From the Relief Society Magazine, April 1951 –

Now Is the Time

Carol Read Flake

The elaborate cutwork design on the pillow case blurred before Martha Lane’s eyes and she lowered the hoops to her lap, blinking back the tears that had flowed too freely all day to be easily checked now in her husband’s presence. Not that he was apt to notice! Half hidden by the evening paper, Harvey sprawled comfortably in the big chair, his long legs crossed on the ottoman, completely oblivious of his wife’s unhappiness. Resentment stirred in her, deepening the hurt, the disappointment that had lain like a stone on her heart all this bright spring day.

May second, their daughter’s wedding day. Tall, vivacious Dianne had been married that morning in the Idaho Falls Temple to Arthur Rowell. They had been accompanied by the groom’s parents, but not by the bride’s. Martha bit her lip and resolutely returned to her needlework.

“Well, Mother dear,” Harvey exclaimed on the end of a noisy yawn, as he folded the paper, “how does it seem to have the first of our flock leave the nest?” He watched as she deftly brought the thread around and drew the needle through the cloth. “Still on those pillow slips of Dianne’s?”

Martha pursed her lips and made no reply. How could he be so insensitive to her mood? How could he sit there, relaxed and complacent, feeling no twinge of conscience?

Reaching up, he switched off the lamp and settled back in his chair with another prodigious yawn. “Lovely warm evening for this time of year. Hope it’s this nice in the Park. The kids’ll have a great time. When’d you say they’re coming home?”

“Saturday,” she answered shortly. “Arthur has to be on the job Monday morning.”

“Fine steady boy, that Art. Oh, say, I ran into Bishop Jenkins this morning. He was all praise for our Dianne; and said we’d done a splendid job rearing her. I told him, by jing, it wasn’t any of my doings, that all the credit went to her mother. And you know what he said? He said, ‘Harv, your wife is one of the finest, most faithful women in the ward.’”

Martha turned quickly for the floss that lay on the davenport, although her needle was full. She thought with something near hysteria, Why can’t he stop? Why doesn’t he just go on to bed and leave me alone?

“You seem sorta quiet tonight, Mother,” he observed after a moment. “I’d think you’d be real happy, having your oldest girl married to a fine young fellow, and in the temple the way you’ve always wanted for her.”

And the way I’ve always wanted ioi myself, she thought bitterly. But there was no point in mentioning that. Not after twenty-two years.

“Phyllis out tonight?” He had risen and gone to peer out the screen door.

“No, she’s in bed,” Martha’s gray eyes clouded at thought of their sixteen-year-old. “We may not receive congratulations on Phyllis,” she remarked quietly.

Her husband turned. “Phyllis? Oh, she’s all right. Just in that mixed-up adolescent age.”

“She wasn’t very mixed-up in her scorn and ridicule of Dianne for not having a smart church wedding like Amy Hanford. She says there’ll be none of this for her.”

Harvey’s laugh rang out. “That sounds like her, little monkey. She has a rebellious streak, but you can take it out of her.”

“I?” she queried. “Is it my exclusive job to rear this family? And the boys,” she went on, her voice rising, “you know how they are beginning to balk at going to Primary—even Sunday School. And Jimmy will be twelve next month.” She stopped to let that sink in.

Harvey was back in his chair, but he no longer looked comfortable. “I know it’s a problem, Martha. I’ve left these things to you because— well, I don’t set much of an example in the way of attendance and such.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and studied his clasped hands thoughtfully. “I don’t know— I guess I got started off wrong, with my dad so careless-like. And then my work . . . .” His voice trailed off.

Martha glanced up, needle poised. “Harvey Lane, you can’t use your work as an excuse any longer. You’ve been off the road and right here in the home office for almost a year. Besides, lots of men who travel find time for Church activity.”

A car door slammed nearby and their eyes met questioningly. There was the sound of voices and footsteps on the walk. Martha laid aside her work and went to the door.

“Why, Kate Rowell,” she cried eagerly, holding the door wide. “And Leslie. I didn’t dream you were coming back today.”

“I told Les I couldn’t relax any place but home. Oh, what a day!” Kate laughed, letting her shoulders droop and her arms dangle at her side to show how weary she was.

“Leslie, old man!” Harvey strode forward to shake hands with her husband. “What does this make us — brothers-in-law? Come in, come in and tell us all about it.”

“This makes fathers-in-law of us, Harv.” Leslie smiled his warm, friendly smile as he laid an arm across Harvey’s shoulder. “All I can say is you should have been there, you and Martha. It would have made you glow all over to see what a beautiful bride your Dianne made. Our Dianne,” he corrected, his smile broadening. “And, Martha, I’ve never seen her when she looked more like you.”

“Did she?” Martha flushed, her eyes glistening. “Oh, I wanted to be there. You’ll never know. Kate, tell me,” she hurried on in a cascade of words, “was everything all right? Did she seem very flustered?”

