“Your sister wanted to help. She knew how much you wanted to live as a Catholic and receive the sacraments-”
“She meddled in our lives. If she hadn’t started this, I’d still have my Frankie. I don’t want to think of her the rest of my life.”
Koesler knew there was no point in pursuing this now. In time, maybe. But not now. “We have some ladies in our parish who are good at helping with funeral details. They volunteer their services. They’re really good people. How about if I send them over?”
It occurred to Martha that, having dismissed her sister, she was now alone. She needed help. “Yes,” she said quietly, “that would be good. Thank you.”
“And,” Koesler added, “I’ll try to arrange for Christian burial.”
Martha looked at him attentively for the first time. “Why would you do that? Frankie committed suicide.”
“I know that’s what it looks like. But the Church regularly presumes that in such cases the person is not responsible for what he did … temporary loss of free will.”
“But you read Frankie’s note: He seemed to know what he was doing.”
“I can try.”
“Don’t!” she said forcefully. “I can’t stand to be crushed by my Church again. The last rejection cost me my husband. I want no more from my Church. Not ever!”
Koesler surmised that Martha’s feelings toward both her sister and the Church would soften, given time. Now was not that time.
“I’ll ask those women that I mentioned to get in touch with you right away. I’m sure they’ll be a big help.”
With that, Koesler gave Martha his blessing-which, he thanked God, she did not refuse. Then he left.
He would certainly have to visit and work with Louise and her children. They must be feeling just awful. But at least they had each other.
The one left out on a branch by himself was Vince Delvecchio. He had been informed of his uncle’s suicide. But Koesler knew well the macho spirit that was one goal of the seminary training at St. John’s. If Koesler’s assessment was correct, Vincent had been called into the rector’s office and notified. It wouldn’t matter whether or not Vince asked permission to go home. He would be advised to “tough it out” and remain working through the seminary’s routine.
One thing that could break into that relentless routine and allow Vincent to react emotionally would be a visit from Father-and emphasize the Father-Koesler. The seminary rector had too much respect for the priesthood to refuse him access to the grieving student.
And so Koesler headed for the Provincial Seminary in Plymouth.
In little less than an hour he pulled into the circular drive that he knew so well.
As he had anticipated, he was warmly welcomed by the rector, who immediately sent a secretary to summon Delvecchio.
Koesler and Delvecchio went down to the visiting parlor, where, at this time of day, they could be alone and undisturbed.
Of course Vincent knew of the tragedy; the notification had been as Koesler guessed.
Vince seemed to be holding up well. The rector must have been pleased at Vince’s growth in the image of John Wayne.
“Mother didn’t say, and the rector wouldn’t know, but the cause of this, I presume, was the failure of the Pauline Privilege?”
“Yes. I delivered the news to them last night-just hours before it happened.”
Delvecchio shook his head sadly. “What happened … I mean, to the case?”
“Too many uncooperative witnesses. Some wouldn’t testify. Others were ambiguous about whether Frank could have been baptized.”
Koesler didn’t mention the petition again. But he filled in some of the details of the conversation he and the Morrises had had last night. He finished by telling Vince he wished he could conduct a Catholic funeral for Frank, but that Martha had turned down the offer. And he scarcely could be hopeful that he could slide that possibility past the pastor of St. William’s.
Delvecchio looked surprised. “But why would you want to do that?”
“Because your uncle was a catechumen, by any definition of the word. He had completed instructions. He had agreed to the tenets of Catholicism. The only thing that prevented his baptism was Rome’s rejection of his petition.”
“But if he had left Aunt Martha …”
Knowing their love for each other, Koesler had not considered this possibility. But, technically, Delvecchio was correct. Short of clearing Frank’s first marriage, the only way he could have been baptized and become a Catholic would be to live a celibate life. And that had not been in the cards-not in the Morris deck, in any case, because Rome wouldn’t go for it and Frank wouldn’t leave Martha.
“Besides,” Delvecchio continued, “Uncle Frank committed suicide. That demands the denial of Christian burial.”
“I think you’ll find, Vince, that the Church is rather lenient when it comes to that.”
Delvecchio’s eyes opened wide. “It is the greatest sin. The greatest evil.”
“Yes, yes, I know, Vince. The ultimate act of despair. Denial of even the forgiveness, comfort, and compassion of the Holy Spirit. But who among us can. know the mind of a tortured soul in the final moments of life?”
“It is the law.”
“It is a law regularly set aside.”
“Well,” Delvecchio said, “at least Aunt Martha can go to Communion again.”
Koesler almost gasped. The only other person who had expressed that sentiment was Frank himself-in his suicide note.
There seemed little point in continuing the conversation. Besides, the purpose of Koesler’s visit had been accomplished: Delvecchio was handling what grief was his magnificently. No need to worry about him … at least for the present.
Koesler left for the long drive home.
Completely out of character for him, he did not turn on the car radio. He was deep in thought about Vincent and the manner in which he was taking the death of his uncle.
Was this the same kid who’d trashed a liturgical rubric just so campers wouldn’t be bored during Communion time?
Now, when it comes to his uncle’s suicide, he is appealing to law-Church law-to … what? To shield himself from the slightest responsibility for what had happened.
To be brutally fair, there really wasn’t much responsibility to be shouldered by young Vince Delvecchio. He’d had a corner of responsibility for a matter of. minutes-when his mother asked him to “do something” about the canonically irregular situation of his uncle and aunt.
Then, in the space of just a few minutes, he had shifted the load to others. Suddenly it became someone else’s duty to contact a young priest who was busy translating book learning to the school of hard knocks. And from then on, it was the responsibility of Father Koesler.
Finally, there was the business of Communion and the other sacraments. To see death-suicide-as nothing more than making the sacraments available to one who had been denied them, seemed to Koesler to be crass legalism in its shoddiest form.
Where was this boy headed?
10
The Present
At the sound of the phone, Koesler instinctively started to rise from the chair. Just as quickly, he remembered that he was, or very soon would be, a Senior Priest, no longer responsible for the spiritual care of a parish. No longer responsible for answering the phone. With a twinge of regret he eased himself back into his contour-programmed chair.
He looked across at Father Tully, who made no move to pick up the phone. Why not? Koesler wondered.
Maybe it was the seminary of Koesler’s day. If it’s your job, you clean the floor. If it’s your job, you answer the phone.
Koesler’s active memory recalled a time when his class was in its final year at Sacred Heart Seminary. His room was in St. Thomas Hall, a residential wing. The individual rooms provided some privacy for the students for the first time in their seminary career. But the rooms were not for claustrophobics. One wag stated that if a student died in his room, the rector would have handles attached to the outside and the room would be the coffin the lad was buried in.