The Bishop's Wife Read Online Free

walking around naked. Everyone in the ward knows every problem in my life. Every mistake I made in raising Perdita. Every time I indulged her when I should have been more strict—every time—”
    I put a hand on her arm. “Stop,” I said. “No one is looking at you like that. No one is judging you.” I knew it was a lie. I knew there were plenty of people who were doing just what she was afraid of. Those same people had made judgments about me when I lost my daughter. They told me I hadn’t chosen the right doctor, that I hadn’t gone to the hospital soon enough, that I should have taken better care of myself while pregnant. But I chose not to let them have power over me. And I didn’t think Cheri should let them have power over her, either.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œPerdita and Jonathan may end up as one of the best, most moral couples we have ever seen, deeply in love, and devoted to the church. How do you know they won’t?”
    â€œBut this is such a bad beginning.”
    â€œIt’s not a bad beginning. It’s just not the beginning you imagined.” But of course, Mormons have to have absurdly high standards. Other people try not to drink to excess. Mormons refuse to drink at all. Other people cut back on their coffee at Lent. Mormons drink neither coffee nor tea, ever, and I know plenty of Mormons who think it is wrong to drink hot chocolate, or herbal tea, or decaffeinated coffee. Or anything that could be mistaken for tea at a casual glance. Or anything coffee-flavored. Or rum-flavored. Or even vanilla extract.
    â€œWhat if they have children?” asked Cheri.
    I thought of Kelly Helm. A temple marriage hadn’t saved her parents’ marriage, or her. What was sealed in heaven often didn’tmake a damn bit of difference on earth. “Let’s focus on the good things right now,” I said, “not all the bad things that might go wrong in the future. Perdita and Jonathan love each other. They’re going to be happy together. They both have strong testimonies of the church. Do you believe that?”
    Cheri nodded, then started to cry again.
    â€œThis is their wedding day. You’re supposed to be happy for them,” I reminded her.
    She nodded again, and straightened. “You’re right. I can’t indulge myself. I have to put on the face they expect to see. All of them.”
    That wasn’t precisely what I had meant, but I guess it would have the desired effect.
    She started getting out the tables that were stored under the stage on the north side behind the basketball hoop. We set chairs around the tables, and I found the nice lace tablecloths in the Relief Society closet. Silver and gold horns, jewels, and links went on the center of every table, along with flowers in a silver and gold vase.
    Other women came in then, and I excused myself. The plates would have to be set up, and the photographer would show up at some point. There would need to be signs on the through street outside directing people to the right building. In Draper, Utah, there were many Mormon churches, and they all were built on the same plan, so they looked nearly identical.
    In the meantime, I went shopping, watched the news while I cleaned the house, and spent some time with a good book of the sort that Joseph Smith was thinking of when he said that “anything that is lovely, of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” I attended the Relief Society monthly book club regularly, and we were frequently giving each other recommendations for books without bad language, bad moral values, or explicit sex.
    I hadn’t had a job since I was pregnant with my oldest son, and I kept myself busy. But lately, I had begun to wonder if I ought to becontributing to the world as more than a wife and mother. It wasn’t that we needed the money, but with Samuel about to leave home, I would have more time on my hands.
    Being a