Requiem for Moses

Chapter Sixteen

In 1920, when Sacred Heart Seminary was built, it stood all by itself on otherwise undeveloped land, on the fringe of the city of Detroit. The seminary was the dream of Bishop Michael Gallagher, who saw the need for a large institutional structure to train future priests for service in the Detroit diocese. The bishop didn’t have the money to finance this, or many other monuments that he was to erect.

All these buildings, including the seminary, became the headache of Gallagher’s successor, Edward Mooney, who, in 1937, reluctantly became the sixth bishop of Detroit. Since Mooney was an archbishop, the diocese of Detroit was ipso facto raised to the rank of an archdiocese. In 1946, Mooney had the added distinction of being named a Cardinal- Detroit’s first-by Pope Pius XII.

As a Cardinal, he was popularly perceived as a “Prince of the Church.” Popular perception also noted that he would be in the position of advising the pope on weighty ecclesial matters. Actually, most popes prefer to keep their own counsel. Mooney’s actual importance-and this was no small thing-lay in participating in the election of popes, and, as a Cardinal, automatically being a confidante for whoever occupied the throne of Peter.

Among the fringe benefits of being a Cardinal was the power to hear confessions and absolve sins anywhere in the world validly and licitly without the need for permission from the local bishop. However, Church wags have it that it is so long since any Cardinal has heard a confession that, more than likely, he has forgotten the words of absolution.

Another fringe benefit of the Cardinalate is the power to establish the Stations of the Cross with a simple sign of the cross. But there’s not much call for that nowadays.

Whatever, with this background of one man providing ready-made migraines for another, it is perhaps appropriate that each of the two men had a room named after him at Sacred Heart Seminary.

Even for those of long acquaintance with the seminary, it was a challenge to know where these rooms were located. Granted, they were huge, and separated by only a few feet from each other. The difficulty lay in knowing which was the front and which the rear of the building.

In the beginning there was no doubt. The front of the building, defined by its majestic Gothic tower, faced Chicago Boulevard between Lawton and Linwood Avenues. At the peak of the semicircular drive was the front door.

And then came the riot of 1967.

During the riot, the white stone statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus on the seminary grounds was painted black by some of the seminary’s neighbors, almost all of whom were African-Americans. After the riot, some young white men, not neighbors, painted the statue white. Which almost triggered an aftershock riot. After that, the seminary’s rector and some students, all white, repainted the statue black-which it remains to this day.

Over the years, more and more security measures were introduced to the seminary. Eventually, the traditional front of the building was entirely fenced in. After that, one gained entry to the building through a door in what had been the back of the structure. Now, all the parking spaces, reserved or not, were at the rear of the building, along with the security booth and the guard.

In this manner, the back of Sacred Heart Seminary became its front, or main entrance.

And, oddly, those two huge rooms situated in what was now the front of the building were known as the “back parlors.” Undoubtedly because they had been known as the back parlors long before they were renamed the Gallagher and Mooney parlors.

In the ’60s and earlier, when students crowded the hallways, study halls, private rooms, refectory, dormitories, chapel, and recreation facilities, one of the back parlors was reserved for high school students, the other for collegians. And each looked the part.

The high school parlor (Gallagher) had a Ping-Pong table and a lot of tacky uncomfortable furniture. The college parlor (Mooney) had ashtrays and tacky upholstered furniture.

More recently, the Gallagher and Mooney parlors were structured so that they could be converted with ease. Lecture hall, meeting room with something short of infinite space for folding chairs, dining room, luncheon room, hospitality suite-just about anything along these lines was possible.

This morning, the Mooney room was being set up for a news conference. The subject of the gathering was, essentially, Dr. Moses Green and his “miracle.”

A number of factions in this matter were not at ease with their positions. There was the Green family, and the family doctor, and the medical examiner’s office, and the mortuary, and the Detroit Police Department.

As yet, nothing litigious had occurred. Was it that each and all of the parties were being defensive while things straightened themselves out? Was it that no one really wanted to sue? Was it that they all wanted to sue but the time was not propitious? Doubtless everyone would soon know.

For the moment, there would be a news conference.

The family would be represented by its attorney, Avery Cone. The family physician did not think the presence of his attorney would be needed-yet. City bureaus had their attorneys at hand.

A platform was being set up with microphones and chairs. Uncomfortable metal chairs were being unfolded. Newspeople were gathering.

