The Bishop's Wife (9 page)

“But the news reporters didn't come into the church building, did they? It's private property,” said Samuel.

Kurt's mouth twitched at that. “It's private property, but the signs say
ALL WELCOME
. We don't want to give the impression that you have to be a member to attend services. So that means we can't really keep reporters out, either.”

I was astonished at the gall of anyone coming into a religious meeting to insist on interviews. But then again, this was their job, Mormons or not.

“Were they bothering Kelly at all?” I asked. “Trying to get her to talk on camera?” The idea of making that little girl's life worse than it already was made me want to hunt down every reporter there
and make them vacuum up Cheerios for the next ten years of their lives.

Kurt said, “They were trying to get anyone on camera they could. The Primary Presidency, Kelly's classmates, even the deacons who eventually went to give the Helms Sacrament at home.”

“The deacons?” said Samuel. “Why? What would they know?”

“I don't think they knew anything, but they're the youngest and most vulnerable. They look like church leaders on camera to some extent, in ties and white shirts and suits. I told them not to speak to any reporters,” said Kurt. “I gave them strict instructions before they left the church.”

“I saw at least one of them on camera,” I said. Maybe it wasn't keeping the Sabbath holy to watch the news, but I often did anyway.

Samuel made a face. “I bet I can guess which one, too.”

Samuel did not always get along with the other young men in the ward, though it was often for reasons that I sympathized with. There are certain teenage boys who are forces of nature, and it is only going on a mission that tames them. Though heaven help the mission president who ends up with them on his roster.

“You could make sure he regrets it,” Samuel offered with a smile. “He could get called into the priests quorum. Or be called as one of the young men who help the Cub Scouts. Or he could be asked to organize a special service project.”

“Thanks for the ideas,” said Kurt. “But I think I will let the Lord offer suggestions instead, Samuel.” He pushed his plate away. I had made a fine dinner of chicken fettuccine with fresh rosemary in the sauce and tiny peas on the side, but I didn't think it mattered how well I cooked now that Kurt was bishop and had other things on his mind. “Isn't it time for you to be in bed?” Kurt said to Samuel. “It's a school night.”

“It's not even nine,” said Samuel. “And I'm not a little kid anymore. I know when I need to go to sleep.”

“Bedroom, then. Quiet time,” said Kurt.

When Kurt and I were left in the kitchen, I said, “You're worried about something else.”

Kurt stood and bused his dish. “If Jared and Kelly Helm can't come to church, I feel like they might slip through the cracks.” He stared at the refrigerator as if he expected a note about Jared and Kelly Helm to magically appear there.

“You mean, no one from the ward will be able to check on them.”

“Yes.” Kurt looked up at me and I realized he was thinking something he couldn't say. I was worried about Kelly, but Kurt's mind was hierarchical.

“You think Jared might do something?” I asked. “To himself?” Jared Helm hadn't struck me as the kind of man who would easily become despondent. But with his wife gone, his daughter entirely dependent on him, his job slipping away, and now being trapped in his house by the news reporters outside—I had not considered any of this when I told the Westons to go to the press about Carrie.

When the Westons came to talk to us in Kurt's office, I had been so sure that Jared had killed Carrie. But since then, I'd developed doubts. I'd seen that Jared Helm was controlling, and I believed he had whacky political ideas. He was inflexible and arrogant, as I'd had plenty of chances to see in church. But that didn't necessarily mean he was a murderer. Whatever Carrie's letter had said, it wasn't proof of anything but her state of mind. She had been afraid of him, but had she believed he would kill her? And even if she'd believed it, did that make it true?

If he was innocent, then I had caused a lot of problems for a man who was trying to be a good father in the way he knew how. I had ultimately created a situation where Kelly could not go to church.

“I don't know what to think,” said Kurt. “But I know that we're in a ward so we can look out for each other, and now I've asked Jared Helm to sacrifice his fellowship in the ward for the
sake of the rest of us. Now, when he might need us the most. I feel terrible about it.”

