The Bishop's Wife (26 page)

“Yes, a good deal of it. And I noticed he didn't suggest that. He already has his own plans for that money, I suspect.”

“Then there's no reason that you can't have plans for your own life, too,” I said tartly. I felt a little jealous, strangely. I had never traveled the world. I had never even planned to do that. I just had the view out my window and kept my sights on visiting my kids when I had time. “I'm glad, Anna. You should have some happiness. I hope you do remarry and have a wonderful life.”

Anna met my eyes and I could see sadness combined with enthusiasm in them. I was surprised that after the double blow she'd suffered, she could bounce back so well. The news about the other Helena (or whoever she was) might have paralyzed Anna. But she seemed as strong as on that first day when I went to visit her after Kurt put her name on the refrigerator.

“I will miss you, Linda. And your husband. You've been so kind to me. I will miss the whole ward.” She stood up.

I stood up, too, reluctantly. “Of course you will. But there's a time to move on.” I was trying to be calm about this, though I had never felt as close to a friend as I did to Anna. I had thought we would have more time. I tried to smile. “More happiness in the world is what we're here for, isn't it? Man is that he might have joy? And woman, too?” I changed the scripture delicately.

Anna let out a funny squawking sound, half laugh, half sob. “I'm glad you said that. Thank you. And it's not that I don't want to be with Tobias forever. I always wanted that, even if he didn't. But now that he's gone, it feels like I have other things I need to do. Maybe that means finding another man. Maybe not. But there are other things out there to do than just finding another man, don't you think?”

I followed her toward the door. “I wish I could go on the cruise with you,” I said. “Or see Europe. I've always wanted to go traveling.”

“You still have Samuel at home. But soon enough you'll be able to do the same thing,” said Anna.

Maybe, I thought. When Kurt was released as bishop, could I talk him into going on a cruise? Or going on a world tour to all the sites I was itching to see? Or would he just end up in another church calling that took more time and energy than this one did? And what about Kelly Helm?

Strange that she was the first on my list of responsibilities, and not my own sons.

“Too bad your husband is so young and healthy, eh?” said Anna with a smile.

As I closed the door behind her, I thought about how her mood had swung over the course of the hour or less she had been here. She had been distraught, and was now cracking jokes. Maybe none of her decisions now would last. After all, she was still grieving. I remembered that first month when people told me that I would never get over my daughter's loss. It hadn't been what I wanted to hear. I thought I was too strong to be in pain forever. I just had to get through this day, and the next, and eventually, I would heal.

I never had, and didn't expect to anymore. But that didn't mean that either Anna or I couldn't have joy left in our lives, whatever form that came in.

I went down to Provo for a couple of days midweek because Adam and Marie both had a terrible case of the flu. I left Samuel and Kurt well supplied with casseroles in the freezer (though I doubted they would ever get them out—Cheri Tate had heard I would be gone and likely the Relief Society would bring in meals). For two days I did laundry and made soup and cleaned up dishes and drove Adam and Marie to the doctor's. When they were starting to get up and around again, I left Adam with the warning that next year they'd better make sure to get their flu shots.

I drove home just in time for the ten o'clock news on Friday night. Kurt was eating a late dinner so we were watching together in our room when the channel ran a teaser about a new, dark twist in the Carrie Helm case. I felt sick waiting through the commercials, and then the news came back on.

There was live footage of a body being bagged and carried away from what looked like a long stretch of empty, still frozen road.

“A body that has since been identified as missing Draper woman Carrie Helm was found this evening by a motorist near Wendover, Utah,” the reporter said.

“No, no, no, no,” I moaned. I felt physically assaulted, as if someone had dragged me through dirt. I'd known it—I should have known it—nothing I'd done had helped her. Kurt tried to hold me,
but I batted him away. This was his fault somehow. He was a man, a surrogate for Jared and Alex Helm, for Tobias Torstensen. I wanted to scratch his eyes out, and kick him in the balls again and again. But I didn't have strength for any of that.

