A Wandering Star

Prologue

Dear Sister Beaudreau,

I’m afraid I didn’t receive your letter of the seventeenth until yesterday, so it will be impossible for me to meet with you personally before the high council’s disciplinary hearing. This note, however, should be sufficient to put your mind at rest regarding the misgivings you expressed.

Ezekiel Gordon and I have been best friends since before I can remember. He would never think of coming between Alyssa and me in any way. Regardless of what you might imagine you detected in their overly friendly relationship, as you so delicately put it, I assure you my wife has only the most sisterly sentiments toward Zeke. . . .

Very truly yours,

Nolan S. Reipsburger, Esq.

1

I remember that night as if it were yesterday. The event had turned into something like a blackout alcohol-free mixer. Can it really have been thirty-five years ago?

Nolan gently stroked my hand with his thumb as we reclined side-by-side on lawn chairs, watching the mid-August Perseid meteors amid the sound of crickets and cicadas and a dozen simultaneous conversations. Shooting stars flamed across the sky, more than one a minute at two a.m. on a perfectly clear, moonless night in Maryland’s rural foothills.

Fifty or so single members of the Church—young and old—had driven up from Baltimore for the event. I’d rented several medium-sized telescopes to go along with my PowerPoint demonstration. I even had mellow Hearts of Space music and some new-mown hay for ambiance. But to most of the participants, the Starry Night above them was merely the get-together’s theme, rather than an occasion for awe.

But you’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Nolan murmured.

His solicitude melted me. We’re together, I said. That’s what matters. His suggesting that I plan an adventure into deep space had thrilled me. He knew exactly what would turn the dreaded assignment into a pleasure for me.

He was nothing if not thoughtful and caring. Even then, I didn’t doubt he was bishop material—if my being his wife didn’t prove a detriment. Everyone trusted and admired him. For instance, he’d already helped any number of our friends with their relationships or their careers, generously spending his time to buoy their faith, encouraging them to go on missions or to pursue higher degrees. What’s more, he was generous with his money—even setting up a small foundation to help some of them with no-interest loans.

He seemed to know intuitively what everyone needed most.

For me, that was moving to the country.

Being a city girl, I’d never seen the Milky Way until I went to Provo my first year out of high school. The immense high-desert sky there grabbed me the way a first glimpse of the sea sometimes turns a landlubber into a sailor. Of course, I couldn’t run away to the infinity of space, so I settled for a master’s degree in astrophysics.

Nolan had already learned the names of some of the brighter stars and a couple dozen constellations, simply to please me. He’d also commissioned plans for a little observatory behind our house on the hill.

Can children be trained to sleep in the day and stay awake at night? I once asked him.

I didn’t see why not.

He was so serious, I had to laugh at him.

For the present, though, I had to prepare for our wedding and furnish our home, which was still only half-built, plus plan these church socials every month, on top of my full-time job at Johns Hopkins’s radio telescope. I was starting to feel ragged. I hadn’t read a novel in over three months. But my needing a dose of Anne Tyler wasn’t something I wanted to complain about to Nolan. He was strictly a nonfiction kind of person.

There’s one, Nolan said, pointing at a striking twenty-degree arc of nature’s fireworks.

From the surrounding darkness I heard an appreciative Ahhh above the several conversations. Someone besides us was still watching, after all.

The sky’s grandeur, Nolan said, is—is a testimony to the vastness of the Creator’s power. I thought that was a lovely sentiment, even a bit poetic of him, although he’d probably have blanched at the suggestion.

You’d think they’d all be used up by now, after so many billions of years, someone said behind me.

I turned to see Zeke Gordon with an overloaded paper plate suspended precariously above my head. I got up, taking myself out of range of any mishap.

Because the earth’s so tiny, Nolan started to explain, demonstrating with his hands, and the cloud of debris is so huge— Then he saw Zeke and punched him in the arm.

Gotcha, Reips, Zeke said, surprising me by using the chummy form of Reipsburger that I hadn’t heard since the three of us were growing up together.

