“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.”
