Sanctuary of Sins

by Roger Kazanowski

  The old man almost spit out his soup with laughter. “Heavens, no! But not for lack of trying, I would think.” He wiggled a spoon at her questioningly. “Did you know that the bad food is simply a means through which to speed up this election?” His eyes scanned the room. “Make no mistake. The very cabbage soaking in their bellies is expediting the results of this conclave. But myself? I am a simple man, of simple means and simple food. I quite enjoy it.” He continued eating.

  Charlotte smiled at the old man. “What’s your name?”

  He thrust forth a gnarled hand. “Cardinal James O’Leary, at your service, missus.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Cardinal.”

  “And you,” he said warmly.

  After a few moments of silence passed between them, Charlotte said, “You didn’t ask my name.”

  “I didn’t have to! You’re Charlotte Kotlinski. Everyone knows who you are.”

  “Is that so?” Charlotte said, chuckling.

  The old man took a drink of water. She watched as a droplet ran down his face, unnoticed. “Indeed. How could they not? You are an anomaly. Someone like you comes once a generation, sometimes not at all!”

  Charlotte laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “And I’ll say another thing,” the old man said with mock seriousness, again pointing with his spoon. “You had better finish your dinner. There’s no telling how long we’ll be here. Could be a month. Could be a year. Who knows?”

  “A year? I don’t think so.”

  “You laugh, but it’s true. Aye, there’ve been longer conclaves than that, mind you. The longest in living memory happened in 1268—it lasted 3 years! Well, almost. 33 months, to be precise. Residents of Viterbo tore the roof from over the cardinals’ heads and restricted the poor sods to stale bread and water to get Pope Gregory X to sit in the old chair. And sit he did! The good Gregory decreed that one meal a day would have to suffice should cardinals take longer than three days to elect future popes.” The old man ceremoniously lifted another hunk of bread. “Luckily for us, such blasphemy was abolished.”

  Charlotte took a chunk of her bread and dipped it in the hot soup.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel so alone.

  ✽✽✽

  As the sixth day was about to begin, word began to spread that Cardinal Sibico and Bishop Sanchez had been murdered. It was obvious that whoever was involved in Sibico’s placement at the Vatican wasn’t going to give him any opportunity to expose who they might be. His body was found in his cell with multiple stab wounds. Bishop Sanchez was found suffocated by his own pillow in the prison hospital unit.

  As the world looked on at the end of the sixth day, a plume of white smoke began to show from above the chapel. A pope had been elected. With St. Peter’s Square full of onlookers, cheers began to erupt throughout the crowd. News stories spread rapidly around the world with everyone trying to guess who the new pontiff might be. For a period of time, thoughts about all the recent corruption were forgotten. Who was the new pontiff?

  CHAPTER twenty-seven

  There was desperate need for a new kind of pope; someone that could lead the Church out of this controversy and bring confidence back to its people. Cardinal Contint just might be that person.

  Suddenly the balcony doors began to open; all in attendance grew silent. A figure moved slowly towards the rails to make the long-awaited introduction. Whispers grew to a roar. To everyone’s surprise, it was Cardinal Cotint.

  “Habemus Papam!” We have a pope! he announced triumphantly.

  Dressed in the immaculate wardrobe of the pontiff, which seemed to glow with an exaggerated brilliance, the new pope appeared into view of the thousands of spectators. Many were motionless and stared without saying a word. Others immediately began screaming and cheering with approval. It quickly made sense to everyone there and to the millions watching around the world. This was the perfect time for the Vatican to make such an extraordinary change from its conventional history. The pope stood on the balcony smiling. Her grandeur would become indelible in the minds of all Catholics.

  Charlotte stood perched above the adoring crowd. A cheer went out that thundered down the narrow streets of Rome. She slowly raised her arms, and the din of the crowd exploded to a deafening roar. She looked saintly, her face glowing with grace. This woman from the inner-city church in Detroit, with an undeniable devotion to her faith, was now Pope Frances, the most powerful religious leader on the planet. Her papal name, Frances, came from the Italian saint who was a wife, mother, mystic and organizer of charitable services.

  As Charlotte looked over the thousands of people in attendance she approached the microphone to speak. Dear Lord, give me the strength to lead our religion to new levels of respect. I ask you to help me as I am just your bodily servant here to spread your gospel.

  “I am overwhelmed by this moment, to be given the seat of my predecessor Pope Peter Paul, who was such a great man, mentor, and leader to all of us. As we’re aware, some unfortunate and tragic events have recently taken place. We must work to re-legitimize our Church and our message from God. We cannot and will not allow outside influences to change the history of our scriptures. With help from each of you and your continued support, I vow to work exhaustively to make sure the Catholic Church is run openly, honestly and without corruption. May God bless each of you and make you holier each day of your lives.”

  With that, the crowd broke into cheers and song. Charlotte returned inside.