Kate threw up her hands in protest. “Wait, Martha— slow down,” she laughed. “Sit down here by me and I’ll tell you all about it. Oh, I wish you could have seen your daughter.” She closed her eyes rapturously. “Honestly, she was beautiful— just like a queen, tall and graceful. But she must have said a dozen times, If only mother and daddy could be here with us. ”

Martha, listening with rapt attention, had kept her composure, but at mention of her daughter’s wistful remark, something seemed to break inside her, filling her throat, choking her. She caught her breath on a sob.

Kate’s chatter ended abruptly. “I – I’m so silly,”

Martha managed a shaky laugh. “Acting this way when I’m really thrilled and happy for her.”

Kate put an arm about her. “I know, darling,” she soothed. “Marrying Arthur off hasn’t seemed so bad. But a daughter. Wait till it’s Linda,” she laughed. “I’ll be weeping all over the place.”

Martha was uncomfortably aware of her husband’s gaze as she went about tidying the room after the Ro well’s departure.

“Mother,” he spoke at length, “I had no idea you felt the way you do about being with Dianne.”

Her hand trembled as she replaced a book in the case, so that another became dislodged and clattered to the floor. She bent to retrieve it.

He regarded her soberly. “I’ve let you down, Martha. I know it and I’m sorry. Marriage in the temple means a lot to you. I guess I didn’t realize how much.”

“Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” he answered slowly. “I want you to be happy.”

“Harvey!” she cried. “It isn’t just for me. It’s for both of us— all of us. Our whole family.” Still holding the book, she came and sat on the ottoman staring at him in wonder. “Don’t you understand what eternal marriage is? Don’t you believe in it?”

“Yes. Certainly. But it’s just for the worthy.”

“Well?”

“What do you mean, ‘Well’? I’m only a teacher.”

“What does it take to become a priest?” she prompted gently. “And an elder?”

He rose abruptly. “More time than I’ve got now,” he replied, heading for their room. “Maybe later.”

Martha moaned a little, watching him go. Later, always later. She rose, sighed deeply, and went to put the book away. Dear Lord, she prayed, help me reach him. Please show me a way.

She glanced at the book in her hand so she could put it in, title up, and saw that it was Dianne’s Book of Mormon she had used in seminary. Opening it from the back, she let the pages ripple past her thumb, noticing how many passages were underscored in red. The book came to rest open near the center, chapter 34 of Alma.

Her gaze wandered idly to the marked passage:

For behold, now is the time and the day of your salvation. . . . For behold, this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God; yea, behold the day of this life is the day for men to perform their labors. … I beseech of you that ye do not procrastinate the day of your repentance until the end; for after this day of life, which is given us to prepare for eternity, behold if we do not improve our time while in this life, then cometh the night of darkness wherein there can be no labor performed.

Martha caught her breath, her whole being electrified. She returned to the opening words, “Behold, now is the time . . . ”

Now is the time! Oh, Harvey, she cried in her heart, this is for you! If only he would read and understand.

She found him in his pajamas adjusting the windows. “Dear,” she said, trying to keep excitement from her voice, “I was just glancing through this book of Dianne’s. She has this part underlined. Won’t you read it? It’s some of Alma’s teachings.”

Scowling a little, he took the book and sat down on the edge of the bed. Martha wanted to watch as he read, but fearful of distracting him, she took her gown and went into the bathroom to prepare for bed.

He was still reading when she returned and he did not look up. Her heart sank when she saw that he was not reading on the page she had indicated. She said nothing, however, and sat down at her vanity to brush her hair.

“Hmm,” he murmured after several minutes. “Quite a sermon. But you’re wrong, Mother. It isn’t Alma.

“What?” She rose, deeply disappointed. He had missed the passage.

He turned back two pages. “It’s Amulek. See, right here— ‘And Amulek arose and began to teach them.’ ”

“Oh!” He was right. Color rose in her cheeks. But it was from joy more than embarrassment. He had read the entire chapter from the beginning.

“Hmm,” he said again, moving his finger down the column, “I beseech of you that ye do not procrastinate the day of your repentance ….'” He raised his head and gazed thoughtfully into space.

Martha reached impulsively to lay her hand over his. “We both need to repent,” she said earnestly. “We have these wonderful children. We must teach them the gospel and set an example before them.”

He nodded, pressing her fingers into her palm. “I know. I always mean to do better. I really do, Martha. I guess I just don’t know how. And now with Jimmy—” He stopped. “I’ve been blaming my father’s carelessness for my own attitude, and here I am letting history repeat itself.”

Harvey bent one knee upon the bed, his brow knit pensively. “It takes an awful lot to qualify. I was just thinking about Bishop Jenkins. And Leslie Rowell. They’re good men— righteous, worthy men.
I could never be in their class.”

“Harvey,” she said in a low, firm voice, “they have only one thing that you haven’t. That is a strong, living testimony that this gospel is true. That and that alone makes a man or woman strong in the Church. You know how such a testimony is gained, don’t you?”

He shook his head lugubriously as he flung back the covers and got in. “I don’t know as much as Jimmy.”

Martha wanted to cry out to him, Pray, Harvey. Pray with me now. But he had turned his back and was burrowing down on his pillow. She stood a moment gazing at him, then knelt, alone as always, and poured out her heart’s gratitude for Amulek’s testimony. It had stirred her husband to thought. If it could stir him to action the battle would be almost won.

