The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(26)

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 you’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?”