After the song there was a long silence until Rebecca Carter came to stand in front of the mounded grave that Kenneth had filled in over the body. She took charge, silhouetted by the falling sun. Light glowed around her head and shoulders as though she’d been marked as an angel.
She thanked everyone for coming, but she did not eulogize her husband. She did not tell us the story of Stephen’s early years or their marriage. She said simply that she honored Stephen, her husband, the father of her children, in death as she had honored him in life, with the best of herself. She held up her hands and asked God to take Stephen’s soul to Himself. And then she moved aside, as if to encourage anyone else to speak.
None of the other wives stepped forward.
I noticed Carolyn was holding her belly and looking at the ground. I couldn’t imagine being pregnant and attending my husband’s funeral, knowing that I would have to face the labor and delivery on my own. I hoped the other wives would be there for her when she delivered in a few months.
Jennifer was dressed in a somber black gown that looked out of place at this ad-hoc and informal outdoor funeral. But she looked less like a grieving widow than like a friend of the family who had attended to be supportive. I could read no emotion on her face, except perhaps an occasional flicker of stifled boredom.
Joanna seemed more worn than tearful, her children clinging to her except for Grace, who stood like a soldier at attention in her overly adult clothing.
After a few minutes, one of Rebecca’s older sons—Aaron, as he announced himself—stood up and said, through tears, that his father was the “best man I’ve ever known.” He didn’t seem able to get anything else out. His brother Joseph was standing by his side with his lips tightly clenched together, as if he didn’t trust himself to say anything.
I couldn’t help but think about what Kurt’s funeral might be like, what I hoped was a long way off. Would our sons speak at it? What would Samuel and Kenneth say? What would I?
We stood around for a while in the silence, and then people decided to disperse, mothers herding the children home for bed. I had a choice to make, between the two sons and the Perezes. Which ones should I talk to first? Surely, in Mormonism, it was always family first.
Chapter 22
I hurried to overtake Joseph and Aaron, who were walking away together. “Excuse me, but I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, planting myself directly in the path to the house. I stuck out my hand. “Linda Wallheim. I’m to be Naomi’s mother-in-law and your father had invited me over to visit the family when this tragedy occurred.”
“You already know I’m Aaron,” said the son who had spoken at the funeral. He was shorter and thinner than his father or his brother. “And this is Joseph,” he said, nodding to his brother.
Now that I looked at Joseph up close, he no longer looked as much like his father. For one thing, I could see that his nose was different; it had been broken and not set properly. His face wasn’t as sharp as Stephen’s had been, either. And Aaron’s was even more softly shaped.
They both shook my hand, though Joseph seemed slightly uncomfortable about it.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, hoping they didn’t notice how perfunctory my tone sounded. “My sincere sympathies. I know so much is going to fall to you now as oldest sons.”
Joseph stared at me with suspicion.
“Of course we are sad that our father has gone from this life,” said Aaron. “But none of us can ever know when God will choose to bring us home, and we who remain must be comforted by the knowledge that we will all be together in the glorious celestial kingdom.”
“Glorious,” murmured Joseph, and I had the first glimpse into his eyes as they met mine. He looked as bored as Jennifer had at the funeral, and as disconnected.
“I hope your mother and the other . . . children can depend on you for your support,” I said blandly. It felt too awkward somehow to mention the other wives, as well.
I had addressed both of them, but Aaron replied as if I had spoken to him alone. “Well, I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I’m very busy right now with summer courses. I’m sure you can guess how demanding the pre-med program is. And I assume that my father’s insurance policy will take care of the family.”
“You assume?” I said, because this was what I’d been meaning to ask from the beginning. “Your father never talked to you about the provisions in his will?” While I was thinking about this, I realized both of them must have their own keys to the gate, and although I’d originally thought of the wives as the only suspects, either of them could have snuck in and killed their father and snuck out again. It might even explain why Rebecca wanted to prevent a police investigation, if she suspected her beloved older sons of the murder.