Gripping his copy of the letter and the Post story he’d stapled to it, Stone started for the school, certain that the visit would ultimately take place. His faith was anchored by his devotion to God and his blood ties to the land where he was born.
Stone was descended from the Swift Fox, a small Plains tribe nearly wiped out by smallpox in the 1880s. At that time, Sister Beatrice Drapeau, a nun from France, had arrived with Jesuits and stayed to minister to the dying until she died of the illness.
The sick who prayed to her memory survived.
Her story inspired Stone to become a priest. After his divinity studies and ordination he was posted to the Vatican, working among the archives on the church’s role in Native American history. There, he befriended a wise cardinal who was taken by Stone’s call to God and the nun’s legacy.
“Sister Beatrice’s sacrifice must not be forgotten.” The cardinal raised one finger to Stone before he returned to Lone Tree County. “One day, my brother, I will make a pilgrimage to Montana to honor her.”
Years later, to Stone’s awe, the cardinal was elected pope. A few months afterward, Stone’s old friend, the new pope, wrote him a personal letter.
“My brother, to remember our Good Sister, I will, as promised, make a pilgrimage to the Great Plains on the next anniversary of her death. You may pass this news to others so that they may join in the celebration.”
Stone kept the note private but went online to share the news and the date of the pope’s upcoming visit to Montana.
Unlike presidential visits, news of papal visits was often made public in advance because of the scale and preparations involved. But Stone’s revelation had long preceded the Vatican’s expected official announcement of a multicity papal visit to the United States. This frus trated the U.S. Secret Service because it gave ample lead time to anyone planning an attack.
Now, as Stone entered the school and took his place at the meeting, he braced for a heated debate on any lastditch effort to cancel the pope’s visit to Montana.
“The very thought of canceling at this stage is a pre posterous notion,” said the reverend from the office of the Bishop for the Diocese of Great Falls-Billings.
“Absolutely,” the woman from the governor’s office agreed. “We’re down to a few short weeks from the event.”
“As the letter states, U.S. and foreign intelligence have been picking up chatter about threats and poten tial attacks,” a Secret Service official said through the speakerphone from Washington. “Granted, it’s not un common, but the volume has markedly increased and gives us concern. Especially since various plots against several world leaders and several other targets have
122 Rick Mofina been thwarted in the past sixteen months. The Secret Service is in no way advising the Vatican to cancel any events. Our role is to provide the intelligence for the Vatican to make any decision.”
“These groups quoted in the Post want a shortened tour and suggested the visit to Lone Tree be dropped,” the reverend from the Diocese of Great Falls-Billings said.
“That’s got nothing to do with the Secret Service,” the agent said.
“We’re aware these are challenging times, but to cancel any venue at this stage is contrary to the intent of the Holy Father’s pastoral mission to the U.S.,” the priest representing the Holy See’s Secretariat of State said from Washington. “Each location plays a key role in the pontiff’s ecumenical work.”
In Montana, the day of celebration would involve a presentation to the pope at the school by the children’s choir before he celebrated an open-air Mass in Buffalo Breaks for about one hundred thousand people. There he would bless the site and acknowledge that God allows people to rise above failings to ensure the spirit is not extinguished.
“Has anyone considered the fallout of canceling the first papal visit in the state’s history?” the principal asked. “Think of what’s been done, accommodating charter groups, arranging motel rooms from Great Falls to Billings, Lewistown, Miles City, even into North Dakota. The cost, the expectations created. Not to mention all the security and background checks everyone has already undergone. And the choir. Goodness, the children have been working so hard for months,” the principal said.
As Stone followed the nods that went round the table, he detached himself from the discussion.
“At this stage, the decision is not ours,” the Secret Service official said.
“That is correct,” the official from the Holy See said. “We must await the Vatican’s final decision.”
19
Cold Butte, Lone Tree County, Montana
Logan’s face turned red.
Everyone stopped to stare at him.
You could have heard a pin drop on the floor of the gym where fifty students from all grades had been as sembled into the children’s choir that would perform for the pope’s upcoming visit.
Sobil Mounce-Bazley, the choir director, tapped her baton on her podium. All voices hushed. Music sheets rustled, someone coughed but no one dared speak. In the silence, Sobil ran a finger down her list until she came to the offender.
Number 27. Alto. Age nine.
“Logan Russell?”
“Yes.”
“You were out of time. You threw off the entire group, Mr. Russell.”
“I don’t care.”
Steel-blue eyes peered over bifocals at Logan and held him for an icy moment.
Someone coughed. A snicker was stifled. “Logan Russell, you will see me after practice.” The spinster Sobil Mounce-Bazley was a legendary music director, having led children’s choirs in London and New York until she retired to her brother’s ranch near Cold Butte. When word spread of the historic papal visit, she accepted the school’s invitation to form and lead the choir that would sing for the Holy Father.
Music had been her life, perfection her standard. But things weren’t going well today. Number 27, the lovely alto, was straining her patience.
“You want to tell me what your problem is, Mr. Russell?” she asked Logan after everyone had left.
He didn’t answer.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it said ad nauseam that to sing for the pope is a once-in-a-lifetime oppportunity.”
“I miss my mom.”
“Where is she?”
“In California. My mom and dad kinda split up and I moved here with my dad and his new girlfriend.”
“That might be tough, but it’s no excuse for rude ness.”
During her time in London and New York, Sobil had directed children who’d had parents murdered, baby brothers or sisters who’d been sold by crack-addicted relatives. Acting out over a divorce was not high on her sympathy scale.
“I won’t pry. I’ll cut you some slack. Mind your manners. Memorize the songs, practice the tempo. If you don’t improve by the end of the week, you’re off the team. Is that understood, Mr. Russell?”
It was.
On the school bus home, Logan leaned his forehead against the window and watched as cloud shadows floated over the eternal empty grassland.
He’d never felt so alone. Tears filled his eyes.
Mr. Russell.
Russell was a lie. His name was Logan Conlin.
He didn’t even know who he was anymore.
He didn’t understand anything, anymore. Ever since his dad went off to Iraq, nothing seemed right. His dad wouldn’t talk about what had happened to him over there. But when he came back, he was weird. Different. He had headaches, lost his temper all the time, argued with Mom all the time. Logan’s friend Robbie said that’s how it was with his parents before they got divorced.
Logan didn’t want his parents to get divorced.