The Bishop's Wife by Mette Ivie Harrison

The boys who died young and were supposed to be “perfect” because they hadn’t had a chance to sin before the age of eight, the age of accountability?
    â€œWhat about his first wife?” I asked Kurt. “Do you know how she died? Anna said it was her heart, but I always thought it was cancer.” I didn’t even know her name, I realized. I was rinsing dishes in the sink. You were supposed to save water in Utah and let the dishwasher rinse, but it never worked that way in my experience, no matter how new the dishwasher was.
    Kurt thought for a long moment. “You know, for some reason, I thought she had died in a car accident, but I can’t remember who told me that. It was years before we moved in.”
    How strange that Tobias would never speak about her, especially now that I knew he wanted to stay sealed to her and only her. “Does anyone know the real story?” I asked.
    â€œWell, Tobias,” said Kurt. “You’ll have to ask him, I suppose.”
    If I decided ancient history was important enough to bother a dying man, I would.

CHAPTER 5
    I spent all Tuesday reading, but had been bored by it more than usual. It made me wonder what was wrong with me. This was the life every stay-at-home mother eventually worked her way towards. After all those twenty-four-hour days with kids scraping their knees, making messes, vomiting and needing constant baths, to have some hours of peace and quiet should have felt like a blessing. But I was itchy for more occupation. Maybe I should join the PTA, although it was a little late for that with Samuel a senior. I should be content with being bishop’s wife.
    The doorbell rang that evening just after I’d served dinner. “I’ll get it,” said Kurt, staring at his plate then taking one last, large bite of his potatoes.
    â€œI’ll put your plate in the fridge,” I said, and stood up with him.
    â€œPoor Dad, always on call like a doctor,” said Samuel, as he watched his father walk to the front door and open it.
    I heard both a male and a female voice, but I didn’t recognize either of them. I put the dinner in the fridge to wait for Kurt’s return and felt only slightly guilty continuing to eat without him.
    â€œLinda, do you mind coming into the office?” Kurt called out a few minutes later.
    I was startled and stared down at my own plate.
    â€œI’ll put it in the fridge,” said Samuel, with a bit of a grin.
    â€œThank you,” I said and went into the office to discover an older man and woman I had never met before. “Are you new to the ward?” I asked. There were still a lot of new homes being built in the area, though I couldn’t think of anyone moving out.
    â€œNo,” said the man. He had a large, Roman nose and a strong jawline. He also had an amazing head of hair for a man his age, which I guessed was about sixty. It was all black, and it looked natural, unlike Tobias Torstensen’s. He had eyebrows that looked like they should have been combed—or cut back like an overgrown hedge. There was something about him that made me think I should remember him. Was he an old high school friend who had come to look me up? Or someone I’d only seen in pictures in Kurt’s yearbook?
    The woman was greying gracefully, her hair long and thick. She wore little makeup, and had one of those pleasantly round figures. She dressed for comfort rather than fashion: a cotton floral patterned skirt that nearly touched the floor, and under it had on a pair of flat tan shoes. When I looked into her face, she met my gaze with piercing blue eyes and I suddenly knew who she was before the words came from her husband’s mouth. She was her daughter’s mother.
    I felt an old, familiar flicker of irrational anger at that—this woman had a daughter, had been able to raise that daughter to adulthood—and tamped it down. I wondered how often that interrupted my