Schmidt smiled. “It sounds like an angel planned it.” He put his hand on Lucy’s head, indicating which angel he was referring to. “Now …” Schmidt stood. “I want to talk to you and”—he turned to Koesler—“to you, Father, before I leave.”
Lucy and Koesler accompanied him to the vestibule.
“This afternoon,” Schmidt said, “I’ll send over some prescriptions. They’ll be mostly for pain. You’ll be impressed by the quantity. Do you know, Lucy, whether or not your insurance covers this sort of thing?”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”
“Okay. Drug companies are forever sending me samples. I’ll put in as many as I have on hand. But some you’re going to have to get at the pharmacy.”
“I’ve got some money,” Koesler offered.
Schmidt looked dubious. “A priest? I’ll try to keep the cost down. But it’ll still be expensive.”
Koesler smiled. “We don’t make much. But then, we don’t need much.”
“Well,” the doctor concluded, “we’ll take it as it comes. One way or another we’ll want to protect Mrs. Delvecchio from pain. And in this kind of illness, pain can be a formidable enemy.
“Now,” Schmidt emphasized, “I think it very important that Louise be on her own as much as possible.”
Lucy looked puzzled. “I’m not sure I understand.” Gradually, she was becoming more cognizant of what her role involved. She would be the hands-on “nurse,” taking daily care of her mother. The responsibility would grow the longer her mother lived and, sans miracle, her condition worsened.
“What I’m getting at,” Schmidt said, “is that the more Louise can take care of herself, the healthier her disposition will be. If we overcare for her, she may retreat into her illness. So, until she is unable to medicate herself, for instance, by all means encourage her to handle as much as possible.
“Do you see what I mean? As much as possible relate to her as you would to someone who is ill but in many ways can care for herself … understand?”
Both Koesler and Lucy nodded.
“I am singling out the two of you,” Schmidt said, “because, Lucy, you’re going to be the primary care person. And you, Father, will be relieving her from time to time. I don’t expect much physical presence from either Tony or even Vincent.”
“But they’ll be here sometimes at least.” Lucy’s brow tended to furrow much as did her mother’s. “What do I do then?”
“Don’t worry, Lucy. It’ll be easier in practice than it seems in the abstract,” the doctor said. “They’re big, strong, and young. They may want to carry her up and down the stairs, for instance. Or give her-her medication. Discourage that. You can do it. We’ve got confidence in you.” He turned to Koesler. “Haven’t we, Father?”
“Absolutely.” Koesler smiled at Lucy. “Call anytime you need help … or even if you just want to talk.”
“Thanks, Father. And you too, Dr. Schmidt.” She smiled, though her eyes looked suspiciously misty. “I feel better now.”
Schmidt departed. Koesler returned to the living room, where both Louise’s sons, sitting on either side of her on the couch, were comforting and encouraging her.
After a few minutes, Koesler gave the family his blessing, and left.
He started the engine, but hesitated to put the car in gear. He was thinking about parish boundaries. Among the discoveries he had made during his few years in the ministry was the importance placed on parish boundaries. Koesler, who tended to think of a soul as a soul, had quickly learned the Church has rules and regulations regarding souls.
He recalled an experience one of his classmates had had early on. The young priest had stopped in to visit a hospitalized parishioner who happened to be in a canonically invalid marriage—thus “living in sin.” The priest was surprised to learn that the parishioner had slipped into critical condition and was not expected to live.
What to do?
Convalidating a marriage was usually a long and difficult procedure. This gentleman obviously did not have the luxury of time.
But he was dying.
Deciding to err on the side of faith, hope, and charity, rather than law, the priest gave his parishioner absolution and the sacrament of Extreme Unction—or the last rites.
By the time the young priest returned to the rectory, he was torturing himself over whether he had done the right thing. To settle his conscience, he phoned the chancery and happened to get that rare creature, a most sympathetic chancery official.
The priest explained what he’d done. The chancery reply was, “Father, you did exactly the right thing. That man was fortunate you happened upon him as he neared the end.”
Koesler’s classmate was so amazed he spent the rest of that day phoning other priests with the good news, “Hey, the chancery cares about souls!”
Personally, Koesler thought it lucky that the absolved man happened to be a parishioner. Otherwise there would’ve been a problem, if not with the kindly chancery official then with a pastor whose boundaries had been violated.
Just such a violation loomed in Koesler’s near future.
His first assignment had been at St. William’s parish. In all his time there, there had been only one technical deviation in protocol in which he was involved: that was when Frank and Martha Morris had slipped out of Nativity parish to try to convalidate their marriage. But Father Keller of Nativity had clearly demonstrated that he was not going to stake a claim on that couple.
This was a different situation.
Koesler no longer was in any sort of assignment to St. William’s. Yet he intended to go well out of his way to care for a former parishioner. Without doubt there was a base here that needed touching. And no better time than now to touch it.
13
It took Father Koesler all of five minutes—he hit only one red light—to reach St. William’s church and rectory.
He parked on Gunston and stood on the sidewalk remembering his first taste of parochial life as a young priest.
