The Bishop's Wife (29 page)

Joseph declined all my offers and said that they were just fine for now.

“Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?” I asked.

“Not yet, Mom. We're going in for an ultrasound in about three weeks and they think they will be able to tell.”

In three weeks, I would find out if I was going to have a granddaughter. The thought terrified me. How could I protect a girl in this world? Somehow it didn't seem the right time for the next generation to start being born. We hadn't figured out this generation yet.

Kurt was as proud of the coming baby as if he were the father. Samuel was thrilled at the idea of being an uncle. Unlike me, neither of them seemed to worry about whether it was a boy or a girl. But we still had to deal with the funeral for Carrie Helm. I am sure that people all over the world have already noticed that births and deaths happen at the same time, but it still seems like a strange thing to me. In the end, I focused on the list of things to get done. Despite the funeral in the afternoon, I spent the morning shopping for a gender-neutral gift for Joseph and Willow and the grandbaby-to-be.

I wrapped the present and put it on the sideboard in the kitchen, so that it would be visible when we had our next family dinner. That was when Kurt came over and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” he asked.

“A present? How could that be a bad idea?” I asked.

“It just seems a little soon. Willow is only—what—three months along? A lot of things could happen between now and six months from now.”

Was he suggesting that the baby wouldn't survive? “Kurt, that is the last thought that I should be having right now.”

“I just want to make sure you don't get hurt,” said Kurt with a sad little shrug.

He was always trying to protect me when I wouldn't protect myself. “The only way to not get hurt would be never to hope for anything and never to love. Is that what you really want?” I asked him.

“No,” he admitted. Then he put on his tie, kissed me, and went to the church to prepare for Carrie Weston Helm's funeral.

I came a little afterward, dressed in a wool skirt and sensible shoes. I hadn't volunteered to help Cheri Tate with this one, though maybe I should have, considering the fraught circumstances.

The funeral was more than a bit schizophrenic. There were flowers everywhere, but they seemed like two completely different sets: one loudly pink and big and feminine, the other more matronly and subdued in color and size. The chapel was also divided clearly. The center section and the right were for the ward. The left was for Carrie's high school friends, women who were her age, some struggling with young children, others standing alone in clothing that seemed not quite appropriate for a funeral, a little too revealing and not nearly black enough. I hated that I thought that, but I did. I shuddered to think it was what Alex Helm would have said.

Kurt had insisted that the news cameras stay outdoors, but that didn't mean there weren't reporters there, in disguise. Or some not so much in disguise. I saw several notebooks flip out when Kurt began his talk. I don't know what they were scribbling down so feverishly. Kurt's talk was largely standard funeral fare. He talked about Christ's atonement covering all sins, even the sins that we think are the worst. Pedophiles, murderers, and adulteresses. He read Christ's response to the Pharisees about the woman caught in adultery. He didn't specifically talk about Carrie being an adulteress but he did look out at the audience and ask quite directly who here was so clean of sin that they could cast the first stone.

I felt a little chill run down my spine at that, and was sure everyone else felt something similar. I thought how good Kurt had become at speaking in just a year. His first week as bishop, he could
never have imagined this kind of emotional response from the audience.

After Kurt finished, Judy Weston got up. She had brought props with her for her speech. Normally, Kurt might have disapproved, but I was glad to see that he had no reaction to this. Judy showed the mourners a photo of Carrie's high school graduation. She had also brought one of Carrie's favorite books,
Bridge to Terabithia
, and read a passage.

Then Judy brought out Carrie's prom dress, which was pale pink with just a little lace at the bodice. She talked about Carrie's love of laughter and comedies, and her piano playing, for which she had won awards in high school. I was shocked to realize I'd had no idea Carrie Helm played the piano. No wonder Kelly had seemed to sit so naturally when she sat on my lap. There was no piano in the Helm house, but Carrie must have taught her daughter about music.

“Carrie loved her daughter beyond anything,” Judy went on. “I'm going to read from a letter that Carrie wrote about Kelly, a letter I did not see until recently.”

