For Time and All Eternities

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  Kurt cleared his throat. “Do you mind my asking about your finances?” he asked. “As a father myself, I’m concerned about the children.”

  “I don’t have any secrets,” Stephen said, which I highly doubted.

  “You make enough money as a doctor to manage food and housing, plus some college expenses, for more than twenty children?” That was the accountant coming out. He wanted to know the bottom line here.

  Stephen turned to us and I could see his smile even as his face blocked out the sun. “It’s a good profession in Utah. Did you know that we as a state have the highest birthrate in the nation?”

  “I think I did know that,” Kurt said blandly.

  “And your investments with Jennifer must help,” I added.

  “Yes, very much so,” said Stephen, glancing at me for a moment before turning back to Kurt. “Shall I show you two my financial statements before we agree to let our children marry?”

  “No, no. I didn’t mean that,” Kurt said, looking more soberly out at the same valley.

  Stephen began to walk again. I followed him, thinking I’d very much have liked to see his financial statements. I wanted to know how much he had salted away for retirement and whether the wives had their own bank accounts. Did Joanna have enough money to survive until her three children were in school? What about Carolyn? I’d come because of Talitha, but I couldn’t help but think that everyone here needed my help, if only I could figure out what to do for them.

  Chapter 10

  As we were nearly back to the big house, the sound of howling rose from the backyard, growing louder and louder. It was a child’s cry of pain.

  “Who is that?” I asked, but didn’t wait for Stephen to respond. I jogged ahead, Kurt quickly joining me. We found Talitha seated in the reddish dirt behind the main house. As we approached it became clear she was hunched over her cat, Lucy.

  When I got closer I could see the cat was dead, eyes and mouth open and lifeless. There was no blood, though, and Talitha didn’t seem hurt, which relieved me.

  Kurt knelt and put a comforting hand on Talitha’s shoulder.

  “Let go of me!” she shouted at Kurt, wrenching herself away.

  “He’s dead, sweetheart,” Kurt said, rising and taking a few steps back, knocking into me and then putting an arm around my waist.

  “It’s not a he. It’s Lucy!” Talitha yelled. “And she’s not dead. I won’t let her be dead!”

  “Oh, honey!” I said, wishing I could do something to help her.

  Stephen had finally joined us. He didn’t seem overly concerned. “All animals die, Talitha. It’s why we shouldn’t get so close to them.”

  Talitha looked up at her father, pleading. “Make her come back to life. Put your hands on her and heal her with your priesthood, Daddy.” She was still clutching the dead cat to her chest tightly.

  I turned to watch Stephen. It sickened me that Talitha thought he could actually do that. Had he told her that he could lay his hands on the dead and resurrect them? Or had she made it up out of her own desperation?

  “Talitha, this is a pet, not a human being,” Stephen said. “It has no soul to call back from the dead.”

  I hated him for his callousness. Couldn’t he at least tell his young daughter that the cat had died as peacefully as it could have in her loving arms, as it so clearly had?

  “I think she does have a soul,” Talitha said. “How can she not if I loved her so much? Daddy, I want Lucy to be in my heaven.”

  The only time Kurt and I had talked about pets in heaven had been when Samuel’s rabbit Fluffy had died about ten years ago now. I’d resisted getting any pets for the other boys, but Samuel had been so tender with animals and pleaded so often, I’d eventually given in. She’d only lasted eighteen months. I remember how distraught he was at the thought that his pet was dead forever. So Kurt and I told him that we were sure that a God of love would include pets in heaven, as well, though Mormon doctrine wasn’t clear on this topic.

  To Talitha, Stephen said firmly, “But you know that Christ did not die for animals to go to heaven, only for us, only for God’s children.” He gestured to himself, to me and Kurt, and to Talitha.

  I wished he hadn’t included us in this opinion. I also couldn’t help but wonder if this heartless treatment of a sensitive girl like Talitha might lead her to act in the unhappy way Naomi had interpreted as an indicator of abuse.

