The Greatest Evil

14

Father Koesler put the car in gear and his mind in neutral as he drove out of the restaurant parking lot.

Where was he in this exercise in memory? Oh yes: Martha had just asked Frank to check the furnace before joining her in bed. To consider all this detail, it was necessary to rely on Martha, the only living witness to this event.

Martha had fully intended to stay awake to greet her husband. But with one thing and another, particularly the discouraging news about their petition, she was exhausted. She drifted quickly into a deep sleep.

She was awakened by the window-rattling explosion. She thought it must be the furnace. And she had just sent Frank down to look it over.

She ran down the stairs. That’s when she found Frank on the living room floor with the gun.

Sure sounds like suicide to me, thought Koesler, not for the first time. And then there was that poignant note. That pretty well wrapped it up, he concluded.

What sort of loophole had Father Walsh thought he’d discovered?

Wait a minute. If it’s just a hole one is looking for, how long had Martha been asleep when she was awakened by the gunshot? She never said. She undoubtedly didn’t know; why should she?

You don’t fall asleep, then be wakened by an explosion someplace in the house, then check the clock to see how long you’ve been sleeping.

It was almost ludicrous. Koesler tried to visualize himself in a similar situation. The last thing on his mind would be what time it was or how long he’d been asleep. He would do exactly what Martha had done: As quickly as possible he would go to investigate what had happened.

That must be it … that must be the loophole that Father Walsh had found. Koesler couldn’t think of a single thing to do about it. But there it was: The time between when Martha actually went to bed and when she was awakened was unknown. And now, years later, that gap would have to remain unknown. What little evidence there had been was gone now. If there was a guilty second person, fingerprints would be blurred by everyone who had touched things. How many people had handled that note, the gun, the body? It had seemed such a clear-cut case of suicide that no one had given an instant’s thought to any other possibility.

This single consideration opened the whole matter once again.

What might have happened while Martha slept for God knows how long?

Could someone have rung the doorbell? Would that have wakened Martha? Depends on how deeply she was sleeping. Perhaps someone had knocked at the door. That probably wouldn’t have been loud enough to wake her.

Just suppose someone came to the house-rang the doorbell or knocked-why might he or she call at that hour?

Suppose it was one of the kids. Lucy lived only a few blocks away. Tony could easily enough have come in from Kalamazoo. Vinnie would not be the first seminarian to escape from the minimum security of St. John’s. Realistically, though, Vinnie would be the least likely of the three to call on Frank. Vinnie would have had one tough time finding transportation. But … possible.

Could any of the three have known about the Vatican rejection?

Koesler himself had gotten the verdict in the mail that very day. He had told no one before-or directly after, for that matter-sharing the news with Frank and Martha. How could anyone else have known?

One of the high school girls, in addition to other parochial chores, was assigned to pick up the daily mail from the rectory’s main office and deliver it to the various priests’ offices. While Lucy did not fill that role, she could’ve had the mail girl tell her if an envelope from Rome came to Father Koesler.

If the letter came and the verdict was positive, Father Koesler would have delivered the good news immediately. The fact that he received such a letter and put off sharing its contents was a pretty good indication that the news was bad.

Then what?

Say, for sake of argument, that Lucy had somehow learned about the verdict. What if she enlisted the aid of Tony, he being the more mobile of her brothers?

What if they staked out the Morris home? Easy enough to do. Koesler had come early and left relatively early.

They note that Martha goes upstairs, undoubtedly headed to bed. They knock on the door. Frank lets them in without hesitation.

Then what?

They try to talk Frank into leaving Martha so their aunt can finally receive the sacraments again. And just in time for Vinnie’s first Mass.

Obviously, Frank will not leave Martha.

Failing that, they appeal to the love that Frank holds for Martha. They urge Frank to commit suicide. It’s the only way Martha can be truly happy. Sure she would miss him almost beyond words; but underneath it all, she would be at peace-and so would he.

Finally, he agrees. He writes the note. Confident that he will go through with it, they leave.

Frank gets his gun and kills himself.

This procedure would take a lot of time. How much time did they have? That’s just it: Nobody knew. Nobody knows how long Martha slept before the gunshot.

The conclusion: Either scenario could resolve some questions-while raising others.

The burning question: So what? The incident is long settled in just about everyone’s mind; nothing can be proved one way or the other.

And yet … there is the possibility of the question rising to the surface again. What happens to kids as young as Tony and Lucy if they enter into a conspiracy to, in effect, browbeat someone into taking his own life? Does it scar them forever? And what could a scar such as this cause them to do in the future?

All this because it seemed so foreign to Frank’s nature to freely decide on suicide. And because there was no way of telling how long Martha had been asleep that fateful night.

Walsh’s doubts found fertile ground in Koesler’s imagination.

