DeAnne left the Relief Society room and began to comb the halls for her children. They were nowhere to be found. Step must have rounded them up, she realized, and she headed for the car, hoping Step would have the back of the wagon open so she could set down her lesson materials and Elizabeth's diaper-and-toy bag without having to fumble with keys or wait for Step to do it. Now that she was no longer keyed up about giving the lesson, everything seemed heavier and slower and she began to feel how much she needed some sleep. Not that she'd have much chance. Maybe Step would throw together some sandwiches for the kids while she took a nap before choir practice.
The back of the wagon was open. I may not need Step to save my soul, she thought, but he's pretty useful when I need someone to save my weary arms.
"How'd it go, Fish Lady?"
"It went interestingly."
"I sense a story."
"I'll tell you when there are fewer ears."
"I won't listen," offered Robbie from the back seat.
"Speaking of ear counting," said Step, "didn't you see Stevie in there?"
"Isn't he here?" asked DeAnne. She looked into the back seat. He wasn't there. How could she have failed to notice that one of her own children was missing? She really was tired.
"I didn't see him in there," she said.
"No problem," said Step. "I'll just go in and get him."
"Never mind," said DeAnne. "Here he comes."
Stevie was walking very slowly, looking down. Moping, thought DeAnne, that's what he's doing. He mopes to school from the car, he mopes from school back to the car, he mopes around the house all day, and he even mopes at church. "Sometimes I think he isn't even trying, Step," she said.
"Come on, Stevie!" Step called. "You have starving siblings in the car!"
"I'm not starving," said Robbie. "I had three cookies."
"Cookies?" asked DeAnne.
"Treats in class."
"Oh, sugar. Wonderful. I thought you didn't like cookies."
"These ones were chocolate chip," said Robbie.
"Were they as good as my chocolate chip cookies?" asked Step. "Nope," said Robbie. "They were terrible."
"Then why did you eat them?" asked DeAnne.
"Cause I won them," said Robbie.
"Won them how?" asked Step.
"I answered all the questions."
"Hmm," said Step. "I wonder what your teacher would have given you if you answered them right?"
"I did answer them right!" shouted Robbie, only he sounded cross instead of playful.
"Oh, I guess we're getting tired now," said Step. "OK, I'm through teasing."
Stevie opened the door behind DeAnne and got into the car. "Glad you could make it," said Step. "Hope it wasn't too much trouble, coming all the way out to the car like this."
"It was OK," said Stevie.
"Your father was teasing you," said DeAnne. "He was suggesting that you ought to come right out to the car after church. I worried about you."
"Thanks for translating for me," said Step. He sounded a little testy himself now.
"I wasn't translating," said DeAnne. She felt weary to the bone. "Let's just go home."
Step started the car and they pulled out of the parking lot onto the road.
"I really do want to know what you were doing," said Step.
Stevie didn't answer.
"Stevie," said Step.
"What?"
"I said I really do want to know what you were doing that made you late getting out to the car."
"Talking," said Stevie.
"Who with?" asked DeAnne. Maybe Stevie had found a friend, in which case she was glad he was late getting to the car.
"A lady."
Not a friend, then. "What lady?" she asked.
"I don't know."
DeAnne could feel Step suddenly grow alert. She wasn't sure what it was, but she always knew when he started to pay serious attention. He was still driving, but perhaps there was a bit more tension in his muscles, a slowness about his movement. Deliberate, that was it. He became intensely deliberate. Dangerous. Some one has come too close to his children, and the primate male has become alert. Well, she rather liked that; it felt comfortable to feel him bristle beside her. Of course, that feeling of hers was probably the primate female, gathering her children near her mate at the first sign of danger. We are all chimpanzees under the skin.
"What did she say to you, Stevedore?" asked Step.
"I didn't like her," said Stevie.
"But what did she say?"
"She said she had a vision about me."
His words came to DeAnne like a flash of light, blinding her for a moment: She had a vision. "Dolores LeSueur," murmured DeAnne.
"Yeah," said Stevie. "Sister LeSueur."
"And what did she say about her vision?"
"I don't want to say."
"You've got to," said DeAnne, barely able to control the emo tion in her voice.
Step reached over and gently touched her on the thigh. He was telling her to keep still, that she was too intense, that she wasn't going about it the right way. For a moment she resented him for daring to police her comments to her own son, but then she realized that she was simply transferring the anger she felt toward Dolores LeSueur to the nearest target, her husband. And he was right. They'd learn more from Stevie if he didn't know how upset they were.
"The reason we need to know, Stevie," said Step, "is that no matter what she thinks she saw, and no matter whether it was really a vision or just a dream or just something she made up, she had no business telling you about it."
"It was about me," said Stevie.
"In a pig's eye," murmured DeAnne.
"Sister LeSueur doesn't have a right to get visions about you, Stevie. She's not your mother and she's not your father, she's not your anything," said Step. "The Lord's house is a house of order. He isn't going to send visions about you to somebody who has nothing to do with you. So if she got a vision, I bet it didn't come from the Lord."
"Oh," said Stevie.
Step had laid the groundwork well, but now DeAnne was ready to know. "So what was the vision?"
"He'll tell us," said Step, "as soon as he realizes that it's right to tell us. You had a bad feeling when she was telling you, didn't you, Stevie? That's why you said you didn't like her."
"Yeah," said Stevie.
"Well, don't you think that maybe that bad feeling was a warning to you that the things you were being told were lies? It made you feel bad, didn't it?"
"Some bad and some not," said Stevie.
"Did she tell you not to tell us?" asked Step.
"Yes," Stevie said quietly.
"What?" said DeAnne, outraged.
"He said yes," said Robbie.
"I heard him," said DeAnne.
"Then why did you say `what'?" asked Robbie.
"Your mother was just surprised," said Step. "Stevedore, Stevie, Stephen Bolivar Fletcher, my son, you know what we've told you before. If someone ever tells you children that you mustn't tell your parents something, then what do you do?"
"I know," said Robbie. "We promise that we'll never tell, but then the very first chance we get we do tell you."
"And why is that?"
"Because no good person would ever tell us to keep a secret from our mom and dad," said Robbie.
"Remember that, Stevie?" asked Step.
"Yeah," said Stevie.
DeAnne heard something in his voice. She turned in her seat, turned all the way, and saw that he was crying. "Stop the car, Step," she said.
Step pulled the car at once into the driveway of a Methodist church parking lot. The parking lot was emptying out-apparently the Methodists got out of church about the same time the Mormons did.
"Why are you crying, honey?" asked DeAnne.
"I don't know," said Stevie.
"Stevie, whatever this woman said to you, it's time for you to tell us."
"She said ..." He started crying in earnest now, so it was hard for him to talk.
"That's all right, Stevie," said Step. "Just tell us slowly. Take your time."