The Bishop's Wife (7 page)

“She begged us not to. He told her that if the police ever came to the house, he would make sure that they saw the perfect husband. Also, he had a notebook of mistakes she had made, with all the proof and photographs to show if there was ever an occasion that he needed them.” He paused and sighed.

“What kind of mistakes?” I asked, though I realized as soon as I said it that it was probably too intrusive a question to ask parents.

Aaron Weston gestured to his wife, who finally spoke. “Things like taking money out of her daughter's college funds so that she could buy food,” said Judy Weston. “Or not taking Kelly to the doctor after she had fallen and cut open her cheek.”

I wasn't sure either of those constituted the kind of mistake that could make Carrie Helm look bad in court, if it came to that. But what mattered was probably what she believed, not what was really dangerous.

“I think more than anything she was ashamed she had married him in the first place.” Aaron Weston added. “She made a mistake and she felt bound to him forever. She didn't know what to do, with her daughter eternally sealed to him.” He interlocked his hands in a gesture of sealing that looked more like prison.

The doctrine of temple sealing was supposed to make families feel more secure, and to offer peace to those who had lost children or spouses. But there were times when it shackled a woman to a man who had become a tyrant, simply because of a ceremony performed and because of children created together.

“That is not what an eternal sealing means,” said Kurt, as I'd heard him say on more than one occasion. “If Jared Helm was not living according to the laws of righteousness, the sealing was already broken.”

Did that mean Carrie was free of him now? And what of Kelly, whom she had left behind? Whatever the church liked to say about broken sealings, genetics and the law of the land were not broken so easily.

Before Aaron Weston had the chance to say anything further about Jared Helm's righteousness, Kurt asked, “When did she tell you about all of this? How recently?” He wasn't taking notes during the conversation, but he kept glancing at the notepad on his desk. He never put anything on the computer, but he did take notes after
an interview was finished. To keep things fresh in his mind when he prayed, he said. Suddenly, I wondered if he was doing it for legal reasons. Would Kurt be called to testify if this came to court?

“We knew something was wrong shortly after they got married,” Aaron Weston said. “We tried to get her alone to talk about it openly, but it was difficult. It took months. Jared would not let her meet anyone privately, not even us, her parents. Even when we thought we had made arrangements to talk to her alone, he would appear halfway through, or we would find out that he was eavesdropping. She was never able to talk candidly about why exactly she was not happy.” At this point, Aaron nodded to prompt his wife again.

“I thought he had certain appetites,” said Judy. She left the rest unsaid. Sexual appetites, obviously. But we Mormons never speak about that.

I hated the feeling of helplessness that seeped into my bones like cold. What I wanted to do most was go to Jared Helm's house and take Kelly home with me. That little girl, who had sat on my lap and tried to plunk out notes on the piano before her father stopped her, had settled into my heart. The power struggle between Carrie's father and her husband was of little interest to me, two men strutting about and comparing their size to each other. Judy Weston had barely said a word, and only when prompted by her husband.

“And when did you hear the rest of it?” asked Kurt.

“She wrote a letter to us only the day before she disappeared,” said Aaron Weston. “She said that she was tired of living with Jared's outbursts and his judgments, and that she was going to run away. With Kelly, of course. She said that she was leaving Jared and that she hoped we would protect her confidence as long as we could. And she warned us that she would not be able to communicate with us for some time. She told us to pray for her and for Kelly to be safe.” He turned to his wife.

She opened her purse and took out a letter. I didn't know
anything about Carrie's handwriting, but it was a real letter, written by hand, not emailed. Email would be too easy for Jared Helm to read.

Kurt read it, and I stood up and moved so I could look over his shoulder. Aaron Weston had summarized it adequately. My stomach twisted at the strange ideas that Carrie listed that Jared believed in. Polygamy for one, which some Mormons still thought might be reinstituted, in the afterlife. But Jared Helm took it further, according to Carrie. He thought that he could make a list of women who would be his in the afterlife.

