Till Death (17 page)

“They the ones with the landscape business?”

“You know them?”

“I’ve read about Tom Becker. But I’ve never met him or his wife.”

“I think you’ll like Tom. He started out practically giving away housing to the homeless. Then he married and started a family. At which point he got serious about money—and from then on he had the Midas touch.

“That part I’m familiar with. How about the wife?”

“Peggy? She’s a good wife and mother for all I can tell. But I think she let the winds and sands of time pass her by.”

“How’s that?”

“She’s on the other side of changes in the Church.”

“Impervious to Vatican II?”

“Exactly. Tom moved with the changes. Peggy did not. Either they have established a delicate balance or all is not perfect in paradise. I don’t think they have much in common anymore—at least not as far as the Church is concerned.”

“Okay” Tully looked quickly at the waitress. She seemed in no hurry. Nor were there many customers in the restaurant. He felt there was no pressing need to clear out. “Everyone else at the party will know each other. Right?”

Koesler nodded.

“Then, how about I introduce my brother and sister-in-law to everyone and you do the same for the Beckers wherever they need an introduction.”

“Fine with me.”

“You can start right now,” Tully said, “in giving me a quick rundown on the rest of our guests for tonight.”

“Sure.” Koesler glanced at his watch. Something he had always done with great regularity throughout his adult life. “I know you’ve got a meeting to attend. And I should get in a few hospital visits before evening. So, it’ll just be thumbnail sketches.

“There’s Rick Casserly. I think you know him.”

“God’s gift to vocation recruiters? I should say so. Seems like all the little boys who know him want to grow up to be Father Casserly. I don’t think our archdiocese knows what a gem they have in this guy. If they did, they’d center most of their recruitment efforts around him.”

Koesler chuckled. “I guess you do know Rick! And you’ve identified him perfectly. He’s the next best thing to Bing Crosby, Father O’Malley in
Going My Way
. He’s big and brash and handsome and Irish. He makes friends with everyone. He’s reverent with the sacraments, especially Mass. He’s established a reputation as an effective spiritual director. In short, if Hollywood wanted a perfect priest, central casting would send for Rick Casserly.”

“And,” Tully added, “he could do it without makeup.”

“Right. And, let’s see, the others. There’s Dora Riccardo—formerly, Sister Perpetua of the dreaded Theresians. She joined us almost immediately after the order helped her make up her mind whether to leave or stick it out.

“I must confess, she surprised me with how quickly she came to us. Almost as if she left the order
just
to join the club. That couldn’t be … but I still wonder about the speed of it.

“Well …

“Then there’s Lillian Niedermier. She has the distinction of being the only nonreligious ever to join the club. She taught at the school for three years.”

“Enough time to experience the wounds and develop the scars of Angelico, I’d say … sort of a kissing cousin of the stigmata,” Tully said. “Where is she now?”

“Principal at St. Enda’s. And doing very well from all I’ve heard. If the Church will let her climb an ecclesiastical ladder, she ought to have a bright future.”

Tully shook his head sadly. “Yes, I’m afraid the Church has got as impenetrable a glass ceiling as any nonepiscopal organization. Good luck to Lillian.”

“Lil, she prefers.”

“Lil it is. Any more?”

“Our newest member,” Koesler replied, “Jerry Anderson. You’d have to be living in a cave not to know who he is.”

“True. But I didn’t know he had been with Father Angelico.”

“A few years ago. And that explains his eligibility to join us. Once upon a time he served under Angelico. That entitles him to become a member of the club. But it doesn’t account for his joining us just now. I mean, he could have joined while he was with Angelico—and believe me, he had good reason to do so. The pastor was as rough or rougher on Jerry as on any other assistant. But Jerry didn’t get in touch with us then, even after he left the priesthood.”

“He left the priesthood?” Tully was surprised. “I thought he took a leave of absence.”

Koesler shook his head. “In this archdiocese, ninety-nine percent of the time, when a priest takes a leave he’s not coming back. The phrase is nothing but a euphemism for quitting. In all the time this term has been in use, I think only two or possibly three priests actually returned from a leave.”

“Why not just say he resigned?”

