. Please choose life, Thomas. Please hang on.

  * * *

  The bishop left the store at four-thirty and drove Buddy to his father’s house, promising to let the boy know immediately of any changes in T-Rex’s condition. The latest word from Birmingham was that T-Rex had come through the surgery in fair shape but was expected to remain unconscious for some time. The doctors were hoping to keep the swelling down and minimize further damage to his brain.

  The late afternoon light cast blue shadows on the snow, giving the town a Christmas card quality that the bishop hadn’t seen for many years. Cars crawled along the streets, where the semi-melted slush of mid-afternoon was beginning to ice over again. He fervently hoped there would be no more accidents because of the storm. His mind and heart were already on overload.

  “Thanks a bunch, Bishop,” Buddy said as he slipped out of the truck. “I’ll be fasting for T-Rex too.”

  “Thanks, Buddy. I know he’ll appreciate that. He knows how hard fasting can be.”

  Buddy nodded. “You want Sister Shepherd’s boots back now? I can—”

  “No, keep ’em till you see us again. They might still come in handy. She has others.”

  He watched until the boy was admitted to his father’s little house, then drove home in a pensive mood. It had been a strange day.

  The evening was a subdued one, for the day after Christmas. With no dinner or snacks to break up the time, it seemed to stretch on and on. They had a kneeling family prayer, after which Mallory, who was too young to fast, had her little dinner—her choice of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and carrot sticks—but Jamie chose to fast with the rest of the ward.

  “It’s T-Rex,” he explained with a shrug. To the bishop’s recollection, it was Jamie’s first real effort at fasting. He prayed that the faith and prayers of the young people for their hero might be rewarded, that their faith might grow as a consequence.

  He was grateful that no one seemed to want the television on. Jamie and Mallory played quietly with the new toys they had received for Christmas. Tiffani did some reading—her favorite quiet thing to do—and he and Trish sat on opposite ends of the sofa, facing each other with stockinged-feet touching, and worked on catching up in their journals. They took turns answering the phone, as member after concerned member of the Fairhaven Ward called to ask after T-Rex and his parents.

  “I asked Lula about insurance,” Jim told Trish after fielding one call offering money to help the family. “She said the hospital here thought that Thomas’s school insurance was still in force, but they’re not sure how much it actually covers. Won’t know for a while, I reckon. That was Brother Winslow calling.” He lowered his voice. “He offered a thousand dollars to help.”

  Trish’s mouth formed a silent, “Wow.”

  “Brother Lanier also offered to help, though he didn’t specify an amount.”

  “I’ll bet there’ll be others, too. People know the Rexfords have been struggling.”

  He nodded. “I told them to contribute whatever they felt they could to the fast offering fund. Hope Tom can handle all this kindness,” he added with a wry smile. “It’s not what he does best.”

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  “ . . . in fasting we approach thee”

  By noon on Thursday, the sun was out and the snow was receding at a rapid rate. Bishop Shepherd was gratified to see a fair number of cars pulling into the parking lot of the Fairhaven Ward meetinghouse. The members, uncharacteristically subdued and quiet, met together in the chapel, where the bishop updated them on Thomas’s condition, which was basically unchanged. He was holding his own, but had not regained consciousness.

  “Brother Patrenko and I are driving down to see Thomas and his folks right after lunch,” he explained. “Sister McIntyre has been over to their house and gathered up some clean clothing for Tom and Lula. Understandably, they don’t want to leave Thomas’s side, just yet. We ask that you not try to visit until further notice. He’s in intensive care, and only his folks are allowed in to see him for a few minutes each hour. We, as clergy,
will be allowed in, as well.

  “Tom and Lula are aware of your concern and your prayers and send you their heartfelt thanks for both, and for the several generous contributions that have been turned in, in their behalf.” His voice cracked. “For that, I thank you, as well. I’m totally humbled by your kindness and generosity. I want you to know that I have a firm confidence that Heavenly Father is aware of Thomas and his needs and of your love and concern for the Rexfords, and I believe in the effectiveness of fasting and prayer. Now, brothers and sisters, if you would all kneel beside your pews, Brother Sam Wright will offer our prayer.”