The Archdiocese of Detroit, in a cooperative gesture, had made its seminary host for this event.

Early arrivals were Lieutenant Tully and Father Koesler. Actually-totally out of the ordinary-Koesler had invited Tully to the conference. Hitherto, the shoe had almost always been on the other foot. Tully, aware this conference was scheduled, had been undecided about attending. The phone call from Koesler decided the issue.

Koesler was returning to his seat next to Tully with two coffees. “Thanks,” Tully said as he accepted the Styrofoam cup. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate this, but isn’t it a little much for a news conference?”

Koesler smiled. “The seminary doesn’t host many news conferences-at least not of this size and importance. They’re being hospitable providing coffee and Danish.”

“Nice.” Tully sipped carefully; the coffee was quite hot. “How’s your crowd holding up?”

“Very well, I’m sorry to say. Thanks to the newest ‘miracle,’ today’s crowd is even bigger than yesterday’s. And we aren’t taking up a collection!”

Tully smiled. He was getting to know Koesler; from the priest’s tone of voice Tully knew that he was kidding.

“Today,” Koesler said hopefully, “should get the ball out of my court.” He used the tennis metaphor, though aware that he himself had never played the game seriously.

“How’s that?”

“The Cardinal appointed a committee of priests to examine-well, originally, the Green event. Now I guess they’ll have the second miraculous claim to investigate. Anyway, I am now able to refer all questions and requests for statements to the committee. And that gets me off the hook I’ve been on for the past day or so.”

Tully nodded. “So why’d you call me? I was thinking of coming, but your call cinched it.”

“Maybe it was ESP. I know you’re working on the case and I thought you might get something from the conference. But, more than that, I invited the pastor of the parish that Theresa Waleski lives in. He’s a very private person. I think the media are learning that they’re not going to get anything out of him.”

“Will he talk to us?”

“He will to me. And he’ll talk to you because you’re with me. We aren’t real tight, but we are friends in a casual way. He should be here soon. Besides,” he added jokingly, “I told him I’d get him in here for the conference.”

“Get him in here? I flashed a badge. How did you get in?”

“I flashed a roman collar.”

“And this other priest won’t have one?”

“He most certainly will. The guards he has to get past are security people hired by the seminary. They’ll let anyone in priestly garb in. But”-he grinned-” Father Weber doesn’t know that.”

Tully looked skeptical.

“For the most part,” Koesler explained, “people, including priests, see a news conference on TV. Most people haven’t been physically present at such a gathering. It’s something they’d like to see firsthand. I guessed that Dave Weber would be one of those. And I was right: He was a little reluctant to come here without the bait of a news conference.

“Needless to say, he’s in much the same situation as I am-he’s being hounded to answer questions, to make statements. And the demands are coming from parishioners, the curious, and, of course, the news media. So he was eager to get out of his pressure cooker of a parish. And, there was the added boon of attending a real-life news conference.”

The creases around Tully’s eyes crinkled. “Just what are you going to do when this guy-Father Weber-gets here and finds out that his collar is the ticket and he can walk right in?”

“I told him to wait for me at the door to the parlor … that I’d escort him in from there. So if I get up in a hurry, it’s because I’ve spotted Dave.”

Tully nodded and quietly chuckled.

“Has your investigation turned up anything?” Koesler asked.

“Moore and Mangiapane have been doing most of the legwork. I’ve been tied up with a couple of other pressing cases. They’ve got some good interviews. Jake Cameron was pretty tight-lipped. Some of his associates weren’t. Seems Cameron’s been screwed by Green lots of times. The latest threat has Cameron losing control of his girlie bars. And that’s the last thing in the world he wants. It could be a solid motive to get Green.”

“But you don’t know yet that there’s even been any crime committed … do you?”

“No. But if we could ever establish that there was an attempt on his life, we’ll be well ahead of the game in having some suspects.”

As Tully spoke, he studied Koesler’s face. Some of the people Mangiapane and Moore had interrogated had spoken freely to the priest. Tully wondered what Koesler’s reaction might be with regard to what the police had learned.

“The daughter,” Tully said, “was in a tight corner, too. Green was furious that she intended to marry an African-American. That much we got from her. From some friends of Cameron we got the reason why Green could threaten the girl. Something about a film featuring her and Cameron. Apparently, Green was warning her that if she went through with this wedding, he would put the kibosh on the couple’s careers by showing this film to the right people. Another strong motive, if it comes to that.”