That night was the first we’d seen Zeke in at least six years. He’d matured a good deal since we were all nineteen. He’d also filled out some, which I wouldn’t have thought possible, since at six-foot-five and two hundred fifty pounds, he was the biggest member of his high-school football team. He was Tongan on his mother’s side. From his father, he’d inherited his unfortunate ears, but he’d evidently had those pinned back. Without that distraction, his features came together in an exceptionally pleasing way.

Compared to Zeke, Nolan looked almost gaunt. He had a long-distance runner’s physique—lean and light. That, plus his ultra-blonde hair, made him look much older than a mere twenty-five. His prominent cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and prematurely expanding forehead added to his air of experience, wisdom, and a certain sensitivity.

Like most LDS men, Nolan was clean-shaven. But Zeke sported a Franz-Joseph beard and moustache that highlighted his full lips.

I had, in fact, tasted those lips. We were fifteen and not yet allowed to date. Nolan was away on vacation with his family, touring Church history sites. But our little clandestine fling ended the instant Nolan came home. Zeke was, after all, nothing but my rebellious summer of playing with fire. Nolan was the real thing.

I’m so glad you could make it tonight, I said, repeating what I’d told Zeke when he first arrived. It was hard to think what else to say. I had all I could do not to throw my arms around him after not hearing from him for so many years, but that would have been—inappropriate.

My last sight of Zeke had been when he left for his mission to Chile. I’m sorry to admit I wrote so few supportive letters to him. I was, of course, busy writing to Nolan in the Czech Republic, but Nolan obviously hadn’t needed my support as much as Zeke.

I eventually stopped writing to Zeke altogether. By then I was off to Peru for my junior year abroad, struggling with the language, the altitude, and the change of seasons, as well as the Southern Hemisphere’s unfamiliar stars. And after graduation, I was consumed by my own mission to Illinois, which Nolan thoroughly supported, even though it meant putting off our marriage.

I was disappointed to hear through the grapevine, though, that Zeke hadn’t completed his mission, and that he’d either left the church or been excommunicated shortly after his return. Perhaps if I’d kept on writing—or if Nolan had been around—we might have been able to help somehow. At least we’d have known what it was all about. We wouldn’t be left wondering whether Zeke had been x-ed because of some sexual misstep. No one knew for sure, but he certainly wouldn’t have had any trouble finding willing partners.

How did you hear about the party? Nolan asked, breaking my unwelcoming silence.

I shot Nolan a glance he probably couldn’t see in the near darkness. I wouldn’t have dared allude to Zeke’s long absence from church activities. But as usual, Nolan knew best.

Zeke flashed his brilliant smile. I would have called you first, but I wanted to surprise you. The bishop’s wife, Sister—

Wyant, I prompted.

Yeah. I called the bishop’s house to find out what time sacrament meeting starts.

Great. Then we’ll see you there, Nolan added, throwing an arm around Zeke’s shoulders—more forward than I’d have been—but there wasn’t the slightest hint of anything but welcoming acceptance in his attitude or tone. It was as if he hadn’t even heard the rumors.

While I could think of little else.

Zeke’s short-sleeved white shirt and tan slacks picked up and reflected the starlight. He was almost a source of light himself. Even his eyes shone. And an unusual gold chain glinted at his throat. I couldn’t help thinking Nolan would never have worn such a thing. Obviously Sister Wyant had neglected to mention that our activity was a dark-clothes affair.

Ah. There’s another one, Zeke said, pointing up.

Both Nolan and I glanced skyward, but I saw nothing except the fixed stars.

Too bad we won’t be in the same ward, Nolan said, turning back to Zeke.

Yes, I said, We’re moving here to Walkersville in October. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to call them back. The house should be finished by then, I added, trying to soften what sounded to my own ears like I was eager to escape him, as if his presumed excommunication suddenly made him a threat after all these years.

Nolan’s innocent remark was clearly genuine regret. Mine sounded like I was afraid.

But of what? Perhaps of the underlying competitiveness between the two of them.