Kurt felt like anything that happened on his watch was his burden to bear, not only in this life but in the one to come. Priesthood authority had that disadvantage. God expects an accounting for those under your care, and so Kurt would never blame me for what I had done, since he had stood by and let me do it. I was his wife and if he could not use gentle persuasion to convince me he was right, it was his problem.

“I could bring him a homemade loaf of bread,” I suggested, and wrote Jared Helm on a note to put on the fridge myself. “That might at least get me in the door.”

“Thank you,” said Kurt, closing his hand around mine as I put a magnet in place.

I was more concerned about Kelly than Jared, but isolation wasn't going to make him a better father. “Are you sure you don't want to go see him yourself?”

Kurt shook his head. “If it's a visit from the bishop, it's official. He'd be on guard. But you have a much better chance of seeing what is actually going on there.”

I would be all but invisible to Jared Helm, who wouldn't respect me enough to imagine I had any ulterior motive. Kurt was telling me quite clearly that he, Kurt, did respect me as his partner in this, that he valued and relied on my abilities. My husband knew exactly how to push my buttons.

“So you're starting to think he might have done something to Carrie?” I asked after a moment.

He sighed. “I don't know what to think, honestly.”

“Whatever the truth is, by refusing to speak to the police, Jared isn't acting like an innocent man,” I said. The public response to the Westons' televised appeal had been enough for Carrie Helm's disappearance to be upgraded to “suspicious” and for there to be an official investigation opened.

“He's angry and he feels betrayed,” said Kurt. “He might act like that even if everything he says about Carrie's disappearance is true.”

“Hmm. I hope that if I disappeared you would be out there with the searchers, looking for me in fields and mountains, not telling people that I must have left you and my children because I was crazy.”

Kurt smiled at that. “Luckily, I am not afraid of that happening.”

“Because you think I'm too much in love with you to ever leave?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because you would make sure everyone heard about all my faults if you decided to leave me,” said Kurt. He paused. “And if you were kidnapped, you would do a ‘Ransom of Red Chief' on them. They'd regret it and bring you back as soon as they could.”

I let out a laugh. “I hope so. But you may be the only one who knows what a pain I can be. Lucky you.”

“And the boys,” said Kurt. “And some of the teachers at the school that you've wrangled with on the boys' behalf. But just because your strength isn't always visible doesn't mean it isn't powerful. In fact, I have often thought the reverse is true.”

“Bonus husband points,” I told him, leaning closer.

“Ooh. You know how much I try to earn those,” he said with a smile. He kissed me and then nuzzled my neck. For a moment, I thought it was going to turn into more than that. Kurt was good in bed, even if he didn't have time for it very often anymore. That was one of the things that the stake president didn't talk about when he asked you about supporting your husband in being the bishop. Long hours was one thing, but when it was compounded by lack of sleep and the distraction of other people's problems, it did not make for a high libido. When Kurt was released in four years, I wondered how long it would take him to recover. I was looking forward to finding out.

But the doorbell rang, rupturing the moment. “Who could that be?” I said, barely restraining myself from cursing.

“Oh, I know who it is,” said Kurt.

“On a Sunday night? Don't they know you've spent all day at church already?”

Kurt shrugged. “It was the only time that fit into their schedule and it was important. Really important. They are struggling, Linda. I know you'd want me to help a young couple struggling.” He kissed me again, less passionately this time. What had he been thinking, to kiss me like that before, when he knew we would be interrupted?

Kurt opened the door. To my surprise, Gwen Ferris and her husband, Brad, were standing there waiting. They were holding hands, but Gwen seemed nervous. She glanced past Kurt at me, and then looked away again.

“Come into my office,” said Kurt, and he closed the front door and gestured them in.

Gwen moved awkwardly and nearly fell into a houseplant that was on the floor by the office door. Brad grabbed her and steadied her.

“Did I hurt it?” she asked, patting at the leaves.

