The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(10)

Kurt closed the meeting and we sang “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.”





CHAPTER 4




On Monday morning when he went into his accounting office, Kurt put a note up on the fridge. It said Anna Torstensen.

I knew what it meant. He was worried about Anna Torstensen, possibly because of thoughts that had come to him during prayer the night before, possibly because of something mentioned in all the church meetings he had gone to on Sunday. He wasn’t allowed to tell me why, and he was at work all day today, but he was hoping I might have a chance to go see her.

Sometimes weeks went by without a note left on the fridge and sometimes there were several names all at once. I didn’t always have time to see to everyone the day the name went on the fridge, but I did my best. I knew that Tobias Torstensen was ill, and that at his age, any illness was something to take very seriously. Other than that, I wasn’t sure what Kurt thought Anna might need.

I did the dishes from Sunday evening (I always wish in the mornings that I was one of those women who couldn’t go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink—but of course, the night before, I am always glad I am one of those women who can go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink). After that, I took a shower. I was tempted to go out walking first, but I didn’t want to keep putting off something Kurt had thought was important.

I made up a quick batch of cinnamon rolls. After they had baked, I left one pan cooling on the stove, then covered the other in aluminum foil to take with me. As I stepped outside, I glanced at the Helm house just below our hill. The yard was still covered in snow, but Kelly and Jared were out playing on a sled. Jared was dragging Kelly along with a rope around his chest. Apparently she was in afternoon kindergarten.

I waved as I walked by. Up the street, the Torstensens had a large lawn that in summer was beautifully kept. Even now, in winter, three bushes with red berries on them decorated the edges of the yard. Seeing them made me shake my head at our rather dull yard. I could blame it on Kurt’s being too busy these days to devote himself to yard work—not that I was willing to give up my books or cooking to pull weeds, either. But even before Kurt was called as bishop, he had preferred to spend his Saturdays with the boys, playing football in the backyard or working on Boy Scout projects. All five of my sons were Eagle Scouts, and I was proud of that, not just for their sakes, but for mine and Kurt’s. We’d done plenty of work to earn those badges, too.

I went up the steps and rang the doorbell.

“Sister Wallheim, good of you to come by.” Anna Torstensen was tall and fit with thick, bluntly cut dark hair. She was one of the few women in the ward who had a graduate degree, and she had worked full time as a banker before she had married Tobias Torstensen. They had never had children of their own together and I didn’t know if that had been a choice or not. But Anna had helped Tobias raise his two sons from his first marriage.

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.