The Bishop's Wife

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  Now he was retired and she had worked part-time intermittently when she chose. She had an independence, financially and emotionally, that I admired enormously. It seemed she had been able to manage all the things women are told they can’t juggle at once: job, marriage, children. She was what I wished I could be like when my sons were all gone from the house and raising their own children. She didn’t seem lonely at all. She seemed full of energy and sure of herself.

  I suppose I had been intimidated by her for most of the time I had been in the ward and had never spent much time talking to her other than in passing. But I should have. I knew it the moment I saw her. I could have learned from her.

  I handed her the cinnamon rolls. It felt like a gimmick, the traditional Mormon woman offering homemade food.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m afraid I don’t have time for a chat.” She put a hand on the door to close it again.

  “Is it Tobias? Can I do anything to help?” I asked, a little hurt at the rejection, as though I were one of those missionaries who had just tried to place a Book of Mormon. I fully expected the door to continue closing. I was already rehearsing explaining to Kurt that I had failed.

  But Anna’s hand dropped, and I saw a look of fear passing over her eyes. “He won’t let me take him to the hospital, but he’s so pale and he’s wheezing, as if he can’t get in enough air.” She took a breath and hesitated. “Would you come look at him and tell me what you think? Try to convince him to go in if you think he should. He won’t listen to me, but if it’s someone else’s opinion, it might help.”

  “Of course,” I said. I knew all too well that men sometimes have to be coaxed along to seek medical attention. Just last year, Kurt had ended up with pneumonia after tax season. I had told him again and again that he needed to cancel meetings and stay home in bed. He wouldn’t listen to me. And then one morning, he simply could not get out of bed. He said he felt like there was an elephant on his chest. I’d had to have Samuel help me get him into the car, and I drove him to the hospital in a dripping sweat of anxiety. The doctors told him he might have died if he hadn’t come in for another day, so I felt a little vindicated.

  But then Kurt had taken calls as bishop right in the hospital, counseling other people until I went behind his back and told people that Kurt might die if he wasn’t given peace. I won’t say everyone listened to me, but it helped.

  Such delicate creatures men are, I thought. With their pride.

  I went upstairs to the Torstensens’ master bedroom. It was very clean and rather sparse, with few feminine touches. Was it because Anna was not typically feminine? Or because she had felt constrained not to change the way things had been when she came into a family already formed? I had never considered how hard it must have been for her to step into another woman’s shoes.

  But as soon as I saw Tobias, my thoughts about Anna were pushed to the side. He looked fragile indeed. There was a smell in the room, some combination of sweat and medicine, that felt wrong. Kurt had been right to put Anna’s name on the fridge.

  I moved closer to the bed and stood over Tobias. His hair was very dark, obviously dyed, the roots pure white around the crown of his head. He still had a full head of hair, though, which was more than Kurt could say, and Tobias had to be in his seventies.

  “How are you today, Tobias?” I asked.

  The old man’s hands were shaking, and he seemed to have difficulty focusing. But he said in a strong voice, “I’m fine. I don’t need any help. You can tell Anna she doesn’t need to watch over me like a mother hen.”

  Anna Torstensen? A mother hen?

  “She’s only worried about you,” I said softly. I didn’t want to chide him about his attitude. I was more concerned about his health. “Can you tell me what happened?” This seemed far beyond the cold or flu I’d assumed he had.

  “Nothing happened. I’m only getting old,” said Tobias.

  “He was out in the garden,” said Anna. “And he fell. I didn’t see him until I got home in the evening. I can’t find any sign of a broken bone, but it’s been three days.”

  And neither of them had come to church yesterday, which had signaled something in Kurt’s subconscious. Or maybe it was the Spirit whispering to him, depending on your view of the world. Anna came to church tirelessly. I should have noticed she was missing in Relief Society. I might have, if I hadn’t been preoccupied with Gwen Ferris.

