“Kurt, I was trying to be there for Gwen.” It was true. I had no doubt things would’ve been worse if she’d gone over to that Pro-Stop alone. She might have made the same progress with Officer Grant, but who knew how far she would’ve escalated things with Detective Gore?
“Maybe Brad could have helped with Gwen. She’s not your problem, you know.”
So she was Brad’s “problem”? What did that make me, Kurt’s “problem”? I took a long breath to calm myself. Kurt probably hadn’t meant that the way I’d heard it.
Well, maybe not. “It was the best I could think to do in the moment,” I finally admitted.
Kurt let out a breath. “Fine,” he said. “What now?”
I thought about calling one of the names from MWEG, but I wasn’t sure they’d be interested in getting involved in a murder investigation. I was pretty sure these were lawyers who specialized in immigration, and that wasn’t an issue for Gabriela anymore.
“The children!” I said. They were still in the apartment with the babysitter or her mother, unaware of what had happened at the gas station. While they weren’t in danger of being deported, that didn’t mean they were safe. “How long until DCFS gets there and starts the process of placing them with a family? What about their father?”
“Good question.” I could see the wheels turning in Kurt’s mind. Mormon bishop wheels, more efficient than most. “I’ll see what I can do to make sure their transition is easier, at least. The stake president should know what’s going on. He can suggest a ward family to do fostering while it’s needed. What’s the address?”
I wrote it down for him, along with the names and ages of the children involved.
It might sound ridiculous, but I felt sad I hadn’t thought to bring candy with me before, to have the babysitter pass along. Now I’d never have a chance to give it to the children, once they were in foster care. And so much for that care package I’d dropped on their doorstep.
Kurt got out his phone and started dialing as I went upstairs.
From our bedroom, I could hear Kurt turn on the dishwasher. Then he went into his office and closed the door. How many nights in the last two years had I spent alone up here, listening to Kurt’s nighttime rustlings in that office? This might have been the only time I actually knew what he was doing in there. That should have made it easier for me to sleep, but it didn’t.
About an hour later, he came up to bed. I was still cold from the time I’d spent outside in the middle of the night, and I curled around him. Kurt didn’t pull away; he kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair until I warmed up and finally fell asleep.
It wasn’t until morning that we talked about the calls he’d made the previous night.
“What happened with Gabriela’s children?” I asked.
“President Frost sent someone to check on them, but DCFS had already come and taken them to a temporary shelter.”
I felt sick at the thought of those children with complete strangers. Had they been told the truth about their mother while only half-awake?
“He asked to be updated on their status, and DCFS said they’d keep him apprised of the situation. Right now, they’re working on the assumption that the father is out of the country and can’t take custody immediately, so they’ll be placing all three children in foster care, ideally in the same home.” Kurt’s monotone made this sound like something he had recited over and over again.
“Ideally?” I said skeptically.
“Linda, you know what that means.” His voice was back to normal now. “They’ll do their best, but they can’t guarantee a family will be able to take in three young children this close to the holidays.”
Because people were too busy with their own families during the holidays. I thought for a fleeting moment of asking Kurt if we could take them in, but I didn’t. The last time Kurt and I had talked about foster children, he hadn’t been enthusiastic, and I knew that was partly because we’d been dealing with so many of our own marital problems. I wasn’t sure those problems had entirely gone away, even if they seemed small in comparison to the needs of Gabriela’s children.
And to be honest, taking in three preschool age children seemed daunting to me. For the first time, I felt like an old woman. As adorable as those three faces were, I couldn’t imagine exerting the amount of physical labor that caring for them twenty-four-seven would require. Or rather, I could. All too well.
“All right,” I said, still feeling guilty. I was itching to call Gwen. “Someone should try to get in touch with the father.”
“I’m sure law enforcement officials will take care of that,” Kurt said.
“And that’s good enough for you?”
Kurt sighed. “Linda, what exactly is it you think I should be doing here?”
“Well, if he and Gabriela were married in the temple here, then he’s probably active and attending a ward in Mexico. Can’t you look up his records somehow and find out where he is?” The Mormon church recorded every date, every address, every ritual, every name. We had databases of databases.
“I guess I can talk to President Frost about that,” Kurt said.
“And you’ll talk to the father personally so he knows what’s going on?” I pressed.
“Linda, even if I could get hold of him in Mexico, what would I say? He’s going to be distraught when he finds out his wife is dead and his children are alone in this country in foster care.”
I could tell Kurt had put himself in this man’s shoes all too easily. He was a father, too. “You can give him some reassurance, at least. He needs to know that the children are going to be well taken care of until he can get custody,” I said.
I could see Kurt struggling to contain his frustration. “But he can’t do anything.”
And of course, as a Mormon man, Kurt struggled to understand the point of anything that didn’t involve a checklist of tasks to be completed. We talked about comforting those in need of comfort, but if it didn’t involve food or shelter, it wasn’t his forte.
