The Bishop's Wife (12 page)

I swallowed what felt like a large piece of ice.

What did my own shed look like? I suppose we are all like Tobias, putting off things that we should take care of but which we are too tired or too ashamed to deal with. And someday, the end will come for all of us, and other people will root around in our things, finding out what we wish no one would ever know. It made me want to go home and clean my house, and then the garage.

But what was lurking inside of my heart? You hope that people remember the best parts of you at the end, and forgive the smaller darknesses. You hope, but how can you ever be sure?

Once the shed floor was clear, I nodded to myself with pride. I'd done something right here, at least. I checked my watch and realized I'd been out here for over an hour. Was Kurt still talking to Tobias? There was more to be done in the shed, and I thought of mentioning the ruined tools to Anna, then immediately decided against it. She didn't need more to do. I made a note on my shopping list to just buy new tools for her. I could bring them back with me after the funeral.

With that thought in mind, I looked through the cabinets, trying to make a list of other items I should buy to make spring cleanup in the yard easier. Fertilizers, of course, and fresh soil. Tobias had his own mulch pile that he turned periodically. I was probably not going to be able to do that well enough to make the mulch useful, so Anna would have to make do with a commercial product. The last cabinet I opened had some fabric in it. I assumed at first it was Tobias's work clothes, but when I pulled them out, I realized it was a dress. A knee-length pink floral dress that was dirty and so old the seams were coming apart.

I had no idea why it was out in the shed or what Anna would make of it, but I thought to return it to her, if only to solve a mystery for her. No doubt she'd been looking for it for years, and had given up ever finding it again.

I closed the door to the shed behind me, then went back inside.
Kurt was with Anna in the front room, and he quirked an eyebrow at the pink dress I had brought in.

“He has lucid moments, and that's a good thing. He told me how much he loves you and his boys. He asked if they would be here. I told him we would all do our best to make that happen,” said Kurt to Anna.

“I've already called them. They're going to try to make it in time to see him, but they both have work projects they have to finish first,” said Anna.

Work projects took precedence over their father's dying? It made me wonder about their relationship with Anna and their father.

But Kurt nodded. “Good. Then you're doing the things that need to be done. I know this is hard, but it will help to focus on what you can do, not what you can't. All right?” He patted her on the shoulder.

I had had to get used to Kurt touching other women. It still felt a little strange. I wondered sometimes if it would ever feel normal.

I offered the dress to Anna. “I found this out in the shed. I thought I would bring it in, just in case it disappeared a long time ago and you never knew where it went.”

But she shook her head. “That's not mine. You found it in the shed?”

I unfolded it and shook it out. “Maybe it's something Tobias found discarded somewhere and forgot about?” I said.

Anna touched it again. “That style is so old. And the pattern. I wonder if it belonged to Tobias's first wife.”

“Oh,” I said, and wished that I hadn't brought the dress out. Clearly, Tobias had kept it in the shed after all those years because it reminded him of his first wife. He didn't want Anna to know about his souvenir, and now I had shown it to her.

“I suppose that's sweet of him, to keep it after all this time. Why he kept a dress, I don't know, but—” She shrugged.

“Shall I put it back in the shed?” I asked.

“I can't see what use that would be. You can just throw it in the
garbage, I think. Tobias won't be needing it anymore to remind him of her. He'll be seeing her soon himself.” She said it without wincing, but I couldn't help but think it must hurt her, on top of everything else she had to deal with, to realize that her husband had been so in love with his dead wife that during their whole marriage he had kept this secret token of his first love.

“I'll take care of it,” I promised.

Kurt and I went home, and I put the pink dress in our garage. It was as I was folding it again that I realized there was a brown stain on the neckline. I stared at it and told myself that it was probably the reason that the first wife hadn't worn it anymore. But why had Tobias kept a ruined dress? And what was the stain?