It was something that would not only haunt Father Koesler but, willy-nilly, would color his relationship with Tony and Lucy for some time. Nothing would be said. But he would look at them in a different light and with some residual doubt.

He swung his car into the familiar circular drive. It was the recreational break between lunch and the afternoon’s first class. Cassocked students stood in groups or walked with companions. Some enjoyed the premature springlike weather. Many more smoked cigarettes, cigars, or pipes, any form of combustible tobacco.

Koesler was greeted with a mixture of familiarity and reverence. He was not old enough to be more than one of the boys, yet he had achieved what they all desired.

He headed directly to the rector’s suite. Father Finn was in his office with a student. Koesler took a seat in the vestibule.

He had time to reflect on the speculation he’d entertained en route to the seminary. It brought to mind a homily he had recently delivered. He had said that he could make as good a case for atheism as he could for a belief in God. But if he were an atheist, he would have to confront all those questions: Where did all this come from? Who made the laws that nature follows? What was the purpose of all these galaxies? Where is it all going? And on and on.

So, in a much smaller dimension, there were questions on either side of Frank Morris’s death. The simple declarative approach: Frank, having left a note for Martha and in order to clear a path for her return to the Catholic sacraments she so missed, had shot himself dead.

Questions: Was it out of character for Frank to take such a fatal action of his own accord? Having endured the sacrifice of a lengthy brother-and-sister relationship, would he not have felt that he had taken every step possible toward the desired goal, and that being the case weren’t he and Martha now entitled to resume what for them was a faithful, loving marriage?

Or had Frank thought it all out long before? Had he decided that in the event of a negative judgment from the Church he would take the only other possible step? Had he made the decision out of misguided love to commit suicide so that his beloved Martha could finally receive the sacraments she so desired?

Or: Frank’s choice was assisted by outside urging. Question: Isn’t this a bit Byzantine? Granted the apparently precipitate decision and immediate terminal act was out of character; still, couldn’t Frank have felt his back was to the wall with nowhere to go but from this life?

An argument could be made for either case. And the argument arose out of the unknown time Martha had been asleep before the deed was done.

If Father Walsh’s intuition was correct, one had to consider the possibility that two young people had conspired to cause an innocent person to take his own life. No mean charge. Their own lives undoubtedly would have been marked by their action. At the very least, they would bear watching.

At this point, a student exited Father Finn’s office. The young man appeared chastened. Father Finn could effect this with little effort. Koesler knew from first-person experience.

The student, obviously embarrassed beyond words, beyond even a glance, walked past Koesler without eye contact.

Koesler wondered idly about the offense. It could have been almost anything. What the young man probably did not comprehend was that if Finn had given him hell, at least the rector was trying to save the lad’s vocation. If he were considered dispensable, Finn wouldn’t have expended so much emotional firepower on him. Still, as Koesler knew full well, the drill was painful.

Like an abruptly diminishing storm, Finn’s demeanor changed.

For the offender, Finn’s countenance promised thunder and lightning. But as the door closed behind the student, the rector’s face cleared to welcome Koesler.

Father Finn had perhaps two interests in life: one, the priesthood; the other, those who wanted to enter it.

A few years ago, Koesler easily could have been that chastised student. Now he shared a priesthood with Finn; the rector would greet Koesler like a long-lost relative.

And so he did, ushering the young priest into his office.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the rector’s office. Two walls were lined with bookcases filled with works in his fields: moral theology and Canon Law. The oak desk was uncluttered. The wall behind the chair Koesler selected was opaque glass on either side of the entry door. Behind Finn was a picture window overlooking a well-kept courtyard and one of the transverse cloistered walkways.

The rector smiled. “Well, Bob, how are things going with you?”

Bob. In Koesler’s four years in these buildings, Finn had called him “Koesler,” “Mr. Koesler,” or its Latin form-“Domne Koesler.” Never anything close to “Bob.”

“Pretty good,” Koesler replied. “Really, very good.”

“Much difference between St. Norbert’s and that east side urban parish?”

“Quite a bit. Most of the people in St. Norbert’s are my age, roughly, and starting their families. Couple of years ago we built our grade school. Staffed it with Dominican nuns. It really seems to have pulled the parish together. Quite phenomenal.”

“Really.” Finn seemed to be taking mental notes.

Koesler had come to believe that if Father Finn were vulnerable anywhere, it was in his experience-or rather, lack of it-of life in a parish.

In his day in the seminary in San Francisco, Finn had been invited by the Sulpician faculty to join their society. Finn had accepted the invitation. So, after ordination, off he went to prepare for a life of teaching seminarians.

All Sulpicians were, in reality, diocesan priests, on loan as it were to the Society of St. Sulpice. Finn, for example, belonged to the archdiocese of San Francisco. Should he at any time leave the Sulps, as they were sometimes familiarized, he would revert to his San Francisco diocese.

