The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(42)

“At least you are sealed to her, though,” said Anna.

I could quibble with the point, but I didn’t. She definitely wasn’t sealed to Tobias. “You should talk to him about it,” I said, following her unspoken train of thought. “He might be able to put your mind at rest.”

“What if Liam and Tomas object? What if they don’t want me sealed to their father?”

I was a little startled by that possibility. Did she think so badly of her sons? “Trust Kurt,” I said. “He will talk to them. He will make it come right.”

She took a breath, dropped her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “All right. I’ll speak to him.”

I hoped that we had not left it too late.





CHAPTER 15




I was standing at the door, ready to open it to leave, when I heard two male voices shouting.

“That’s Tomas and Liam,” said Anna. She swayed a little and I grabbed her arm and pulled her to me for stability.

Liam thundered downstairs. He didn’t look much like Tobias; his thinning hair that revealed the shape of his head to be quite square. But in his nose, chin, and hazel eyes, it was easy to see he was Tobias’s son. His lips were trembling, sweat beading up along his crown. “He’s gone,” he said.

“What?” said Anna. Her eyes widened and I knew she was thinking the same thing that I was, that Tobias had died while she was away from him and she would never be able to ask him about the sealing, let alone say goodbye to him.

But Liam said, “Out of his bed. We turned around for a moment, talking to the nurse in the bathroom after she had helped him to the toilet. Then he was gone. I thought he would be down here with you. Did you see him?”

Anna looked at me. We had been so involved in our conversation—could we have missed him if he’d gone right by us quietly enough?

“He couldn’t have—” Anna said.

“The back door is open!” shouted Tomas. “He’s out in the garden.”

Of course he was, out in the garden.

We all hurried outside to where Tobias knelt in the garden some distance away, on the middle of the three landscaped tiers. The moment felt as holy as being in the temple, the veil between worlds very thin.

The sun was bright overhead, part of a week-long thaw that had left the ground bare of snow for a while. Tobias’s shoulders were shaking, as Liam’s had been when he came downstairs, but there was nothing angry in Tobias’s bearing. He had a hand to the ground, touching it, caressing it. He brought a finger to his lips and tasted it. I could see the change in his back, that he relaxed, as if suddenly in a familiar environment again.

Home.

The garden didn’t look like much now, it was true. There was mulch piled on top of most of it, and old tomato cages stacked together like Boy Scouts on parade. There was a grape arbor over the eastern side of the garden, a dry, bare winter skeleton of twisted brown vines.

The stepping-stones down to the first level of the garden from the back porch were tufted with natural Utah prairie grasses. I could see the indentations in the ground where the frames for the climbing beans had gone, and there were remnants of last year’s kale and cabbage. The kale was still inky about a foot high, the outer leaves limp and laced with insect damage. There were a few green leaves valiantly trying to grow from the crown, hoping for an early spring.

When Tobias had come to speak to the Relief Society several years ago about gardening, he had discussed the passage from the book of Moses about all things being created spiritually first, and the fact that every plant, tree, every bit of dirt, every insect, and the earth itself had “living souls.” He treated his own garden as reverently as he did his temple clothes.

Seeing him out there in his garden right now, I felt a pang for the ward that we would never hear another lesson on gardening from him. We would never stir at his descriptions of a garden in full bloom. I’d never again see him out puttering around in the front yard, not gardening so much as talking to his plants, being one with them. I was struck with the thought that Tobias out in his garden was as godlike as any person I had ever seen. He knew these plants. He knew them better than anyone else. And he loved them, just as they were. He wanted desperately to stay with them. Maybe more than he wanted to stay with his sons or his wife.

He raised his hands over his head and then knelt down.

Tomas and Liam were calling at him to come back, but he didn’t seem to hear them.

He leaned forward, his hands still overhead as if in some strange yoga pose, and he let his face fall to the ground.

That was when Liam leaped down the porch steps and began running toward him.

Tobias’s mouth was touching the dirt. I could see when Liam pulled his head up that his lips were black with rich soil. The old man spit out something that flew away on the wind—a leaf or some bit of branch.

I thought for a moment that he would come willingly, that he was too weak to fight. But as soon as Liam tried to pull his father to his feet, Tobias began to struggle. I could see their mouths moving, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Whatever it was, it seemed to be very emotional, because both Liam and Tobias were red faced.

By then Tomas had caught up and joined them in the garden.

The hospice nurse came down to stand with me and Anna by the door. “What do they think they are doing?” she said.