  There was a soft rustle, but no other sound as the congregation slipped to their knees and bowed their heads. The bishop knelt with Trish and the children by the front pew. Sam cleared his throat, then began, “Heavenly Father, we know that thou art the Great Physician, and that thou can do more good for Thomas Rexford than all the doctors put together, though we’re thankful for them and their knowledge, too, and we ask thee to bless them as they work to help Thomas. But we’ve met to combine our faith and prayers, Father, in the spirit of fasting, as thou did command us to do, in behalf of this young man we all love. We pray that the priesthood blessing he already received will be effective to help him. We pray that if it’s thy will, that he may be healed in body and mind and return to live amongst us once again. We know he’s his parents’ only boy, and we know how they dote on him. We know thou sacrificed thy only Son for all of us, and that thou would understand how they feel. Please suit a blessing to their needs, as well as Thomas’s, that they may be comforted. Please help us all to have courage and faith and to be blessed in our homes. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

  The congregation echoed the amen, and again there was a soft rustle as they rose and slowly filed out of the chapel into the foyer, some pausing for handshakes, hugs, or brief conversations with one another. The bishop’s eyes met those of his daughter Tiffani, and he thought he saw a gleam of tears there before she ducked her head. Jamie’s eyes were round and solemn, and little Mallory clung to her mother’s hand. He watched the retreating membership, pleased to see Melody Padgett there, and the Jernigans. He smiled to see Sister Margaret Tullis, the ward organist, whom Thomas was fond of teasing. He turned off the lights as everyone cleared the chapel and followed his family outside. He caught sight of Buddy, mounting his bike and riding off alone. Barker nodded. The bishop caught Sam and hugged his shoulders.

  “A million thanks, good counselor,” he told him. “That was a wonderful, sincere prayer, and I’m sure it was heard where it needed to be.”

  “Well,” Sam said softly, and cleared his throat again. “Glad to oblige.”

  On the drive home, Mallory said, “So, T-Rex’ll be okay, now, huh, Daddy?”

  “T-Rex is in the best of hands, honey,” her father assured her. “You just keep praying for him every day, okay?”

  “But what if he dies?” queried Tiffani. Her tone was challenging. “People my age aren’t supposed to die!”

  Trish turned to smile at her. “You felt the Spirit in there, Tiff—I know you did. You know Heavenly Father’s in charge.”

  “I know, but—”

  “He’s not gonna die, Tiff!” Jamie told her. “Heavenly Father won’t let him.”

  “People die every day, James,” his sister enlightened him.

  “Not with that many people prayin’ for ’em,” Jamie insisted.

  “Yeah,” Mallory agreed. “Not T-Rex.”

  “You know,” their father began, “when a person’s received a priesthood blessing and been prayed for as Thomas has been—if they do die, you can be sure that it was best for them and Heavenly Father’s will. Sometimes it might be better, and happier, for a sick or injured person to go on to the hereafter than to stay on earth and have to deal with being handicapped or in pain . . .”

  “Not T-Rex,” Jamie insisted again. “He’s strong. He’ll be fine.”

  “Right,” the bishop murmured.

  Trish caught his arm as the children preceded them into the house. “Don’t you think he’ll pull through all right, Jim? What were you trying to prepare the children for, back there?”

  He hugged her briefly against him. “Just in case, honey,” he told her. “I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s been decided, yet, which way things are going to go. I sure hope the kids are right—for their sakes, as well as for the Rexfords’. But I suspect he’s not quite out of the woods. Maybe I’ll have a better feel for it when I see him.”

  They enjoyed a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches, and then he hurried off to pick up Bob Patrenko.

  “Be safe,” Trish admonished him. “Be sure to start back before the roads ice up again.”

  “We’ll be careful,” he assured her.

  * * *

  “That was a fine prayer that Sam offered,” Bob said as the bishop’s pickup splashed through puddles of snow-melt on the highway.

  “Sam’s a good man,” the bishop agreed. “Very spiritual, in spite of his good ol’ boy, down-home ways. And close to the Rexfords, which is why I asked him to be voice.”

  “Good choice. Boy, I wish I knew what to say to Tom and Lula, to bolster them up.”

  “Me, too. Hopefully, it’ll be given to us, as we need it.”

  Lula greeted them in the waiting room of the intensive care unit, and received the bag of clean clothing and toilet articles gratefully.

