23
Archbishop Lawrence Foley was surprised when he answered the door to find Fadier Ralph Higgins.
Higgins was an old buddy from Miami. He and Foley had been friends all through the seminary years. After ordination their paths separated. Higgins had been assigned to a series of parishes in the St. Augustine diocese-from which the diocese of Miami was created in 1958-until he had been named pastor of St. Agatha parish and finally pastor of Our Lady of Lourdes in Boca Raton. Foley, of course, after ordination spent only a brief time in parochial ministry before he was sent off to Rome for graduate studies, followed by a series of chancery assignments; then he became a bishop and ultimately archbishop of Cincinnati.
Even though their ecclesiastical careers diverged, they remained close friends. After Foley had moved on to Cincinnati, whenever he and Mark Boyle vacationed in Florida, they would stay with Higgins.
“Ralph! What a surprise!” Foley exclaimed. “What brings you here?”
“Like most things when you reach our years: a funeral.”
Foley’s demeanor instantly changed to one of concern. “Oh, I am sorry. Who was it?”
“A sister-in-law. Not terribly close, But at this stage in life, one of the last of the relatives. I thought I owed it to her memory-and, of course, to my brother, God rest him.”
“But, if I had known … I would have attended the funeral … we could have gotten together, done some things.Why don’t we-I could get some tickets … the symphony, a show-?”
“No time, Larry. Another time. I just got in this morning. Leaving in just a couple of hours. Just couldn’t be in town without seeing you, even for only a few minutes.”
“Well, that’s great. Can I get you something, anything?”
“No, no; had supper. I can only stay a few minutes.”
Foley took his friend’s coat, and they proceeded to the comfortable living room where Higgins was assaulted by a small but eager dog. He tried petting the animal but it wasn’t having any. “Now I know how the early Christian martyrs felt.” Higgins laughed.
Foley spoke sternly to the dog. “John Paul, come! Sit! Stay!” The little spaniel mix bounced willingly to Foley and sat contentedly against his leg. “His manners are not the best, but he’s an obedient little fellow.”
“John Paul?” Higgins tilted his head. “You named him after the Pope?”
“It was the least I could do.”
They laughed.
“I’m so sorry you can’t stay,” Foley said. “Mark will be too.”
“Can’t be helped. How is Mark, anyway?”
“Very fit, I’d say. Walks a lot. Stays healthy.”
“That’s the secret, okay. The path to health is not to get sick. But try telling that to the oldsters in Boca Raton. And, by the way, Larry, when are you and Mark coming down? It’s January, you know.”
“Just. I’d like to go. God knows these old bones don’t react very well to all this cold and snow. But I haven’t been able to convince Mark it’s time for us to migrate. I wish … I fervently wish I could.”
“I wish you could too. After all, Larry, Florida is your home.”
Higgins never admitted it, even to himself, but he was jealous that Foley had chosen to live out his retirement in Detroit rather than in Florida. Quite simply, it meant that Foley’s friendship with Mark Boyle was stronger than his attachment to Higgins. So much stronger that Foley would endure the bitter Michigan winters instead of basking in the warmth of the sunny South. In addition, Foley’s roots were in Florida, not in Michigan, nor even Cincinnati.
“It’s not just the warmth or the golf or the relaxation,” Foley said.
“That’s not bad for starters.”
“Yes, yes, I know, Ralph, But I’m worried about Mark. You’ve probably read about these two murders we’ve had here involving people in diocesan administration.”
“Even with all the murder and crime we’ve got in Florida, yes, Michigan murders regularly out-bizarre us. Yes, I know of them. But-”
“They’re not solved. Not even close. And I have this feeling that Mark is on the list … on the killer’s list.”
Higgins was genuinely shocked. “You must be kidding. What ever for? Why would anyone want to harm the Cardinal?”
“I’m afraid it’s not ‘Why would anyone?’; it’s more ‘How many would?’ You must be aware there are a lot of unhappy people out there suffering in one way or another from the effects of the council.”
“Sure. Although I don’t think it’s as bad where I am. By and large, most of our Catholics-at least the ones who still go to church-match the somewhat advanced age of the clergy. We are all precouncil people. So we tend to put as many of the changes as possible out of our minds as well as out of our liturgies.”
“Well, that’s not the case up here, Ralph.”
“I know. I know that. But for heaven’s sake, Larry, you’re talking about murder. That’s a whole lot more than just being a disinterested, disgusted, or even an angry Catholic.”
“It’s strange, I admit, even incredible, but it seems to many of us-it seems to me-that’s exactly what’s going on.”
“I find that hard to believe, frankly. But if that’s what you people think, all the more reason for you to come on down. You know our routine for vacations. Nothing evil can happen to you down there.”
“I know that well. That’s why I’ve been trying to convince him to go. But I think he feels his place is here now while danger threatens. The Irish have a phrase, an bearna baol-the gap of danger. It’s the spot where the bravest position themselves to take the brunt of any attack. You know Mark. You know he’s not the type to run from danger. Just the opposite.”
“Yes, I know. But even if you’re right, there’s nothing stopping you from coming down. Hell, you’re retired. You can spend as much time as you want wherever you want.”
“I can’t leave him, Ralph. I know there’s not much I can do to help or protect him. But I can’t leave him. Not now.”
Higgins shrugged. “If you can’t, you can’t. But we’ll keep your rooms cool and ready.” He was giving up reluctandy, bowing to inevitability. He glanced at his watch. “I guess it’s time for me to be getting out to the airport.”
“So soon? I was going to ask you about old John Gordon. Is he still helping you at Lourdes?”
“ ‘Helping’? That’s a rather generous word for what John does at Our Lady of Lourdes. Actually, we try to talk him out of ‘helping’ us on the weekends.”
“He’s worse, dien?”
“I’ll say. His latest symptom is a kind of unconscious kleptomania.”
“Kleptomania!”
“Stoles, altar breads, every now and again a chalice.”
“Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh. He’ll finish Mass, divest, and every once in a while tuck a vestment or some such in his overnight bag. I just go through the bag as a matter of routine before I drive him back to me home. I retrieve the items that belong to the parish or me. We never mention anything about it. But it’s nerve-racking.”
“Poor man.” Foley shook his head. “It’s just age, I’m sure. Could happen to any of us-please God not. How old is he now … in his late eighties?”
“Ninety going on a hundred. You might get a kick out of what happened when we celebrated his ninetieth birthday. Actually, it was a super turnout. Incredible when you think he doesn’t have any contemporaries left. They’re all dead now.”
“Careful, Ralph, we may be the closest he has to a classmate.”
“I don’t know about you, Larry, but I plan to be a little bit more in control as we assail the seasons.”
“Anyway, I interrupted: Go on with your story, Ralph.”
“Yes, well, there must have been a dozen, fifteen, priests there to concelebrate Mass with the old man. One of the guys was John Miller. You remember him, Larry?”
“I think so. Good sense of humor. Used to be Gordon’s assistant, wasn’t he?”
“Uh-huh. Pastor himself now. Well, you know how stooped over the old man is-almost doubled over”