  “Your Eminence,” Cardinal Cotint smiled, “may I escort you to your new quarters?”

  Retiring to her room with Bishop Kay at hand, she was able to change into more comfortable clothing. She thought about the last day she visited these quarters seeing Pope Peter Paul. It was at that time that she received the rosary given to him by Pope John Paul. She held it in her hands now.

  For the next two hours she received calls from leaders around the world. She finally asked Bishop Kay if she could have some private time; she wanted to talk to Shawne and the children.

  Charlotte tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Shawne… I’ll never be able to visit you and the girls on any casual basis. We’ll see each other, but I understand it’ll always be different now. Just know that no matter how it seems, I’m just Charlotte, your sister. And I love you forever.”

  “Oh, don’t be dramatic!”

  “Tell everyone I miss them,” Charlotte said. “Tell Sherri…” she hesitated, closing her eyes. “Tell her I love her.” More than she’ll ever know.

  Charlotte hung up and leaned back, putting her face in her hands. Tears welled up in her eyes as she cried for the daughter she never had. She remembered the time she found out she was pregnant more than 16 years ago, before she had entered the seminary. The doctor had entered the hospital room smiling ear to ear. When he saw Charlotte sitting alone, a look of concern flashed over his face. “Is Mr. Kotlinski not here?” he asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. She had left John several months before. “No, doctor. There is no Mr. Kotlinski.”

  The doctor nodded, crossed his arms and flashed that reassuring smile again. “Well congratulations, Ms. Kotlinski. You’re pregnant.”

  The following days were filled with equal amounts of heartache and joy. There were options in front of her; two divergent paths leading to opposite sides of a life. On the left, she could call John and tell him the news, beg his forgiveness and try to get back together to have this baby. After all, he was the father. She owed it to him. But if she did that, she’d never be able to enter the seminary—her one dream for as long as she could remember… it would be impossible.

  The path to the right was the cause of her misery. She could put the baby up for adoption.

  Charlotte wanted to make a difference in people’s lives. She wanted to change things; to positively transform the world. The chance to become one of the first female priests in history was not only the opportunity of a lifetime, but it had been her calling since she was a littl
e girl. God had asked it of her nearly all her life. Why else would she abandon the man of her dreams? The man who would do anything for her…

  I don’t know what to do! God, tell me, she begged. Please give me a sign. Something. Anything! But no answers were forthcoming. She spent the next few months in solitude, crying often and feeling aimless, as if God was trying to teach her an important lesson whose meaning she couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps he was punishing her for what had happened with John, and the baby was going to be her living memory of that; her very own scarlet letter.

  One morning there was a loud knock at the door. Charlotte’s crept up to the door to answer, then ducked away. She couldn’t face the world on the other side of that door. Not yet. As she made her escape, the boards creaked beneath her feet and she winced.

  “Hey! I know you’re in there.”

  Shawne.

  “I can hear you breathing, Charlotte! This door is practically made out of plywood. Come on, let me in.”

  “I can’t,” Charlotte said weakly. “I’m sick.”

  “With what?” Shawne demanded.

  “It’s… the flu.”

  On the other side of the door, Shawne paused. “In summertime? Come on, I don’t buy it. We haven’t heard from you in two months. Open the door or I’m calling the police.”

  “You can’t do that!” Charlotte pleaded.

  “The hell I can’t! Open up, Sis.” Shawne banged on the door. “Or I swear to God…”

  The door creaked open. When Shawne saw her sister, she gasped. “Oh, my word. Your belly…”

  Tears welled up in Charlotte’s eyes. “I know.”

  “You’re—”

  “Pregnant.”

  A beat of silence passed between them. Then Charlotte gestured her dumbfounded sister inside, who hurriedly rushed in and closed the door. “Whose is it?” she demanded.

  “John’s, of course. I haven’t been with anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Shawne clutched her sister’s arm. “He knows, right Charlotte? Please tell me the man knows.”

  Charlotte didn’t answer. She crept into the kitchen and fumbled in the cabinets for coffee.

  “Charlotte!”

  “No, all right? He doesn’t know. No one knows.”

  Shawne gasped. “Charlotte. Why on Earth would you keep that from the poor man? He needs to know. It’s his child!” She shook her head, coming to a sudden realization. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to give it away!”

  Charlotte leaned against the cabinets, her head hanging down. “I don’t know… I don’t know.”

  Shawne went to her sister and held her. “Sweetie, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  So, Charlotte did. She told Shawne everything. About the new Church ruling which decreed that for the first time in history women could become priests. And how Charlotte had dreamt of such a thing since she was old enough to speak. More importantly, she told Shawne about the time when she had an appendectomy, back when she was eight years old. Young Charlotte was wheeled into a room on a hospital gurney after waiting for four hours in the emergency room, her burst appendix slowly poisoning her insides while folks with head colds were seen before her. For some reason, the folks in the ER thought she just had cramps. But when she finally saw a doctor there was a look of sheer terror in the woman’s eyes.