The point being that he never had: He’d never left the Society. Thus his parochial experience was zilch.

Koesler reasoned that the fact that Finn was preparing young men for a life he had never experienced must be frustrating, embarrassing, and even intimidating.

Koesler could almost see the file drawer in Finn’s head slide open for the insertion of “Parochial school: presence tends to pull parish together.”

“And how are things here?” Koesler knew he was going to have to introduce the subject very soon. Finn was not one to shoot the breeze interminably. He really worked at his job and even now was spending time that had been allocated for something else.

“Everything appears to be on schedule,” Finn replied. “The academic year is ending and we’re getting ready for the ordinations.”

Every word of that statement could have been previously supplied by Koesler. It was March. Easter was just around the corner. And in a couple of more months, June would see sophomores ordained to the minor orders of porter and lector; juniors would receive the first major order of subdeacon; and of course the seniors would become priests.

“That”-Koesler tapped tobacco into firmness and lit a cigarette-“is, mostly, what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Finn had already inserted a cigarette into its silver holder and accepted a light from Koesler’s Zippo. Smoke streamed from his nostrils. “Can we be of any help?” Finn opened wide the door to whatever was concerning Koesler.

“Quite frankly …” Koesler made firm eye contact. “… I’m here about Vincent Delvecchio.”

Finn grew a bit more guarded. He was not happy with anyone who might meddle with the students given unto his care. “Delvecchio isn’t here just now. I gave him permission to go home for the day … something about his mother.”

“I know.”

Finn cocked an eyebrow.

“His mother hasn’t been well for quite some time,” Koesler said.

“I know.”

“What was different about today,” Koesler continued, “was the diagnosis-or rather the verdict.”

“That bad!” Not in so many words had Koesler spoken of Mrs. Delvecchio’s terminal condition. But Finn had divined the conclusion.

Koesler nodded. “Pancreatic cancer.”

Finn exhaled audibly. “Is there any hope? Radiation?”

“Her doctor doesn’t hold much hope. No, change that and let’s be realistic: no hope.”

“And the family?”

“Holding up better than I expected.”

“We will, of course, pray.”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to mention.”

“Prayer?” Finn had taken that for granted.

“Vincent has gone a bit beyond a prayer asking for relief of suffering, resignation to God’s will, that sort of thing …” Koesler paused. “He wants a miracle. No, stronger: He expects a miracle. To happen as a result of prayer.”

“And his mother?”

“Well, she wouldn’t turn down a miracle. Like all the noble mothers I’ve known, she wants to be preserved so she can care for her children.”

“She really expects a miracle?”

“Hopes … prays; I don’t think she expects.”

“Vincent’s brother and sister?”

It somewhat surprised Koesler that Finn would-off the top of his head-know that Vincent had two siblings. There were so many students here. But that was Finn’s way: He knew everything he could about everyone.

Koesler snuffed out his cigarette. “Tony agreed to pray. But as far as enlisting others … not much of a chance. It’s hard to imagine him making a plea to the faculty and students of Western Michigan to join in prayer for a miraculous healing.

“As for Lucy …”

“She’s just graduating high school, isn’t she?”

If not surprised, Koesler surely was impressed with Finn’s familiarity as to his students’ families. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “She’s going to have to be the mainstay of this effort. She’ll have the day-to-day responsibility. She was supposed to enlist the special prayers of the parishioners and students at St. William’s parish. But I’ve already talked to the pastor, and it’s no dice.”

“Surely he would not turn down a request for prayer!”

“No, no. I’m sorry; I didn’t phrase that very well. Of course he’ll ask the parish for prayer-but not for a miracle.”

“Hmmm … interesting,” Finn mused. “Was there a stated reason?”

“Uh-huh. Father Walsh feared that their faith would be harmed or weakened if and when the miracle was not granted.”

“So Father Walsh is convinced there will be no miracle.”

“He’s been around.” It was Koesler’s best evaluation of the situation. Probably Walsh had asked for his share of miracles that hadn’t been granted. To the point where he believed that a miracle was an extremely rare event-and doubted that he would see one personally.

As it happened, the same line of thought occurred to Father Finn. One more parochial experience for the mental file cabinet. What might have been a smile played about Father Finn’s lips. “Well, then, since this petition for a miraculous cure seems to have originated with Mr. Delvecchio, and since he has tried to enlist his brother and sister to start such a crusade in their schools and parish, may I assume a similar proposal will be made to this institution?”

“That is one of the reasons I’m here.”

“You are going to make the plea?”

“No, not really. My purpose is to prepare you for Vinnie’s request.” He figured he might get away with this straight-from-the-shoulder presentation because he was no longer a student but a graduate. Finn was a priest, but no more so than Koesler. And vice versa. Clerically, they were on the same level now: equals.