Kurt went on, “You know that he can’t legally return to the country, and I’m not about to encourage him to break the law. It’s against church doctrine.”
The Twelfth Article of Faith recited by Primary children everywhere:
We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, and in obeying, honoring and sustaining the law.
This innocuous-sounding article had been used to excuse German Mormons who had colluded with Nazis. It justified signing up to fight in wars you didn’t believe in, obeying corrupt political leaders, and so on. It also allowed the church to send missionaries to countries where the regimes were, well, less than ideal. But the spreading of the gospel was the most important goal, wasn’t it?
“Promise me you’ll talk to him, father to father,” I pressed.
He let out a breath. “Linda, I’ll make sure he’s notified through official church channels and that he has someone to stay with him for a while to help him deal with his grief. But that’s all I’m promising.” His posture was defensive now, and I felt guilty about my insistence.
Kurt had five hundred people under his care in our ward already. Asking him to take on more than that wasn’t fair, even if I would gladly have taken on the duty myself if my position had afforded it. It was healthier for Kurt to mark the kind of boundary lines that I seemed unable to draw.
“Did you talk to Brad?” I asked after a moment.
“I did,” Kurt said.
“And?”
“He’s concerned about Gwen’s behavior, but he also knows he can’t control her. She’s not a child, and he doesn’t think she wants to listen to him right now.”
I waited for Kurt to assign me the job of outreach, to talk her down from the ledge, but he didn’t. He didn’t seem to think it was a great idea for me to spend too much time with her right now. And maybe
he was right—Gwen and I were all too similar in certain reckless ways. We fed off of each other sometimes, instead of leading each other to safer choices.
Chapter 11
I slept poorly the rest of that night. I woke up around nine and made some fresh Strawberry Daiquiri Teavana tea of my own, but even with extra cream and sugar, it didn’t help me feel better. I tried to play the piano to soothe my mind, but when that also provided no relief, I called Anna, my closest friend in the ward, and asked if she wanted to go on a walk.
“I was just about to call you, Linda,” she said. “The weather is so perfect. We’ve got to enjoy global warming up here in the Arctic.”
She meant it as a joke, but I didn’t laugh. Sometimes politics came between us, but I was trying not to let it happen so soon. “I just thought it would be a good chance to talk,” I said.
“What happened?” asked Anna, who knew me too well. “Is something wrong with Samuel’s mission?”
“Yes,” I said, almost relieved to talk about that instead of Gwen and Gabriela. “He’s been transferred three times in two weeks.”
Anna’s voice was soft. “But that’s not it, is it?” She could have had a job as a drug-sniffing canine, I suspected.
“No, not quite,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it while we walk, all right?” And maybe about what I’d already mentioned, as well.
“You always do,” she said serenely. “And we can have tea and cookies at my house afterward. I have a new batch of pumpkin cookies I originally made for trick-or-treaters, but hardly any of them came.”
During my growing-up years, my mother had hated Halloween, which she thought of as a Satanic celebration. But around here, religious objection wasn’t the reason there were so few trick-or-treaters these days. Parents just didn’t want their kids out in the dark, even in a local neighborhood. That was why we’d started the ward Primary Halloween party, so kids could still dress up and have fun and eat spooky snacks without parental concerns.
Ten minutes later, I was at Anna’s house. The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves hung in the air. If anyone was a better baker than me in the ward, it was Anna. Was I ever jealous? Maybe a little. But not just about the cooking.
Anna always looked like she had gone for a makeover the day before. I swear she could pass as a movie star. She must have had sixteen different chic coats she cycled through for our walks. I was lucky if I could find a single coat that didn’t make me look like I’d put on fifty pounds over the winter.
“So what’s happening with Samuel?” she asked as we headed out.
“He’s apparently dealing with some homophobic companions, and the mission president is moving him around until he finds some Mormons who actually remember the Savior’s command to love their neighbors as they love themselves,” I said sourly.
I could have been more tactful about it, but I realized after I’d said it that some part of me was testing Anna to see if she was really on my side—and Samuel’s.
She closed the door behind her and said, “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this, Linda. But it sounds like the mission president wants what’s best for Samuel if he’s moving him around to protect him.”
I stiffened at her words, which could mean almost anything. “He’s making excuses for hate,” I said.
She grabbed an elbow and steered me down the walk. “He’s the mission president for all of them. He’s supposed to help them all be better. Do you think he should just send home every missionary who has a problem with homosexuality?” she asked.
Maybe not, but some real punishment and a dose or two of shame might have had some effect on the problem.
We started walking. I almost turned the wrong way and had to keep up with Anna’s quicker feet. We had a brief look down into the valley from up here. It wasn’t the lush view of green trees and lawns that we got in the summer. Late fall in Utah was depressing, and here the trees looked like skeletons, their only colors gray and black and brown.
