The Bishop's Wife (3 page)

“They won't be sealed for time and all eternity.”

“But there's nothing to be ashamed of. They're marrying, not living together. They're still going to be good members of the
church.” Perdita and Jonathan's marriage would be for “time only,” until they waited the requisite year to be sealed in the temple eternally. The year wait was supposed to make people more eager to marry in the temple in the first place, but it could feel like a punishment. I knew, because Kurt and I had been sealed a year and three days after our own church wedding. It wasn't something that Kurt brought up a lot, but a handful of people in the ward knew about it. “But what if something happens? What if one of them dies before the year is up?” asked Cheri.

“Come now,” I said. “If one of them dies, you're going to be worried about whether they were married in the temple or not?” Surely there were more important things to deal with in those circumstances.

“Yes. It won't be binding in the afterlife.”

“But you can have the sealing done after death,” I said. Wasn't that what temples were all about? Doing vital ordinance work for those who couldn't do it themselves? “Or what if they leave the church, either of them? Then they won't be sealed, either.”

“People leave the church who marry in the temple, too. It's not a guarantee. And the sealing is broken as soon as they disobey their covenants anyway.”

“Maybe you're right and I'm worried over nothing,” said Cheri. “I don't know.” She wiped at her eyes. Then she glanced around to make sure that no one else was there.

Mothers never worry over nothing, but it is true that sometimes we worry over things we can't control. But I knew Cheri would never have had this conversation with me if I weren't with her here, in her time of need, and if I weren't the bishop's wife. “Is Perdita still in the kitchen?”

Cheri shook her head. “She went to get her hair done. Jonathan's sister is doing it.”

“To save money again?”

Cheri nodded and wiped her hands on her apron, which was
on top of a skirt and nice blouse. I had worn jeans and a T-shirt, anticipating hard work, but I think Cheri felt like she had to wear Sunday clothes every time she was inside the church. “But I feel like I'm walking around naked. Everyone in the ward knows every problem in my life. Every mistake I made in raising Perdita. Every time I indulged her when I should have been more strict—every time—”

I put a hand on her arm. “Stop,” I said. “No one is looking at you like that. No one is judging you.” I knew it was a lie. I knew there were plenty of people who were doing just what she was afraid of. Those same people had made judgments about me when I lost my daughter. They told me I hadn't chosen the right doctor, that I hadn't gone to the hospital soon enough, that I should have taken better care of myself while pregnant. But I chose not to let them have power over me. And I didn't think Cheri should let them have power over her, either.

“But—”

“Perdita and Jonathan may end up as one of the best, most moral couples we have ever seen, deeply in love, and devoted to the church. How do you know they won't?”

“But this is such a bad beginning.”

“It's not a bad beginning. It's just not the beginning you imagined.” But of course, Mormons have to have absurdly high standards. Other people try not to drink to excess. Mormons refuse to drink at all. Other people cut back on their coffee at Lent. Mormons drink neither coffee nor tea, ever, and I know plenty of Mormons who think it is wrong to drink hot chocolate, or herbal tea, or decaffeinated coffee. Or anything that could be mistaken for tea at a casual glance. Or anything coffee-flavored. Or rum-flavored. Or even vanilla extract.

“What if they have children?” asked Cheri.

I thought of Kelly Helm. A temple marriage hadn't saved her parents' marriage, or her. What was sealed in heaven often didn't
make a damn bit of difference on earth. “Let's focus on the good things right now,” I said, “not all the bad things that might go wrong in the future. Perdita and Jonathan love each other. They're going to be happy together. They both have strong testimonies of the church. Do you believe that?”

Cheri nodded, then started to cry again.

“This is their wedding day. You're supposed to be happy for them,” I reminded her.

She nodded again, and straightened. “You're right. I can't indulge myself. I have to put on the face they expect to see. All of them.”

That wasn't precisely what I had meant, but I guess it would have the desired effect.