So far Koesler had exhibited no untoward reaction.

“The son and the wife are caught up in a monkey-in-the-middle game with Green shifting inheritance money from one to the other. That part needs some more work.

“Then there’s that young couple you spoke with. The young man’s only connection to Green seems to be the young woman. They plan to marry. Seems the woman was once Green’s mistress. He dumped her. She’s still plenty bitter and, like sympathy pains, so’s the young man.”

So, Koesler thought, Claire and her young man had not revealed the abortion and hysterectomy. Well, undoubtedly, they felt that was a very private matter.

Tully caught the momentary flicker: Koesler had reacted to something concerning Claire McNern and/or Stan Lacki. Tully said nothing.

“The people you just mentioned are the five people I spoke with at the wake. Your people didn’t talk to any others?” Koesler asked.

“Sure we did. But, somehow, all roads led to those five-”

“Uh-oh: There’s Father Weber-standing in the doorway over there. I’d better go get him.” Koesler rose and hastily made his way toward the door.

Tully checked out the newcomer.

Father Weber wore a black topcoat over a black suit and that miraculous admission ticket, the roman collar. Tully estimated him to be in his fifties or sixties. His hair was turning from gray to white. He was in bad, almost desperate, need of aid. A wife might have helped-if she was fastidious.

Weber’s topcoat was the real-life clerical equivalent to that of Columbo, the fictional TV detective. It was beyond repair. It would have been a mercy to throw it away or burn it; giving it to some charitable organization would be an insult to the needy.

As Weber shed his coat, Tully could see that the priest’s black suit was hardly in better condition. It was baggy, badly wrinkled, and the nearer Weber came, the more evident its spots became.

Even his collar … Hitherto Tully would not have thought it possible for a mere collar to be in such sad shape. After all, it was only a small white plastic tab that was inserted in a black clerical shirt. Perhaps in an inadvertent moment, Weber had laid the collar on a chair and someone had sat on it.

In all, if Koesler had not identified and escorted Father Weber into this parlor, Tully might have suspected some bum was masquerading as a priest.

Despite Father Weber’s ludicrous appearance, Tully knew that this was an important moment. The fact that the policeman in no way believed in miracles did not mean that miracles couldn’t happen. History provided innumerable instances of this sort of thing.

People as a whole had not believed the world was round. People as a whole had not believed the sun, rather than the earth, was the center of our galaxy. Surgeons as a whole hadn’t thought it necessary to operate with clean hands.

The point being that it did not matter that people as a whole believed or disbelieved these things. They were facts. And nothing could change that.

So, as it happened, Tully did not believe in miracles. That did not mean that miracles couldn’t happen. And Tully knew it.

It also had been made crystal clear that the Catholic Church was only slightly less reluctant than he to accept any phenomenon as a miracle. The bottom line: If the Church were to accept the apparent cure of this crippled woman as a miracle, it would then more likely take the Green event more seriously-maybe even accept as miraculous the doctor’s “resurrection.”

And there is no crime in a miracle. And Tully knew that, too.

Then again, like the people who didn’t believe the world was round, who didn’t believe in heliocentricity, who didn’t believe in antisepsis, Tully, in dismissing miracles out of hand, could be wrong.

Yes, Tully wanted to hear this Father Weber out.

“It all began in 1989,” Father Weber said …

THE PAST

Walter Zabola and Miriam Waleski were married in St. Hedwig’s Church the first Saturday in June, 1989. Unlike times past, the priest who witnessed their wedding was more likely to-and, in fact, did-know both bride and groom quite well. Ecclesial preparation for marriage had become more structured.

A rule had been made that those engaged to be married must participate in premarriage preparation for six months prior to the ceremony-the object being to forestall divorces among those married in the Catholic Church. Statistics held that divorces among Catholics were in about the same percentage as those in non-Catholic marriages. Thus observance of this preparatory period was fairly rigorously enforced.

Prior to this requirement, it was by no means unheard-of that the priest, official witness of the Church to this marriage, met bride and groom at the altar for the first time as they exchanged their consent.

