Authors: Michele Paige Holmes
* * *
Tara sprawled on the sofa while Jane sat in Peter’s chair, a pair of tweezers in her gloved hand as she fed the baby bird for the eighth time since they’d rescued it that afternoon.
“I’d forgotten how often baby birds have to eat,” Jane said, carefully maneuvering the particle of food into the bird’s open beak. “I’m afraid this is good practice for what’s coming.”
“Times two,” Tara said, reminding herself that she
had
to have a place of her own by the time Jane’s babies were born.
“I’m sorry Maddie gave you such a hard time today,” Jane said.
“It’s okay,” Tara said and meant it. “She’s your daughter, all right—ready to dig worms, completely content being outside in the middle of a major downpour . . . She was actually pretty cute out there in the rain, standing up on her fort pretending to be some king.”
“She got the idea from Primary last week. Maddie told me all about the lesson they had and how they got to dress up and pretend to listen to King Benjamin.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Tara murmured. She could feel herself falling asleep and knew she should get up and go to bed. Peter would be calling soon, and she didn’t need to eavesdrop on any more intimate conversations.
Must be nice to have even a phone call to look forward to. I wonder what would happen if I called Ben.
She indulged in a memory, as she did more often than she knew she ought. She’d never see Ben again. He might as well be a figment of her imagination. He might as well be, but he wasn’t. When she allowed herself to think of him, to remember, she always returned to that spot on top of a snowy Colorado mountain, just before he had kissed her. He was telling her she was a spoiled princess.
At least I wasn’t named after a dog.
Tara cringed, remembering the awful things she’d said. In her mind, she could still see Ben’s face, indignant, and hear the anger in his voice.
I wasn’t named after a dog. I was named after a king. King Benjamin was one of the finest men . . .
Tara’s eyes popped open, and she sat up and turned to Jane. “What did you say that king’s name was?”
“Benjamin,” Jane said. She paused, the tweezers poised in midair. Beneath them, the baby bird’s open beak waited expectantly.
“Who is he?” Tara demanded.
“A prophet in the Book of Mormon.” Jane studied Tara curiously. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Tara swung her legs over the side of the couch. “That’s the book the missionaries gave me?”
“Yes. The one you haven’t opened yet,” Jane said, resuming her task.
“I’ve been busy,” Tara said. “Do you know of any other kings named Benjamin?” She’d thought about it a few times since Ben had mentioned the name but never seriously or for very long. It was obvious this Benjamin wasn’t some well-known historical figure like Napoleon or George Washington, but still, she’d been kind of curious. It had never occurred to her—until now—that he might be someone in the scriptures.
“He’s the only King Benjamin I know,” Jane said. “A good guy, too. You ought to look him up.”
“I’ll get around to it,” Tara said, her voice nonchalant. She stood and stretched then walked toward the hall.
“Good night,” Jane called.
“Night,” Tara said, walking a little faster as soon as she was out of the room. She intended to
get around to it
right now. Before she’d taken three steps, Jane called to her.
“Yes?” Tara said.
“Try Mosiah.”
Tara backed up then leaned her head through the doorway. “What?”
“Mosiah,” Jane repeated. “It’s the book in the Book of Mormon where you’ll find King Benjamin.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Tara’s eyes narrowed. “How did you—”
“Just a guess.” Jane smiled sweetly. “Ben. Benjamin. I figured there might be some connection. Something that—
interested
you.”
Tara shook her head as she gave half a laugh. “You keep this kind of intuition up, and Maddie is going to hate you when she’s a teenager.”
Jane laughed. “Good luck,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Twenty-Eight
Tara sat cross-legged on her bed, the closed copy of the Book of Mormon on her lap. For the past five minutes she’d been staring at it but hadn’t found the courage to open it. For all her earlier eagerness to read about Ben’s namesake, she was suddenly afraid to do so.
Which is ridiculous
, she told herself.
What’s so scary about reading about some old, dead king?
Nothing.
A shiver of apprehension accompanied the thought. There was a feeling in the room—not quite like either of the feelings she’d felt during that first meeting with the missionaries, but a strange sensation just the same. And somehow she knew it had to do with this book. She was afraid that if she opened it—
Things will never be the same.
She stared at it another minute then picked it up—still keeping it closed—and gently bent the soft-covered volume back and forth like a wave.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. After all, she was enjoying the New Testament. Reading about Jesus was interesting and brought a sort of peace—like she’d felt when she’d been outside this morning before it rained. Her own problems and concerns seemed to dissipate in the vast, overall picture the scriptures presented. They had opened up her world by a couple thousand years and several thousand miles. It was impossible to feel despair when reading them. It was easy to feel courage and hope.
To feel my burdens lightened. Just as Jesus promised. I love that feeling.
There. She’d said it—or thought it, at least. She was pretty sure that not even Jane knew this about her. The missionaries certainly didn’t. Sister Ayer and Sister Henrie had been more than patient the past few weeks, but Tara could tell they were frustrated by her lack of progress.
I haven’t followed through with what they asked. I haven’t opened this book.
Her fingers traced the small, gold lettering beneath the title.
Another Testament of Jesus Christ
She would find Jesus in this book, as well, she knew.
And King Benjamin too.
What was his role? Was he a man of position like the Pharisees in the Bible, who knew of Jesus but didn’t
know
Him? Or was he like the disciples who had left their nets straightaway and followed Christ? Since Ben was named after him, Tara knew it had to be the latter. And she wanted to read the story, wanted to know and understand it for herself.
Even if it means that some things will never be the same.
She thought of this morning again, the way Maddie’s question about Jesus had given her pause. Tara realized that some things had already changed.
But nothing that I can’t live with.
