The Gathering (13 page)

“The alternative,” Lucy Smith said, “is to send Michael to an all-boys Catholic school for the eighth grade. Then he and Manny would join up again for high school in the seminary.”

“Of course,” Nat McMann interjected, “there’s the question of a significant raise in tuition … and transportation.”

Nat and June McMann might as well have been disinterested bystanders when it came to the boys, neither of whom belonged to them. But there existed the possibility that their daughter Alice might be swept up in the Smiths’ plans for Rose.

“That’s true,” Smith agreed. “What we’ve got to decide is whether that kind of move is necessary.”

Lucy Smith toyed with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down her finger. “I think,” she said, “that we’re making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, it’s only one year of integrated classes. And it
is
our parochial school. Remember, Henry, one of the main reasons we chose to live here was the high reputation of Redeemer’s schools—”

“With gender segregation,” Henry interrupted.

“Gender segregation or integration,” Lucy said, “it’s not as if our school has turned into Martin Luther Reformation Academy.”

“I think,” June McMann spoke out, “we’ve forgotten something: The nuns are all qualified teachers. And I don’t think there’s another parish school in the archdiocese that doesn’t have nuns as teachers.”

“Lucy’s right,” Nat McMann said. “It was nice having the Brothers … but not essential. As for segregated classes, well, what can you say? It was a noble experiment.

“Sure it seemed to work for us. But what do we know? The priests who run our parish— and even more so the guys downtown who are in charge of education for this archdiocese—they’re the ones who made the decision. And I think it was rightfully their call.”

Nat and June had discussed all this prior to this meeting and had agreed that they would try to swing the scales in favor of having Mike—following Manny—stay in Redeemer for that problematic eighth grade.

They felt sure that as Mike went, so would Rose go.

The McManns knew they themselves could not afford the tuition for any given private Catholic school. No matter how insistent their Alice was certain to be, the money just wasn’t there.

They knew that the Smiths would be similarly strapped if both Mike and Rose were to be enrolled in a private—as opposed to a parochial or a parish—school.

“Nat’s right,” Lucy said brightly. “With or without the Brothers—even with or without the segregated classes—it’s still a good school. And the tuition is reasonable. I say we enroll Mike in the eighth grade at Redeemer. And, frosting on the cake, he stays with his buddy.”

“It’s
your
daughter,” June observed. “I don’t think Nat and I need vote on it. But since our Alice will insist on accompanying Rose, I think you ought to know that I”— she stole a glance at her husband—“and I’m sure Nat goes along—
we
think Mike should stay at Redeemer.”

Henry looked from one to another. Each face had an “affirmative” expression.

“That does it, then,” Henry said.

“Now,” Lucy said, “we come to the much more tangled situation of the girls. For them, it’s not a matter of a single year. Rose and Alice face attending high school for all those years … wanting to become religious, but having to cope with all those distractions …”

“You mean boys?” June almost giggled as she identified
the
“distraction.”

“Well … yes.” Lucy’s tone made it clear that she didn’t think it was all that funny.

“If you don’t mind,” June said soberly, “Alice and I have been talking about this. We considered the various possibilities. Now, I don’t want you to think that we anticipated what all of us as parents would decide. But high on the list … well, we thought you might agree that Mike should be at Redeemer with his friend for this scholastic year. And now we all seem to have reached that consensus …”

“Did you and Alice,” Nat said with some affront, “come up with a solution for her and Rose too?” This was the first he had heard of the tête-à-tête between wife and daughter; he was piqued that he had not been consulted.

“We think we did. But only if it was decided that Mike attend Redeemer this year. Which”—she looked at the Smiths—“is what you have decided.

“Incidentally, dear,” she addressed her husband, “Alice and I didn’t mean to leave you out. It just started as girl talk and eventually got more serious—”

“Well,” Henry interjected, “let us in on what you and Alice concluded. We sure could use another consensus right about now.”

“Immaculata,” June said.

“Isn’t that the girls’ school out near Marygrove?” Lucy asked.

“Never heard of it!” Nat was still in a minor pout.

“Well, I have,” Henry Smith said firmly. “I just can’t think of why it slipped my mind.”

“Is it or isn’t it near Marygrove?” Lucy pressed.

“It’s on the campus.” June warmed to what she sensed would be quick approval. “Right on the Marygrove campus.”

“It’s Catholic?” With a name like Immaculata what else could it be? But Nat didn’t give in easily.

“Owned, operated, and run by none other than the IHMs.” June’s response was aimed at her husband.

“Tell us about it,” Lucy said.

“Well, as I said, it’s on the Marygrove campus. Now you know Marygrove is an all-girl liberal arts college … very Catholic, modest tuition. Immaculata is sort of Marygrove’s younger sister.”

“Okay, okay,” Nat said. “I know about Marygrove. But what’s with the other place?”

“Immaculata?”

“Uh-huh.”

“In effect, it’s a prep school. It prepares Catholic girls for Marygrove. And when you get to Marygrove,” June added, “you’re in Monroe’s backyard.”

“You mean the girls could graduate from Immaculata and then—more or less—begin their religious life?” Lucy asked.

“Exactly.”

“What about transportation?” Nat was determined to play devil’s advocate since he’d been left out of the planning that had occurred in his own house.

