The Bishop's Wife

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  “Because it’s the human condition, being stupid,” I said. “We all have to make excuses for each other or we would never survive.”

  He let out a short breath, then nodded. “True,” he said. “Thank you. For treating me normally.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. I wasn’t sure I had treated him normally, but he was clearly a devoted father and that meant a lot to me.

  I stood up, ready to leave. I didn’t want him to think I was staying too long, and I had found out what I wanted to know about Kelly. Whether or not Jared was guilty of abusing his wife wasn’t yet clear to me, but Kelly was well enough. For now.

  “If you really want to help me, there is something you could do,” he said.

  I turned back. “Yes?”

  “I’d like to write a statement for the press. I’m working on it already, actually. I’m wondering if you would look it over, tell me what you think. Maybe the bishop could look at it, too? I would really appreciate it if he could add a statement of support or faith in me. Anything, really. I don’t want to talk to the press, but I feel like I need to say something. I’m innocent, and I need to start looking like I am.”

  “Of course,” I said, though my mind was spinning. So he was planning to go to the press, but not to the police? It was what the Westons had done.

  “Can I email it to you?” he asked. “The address on the church website is good, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and moved to the door.

  “Thank you so much, again. Kelly, tell Sister Wallheim thank you for the bread.”

  Kelly chimed in behind me, and I was outside again, staring at the news vans. I hurried home and checked my email. In the time it had taken to cross the half block between us, Jared Helm had already sent his email. But the statement to the press made me go cold.

  I am enormously saddened by the decision my wife has taken to leave our marriage and our daughter. She has often been troubled and ill during the years we have been together, but I always supported her and gave her all the help she asked for. I do not understand why she could not have trusted me to continue to do so. I have always been a loving father and husband, and will continue to do what I can to protect my young daughter now that she has been made so much more vulnerable to pain at her mother’s departure.

  I do not know where Carrie has gone. She did not tell me, and she left no hints in the things that remain in our home. I hope that she is well, but I do not spend my time worrying about her. I do not think that she deserves that, after the choices she has made. She is a selfish woman, and I suspect that wherever she is, she will continue to make immoral, selfish decisions that may offer her momentary pleasures but will never bring back the happiness she has lost by turning her back on her eternal family.

  If anyone has seen her, I urge those people to contact the police immediately, so that they can be assured that there is no need for a criminal investigation. I also ask the media to leave me and my daughter in peace. We have a difficult enough road ahead of us without having added complications. Kelly needs to have as normal a life as possible as we move into the future, and I need to be able to father her, which will include returning to work and earning a living. I thank all of those people who are out there, wishing me the best. You know who you are, and that you are true Christians and true Saints in the best senses of the words.

  It was all about him. A few words about Kelly. But nothing conciliatory about his wife or sympathetic about his wife’s family and the distress they were going through.

  I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He was in a terrible position. Someone who had just suffered a loss wasn’t always thinking clearly. And selfishness was a natural reaction to pain.

  Jared needed to say something about his wife if he wanted to make himself look better to the press, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to help him. I read a book and tried to distract myself with thoughts about going back to school. I had gotten a degree years ago in philosophy, of all things. Useless for getting a job, though I had found it interesting in other ways. I was beginning to wonder if I had too much time on my hands. If I had more things to do on my own time, maybe I would be less sucked into responsibilities as a bishop’s wife.

  I also went through our finances, which was something that Kurt used to do before he became bishop. Then I cleaned the house rather more thoroughly than I normally bothered to do. It was something to keep my mind and hands busy.

  When Kurt got home, I pulled him into his office so that Samuel didn’t overhear us, then asked him if he wanted to see the statement Jared Helm had prepared for the press.

  “I got it, too,” he said, settling into the chair behind the desk.

  “And what did you think?” I refused to sit on the couch, and perched myself next to him on the desk.

  Kurt shrugged. “I already emailed him back and said that he didn’t need to respond to the press at all. He should focus on Kelly and himself and staying healthy and strong for her.”

  “And is that what you really think he should do? Or did you say that because you didn’t want to say anything else?”

  Kurt shook his head. “Honestly, I think I need more information. I feel like I don’t know him as well as I should.”

  Which was what I felt, too. But how could we ever know anyone well enough to know what to do in a situation like this?

  “I told him that I’d like him to come over and talk to me sometime,” said Kurt, “if he could manage it. I wanted to give him comfort and advice officially, if I could. I told him that he could bring Kelly and you would watch her, if he needed help.” He wasn’t making eye contact, which was odd, since he had more or less just volunteered me for something.

  “And what did he say?” I was willing to watch Kelly, for whatever reason.

  Kurt stood up and started moving papers around his desk. “He demanded that I promise that his parents-in-law would not be here.”

  It was the wrong thing to say to Kurt, who was losing patience with Jared Helm’s attitude at last, I thought. “You think he might be guilty now?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to think the worst of him, but he’s making it difficult.” He sighed, and kept at his organizing.