Visions rose before him: There was his suite: sitting room, bedroom, and bath. His chances of duplicating the spaciousness of these facilities in any future assignment seemed remote. There was Father Farmer’s suite, with five bottles of beer peacefully cooling on the windowsill—Farmer’s silent revenge for the lack of provided alcohol and the locked refrigerator.
The visions receded as Koesler climbed the steps, rang the bell, and dutifully recited the Hail Mary that, the sign said, would bring a priest to the door. It did.
Father Frank Henry was a bit young to be a full-fledged curmudgeon. But he made up for this drawback with a nasty disposition.
“Well, the prodigal son returns.” It was neither an original nor a particularly appropriate greeting. But that was Henry’s way.
“Hello, Frank. Is the boss receiving?”
“No, I think I heard him say he was going skating.” Henry’s macabre sense of humor was functioning. Father Walsh, the “boss,” had only one leg. Poor circulation had cost him his right leg and threatened his very life. So he might or might not have been up and able to receive visitors just now, but he was not skating.
For whatever reasons, Fathers Walsh and Koesler had struck up an instant May-September friendship. Walsh was old-fashioned enough to address all priests—even Robert Koesler, who was but one-third the older man’s age—as “Father.”
The purpose of Koesler’s visit was to inform the priests of this parish of the critical illness of one of their parishioners. The other matter on Koesler’s mind was a bit murky. The problem had to do with Koesler’s intent to visit Louise Delvecchio with more than passing regularity. Would this involve any territorial law that required pastoral permission? Or was it a courtesy simply to inform the pastor?
Koesler knew of no law forbidding a priest visitation rights, even when he was not assigned to that parish. He was touching this base merely to make sure there would be no problem from any quarter.
“I assume,”
Koesler said, “the boss has skated as far as the living room.”
“That’s a fair guess.” Henry stepped aside and motioned Koesler in.
A case might be made to explain Henry’s brusqueness. Like many another Detroit priest, he was in a holding pattern for a pastorate—waiting for his own parish. Now forty, he’d been a priest for fifteen years. He had more than enough experience to be a pastor, but there were no vacancies. With hardly any priests retiring, he simply had to wait his turn. In effect, he was being squeezed between the older clergy hanging in there and the eager young priests coming up behind him.
Additionally, thanks to his abrasive disposition, he would have to wait still longer while many of his classmates were rewarded with their own fiefdoms preceding him.
As Koesler entered the spacious living area, Father Walsh looked up from the whispered praying of his breviary. Instantly, a smile covered his face.
Koesler glanced through the archway to the dining room. There lining the mantel were legions of medications the pastor consumed with meals.
“What brings good old Father Koesler back to St. William’s?” Walsh greeted.
“I’ve got some bad news that you need to know and I need to talk to you about.” Koesler sat down in a chair directly across from the elderly priest. He had hoped that Frank Henry would go on about his business. No such luck; Henry seated himself near the large window overlooking Outer Drive.
Walsh looked deeply concerned. “Well, let’s have it.” He had coped with his share and more of bad news.
“It’s Louise Delvecchio. She’s just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.”
Henry seemed shocked. Walsh groaned. “Can they operate?”
Koesler shook his head. “It’s inoperable. They got to it too late.”
“That happens …” Walsh had known it to happen many times in his sixty years.
“Is she going to have radiation therapy?” Henry asked.
“No. It was sort of a family decision.”
“They’re making a mistake,” Henry said. “A big mistake. That’s her one chance.”
“It’s a crapshoot,” Walsh offered. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. You choose therapy, it doesn’t work, the patient just gets sicker. You skip therapy, you wonder forever what would’ve happened if you’d taken the radiation.”
“They considered both options rather thoroughly. Dr. Schmidt was there during the entire debate.”
“Hey, wait a minute—” Henry turned full attention to Koesler. “Doc Schmidt was there; I can understand that. But you? What were you doing there?”
“Louise called. The doctor set up this family meeting yesterday. All the kids were there this morning. I was kind of surprised that Vincent got a furlough from the seminary. Even for an event like this … especially since neither the rector nor Vincent knew how serious the situation was.”
“I see,” Walsh murmured.
“Which brings me to the second point,” Koesler said, addressing the pastor. “I’ve grown very close to this family. I think you knew that when I was stationed here. And I’ve stayed in touch-since I left here. That’s probably why Louise asked me to be with them this morning.” Koesler ignored Henry’s glower. “I promised them I would look in regularly and help as much as I can. It was, admittedly, a pretty rash statement. I know that now. I feel I should’ve asked you first to see how you felt about it.
“I must admit, I don’t know what the proper procedure is in a case like this. But I felt that I should at least inform you about what’s happened and what I intend to do to help. I don’t really know whether there’s any kind of permission I need …”
“Well”—Henry was sitting on the edge of his chair—“I remember how close you were to that family when you were here. If you’ll recall, I told you not to—I warned you about friendships with parishioners. It leads to poor professional standards. You didn’t listen to me … and now look what’s happened!”
“Father …” Walsh said. But Henry blazed away. “What kind of message is this going to send to the people of St. William’s parish? That they can’t depend on the priests the bishop sent here for the care of souls? That somehow the priests of this parish are incompetent? That if parishioners want the very best, they need to send for you—”
“That’ll be enough, Father!” It was as harsh a tone as Koesler had ever heard Walsh use.