Kurt moved across the bed to switch the television off, but I growled at him, and he slid back to his side of the bed, his hands up in surrender.

Poor Carrie. Carrie, who wasn't my daughter.

Poor Kelly, who wasn't mine, either. She was five years old. How could she possibly accept this and have a normal life? How could she ever trust God again?

I listened as the reporter recapped the missing person case that had now turned to a murder case. “No statement has been given by Jared Helm about his wife's death,” she was saying. “The case is under the jurisdiction of Utah state.”

Had Jared Helm done this, after all? Had I been fooled into thinking Carrie was alive and with this man Will? Had Carrie been somehow forced to buy that bus ticket and then taken to just across the border and killed, her body left like so much garbage?

I felt sick at the thought that I had felt sorry for him even for a moment, that I had blamed Carrie for any of this. I put my arms around myself and tried to imagine that my body was a shell of protection for my soul, because my soul felt pierced and bleeding.

The television immediately cut to live footage of the police walking up to the Helm house. I jumped up and moved to the bedroom window, Kurt behind me. From our vantage point on the second floor, we could see the police were handcuffing Jared Helm on the street below us, and taking him away. His father was shouting at the police. I could guess at what he was saying; he would be accusing them of incompetence and threatening that they would regret taking his son in.

The figure of little Kelly stood in the big doorway of the house, watching her father being taken away by the police—that was the
worst sight of all. Now all she would have was her grandfather to look after her. Had anyone told her that her mother was dead? Would someone do it gently enough for her to sleep tonight? Would anyone read her a story and hold her close? Would anyone make her brownies when she needed them most?

“We have to do something,” I said aloud.

“What do you suggest?” said Kurt. He still didn't dare to touch me, after my reaction before.

“Get Kelly out of that house. She should be with a loving family in the ward. She needs to be safe.” I couldn't turn away from the scene down the street. Kelly was still outside, watching everything. She was wearing a thin pink nightgown, frills all over, and she was barefoot despite the cold weather. But it was the look on her face—I was sure I could see it from where I was, and that it was blank terror.

“And you don't think she's safe with her grandfather? Physically safe? You think we have any reason to call DCFS? You would have to prove legally that he's incompetent or abusive,” he reminded me. “Being a neat freak isn't enough. Nor is hating Kelly's mother. Or religious extremism.”

I was exhausted after spending the last two days as a full-time caretaker for Adam and Marie, and Kurt was just making me angry at him again. I pushed away from the window, and away from him. “You're just going to stand by and watch her spirit crushed,” I said. I started pulling the blankets, pillows, and sheets off the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his face alarmed.

“We need clean sheets.” It made no sense to wash them at this time of night, but it had to be done.

“Linda, think carefully about this,” said Kurt. He still didn't touch me, but he helped me extricate the sheets from the quilt. He folded the quilt methodically and put it to the side, which made me angrier still with him. He could stay calm about all this while I wept because he didn't care.

“You've gotten too caught up in this,” Kurt went on. “You're not thinking clearly about it.”

Of course
he
was thinking clearly. He always thought clearly. And that was supposed to be the right thing to do. Not feel emotion. Not thrash around in anger. Be rational. Be a man. Well, I wasn't a man.

“Linda, we have to let people make their own choices. We can't help until we're asked to help. It's one of the frustrating things I've learned about being a bishop, but it's true. If I try to intervene before people are ready to listen, I inevitably ruin their ability to see the problem themselves and set them back months, possibly years.”

How could he say this to me? He was playing the authority card. He was the bishop. He had the experience. He had the mantle of being God's voice in my ears.

Well, I didn't care what God had to say about this. God was a man, too, and as far as I was concerned, until I heard Heavenly Mother tell me how to deal with a little girl in shock and fear, I wasn't going to listen.

I threw the sheets into the machine, pulled out the drawer for soap, shoved it back in full, then jammed the
START
button. I didn't even look at the water temperature or the cycle. I didn't care. I couldn't see the Helm house from the laundry room window, but I heard a car driving away as I stood there, waiting for the washing machine to fill.