It looked like blood, I suppose, but there could be a lot of reasons she might get blood on the back of a dress. I turned out of the garage with a shudder, wondering what was wrong with me, that I became suspicious of every neighbor in the ward. I saw blood everywhere, it seemed, and thought of all men as potential murderers. Was the problem me or was it them?

The police served a warrant on the Helms' home Friday morning, after Kurt had gone to work. I got a panicked call from Jared and rushed over There were a dozen policemen in uniforms already moving through the house. Jared was in the kitchen, holding Kelly in his arms. He was weeping again, and she looked like a scared rabbit.

“You can both come to our house. There's no reason you have to be here while the police search,” I said. I looked around and found a plainclothes policeman who looked like he might be in charge. “Can he leave? Does he have to watch this?”

“As long as we know where he is, in case there are questions,” was the answer.

I wondered if he meant in case they found evidence enough to arrest Jared on the spot.

“You take her,” said Jared, standing up and pushing Kelly toward me. “I'll stay here.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I need to be here,” he said. “This is our home. I'll stay here to watch over it. But Kelly shouldn't have to worry. Take good care of her?”

I nodded. “Of course I will. We'll have fun together, right, Kelly?”

She nodded at me, then tucked her head into my pant leg.

I took her hand and it felt so good, that tiny, warm bit of flesh and fingers, that I thought there was something wrong with me. How could
I feel so right with this other girl who wasn't my daughter? But somehow I felt like she belonged with me, like she was my second chance.

As we walked back across and up the street, I noticed more than one curious neighbor poking a head out, taking in the police vehicles in the Helms' driveway and along the sidewalk. I felt a pang for Jared Helm. No matter what he had done, he was still a scared young man trying to do what was right for his daughter.

When I turned back at the front door of my own house, I could see several white-gloved policemen in the Helms' garage lifting the trunk of the family car.

Kelly caught a glimpse of this, too. “What are they doing? Are they going to take our car away?” she asked.

“No,” I assured her. “They're just looking for your mother.”

“Why are they looking for her there?” said Kelly.

“They don't know where else to look for her,” I said.

“But she's not there,” said Kelly insistently. “She's gone away.”

“Yes, sweetheart. But she didn't say goodbye to anyone, so they're worried about her. They want to talk to her and make sure she's all right.”

“She said goodbye to me,” said Kelly.

My heart nearly stopped at that. I pushed the door open and pulled Kelly inside. “Come on inside to the kitchen,” I said. What did Kelly know about all of this? No one had ever thought to ask her this particular question before, it seemed. Or Kelly hadn't felt comfortable enough to answer.

“Why don't you tell me about your mommy?” I said, trying to move to the larger questions cautiously.

“Mommy used to make brownies with me when she was feeling sad,” said Kelly.

“Oh? What else did she do when she was sad?” I asked. I set her on the bar to watch me.

Then I got out all the ingredients to make brownies, hoping it would make Kelly feel more comfortable, and possibly jostle loose
some memories. I felt like I was no better than the policemen who were even now poking into her underwear drawer, and her mother's, as well. Prying out secrets from a child—how low did that make me? But I wanted to know the truth.

“She loved me,” said Kelly.

“Of course she did.” I hugged the little girl hard and set the butter I'd softened in the microwave in front of her, along with the sugar and cocoa, and asked her to stir it. I figured I would have a mess to clean up afterward, but Kelly had been trained well. She dug in with the wooden spoon and stood on the chair I pulled up for her, using the full weight of her body to cream the ingredients.

“Mommy likes chocolate best. It makes her feel happy again. And she likes the kissing movies.”

I smiled at that. “What kissing movies are her favorites?”

“The one with the movie star and the man who lives in the blue door. The one with the floppy hair,” said Kelly.

“Notting Hill
?
”
I asked. It was also one of my favorites. “What else? You said she said goodbye to you before she left?” I was treading on dangerous ground here. I casually cracked eggs into the brownie batter, but felt as if my own house was as fragile as the eggshells. What if Jared realized what Kelly might say and came rushing over to take her back with him?

