Free The Bishop's Wife by Mette Ivie Harrison Page B

do you say in response to your son-in-law’s comment, which he sent to our station early this morning when we asked for his response?” She looked down at a paper in her hands. “Jared Helm says that his wife was ‘sadly deluded and possibly mentally ill atthe time that she wrote that letter. I hoped to get care for her and had asked her to see a psychiatrist on numerous occasions. She would not. Nor would she take the depression medication that our family doctor had prescribed for her. The records of that appointment are enclosed. She disappeared because she could not deal with the responsibilities of an adult life as a wife and mother. I pity her, and I hope the best for her, but I cannot allow her back into my life or my daughter’s.’ ”
    The newscaster paused and the camera zoomed in on the Westons. I stared at Aaron Weston’s face and thought I saw a hint of anger, but he did not show any embarrassment or distress. His tone was precisely clipped when he spoke, however.
    â€œAnd when his wife is missing, all my son-in-law thinks about is how it will look to the press, and making sure that he is protected legally? If my daughter did see a doctor about depression, it was depression he caused. And if she refused to take medication, it was because she was more concerned about her daughter than she was about herself. Taking pills when you are with an abuser is not a solution to the problem and may blind you to the real effects of the abuse. My daughter likely knew that.” He gestured emphatically at the end of each sentence, and I had the impression of a man who knew how to use force when he wanted to.
    The camera turned to the newscaster. “Well, we thank you for your time. And viewers, if you feel strongly about this, we urge you to contact the number on the screen below. You can also give us feedback at our website, on Facebook, or on Twitter.” She smiled and I winced.
    When Samuel came home, I asked him if he had heard anything. He shrugged and said that they had watched the news at school in his journalism class.
    â€œWhat do you think happened to Carrie Helm, Mom?” he asked.
    â€œI think she’s in danger,” I said carefully.
    â€œDo you think she’s dead?” he said.
    â€œI hope she isn’t dead,” I said. Samuel was old enough to hear the truth. “But I’m very much afraid she is.”
    Samuel was in the kitchen, where he had started to get a snack. He stood in front of the pantry, frozen. “Then you think we have a murderer in our ward? Shouldn’t someone have seen the signs of something going wrong? What about her visiting teachers?” With each question, Samuel’s voice rose. “What about Dad?” he finished.
    Samuel had every right to be angry at all of us. We told him that God would protect the righteous by warning us of danger, and then this happened.
    â€œI wish someone had seen something. I wish I had,” I said, unwilling to point the finger at other people when I held equal responsibility.
    â€œIs Jared Helm going to be excommunicated?” Samuel asked. “Or on a church trial or something?” This was more than just idle curiosity on his part, I sensed. But why was he asking the question? We hadn’t had a church disciplinary court in the year since Kurt had been bishop.
    â€œI’m more concerned about whether Jared Helm goes to jail or not.” His eternal welfare, God could figure out later. “But first the police need to figure out what really happened.”
    Samuel thumped the counter in frustration. “It’s not enough,” he said.
    â€œListen, why don’t we go visit Adam and Marie?” I said.
    Adam, our oldest at twenty-six, had been married several years ago, and he and Marie lived south of us, in Provo, where they were both still going to college at Brigham Young University. They came up for our monthly family dinners, and they called