  “Why?” demanded Talitha, holding the cat tighter to her chest. She looked so tightly wound, I thought she might explode. “I love animals, and I want them in heaven with me. Why can’t they be there?”

  “Let go of that creature immediately, Talitha,” Stephen snapped, apparently tired of the conversation. He glanced sharply at us, apparently angry that Kurt and I had seen Talitha defy him.

  Talitha turned her back to her father deliberately, hunching closer to the cat so that they were both almost on the ground. She whispered fervently. “I love you and you’re going to come back, maybe as my baby sister—”

  She was interrupted by Stephen yanking her up by the elbow. The dead cat tumbled out of her grip to the ground.

  The girl kicked and screamed, “Lucy!”

  Her arms reached for the cat, but Stephen was hauling her back toward the house. Talitha was just at the age when she could still be carried, but she was big enough for it to be a struggle.

  I started to run after them, but Kurt pulled me back. “Linda, don’t. You have to leave it. You’ll only make it worse for her.”

  I wanted to call DCFS. But as much as I hated how Stephen treated Talitha, I hadn’t actually seen any physical abuse. Was that going to happen inside the house where I couldn’t see it?

  “She’s just a little girl,” I said tightly, watching Stephen carry Talitha’s struggling, squawking form into the house.

  “Yes, she is, and he’s a grown man. But if you want to do anything to help here, you have to make sure Stephen doesn’t see you as the enemy,” said Kurt. “Unless you want to leave?”

  I swung back to him, furious. “Just because you’re not comfortable here, you want to leave? Why don’t you think of Talitha?”

  “Linda, we haven’t seen anything that is illegal. And if Naomi had wanted to call DCFS, she would have done it herself. You know that. If you feel obliged to stay and see more of this—mess—I’ll do what I can to help, but I can’t pretend I’m comfortable about it.” Kurt was pulling at his ever-decreasing thatch of gray hair.

  “I have to see more. I can’t leave unless I know that girl is safe,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure at all how I was going to accomplish that.

  The sound of Talitha’s shrieking was abruptly cut off as the back door to the main house slammed shut.

  “Or if you know for sure that she’s being abused, Linda? Where does it stop? When you put yourself in danger?” Kurt’s hair was standing on end, but his eyes were fierce and bored into mine.

  I looked away, focusing on the cat’s corpse for a long moment instead of my husband. My own safety could not be my concern. As a mother, I had learned always to put myself second and it wasn’t a habit I could forget easily. But for now, I took another calming breath and said, “Let’s at least bury her cat.”

  We’d done that for Fluffy, and for many years Samuel had gone out to look at her grave and remember her. It had helped him, though I think he had stopped thinking about the pet as much in recent years.

  “All right.” Kurt reached for the cat, then seemed to think better of it and pulled back. “We’ll need a shovel and maybe an old blanket.” He stood up straight and looked at the house.

  It was clear that Kurt wanted to leave. He didn’t want any of this to be our responsibility, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. But I couldn’t just walk away from a little girl who might be in danger.

  “I’ll go inside and ask,” I said, trying to ma
ke this easier on him. But Kurt came with me. In the late afternoon light, we crossed the splotchy grass field, which didn’t look like it was ever mowed. I went inside the back door while Kurt scraped his shoes on the wooden slats of the porch.

  Sarah was in the kitchen, her arms wet with soapy water.

  “Talitha’s cat Lucy died just now,” I told her. She had to have heard Talitha hollering as Stephen brought her inside, but maybe she didn’t know what her daughter had been so upset about.

  “Oh,” Sarah said with a shrug, scrubbing a pan with the rough side of a dish sponge. “Well, everything dies eventually.”

  Surprised by her response, I said, “Um, I was wondering if Kurt and I could bury the cat. I’m sure it will help Talitha with her grief if she can visit the gravesite.” I didn’t mean to tell a mother what her own child needed, except that in this case, maybe I had to.

  I saw a flash of anger in Sarah’s eyes. “If you think that’s necessary,” she said.

  It might not be necessary, but it was a kind gesture for a little girl in pain.