Changing her vocabulary wasn’t too difficult. She could always change it back. And all of her clothes that hadn’t passed the head, shoulders, knees test were still in boxes in the corner. She could always unpack them. She could leave. She could get in her car, drive to LA or anywhere else she wanted, and start over, on her terms.
I can do anything I want.
Agency had been one of the first lessons the missionaries taught. Right now, she wanted to use it to read. With hands shaking slightly, she opened the book.
* * *
King Benjamin was one exemplary guy.
Tara lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She felt exhausted, drained to the point of being light-headed as she came back to the present after spending two hours in ancient America. She’d read the Words of Mormon—beginning where she’d found the first reference to King Benjamin—through Mosiah chapter six, when King Benjamin died—four times. Using the colored pencil Sister Henrie had given her, Tara had marked scriptures—a lot of them—that she wanted to remember.
King Benjamin’s story was inspiring, but it was his beautiful words that still echoed in her mind and heart and made her eyes water. Equal parts of shame and longing rolled over her. She would have been one of those he chastised. She longed to be one of those who repented and had a . . . Tara held the open book above her head near the beginning of chapter five to read it again.
“A mighty change in us, or in our hearts, that we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually.”
Her own heart literally ached with the same desire. She’d been lying here for some time, doing as King Benjamin had suggested and considering— She flipped back to chapter two.
“On the blessed and happy state of those who keep the commandments of God.”
Jane and Peter did seem to be blessed in all things, though Tara knew their life was no picnic. They worked hard. They served. They loved. All things that King Benjamin himself had done.
All things that Ben did too.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t thought of Ben much while reading. King Benjamin’s tale had consumed her. But now that she made the comparison, she could see that Ben was aptly named.
From the moment she’d first met him, he’d worked and served, from helping out with Ellen’s kids, to packing up a houseful of stuff that wasn’t his responsibility, to driving it all across the mountains, and then unpacking the truck. She’d left him that way, snuck out like a coward to her rental car, while he labored carrying a piano into the house.
Then there were all the things he’d done for her during those few days. First he’d offered to help—when no one else around bothered.
On the elevator he saw that I was ill and took care of me.
He’d taken her shopping, when clearly it had been the last thing he’d wanted to do.
He walked with me in the snow when he didn’t have to.
When she thought back to those three days, she couldn’t think of a time Ben
hadn’t
been serving someone.
Like King Benjamin, he used the strength of his own arm but relied upon the strength of the Lord. Also like King Benjamin, he’d used bold words in chastising those who needed it.
I needed it.
Tara squeezed her eyes shut, as if that somehow might shut out the shame she felt at the way she had acted. She’d used terrible language in front of Ellen’s kids, and she’d complained and whined and thought of no one but herself during that entire weekend.
It’s a miracle Ben didn’t dump me at the side of the road somewhere.
Tara wondered why he hadn’t, but it didn’t take long to guess the answer to that, either. It had to do with Maddie’s question.
What would Jesus do?
It was something she herself was just starting to consider. But people like Ben and Ellen and Jane had likely been considering it for years.
That’s why Jane was so hard on herself about not telling me about her church when we worked together.
She must believe that sharing her beliefs is what Jesus would have done.
That’s why Ben helped me in the first place. Because it was what Jesus would have done.
How many times has he read the scripture about serving men being the same as serving God?
Ben had understood the concept. And suddenly Tara understood too. The story she’d just read—King Benjamin’s—was a perfect example of what Brother Bartlett, the Sunday School teacher, had been trying to get at these past few weeks. Losing oneself in service was the way to find oneself, and happiness.
Tara knew that, on some level, she’d been fighting against that and against Jane’s efforts the entire time she’d been here. Change was hard, especially this kind of change. And service was . . .
work.
She flipped through Mosiah again, rereading the marked passages once more. King Benjamin had labored “with all the might of his whole body and the faculty of his whole soul.” He hadn’t cared for riches, and he’d given thanks to God for all he had. Love and service was what it came down to. Jesus had been all about the same thing. His words had lasted over two thousand years. King Benjamin’s were even older than that. The idea of all of that time passing, and all of the millions of people who had read their words, was awe inspiring.
Tara closed the book and held it close to her heart, knowing she already loved it as much as the New Testament. It was time to take the Sunday School teacher’s challenge seriously. It was time to try to do as Jesus—or King Benjamin—would have. It was time to go to work.
Summer
“
If we all did the things we are capable of doing,
we would literally astound ourselves.
”
—Thomas A. Edison
Twenty-Nine
Tara woke to the sound of insistent chirping coming from the kitchen.
That bird!
Tossing aside the covers, she got up and went to Maddie’s room. It was empty, so she went to the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to find Maddie standing on a chair, leaning over the table, doing her best to feed the always-starving fledgling.
“Good morning,” Maddie said sweetly. “Look at Fran today. Isn’t she pretty? I brushed her feathers.”
Tara opened her mouth, a flippant comment on the tip of her tongue about how Maddie should have used the brush on her own tangled hair. But she caught herself just in time.
Take a second. Start over. Start the day right.
“Morning, kiddo.” She gave Maddie’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Fran looks great. Be right back.” Tara retreated to her room, closed the door, and knelt by the side of the bed.
Heavenly Father
, she began then paused. She’d been praying morning and night for the past two weeks, but it still didn’t feel any more natural than the very first time she’d knelt awkwardly beside her bed.
I’m grateful for the good night’s sleep.
A little more would have been better. Why do little kids and birds have to get up at six thirty every day?
I’m grateful for this home to stay in.
Really, thank You for that one. I’ve been checking apartments around here, and the average rent is through the roof.
I’m glad that Jane and Peter are well. Thank You for Jane’s friendship
. She paused again. This was where it got tough each time.