All went well for the new Mr. and Mrs. Zabola on that June Saturday. The weather was perfect. The ceremony flowed flawlessly. The congregation applauded Walter and Miriam at the conclusion of the Mass. Neither the young ring bearer nor the young flower girl balked or cried. Everyone smiled happily for the many photographs. The reception at the Leroy Knights of Columbus hall went without a hitch. Walter and Miriam feared the fly in the ointment would be the open bar. But only a handful of guests were obviously drunk. And none of them was driving.

There was one problem. But neither Wally nor Miriam thought it would cause any long-term consequences. They were wrong-very wrong.

Olga Waleski, Miriam’s mother, had been in an auto accident almost two years before. Since then she had been confined to a wheelchair. Ted Waleski, Olga’s husband, and father to Miriam and Theresa, managed to take care of his wife reasonably well. He was foreman in a Chrysler plant. He and Olga had worked out a routine that enabled him to take care of things and to help her when he was home. She learned to care for herself when he was at work. Miriam and Theresa wove their way through this situation satisfactorily.

When Miriam and Wally decided to marry, the family rehearsed their new routine, a slight adjustment to the old routine. Miriam’s contributions to the daily chores were divided among the remaining three.

The day of the wedding saw the first stages of a gathering destructive emotional storm. Theresa, the maid of honor, found it difficult to stop crying. She barely weathered the wedding. For the rest of the day she remained mainly within herself. Occasionally, one or another of the guests attempted to console her. None was successful. Even her only sister, Miriam, failed.

But everyone else was having so good a time, Theresa was, by and large, ignored.

Immediately after the reception, the happy couple headed for the Isle of Palms, a barrier island off the coast of South Carolina. Friends who owned a condo a block from the ocean insisted that the newlyweds use the impressive trilevel home for their honeymoon.

It proved idyllic. They had their choice of a swimming pool just across the way or the ocean within easy walking distance. They would have golfed but they couldn’t afford the greens fees. Instead, from their balcony porch, they enjoyed a steady stream of golfers putting on the eleventh green. They laughed when golfer after golfer neglected to putt out, but picked up gimmes from all over the green.

They found a Catholic church on the island for Sunday Mass, as well as several excellent restaurants that were not unduly pricey. But usually they ate in. Miriam was an excellent cook, and she wanted to prove it to Walter over and over again.

That pretty well described their sexual adventures during their Isle of Palms stay: over and over again. Fortunately, the natural family planning method indicated this to be Miriam’s infertile period. In addition, they used spermicide and condoms. They wanted to be absolutely sure the children they would have would not be the result of an accident. During their six months of indoctrination, they had not brought up the morality of birth control, and neither had the priest. Which made things easier for everyone.

Nothing disturbed their two weeks in paradise. But that was due to the forbearance of Miriam’s parents and some of the newlyweds’ friends who knew what was going on.

Two days after Walter and Miriam left for the Isle of Palms, Theresa complained of tingling sensations in her arms and legs. The family doctor was baffled. He had her admitted to the hospital, where a procession of specialists poked and prodded, took X-rays and did scans. None of them could find any clear-cut physical cause as Theresa grew more and more feeble.

The only conclusion the experts agreed upon was that nothing could be done in the hospital for Theresa that could not be achieved in home care. So they sent her home, where she joined her mother in needing a wheelchair and assisted living.

It did not take Ted more than a few days to know that an impossible situation had developed. Having two women in wheelchairs was too great a burden for him to bear and still take care of his job. Olga concluded that she was utterly unable to care for herself and Theresa and still carry out those activities she was able to do to assist her husband.

Somebody else, or some institution, was needed for Theresa.

Institutional care-good institutional care-was well beyond their means. It had to be a person. And everyone seemed to know instinctively who that person would have to be. But nobody wanted to spoil the honeymoon.

However, once Wally and Miriam returned, they were informed of Theresa’s condition. Miriam’s father took her aside and explained in great detail what had been tried to help Theresa, and the failure of every such attempt. Theresa was, in effect, more or less a paraplegic with no known cause. Barring some medical breakthrough-or a miracle-Theresa would have to be assisted in practically all her functions. And no one was available to do that but her sister.

Miriam was devastated. She knew her parents couldn’t do it. There wasn’t the needed money for really good care. And no one could bear Theresa’s being swept out of sight to be subjected to mediocre-or worse-treatment. With great reluctance, Miriam agreed to be the caregiver.

That decision necessarily involved Wally. The task of informing her husband was Miriam’s.

She waited until after dinner on the day of decision. As simply and compassionately as possible she presented Wally with the options. She let him mull them over. Though he knew all the while what the decision would be, he needed time to deny the inevitable.