  “That little Rosetta! It’s so dang sweet of her to do this for us—and of y’all to bring it down. Thanks so much. Tom, look! We’ve got clean clothes!”

  “Trish said if you want to clean up and change while we’re here, we’ll just take the soiled things back and she’ll be glad to wash them along with ours,” the bishop told her. “I think Rosetta tried to get two clean changes together for you.”

  She nodded, her eyes watering.

  “How’s Thomas doing, Lula?” Bob asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, Brother Patrenko, and that’s the truth. I mean, all he can do is just lie there and sleep, and they’ve got all these tubes and wires hooked up to him, till it’s hard to tell it’s even him! I’ll take you in, next time we get a chance. I already told ’em you was comin’. I said you was preachers from our church. I mean, you know—that’s how they think of it.”

  “Close enough,” the bishop said. “Tom, how’re you holding up?” he asked, shaking the hand of the man who rose wearily from a sofa to come forward. His eyes were red and bleary, and he needed a shave.

  “Reckon I’m doin’ a sight better’n my boy, Bishop. Sure do appreciate all y’all are doin’ for us.”

  “Well, let me tell you what the ward’s been doing for you folks.” He described the fast and the prayer at the meetinghouse and then handed Tom an envelope with the money that had been contributed thus far. “Tom, I want you to know—we didn’t ask anybody for a cent. All this is purely freewill offerings of love, some just a few dollars, some much more, according to what people could spare. Everybody knows surgery and hospital care are expensive.”

  “Now, we don’t need no charity,” Tom began, but Lula laid a hand on his arm.

  “Who was it who was just frettin’ to me about how we’re gonna handle all this expense?” she asked gently. “We do need it, and we’re mighty grateful for it. Open it, Tom. It’s from your friends. Best friends you’ll ever have.”

  Tom frowned, but he took the envelope and opened it gingerly, as if something might spring out at him. He riffled through the bills, then turned aside, his shoulders shaking. He found his way back to the sofa, where he sat down, covering his face while he cried.

  Bob Patrenko made a move as if to go and comfort him, but Lula stopped him.

  “First he’s cried, since all this happened,” she whispered. “I feel like it’s good for him, you know, to let it out.” She sniffed, and held a shredded tissue to her own eyes. “You know how it is—reckon sometimes a little kindness is harder on a body’s feelin’s than bad news. I me
an, you kind of steel yourself against bad news, but nothin’ prepares you for people bein’ sweet.” She went and sat beside her husband and took the envelope he had set down on a table. She counted the money inside and shook her head in wonder. “I thank the good Lord,” she murmured.

  The two men sat on chairs at right angles to the sofa and allowed the Rexfords their feelings. Finally, Tom regained his composure and spoke.

  “Brethern, after y’all visit with the boy, I’d like to ask you to go with me down to the finance office and witness that I’m using ever’ red cent of this money toward our bill.”

  “That’s not necessary, Tom,” the bishop told him. “It’s for whatever you need it for. If you need to keep some out for living expenses for you and Lula, that’s fine, too.”

  Tom shook his head. “I’d druther you saw where it went, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “All right. That’ll be fine.”

  Promptly at three-thirty, Lula popped up. “It’s time we can go in now. Come on with me. We’ll have to wash our hands and put on masks. They don’t take no chances.”

  “That’s good,” Bob murmured.

  They signed in as clergy, then duly washed and masked, were led to Thomas’s bedside. The bishop felt his throat tighten. Except for the night of the accident, he had never seen Thomas at rest, his face relaxed in sleep. Always the boy had worn a teasing grin or a fierce or skeptical frown or a look of surprised delight—never this peaceful non-expression. And the tubes and wires and bandages were a bit daunting, he had to admit. Lula, however, had apparently learned to cope. She stepped right up beside her son and spoke in a rather loud voice.

  “Thomas? T-Rex, honey—the bishop’s here to see you, and Brother Patrenko. They couldn’t come till today, on account of all the snow. But it’s melting off, now, so they’re here, hon. Isn’t that nice of them, to come?” She leaned over and whispered to the men, “Go ahead and say something to him. They say it might help to get through to him. Lots of times people in comas can hear what’s going on.”