Facing Grace

By Elizabeth Petty Bentley

Grace’s horrid childhood experiences, being taunted, teased, and tricked, have made her reluctant to let anyone know she has severe face blindness. She often can’t recognize her own children. Or her husband. She hates that people think she’s shy or introverted or even a little slow-witted, but being humiliated or pitied seems worse. However, when her husband is called to serve as bishop of their ward, she fears she won’t be able to live up to what might be expected of the high-profile “bishop’s wife.” She absolutely can’t ask her husband to refuse to serve, but her usual evasive strategies aren’t going to work. How will she ever cope?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Parables
• Release date: Mar 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215700686

Elizabeth Petty Bentley

Beth lives in Walkersville, Maryland. She is thankful for her many children, children-in-law, step-children, foster children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and is happily engaged in family history research. She’s the ward Primary pianist and director of the stake family history center. She’s the owner and editor of Parables, which publishes realistic LDS-themed fiction.

Book preview

Facing Grace

Facing Grace

by

Elizabeth Petty Bentley

Other Titles by Elizabeth Petty Bentley

The Fly on the Rose

Temple has no intention of remarrying after the messy civil divorce that left her without custody of her two girls. Then she meets Q, who doesn’t understand that a civil divorce hasn’t abrogated her religious vows. She decides he doesn’t need to know, since he’s not of her fait. She thinks he doesn’t need to know about her daughters either. She couldn’t be more mistaken.

In a Dry Land

Libby is a born caretaker—although not by choice. Her parents bred her specifically to care for her severely retarded older sister when they are gone. But at only nineteen, Libby is already Mama to Baby. Unfortunately, Libby has convinced herself that no one will ever want to marry her, with a thirty-year-old Baby. Clearly Mick wouldn’t.

Mick loves Libby and admires her compassion. He’s even willing to take on responsibility for Baby. But he hesitates to ask Libby to marry him because she seems more in love with the idea of marriage than with him. How can he know she’s not marrying him out of desperation?

A Wandering Star

Alyssa and Nolan are about to be married when Nolan’s best friend, Zeke, arrives. He’s an enigmatic figure, rumored to be excommunicated and to have failed to complete his mission for the Church. Alyssa sensibly marries Nolan, who is good-looking, devout, sensitive, and loving, but conventional. Unfortunately, being married in the temple doesn’t help Alyssa put aside her attraction to Zeke

The Sins of the Mothers

Tamar never made any secret that her goal is to break her mother’s heart, now that she has sufficiently ruined her mother’s life.

Joyce knows Tamar is damaged, and Hollis tells her she should cut Tamar loose and stop letting Tamar torment her. But Joyce has her own secrets.

Will the baby Tamar’s carrying bring mother and daughter together or only drive them farther apart?

What Friends Are For

Zoë hasn’t seen Lara since high school. When she drops in for what she thinks is a duty visit, she is quickly sucked into trying to break up what she sees as Lara’s disastrous marriage, while at the same time envying Lara her many friends and her home and children.

Lara chafes at Zoë’s interference, while wishing she could have Zoë’s freedom and footloose lifestyle.

A Plentiful Rain

When Ellis falls for the wrong sister, it takes him a while to figure out which is the right one for him. But when he does, she rejects him, and he has to first discover the right inside himself, before he can be right for anyone else.

A Fruitful Vine

Vida’s eighth child is finally in kindergarten when she discovers another is on the way. Conflicted doesn’t begin to describe her feelings. And when she starts to descend into what her fix-it husband labels denial, her marriage grows increasingly fragile, and her frightened husband and children fear for her sanity.

Unseen Wounds

Rae and Fitch, both doctors, decided before they married that having children wasn’t for them. But when Rae turns thirty-three, she finds that a career simply isn’t enough. She wants a child. Fitch, however, is perfectly content and sees no reason to turn his whole life upside-down. And his wife’s longing soon triggers an irrational jealousy that threatens to drive her away altogether.

What Was I Thinking

When strangers found out Bruce was a Mormon, often their first question was, So, how many wives do you have?

Four . . . but only one at a time, same as you. And if they still weren’t able to find their tongue, he might add, And twelve children.

Then if they didn’t say, What were you thinking? they usually tried to recover by joking, What’s Thanksgiving like at your house?