She started getting out the tables that were stored under the stage on the north side behind the basketball hoop. We set chairs around the tables, and I found the nice lace tablecloths in the Relief Society closet. Silver and gold horns, jewels, and links went on the center of every table, along with flowers in a silver and gold vase.

Other women came in then, and I excused myself. The plates would have to be set up, and the photographer would show up at some point. There would need to be signs on the through street outside directing people to the right building. In Draper, Utah, there were many Mormon churches, and they all were built on the same plan, so they looked nearly identical.

In the meantime, I went shopping, watched the news while I cleaned the house, and spent some time with a good book of the sort that Joseph Smith was thinking of when he said that “anything that is lovely, of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” I attended the Relief Society monthly book club regularly, and we were frequently giving each other recommendations for books without bad language, bad moral values, or explicit sex.

I hadn't had a job since I was pregnant with my oldest son, and I kept myself busy. But lately, I had begun to wonder if I ought to be
contributing to the world as more than a wife and mother. It wasn't that we needed the money, but with Samuel about to leave home, I would have more time on my hands.

Being a bishop's wife wasn't a full-time job and it certainly didn't pay. But then again, no calling in the Mormon church does. Bishops, stake presidents, and all the other leadership positions were unpaid. That meant if you were called to go on a mission, you had to pay for it yourself. The prophet and the apostles had their travel expenses paid for and were sometimes given a stipend, but usually not.

Kurt was as an accountant, and would continue to work as one through his years as bishop and whatever came afterward. His life was particularly difficult during tax season, when he had to balance double business hours as well as his church work. We didn't see him for much of March and April. Kurt had been bishop through one tax season already, and that meant it would likely be four more until he was released as bishop and another man from the ward would take over.

I
CAME BACK
to the church with Kurt that evening for Perdita and Jonathan's ceremony. Kurt had put on a clean white shirt and tie and I was wearing one of my best dresses, a shell pink sheath that everyone said looked good on me. It made me slightly uncomfortable because pink had never been a color I liked much, but this was a wedding, and it was not about me being comfortable.

Inside the cultural hall, under the gazebo, Kurt waited for people to arrive (Mormon-standard time meant ten minutes after the wedding was supposed to begin). I sat quietly in the front row, listening to heels tapping and squeaking on hardwood. Tom deRyke and Karl Ashby, the first and second counselors in the bishopric, arrived next with their wives, Verity and Emma. I greeted them with a nod. More people arrived by the ten minute after mark, which was pretty typical of Mormon standard time.

Then Kurt brought the couple up to the front and gave them
advice. This was the longest part of any Mormon wedding ceremony, in a church or in the temple.

“Jonathan, you need to think of Perdita as the most important person in your life now. You give her one hundred percent because no marriage works unless both people are giving all they can. And if it feels like Perdita isn't giving as much as you are, get on your knees right at that moment. Ask God to show you what you aren't seeing. Because we are all blind. We see what we sacrifice, but we take for granted what other people give up. And that is true nowhere more than in a marriage,” said Kurt.

He turned to Perdita. “Perdita, Jonathan is your top priority now. I don't mean making him happy or pretending to agree with him.” Kurt's eyes slid toward mine and I couldn't repress a slight smile. “I mean, his real well-being. If he is wrong, I don't want you to think that being a good wife means ignoring that. Being a good wife means telling him the truth as best you can. It means dealing with the hard stuff together. It means having courage to face the world, and having even more courage to face God together.”

I knew very well what Kurt was doing here. He hadn't said a word about the temple marriage ceremony or the secret endowment ceremony that these two would have gone to if they'd ended up marrying there. But his advice was filled with allusions to temple doctrine. The Adam and Eve story might be about women making the wrong choice in other religions, but in Mormonism, it is all about Eve making the right choice, even if it meant facing difficult consequences. She was the one who reminded Adam that they couldn't obey the commandment to multiply and replenish the earth unless they ate of the fruit, and Joseph Smith argued that she spent a thousand years thinking over the decision before she finally had the courage to face the consequences of being sent out of the Garden.