  After taking a long, deliberate moment finishing one last dish, Sarah wiped off her hands and showed me and Kurt into the garage, which was right next to the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” Kurt said to Sarah, rummaging around until he found a shovel. “And if I could have an old blanket, as well? Just to wrap the animal in and move it to the burial spot.”

  “All right,” Sarah said. We followed her back to the entryway and she disappeared upstairs for a few minutes, then came back with what looked like a hand-sewn baby quilt. It was old, but surely too precious for this. “This was Talitha’s,” she said with what I hoped was not the malevolence it sounded like.

  “We couldn’t use this on a cat burial,” Kurt said, trying to hand it back.

  Sarah held up her hands in refusal. “No one’s using it anymore. Waste not, want not.” She left the baby quilt on the piano bench and walked back into the kitchen.

  Practical was one thing. Cruel was another. What had made Sarah act like this toward her own daughter?

  As I turned toward the back door, I heard sobbing coming from the second floor. I froze, my heart twisting at the child’s pain.

  “Amen to the priesthood of that man,” Kurt said, quoting from the Doctrine and Covenants, the modern Mormon scripture from Joseph Smith. He was alluding to the scripture about men who use their priesthood to intimidate or manipulate or harm others, and that they would have no sanction from God if they did so.

  “He’s abusing more than Talitha here,” I said. Whether it was physical or not seemed a nitpick to me.

  “But he’s smart and ruthless. I think you should consider whether we would be better able to help from the outside.”

  But what about Naomi’s worry that all the children would be taken away from their mothers if we went to the authorities? That wasn’t what I wanted. It would punish the wives as well as Stephen.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. But the truth was, I couldn’t imagine walking away from this, not unless Talitha was coming with me.

  “On with the burial, then,” said Kurt.

  We trooped outside together. Even though it had been my idea, he carefully used the baby quilt to pick up the cat, then wrapped up the ends so he never had any actual contact with the animal’s fur.

  “So, where do we bury it?” he asked, staring out at the mountainside. I thought fleetingly how rare it was that he asked me to give him instructions, especially these days. He was very used to being in charge as bishop, and it spilled over into our home life. Maybe that was part of the problem for me, that he could never talk to me as Kurt, my husband, but only as Kurt the bishop. If we could figure out a way around that, maybe we could talk out things about the new policy. But not here. Not now.

  I glanced back at the main house where Talitha’s room was. “Not too far away, I think.”

  “Maybe under those scrub oaks?” Kurt said. He gestured to a group of trees right on the foothill of the mountain itself.

  “Looks good to me,” I said.

  Kurt started toward the trees, the small quilted package in the crook of one arm, the shovel in his other hand. I felt a chill run through me as I watched him. I knew it was a cat inside the baby blanket, but it was just the size of a human infant.

  We made our way to the scrub oaks Kurt had indicated, and he began digging. I felt useless standing next to him, but there was only one shovel and the dirt was clearly difficult to dig into. I didn’t often let myself off of physical labor because I was a woman, but in this case, I let Kurt take over.

  I found a seat on one of the large boulders lodged nearby and watched Kurt’s steady rhythm. At least things weren’t so bad that we couldn’t work together to help someone in need, like Talitha. That had to mean something about our marriage, didn’t it?

  Kurt stopped for a moment to wipe his face. His eyes must be stinging from dripping sweat, but I didn’t really think my offering to help would do anything other than delay the burial. Sometimes I felt so helpless and I took it out on Kurt. I knew it wasn’t fair, and I tried to think of some way to explain what I was feeling. But I couldn’t.

  Finally, Kurt had dug deep enough down that he was satisfied, and he carefully placed the bundle in the hole. I stepped in to take the shovel from his hand.

  “Linda, I can manage this.”

  “Let me do something,” I said.

  At that, Kurt stepped back and let me awkwardly shovel dirt in over the animal’s form. When I was finished, we sat for a few minutes together on the boulder, his dirt-crusted hand in mine, which was bleeding slightly from the reopened cut I’d noticed while making Danishes.