“She came into my bedroom and kissed me goodnight. She said to be a good girl for Daddy,” said Kelly.

But that could mean anything. “Well, I'm sure you are a good girl,” I said, hoping for more.

Kelly looked down at the brownie batter. “Can I have a taste? Mommy always lets me have a taste,” she said.

“With the eggs in it? That's not safe,” I said. “Raw eggs can have bad bacteria in them.”

“Is that what made Mommy go away? The bad bacteria? Because she ate brownies before they were cooked?” said Kelly, looking up at me, her messy, curly hair now also dusted in flour and cocoa.

“No, I don't think so,” I assured her.

“I'm not going to run away like Mommy. Daddy says I have to promise not to run away.”

“Your daddy is right about that, Kelly. You shouldn't run away. Did you see your mom packing anything before she left? Are you sure she ran away?”

“Daddy said she ran away,” said Kelly. “But I only saw when she got out of the car.”

“She got out of the car?” I echoed.

“Daddy thought I was asleep. He told me to go back to sleep in the car, but when it stopped, I woked up,” said Kelly.

“And what happened then?” I said, stirring the brownie batter far past what it needed. This was not what Jared Helm had told me and Kurt that morning weeks ago, but I couldn't react angrily. I didn't want to lose the sense of ease that Kelly felt in this familiar rhythm.

“Mommy got out of the car. I heard her thump on the ground.”

I went cold at the childish description. “Then what?” I asked.

“Then Daddy said goodbye to her, too, and he got back in the car,” she said simply.

I felt terrible pumping information from a five-year-old child, especially this very vulnerable one. If the police had done it, someone would have cried foul. But I wasn't hurting her, was I? And I needed to know what she had heard exactly. “Where were you? Do you remember anything about the place where she got out of the car?”

“It was dark,” said Kelly helpfully. “And cold.”

“But were there any lights outside?”

“I don't think so,” said Kelly.

“And your mother didn't kiss you goodbye in the car?” I asked.

Kelly shook her head. “I was trying to be asleep. Daddy said to sleep.”

“Did you hear her say anything to your dad?”

“She was mad at him. She didn't talk to him when she was mad.”

Yes, that would be a useful survival strategy for a woman who had been abused by her husband.

Or maybe Carrie didn't say anything to Kelly because she couldn't. I wondered if Carrie Helm had been alive during this car ride Jared hadn't mentioned to the police.

Clearly, Kelly wouldn't know, so the questioning was over.

I stopped stirring the brownie batter and reached for a teaspoon. I offered it to Kelly, feeling like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, luring children in with a treat that wasn't good for them. “Kelly, are you ever afraid of your daddy?” I asked quietly.

“He shouts sometimes,” Kelly said, looking down at her hands. “Then I run and hide in my room. I don't like it when he gets mad at me.”

Too vague, too vague. If this were a detective novel, I'd be the prosecutor asking leading questions. Of a child. “But does he ever hurt you?”

“Once he spanked my hand,” said Kelly. “Because I almost touched the stove with it and he said it would have gotten burnt.”

“And what about your mom? Did you ever see him hurt her?”

Kelly stared up at me. “He took her pills once,” she said. “And put them down the toilet. She hit him, and then he held her hands. Then she cried. But Mommy told me never to tell anyone. She said she was sorry and he was sorry. She said she was wrong and not to hit.”

Pills? Birth control or her depression medication? It didn't matter. I had to go back to the question of whether or not Carrie had been alive in that car ride. “Did you see your mom in the car? Or after she was dropped off? Did you see her waving at you?”

“It was dark,” said Kelly again. “I couldn't see her.”

“And there were no lights? Why do you think she wanted to go to a place where there were no lights?”

“I don't know,” said Kelly. “Sometimes Mommy said she needed to rest her eyes and her head and she would go into her room and close the door and turn out the lights. She told me to be very quiet then.”