He also thought women were born evil, more worldly minded, and that he had a duty to “tame” his wife and his daughter, whatever that meant. He went on tirades about the clothing Carrie wore because it was not modest enough, nor was the clothing she bought their daughter. But I had never seen Carrie Helm wear anything that was remotely immodest. She had always seemed well dressed, but a little formal for a woman her age. Now I suppose I knew why.

“You have gone to the police then?” said Kurt.

I was still standing, feeling too much negative energy to sit back down. I wanted to scream and kick and tear at things. Instead, I clenched my fists.

“We did. But she has not been gone long enough for them to declare her missing. And there is no evidence of any foul play. They say that a letter alone is not enough to pursue Jared criminally. They need more than that. They need some proof that she has been harmed and isn't just a troubled woman who left her husband and daughter.” This last Aaron Weston got out with difficulty, each word thrust out from behind his teeth.

“And what would you like me to do?” asked Kurt.

I wanted him to look at me so he could see the fury in my eyes. If I could have reached his hand, I would have gripped it so hard he could not possibly have ignored me. Something had to be done. When Jared Helm had brought Kelly here, Kurt had believed his
story, had thought of him as the wronged husband. Somehow, as the bishop, Kurt should have known the truth behind Jared Helm's lies. It made me angry at God somehow that he hadn't.

“Find her,” said Judy Weston, but to me, not to Kurt. “Please, find her.” She was gasping, but she was not weeping. Her face was clear and insistent.

One mother who was desperate for her daughter's return to another mother who would never have hers back.

“You think that she has been harmed?” asked Kurt.

“There is no other reason she would leave her daughter. She has to have been hurt. Possibly—” Aaron Weston didn't finish.

But if Carrie Helm was dead, then I had no more chance to help her. I would have to admit I had failed her. I could not do that.

If she had lived, my daughter would have been in her twenties now, only a few years younger than Carrie Helm. She had been born between Joseph and Kenneth, but we had never brought her home from the hospital. My doctor at the time had said anything might have caused my daughter's death, maybe my taking cold medicine before I knew I was pregnant, or letting my body temperature get too high in a hot tub when Kurt and I were on vacation for a week when I first found out I was expecting. I had no way of knowing if it was my fault or not, or if I would ever see that daughter again in the afterlife.

She had died before she was born, and that left her in a kind of limbo in terms of Mormon doctrine. Stillborn children are sometimes listed as members of the family and sealed to their parents, but sometimes they are not. Some Mormons firmly believe a stillborn child is only a body, and that if there was once a spirit attached to it, it has gone to another body, to other parents.

Joseph Smith had given a famous funeral speech for a young child, claiming that children who died before the age of eight were automatically taken into the celestial kingdom and that mothers would there be allowed the privilege of raising their children to
adulthood if they had missed the chance in this life. Still, I didn't like the idea that a child was waiting all those years for me to die before she was allowed to grow up.

I hoped fervently that the Westons were blowing the potential danger to Carrie out of proportion, and for the first time I hoped that Jared Helm's story was true and Carrie had just abandoned her family. Now, having read her letter, I began to understand why the young mother might make that choice. If Jared had made her believe she was a bad mother, she might have become convinced Kelly was better off without her. I could sympathize with Carrie Helm in ways that her parents and even Kurt probably could never understand.

“If you could talk to Jared,” Judy was saying, turning away from her husband and appealing to Kurt now. “Maybe he would tell you where she is. She did not simply disappear. She would not do that. She would not leave Kelly with him.”

“There might be some other explanation for all of this,” said Kurt. He always wanted there to be an explanation.