“We examined that carefully,” June said. “It’s not far out of the way for both you, honey, and Henry. You could take turns driving the girls. And, in a pinch, they can get there by streetcar.”

“Let me get one thing straight,” Henry said. “Rose and Alice would go to Redeemer this final year, then start high school at Immaculata.”

“Right.”

“Then they graduate from Immaculata and go on to Marygrove? Do all the girls from Immaculata go on to Monroe to become nuns?”

“No, silly.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“As I said, it’s a prep school,” June explained. “It prepares the girls for Marygrove but not necessarily for the religious life. The group that Alice and Rose will belong to will go on to Monroe and study and live there. But their academic records will all be kept at Marygrove.

“Now,” June concluded, “I think we’ve touched all the bases—”

“Wait a minute,” Nat objected. “What about Rose? Does she get a say in all this?”

“We just completed our study a couple of days ago,” June said. “We haven’t had the opportunity to get Rose’s input. But”—she looked questioningly at Lucy—“both Alice and I are sure Rose will welcome this solution.”

Lucy nodded.

“In that case, it’s settled,” Henry said. He looked at the others in turn. “Mike attends eighth grade at Redeemer. He’ll be taught by the nuns instead of the Brothers. Then it’s off to the seminary.

“Alice and Rose will do the same, except they’ll go on to attend a high school that is more appropriate than Redeemer for preparing them to be nuns.”

“Then it’s full speed ahead,” Lucy said. “Let’s get the kids together and talk it all over with them.”

“Shall we include Manny Tocco?” June asked.

“If he wants to join our group, tell him to come aboard,” Henry replied.

   
ELEVEN
   

R
OMAN CATHOLIC DOGMA
was a strange animal, Father Simpson thought, as he tried to puzzle out the canons, the Church’s laws affecting marriage.

This was about as academic as he got.

Ordinarily, Simpson’s reading did not go beyond the sports and comics pages of the daily papers. Actually, this was the first time he’d cracked the
Codex Iuris Canonici
(the Code of Canon Law) since his final year of Theology. But he had a stake in the present case, so it was worth his while to try to work it out.

The Bensons, along with their son, Stanley, had accepted Father’s Simpson’s invitation. The priest had been the soul of cordiality, ushering the threesome into the rectory dining room. He offered the parents coffee, which they accepted. Stanley had a Coke.

Father Simpson understood that the couple had consulted his predecessor about their marital state and how—or whether—if necessary, it could be regularized.

Father assured them that he was not impugning his predecessor’s expertise in Church law. But laws change. Perhaps that might reflect on their marital status. It couldn’t hurt to take another look.

In reality, Church law changed about as often as the bishop of Detroit paid a visit to old Guadaloop. No one could remember such an occasion.

But Father had to set the scene … give them hope. Because one way or another they were going to have their marriage validated. Then the stage would be ready for Stanley’s entrance to the seminary.

That, of course, was why Stanley’s presence was required. As a rule, some of the topics to be discussed tonight would not be considered appropriate for one of Stanley’s tender years.

Questions and answers regarding failed marriages as well as intimate details could be dicey. But Father Simpson was certain that he could end the evening on a high note of hope. He wanted very much to have Stanley see how much this would mean to his mother. His mother’s happiness was the big stick that Father Simpson was betting all his marbles on—the impelling force that would see Stanley into the seminary … and the priesthood.

That was enough for Simpson. Once he had produced an honest-to-God priest from this godforsaken parish, the chancery would be bound to recognize the magnitude of the feat.

So, they had their meeting. Stanley fidgeted throughout the evening. Nonetheless, he endured. By God, Simpson thought, there might be some backbone there after all.

Father Simpson asked obvious questions. The Bensons bared their thoughts, emotions, and deeds. Then, everyone exhausted, the threesome went home.

The very next day found Father Simpson buried in textbooks. The problem, as his predecessor had concluded, was Mr. Benson’s previous marriage: There was nothing canonically wrong with it.

Mr. Benson—George—had been Lutheran. He had married another Lutheran. That marriage, childless, had failed.

People tend to think the Catholic Church does not recognize marriages between non-Catholics. Not so; the Church presumes any attempted marriage valid unless proven invalid.

Aside from the fact that the couple had been incompatible, nothing in that marriage could be attacked canonically. Both had been baptized (in the Lutheran Church, but that was recognized by the Roman Catholic Church). No one had forced either of them to marry. Neither had been married before. Neither was under age.

There being no impediment to the validity of the marriage as far as the Roman Catholic Church was concerned, George Benson’s first marriage was therefore declared valid. And that was why—even though the marriage had been a Lutheran ceremony, and even though the couple subsequently divorced—George could not, again as far as the Roman Catholic Church was concerned, marry Lily. In the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church, he was already married, and he could not marry canonically again unless and until his first wife died.

Father Simpson really did not expect to find any loophole. His predecessor had known much more about Church law then he himself could ever hope to. But he owed it to himself to reexamine the marriage. After all, if he was able to validate George and Lily’s union to the satisfaction of the Church, he would have no fear whatsoever of a sanction aimed at him.

Of course he had little fear in convalidating an impossible situation. The comparative anonymity of Guadaloop should protect him. But should both belt and suspenders be available, Simpson was ready to use them.