“It looks better. It softens the blow. People read that this or that priest is on leave of absence. They don’t reflect that never—or almost never—is there a notice that the priest has returned.”

“So,” Tully asked, “nobody knows why, after that huge time gap, Anderson is joining this club now?”

“Not really … not that I know of. But,” Koesler toyed with his napkin, “I think it has something to do with Dora Riccardo.”

“The former Sister Perpetua?”

“The very one.”

“What’s the connection?”

“I must have too much time on my hands,” Koesler confessed. “Or maybe it’s just fun searching for answers to puzzles. And all I have is circumstantial evidence; there’s no smoking gun …” He hesitated. “My Lord, would you listen to me? I must be watching too many reruns of
Law and Order.
”

“You’ve certainly got my attention. Proceed, counselor.”

“Okay.” A small smile played at the corners of Koesler’s lips. “Dora … Perpetua … served time with both the Theresians and Father Angelico while Jerry … Father Anderson … was assigned to St. Ursula’s. He was her spiritual director. I know that because when they left for new assignments, he passed her on to Rick Casserly. In one of our gatherings around the hot stove, he happened to mention that.

“Now,” Koesler warmed to his story line, “by the time Anderson picked up all that publicity and left the active ministry, Dora was working for that
Oakland
magazine. She gave him an entreé to the magazine. And he applied and got the job. He followed her into the lay life. And now …” He paused.

“He’s following her into this little club. You think this could become a relationship made in heaven?”

“Kind of strikes me that way. He certainly doesn’t need this club. He had plenty of time to join us during or immediately after his stint with Angelico. One would have to think that he did just fine with his own rehabilitation. Those wounds were healed. But there was something the magazine and the club have in common …”

“Dora Riccardo.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sort of paints the picture of basketball’s full-court press.”

“I think so. It shows every promise of ending in marriage.”

“But,” Tully objected, “he’s still a priest. I mean canonically He’s still bound to celibacy. If that isn’t enough to deter him, how about her? Maybe Dora isn’t quite ready to be excommunicated …”

“At this stage in their lives it may not make a lot of difference. Besides, it’s always possible that Jerry has applied for laicization. Most of the guys who do just don’t talk about it.”

Tully thought about that for a moment. “Generally, there’s no other reason for going for laicization than getting married. There’s no ecclesiastical penalty, as such, for leaving the priesthood; just for getting married.”

“So,” Koesler continued the thought, “if the rumor is true, then Jerry probably does plan marriage. And, again, probably, the bride will be Dora Riccardo.”

“My …” Tully spoke with mock wonder. “There are circles inside circles in this club.”

“Puzzles and mysteries add spice to life.”

Tully leaned forward. “Let’s see, we’re expecting Tom and Peggy Becker; my brother and Anne Marie; Rick Casserly; Jerry Anderson; Lil Niedermier; Dora Riccardo—and the two of us, right?

“Well, the caterers are preparing for a generous serving for ten, yes. The ‘generous’ label should take care of any last-minute guests. I know it was an RSVP invitation, but I can think of one or two more who might just wander in without reservation.” Koesler checked his memory. “Matter of fact, I can think of one who has attended these meetings religiously. So I kind of expect him.”

“Who is that?”

“Father Harry Morgan.”

It was Tully’s turn to check his memory. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

“I’m not surprised. Harry Morgan is my classmate.”

Tully was startled.

“Yes”—Koesler grinned—“that old!”

“I didn’t mean …” Tully fumbled.

Koesler laughed. “It’s okay. Just remember: As we are, so you one day will be.”

“It’s not that,” Tully insisted. “It’s just that I’ve tried to familiarize myself, particularly with the guys who are my senior. I really should have recognized Morgan. Even if I didn’t know much about him, I should have recalled the name.”

“Don’t feel bad. Harry has given new meaning to the phrase ‘keeping a low profile.’”

“He’s retired?”

“No. He’s administrator of a tiny mission called the Pietà.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a job. He’s not a pastor. And the mission isn’t a parish.”

“All true. But Harry is dedicated to a quest …”

Tully smiled, “Like Don Quixote de la Mancha.”

“Something like that. Except that Quixote found the gold in dross. He found Dulcinea in Aldonza. Harry more likely would see Aldonza in Dulcinea.”