A whole lot of pies.

Anthony and Magdalena

Darcy Freer still lives with her parents in a two-hundred-year-old farm house on land that’s been in her family for longer than the house. She seems destined to be wedded to the land for the rest of her life, but her passion lies in the novels she writes in secret. The story of her ancestor, Magdalena Dupuy, is her current project, but she’s not only conflicted about wasting time on it, she’s worried that everything she writes reveals more about herself than she’d like. What’s worse, she’s appropriating the lives of everyone around her. When she discovers that someone has posted newfound information about Magdalena’s husband, Anthony, of the family Facebook page, she reaches out but discovers more than she bargained for.

Copyright 2023

Cover art: Lisa Rector

ISBN: 9798215700686

For Deborah

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my local critique group for their constant help and their insightful and gentle criticism. Thanks also to my beta readers and particularly to my daughter, Deborah, for catching my many blunders. Thanks to Lisa Rector for her lovely cover art. And especial thanks, as always, to my family, for their support and encouragement.

Table of Contents

Sunday, 8 May

Sunday, 15 May

Sunday, 22 May

Monday, 23 May

Tuesday, 24 May

Thursday, 26 May

Sunday, 29 May

Wednesday, 1 June

Thursday, 2 June

Friday, 3 June

Sunday, 5 June

Monday, 6 June

Tuesday, 7 June

Wednesday, 8 June

Friday, 10 June

Sunday, 12 June

Monday, 13 June

Tuesday, 14 June

Wednesday, 15 June

Saturday, 18 June

Sunday, 19 June

Monday, 20 June

Tuesday, 21 June

Wednesday, 22 June

Saturday, 2 July

Sunday, 3 July

Wednesday, 13 July

Monday, 19 September

Monday, 26 September

Sunday, 16 October

Monday, 31 October

Sunday, 6 November

Wednesday, 9 November

Thursday, 10 November

Sunday, 20 November

Glossary

Sunday, 8 May

Grace assumed she’d been sent to the bishop’s office because he had something more for her to do, besides heading the ward activities committee. She hoped he wasn’t about to release her. Planning activities suited her right down to the ground, as her English grandmother would say.

She knocked and heard a muffled Come in. When she entered, she assumed the suited man behind the desk must be the bishop, even though his voice had sounded a little off through the door. She didn’t recognize his face, of course. She never recognized faces.

He held out his hand. Come in, come in.

She shook hands automatically. But she was confused again by his voice. She supposed he might have a cold.

With a wave, he indicated that she should take a seat to the left of the man already sitting in the other chair facing the desk.

She didn’t want to be caught staring, but when the man put out his hand, palm down, exposing the familiar wedding band, she immediately relaxed. Her husband gave her hand a little squeeze and drew it to his knee.

I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Sister Cain, the man behind the desk said.

Only then did Grace seriously wonder what was going on. The bishop knew her. They’d spoken several times in the six months since she and her family moved in.

You remember President Harkness, hon, her husband said.

The stake president?

Yes, of course. She tried not to sound alarmed.

I’ll get right to the point, President Harkness said. The Lord wants to call your husband as bishop. And I’m sure you know better than any of us that he’d be great at it.

Yes, of course, she said again. But her mind was racing. Bishop? Paul can’t possibly be bishop. That would mean . . . No. I can’t be a bishop’s wife.

Paul patted her hand.

Bishop Levin hasn’t told many people about his upcoming move, President Harkness said. He didn’t want to generate a lot of speculation. You know how it can get.

Grace had no idea how it could get. She was the last person anyone would come to with speculation. Yes but . . . she tried to interject.

Grace barely heard the rest of what he had to say, ending with Naturally you’ll want to talk it over. Maybe go to the temple.

Naturally, Paul said. Can we include the children in the discussion?

Absolutely. This calling affects the whole family. I remember when my own father was called to be bishop . . .

Grace continued to smile, but inside, she was screaming, This can’t be happening. It just can’t.

ↈ

I can’t, Paul. You know I can’t, Grace pleaded when they were behind closed bedroom doors. They had yet to tell the children. Why bother? The whole suggestion was preposterous.

The Lord thinks you can, Paul pointed out.

