The Conversion of Jeff Williams - Softcover

CHAPTER SIX

Christopher and I spent Tuesday night at the Sundance cabin. On Wednesday afternoon he and Aunt Helen went to the University Mall to begin buying Christopher’s missionary clothes. Christopher invited me, but I thought it was something that they should do together. I knew how much Aunt Helen liked to buy Christopher clothes, and I was sure that it was something she’d looked forward to for a long time. He’d received the letter from his mission president telling him exactly what clothes to buy and how many of each item. I knew that if it weren’t for the list. Aunt Helen would buy Christopher three times as much as he needed. Before he left with Aunt Helen, Christopher had been practicing the songs he was going to play and sing at Stephanie’s reception on Friday.

I took my lessons, worked out in the weight room, and went swimming. Floating on my back, thinking about going home, I heard the pool phone ring. I got out and answered it. It had to be for me because Sister Johnson knew that I was at the pool. I sat down in the chair by the glass-topped table.

“Hello.”

“Hello, is this Frank’s boy Jeff?”

“Yes.” I didn’t recognize the voice.

“It’s Mrs. Olson. I’m calling to tell you that Don Nelson’s wife, Ann, died yesterday. I thought you might want to come to the graveside service. There isn’t going to be a funeral. The poor dear didn’t know very many people, I’m afraid, after living all those years in Denver.”

When I hung up I didn’t get back into the pool. I sat in the chair and thought about this. The pool was shaded. I wanted to sit next to the ocean and think. I looked down at my bare feet and legs. I flexed my toes. I raised my right hand, I clenched and unclenched my fingers. I spread my fingers and turned my hand to look at it.

I knew I could receive a phone call from Mom saying Dad had had a stroke or heart attack and had died and I wouldn’t ever see him alive again. The house, the yard, the cars, his old truck, his tools, his workshop, everything that he owned or used would still be there, even his clothes, but he wouldn’t be.

This possibility scared me, but I still felt it couldn’t really happen. It couldn’t happen for a long, long time until I was a lot older, and when Dad was older too, and maybe it wouldn’t ever really have to happen. I could imagine Uncle Richard’s death, Uncle Richard slumped forward on his desk in his suit jacket and tie, but I couldn’t imagine Dad’s death.

In the late afternoon when Christopher got home, I helped take all the packages and boxes up to his room. Packages and boxes covered his bed. His suits were still at the store to be altered. He had a new pair of Nikes and two new pair of Dockers.

I told him about Mrs. Nelson. He told me how sorry he was and asked if there was anything he could do. I told him no.

I called home. Dad was at an all-day leadership conference for Scouts.

“It’s sad,” Mom said. “Order a wreath and put all our names on it.”

I wanted to ask how Dad was, but I thought the timing wasn’t right, and Mom would just say to stop worrying.

Christopher put his new white shirts into two stacks on his bed, twelve of them. I picked up one. The price tag said $49.99. They reminded me of the scene in The Great Gatsby where Gatsby opens his dresser drawers and piles all his shirts onto his bed to show Daisy how many he had. I liked that scene. Gatsby had dozens of shirts, all colored and all silk.

Thursday I went to Mrs. Nelson’s graveside service. Christopher couldn’t come because he was supposed to visit a rest home. It was my first graveside service. I parked and walked across the thick lawn toward the green and white striped canopy and the small circle of people. I walked to the edge of the group. Covered with a spray of white roses, the casket hung over the grave on wide nylon straps. I was glad that it wasn’t open. I’d thought it might be so that everybody could have one last look.

Three people I didn’t know were sitting on chairs under the canopy. Old Sister Mitchell was there on her walker and so was Mrs. Olson. I shook hands with them. Sister Mitchell introduced me to her daughter Carol. Sister Mitchell told me that the three people sitting under the canopy were Mrs. Nelson’s two nieces and a nephew from Denver.

“Her nephew would like to see you for a few minutes after the service. He asked me to have you introduce yourself. He has some photos or something for you.”

Sister Mitchell introduced me to Brother Baker, who had been my dad’s Scoutmaster and was in the photograph she’d given me. I couldn’t believe he was still alive. I figured he would have to be at least ninety, but he didn’t look it.

“Would you all step a little closer, please? I’m Bishop Wilcox.”

I turned. The bishop stood at the head of the casket.

“The family has asked me to dedicate the grave. Sister Nelson didn’t want a funeral or any eulogy.”

Listening to the prayer, I kept thinking about the pictures Mrs. Nelson had decided to give me. It was a kind thing for her to do.

After the service, Mrs. Olson walked up to me. “Well, poor Ann is finally with Don and in a better world, we hope. She suffered long enough, that’s for sure. She told me last week when I was by how much she enjoyed your visits. Well, I’ve got to get back over to the station and sell gas. I guess you’ll be leaving to fly back home to California soon. Say hello to Frank for me and tell him to come to our next reunion, will you? It’s hard to believe we graduated so long ago. I’m sure Frank would have liked to be here today.”

“Yes, he would.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that Cory Tuttle stopped for gas yesterday. You remember, he’s Mary’s twin brother and knew your dad. He’s a professor. He was sorry he couldn’t come today. I told him that you were here at the Lowerys for the summer, and he said that he’d like to meet you. Cory stops for gas when he’s out my way and we talk about old times. Cory liked your dad. I told him to call you and invite you to lunch or something at BYU.”

I watched Mrs. Olson walk across the lawn with Sister Mitchell and her daughter, and I waited there until everybody else was gone except for the three people who’d sat under the canopy. I introduced myself to Mrs. Nelson’s nephew, and he introduced me to his sisters.

“Well, Jeff, I’m pleased to meet you. Mary wanted you to have these.”

He reached down to the side of a chair under the canopy and handed me a large yellow envelope.

“These are pictures of your father. She thought you’d like to have them. She knew how much Don loved your father. I understand he blew a mean trumpet. Give him my regards.”

“Thank you, I will.” I was hoping he would have the yearbooks to give me, too, but he didn’t. I didn’t ask him who got the trumpet.

Looking down at the gravestone at the head of the grave, I read Mr. Nelson’s name and dates and the army unit he was in. He was twenty-three when he died.

Inside the Audi, I opened the heavy envelope and took out the pictures. All the pictures of my dad were there. I closed my eyes tight for a minute. I sat there and looked at each picture. Carrying the envelope, I got out of the Audi and walked under the high trees to my dad’s family graves and then to the Thatcher monument and the graves inside the iron fence. It didn’t bother me; for...