“Do you have any idea of what this is going to do to our life-our life together?” He slammed his napkin on the table, and stood at the sink with his back toward her.

Miriam was close to tears. “We don’t know that, Wally. It’ll demand sacrifice. But I’ll be the one taking care of Theresa. I’ll try to make sure you don’t get involved.”

“How’re you going to do that?” He would not turn and face her. “You work too, you know. When we decided to be married, we figured both our paychecks would give us the kind of life we wanted-give us some security for the future.”

“We can still have that. Please turn around, Wally. I can’t talk to your back.”

He turned, but refused to look at her. It was not his intention, but he was making this terribly hard on Miriam.

“Look what my father does for my mother … and he holds down a job.”

“He’s a man!”

“I can do it. I’m strong.”

“Turn the tables. Suppose it was your father who was sick. Do you think your mother could do it-hold down an outside job and take care of your father too?”

“Yes. I know she could. I know I could.”

He began pacing through the kitchen. “All right, all right; I’m the one who couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see you taking care of Theresa every day and holding down a full-time job without helping you. I would have to help you.”

Miriam brightened. “Then help me!”

“I don’t want to. I just would have to.”

There was silence.

“Why couldn’t we put her in a home?” Wally stopped pacing and turned to look at Miriam. “If your dad were to kick in something and we stretched our funds, we could get her in some kind of home. She doesn’t need someone with her every minute. She does pretty well in that chair … and she’ll probably improve with time.”

“We’ve been over that, dear. It would kill Mom and Dad if their daughter was locked up in one of those places where all you smell is urine and all you hear is crazy people screaming day and night. And I couldn’t live with that either,” she added.

He smiled ruefully. “We both know how this is going to end up, don’t we? After all is said and done, you’re going to take her in. She’ll be the child we didn’t want right away. Only she’ll be worse than a child. A child would belong to us. Even if the child wasn’t planned, it would be ours-flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone. Theresa will be an intruder-” He held up a hand to forestall Miriam’s interruption. “Yes, she will be … at least as far as I’m concerned. And, even if it takes a while, eventually, she’ll be the same to you. Make no mistake, honey, this is a drastic step. This one decision could ruin our marriage.”

Walter had stated his position. He couldn’t help it; that was exactly how he felt.

That he had left Miriam sobbing was beyond his power to change. Better she cry now than later. Later? Change her mind later and find a different solution to the problem of Theresa? Not much chance of that happening.

In a few weeks, after much remodeling in the Zabola apartment, Theresa was moved in.

That was a happy day for no one.

The elder Waleskis were saddened to send their daughter from their house. They didn’t feel all that great either about imposing their crippled girl on the newlyweds.

Miriam wished to God that this arrangement didn’t have to be. She could have used a lot more support than she was receiving. Most of all, she wished she could have her husband back.

Wally had retreated into a space of his own. Fun was gone. He tried from time to time to recapture the joy of their early days together. But that was gone-gone beyond the reach of either of them.

Theresa was just miserable.

Time dragged by. By the second anniversary of Theresa’s joining their household, daily life had sunk into a deadly dull routine.

About a year ago, roughly midway into this adventure, Theresa had gotten religion. Of course she was Catholic, born and raised. And, until she’d gotten sick, she’d attended Mass on Sundays and holy days. Which by today’s standards was not bad by any means. But according to the rules of the Catholic Church, this was a minimal effort.

Along the way, Ted Waleski, Theresa’s father, had chanced upon a serviceable used car. He was able to outfit it with hand controls, which meant that a paraplegic could drive it. Ted presented this car to Theresa. Theresa learned to drive it. And Theresa got religion.

With considerable effort she began attending daily Mass. She filled her small room with statues, relics, shrines, and candles.

But the relationship and routine of the three reluctant housemates remained the same. Miriam waited on Theresa-constantly, it seemed. Wally groused, but he helped.

Wally and Miriam had drifted into an unhealthy trap that was rubbing raw their bond. With Theresa, there was never a peaceful moment. Her chair tipped and threw her. She was suddenly too weak to lift herself from the toilet. One day she was in fine fettle and comparatively happy, but she was sure to return to her basic miserable state. She would develop bizarre symptoms that necessitated emergency trips to a near-by hospital-her home away from home.