“I'm going to talk to him,” I said. I was glad I hadn't changed into pajamas yet. I thundered down the stairs and could hear Kurt chasing me.

“Linda, you should at least wait until the cameras aren't on. He's going to be grandstanding about his son being taken away.” He got around me and stood at the door like a guard.

I could have pushed past him, or slapped him. Instead, I took a breath and tried my best to find the rational words that would make Kurt listen to me, whether I felt rational or not. My whole body
seemed to have turned to lead, my brain most of all. “And that is exactly why I need to be there for Kelly. He isn't paying any attention to her. And she has just lost her mother and her father in the same day.”

“Her mother has been missing for some time,” Kurt reminded me. He seemed relieved that I was finally looking him in the eye.

“You know what I mean,” I said.

“Linda.” He put a hand on my shoulder and I didn't shrug him off. I could feel the warmth of his body spread to mine. “You need to think about how you're going to approach him.” I noticed he had stopped trying to convince me not to go. “He's a proud, stubborn man. You've got to appeal to that. Don't tell him he can't take care of his granddaughter. Make him feel like you are on his side.”

“How do I do that?” I asked, staring past Kurt at the doorknob.

“I don't know. If I knew that, I'd do it myself. I'm just telling you that you need to think this through before you head over or you'll make it worse.”

I thought it through. For about two more minutes. Then I slipped around Kurt and flung the door open. Kurt didn't come after me, and I didn't know if that meant he trusted me or that he didn't want to witness his wife on a rampage. Either one was fine with me.

When I walked up the driveway, Alex Helm was so busy talking to the cameras that he hardly noticed me. They didn't seem to notice me, either, though I had been prepared to say “friend of the family” if anyone asked.

I stepped up to the porch and caught Kelly under one arm, pulling her inside the house.

“Let me get you warm, sweetie,” I said as I put her down. I reached for a hand to guide her up the stairs. Her hands were like icicles. “Would you like to take a bath?” I asked. That would warm her up and make her sleepy, I hoped.

She nodded. “Can I have bubbles?” she asked, her voice high-pitched and shaky.

Damn Alex Helm, I thought, for leaving her out there while he basked in the limelight.

“Of course, sweetie.” I ran a bath for her, listening to Alex Helm's bombastic voice outside, reporters asking questions whenever he paused. I was relieved to find that there were numerous bottles of bath bubbles under the sink, color-organized from clear to purple. I let Kelly choose one. She played until the water started to get tepid. Then I found the thickest towel I could and wrapped Kelly up in it completely. I carried her into her bedroom and tucked her under the covers for a few minutes to dry before I tried to get her dressed.

“Is Daddy going to come back?” asked Kelly as she pulled on a warm pair of flannel pajamas more appropriate to the weather than the nightgown that lay on the floor.

“Of course he is,” I said. I was saying that too much. And my voice was too bright, an attempt to cover the real anger I felt. I wasn't sure who I was angriest at right now. Kurt? The police? The reporters on the lawn? Jared Helm? Carrie Helm? Or Alex Helm? Maybe I was most angry at myself.

“When is he coming back?”

“I don't know.” I couldn't tell her I hoped it was soon. I didn't. I hoped that Jared Helm would be in jail for the rest of his life. I'd hope for eternity, but I knew that God had mercy that I couldn't feel at the moment, even for murderers.

“Daddy said he would read me a story tonight. He always says that, but then he forgets.”

“I can read you a story,” I said. So I did. I read
We're Going on a Bear Hunt
, and then despite the late hour, I brought her down to the kitchen. I didn't think there was any chance she would be able to sleep with Alex Helm making so much noise outside, even if her father hadn't just been taken by the police under suspicion of murdering her mother.

We made hot chocolate and homemade butter cookies and put them in the oven to bake. It was close to midnight by then, and Alex
Helm was still out front, enjoying the cameras flashing. The smell of butter cookies filled the kitchen when he finally stepped inside and closed the door behind him sometime after twelve thirty.