“Maybe he’s trying to show the Savior’s love to everyone, and this is his way of doing it,” Anna suggested quietly, looking around us. Not that anyone else was on the streets around here at the moment. We were too late for the morning runners, and the only people I saw were the ones in cars, probably headed out to shop.
“Maybe.” I was willing to concede the possibility, but I was still angry at the man. My prayers at night were for Samuel, not his mission president.
“We have to pull people along the path sometimes, give them a spoonful of sugar as encouragement to change,” Anna said.
“Why can’t people lead? Take a strong stance and demand others follow?” I asked.
“Like Christ did? Punishing anyone who doesn’t live up to the proper standards?” Anna said mildly, glancing back at me with eyebrows raised.
“Well, when it came to the money-changers in the temple, Christ didn’t mince words,” I pointed out. “Christ got angry about real evil all the time. He wasn’t always Mr. Nice Guy.”
“Maybe not, but the rest of us aren’t perfect. We’re just trying to do the best we can,” Anna said, going breathless as we headed up the big hill.
I tried to take this chance to lend her some compassion. LGBT issues had been on my radar since my first marriage to a man in the 1980s who’d turned out to be gay, but other Mormons were still playing catch-up.
“Anyway,” I said as we reached the top of the hill and turned back.
“But there was something else bothering you, wasn’t there?” Anna asked again. She tugged her gloves on tighter.
No reason to drag this out. I’d decided to trust Anna for now. “Gwen Ferris was attending the stake’s Spanish ward, and one of the women she befriended was killed last night. Her body was found behind a dumpster of a gas station by the freeway.” I felt horrible saying it aloud again.
“The Pro-Stop killing,” Anna said. She must have seen it on the news, too.
As we went back down the hill, I briefly outlined the details for Anna and told her about Gwen’s citizenship workshop. But I neglected to mention that we’d gone to the scene of the crime last night.
“Gabriela’s husband was deported last year, so she was the sole caretaker of their three children, all preschool-aged,” I said. “It’s terrible.”
“Ah,” Anna said.
“What does that mean?”
We made a turn and had to hurry to get out of the way of a car that was coming up the street, so it was a long moment before Anna said, “I know you’re struggling with this woman’s death.”
“You’re going to tell me this isn’t my problem,” I said, once we were safely back on the sidewalk.
“And you’re going to say it is, because everything is your problem,” Anna said, shaking her head.
What did she want from me? I threw up my hands. “Well, I can’t just turn a blind eye!”
“I didn’t suggest you tell three tiny children to fix their own problems,” Anna said, reaching over to brush something from my face. She showed it to me. It was a bit of leaf that had gotten caught in my hair. “But you don’t have to do it all yourself. The children are getting help, aren’t they? DCFS? Foster care?”
I pulled away from her and started walking again, wondering if Anna had already heard about this from someone else. No, that wasn’t fair. Kurt wouldn’t have told anyone, and there was no way word would’ve spread so quickly otherwise. She was just echoing the standard Mormon view, and I started to understand Gwen’s complaints more clearly about how our community of white Mormons tended to see the world in ways that protected them and their privilege. But the way I read the Book of Mormon, we were supposed to be sharing our houses of worship with the poorest and remembering that no one was more beloved by God than the meek and lowly in heart.
“I watch someone like Gwen, who’s so full of energy, and so frustrated with how slowly the chur
ch changes. And how many problems there are that don’t seem to be on anyone’s radar. How can she stay when she’s told to be quiet and wait?” I asked.
“But it’s only Gwen you’re worried about?” Anna said, her tone arch, though she didn’t turn to show me her expression.
How far were we from her house? I was just about ready to be finished with this walk. “I had my crisis of faith thirty years ago, Anna.” I’d come back to Mormonism since then, warts and all. Why did she have to question my motives about getting involved in this case?
“I see,” Anna said. “And since you’ve had one faith crisis, you can’t have another?”
She didn’t get it. “This isn’t about me,” I insisted.
“You and Gwen have a lot in common,” Anna pressed. “Maybe that’s why you’re so concerned with her situation right now.”
“Maybe some things in common,” I admitted. I hurried up toward her house, which was now in view.
“I think you see Gwen as who you might have been, if your life had taken a different path. Maybe you’re a little jealous?” She spoke as if to the fencepost, completely neutral, but I knew it was a pretense.
“I’m not jealous of Gwen.” If I’d wanted a career, I could have had one, but I’d chosen to raise a family instead. I was content with my path.
“I’m not sure you see the danger in the path Gwen is on. I don’t know her well,” Anna said as we finally came back to her driveway. “But the few times I’ve listened to her in Relief Society before she stopped coming, I’ve been very concerned about her. She’s pushing the limits of what’s proper within the church, and more than that, I’ve gotten the sense that she likes making people angry. She feeds on it. I don’t think that’s a good thing, Linda.”
Was she warning me away from Gwen, like I was at risk of catching some perceived contagion? “It’s fine, Anna. I’m just trying to help her.” I waited for her to open the door for me even though it wasn’t locked.
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