The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(20)

“All right, I’ll call. Do you want to see Zachary while we’re there, too?” I asked. Zachary, twenty-one, had returned home from his mission a few months ago and was also at BYU. Joseph, twenty-four, our second oldest, lived in Ogden with his wife, Willow. He hadn’t gone on a mission, despite the cultural pressure. It had been a struggle for Kurt to deal with, but he hadn’t been bishop then, and we all made it through. Less than half of eligible young men go on missions, and the pressure to do so has decreased. Not everyone is ready to serve, and it can cause problems if young men go on missions when they are still dealing with problems socially, physically, or religiously.

Kenneth, at twenty-three, lived in Salt Lake City, where he enjoyed the city life. He had gone on a mission, but I wasn’t sure of his church activity since then. I saw him becoming distant from the church and had no idea what to do about it. I didn’t think Kurt had noticed yet, but he would, in time.

We drove the half hour down to Provo and caught up with Adam and Marie for a few minutes before they had to go to work and to study at the library, and then we stopped in and took Zachary out for some burgers. He told us about his latest prank on his roommates, which had been to switch the wiring in the apartment so that the hot water in the shower only worked when the kitchen sink light was on, and the freezer began defrosting as soon as anyone turned on the dishwasher.

Zachary had always been a terror when he lived at home. I hadn’t been afraid he would kill himself by accident, but I wasn’t so sure about the rest of us. He was studying engineering now, but it only seemed to give him better ideas for bigger pranks.

On the drive home to Draper, Samuel turned off the radio for a moment and said, “Thanks, Mom. I feel better.”

“Good,” I said. I felt the same.





CHAPTER 7




By the day after the Westons had appeared on television, the whole neighborhood had changed. There were news vans constantly in front of Jared Helm’s house and he could not go out to the grocery store without being mobbed by reporters. It was enough to make me feel sorry for him.

Jared tried to come to church the following Sunday, but by the time he got there, the news vans had all moved into the parking lot. It was impossible for anyone to get into the building without being asked to speak on camera and give an opinion about Jared and Carrie Helm.

Kurt ended up tapping Jared on the shoulder during priesthood class and taking him into his office on the other side of the building. I heard about this after the fact, as I left the sacrament meeting, from one of the women in the ward whose husband had been there.

“So, what did you say to him?” Samuel asked when Kurt came home from the last of his Sunday meetings at eight o’clock.

Kurt was sitting at the kitchen table while I warmed up yet another meal Samuel and I had eaten without him. He sighed and bowed his head until it was resting on the wood, as if it was too heavy for him. Then he raised it and met Samuel’s eyes. “I asked him if I could send the deacons to give him the Sacrament in his home, and if he could read the lessons online and talk to his home teachers about them without the disruptions to the whole ward.” It was clear that Kurt had not been satisfied about this solution to the problem.

He took a bite of food and chewed at it unhappily. The number of times he had skipped dinner completely since he became bishop was larger than anyone would guess. It was a good thing stress makes a person hold onto calories or he might have shrunk entirely away.

I sat next to him, my shoulder touching his in hopes that he would feel the physical sense of support. I could understand his conflicted feelings when it came to Jared Helm’s attending church. After all, a bishop was in the business of making sure people came to church. Obviously, there were times when exceptions could be made, but those exceptions are supposed to happen only in cases like natural disaster.

“And what did he say?” asked Samuel.

“He didn’t say anything really. He just nodded a lot and then he went to get Kelly from the Primary,” Kurt said.

So Kelly would not be at church, either. That bothered me. The little girl needed some contact with people who were not her father, I felt strongly. He already had so much power over her, now that her mother was gone. But how would she get it now that his house had become practically a prison?

“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?”