"The Lord thinks you can. It’s your calling." She turned toward the sliding doors to the balcony and pressed her forehead against the glass.

She expected Paul to counter with something like, It’s both our callings. Instead he simply took her in his arms and gently led her to sit on their canopied bed. If that’s what you want, I’ll tell President Harkness I can’t accept.

She turned away from him. She felt like howling Noooo. But instead, she tried to be rational. You’d make a great bishop. I can’t think of anybody better. The ward deserves you. What they don’t deserve is somebody like me holding you back.

"You wouldn’t be holding me back. You’ve never done anything but support me. You’re my enAbler."

She had to smile at his lame wordplay on his pet name for her—being the Able to his Cain. At least he didn’t remind her that she’d promised from day one to support him in any calling he was given. And I’ll support you in this too. But I can’t be ‘The Bishop’s Wife.’

Well short of getting a divorce, Paul said. I don’t see any way around it.

Don’t make light. You know what I mean.

I’m not making light. You’re the one who’s making heavy, if that’s a thing. There’s no such calling as ‘The Bishop’s Wife.’ As far as I know, there’s no list of duties for it in the handbook. It’s not some kind of supplementary office in the Relief Society. You just continue being you.

But people look up to the bishop’s wife.

For an example. Of course they do. And you’re an excellent example. Always have been. To me. To the children. To everybody in the ward. Nothing needs to change.

"Nothing but everything. She refused to cry, but holding back wasn’t easy. Being a good example is one thing when people assume I’m probably just shy or maybe a little slow or experiencing early-onset Alzheimer’s. They don’t ask me to do things they figure I’m not up to."

Like remembering their names?

"I try, Paul. You know I try." She could remember their names. The names of their family members. Their histories. Their voices. Even their gaits, sometimes. Just not their faces. If only they wouldn’t keep changing their hair or their glasses or their clothes or their weight. Men were the worst, all dressed in monochrome suits. Paul had offered to wear plaid, but that was ridiculous. Although, since the family’s flashy Maryland crab COVID masks had started to feel like an affectation, the bow tie helped a lot. Only one other man in the ward wore a bow tie, but Grace was often still hesitant to take Paul’s hand until she heard his voice or saw his ring.

"Or you could just tell people . . ."

How many ways could she say that was impossible? Not yet. I’m not ready. Telling people about her face blindness could lead to worse things than just being embarrassed. Paul had given her multiple blessings, but even when she was about to deliver a baby, she’d resisted a blessing with oil, which would involve a second priesthood holder.

Paul took her hand, as if on cue. I know you had a lot of bad experiences at school, but these are grownups, not children. If only you shared with people . . .

The thought horrified her, and her face must have shown him how much.

I know it’s difficult, but if people understood . . .

They’d think I was crazy. Or faking it. Or some kind of curiosity. Or else they’d pity me.

And what? You’d rather they thought you were ‘a little slow’?

Yes!

Paul made tiny circles with his forefinger on the back of her hand, leaving her word hanging in the air.

Grace kicked off her Sunday shoes and toed the plush blue carpet. "I don’t like that they don’t know the real me, but it’s enough that you do. You’re all that matters. You’re the only one who’s ever taken the time to understand."

Oh great, you married me because there wasn’t anybody else.

That’s when she snatched her hand back and punched his arm. You know what I mean.

I do, he said. And I’m saying you should give people more credit. It’s no big deal for them to introduce themselves. Hi, I’m Paul. Your husband. Would you like to . . . you know . . .?

She had nightmares that she might somehow end up in a compromising position with a stranger. Don’t even . . .

What? You wouldn’t know me from my kiss? He kissed her, as if to show her, and she couldn’t resist laughing and kissing him back. But then she pushed him away. This is serious.

Of course it’s serious. But you haven’t even prayed about it. You’re rejecting it out of hand because you have this one teeny-tiny, insignificant blind spot. A little imperfection.

It’s not little.

"Okay, an unusual imperfection—I refuse to say it’s as huge as you make it out to be—and it’s not something you chose. It’s not a sin. Why would you think it somehow disqualifies you from having everything other people take for granted?"

It’s hard . . .

Yes, it’s hard. But it could be a lot harder.