In the days that followed Harvey made no reference whatever to their discussion. Although Martha had purposely never moved Dianne’s book from the night table, as far as she could determine, neither had he. On Mutual night when she asked if he would like to come with them, he replied without even glancing up from the magazine he was reading, “No, I’ve got to telephone one of the salesmen after a bit.”

It was as if their conversation had never been. The bright hope she entertained at first began to fade and she felt heartsick that what she regarded as an almost miraculous incident should have failed to bear fruit.

Only her eager anticipation of Dianne and Arthur’s return saved Martha from complete despair. On Saturday, from noon on, she found herself straining for sight or sound of the familiar green sedan. The day wore on and night came with no newlyweds. Just when Harvey suggested calling the Rowells to see if they had received any word, the telephone rang.

It was Dianne, her voice vibrant and breathless, as she explained that they had arrived an hour or so earlier, but were simply swamped getting settled in their apartment, and on top of that Bishop Jenkins had been over talking with Art, and all in all it looked as if they couldn’t possibly get over tonight, and did she mind terribly.

Then, almost on the same breath, she exclaimed how absolutely perfect everything had been and how marvelous it was knowing that she and Art were married forever.

Although Martha thrilled while her daughter spoke, she felt drained and empty the minute she hung up, so let-down in spirit that life seemed an unbearable burden. For the thing she had been counting on so heavily was spoiled. She must pass on to Harvey another secondhand account that Dianne was “simply thrilled with everything.” He had missed the glowing enthusiasm and spontaneity of her first report, the ring of pure joy and gratitude that could not be transmitted in retelling.

“What the dickens do they have to settle in that two-by-four apartment of theirs?” Harvey grumbled, rattling his paper in annoyance. “Looks like she could have called sooner. Saved you all this fretting.”

Martha nodded absently, thinking with a little twist of pain how strange it was going to seem to have this child live elsewhere than home.

It seemed barely fie minutes later that they heard the blare of a horn, a very familiar horn. They sprang up together.

“I didn’t think the little monkey could stay away,” Harvey chuckled, hurrying to the door.

“Daddy!” Dianne rushed to embrace them both. “Oh, Mums, this husband of mine,” she cried, disengaging herself to go into his arms. “Do you know, he threatened to beat me when I told him I’d telephoned that we couldn’t come over tonight?”

Harvey beamed with pleasure as he grasped the young man’s hand. “Good for you, Son. You want to use a firm hand with this young lady.”

Arthur Rowell had the same warm, friendly smile as his father. “I figured on coming all along. Bishop Jenkins …”

“Oh, yes,” Dianne exclaimed eagerly, her dark eyes wide with pride. “He’s given Art the most wonderful assignment.”

Arthur glanced at his bride, visibly embarrassed. “Well, honey, you don’t know what I had in mind,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t to boast about the assignment, because it isn’t a big job or anything, although it – well, it’s mighty important and I’m going to need plenty of help from the Lord and several others.”

“Sit down, Arthur – all of you, and tell us all about it.” Martha was impressed with the boy’s humility.

“Well, Bishop Jenkins spoke to me about this a couple of weeks ago, wanted me to be giving it some thought.” He smiled rather apologetically at his bride, who sat close beside him on the davenport. “I didn’t tell Dianne because – well, I was thinking. Tonight, when I mentioned it to the bishop, he really went for the idea.”

He raised his head and looked over at Harvey, who sat with a polite, interested smile. “The bishop has asked me to take charge of the Adult Aaronic program and try and work out something to interest the men and reactivate them, so to speak. He said I was to select one from the group to assist in making visits to the others, and so on.” He leaned forward intently. “I keep thinking of you, Mr. Lane, and how I’d like working with you.”

Martha stopped breathing. Her eyes flew to Harvey, who was wearing a look of utter stupefaction.

“Oh, darling!” Dianne hugged her husband’s arm ecstatically. “That’s a perfectly marvelous idea, having daddy.”

“Everyone likes you,” Arthur went on. “I know you’d have some good ideas on approach.” He laughed. “After all, you’re a salesman.”

Harvey shook his head slowly. “Arthur, that’s a big job, all right, and you’re just the one for it. But I sure don’t feel that I’m the one to assist you.”

“I wish you would consider it, Sir,” the boy urged. “The Bishop was really enthusiastic about having you.”

The room was silent, all eyes focused on Harvey, who sat with his chin on his clasped hands, thoughtfully chewing a knuckle.

Finally he turned, smiling, to Martha. “What was it Amulek said, Mother—never procrastinate? This is the time to do your good works— something to that effect.”

He stood up, facing Arthur. “Well, Son, I guess you can try me. But you’ll find me mighty green— or maybe rusty is the word,” He took out his watch. “What time is Priesthood meeting?”

Arthur and Dianne rose as one, their faces beaming. “At nine, Sir. I’ll call by for you.”

“Oh, Harvey— Harvey!” Martha moved quickly to his side and slipped her arm through his.

“Well, Mother!” He smiled a bit self-consciously, as he patted her hand. “Looks as if I’m about to become one of those fanatics I was talking about, doesn’t it?”