When Kurt was finished with his advice, the simple wedding ceremony was merely a question, at which Perdita and Jonathan agreed to marry each other with a single-word answer: “Yes.”

They exchanged rings after the words were said, but it wasn't a necessary part of the ceremony.

The couple turned around to the family members watching from their chairs. There was some light applause as people tried to decide if it was appropriate or not. The couple kissed a second time, this time a lot longer. The photographer zoomed closer, but I had the sense that this was a real kiss, not one extended for show. It gave me a good feeling. I was glad to see that what I had told Cheri earlier wasn't a pleasant lie. These two had a better chance than most couples.

Cheri came forward and hugged her daughter and her new son-in-law. No tears in her eyes now.

More photographs of the extended family were taken. I watched with some satisfaction as they posed under the gazebo I had put together. It didn't fall on anyone.

Kurt came up behind me and put his arms around me. He leaned close and I could feel his breath in my ear.

“Happy memories?” he asked.

I was a little choked up. I nodded rather than trying to speak.

“I was a lucky man then. I am an even luckier man now.”

“I frustrate you to no end sometimes,” I said. “And I have as loud a mouth as ever I did.”

“I frustrate you, too,” said Kurt. “And as for your mouth.” He slid his arms around me, then kissed me gently. “I have always loved your mouth, open or closed, full of words, full of love, or full of sharp barbs. I love it all. I love all of you.” We held hands for a little while, until he was called away.

I stayed through the end of the reception, and after the couple had gone, I helped Cheri clean up in the cultural hall, the halls around the church, and finally in the kitchen.

“Their car was kept safe?” I asked. That was one tradition I had never approved of.

“My husband had it in the garage. He came and brought it to them, so no one could cover it in slime.”

“Good for him,” I said. He was helping sweep the polished wooden floors of the gym.

I stared at the place and thought how strange it was that we could repurpose the same room for so many different things. This cultural hall would see everything in the course of its life. Funeral luncheons, weddings, basketball games, monthly Relief Society meetings, a Road Show or Stake Pageant, music practices, Sunday School, Young Men's and Young Women's activities, Boy Scout meetings, and the overflow from sacrament meetings and stake conferences.

In many ways, this hall was the most Mormon place of them all. Didn't that make it holy in its own way? Maybe more holy than the quiet, white temple that was not part of our weekly worship?

This hall was where God came, if you believed in God.

And I did. After all this time and all my doubts, I did.

Kurt went to church two hours early on Sundays, at six thirty. We shared our building with two other wards in the same neighborhood, and since we had the nine o'clock schedule this year—instead of the more envied eleven o'clock schedule or the nap-stealing one o'clock schedule—that meant his meetings with our other ward leaders were mighty early. He sometimes tried to get home for fifteen minutes before church started so he could spend time with the family and get some food.

I had started making breakfast when he called. I sighed, knowing the fact that he was calling meant he wouldn't make it home before church this week. It was likely he wouldn't be done meeting with members and giving callings until late afternoon. And he would have to go back in the evening for a fireside or other activity.

“Brother Rhodes called to ask me to talk to him,” he said.

Brother Rhodes wasn't an “official” member because he lived outside the ward boundaries. He had argued with his own bishop and thus had come to our ward as a kind of rogue member.

I made a small sound—not quite a groan. “You know he isn't your problem,” I said.

“He feels like my problem,” said Kurt.

“At some point, someone needs to tell him to go back to his own ward and mend fences.”

“I tell him that every time he talks to me,” said Kurt. “But he has some genuine grievances. You know he does.”

Brother Rhodes was a stickler for historical fact. This did not always go over well in gospel doctrine classes, which were designed to give people a warm feeling about the church, and perhaps a bit of a kick in the pants to work harder and stop criticizing so much. But Brother Rhodes had a PhD in history and he could not bear inaccuracy. When polygamy came up, he had to explain every date in detail, every bad story about Joseph Smith that had been told, and what he thought was likely or unlikely about it. A number of ward members found these kinds of frank discussions about the founder and greatest prophet of Mormonism unsettling.