I know that. She thanked God every day for being only face blind, not totally blind. Although most people understood what it took for a blind person to navigate the world. They didn’t expect to be instantly recognized. They didn’t take offense or start wondering if they’d made some terrible social gaff. But I still can’t . . .

How about if we pray together?

She sighed. She couldn’t object to that, but she could object to letting Paul speak for her. She sighed. I already know what the answer’s going to be.

But praying always calmed the turmoil inside her.

ↈ

Paul knelt with Grace by the side of their bed and listened to her enumerate a long list of things they were grateful for, both individually and together, including thanking God for the opportunity to approach Him in prayer and present their plea for wisdom at this time. She’d worded her prayer that way deliberately, Paul knew, taking her cue from James 1:5: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.

If Paul had been praying, he would have followed Doctrine and Covenants 9:8: You must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right. He would have said, Is it right to accept this calling?

But Grace said, Give us wisdom to know whether this calling is from thee, as if hoping there might be some loophole. An escape clause. As if there was surely someone better out there, someone the stake president had overlooked. Someone with a more suitable wife.

When she finished, though, Paul didn’t withhold his Amen. After all, her faithful prayer still implied that if the calling proved to be the Lord’s will, she’d submit to it.

But neither of them got to their feet. Paul hoped Grace was waiting for an answer. He’d already had his—long before she came into the bishop’s office. He knew even before the stake clerk directed him to the office. He hadn’t known the current bishop was moving away and leaving a vacancy, but he knew he needed to be prepared for anything. He knew who his counselors should be and who would have to be shifted around to fill the spots they’d leave vacant. Because of his calling as Young Men’s advisor, he knew what kids were at risk and who could be depended on without question. He could even guess which adults constituted the twenty percent who needed eighty percent of the bishop’s attention.

And he knew that becoming The Bishop’s Wife would be the best thing that could possibly happen to Grace.

To the whole family.

Maybe even to the whole ward.

He wouldn’t be surprised to find that the ward members needed Grace more than they needed him.

You’ll find the courage, he said.

Where? Under the bed? she responded.

Cour-age, he began to sing, for the Lord is on our side. We will heed not what the wi-i-kid may say, but the Lord alone we will o-bey!

Obey, she scoffed.

Okay. Embrace, he countered.

Acquiesce.

Observe.

Submit. Knuckle under. Surrender.

Paul pressed his forehead to Grace’s. What was sometimes a game of word badminton the two of them played had turned too serious this time. Abide, he whispered.

Hold fast, she whispered back.

ↈ

Sunday, 15 May

The following Sunday Grace squared her shoulders and tried to still the storm inside her mind. Were the ides of May as inauspicious as the ides of March? Don’t be silly. She ushered five-year-old Holly into one of the center pews near the front.

Holly didn’t entirely understand that her whole world was about to change, but Grace’s anticipation—dread—was evidently contagious, and Holly was entirely too agitated to be allowed contact with anyone else.

As it was, everyone who entered the room and saw the extra people seated on the stand immediately became part of a buzzing hive of excitement behind Grace.

The whole room seemed electrified. Who knew what Holly was liable to blurt out at the top of her lungs. She bounced from book to lap to floor to Grace’s foot, standing on the seat one minute and climbing over Grace the next.

Paul and the three older girls were in the foyer, mingling and, hopefully, not giving out more information than they ought.

Being social was part of Paul’s DNA. If he had his way, they’d entertain guests for dinner every night of the week. Their budget, unfortunately, limited them to twice a month. He called it being given to hospitality, as his namesake, the apostle, had written a bishop should be. Not that Paul had ever aspired to becoming bishop, but he must have had an inkling, given what his patriarchal blessing said.

If Grace had suspected what was to come, she might have thought twice about marrying him in the first place. But he was so over-the-top charming and good and kind and . . . and . . . noble, probably nothing could have dissuaded her from falling in love.

He was a natural. He cared about people. He loved serving wherever he was needed. They’d been in the ward only three months, and he already knew everyone’s name.

Grace knew everyone’s name too, but as much as she studied the pictures in the online directory, she couldn’t reliably put names to faces. She tried to find something distinctive about each face, but there were hundreds. She might as well attempt to put names to walnut-head dolls. All different, but the human brain wasn’t wired to retain walnut features. Seeing people in the flesh was marginally better than studying a flat photo, but still not enough to make a permanent impression.

