CHAPTER 9
Cheri Tate called me on Wednesday to tell me about her plans for the next weekday Relief Society meeting, which would be in March.
“You know you don’t need my approval, right?” I asked. Even Kurt’s approval was only a technicality. Woe betide any bishop who told the Relief Society president she couldn’t do a meeting on the theme she had selected. She had been given the right to revelation for her specific needs when Kurt put his hands on her head and set her apart. Women don’t have official authority in the Mormon church, but any man who ignores the real power of women in the church is an idiot. Kurt is not an idiot.
“I wasn’t looking for approval. Just your opinion,” said Cheri. “And maybe any advice you have to offer.”
“Well, what do you want to do?”
“I’d like the topic to be about domestic violence,” she said quietly.
Ah. Now I understood her concern. That was a difficult topic, not the usual Relief Society meeting about Easter crafts or filling your lantern with the light of service. “It might be wise to wait until the Carrie Helm case has been resolved,” I said.
“Yes,” said Cheri. “It might be wiser. But then people would be less interested. We would get fewer women coming out, and the very people we are trying to protect might not hear the message.”
Also a good point. “How can I help?” I asked. Cheri and I were not of one mind about many things, but I was impressed with her foresight here. Not to mention her courage.
“I’d like you to come speak, if you would.”
“Me? I don’t know anything about domestic violence.”
“Well, that’s what everyone is going to say, isn’t it? I was hoping you could do some research and talk about some of the warning signs to look for when dating, or early on in marriage. I was going to talk about what to do if you’re sure you are being abused. Hotline numbers to call, people to confide in, the steps to take to protect yourself, and how to make the final moves.”
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?”
“I don’t know,” I said, though she was quite a bit younger than Tobias. And then I said, “I’m sorry,” again.
There was a long pause. I could hear her weeping, then taking a breath and holding it, as if she were trying to get control of herself. And then she would fall apart again. I waited.
“They said I should call and make sure that you and the bishop knew. To make arrangements for the—”
“Funeral,” I filled in softly. “I’ll tell the Relief Society to prepare to do a luncheon. And I’ll tell Kurt. I’m sure he’ll want to come see you later tonight, if he can. And Tobias, too, of course.” There is no such thing as last rites in the Mormon religion. There are rituals that are necessary to get into the highest level of heaven, of course, but the more important changes are always in the heart.
“Will you come with him?” asked Anna. “Tonight?”
A part of me wanted to say no. Kurt could go and not fall apart. I couldn’t. But instead I said, “Of course, if you want me to.”
“I need to talk to a woman,” said Anna. “Does that make any sense? Or maybe it’s just you. I don’t know.”
I should have been honored that she wanted to connect with me. “I’ll be there. And any time you need to talk to me, you call. Not just in the next week or so, but afterward, too. It doesn’t have to be for any particular reason. You can call me if you want someone to go shopping with you. Or just sit with you and listen to music. It can be a lonely thing, grief.”
“Thank you,” said Anna. “I’ll expect you tonight. Tobias might be asleep, but I’ll wake him when you come.”
“There’s no need—” I started to say, but Anna had already hung up.
I called Kurt and told him about the hospice and about the promise to see Anna tonight. He sounded very cool about it, not emotional at all. When I asked why, he said, “Death is a natural part of life. We’ll all go through it, and Tobias has had time to accept it. Besides, death doesn’t mean the end of things. It just means a change from one side of the veil to the other.”
“Easier to say than to believe,” I said.
“But I do believe it. And so do you,” said Kurt. “You believe your parents are waiting for you, behind the veil. And our baby daughter.”
Some days I believed that more than others. I wasn’t sure today was one of the better days. “I hate change,” I said grumpily. I didn’t talk about our daughter, not even with Kurt. Not casually like this.
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” said Kurt.
WHEN SAMUEL CAME home, I found out that he had decided to join the new Gay-Straight Alliance at his school. It wasn’t a popular thing in the Mormon world, coming out in defense of homosexuals, but there was a lot less talk about how evil it was, and even the apostles had begun to admit there was likely a genetic component that was not a lifestyle choice.
“You are so wonderful, Samuel. I want you to know how proud I am of you for standing up for people who are being hurt, ignored, and told they aren’t worth being defended,” I said, kissing him on the forehead.
He shrugged and moved away uncomfortably. “It’s not that wonderful, you know.”
“Of course it is. You just don’t see how unusual you are.”
