“We’re only open for dinner,” Irma said. “The tables will be full then. Our cook is quite popular.”
Michener wanted to know, “Back in the church, you said Jakob mentioned that Katerina and I would come. Was that really in his last letter?”
She nodded. “He said to expect you and that probably this lovely woman would come with you. My Jakob was intuitive, especially when it came to you, Colin. May I call you that? I feel I know you well enough.”
“I wouldn’t want you to call me anything else.”
“And I’m Katerina.”
She threw them both a smile he liked.
“What else did Jakob say?” he asked.
“He told me of your dilemma. Of your crisis in faith. Since you’re here, I assume you read my letters.”
“I never realized the depth of your relationship.”
Beyond the window, a barge chugged by, heading north.
“My Jakob was a loving man. He devoted his entire life to others. Gave himself to God.”
“But apparently not completely,” Katerina said.
Michener had been waiting for her to make the point. Last night she’d read the letters he’d managed to salvage and was shocked by Volkner’s private emotion.
“I resented him,” Katerina said in a flat tone. “I envisioned him pressuring Colin into choosing, urging him to put the Church first. But I was wrong. I realize now that he, of all people, would have understood how I felt.”
“He did. He talked to me about Colin’s pain. He wanted to tell him the truth, show him he wasn’t alone, but I said no. The time wasn’t right. I didn’t want anyone to know of us. That was something intensely private.” She faced him. “He wanted you to stay a priest. To change things, he needed your help. I think he knew, even then, that one day you and he would make a difference.”
Michener needed to say, “He tried to change things. Not with confrontation, but with reason. He was a man of peace.”
“But above all, Colin, he was a man.” Her voice trailed off at the end of the statement, as if a memory returned for a moment and she didn’t want to ignore it. “Just a man, weak and sinful, like us all.”
Katerina reached across the table and cupped the old woman’s hand. Both women’s eyes glistened.
“When did the relationship start?” Katerina asked.
“When we were children. I knew then that I loved him, and that I always would.” She bit her lip. “But I also knew that I would never have him. Not completely. Even then, he wanted to be a priest. Somehow, though, it was always enough that I possessed his heart.”
He wanted to know something. Why, he wasn’t sure. It was really none of his business. But he sensed that it was all right to ask. “The love was never consummated?”
Her gaze engaged his for several seconds before a slight smile came to her lips. “No, Colin. Your Jakob never violated his oath to his Church. That would have been unthinkable for both him and me.” She looked at Katerina. “We must all judge ourselves by the times in which we live. Jakob and I were from another era. Bad enough for us to love one another. It would have been unthinkable to take that farther.”
He recalled what Clement had said in Turin. Restrained love is not a pleasant matter. “You’ve lived here, alone, all that time?”
“I have my family, this business, my friends, and my God. I knew the love of a man who shared himself totally with me. Not in the physical sense, but in every other way. Few can make such a claim.”
“It was never a problem you weren’t together?” Katerina asked. “I don’t mean sexually. I mean physically, close to one another. That had to be tough.”
“I would have preferred things to be different. But that was beyond my control. Jakob was called to the priesthood early. I knew that, and did nothing to interfere. I loved him enough to share him . . . even with heaven.”
A middle-aged woman pushed through a swinging door and spoke a few words to Irma. Something about the market and supplies. Another barge slipped past the window across the gray-brown river. A few flakes of snow tapped the panes.
“Does anybody know about you and Jakob?” he asked after the woman left.
She shook her head. “Neither of us ever spoke of it. Many here in town know that Jakob and I were childhood friends.”
“His death must have been awful for you,” Katerina said.
She let out a long breath. “You can’t imagine. I knew he was looking bad. I saw him on television. I realized it was only a matter of time. We’re both getting old. But his time came suddenly. I still expect a letter to arrive in the mail, like it did so many times before.” Her voice grew softer, cracking with emotion. “My Jakob is gone, and you are the first people I have spoken to about him. He told me to trust you. That through your visit I could gain peace. And he was right. Simply talking about this has made me feel better.”
He wondered what this gentle woman would think if she knew Volkner had taken his own life. Did she have a right to know? She was opening her heart to them, and he was tired of lying. Clement’s memory would be safe with her. “He killed himself.”
Irma said nothing for the longest time.
He caught Katerina’s glare as she said, “The pope took his own life?”
He nodded. “Sleeping pills. He said the Virgin Mary told him that he must end his life through his own hand. The penance for disobedience. He said he’d ignored heaven far too long. But not this time.”
Irma still said nothing. She just stared at him with impassioned eyes.
“You knew?” he asked.
She nodded. “He’s come to me recently . . . in my dreams. He tells me that it’s okay. He’s forgiven now. That he would have joined God soon anyway. I didn’t understand what he meant.”
“Have you experienced any visions while awake?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Just dreams.” Her voice was distant. “Soon I’ll be with him. That’s all that keeps me going. For eternity, Jakob and I will be together. He tells me that in the dream.” She looked at Katerina. “You asked me how it was to be apart. Those years of separation are inconsequential compared with forever. If nothing else, I’m a patient woman.”
He needed to nudge her toward the point of it all. “Irma, where is what Jakob sent to you?”
She stared down into her beer. “I have an envelope Jakob told me to give to you.”
“I need it.”
Irma rose from the table. “It’s next door in my apartment. I’ll be right back.”
The old woman lumbered out of the restaurant.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Clement?” Katerina asked, as the door closed. The frigid tone matched the temperature outside.
“I would think the answer is obvious.”
“Who knows?”
“Only a few.”
She stood from the table. “Always the same, isn’t it? Lots of secrets in the Vatican.” She slipped on her coat and headed for the door. “Something you seem quite comfortable with.”
“Just like you.” He knew he shouldn’t have said it.
She stopped. “I’ll give you that one. I deserve it. What’s your excuse?”
He said nothing and she turned to leave. “Where are you going?”
“For a walk. I’m sure you and Clement’s lover have much more to talk about that doesn’t include me, either.”