I went stiff at this. Was this one of the letters that was to be used in the trial against Jared Helm for abuse? I looked at Kurt and saw that he was holding tightly to the arms of the chair. He didn't want to ask Judy Weston to sit down, but he might have to.

I looked at Aaron Weston and saw a muted smile of satisfaction on his face, and wondered how much of this was his doing. From the first time I'd met him, I'd thought that Judy was manipulated by him. But I should have trusted Judy more.

The paragraph she read was simply Carrie saying that she would do anything to be with her daughter, that there was no threat that would keep her away, that there was no hurt she would not endure to be at her daughter's side and keep her from harm. Then she sat down and it was Aaron's turn.

The smile was gone from Aaron Weston's face when he stood, and I wondered if I had misread it. Except for a niggling feeling on
that first day, everything Aaron Weston had done had made me believe him to be a deeply caring father and a devout, humble Mormon. His talk was one of the best I had ever heard. It was obvious he had spoken at many funerals before, and knew exactly how to engage the grieving family members in the audience. He looked directly at Kelly below him and told her that her mother would be waiting for her, in heaven. He described a scene of a beautiful young woman waiting in a garden for the one thing that would make her heart complete.

“Heaven is a place of peace. No one there feels any degree of pain. They may wish for things. They may hope. But there is no impatience there, no sense of a long passage of time. They wait easily and happily. And I know that Carrie is waiting to see Kelly again. It may be a hundred years, but she will wait there still, and she will be as beautiful as she was the last day that she saw you.”

I felt a sting of pain at the thought of my daughter, waiting. But in Aaron Weston's garden, it did not seem such a terrible thing.

Aaron Weston continued, speaking to his granddaughter in the first row, sandwiched between Jared and Alex Helm. “She will kneel to greet you, Kelly, and she will open her arms and she will tell you that you are her little girl, just as you are now. And at that moment, you will not remember any of the sadness that you feel today. It will all be forgotten. There will only be forgiveness between you. She will be cleaned from all her sins and so will you and you will be two shining daughters of God forever.”

If Kurt was good at speechmaking, Aaron Weston was ten times better. I was wiping at my face and wishing that I had brought more tissues. People sometimes said they'd had a feeling about a man who would turn out to be a prophet, that the Holy Spirit had whispered that this man would be the leader of the Mormon church someday. I felt like that about Aaron Weston at that moment. He was the man who should raise his granddaughter. I had no doubt of that.

Finally, he read some scriptures about heaven from Revelation that supported his vision, but it was that beautiful vision of a garden that stayed with me, long after the songs were over and the funeral luncheon was cleaned up. It made me think of Tobias Torstensen's garden, so carefully kept and so beautiful, even after his death. After the service, there were two distinct lines where people waited to give their respects, one to Jared and Alex Helm—and Kelly—the other to the Westons. Some people only went to offer their respects to one line. Some went to both.

I tried to force myself to go to the Westons first, and then maybe I could manage the other, but I found my legs would not move forward. I was caught at the door of the chapel, reliving my own daughter's funeral, where I had had to stand in a line very like that one, and had struggled to say a single word to the few mourners who were there with us. What words could possibly be adequate, on either side? I had come. I was mourning with them. That was the most I could do.

I noticed that Gwen Ferris and her husband, Brad, were here together. I saw them greeting the Helms, but noticed they left immediately after that without saying anything to the Westons. I suppose they hadn't known Carrie's parents. There was something in Gwen Ferris's expression that struck me. I was trying to figure out what it was when I was startled by a familiar voice.

“Mom, how are you doing?”

I turned around and found my middle son, Kenneth, was there in the hallway by the back door. I realized my hand had flown to my throat. “I didn't know you were coming.”

He looked thin. He hadn't been taking care of himself. I wondered if he thought to eat more than once a day. He was wearing the suit I had bought for him when he was eighteen, just starting to think about a mission. It was too small for him across the shoulders and in the sleeves.

