The Bishop’s Wife (Linda Wallheim Mystery, #1)(77)

Suddenly, I worried that Kenneth had other reasons for not dating. I’d always assumed he was just busy. But what if he had concerns about his sexuality? Kurt would be devastated by that, regardless of the new church policy that God ordained some of his children to be born homosexual. The idea that one of his sons might never be allowed to marry in the temple and never have children to be sealed to him eternally would be very hard for him. And no wonder it was confusing to Samuel. “Are you worried about something specific with Kenneth and marriage?” I asked.

“I guess I’m more wondering about people who don’t get married and what their place is in the church. I mean, it’s all about happy families and families are forever. The singles wards that Kenneth is assigned to right now is all about activities to get people dating, so they can get married, so they can leave the singles ward. But that’s not how it works for everyone, is it?”

I could tell that Samuel was genuinely upset about this. His face was flushed and his voice was squeaking like it hadn’t since he was fifteen. “I guess we have to figure that everyone has a family of one kind or another.”

Samuel blew out a disgusted breath. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the fact that you have to be married to be a bishop. Or to have any role of leadership in the church. If you’re not, you’re always a kind of second-class citizen.”

He was only seventeen, but he saw this so clearly. “I need to talk to Kenneth,” I said. I really did need to. I didn’t want to give Samuel the wrong kind of comfort. If Kenneth didn’t want to get married right now, that was one thing. If he was gay, that was something else again. I had no trouble with a gay son, but it wasn’t an easy situation in the church right now. Proposition 8 in California and the specter of same-sex marriage laws here in Utah had made for some militant anti-gay sentiments even among people who claimed to love everyone.

There was a long silence. Then Samuel said, “I hate the way that people are so judgmental in the church. Do you know that there are some people saying that Carrie Helm was punished for leaving her family?”

I was relieved that we were changing the topic, even though the Helms weren’t easy to talk about, either. “I think we might be less judgmental if we understand what Carrie Helm’s life was like, how difficult it was for her. She left her daughter, yes.” I still struggled with this myself. “But we don’t know all the reasons for that. We don’t know what she thought she was doing, in her heart. Maybe she thought she was saving her daughter somehow.”

“Have you ever thought about leaving us?” asked Samuel.

He was on a roll with the hard questions today. “A long time ago,” I said honestly. “When you were all little and I was still inexperienced with the mothering thing.” I watched Samuel to see what his reaction would be, but he seemed only thoughtful.

“So you don’t think about it now?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Being a mother is the most important thing in my life,” I said. I was good at what I did as a mother. It was what I had spent my whole life doing. I suppose that was the real reason that I hadn’t gone back to school or found a job yet. It felt like it would be saying that being a mother wasn’t enough.

“That’s why you’re so bothered about the Carrie Helm disappearance, right? You’re worried about her little girl,” said Samuel.

“It’s definitely part of it.”

“She’s cute. I’ve seen her at church,” said Samuel. Then, after a moment, he added, “It seems like it’s hard being a mom. Harder than being a dad. You have to be perfect all the time. You’re always supposed to be looking out for your kids. You never get a break.”

“Ha!” There was truth in it, especially in Mormon culture. On Mother’s Day, the entire sacrament meeting in most wards is devoted to talking about how perfect someone’s mother is. It was almost always sickly sweet, with tears but rarely laughter. I had once been in a ward where the bishop bought orchid corsages for the oldest mother, newest mother, and mother with the most children (the winning mother had fourteen children). I wondered sometimes if we would expand the categories to the longest delivery, the worst episiotomy, or the ugliest baby, just for fun.

“Even moms have their own lives. We have to try to juggle things. We just do the best we can. We’re not perfect. We’re not angels,” I said softly. “No matter what some people say.”


A WEEK LATER, I was outside, bringing groceries in from the car when I heard a scream from down the street. I let go of the bag I was carrying and turned instinctively. I was running before I thought about where I was going, and then I saw Kelly Helm trying to pull away from Alex Helm, who was dragging her off of the front lawn of their house and back inside. I could have stopped right then and gone back to my groceries. I could have reminded myself of Kurt’s advice about people needing space to figure things out on their own. But this was a little girl who was being manhandled by someone who ought to have been protecting her.

And it was Kelly. My Kelly.

I caught up to Alex Helm just as he reached the door. “Who do you think you are?” I demanded, breathless. I really was going to have to do more exercise if I got this angry this often.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed your day,” Alex Helm said, his eyes glinting, “but I am simply disciplining a disobedient child. I am sure you have done the same in your day, Sister Wallheim.”