“What?” Louise heard her, but it didn’t register.
“Why couldn’t you have left us alone?” Martha said bitterly. “At least we had each other. But no, you had to get us ‘fixed up’ with the Church. See what happened? My Frankie’s gone. Leave. For God’s sake, just go!”
Louise wanted to stay but realized that there was no point. She put on her coat. “When you feel better, call me. I’ll help any way I can.”
“Help?” Martha repeated with dripping sarcasm.
Louise left.
After she told Tony and Lucy what had happened, she phoned first Vincent, then Father Koesler.
The priest was deeply shocked, more so than ever before in his life. Dropping everything, he drove to the Morris home. Martha, dry-eyed, welcomed him distractedly. Koesler sensed there were no tears left.
Wordlessly, she handed him the letter the police had discovered last night-the suicide note. Koesler read it carefully.
My dearest Marty,
You probably will want to blame someone for what I’m about to do. But it isn’t anybody’s fault. Maybe those guys in Rome. Everybody else has just tried to help.
Without you and our years together, I would have missed everything. I love you more than life itself. Which is exactly why I’m going to do this. You and the Catholic Church go together. Your whole life is built around your Church.
I guess I never have forgiven myself for taking you away from your sacraments. If it weren’t for me, you would be in good-top-standing with the Church. Now you’ll be able to take Holy Communion. Honest, it makes me feel very good knowing that you will be back in the Church’s good graces.
For this, I willingly die.
If God is exceptionally kind, I will be waiting for you.
Thank Father Koesler for-well, for being Father Koesler.
And, darling, remember one thing: I love you more than life itself.
Your own,
Frankie
Father Koesler was fairly sure that nothing that could happen in the future would ever move him more than this. This misbegotten sacrifice.
He looked at Martha. “I am so sorry … so very, very sorry.”
Martha shrugged. “You’re the one-the only one-who is completely blameless. We came to you. You explained everything. You told us how difficult it would be. You were very frank about our chances. And we could tell how embarrassed you were and how bad you felt when you had to tell us we’d have to live as brother and sister …” She shook her head. “You’re the only one …”
“Your sister wanted to help. She knew how much you wanted to live as a Catholic and receive the sacraments-”
“She meddled in our lives. If she hadn’t started this, I’d still have my Frankie. I don’t want to think of her the rest of my life.”
Koesler knew there was no point in pursuing this now. In time, maybe. But not now. “We have some ladies in our parish who are good at helping with funeral details. They volunteer their services. They’re really good people. How about if I send them over?”
It occurred to Martha that, having dismissed her sister, she was now alone. She needed help. “Yes,” she said quietly, “that would be good. Thank you.”
“And,” Koesler added, “I’ll try to arrange for Christian burial.”
Martha looked at him attentively for the first time. “Why would you do that? Frankie committed suicide.”
“I know that’s what it looks like. But the Church regularly presumes that in such cases the person is not responsible for what he did … temporary loss of free will.”
“But you read Frankie’s note: He seemed to know what he was doing.”
“I can try.”
“Don’t!” she said forcefully. “I can’t stand to be crushed by my Church again. The last rejection cost me my husband. I want no more from my Church. Not ever!”
Koesler surmised that Martha’s feelings toward both her sister and the Church would soften, given time. Now was not that time.
“I’ll ask those women that I mentioned to get in touch with you right away. I’m sure they’ll be a big help.”
With that, Koesler gave Martha his blessing-which, he thanked God, she did not refuse. Then he left.
He would certainly have to visit and work with Louise and her children. They must be feeling just awful. But at least they had each other.
The one left out on a branch by himself was Vince Delvecchio. He had been informed of his uncle’s suicide. But Koesler knew well the macho spirit that was one goal of the seminary training at St. John’s. If Koesler’s assessment was correct, Vincent had been called into the rector’s office and notified. It wouldn’t matter whether or not Vince asked permission to go home. He would be advised to “tough it out” and remain working through the seminary’s routine.
One thing that could break into that relentless routine and allow Vincent to react emotionally would be a visit from Father-and emphasize the Father-Koesler. The seminary rector had too much respect for the priesthood to refuse him access to the grieving student.
And so Koesler headed for the Provincial Seminary in Plymouth.
In little less than an hour he pulled into the circular drive that he knew so well.
As he had anticipated, he was warmly welcomed by the rector, who immediately sent a secretary to summon Delvecchio.
Koesler and Delvecchio went down to the visiting parlor, where, at this time of day, they could be alone and undisturbed.
Of course Vincent knew of the tragedy; the notification had been as Koesler guessed.
Vince seemed to be holding up well. The rector must have been pleased at Vince’s growth in the image of John Wayne.
“Mother didn’t say, and the rector wouldn’t know, but the cause of this, I presume, was the failure of the Pauline Privilege?”
“Yes. I delivered the news to them last night-just hours before it happened.”
Delvecchio shook his head sadly. “What happened … I mean, to the case?”
“Too many uncooperative witnesses. Some wouldn’t testify. Others were ambiguous about whether Frank could have been baptized.”
Koesler didn’t mention the petition again. But he filled in some of the details of the conversation he and the Morrises had had last night. He finished by telling Vince he wished he could conduct a Catholic funeral for Frank, but that Martha had turned down the offer. And he scarcely could be hopeful that he could slide that possibility past the pastor of St. William’s.
Delvecchio looked surprised. “But why would you want to do that?”
“Because your uncle was a catechumen, by any definition of the word. He had completed instructions. He had agreed to the tenets of Catholicism. The only thing that prevented his baptism was Rome’s rejection of his petition.”
“But if he had left Aunt Martha …”
Knowing their love for each other, Koesler had not considered this possibility. But, technically, Delvecchio was correct. Short of clearing Frank’s first marriage, the only way he could have been baptized and become a Catholic would be to live a celibate life. And that had not been in the cards-not in the Morris deck, in any case, because Rome wouldn’t go for it and Frank wouldn’t leave Martha.
“Besides,” Delvecchio continued, “Uncle Frank committed suicide. That demands the denial of Christian burial.”
“I think you’ll find, Vince, that the Church is rather lenient when it comes to that.”
Delvecchio’s eyes opened wide. “It is the greatest sin. The greatest evil.”
“Yes, yes, I know, Vince. The ultimate act of despair. Denial of even the forgiveness, comfort, and