  For whatever reason, Kurt and I both tended to clean when we got upset. It made for a very clean house when we were having extended arguments.

  “Maybe he’s just a jerk,” I said, trying to ease Kurt’s mind. “Maybe he’s a bad husband, but not a murderer. He seemed so devoted to Kelly when I brought the bread over.”

  “If he’s just a jerk, then where is Carrie?”

  It was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  “What about his job?” I asked. “He can’t be earning money if he’s at home all day.”

  “I asked him about that several days ago, if he needed any church assistance. He said that he could work from home for a while and promised he would tell me if he got into any financial trouble. Apparently he works for his father’s business, and it’s all programming stuff that he can do remotely.”

  “Well, it can’t stay like this forever, with all those news vans. The story is going to get old and they’ll go home,” I said.

  “And what does that mean for the chance of finding Carrie Helm?” said Kurt. His desk was now clean. If he wanted to do more cleaning, we’d have to move someplace else. Unless he wanted to get out the vacuum.

  “If she’s dead, they will have to find her eventually. Bodies don’t just disappear,” I said.

  “This is Utah,” said Kurt. “Do you know how many millions of acres of untouched land there are in this state?”

  I felt sick at the thought that Kurt on some level had come to the same conclusion I had, that Jared Helm had killed Carrie and then disposed of the body somewhere. I kept questioning my first instinct on this, but what if I had been right from the beginning? What if the Spirit had been speaking to me and telling me what to think about Jared? What if Kurt was finally feeling the same spiritual impression?

  “There
would have to be evidence somewhere,” I said. “Some video camera at a gas station. Someone who saw him buying something at a store.” I was trying to think like a detective, like a professional, and not just a bishop’s wife.

  Kurt folded his hands together, as if coming to a decision. “But in any case, that’s something for the police to deal with,” said Kurt. “I’m in charge of Jared and Kelly’s spiritual welfare.”

  “Not Carrie’s?” I asked.

  Kurt flushed. “Carrie has left the ward, so no, I’m not her bishop now. Unless she comes back.”

  That seemed rather cold. Though technically, it was true. Kurt’s obligation was to a specific geographical flock. “And if she’s dead? And died while in our ward?”

  “Then God will take care of her better than I could. I deal with the living,” said Kurt. “We all have our roles, and we should stick to them.”

  We moved back to the kitchen and called Samuel for dinner. But as they chattered about school and Samuel’s upcoming dance, I could not help but think about Carrie and what my obligation to her was. I had felt that immediate protectiveness toward Kelly, in part because she was so young, but did we simply give up on Carrie? Did we turn our backs on those who left the church, even if they remained in need?

  Kurt liked coloring inside the lines. It had worked well for him his whole life. And generally, I’d done the same. But it didn’t feel right in this instance.

  CHAPTER 9

  Cheri Tate called me on Wednesday to tell me about her plans for the next weekday Relief Society meeting, which would be in March.

  “You know you don’t need my approval, right?” I asked. Even Kurt’s approval was only a technicality. Woe betide any bishop who told the Relief Society president she couldn’t do a meeting on the theme she had selected. She had been given the right to revelation for her specific needs when Kurt put his hands on her head and set her apart. Women don’t have official authority in the Mormon church, but any man who ignores the real power of women in the church is an idiot. Kurt is not an idiot.

  “I wasn’t looking for approval. Just your opinion,” said Cheri. “And maybe any advice you have to offer.”

  “Well, what do you want to do?”

  “I’d like the topic to be about domestic violence,” she said quietly.

  Ah. Now I understood her concern. That was a difficult topic, not the usual Relief Society meeting about Easter crafts or filling your lantern with the light of service. “It might be wise to wait until the Carrie Helm case has been resolved,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Cheri. “It might be wiser. But then people would be less interested. We would get fewer women coming out, and the very people we are trying to protect might not hear the message.”

  Also a good point. “How can I help?” I asked. Cheri and I were not of one mind about many things, but I was impressed with her foresight here. Not to mention her courage.

  “I’d like you to come speak, if you would.”

  “Me? I don’t know anything about domestic violence.”

  “Well, that’s what everyone is going to say, isn’t it? I was hoping you could do some research and talk about some of the warning signs to look for when dating, or early on in marriage. I was going to talk about what to do if you’re sure you are being abused. Hotline numbers to call, people to confide in, the steps to take to protect yourself, and how to make the final moves.”

  She was doing the heavy lifting. I could do a little bit. “All right,” I said.

  “You’ll do it?” she asked.

  “I said I would.”

  She let out a long breath of relief. Had she been afraid I would say no?

  “The women listen to you, you know.”

  “Because I’m the bishop’s wife,” I said.

  “And because you don’t speak often, and when you do, it is with carefully chosen words, meant to move people to action,” said Cheri.

  I was surprised into silence. “Thank you,” I said at last.

  “Do you think we need to bring up Twilight?” asked Cheri. “Meyer is a Mormon and so many people talk about that book in terms of abusive boyfriends.”