They’d played on the same ward basketball team and were first and second in scoring during their senior year. They were first and second in overall achievement at the stakewide seminary graduation. The two of them were virtually simultaneous in making Eagle Scout too. As I considered, though, I realized it was Nolan who typically ran second. He was even a fraction shorter than Zeke, although not enough to notice unless they stood next to one another, as they were at that moment.

I felt an impulse to keep Zeke at a distance, as if I were already Nolan’s wife, aligning my loyalty, restructuring my thinking.

Yeah, Sister Wyant mentioned you two were finally getting married, Zeke said, as if I hadn’t known since Primary that you would.

I frowned. Had he forgotten our summer together?

Plus it was tiresome having our relationship taken for granted. No one else in the entire stake would even ask me out. Fortunately, I had enough dates at college to boost my self-esteem.

I sometimes had the horrifying feeling that I wanted to marry Nolan only because everyone kept saying how lucky I was, or because so many other girls would be glad to snap him up if I didn’t want him.

Worse yet, I worried Nolan was in love with some idealized image of me—with the image I admit I deliberately projected, but an image I wasn’t sure was the real me, yet. Maybe not even the me I was capable of achieving in this lifetime.

None of this, of course, meant marriage wasn’t right for us. We’d already put it off far too long. Nolan and I had been best friends since kindergarten, ever since he stood up for me when the other kids laughed at my petit mal seizures.

"Yes, it has been a long engagement," Nolan said, with a self-deprecating sigh.

Zeke laughed, and I covered my guilty feeling with a shrug. It was my fault everyone thought we’d left ourselves open to unnecessary temptation.

There was, of course, no question of Nolan’s succumbing to whatever charms I might possess. Our relationship was warm and caring, but absolutely virginal. He’d yet to kiss me, impossible as that may seem. "It hasn’t been that long," I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable for Zeke, who’d always joked about our abnormally chaste courtship.

I hope you’ll be very happy, Zeke said. I looked for some trace of regret, but found none. You have a nice place here.

It’s more than we really need right now, Nolan said. But I expect we’ll grow into it.

In fact, we’d opted for a much smaller house than we could afford. I felt it a blessing that Nolan was so sensible, so humble.

A lot of land, though, Zeke said.

We’re renting some of it out, Nolan said. And anybody in the ward who wants a little garden plot out here is welcome to it.

And we’ll definitely have flowers, I said. To attract the birds. I love anything that takes to the sky: insects, bats, spitballs, kites, clouds, lightning. I have a private pilot’s license.

And a lawn? Zeke asked.

Possibly, I said. When we have children to play on it.

The lawn had been something of a sticking point between Nolan and me. He was for planting fruit-bearing trees and scattering wild-flower seed. I could hardly protest against any of that. And, after all, what we’d spend keeping up a vast swath of manicured green could probably feed a Third World family of four. And the water! Even with a well, it was a waste. Not to mention the countless precious hours one of us would have to squander on mowing it. He made me ashamed of myself.

Are you somewhere permanent now? I asked. Last I heard you were in—

Look. Another one, Zeke said.

I whirled, but saw nothing. When I turned back, Zeke had conveniently melted into the shadows without answering my question.

Hm, Nolan said. Did Zeke seem on edge to you?

On edge? No. It seemed to me I was the one who’d been on edge. But Nolan always overlooked my foibles and defects, to magnify the virtues, as he said.

Zeke, on the other hand, had always been more than ready to express his feelings, whether with an Ah for something magnificent or with purple outrage at the slightest injustice. As long as I’d known him, he’d always insisted on fairness and on his own entitlement to speak out. And he was nothing if not supremely confident of his judgments. Church people tended to view such displays as a lack of humility, as if Zeke were setting himself up as some sort of arbiter. He could seem obstinate, even selfish. These were hardly admirable qualities—certainly not ones I’d look for in a mate.

I suppose I had no business even imagining myself married to Zeke. Nolan and I had always been a pair.

For the next hour, I was content to forget Zeke and recline by Nolan’s side, watching chunks of the ageless universe plunge through the atmosphere and be destroyed in a fiery spectacle that went sadly unremarked by the vast majority of mankind. I remembered Zeke again when he came to say good-bye about three-thirty or so. He’d arrived alone in his cream-colored Mustang and would, I assumed, have room in his car going home, as well.