Walsh turned his wheelchair to face Koesler. “I don’t think any of Father Henry’s worries are going to be realized.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Father,” Koesler said. “Because there’s one more thing you’re going to have dumped in your lap regarding Louise Delvecchio.”
“What’s that?” Henry’s emotional temperature was percolating—increased measurably by Walsh’s rebuke.
“You see,” Koesler began, “the final decision on how to proceed with Louise’s condition was not merely a choice of therapy or death. And this solution was arrived at by Vincent: They are going to have a miracle.”
Koesler would not have stated the matter this bluntly had not Henry been close to exploding. “A miracle? A miracle!” Henry was livid. “Just a miracle!” He was almost sneering. “Any particular time?” he asked derisively.
“By Easter,” Koesler said as if he were making a casual announcement in church.
Henry stood up, almost suffered a heart attack, and abruptly left the room.
Father Walsh, who understood what Koesler was doing, chuckled. “By Easter, eh?” Walsh, smiling broadly, shook his head.
“I guess you had to be there,” Koesler said. “This seemed to me to be Vincent’s baby completely. Tony was very strong for radiation.”
“Ever the athlete. Mother has to beat cancer.”
“Uh-huh. Louise seemed determined to do everything in her power to gain the miracle—not so much for herself as for her son.”
“The Italian mother … everything for the children.”
“Especially for the priest son,” Koesler said. “Anyway, Dr. Schmidt was open to whatever the family decided. In the end, he is entrusting Louise’s care primarily to Lucy. I’m going to back her up as best I can.”
“Ah …” Walsh sighed, “Lucy. Got a good head on her shoulders. She’s going to make a fine adult. Still, awfully young to lose her mother.”
Koesler nodded. “This would be a hard time for all of them: Lucy graduating high school, Tony graduating college and hoping for a pro football career—and, of course, Vincent about to become a priest. Missing her son’s ordination would be the greatest tragedy for Louise. But”—Koesler shifted in his chair—“I don’t know: What if they got their miracle?”
“Father!” Walsh was surprised at Koesler’s willingness to accept that possibility.
“You should have seen Vinnie,” Koesler amplified. “His strong faith was so evident. It was almost contagious.”
“‘Almost’?” Walsh’s eyes bespoke wisdom that came from paying attention while growing older.
Koesler reddened. “Everyone eventually seemed to hop on Vinnie’s bandwagon,” he said after a moment. “But when push came to shove … well, Doc Schmidt was humoring the family. Tony didn’t buy one share of it. Louise wanted to please her son the priest. Lucy appeared the most sincere, but, I wonder …”
“That leaves you, Father.”
“Truth is … I kind of believe it.”
“But …” Walsh rubbed his bald pate, a frequent gesture. “… a ‘kind of belief’ is not what you’re looking for. Is it?”
“You’re right, of course. We’ll need a firm, steady faith to gain this favor from Almighty God.”
“Indeed …” Father Walsh sat back in his wheelchair.
“Something you may soon hear about—that is, if Lucy keeps her part of the bargain—is the request for your parishioners to join the Delvecchio family in their petition for the miracle.”
“Lucy’s going to ask me for that?”
“So she said.”
Walsh patted
the arms of his chair with both hands. “Well, we’ll pray … but not for a miracle.”
“Not?” Koesler hadn’t anticipated this.
“Seen it too many times, Father. People get all worked up—over a very good cause, mind you. But they begin living for that miracle. When it doesn’t happen, for lots of them it cripples their faith.
“We’ll pray. We’ll pray for God’s will to be done.”
“Lucy will come to you—you can depend on that. You will let her down easily …”
“From what you’ve said, I shouldn’t have too difficult a time convincing her.”
Koesler didn’t argue the point. “You’re probably right.”
“And, Father, you are perfectly welcome to visit anytime with any of our parishioners. I think it was good and wise of you to tell us your intentions. The only thing you need from me is delegation if you’re going to perform a marriage in my parish. You will let me know in that case, won’t you?”
It was his small joke. If anything was made perfectly clear to all priests, it was the necessity to be delegated for weddings. Without such delegation, a marriage would be invalid.
“By the way,” Koesler said, as he rose to leave, “may I use your phone? I need to call St. John’s Seminary.”
“You’re leaving? So soon?”
If Koesler had not heretofore been aware of it, it was obvious that Father Walsh would welcome some companionable visitations. The younger priest resolved to drop in more frequently.
“Before you go …” Walsh wheeled himself closer. “… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time … something important. Today’s subject matter brought it to mind.”
“Yes, Father?” Koesler sat down again.
“It’s about that couple—Morris, was it?”
“Frank and Martha Morris?”
“Yes. From Nativity.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I knew what was going on. You told me.”
“Yes, I consulted with you. It was my first, and I hope last use of a Privilege of the Faith.”
“Yes. Well, there were a couple of things. I didn’t get into it before, or even after the incident was closed. But wasn’t there some bitterness over that case? Something between Martha and Louise Delvecchio?”
The Greatest Evil Page 11