  I leaned closer to Tobias. I could see a purple bruise on his right wrist and arm, presumably from the fall. But I could see no sign of a break. Still, at his age, it was worrisome.

  “He should get an X-ray,” I said.

  “I don’t need an X-ray,” said Tobias sharply. “Nothing is broken. I can move my arm perfectly well. If it were broken, it would be swollen.”

  “It could be a hairline fracture,” said Anna.

  “And what would they do for that? Nothing at all. I just need a little rest, and then I’ll go back out to the garden and finish what I was doing,” said Tobias, waving his hands as if to grip something and lever himself out of bed. He gave up and lay back.

  “But it’s winter,” I said. “What are you doing out there at this time of year?”

  “Says someone who knows nothing about gardening,” said Tobias.

  I tried not to be stung by this. He was understandably irritable, and I wasn’t a gardener. I didn’t even try to grow vegetables, despite the frequent reminders in General Conference that we should grow as much of our own food as we could.

  “I told him that we could hire someone else to do it for him, but he won’t hear of it,” said Anna.

  Tobias made a face at Anna’s words. He was clearly not in a mood to listen to me or Anna. Which meant this was something for Kurt to deal with, I thought. Man to man. “It would make Anna feel better if you saw a doctor, you know,” I tried again. “She’s very worried about you.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t make me feel better,” said Tobias, waving me off again. “It would make me feel worse. I hate doctors. All they do is tell you what you already know. You’re too old. You’re too thin. You’re too tired.”

  “It’s good to have someone remind us of what we know, don’t you think?” I said, turning to see Anna’s face sink in despair.

  “No, I don’t,” said Tobias.

  “So you don’t care what Anna thinks or feels?” I said, trying one last time.

  Tobias’s demeanor changed for a moment. “Of course I care what Anna feels. I love Anna more than—more than life itself.” Tears suddenly appeared in his eyes, and even if he didn’t shed them, I was touched. His first wife had died of cancer, very young, as I recalled. His relationship with Anna had always seemed a little businesslike, but that might be Anna’s doing as much as it was his.

  “Then wouldn’t you want to help set her mind at ease? If you don’t want to drive all the way to the hospital, Kurt might be able to find someone in the stake who could come see you at home.”

  Tobias looked away. “I saw a doctor two weeks ago, Anna,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and almost ashamed.

  Two weeks ago? Then whatever was making him unwell had nothing to do with his fall in the garden.

  Anna picked up Tobias’s hand and held it to her cheek as if she were a young bride again, desperately in love. “What did he say, then? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Suddenly, I felt as if I were intruding. I withdrew a little, moving to the door, but I did not leave the room—partly because that might have been even more disruptive than staying, but also partly, I admitted to myself, because I was curious about what the doctor had said. I had always been curious as a child, and growing older had not cured me of it. It was why I was a news junkie, switching back and forth through all the commercials to get as much information as possible.

  “It’s my heart,” said Tobias at last. “He gave it a fancy name. But if I wanted him to translate what’s wrong with me into Latin, I’d get out my dictionary.”

  Anna smile
d valiantly at this. “Your heart? Go on.”

  “The point is that my heart is failing. It’s just spent too long beating and it wants a rest. The final rest,” he said, his impatience returning.

  “But can’t they do anything?” said Anna, leaning over him, the picture of devotion.

  “They can put me on a monitor, but as far as I can tell, all that will do is make it more clear how close to the end I am. He can give me something to help me feel better, but nothing that will make me live any longer.”

  “But what about a transplant? Can’t they get you a new heart?” asked Anna.

  “I’m too old. No one wants to put a new heart in this body.” Tobias gestured down at himself. “Save it for someone who has more of a chance at life.”

  “Then you—” Anna began, pressing her hand to her mouth.

  “I’m dying,” said Tobias. “And not very slowly anymore.”

  A sound like a cry. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her head sunk to his shoulder, and he patted her back ineffectually.

