“But they did give you a hard time?”
Forbes gave a low, almost soundless whistle. “Oh, my, yes. They were concerned with scandal. I must say I don’t much blame them. Hunsinger has always gotten a lot of publicity. Just about everybody knew what his private life was like. And it was also common knowledge that he couldn’t have cared less about church. If the guys downtown had known Mrs. Hunsinger, maybe they wouldn’t have been so stubborn.”
“Maybe. But I doubt it.”
“Anyway, I must admit a few hot words were exchanged before they finally gave in and let us have the funeral. Mrs. Hunsinger has been so good and faithful for so long, I just couldn’t let her down. I think I might have been tempted to just outright disobey the Chancery if they hadn’t given in. Thank God I wasn’t forced into that position.”
“How’s she taking it?”
Forbes and Koesler had not yet moved from the doorway. So Koesler had still not met Mrs. Hunsinger.
“Pretty hard.” Forbes shook his head. “Not unexpected. Parents just don’t envision burying their children. When it happens, especially suddenly and tragically like this, it’s a double shock. But she’s holding up pretty good through it all. I’ve been trying to keep her busy. . as busy as possible, anyway. Earlier today, we went over the Scripture readings for the Mass tomorrow. I don’t know why I should have been surprised at her knowledge of the Bible; she’s been reading it all her life the way other people read novels. After the funeral, I think I’m going to try to get her involved again in the parish. She’s been a kind of recluse over the past several years. Be good for her to get outside herself. Be good for the parish, in fact.”
“I’ve never met her.”
“Really! Now that surprises me. . your growing up in the parish and all. Come on over and I’ll introduce you.”
Koesler, by far the taller of the two priests, took on the blocking role as he led the way toward the casket.
As soon as he saw her seated in the front row, pencil-thin yet exuding an inner strength, Koesler recognized her. He had never known her name. But he remembered that familiar face from all those years he had served at daily Mass and all those years he’d come from the seminary on vacations. So she was Mrs. Hunsinger. It was the queen of cliches, but it was all that came to mind: small world. He was yet to discover just how small.
Father Forbes, arriving on the scene in Koesler’s wake, was just about to begin introductions when Koesler abruptly sat down next to her. “You’re Mrs. Hunsinger, aren’t you?”
She smiled, pleased that he recognized her. These were the first words he’d ever spoken to her. “Yes. And you’re Father Koesler.”
Introductions being unexpectedly unnecessary, Forbes moved off to greet and console, if consolation were called for, some of the aunts and uncles of the deceased, Mrs. Hunsinger’s sisters and brothers.
“I used to see you in church all the time,” said Koesler. “You used to sit in the back of the transept on the Epistle side.”
“Yes.” She nodded, still wearing an attractive if shy smile. “I always knew you would be a good priest. You were a very good altar boy. Always so reverent and attentive. Even through your final years in the seminary.”
Only now did it occur to Koesler just how long a period they had been wordlessly watching each other. Almost twenty years from the time he first began serving at Mass in the primary grades, through high school, college, and the four years of theology.
The thought crossed his mind that this would not likely have happened if they had been Protestants. The Separated Brethren, as they were now called, with their custom of congregating, mingling, offering “the hand of fellowship,” never would have let nearly two decades pass without even a greeting. Only in the Catholic Church. .
But this was not why he had come to the funeral home.
“I’m so sorry about the death of your son,” said Koesler, coming to the point. “I hadn’t known him very long-”
“We were at your first Mass.”
“Pardon?”
“Henry and I attended your first solemn Mass right here in Holy Redeemer; in June of ’54, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but-”
“If only I could have somehow gotten him to follow in your footsteps, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s all my fault, you know.”
Koesler recalled Inspector Koznicki’s saying that during her interrogation Mrs. Hunsinger had lapsed into the self-blame that so often afflicts parents when a child doesn’t live up to their expectations. Mrs. Hunsinger’s confession of guilt brought to mind a very similar statement made by the father of the young man who had shot President Reagan and three others. At the ensuing trial, the father said, “I am the cause of my son’s tragedy.”
“You musn’t say that, Mrs. Hunsinger. I’m sure you did all you could.”
Koesler had no firsthand knowledge that she had done all she could. He simply could not believe that a woman who practically lived in church would not do all she could to make certain her son would grow up well. “Besides,” he said, grasping at straws, “Hank. . er. . Henry was not by any means without some very good qualities. Why, I wouldn’t even have met him if he hadn’t been a member of a Bible discussion group. Anyone who devotes an evening a week to a deeper understanding of the Bible can’t be all bad.”
“Do you think so?” She seemed to be testing the straw he extended, to see if it were strong enough to hold to.
“Yes, of course. And we have no idea what his private prayer life might have been. But, once again, that Bible study very probably had a very positive effect on his prayer life.” It was pure speculation on Koesler’s part, but it was by no means the first time he’d indulged in such conjecture. Mortal life was ended for Hunsinger. If the priest’s faith were valid, Hunsinger had lately appeared before God in judgment and was now living in eternity. It remained for the living to find some means, any means, to console the living.
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Hunsinger mused, “if his father had lived. . you know, he died just a few months after your first Mass. And Henry was so young, so impressionable at the time.”
“Absolutely.” Koesler plucked at the straw Mrs. Hunsinger, grateful to find another excuse for her son’s flagrantly dissolute life, was extending to him. “It’s very difficult for one parent to fulfill a child’s need for both parents. Sometimes, impossible. No matter how hard the single parent tries.
“But in the final analysis, Mrs. Hunsinger, at some point in life a young person grows up. And, short of the most gross mistreatment throughout youth and adolescence, as an adult he must take full responsibility for his actions, for his life. And he also must take full responsibility for the consequences of those actions. At that point it’s needless, pointless, and maybe even self-destructive for parents to continue to absorb the blame for their children’s actions. You do understand that, don’t you, Mrs. Hunsinger?”
She nodded, but she was gazing straight ahead at the open coffin. Koesler could not determine whether she was weighing or discarding his words. At any rate, he was worried about her obviously distressed state and concerned that he apparently had been unable to ease her out of it. He wondered if it were possible that she might harbor thoughts of suicide. With her strong adherence to Catholicism, it was unlikely that she might attempt that; on the other hand, in her depressed state she might not be entirely in her right mind. In which case, no one could foretell what might happen.
“Do you have anyone with you?” Koesler asked after a brief silence.
“Anyone with me?”
“Yes; someone staying with you?”
“Oh, well, of course there’s Mrs. Quinn.”
“Mrs. Quinn?”
“Yes, right here.” Mrs. Hunsinger indicated the elderly woman seated next to her on the side opposite to that where Koesler was seated.