She often had trouble recognizing her own children in a crowd.

One by one, the three older girls tore themselves away from their friends, wandered into the chapel, and slipped into the pew beside Grace.

Willow was the eldest, tall and thin, with straightened blonde hair and a new bell-sleeved dress that practically swept the floor. At fifteen, she’d been begging to bleach her hair entirely white and get extensions so she could look even more like a Tolkien elf. Grace and Paul had finally conceded to the extensions but not the bleach in exchange for her support—if not enthusiastic, at least less grudging—of Paul’s new calling. And, as Paul said, growing up meant she should gradually gain more control over her life. She could have chosen a lot worse ways to express herself. The transformation was jarring, but after three days of getting used to it, Grace liked that it made Willow more recognizable at first sight. And Holly didn’t seem at all put off by the new look. She settled into Willow’s side like a fawn under a canopy of leaves.

Daphne, age thirteen, originally hated her name, so when Willa told everyone her name was to be pronounced Willow, Daphne, then eight, decided both the e and ph in her name were silent. She became Dan and refused to wear dresses until she started to fill out in all the right places and discovered she could turn male heads with a smile. Suddenly she wanted to wear knits that hugged her curves. Her father had to convince her that gauzy silk and strategic drapery were the ticket. Mystery and artifice were sexier than blatant definition. Grace’s wardrobe suffered from Daphne’s frequent raids, but at least Daphne—no longer Dan—was easier to spot in familiar clothes.

Olivia, on the other hand, loved her name. Grace hadn’t planned to give all her children tree names, but when she read that Daphne meant laurel tree in Greek, she decided to cap off the pattern with Holly.

Olivia, like her sisters, seemed to always have a galaxy of friends, many of them older than her, since she was already aching to be loosed from Primary into Young Women. Fortunately she was also taller than average for her age and had taken to wearing a hat when she decided she was too old for a signature bow in her hair. But she didn’t always know when to quit fellowshipping with her friends, and Paul had to round her up and shepherd her into the pew only seconds before the organist finished playing prelude music and the brother who was presiding took the stand.

Grace and Paul usually sat inconspicuously at the rear of the chapel, but since Grace expected she’d have to say a few words at the mic, she’d chosen to sit closer. She didn’t fancy making everyone wait while she walked all the way from the back of the room. Never mind that all eyes would be on her the whole way.

She wasn’t particularly nervous about bearing her testimony. It was something she forced herself to do at least once a year. What had her holding her breath was the thought that, after the meeting, Paul would be dragged away from her, leaving her in the middle of a crowd of women she knew she had history with but couldn’t trust herself to distinguish from people she’d never met in her life. It was going to be humiliating.

Be yourself, Paul had advised more than once.

Smile, Daphne said. Works magic. Just say thank you.

Then you’ll turn all red, and people will think you’re totally humble, Willow said.

Paul laughed at that, and Grace tried to let their good intentions bolster her courage.

Does this mean Dad won’t be pinching my leg in church anymore? Olivia wanted to know.

"I can still give you the look from up front," Paul said.

Grace knew Paul’s mere presence could often make the girls stop in their tracks. He didn’t need to say a word, but she had no idea how he did it. She could see that his head was turned in their direction, but she couldn’t tell which of the girls he was looking at, if any of them.

Sometimes he had to take her face in his hands to make her realize he was looking at her. He’d come to learn that she couldn’t always tell, so he made sure.

He forced her to look at him.

But his gentle hands on her cheeks always felt like a caress. From the first time he did it.

The very first time was on their second date. He handed her the barrel of popcorn and lifted her chin with one finger. She even remembered what he said: You have the most amazing eyes.

Amazing eyes?

He told her much later—much, much later—They dance all over my face. Like you’re memorizing me.

Exactly.

She’d never been on a second date before that. Everyone her friends tried to pair her with was evidently so put off by her, they didn’t even ask for her number.

She tried to remember to smile and look her date in the eye, but when she found herself scrutinizing every fold and crevice, analyzing the angles and asymmetry, cataloguing blemishes and scars, she overcorrected by looking away. Evidently that was taken as a sign of boredom or disinterest or, at the very least, inattention. Conversation stalled—sometimes in mid-sentence—and she was left to cope with the awkward