  It was one of the sweetest things I had ever seen. Their marriage might not be a typical one, at least not in Utah, but this was true love. I felt a tiny prick of jealousy for them, then reminded myself that I loved Kurt, too. He put up with all my failings and I put up with his, and we had five sons together. We were very happy, in our own way. I didn’t need to see Kurt close to death to remember how much I loved him.

  “I’m not going to give up working in the garden,” said Tobias when Anna pulled back from him. “Even if that doctor did say that it might give me a few more weeks.”

  Anna laughed shakily, wiping at her face. “I don’t expect the impossible.”

  I stepped out the bedroom door at that. Anna met me in the front room after a while.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her face was streaked with tears. I realized I didn’t think of her as any less strong because of that. Maybe I thought of her as stronger, because she felt no need to hide her emotions. She was honest and open, and that was something I had always admired.

  She sat down on the tan couch, and I finally felt able to sit as well. My legs ached.

  “I’ll tell Kurt,” I said. He would want to alert the high priests group, the most senior men in the ward, so that they could check in on Tobias regularly. And the Relief Society would need to prepare to deal with a funeral and the aftermath for Anna. “Do you need anything? Meals?” I asked. Food again. It probably wasn’t what Anna really needed, but it might make her feel connected and cared for. But Anna shook her head. “We’re fine. I think we’ll take it one day at a time. I like cooking these days. Though Tobias used to be the cook in the family. He complained about my cooking more, too. I’m not sure if I’ve actually gotten better or if he just can’t taste the difference anymore.”

  “We’ll assume it’s not because he’s simply mellowed out and doesn’t complain about the little things,” I said, smiling and thinking about what he’d said about doctors.

  Anna let out a brief laugh. “No, that’s not it,” she said.

  I stood up, preparing to leave. I had surely outstayed the minimal welcome I had expected. “I’ll come back to check on you in a few days, if that’s all right,” I said, and not only because Kurt would want me to. It was only now that I was leaving that I realized how much I wanted to stay and talk to Anna.

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” said Anna.

  “Would you prefer I didn’t?” I asked bluntly. “Do I bore you?” It was absolutely the wrong thing to say, and I wished I hadn’t as soon as it was out. But I realized I cared about her opinion. She had done so much more with her life than I had with mine. I always excused myself because I got started so late, but that hadn’t stopped her.

  “Not at all,” said Anna. “I didn’t mean that. I only meant that I’m sure you have a lot of other important things to do, as the bishop’s wife. You don’t need to come play nursemaid to me. I’m perfectly capable of managing things on my own.”

  “I know that,” I said. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. “And that is precisely why I’d like to know you better.” I felt dizzy as I said the whole truth, and hoped it didn’t come back to hurt me.

  “If you want to, then,” said Anna. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to be kind, or if she just had other things to think about. But I would stop thinking about myself, now. There would be plenty of time for us to become better acquainted.

  She stood and moved to the door with me. Her eyes seemed distant. “I think his wife died of a heart condition,” she said. “His first wife.”

  I put my hand on the doorknob, then turned back. “I thought she died of cancer.” I tried to remember where I’d heard that.

  “No. It was her heart. The boys speak of it frequently. I don’t know if it’s irony or some kind of cosmic justice, but … when his heart fails as well, he will return to her in heaven. Do you know, we were never married in the temple? He feels he is still bound to her, though he and I have been married five times as long.”

  “He has his sons with her, I suppose,” I said, opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. Did this bureaucratic detail bother her? If anyone questioned the nitty-gritty details of who would be with whom in the afterlife, we were told that God would work it out, and that there was the whole millennium for church work and temple sealings to be finished while Christ Himself would be leading the church. But why had Tobias not had the sealing done here and now? The Mormon church didn’t allow living widowed women to be sealed again to a second husband, though men had a different rule. A man who had been a widower could be married to a second wife so long as she hadn’t been sealed before. And if his second wife died, even a third wife could be sealed to him while he was still living. If he was divorced, that was a different story completely, and he’d have to have special permission for a sealing to be canceled by the First Presidency before he married again.

