“It got me thinking about when I was a kid in parochial school. There were tortuous moments. But then most kids can expect that as part of any schooling-part of growing up. And we learned a lot of things that had to be unlearned. But the formation, the discipline, the good habits, the respect for authority, the early exposure to prayer-well, I don’t think I could have gotten that whole range anywhere expect in my parochial school.”
“That’s right, honey,” Georgie said. “I can relate to that same experience in my own parochial training. But what about the money necessary to run the system?”
“That’s just it, Georgie. As I listened to some of the staff-that sweet old man, Archbishop Foley-they seemed to be pleading with us to wait for … a miracle.”
“A miracle!”
“Yes, a miracle. A miracle! This was God’s work. Catholic education is God’s work.”
“‘God will provide’?”
“Exactly! If we can just hold on, not close any schools or parishes, subsidize them until … until God solves our little problem. Georgie, I’m out of my element. I deal with currency. You can count it, bank it, know when it’s turning a profit or when it’s running out. I’ve worked at this all my life.
“But what if they’re right? Money is my field. Miracles are their specialty. What if there’s a miracle coming around and it doesn’t get here until after I succeed in having the schools closed. I can’t tell if they’re right or not. What if they’re right?”
Georgie could tell that he was agonizing over the problem. She was unsure of how to help him. She sent up a quick prayer for guidance. “Wasn’t it someone in the Bible-was it Saint Paul in one of the Epistles? — who said something about each of us having special gifts, special talents that are complementary? Yes, I think it was Saint Pauclass="underline" something about those who spoke in tongues and those who interpreted the strange words.”
“So?”
“It’s just as you said, dear: Miracles aren’t your sphere of expertise. You’re a financial whiz. And that’s all your responsebility is: You give your boss, the Cardinal, your best effort to aid him in understanding what the financial situation is in the diocese. In this case, you tell him what’s going on with his schools. Based on all you know-and that’s why he hired you: to get the benefit of your financial advice-based on all you know, the parochial school system is in so much trouble it may well not survive. The Cardinal selected you and trusts you to give him this information.
“If someone else thinks there’s reason to expect a miracle, that’s their business. If you want to feel sorry for anyone, feel sorry for the Cardinal. His is the ultimate decision. He has to take all these facts, opinions, and hopes and decide what to do. Your job is to do your job.” She sat back with a self-satisfied grin.
He considered what she’d said. “Sounds pretty good to me, Georgie, But … I don’t know. I’m going to have to think it over.”
Her worried expression returned.
He chuckled. “Now, don’t look that way. You know you said just the right thing. You also know it takes me a while to absorb new ideas. That’s the way it is. That’s the way we are. Just give me a little while … to agree with you.”
They both laughed. She looked at her watch, “Just eleven o’clock.”
“Time to take Truffles out, eh?” It was a day-ending ritual. He always took the little dog out for the final opportunity to get comfortable for the night.
“Be careful now,” she warned. “There’s ice out there. Some of the walks haven’t been that well cleared. When you come in we’ll have some cocoa. And I’ll treat you to a back rub.”
“Well, now, you said the magic word. I was thinking of taking the beast out and never returning. But if you throw a back rub into the bargain, well, that certainly tips the scales.”
She smiled invitingly and affected a Southern accent. “Y’all hurry back … hear?”
He donned hat, coat, and scarf, attached the lead to Truffles’ collar, and went out. Heeding his wife’s advice, he negotiated the sidewalk with extra care.
She was right. As usual, she was right. But it would take a little time before he would be able to shake these guilt feelings. Similar scenarios had been played out in the past. It took him time to absorb her native wisdom. She was such ahelp in so many ways.
As he walked and the dog trotted, his thoughts turned to the priests who had attended this morning’s meeting. From all that was said-and shouted-they were every bit as much agitated as he, if not more. But they had no loving wives in whom to confide, get it off their chests. They had no Georgie who not only could listen with love but had the wisdom to suggest the appropriate solution.
In all probability, they might be doubting themselves as much ashe had second-guessed himself. What if no miracles were forthcoming? Would they accept the responsibility for wasting tons of precious resources over a dream? A dream that would never come true? They had no Georgie to tell them to cool it. Their job was to express their convictions on the matter-and they had.
In this, as in so many diocesan matters, the buck stopped at the Cardinal’s desk. And, come to think of it, he too had no mate in whom to confide. Of all who most could use the companionship and wisdom of a good and loving mate, the archbishop was, perhaps, most in need.
He smiled as he contemplated Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal. The very name, Mrs. Mark Boyle, sounded alien, even incongruous.
While these thoughts engaged him, Truffles had done his duty. They turned and retraced their steps.
As he looked up the street toward his house, there seemed to be someone on the sidewalk. From a distance, the figure appeared to be standing just in front of his house.
That was strange. Was it someone waiting for him? Who? For what purpose?
It was always possible this could be a mugging. Suddenly, he wished the little dog were twenty times its size.
But it wasn’t quite right for a mugging. Whoever it was, judging from the silhouette, seemed to be wearing an overcoat and a hat. Muggers don’t get dressed up for an assault-at least no muggers he’d ever heard of.
If only the light were better. But the street lamp was situated several houses down from his and behind the man. What did they call that-backlighting? He approached cautiously, eyes straining to identify the figure.
Finally, when he was a step or two away, he could discern the man’s features. “Well,” Hoffer said, “I’ll be … what are you doing here?”
The man said nothing. In the shadows, Hoffer could not see his right hand slowly moving upward until suddenly the gun was pointed at the underside of Hoffer’s chin, only inches from his face.
There was an explosive sound as the gun was fired. Hoffer tumbled backward as if tugged by a chain. In seconds he was dead.
Truffles, frightened, began to yap. One quick blow with the gun’s stock knocked the dog unconscious.
The man pocketed the gun and disappeared into the darkness.
Georgie heard the report, of course, as did her neighbors. Her first tendency was to assume it might have been a car backfiring. But if one lives in the city long enough, that innocent supposition quickly gives way to the reality of ever-present guns. In the probability that it was indeed a gun, most Detroiters had learned to duck behind something-anything. Which is what Georgie’s neighbors did.
But Georgie knew Larry was out there. There was no hiding for her when her dear husband was out there unprotected.
She went to the front window, parted the curtain, and looked out, hoping not to see what she half expected to see.
Two bodies lay on the ground. She gasped, then screamed as she burst through the door, raced down the steps, and knelt to cradle the head of her dead husband.
Her neighbors heard her keening. One by one, two by two, they came to her.
The dog recovered. But he was of little use, an eyewitness who could tell the police nothing.