The rector set his already firm jaw. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disappoint Mr. Delvecchio.” The statement was emotionless, a simple declaration of fact. While the rector might feel himself on shaky ground when it came to practical hands-on parochial experience, he was more than sure of himself when seminary training was the issue.

“It’s just a prayer,” Koesler stated.

“Oh, we will pray. Not for a. miracle, but that God’s holy will be done.”

“Then you agree with Father Walsh that if there is no miracle, the faith of the seminarians will be shaken?”

Finn hesitated only a few seconds. Had Koesler been a student, he would have received no explanation. But since Finn was discussing this matter with a fellow priest, he would amplify his statement. “My thinking has something-but very little-to do with Father’s Walsh’s reason. But I must admit this is the best of times for a future priest to learn that he cannot-cannot-rely in any way on miraculous intervention.

“As a priest, he will have to deal many times over with people who have nothing left to turn to but a miracle. The seminarian learns that God does not multiply miracles. Now-before ordination-is the time to learn this. And if it must be learned in the school of hard knocks, all the better. It will save him from supporting the plea for God to change the course of nature.”

He paused, then continued, with emphasis. “But I am much more concerned with the impact such a singular campaign would have on the student body. We, in these final four years of the theologate, are a community. We cannot permit a student or group of students to fragment this community.

“Do you remember, Bob, when, after you were here a short while, your class wanted to continue your custom from the minor seminary of reciting the Rosary together as a group each Saturday evening?”

At first Koesler recalled the request only vaguely, and that only because Finn had brought it up. Then, memory jogged, he recollected clearly the custom, the request, and the rector’s rejection. “Now that, you mention it, I do remember: You refused our request. But I’ll bet you never heard the rest of the story.”

“Oh?”

“Patrick McNiff was the one who acted as spokesman for our class. When you turned him down, he came to the rest of us and announced, ‘The old man hates the Blessed Mother.’”

Finn did not find this humorous. “That of course is not true. I gave my reason, and it had nothing to do with rosary devotion. I did not want any one of our four classes to set itself apart from the rest of the student body. And for the same reason: I do not think it wise to set a precedent in singling out one student’s petition from the rest. Soon we could be dealing with petitions for miraculous cures from all parts of the prayer hall. I think Father Walsh was wise in not involving his parishioners in a cause that is more or less doomed to frustration. That, as well as not allowing a divisive element in this community, will prompt me to refuse Mr. Delvecchio’s request-if and when he presents it.”

Koesler could recognize a blind alley when he was trapped in one. “Well …” He thought better than to light another cigarette with this visit obviously concluding. “… there is one more request that Vinnie will make, I’m pretty sure.”

Finn waited without comment.

“Any chance,” Koesler said, “that Vincent can be granted extra time at home with his mother?” Koesler sailed on through a possible but premature reply from Finn. “I know that these will be the last couple of months before ordination and they’re important. But we both know that Vincent is close to being a genius. He can absorb these courses with no sweat. And it would be such a great comfort to his mother. I would wager that, to a man, everyone-students and faculty-would not begrudge him extra time at home.”

No response. Finn was loath to set any sort of precedent. He well knew how students could and usually did take advantage of exceptions to the rule. But what Koesler said carried a lot of truth. Probably no one-at least very few among either faculty or students-would object to a modest latitude in home visitation for Delvecchio. And how many students would have a terminally ill parent … especially as ordination approached?

“I think we might be able to reach some sort of accommodation in this matter,” Finn said finally. “If Mr. Delvecchio wants to talk to me about it, we’ll … talk.”

The meeting was concluded. Finn would not steer his visitor to the door, but Koesler sensed that this impromptu chat had disrupted the rector’s schedule. With a handshake, they parted.

Koesler slid into his black Chevy, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette.

As he drove away from the seminary, he assessed what, if anything, he had accomplished. It was mid-afternoon, yet it seemed as if he’d been up and about for more than a day. He’d gotten nowhere with Father Walsh. Koesler knew that the pastor’s decision on a parishwide prayer crusade for a medical miracle was written in stone. No matter how Lucy might plead the case, there would be no change in the course Walsh had set. And, in his heart, Koesler didn’t believe that Lucy was 100 percent in agreement with Vincent’s plan of prayer.

Further, Father Finn would disappoint Vinnie in not. committing the student body to a radical form of prayer. On the other hand, Koesler felt confident that Finn would cut Vinnie some slack on the matter of home visits. Koesler figured that was one round he’d won. The young man would have to be satisfied with that.

Next, Koesler would see how his present pastor felt about the miracle prayers. Actually, he anticipated a charitable veto. After all, the sick person had no remote connection with St. Norbert’s parish.

Funny, this morning, when an enthusiastic Vincent had proposed this program, Koesler had caught the fire and was confident they could pull it together. Now, he felt like a deflated balloon. Things did not look as hopeful as earlier they had.