One evening after dinner and after Theresa retired-for the night or until the hospital run, no one knew for sure-Wally said, “We’ve got to talk about Theresa.”

It was Miriam’s least favorite subject, especially when the discussion involved herself and Wally. But there was no escape. She closed her book and laid it on her lap.

“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, honey. Theresa is faking.”

Miriam sighed. “We’ve been through this any number of times, Wally. You’re going on what the doctor said, aren’t you: that nobody can find a physical cause for her paralysis? But you know he also said that just because they can’t find the cause doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

“Yeah, I know that, but-”

“Also, there’s the possibility that this is a psychosomatic thing. But the doctor explained that if the cause is in her mind, the physical reaction to it-the paralysis, the pain-is just as great. She’s really in pain, and she’s really paralyzed.”

“Hear me out, Miriam. I went to the library today and looked through some books on psychology. And I read that there’s a cause for psychosomatic illness: It’s called ‘secondary gain.’”

Miriam sat up straighter. This was a new twist in an old argument. “What did the books mean? What is this ‘secondary gain’?”

Wally considered it a victory that she was willing to at least consider an alternative explanation. “The way I get it is, this happens when, sick or not, you start getting something or some things you want. The examples the book gave were something like, say a kid gets hurt, maybe hit by a car. So he’s going to convalesce at home. He gets pretty much what he wants to eat. He gets lots of tender, loving care. He doesn’t have to go to school. So, when he’s completely healed-or healed enough to get off the sick list-he keeps on with all his symptoms so he can keep getting all the goodies. You know what I mean?”

Miriam nodded, though it was obvious she was not fully convinced.

“See,” Wally went on, “it doesn’t matter whether a person is really sick or not. The thing is that the person is getting everything he or she wants. The person is willing to take on all the symptoms of illness or injury so he can get these other-secondary-gains.”

“And you think that’s what’s going on with Theresa?”

“Why not? She hasn’t got any torn tendons or muscles. She hasn’t got any broken bones. Everything inside her is in working shape. It’s just that her legs don’t work.

“Okay, so you and the doctors say it could be in her head. Let’s say-for argument’s sake-that the doctors are right. I say maybe it’s something else on top of that. She’s got us as slaves. She says she needs something, she needs help, and one of us-usually you-comes running.

“And if we don’t run right to her or answer her right away, it’s off to the hospital. Or it’s hyperventilating-thank God for paper bags!

“What I’m saying, Miriam, is, What if it is all in her head? You get married, she’s the spinster sister. You’re happy, she’s depressed. Remember how she spent our wedding day in tears?

“So while we’re on our honeymoon, she starts to get sick-in her head, let’s say. She knows ahead of time how this is going to come out. The only way she can get even is to make us unhappy too. She banks on your parents not being able to take care of her. We are the logical next step.

“We start our marriage with her creating misery. Mind you, this is still all in her head. She finds out that we’ll drop everything whenever she wants something-what the book calls secondary gain.

“What it means, hon, is that if sometime she got enough of being ‘sick’ and wanted to be free of that damn wheelchair, if she wanted to be healthy again, maybe even if she wanted to be normal, she still wouldn’t do it. ‘Cause then there wouldn’t be anyone around to wait on her hand and foot. The secondary gain, honey!”

Wally had finished his presentation and was rather pleased with himself.

They sat in silence for several moments.

“For the sake of argument,” Miriam said finally, “suppose you’re right. Suppose it’s not only in her mind, suppose she’s holding on to her imaginary illness because she needs us and wants us around all the time. What do you suggest we do?”

“I thought it was kind of obvious. We stop dropping everything every time she calls-every time she demands that we do something for her.”

Miriam knew she could not do that to her sister. But she dreaded telling Wally that even if he was correct she could not stop herself from responding when her sister was in need, whatever the cause.

As she pondered, the sound of a crash came from the rear of the house-from Theresa’s room.

“She’s fallen. She can get up if we don’t run to her,” Wally said. “She can do it if we let her. Let her do it on her own, hon. This may be our last chance to save our marriage.” His tone, everything about him was pleading for a stand right here and right now.

Miriam was never more torn. But it took no more than a fraction of a second for her to know what choice she simply had to make.

Tears streaming down her face, she hurried out of the room to go to her sister’s aid.

At that moment, Walter saw the future. It was much the same as the past.