“He sounds interesting.”

“He’s fascinating in many ways. I had—gratefully—moved out of Ursula’s several years before Harry was sent there as an assistant. Of all the priests who served under Angelico, Harry was the only one who clearly enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed?”

“Hard to imagine after all you’ve heard about the place, isn’t it?”

“I should say.”

“Lots of priests tried to prepare Harry for what he was about to suffer there. Really, in all Christian charity, they tried to soften the experience. Even I briefed him and, in fact, urged him to confront the pastor early on. And he seemed affected by all this concern.

“Then he moved in and got acquainted for himself. In a couple of words, he loved it.”

“No!”

“Uh-huh. It was as if somebody had cloned Angelico and got Harry Morgan. In fact, he outdid Angelico; he was more stern and strict than the pastor ever dreamed of being. In time, Angelico built up enough confidence in Harry that he was allowed to roam free. On his own initiative, Harry took the damned census for several hours every day.

“Voluntarily he quarantined himself in his upstairs room. They say that Angelico actually invited Harry to use the sacred living room as often as he wished. And, why not: For Angelico, having Harry around was like looking into a flattering mirror.”

“That’s almost spooky.”

“Really! It was weird. Harry still looked like Harry Morgan. But there were expressions—facial expressions—that were uncannily reminiscent of Angelico. For instance, it was hard to tell when Harry was smiling—which was not often—and when he was furious. His lips were always drawn tightly across his teeth—something altogether new for Harry.

“And it changed his life. We thought that maybe when Harry left Ursula’s, he would return to his own personality. Give him a few months, a year at best, and he would be the Harry Morgan we’d known for all those years in the seminary.

“But it was not to be. Angelico had, in a sense, taken possession of him. Harry was never the same again.”

“Incredible,” Tully exclaimed. “What’s happened to him?”

“I think it would be fair to call his ministry undistinguished. He was an assistant in several parishes. He was pastor of a couple of parishes in the boondocks. Actually, he was one of the last—as a matter of fact, the very last—in our class to get his own parish. In fact, if the priest supply had held up and there hadn’t been a priest shortage, he might never have become a pastor.”

“You make it sound as if he should never have been ordained.”

Koesler pulled his jacket tightly around his neck. There was no need for the restaurant’s air conditioning to be turned on, but it had been. With the noon crowd having thinned out, he was beginning to feel the chill. “In 1954 when we were ordained, to go by the book was to steer a safe course. And a safe course was to take no risks. When we delivered practice sermons, a critique of being ‘bookish’ was the equivalent of a passing grade. So, being strict and stern and rigid and ‘bookish’ by no means disqualified a seminarian from ordination.

“Besides, most of the narrow-minded among us mellowed in time. Who knows; Harry might have turned out entirely different if it hadn’t been for Angelico.

“But Harry did become a new edition of the old man. Much to the detriment, I think, of souls. He might have become more forgiving; instead he gained a reputation as a harsh confessor who confused mercy with vengeance. And if you were in the pew, and he was hearing confessions, you might hear Harry shout, ‘You did
what?
!’”

They both laughed even though they knew the reality of that example was anything but funny.

“I’d say” Tully observed, “that we have quite a cast of characters for this evening. Before we had this talk, I must admit I didn’t anticipate much interest in the party. But now …”

“But now, “Koesler supplied, “you can see that there may be an interesting interplay among the guests—if not fireworks.”

“And I’m dying to meet the clone of Father Angelico.”

Twelve

They stopped at a Holiday Inn for lunch.

Pressed as to why he had chosen this motel for a meal, he would have confessed it was their slogan, “No Surprises.”

Indeed, Tom Becker did not enjoy surprises. His life was ruled by set goals, not happenstance.

He had entered the seminary with the goal of discovering whether or not he had a vocation to the priesthood. His goal was not to become a priest but to learn what God had in store for him.

It took almost ten years, but he achieved his goal. When he finally made up his mind to leave, there wasn’t a single doubt in his decision. Both the seminary faculty and student body had plenty of doubts concerning that choice. The consensus was that he would have made an excellent priest. Still he himself had no doubt whatever. One morning he was there for meditation; the next morning he was gone.