The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(34)

I put the pink dress into a plastic garbage bag and tossed it into our big green garbage can. It fell short, landing on the garage floor, but I was suddenly too tired to go pick it up. I’d find it before I put the can out to be picked up on Friday.

And then I went back inside, feeling quite a bit smaller than when I had gone out.

Kurt was in the kitchen, drinking the last of the milk straight from the jug. He looked at me sheepishly. “It was almost gone anyway,” he said.

“And what if Samuel had seen you?” I asked him, smiling faintly.

“Oh, I made sure he wasn’t around,” said Kurt. “I wouldn’t want him to learn all my bad habits.” He looked at me as if he was waiting to see if I was still angry about last night.

I sighed. “I won’t poke in this anymore. I’ll let the police do their job, and I will stick with doing mine. Making bread, going on visits with the bishop, and changing minds slowly.” As I said the words, I felt keenly how small of a job it was.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t act if you’re inspired to act,” said Kurt.

“But you want me to wait for clear revelation?” I asked. As if revelation was ever clear.

“I want you to stop feeling guilty for things that aren’t your fault. I want you to stop making up for things that are for God to reconcile,” said Kurt.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“I guess that’s as much as I can ask for,” said Kurt, and he held me tight, his lips pressed to my forehead, until Samuel came in and left again with a disgusted sound.





CHAPTER 12




I went shopping that afternoon for tools to replace the ones that had rusted in Tobias Torstensen’s shed. It was unlikely he would ever use them again, but I made the effort anyway, because it seemed the right thing to do, to leave things as they should be. And also because it was the only thing I could do.

I delivered the tools to Anna and she asked me to put them in the shed for her. I stayed for a few moments, but there was nothing new to see. No spiritual sense goaded me one way or the other. I had been an atheist for several years before Kurt and I married, and this was why. Other Mormons feel a constant sense of direction, even in the minutiae of their lives, but I never had. Often, I struggled to feel any clear spiritual feeling at all. But I came back to Mormonism—and to God—because even if what I felt was very little, it was better to search for more than give up on anything beyond the mundane. At least, it was for me.

Even when my daughter had died and I had been angry at God, I had still wanted Him to exist. Because if He didn’t, then none of my pain mattered at all. None of it made any sense. It was just random chance that she had died, just animal reaction that I mourned her loss. I wanted my life—and hers—to mean more than that. I went inside and talked to Anna. She seemed very quiet, and I soon found out why. Tobias Torstensen was not expected to live more than a week, according to the startlingly frank reports by his hospice caregivers.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “How are you holding up?”

Anna bit her lower lip and shook her head. Her eyes were bright with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She was too strong for that. “I’ll survive,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I could see already that the Relief Society had been here. There were several casserole dishes, cleaned and waiting on the kitchen table, with names written on masking tape. I wondered if Anna had eaten all of that food. Probably not. Had she had to figure out a way to store it or had she been sensible enough to simply throw out what she couldn’t use?

“I’m fine,” said Anna.

“But is there anything that would help you? Anything I could get for you at the store? Maybe a treat you don’t usually buy for yourself? A special perfume, lotion, or bath salts that might lift your spirits?” I wanted to do something.

She shook her head. “I’m not really thinking about myself right now. But thank you so much for bringing those tools for Tobias.”

“I know they don’t matter,” I said. He certainly wouldn’t be using them.

“Tobias still worries about the garden, even now. I can tell him you bought new tools, and he’ll be eased by the thought that everything is properly waiting in the shed for the spring.”

“You aren’t thinking about trying to keep up his garden work, are you?” I asked.

“I’m trying to concentrate on now,” said Anna.

Of course she was. I patted her shoulder. “I wish I could do more,” I said. “Call me, will you? Anytime, day or night.”

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

I went home and tried to do what she had said, focus on now. My now was Samuel going on a big group date on Friday and Kurt needing me to fix his second-best pair of slacks, which he had split at work the day before. I asked him if we needed to buy a new suit in a new size, and he had given me such a look. He did not like to be reminded that he was losing weight as bishop.

“It’s good for me,” he said. “They say Americans are all too fat anyway.”

“Yes, but you weren’t. I’m afraid all you’re losing is muscle.”

“I’m gaining spiritual muscle,” said Kurt.

“Well, that doesn’t hold up your pants.” I’d bought him several belts over the last year, and he kept tightening them, but the pants didn’t hang quite right like that.