What was he to do? He could not leave Miriam. Miriam would never escape Theresa’s web. He felt as if he had been sentenced to an indeterminate purgatory.

For Miriam’s sake he would try to adjust.

THE PRESENT

Things stayed pretty much that way from that day until today,” Father Weber concluded to his two absorbed listeners. “Well, I should say until yesterday,” he amended, “when Theresa got herself a ‘miracle.’”

“Have you talked to them since yesterday?” Tully asked.

“Early this morning.”

“How’s that?” Tully asked. “Far as I knew, none of the media had reached them. Why you?”

Weber seemed undecided on exactly how to answer. “I’m what used to be called ‘their priest.’ For years I was the associate pastor at my parish. Then the pastor asked for a parish way out in the boonies. And the chancery gave it to him. And-mostly because nobody else wanted it-I became pastor by default.

“The upshot is that I’ve been with them ever since they-all three- got together right after Wally and Miriam were married and took Theresa in. They have confided in me-all three-more than in anybody else, including their parents.

“However, since I spoke with them this morning, they will be talking to the media.”

“You gave them permission?” Koesler asked.

“Yeah.” Weber wore a sly smile.

“You really are ‘their priest,’” Koesler said. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to give Theresa her miracle. She probably has enough faith in you to use you as the miraculous instrument.”

“We tend to discourage that kind of thing.”

“Something I don’t understand,” Tully said. “When Zabola said that Theresa was feeding on this secondary gain thing: How does that square with her going after a miracle? I kind of agreed with him on that. But why would she even want to be cured? If she’s cured, she loses all that attention and help at home. She gives up-loses-her secondary gain … no?”

“Good question,” Weber said. “And I don’t have an answer. All I know is that once she heard about Green, she immediately decided to go to St. Joe’s. The Zabolas couldn’t talk her out of it. She can drive now, so she could go on her own.

“But Miriam wouldn’t hear of Theresa’s going alone … not with the crowds and all. Miriam said she’d drive. Then Wally wouldn’t let Miriam go unprotected. So all three went. But your point is well taken, Lieutenant. And I don’t have an answer to that either.”

“Maybe I do,” Koesler said. “Doesn’t this just reinforce the idea that this was all happening in Theresa’s subconscious-the illness and the secondary gain?

“She wanted to be miraculously cured. That’s why she insisted on going to St. Joseph’s. That was her consciousness acting. Consciously, she didn’t want to be ill, to be a paraplegic. If her paralysis was psychosomatic, as the doctors seem to agree, it wasn’t an illness that she welcomed. If there was the secondary gain of being waited on, or in making her married sister as miserable as Theresa was by being unmarried, none of the secondary gains was consciously desired as planned.

“The fact that she wanted the miracle puts everything in perspective.

“I think we’ve been imagining that Theresa is an out and out malingerer. That she was doing her best to take advantage of everyone. The closer the relationship, the more damage she seemed to want to do.

“That sort of woman would have stayed as far from the scene of a reputed miracle as she possibly could. By its very definition, secondary gain has to outweigh every other possibility. Literally, a person would have wanted attention, care, love more than health. If Theresa were doing this consciously, she would want the service of Miriam and Wally-however reluctantly that was given-more than she wanted health.

“A deliberately ill Theresa would not have been in St. Joe’s yesterday.”

“Makes sense to me,” Tully said.

“Me too,” Weber said.

“How about that quick escape from the church after she was ‘cured’?” Tully asked. “I’d a thought she’d stick around. Maybe say thanks to whoever she was praying to. Maybe talk to people. Hell, maybe go a little crazy.

“Instead, she gets out of the church and the neighborhood as fast as she can.”

“That was Wally’s idea entirely,” Weber said. “At first, he was shocked out of his wits when she got out of that wheelchair and started crawling toward the altar. Then, in a flash, he realized what had happened. He didn’t give a thought to a miracle of any kind. He still doesn’t think this was a miracle-in the sense of a cure. The miracle was that now Theresa could … had to … take care of herself. He would be rid of the burden of her.

“And he wanted to get Theresa out of there before the crowd had a chance to love her to death and hurt her. And then she’d be right back in his house, this time as a genuine cripple. So he got her out of there before even Theresa could grasp what was happening.”

“Something like The Man Who Came to Dinner,” Koesler said.

The three men laughed heartily.

“Well, that settles that,” Koesler said. “No Church authority will ever certify this as a miracle.”