  I wondered if Kurt even knew that Anna was not sealed to Tobias. “You can always be sealed now,” I said.

  Anna shook her head. She was leaning against the door, holding it open now, though before she had nearly closed it on me. “He won’t do it. I always thought he would change his mind. He said that he never would. At least he warned me. He is one of the most truthful people I know. His truth may hurt, but at least he does not hide it.”

  “Yes, I prefer the truth, as well. Might as well get it over with from the first.” I felt a surge of sympathy for Anna once more. Why had I never gotten to know her better? Fear of not being good enough had kept me from someone who might have been a dear friend.

  I told her I would come see her again soon, then went home and read an old Agatha Christie novel, one of my favorites, One, Two, Buckle My Shoe. I had always liked mysteries.

  Samuel came home in the afternoon, and he mentioned he was trying to decide between two girls to ask to a dance at school.

  “You should go with the person you want to go with,” I said, thinking it was a simple choice. I didn’t remember any of my other sons having this problem.

  “But how do I know who I want to go with?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

  “I thought you said there was a girl you wanted to spend more time with?”

  “There is,” said Samuel. “But she isn’t—I don’t think she feels like that for me.”

  Like that? I suppose he didn’t want to go into more detail with his mother. “And another girl does feel like that for you?” I asked.

  Samuel squirmed, which looked very odd at his height. A giant child-man. “But I don’t feel like that for her, and I worry if I ask her out, she might think …” He trailed off.

  Samuel thought I understood what he was talking about. He was supposed to suppress sexual feelings as if they were wrong. I supposed there were advantages to this indoctrination. At least the church taught clearly that it was not his right to satisfy sexual urges on any girl he thought was pretty.

  “I wish we could put aside the whole dating thin
g and just go out as friends. Not pair up or anything, just be a big group,” said Samuel.

  Again, I thought how different he was from my other sons, who had complained that they wished there weren’t so many strict rules on where you could touch a girl, how you could look at her, and how long you could kiss. “Well, eventually, you’ll be thinking about getting married, you know. You might as well practice spending one-on-one time now.”

  Samuel made a face, but he didn’t say anything more, just loped upstairs to do his homework. He was such an easy kid in so many ways. He’d always been obedient. He was kind and gentle and he understood feelings in a way that even teenage girls struggled to do. But there were these weird areas that he didn’t manage, like dating. It seemed like it should have been so natural, especially for someone like Samuel, who socialized easily. But it wasn’t, and that was just one of the mysteries of my life, I suppose.

  Kurt came home at six, the usual time for dinner. We sat and ate, the three of us. It was good family time, with inside jokes Samuel then texted to Joseph and Adam to make them laugh.

  After dinner, when Samuel had gone back upstairs, I found a moment to talk to Kurt as we worked together on the dishes. I told him about Tobias Torstensen’s heart, and about the fact that he had never been sealed to Anna.

  “He’s been a wonderful ward member. We’ll be sad to lose him,” said Kurt, handing me plates. “But there’s nothing I can do about his choice not to be sealed to Anna, you know. That’s a personal decision between him and God. And his first wife, of course.”

  I felt a pang for Anna. Would she be alone in the eternities? The church taught that everyone who was in the celestial kingdom had to be in a marriage—marriage was the highest law of the gospel—but that didn’t mean she had to be married to Tobias. In the old days, people would say worthy single women were lucky because they’d be married to Joseph Smith or Brigham Young in the afterlife. But people didn’t say that anymore since anything but historical polygamy had been scripted out of the mainstream Mormon church. Who would all the worthy single women marry, then? The boys who died young and were supposed to be “perfect” because they hadn’t had a chance to sin before the age of eight, the age of accountability?