  “Is it serious?” Charlotte’s mom asked.

  “Um, could I speak with you alone for a moment?” the doctor said.

  They went outside and Charlotte heard their low voices as she slipped in and out of consciousness. She heard snippets of the conversation.

  O.R.

  Emergency surgery.

  Or she could…

  Now.

  Charlotte was dying.

  As she was being wheeled into the operating room, fuzzy visions of her mother clasping her hand while bawling, Charlotte saw another figure beside her. A white shaft of light in the shape of a person with no distinguishable features. As she studied the light, her heart welled with joy and love and comfort. I’m going home, she thought.

  No, a voice told her. But it wasn’t so much a voice but a feeling. You have much to do, Charlotte. One day you will help millions. You will change the world in the eyes of men. God will smile upon you, for you will be fulfilling His will. Sleep, now, child. Sleep long, and then awaken with the knowledge that His love lives within you.

  Charlotte had never spoken about the experience. She’d told no one, not even John. At first, she was afraid that Shawne would call her crazy, or tell her it had been whatever drugs she was on that made her hallucinate what happened. But Shawne didn’t say that. She knew Charlotte had always had a special relationship with God.

  “I understand, Sis. Really, I do,” she said quietly. “But you have a little one on the way. What will you do?”

  Charlotte shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. “I just don’t know. What is the right thing to do?”

  Shawne eyed her seriously, as if a lightbulb flashed on. “There is something.”

  Sniffling, Charlotte took a napkin and dabbed her eyes. “What is it?”

  Shawne was determined now. “I could take it.”

  Charlotte gasped. “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “Yes, I am. Tom and I… we could take it. I mean, we’re married. And he’s not going anywhere, let me tell you.” She rolled her eyes. “We’ve been trying to have a child for ages, Charlotte. You know that.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Hang on, just listen for a second. Tom wants a baby more than I do, and Charlotte… please don’t repeat this, but he’s sterile. He can’t have children. So, we have been looking into the other thing. You know, the other thing?”

  Charlotte giggled in spite of herself. “Yes, baby sister, I know the other thing.”

  Shawne threw up her hands and nodded rapidly as if to say, Then it’s a no-brainer! “So… we adopt yours. You’ll get to have a place in your child’s life and you’ll get to fulfill your dreams. You don’t need to send the child away. Not like that.”

  Charlotte shook her head slowly. “But what… what about John?”

  Shawne pursed her lips and shrugged. “He can’t know. Not now, anyway.”

  Charlotte’s voice fell to a whisper. “But that’s awful. If he ever found out he would be devastated. I don’t know how I could live the lie…”

  “You’ll have to,” Shawne said. “And so will I. So will Tom. We’ll all have to. But one thing’s for certain: this is better than putting the baby up for adoption. This is the best way.”

  “But I can’t ask this of you,” Charlotte said.

  “You’re not. I’m telling you. We’ll do it. You can come and see the baby any time you want. And you know we’ll take good care of it.”

  Silence flooded the room as they each pictured what their lives would be like. Charlotte thought of John and felt a familiar sting in her chest. She thought of God. What did he want of her?

  Now, 16 years later with Sherri nearly a grown woman, Charlotte cried the tears of a mother who would never truly know her child. She had given her life to God and was now the pope. But was that what she truly wanted?

  God could forgive her, but could John? Could Sherri?

  Charlotte glanced at her phone, hoping to see one particular text. And there it was: Congrats to the most amazing woman! Charlotte lay back and smiled.

  CHAPTER twenty-Eight

  Back in Detroit at the archdiocese, the thrill of their own Father Kotlinski being the new leader of the Church continued for months. The Sweetest Heart of Mary near the Eastern Market became a tourist attraction, with new parishioners doubling and church revenues increasing enough to finally repair the two faltering towers which were in fear of collapsing.

  One day Charlotte asked Bishop Kay to coordinate a stealth visit back to Detroit. For two weeks, Bishop Kay arranged artificial meetings at the summer retreat Castel Gandolfo, located 15 miles from the Vatican.
Frank McGann sent his own private Gulfstream XV to pick Charlotte up and hosted her at his Bloomfield Hills estate. The first night was going to be a reunion with Frank, James Newman, Shawne and of course John Adams. Unfortunately, Tony Gardelli had quietly passed away. He requested a quaint service in Grosse Pointe where only immediate family were in attendance.

  Frank’s house felt like home. The first thing Charlotte noticed were the paintings centrally located in his living room—John’s work. These were the initial pieces that gave John the confidence and funding to begin his career; some of the first paintings Charlotte commented on when she began seeing John at his Eastern Market studio.