Free The Bishop's Wife by Mette Ivie Harrison

Jared had a troubled marriage, and we knew that already.”
    â€œCarrie 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.

CHAPTER 6
    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.
    I am a happily married woman myself, but I acknowledge marriage can be a dangerous covenant. When both people are honest and good, it is still difficult to live together so intimately, day in and day out. But no one is perfectly good or honest. And so marriage becomes a dance over hot coals and metal spikes. We contort ourselves trying to disguise one habit or another, trying to pretend to love one part or another of our partner’s that we don’t. All so that we can get along.
    Privacy cannot exist in a marriage, even when it should, even when it is healthy. And just as dangerous is the legal bind we are in. Shared finances may be fine when people have similar habits, but when they do not? And none of this begins to address the difficulty that is expounded when a marriage produces a family.
    I know from personal experience that marriage can be a holy institution, blessed by God. I have felt moments of perfect bliss and contentment with my husband. I have been expanded in many ways by being yoked to someone who is so different, and I am glad for those chances. But there are twice as many occasions when I shake my head and wonder if we would be happier if we could only live together as friends. Or be business partners. Or share parental responsibilities. Does it always have to be marriage—everything shared and stirred together?
    On television, Aaron Weston had said, “My daughter is missing. Her husband claims she disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving her five-year-old daughter behind. This husband claims that my daughter left no address for anyone to contact her. He claims that she took nothing with her, not a car, not her coat or purse, not even money from her checking account. I do not believe him, but the police refuse to do anything unless there is some evidence of foul play. My daughter may be in danger. She may be out of money, without food. She may be dead or lying badly beaten in a ditch. I need your help to help her.”
    I found myself clenching my fists when he said the word “dead.” But it might bring more attention to the case, which could only do good.
    The camera panned to Judy Weston, who was wearing a tailored pink wool suit and frilly white blouse, and far more makeup than she had the last time I had seen her. I wondered if she had chosen that herself, or if the television people had suggested it. Or if