I stared at him and was surprised that he looked more like my
own father than like Kurt. He had my father's hawkish nose, and my father's lean face, as well as my father's ears poking out of slicked-back dark hair. When had that happened?

“Dad told me it was today and I didn't know if I could make it. But I did. It was lovely.”

“But you didn't know Carrie Helm, did you?” I tried to think back on the timeline. When had Kenneth last lived at home?

“No, I didn't know her. I just knew that you were upset by her death and I wanted to come and support you.”

I teared up again. “Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.” I wouldn't have thought Kenneth, of all my sons, would have thought of my feelings. He seemed so distant of late, coming rarely to family dinners because he was busy with his own life in the city.

“I know you'll be fine. But I wanted you to know that I'm here for you. If you need someone to talk to. Dad is great and all that, but I know he is sometimes really well—orthodox.”

I stared at Kenneth for a long moment. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked. I had known he hadn't been attending church for a while, but I'd hoped it was just a stage.

“Don't get that look on your face, Mom,” he said.

“What look?”

“The grieving parent of a wayward child look,” said Kenneth.

I put a hand on his arm. “Kenneth, there are many paths to truth,” I said.

“You mean, so long as I stay in the church,” he said sourly.

I looked around. I knew this was not the right place for us to have this discussion. I kept thinking that Kurt would be coming by, or that someone else in the ward would overhear something and pass it around. “Kenneth, I love you. Just as you are, even your doubting parts.”

He cleared his throat and I had no idea if I had said the right thing or not. “Well, I have to go. I've got to get back to work.”

“Sure,” I said. “I'll see you later.” He managed a series of
laundromats, and Kurt had always thought he could do better, another source of tension between the two of them. But I was so glad he had come to be with me for just this moment, and I couldn't help but reflect on how people are always surprising us. Carrie Helm must have surprised her parents, but in the end, they had loved her and given this beautiful funeral service for her. We can't make our children do anything, but we can always love them.

After Kenneth left, I went into the kitchen to help Cheri Tate with serving the luncheon—the least I could do, since I hadn't helped with anything else.

“So here we are again.” How many funerals had she done this for? And how many weddings? “You've had a lot to do the last couple of months.”

“You can say that again,” she said wearily. “I think I'm going to need a vacation from all callings when I'm finished with this one. If I ever finish with this one.” She eyed me speculatively.

“You don't think the blessings far outweigh all the responsibilities?” Wasn't that what everyone said?

“Blessings don't give me more time. And I need sleep,” said Cheri. She said it with a smile, as if it was a joke, but I thought maybe it wasn't.

It might be wise for me to talk to Kurt about it, but I had no doubt what he would say. That Cheri Tate did not have to do everything herself. She needed to learn to let go and delegate and accept that what other people did was their best, and what was good enough for God should be good enough for her.

Four hours later, on a final pass through the chapel, Cheri found something near the podium and brought it to me.

“I think this must be Carrie's mother's,” she said.

It was the photo of Carrie at her high school graduation.

“Do you think you could get it back to her? I'd hate to just put this in lost and found.”

“Of course,” I said. I had the Westons' address at home. I would
send it to her in the mail, or possibly drive by next week to return it to her.

But as I walked home with the frame under my arm, it occurred to me that Judy might have left it on purpose. Did she hope that someone would give it to Kelly? I walked by the Helm house, thinking there was no way Jared or Alex would allow it in their home. I could sneak it into Kelly's bedroom, perhaps if I had a smaller copy of it. There were no other photographs of Carrie in the house, as I well knew.

When I got home, it was past time to start dinner, but Kurt and Samuel could fend for themselves. I needed to get out of the house to feel like I was doing something to help this terrible tragedy. I drove to a nearby copy store and got a small color copy of the photo, then went back over to the Helm house. I was feeling more stubborn than courageous. And I kept thinking about Kenneth and his strange conversation with me after the funeral. Had Carrie left her family because she had decided that they couldn't love her the way she really was? Had she been trying to leave the Mormon church, as well?