I made a quick dinner, and after Kurt had finished some phone calls to the stake, he and I dressed in warm coats and walked over to the Torstensens. It was the only kind of “date” we had anymore, walking together arm in arm as he went to visits.
Anna opened the door. She was wearing far too much makeup, but even that couldn’t disguise her red eyes or the puffiness around her cheeks.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said to Kurt.
“No trouble at all. Of course we want to be here for you. How is Tobias doing?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He’s not always coherent, but he is upset about something. He keeps talking about a secret, but he won’t tell me anything about it. He says that he’ll only talk to you, Bishop Wallheim.”
“Well, then, perhaps I should go see him privately and you and Linda can talk.”
Anna nodded and watched Kurt go up the stairs. Her hands were tight little rocks.
We stood in the front room, with a view of the kitchen. “Have you eaten anything today?” I asked her.
“What? Oh. I think so.”
“What did you have for dinner?”
She waved a hand. “I had some toast. I don’t remember when. I’m not really hungry.”
She needed to eat. She needed her strength. “Do you have some eggs? I could cook you up a couple. How do you like them?” I led her into the kitchen, which was very different from the Helms’ kitchen, and from my own. It was smaller, but the wood of the cabinets was thick and the finish was buttery. Everything inside the kitchen looked sturdy and old, and there were very few of the everyday appliances that people seemed to use now. Anna sat at the small kitchen table, but she continued to protest. “I don’t think I could eat anything now. It would just come back up. I haven’t felt this nervous since the day I first met Tobias.”
I rummaged around to find a pan in the cupboards and then eggs in the refrigerator and bread in the breadbox. There was butter covered on a ceramic plate, which was something else younger cooks didn’t often do.
After a moment’s pause, Anna said, “It was so long ago, when we met, but I remember it so clearly. I was sure he would never look at me again, that I’d have those few moments with him and then he’d be gone. I had one chance to say the perfect sentence, to make him pay attention. I could barely speak, I was so worried.”
“What did you say, in the end?” I asked, curious about Anna and Tobias’s courtship despite myself. Young couples were always talking about how they met, their first dates, their weddings, but the older we got, the less it felt like the people we had been at that age were the same ones we were now, after all the becoming that came with life. It was like thinking back to a book you read in high school, and then reading it again, only to realize it said things you had never understood, and that it didn’t say any of the things you thought it had.
“I told him he had the prettiest ears I’d ever seen,” said Anna, blushing even now.
“And that did it?” I asked, smiling.
“He said after we were married that he didn’t remember what I said at all. He only remembered the way I looked at him.”
“And his ears,” I said, working from the table to the stove.
She let out a little laugh. “Yeah.”
I finished making the eggs and put them on a plate. Anna sat down and started to pick at them.
“Is there anything I could do to help you?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“No, think about it. People always say they’re fine and they’re not. You’re obviously not fine, Anna. I could do laundry if you want. Or come in and help you clean. You want to spend what time you have left with Tobias, not doing meaningless chores around the house.”
“I’m very particular about the laundry,” said Anna. “I haven’t let Tobias do it for years. I think it would only make me worry more about it if you did it.”
“All right then. What about something outside? What about the chores that Tobias does—did—normally?”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “Well, the shed is a disaster. Tobias tried to keep up with his garden work through the fall, but I’m afraid he did a haphazard job when it came to organization. I could use some help there.”
“Great!” I said. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m happy to help with.”
“But it’s so cold,” she said. “You might as well wait till spring.”
“I’ve got a coat on. I’ll go out right now and see what needs to be done. Then I can look at my schedule this week and see what time I have.” Of course there wasn’t any reason the shed needed to be taken care of right now. It was the woman who disliked even the thought of the disorganized shed I was concerned about. If I could decrease her stress even the tiniest bit by helping with the shed, I’d have accomplished something.
I cleaned up in the kitchen, then trooped outside to the shed. Like the kitchen it was ancient; it wasn’t the prefabricated kind that was delivered and set up on concrete blocks. This was made of aluminum and had been set up by Tobias, back in the day. The door was difficult to open, and when I stepped inside, I could see why. The floor was littered with tools and other equipment. I bent down and began to pick up flowerpots and half-empty bags of fertilizer. I stacked together things I thought should be thrown away, including several tools that looked rusted and ruined after sitting too long without being cleaned. It was a shame.