The plant had survived five teenage boys careening by it every day, so it was unlikely that one grown woman was going to bother it. “I'm sure it's fine,” I said, still curiously watching Gwen. The fact that she was here with her husband seemed to indicate they were coming for marital counseling. I knew there was trouble having children, but was there more? Gwen's eyes were puffy and red. Her whole demeanor suggested shame and discomfort. She moved into the office with her shoulders hunched, as if trying to make herself smaller.

Gwen's husband had always seemed such a nice man to me. He had one of those baby faces that made you think he would always look young. Could he possibly have abused her? An extreme conclusion to jump to, but I suppose after everything we'd heard about Jared and Carrie Helm, I was anticipating abuse everywhere.

“Go on in,” said Kurt in a cheerful voice. He waited until they were inside to turn back to me.

Samuel was already in bed, but I went into the kitchen and made some more fresh cinnamon rolls. There was a batch waiting in a
take-away tin for the Ferrises when they came out of Kurt's office at about one o'clock. I read in the front room, waiting for my husband. Once I had offered the rolls and the Ferrises were gone, I climbed the stairs slowly at Kurt's side.

“You too tired?” asked Kurt, massaging my back.

“Definitely not,” I said.

Monday morning, I couldn't sleep in, despite how tired I felt. I went into the kitchen and worked on some homemade wheat bread in the empty house. For some reason, the only recipe I knew how to make was for eight loaves. I had an oven large enough to fit them all at once, but after I'd pulled them out, I still had to wait until one of them was cool enough to wrap in plastic. Then I looked around for a bow that didn't look too holiday-specific. A plain gold one would do, yes.

And because I couldn't help myself, I cut into one of the loaves fresh out of the oven, burned my tongue on the first bite, and then blew out while taking the next three bites. The wonderful thing about hot bread is that you can't tell how much butter is melting into the dense, moist crust. I always put on as much as the bread can hold.

I cleaned myself up, put on a coat and walked over to Jared Helm's house. The news vans were still there; a head peeked out of one of the windows as I passed.

“Who are you?” a voice called out.

“The bishop's wife,” I called back, and that was that. They didn't need any more information from me, it seemed. I tried not to be annoyed that my presence was taken for granted; my invisibility was an advantage.

I rang the doorbell and waited patiently for several minutes. I could hear someone behind the door, looking through the peephole. I held out the bread. “Bringing a gift,” I said.

Finally, the door opened.

Jared Helm looked as if he had been exercising. He was wet with sweat and his hair was standing on end. He must have run his fingers through it a hundred times. “Sister Wallheim, come in,” he said.

“I thought you could use some home-baked bread,” I said. I couldn't find it in myself to offer him verbal sympathy.

He took it from my hands. “Thank you so much. It feels warm still.”

“Just out of the oven.” I tried not to be too obvious about looking for Kelly behind him.

“It's so nice to know that there are people out there on my side,” he said, and caught a sob. And that was all it took—the next thing I knew he leaned forward and put his head on my shoulder. I felt awkward and tried to remind myself that I was the mother of the ward, and that included Jared Helm, guilty or not. We are all sinners, aren't we?

He took a deep breath. I closed my eyes for a moment and thought of Samuel with his head on my shoulder. It helped.

Then I heard a voice. “Daddy, can I come downstairs? It smells good.”

Jared pulled away from me and wiped at his face. “Come on, Kelly,” he said, beckoning to her.

She skipped down to him, and threw her arms around him. Her hair had been combed and pulled into a ponytail, but it was already looking a little matted at the back, and curls were poking out around her ears. Her outfit was horribly mismatched, pink polka-dotted leggings with a plaid flannel shirt. She had big pink pig slippers on, as well, which looked as if they had passed their best days. I didn't know if her father had allowed her to dress herself or if this was his idea of appropriate clothing, but it was hardly evidence of abuse.
Or neglect, for that matter. For the moment, he seemed an ordinary father with a daughter he adored.

He carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter. The cabinets were white-painted wood that looked as if it had been done recently, with the stencils that are so popular as lessons at Relief Society meetings. Likely Carrie had done them herself. The floor was spotless, and the dishes were all in the dishwasher. There were no high-priced, flashy appliances, but it looked like a kitchen that was used often.