He shook my hand. A really great time, Alyssa. I wasn’t exactly his hostess, just head of a committee, but perhaps since this particular get-together happened to be on our property, he felt obliged to do the Miss Manners thing. Almost nobody else did.

It was actually Nolan’s suggestion, I said.

He turned toward Nolan. You like meteors?

What’s not to like?

Well, of course he likes them, I said. Nolan’s tastes had changed in many areas from when the two of them were young.

You should see them in the Sierras, sometime, Zeke said.

I already knew how grossly inferior Maryland’s sky was. He didn’t have to point it out. I’d love to.

Yeah, we’ll definitely have to do that, Nolan said. You’d love that, Alyssa, wouldn’t you?

When Zeke eventually left, having embraced and rocked Nolan but merely shaken my hand. I watched him go without regret.

2

I had four passengers in my car for the drive back to Baltimore. The occasional flash of meteors off to my left became dimmer as I approached the orange sky over Frederick. I was used to being up all night, of course, but my back-seat passengers complained that they hadn’t been able to catch a nap the day before, and I hadn’t driven more than a dozen miles before all three were lolling over one another like a tumble of milk-sated kittens.

Fortunately, Sister Warford, my former Sunday School teacher sat wide awake in the front. Lovely evening, Alyssa.

I hope people didn’t think it was too ‘New Age’ or something I stopped short of saying or pagan. We weren’t exactly dancing naked in a moonlit glade—something the Young Women had been reprimanded for doing on their last camp-out.

Not at all, Sister Warford said, then added, I saw you talking to Ezekiel Gordon.

Uh-huh. I had to wonder how Zeke and New Age were related in her mind. He heard about the social from the bishop’s wife. I was wary of engaging in gossip of any sort. Sister Warford had taught Zeke, Nolan, and me when we were fifteen and sixteen. She knew all about our personal dynamics. She’d taught half the ward’s leadership, as well. Everyone respected her. It didn’t hurt that she had an undisclosed ranking in karate. Even at her age, when she grabbed a kid who was running in the hall, he stayed grabbed. More recently I’d been working with her in Relief Society, but it was still hard to forget she’d endured my foolish teen years.

Every time I see Zeke’s sister, I ask about him, Sister Warford mused.

Leonora? I’d heard she was married and living in the Silver Spring Stake, just north of D.C.

Yes. I always said that family had a lot of potential. But it was hard.

Zeke’s father was inactive the whole time I knew him, but Zeke adored him, of course, and grieved his whole senior year, after his father committed suicide. So the product of his environment theory was handy for anyone who wanted to excuse Zeke. That is, if he needed excusing. I still had nothing but rumor as a basis.

For all our talk, I’d learned nothing of what Zeke was doing—personally, professionally, or spiritually. Hopefully we’ll see more of him, I said. I’d have been happier finding another topic of conversation, but I didn’t want to betray my reluctance to talk about Zeke by too obviously changing the subject.

He told me he was just back from a trip to Hong Kong, Sister Warford said.

Oh? I merged onto I-70 toward Baltimore.

He works for some multi-national corporation. I guess they keep him traveling a lot. Then, after a lull, she added, You know, if I had somebody to go with me, I’d be on a plane to Paris in the morning.

Really? I was astonished.

"Well, maybe not this morning. I need to rest up today. She glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping beauties we were whisking through the predawn traffic. But I have a valid passport."

I’d never needed a passport. And Nolan could get only two weeks off for our honeymoon, so it hadn’t seemed worth the air fare to go out of the country for such a short trip, especially when we’d have other territory to explore that I hoped would keep us mostly indoors. It was my goofy idea to go to Niagara Falls. I wanted everyone we met to presume we were newlyweds, not just tourists. I’m not quite sure why that was so important to me.

Did you know Zeke’s doing some book reviewing? Sister Warford resumed. He sent me one of his reviews the other day. Plus he edits a little literary magazine in his spare time.