For a moment, I stood, arms wrapped around my coat-clad shoulders, and thought of the shed as Tobias himself, a man who had not even shared his life story with his wife of thirty years. How many things had he left inside himself to canker, because he thought he would get to them later? How many inner wounds were still oozing blood and pus? Was he ashamed of the truth of who he was? Did he close the door on his own past secrets to keep them hidden from other people? And what would happen when God opened the door at his death?
I swallowed what felt like a large piece of ice.
What did my own shed look like? I suppose we are all like Tobias, putting off things that we should take care of but which we are too tired or too ashamed to deal with. And someday, the end will come for all of us, and other people will root around in our things, finding out what we wish no one would ever know. It made me want to go home and clean my house, and then the garage.
But what was lurking inside of my heart? You hope that people remember the best parts of you at the end, and forgive the smaller darknesses. You hope, but how can you ever be sure?
Once the shed floor was clear, I nodded to myself with pride. I’d done something right here, at least. I checked my watch and realized I’d been out here for over an hour. Was Kurt still talking to Tobias? There was more to be done in the shed, and I thought of mentioning the ruined tools to Anna, then immediately decided against it. She didn’t need more to do. I made a note on my shopping list to just buy new tools for her. I could bring them back with me after the funeral.
With that thought in mind, I looked through the cabinets, trying to make a list of other items I should buy to make spring cleanup in the yard easier. Fertilizers, of course, and fresh soil. Tobias had his own mulch pile that he turned periodically. I was probably not going to be able to do that well enough to make the mulch useful, so Anna would have to make do with a commercial product. The last cabinet I opened had some fabric in it. I assumed at first it was Tobias’s work clothes, but when I pulled them out, I realized it was a dress. A knee-length pink floral dress that was dirty and so old the seams were coming apart.
I had no idea why it was out in the shed or what Anna would make of it, but I thought to return it to her, if only to solve a mystery for her. No doubt she’d been looking for it for years, and had given up ever finding it again.
I closed the door to the shed behind me, then went back inside. Kurt was with Anna in the front room, and he quirked an eyebrow at the pink dress I had brought in.
“He has lucid moments, and that’s a good thing. He told me how much he loves you and his boys. He asked if they would be here. I told him we would all do our best to make that happen,” said Kurt to Anna.
“I’ve already called them. They’re going to try to make it in time to see him, but they both have work projects they have to finish first,” said Anna.
Work projects took precedence over their father’s dying? It made me wonder about their relationship with Anna and their father.
But Kurt nodded. “Good. Then you’re doing the things that need to be done. I know this is hard, but it will help to focus on what you can do, not what you can’t. All right?” He patted her on the shoulder.
I had had to get used to Kurt touching other women. It still felt a little strange. I wondered sometimes if it would ever feel normal.
I offered the dress to Anna. “I found this out in the shed. I thought I would bring it in, just in case it disappeared a long time ago and you never knew where it went.”
But she shook her head. “That’s not mine. You found it in the shed?”
I unfolded it and shook it out. “Maybe it’s something Tobias found discarded somewhere and forgot about?” I said.
Anna touched it again. “That style is so old. And the pattern. I wonder if it belonged to Tobias’s first wife.”
“Oh,” I said, and wished that I hadn’t brought the dress out. Clearly, Tobias had kept it in the shed after all those years because it reminded him of his first wife. He didn’t want Anna to know about his souvenir, and now I had shown it to her.
“I suppose that’s sweet of him, to keep it after all this time. Why he kept a dress, I don’t know, but—” She shrugged.
“Shall I put it back in the shed?” I asked.
“I can’t see what use that would be. You can just throw it in the garbage, I think. Tobias won’t be needing it anymore to remind him of her. He’ll be seeing her soon himself.” She said it without wincing, but I couldn’t help but think it must hurt her, on top of everything else she had to deal with, to realize that her husband had been so in love with his dead wife that during their whole marriage he had kept this secret token of his first love.
“I’ll take care of it,” I promised.
Kurt and I went home, and I put the pink dress in our garage. It was as I was folding it again that I realized there was a brown stain on the neckline. I stared at it and told myself that it was probably the reason that the first wife hadn’t worn it anymore. But why had Tobias kept a ruined dress? And what was the stain?
It looked like blood, I suppose, but there could be a lot of reasons she might get blood on the back of a dress. I turned out of the garage with a shudder, wondering what was wrong with me, that I became suspicious of every neighbor in the ward. I saw blood everywhere, it seemed, and thought of all men as potential murderers. Was the problem me or was it them?