  I had a distinct memory of the day that we had buried Georgia. We hadn’t had a full funeral for her, but our bishop at the time had come, and the three older boys, Joseph, Adam, and Zachary. They’d had no idea how to feel, had seemed more confused than sad at the loss of the baby they’d awaited. I had smelled the same dry, slightly piney scent of soil then, though Kurt and I hadn’t dug the grave. I’d held tight to Kurt’s hand and I’d always thought of it as the worst day of my life. But we’d been on the same side then. We’d grieved the same loss. We’d faced the same journey forward. Now it wasn’t nearly as obvious what we had in common. Our children, yes. But they were grown now, and where did that leave us?

  “Will you say a prayer over the grave, please?” I asked.

  “Linda, I can’t.” His voice sounded strangled. “You know, I can’t. Not for an animal’s grave.”

  Fine. I hadn’t meant an official consecration of the plot, just a prayer. It had been a chance for him to move to my side, and he wouldn’t take it. Well, I didn’t need his permission to do what I thought was right.

  I knelt on the ground and folded my arms, the simple pose of prayer rather than a formal grave dedication. “God, please give this animal peace. She was well loved in this life. And we ask Thee also to give comfort to the little girl Talitha, who misses her cat friend so much.”

  I waited to feel inspiration, something about what I should do to best help Talitha, but I felt nothing. “Amen,” I said at last.

  Kurt’s voice rang out with mine, and I was both surprised and gratified by his participation, after all.

  Chapter 11

  Following a few moments of shared silence, Kurt and I began to walk back to the house with the shovel. Kurt went through the same ritual at the porch steps with his shoes, and then we took the shovel back to the garage.

  “Let’s find a bathroom so we can wash up,” Kurt said, holding out his filthy hands. Mine weren’t nearly as bad, but washing up would be good for me, too.

  There was no one in the kitchen this time when we let ourselves into the house, though there was a pot of potatoes boiling, and the room smelled deliciously of roasted pork, which I saw was standing to rest by the stove before being
carved. We searched for a bathroom on the main floor, washed thoroughly, then ran into Stephen as he was coming down the stairs.

  “Ah, there you two are. I’m sorry about that interruption,” he said. He didn’t name Talitha or ask about the cat’s body that he had left us with. “Before we had dinner, I meant to make sure you felt comfortably settled in the room where you’ll be sleeping before we had dinner.”

  Before Kurt or I had a chance to say object, Stephen called for Sarah and Rebecca. Sarah was already coming up the stairs from the basement, carrying canned green beans, and a few moments later Rebecca appeared on the staircase coming down from the second floor.

  “Even if Naomi and Kenneth aren’t here, we want to make sure our guests feel welcome to stay the night,” Stephen said to Rebecca. “Can you sort out which room would be best? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of. I’ll be in my basement office.” With the matter safely in his wives’ hands, Stephen seemed ready to leave us.

  I stopped him, reaching out instinctively and putting a hand on his arm.

  “Yes?” he said, looking down at his arm as I pulled back my hand.

  “Talitha,” I said, but the word came out like a bleat because my mouth was dry. I swallowed and tried again. “Is Talitha all right?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Stephen said. “She’s up in her room resting.” He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Little girls and their little problems. When she wakes up tomorrow she probably won’t even remember that cat.”

  Little problems—so dismissive a phrase. “You mean . . . Is she in bed for the night?” I asked.

  “She is very upset right now,” Rebecca said sadly. “We hope she’ll cry herself to sleep soon.”

  I fought a wave of frustration—I needed to talk to Talitha.

  “No reason to dilly-dally, ladies,” Stephen said to his two wives. “Go on, all of you.” He made a shooing gesture, then turned and headed down the basement steps Sarah had just come up.

  The man seemed to think he could tell Kurt and me what to do as well as his wives. I looked at Kurt, expecting he was going to resist, tell the two women they shouldn’t bother with a room because we weren’t staying the night. But he didn’t say anything, and I thought with relief that Talitha’s plight must have changed his mind.