Oh? That was an interesting hobby for a corporate minion. Interesting, too, that Zeke had spare time, something he surely wouldn’t have much of if he became active in the Church again.

He gave me a copy tonight, she said. I can pass it on to you, when I’m through, unless you’d rather ask him for a copy of your own.

No. I’m sure they must cost him money to print.

I don’t know that he’s the publisher, she said.

Even so. The money wasn’t the point. I really didn’t want to become involved with asking Zeke for anything. I was curious, of course, but not curious enough to engage Zeke in another awkward conversation.

I’ll give it to you Sunday, Sister Warford said.

We drove for several miles in silence, and I thought we’d exhausted the topic of Zeke, when Sister Warford picked up again, almost where she’d left off. "I’d like to see Zeke settle down. He’s too old to still be finding himself."

She didn’t say too old to still be unmarried, but I felt it in her words. Or perhaps Nolan and I were overly sensitive on the subject of our age. After our missions, we’d decided to wait until Nolan was out of college, thinking we’d get married while he was in law school. But then, being an only child, I didn’t feel I could leave my mother, who was slowly dying of cancer. What with one thing and another, we were both going on twenty-six. At the time, I hadn’t thought I was dragging my feet. Later I wasn’t so sure.

I didn’t know Zeke hadn’t ‘found’ himself, I said.

I don’t mean finding himself in the worldly sense, she said. I think he pretty much knows what he wants to do careerwise. I meant finding his testimony.

Well, he seems to be on track now, I said, keeping my eyes determinedly fixed on the road.

Let’s hope so. He’s got a lot on the ball, she said. There’s such a thing as being too smart for your own good. You remember how he was always questioning things.

Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? She’d never seemed much in favor of blind faith before. She always posed thoughtful questions whenever she taught.

Yes, she said, but it’s taken him a long time to find any answers. It’s like he’s got spiritual myopia. He told me he occasionally thought he might be feeling the Holy Ghost, but he wasn’t sure it was real.

Isn’t that what everybody goes through? I asked.

Maybe, she said. I sometimes think it’s harder for you young people who’re born in the Church. You think you have to doubt everything or you’re not being intellectually honest.

Isn’t intellectual honesty a good thing?

Of course, she said. "You need a little skeptical reflection, but you can’t let it totally paralyze you so you can’t make any judgments at all. Most things in life involve a leap of faith into the unprovable, into the downright contradictory."

The gospel isn’t contradictory, I said.

Her look said she didn’t believe me for a minute. Then you haven’t studied it enough.

I was surprised by her bluntness. She didn’t speak this frankly in Sunday School. I suppose she didn’t want to risk undermining anyone else’s tender testimony. Then you question it, too?

"Of course. But I don’t question everything ad infinitum, she said. Mostly I question how a God who’s so strict and unbending in his laws can all of a sudden forget everything and just wipe a person’s slate clean. It’s a miracle I’ll probably never understand."

In her younger days, Sister Warford had been a stripper on Baltimore’s notorious Block. Most people talked about her conversion in miracle terms, and she retained the not-altogether-unflattering reputation of a Magdalen.

Nobody really understands the Atonement, I said, having learned the rote answer at her own knee.

That’s why forgiveness is a miracle, she said. I told Zeke so.

And what did he say? Oddly, I found myself pumping her, even as I’d resisted being pumped.

He said forgiveness wasn’t his problem.

I sighed. "Meaning it’s our problem if we don’t forgive him?" That was typical of Zeke.

"I think he meant it was God’s problem. Zeke can only repent and hope—like any of us. But something more is going on with him. Why else would he have come back here instead of settling where nobody would know about his little period of inactivity."

Inactivity? Is that what he’s calling it?

Sister Warford sat straighter in her seat. That was my word. What would you call it?

I felt she was daring me to produce the rumored excommunication and admit to having believed it. If there’s one thing the Church is, I said, it’s inclusive and accepting.

Unless you step out of bounds once you’ve been inside it, she said.

But you can always come back, I insisted.

She turned toward the window, and I barely heard her say, Yes, but it’s not always easy.

I wondered whether she meant it wouldn’t be easy for Zeke or for the other members who had to interact with him. A little of both, I imagined.