But sometimes the explanation was that men took advantage of the power they had over their wives, in society and in the church. Even the kindest men in the church had no idea of the many ways in which they made their wives and daughters into lesser persons than their sons and fellow male church members. “I wouldn't be where I am today without my wife,” they say in testimony meetings. But what they are also saying is that their wives have given up their personal ambitions in favor of the ambitions of their husbands. Mormon men protect their daughters, but they encourage and cheer on their sons. And I, who had never had a daughter, and had so few female friends still in the church, had done little more than any of the men had to help the women around me. But that had to change. I had to change first, and make the church and culture change around me. First came speaking the truth.

“You need to get the press involved,” I said, thinking of the news stories I had seen that week on television. The missing persons
cases with the best publicity always get solved the fastest. “If the police won't act, then we need some help. Some people out there, looking for her. People who might have seen Jared the night Carrie disappeared.” This was what I had learned in my years of watching missing persons cases on TV, not anything official, but I believed it.

“Press?” said Kurt in a choked tone.

But Judy Weston nodded. “That is a good idea. I know a writer for the local paper.” She glanced at her husband.

“But he isn't anyone important,” said Aaron Weston. “I have some friends who work at KSL, members of the church I've come in contact with in my leadership positions.”

I disliked the way that he dismissed Judy's suggestion and had to put his own ideas first, but I wanted this done more than I wanted to argue about who should lead it. “Start with any local connections you have,” I said. “But national coverage would be better. We want to force the police to pay attention. The longer they wait before acting, the less chance there is of …” I couldn't allow myself to believe that she was dead. Carrie Helm had to be alive.

Aaron Weston was nodding vigorously. He could agree with me, if not with his own wife, it seemed. “Good,” he said, putting a hand to his heart. “The Spirit is speaking to me right now, telling me this is the right path. We'll go and get started. Thank you so much. We'll be in touch with you again soon about the results.”

I nodded, feeling alive in a way I hadn't for years. My fingers were tingling and I could feel the beat of blood in my neck. Other bishop's wives didn't get involved in personal crusades, but I couldn't turn this one aside. I owed it to Carrie Helm, after all the time I'd neglected her.

“I knew this was the right place to come,” said Judy Weston softly. She stood up and came toward me, hugging me gently despite my stiffness. I was going to have to learn sometime, I told myself. This was how women interacted with each other.

Holding her husband's hand as they walked to the front door, Judy Weston said, “I am sure that God is watching over Carrie even now.”

I watched them leave and then Kurt gestured me back to his office. “If Jared Helm is innocent, you have just put him into an impossible situation,” he said sternly.

“Do you really still think that is likely?” I said, annoyed with him. “You read that letter Carrie Helm wrote. It sounded pretty bad to me.”

“I admit, it was disturbing, but it seems unfair to paint Jared Helm as an abuser. Or a possible murderer. That letter isn't proof of anything other than the fact that Carrie and Jared had a troubled marriage, and we knew that already.”

“Carrie Helm is gone and no one has heard from her. She might well be dead. I think the possibility of that outweighs Jared Helm's need for privacy,” I said. But I thought, please, don't be dead, please don't be dead. It was the same mantra I had repeated that night so many years ago, when Kurt drove me to the hospital.

Samuel was waiting for me and Kurt at the bottom of the stairs. He told us he had decided to go to the dance with the girl he was comfortable with and seemed relieved at the choice. I was relieved that he was going to the dance at all. I slipped out of bed late at night to go downstairs and watch the news. But there was nothing about Carrie Helm. Yet.

The press conference with the Westons appeared on local television (on Mormon church-owned KSL, of all stations) at noon the next day. The two parents stood together in a picture of marital harmony in front of their local church, which looked much the same as ours. Aaron Weston did most of the speaking, as he had at our house. Kurt was at work, and I was sure he was fielding plenty of calls there, but within minutes of the end of the conference, I had to deal with the frightened women of the ward who suddenly thought Jared Helm was a danger to them.

The truth was, Jared Helm wasn't a danger to anyone anymore, except perhaps his own daughter. The real danger to the women in the ward was the same danger they had faced yesterday and the day before that, and ever since they were married: their own husbands.