  “I think we can safely leave vampires out of this,” I said. “Let’s talk about real-life abuse cases. There are too many of those for us to ignore.”

  “There is one other thing,” said Cheri. “I’d like to float it past you before I make a commitment.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to have one of our speakers be a woman from one of the shelters in the area. For victims of domestic violence. And I’d like her to come with a list of possible volunteer opportunities that we would sign people up for.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I said.

  “I worry it will make some women uncomfortable. Or afraid that it will bring abuse into their own lives.”

  I snorted, not delicately. Abuse wasn’t catching like some kind of disease, no matter what our cultural tendencies to avoid the very mention of it might indicate.

  “But I also feel strongly that we need to do real work, and see both the reality of sin and the redemption of it.”

  I wouldn’t have put it that way, but I agreed wholeheartedly. “You are going to do great things, Cheri,” I said.

  “And if your husband asks you about it?”

  Kurt was unlikely to, since he knew me too well to misunderstand what I would think of this. “I will tell him to get behind it,” I said. “And get the men behind it as much as they can. Maybe you can have a flyer sent around to help men understand what warning signs are, as well?”

  “Hmm,” said Cheri. “I’ll think about it.”

  There was a long pause. I was trying to think of something to say about her daughter’s wedding that wouldn’t be taken the wrong way.

  “I also wonder if we should have a ward fast and prayer to help bring Carrie Helm back home to her daughter,” Cheri said.

  I held in a groan. Fasting and prayer were not the solution to a problem like this. God might intervene in extraordinary cases, but most of the time He expected us to fix things here on Earth ourselves. The scripture says, “Men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will.” Which meant that if Carrie Helm chose to leave her daughter, we couldn’t pray her back. God wouldn’t help take away the free will of any of His children.

  “And of course, to help Jared repent,” Cheri was saying.

  Repenting of domestic violence might be possible, but I didn’t want to count on it. And I wasn’t convinced yet that Jared either was ready to confess to such a sin or wanted to change that part of himself. It sounded to me like he still thought he had been right in every one of his actions toward Carrie.

  “Well, thanks for your call, Cheri. I’ll talk to Kurt about both ideas,” I said.

  I waited until that night to talk to Kurt. He got to hear my full opinion, and finally held up his hands and asked if he could go to bed already.

  I let him, but I went downstairs and finished my thoughts on the computer, and emailed them for him to read the next day.

  I WAS STILL thinking about Carrie Helm, free will, and patterns of abuse when Anna Torstensen called the next morning.

  “Anna, I should have called you earlier this week. What can I do for you?” I asked, because her voice sounded thready and broke even when she said her name.

  “It’s Tobias,” she said. “They’ve decided it’s time for hospice care. The doctor has recommended a nurse to come in full time until—until—” She couldn’t get the rest of it out.

  Was it that far along already? It had been less than two weeks since I saw her last. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I had said the same thing so many times before. It always felt inadequate, but we were supposed to mourn with people who mourned, weren’t we?

  “I don’t know how I can get through this,” said Anna. “I’ve lived all these years with him, loving him more and more. That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? When yo
u’re married, you fall more in love. And then suddenly it’s like my legs have been cut out from underneath me. I don’t know how to stand on my own.” The words sluiced out of her, tumbling over each other, almost incomprehensible.

  “You’re a strong woman. You’re going to manage this. It will be terrible, but there will be a time in the future when you will be happy again, I promise it,” I said. I wasn’t sure I sounded convincing. I felt her pain so clearly. Had I become too involved in this?

  Anna hiccoughed over a sob. “I’d rather die in his place than watch him go through this. Why can’t I trade him? Why can’t I go first?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, though she was quite a bit younger than Tobias. And then I said, “I’m sorry,” again.

  There was a long pause. I could hear her weeping, then taking a breath and holding it, as if she were trying to get control of herself. And then she would fall apart again. I waited.

  “They said I should call and make sure that you and the bishop knew. To make arrangements for the—”

  “Funeral,” I filled in softly. “I’ll tell the Relief Society to prepare to do a luncheon. And I’ll tell Kurt. I’m sure he’ll want to come see you later tonight, if he can. And Tobias, too, of course.” There is no such thing as last rites in the Mormon religion. There are rituals that are necessary to get into the highest level of heaven, of course, but the more important changes are always in the heart.

  “Will you come with him?” asked Anna. “Tonight?”

  A part of me wanted to say no. Kurt could go and not fall apart. I couldn’t. But instead I said, “Of course, if you want me to.”

  “I need to talk to a woman,” said Anna. “Does that make any sense? Or maybe it’s just you. I don’t know.”

  I should have been honored that she wanted to connect with me. “I’ll be there. And any time you need to talk to me, you call. Not just in the next week or so, but afterward, too. It doesn’t have to be for any particular reason. You can call me if you want someone to go shopping with you. Or just sit with you and listen to music. It can be a lonely thing, grief.”