The Bishop's Wife (10 page)

Jared Helm opened the bread bag and cut a big slice for Kelly.

“Can I have butter and jam, Daddy?” she asked.

“Butter and jam,” he said, and went to the refrigerator. He gave her a portion of butter that was nearly equal to my own, then jam as well, and handed her the dessert.

She ate it happily, getting jam all over her face.

He watched her and seemed in no hurry to clean her up.

I couldn't help but think that this could be a performance, designed specifically for me. I thought of how tightly wound and controlling he had been the last time I'd seen him; this seemed like a different man. Had it been the stress of Carrie's departure that made him so short that morning when he'd come to see Kurt? Had he been broken by the publicity? Or was this tender father act just that? But Kelly was only five years old. It wasn't an act on her part.

I considered the possibility that Jared Helm was telling the truth about his wife. What if he were the injured husband and she psychologically unstable? It wouldn't be the first time a woman had made up stories about abuse. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was offering him a lifeline. “Do you know, you are the first person who has asked me that. Every other person who has called to talk to me has wanted to ask me questions about my life. They want to make judgments about me. Or they ask about
Kelly, as if they think I don't know how to take care of her. If she is eating enough. If I need some help finding her games or giving her a bath. As if I haven't had anything to do with my daughter for the last four years of her life.”

The very questions I had wanted to ask but had held back.

“I'm five years old, Daddy,” said Kelly, wiping her face off on her father's shirt.

He looked down at the mess, and sighed. Then he ran a hand down her hair and kissed her cheek. “Of course you are.” He looked back at me. “They're almost as bad as the reporters who want to interview me. They're vultures, feeding off a carcass.”

“I'm sure some of them are just trying to help. Sometimes people don't know how to ask or what to say.” I knew that as well as anyone.

“Well, I'm the one who has suffered a tragedy. Why do I have to make excuses for them?”

“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.

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.

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?