3

I spotted Zeke the second I entered the chapel on Sunday. It was only quarter to one, but he was already in his seat, toward the front, in one of the shorter side pews, with his arm behind the shoulders of a striking, dark-haired woman. Bishop Wyant stood in the aisle, shaking hands, apparently welcoming Zeke and being introduced to the woman, who leaned across Zeke, showing three inches of thigh. In her skimpy black dress, she looked like she should have a champagne flute in her hand instead of the scriptures. A paisley scarf at her neck did little to dress down her outfit. She was stunning.

I took a seat on the opposite side of the chapel and tried to busy myself with my Sunday School lesson, while I waited for Nolan to arrive.

As I watched Zeke and his girlfriend, I saw many more people than normal shake his hand and say, Good to see you. Just visiting or moving back? as if all the friends he’d ever had in his life were going out of their way to welcome the prodigal son. So much attention struck me as just a little bit like overkill. If I’d been on the receiving end, I knew I’d be squirming.

Naturally, when Nolan arrived, he went straight to Zeke and didn’t join me until the bishop took his seat on the stand and people scrambled to take their seats for a few moments of relative reverence. Did you say hello to Zeke? Nolan whispered.

I shook my head. I felt suddenly defensive.

He leaned into me again. You’ll get a chance later.

Not if I can avoid it, I thought.

Suddenly Sister Warford tossed a digest-sized magazine into my lap as she made her stately sweep past, headed for the front where two of her daughters sat with their husbands and a clutch of children each.

What’s that? Nolan asked, as I quickly stuffed Zeke’s magazine into my satchel.

Something for Relief Society. I rationalized that anything between sisters could be construed as Relief Society business. I wasn’t stretching the truth so far that I couldn’t take the sacrament with a clear conscience.

Still, I had trouble focusing. I leaned over and whispered to Nolan. What’s Zeke’s friend’s name?

Friend? That’s Leonora, he answered.

You’re kidding. Zeke’s sister had been an awkward preteen when I went off to college. But a second look convinced me Nolan was right. This Leonora could have been a model.

That’s right, Nolan said. She was already married by the time you got back from your mission. He squeezed my hand. You’ll have a chance to get reacquainted in class.

What? In Gospel Essentials?

Yeah, it’ll be fun.

But my next thought was Why are the two of them, lifelong members, coming to my class? They belonged in Gospel Doctrine. Plus I didn’t need Zeke scrutinizing my performance, perhaps scoffing at my sanitized explanations, making me feel responsible if he decided the Church was shallow and simplistic and he never wanted to come back again. My stomach was suddenly churning. Could you teach today? I whispered to Nolan. I’m not feeling well. The excuse came tumbling out, unbidden.

Of course. His face immediately filled with concern. What’s wrong? Should I drive you home? He took my hand in both of his.

No, no. I immediately wished I hadn’t said anything. It was too easy. Nolan was too willing to coddle me. I felt like such a fraud. But now I had to follow through or look like a liar. It’s just my stomach. I always had butterflies before a class. If I sit in the mothers’ lounge awhile, I’ll feel better.

I’ll come with you, he said. I’ll get Brother Burns to come, too. We’ll give you a blessing.

"It’s not that bad. I was horrified he might insist on what would be a mockery. I grabbed my bag and handed him the course manual as I climbed past him and into the aisle. I’ll be all right."

Are you sure?

Positive. Shush! As I left, I smiled at the sister in the pew behind us, and she quickly looked away.

I walked past the mother’s room and didn’t stop until I was outside the building, out of the air conditioning and into the punishing, humid heat. I looked up. The sky was always my refuge. It was as cloudless as it had been early Saturday morning for our Perseid viewing. The sun broiled, giving no quarter. I’m sorry, I prayed, and I immediately felt a thousand percent better, but I listened to the rest of the meeting on the speaker in the mothers’ lounge, shaken by how easily I could get out of tune with the Spirit. I resolved to try harder. I should confess to Nolan when things like this happened to me. I needed a man of his caliber to keep me on the straight and narrow.

I had no business