The Greatest Evil Read online

  “It is nice, Uncle Frank. And it’s exciting. Our faculty—well, they’re Sulpician priests. All they do is teach seminarians. That’s what they joined up for. It’s not like it was at Sacred Heart. The priests on that faculty never got a chance to do what they signed up for—being priests in a parish. These guys—the Sulps—chose to teach. And it shows. It’s challenging.

  “Which reminds me, Tony …” He turned to his brother. “How’re you doing at De LaSalle?”

  “Pretty damn good—”

  “Tony!” Louise shushed her son. “Don’t swear! We’re in the seminary.”

  “Sorry, Ma. We’re doin’ very well, Vin. We’re three and oh. We’re lookin’ at an unbeaten season. And my arm has never been better.”

  “How about your studies?”

  “Yes!” their mother seconded.

  “They’re okay … well, adequate. They’re never gonna put bread on the table. Football will.”

  “But for how many years?” Vince pointed out.

  “Enough,” Tony replied. “Enough to salt away a stash. Besides, my plan is to play pro football until my joints won’t bend anymore. And then, you know what? I’m gonna do sports broadcasts. I’ve got more vocabulary than all the guys doin’ play-by-play put together.”

  “Tony …” Vince shook his head. “Do you ever look at the statistics? Do you have any idea what the odds are? The odds that you can make it to the pros? Granted, if you get that far, you’d probably be a cinch for broadcasting. But how big a chance do you have to beat out the best of the best?”

  “That’s what I tell him all the time, Vincent,” Louise said. “Listen to your brother, Tony. He knows what he’s talking about.”

  “I’m bored!” Lucy complained loudly. She was close to whining. “Can I go outside?”

  “No,” her mother said. “Be a nice girl and sit still.”

  Lucy subsided, but looked as if she might burst into tears at any minute. She wriggled unhappily on her chair, almost in rhythm with her trembling lower lip.

  “Why not?” Frank said. “There’s nothing out here to hurt her.”

  “For cryin’ out loud,” Tony said, “let her go before she drives us all nuts.” Tony had seen his sister in action; he knew that she was not about to sit silent and/or still.

  “Oh, all right,” Louise relented. “But stay out in front where all the cars are parked. And don’t bother anyone. Mind now, stay in front.”

  Freed from the adult world, Lucy went skipping out of the room and up the exit steps.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Louise said, “I want to talk to my baby for a little while.” She grasped one of Vincent’s sleeves and tugged on it.

  Vincent, laughing, went off with his mother. The others grinned at the sight. Vincent made almost two of her. That she should commandeer her son all the while calling him her “baby” was ludicrous. Only a mother could pull it off.

  6

  “Where can we talk?” Louise asked.

  Vincent thought for a moment. “If you don’t mind walking, the cloisters.”

  “Walking is good.”

  Vincent led the way to the enclosed walkways. Constructed of brick and lots of glass, the cloisters area was H-shaped. Two north-south walkways joined the two residence halls with the main building. An east-west structure joined the aforementioned cloisters. They were used extensively to get from here to there.

  The main building contained offices, library, refectory, and classrooms. The residence halls—named Edward and William after two of the founding Michigan bishops—contained student and faculty rooms and large recreation rooms. Students and staff were constantly on the move from one place to another. Cloisters, because they were so light and airy—and heated in winter—were popular places just to walk or, while walking, for conversation or prayer.

  Vincent and Louise walked slowly but steadily. Only occasionally did anyone pass them. The area, though wide open, was nonetheless one of the most private areas in the institution.

  “Vinnie,” his mother began, “pretty soon you’re going to be a priest.”

  “Ma, it’s a good four years off.”

  “Four years goes awful fast.”

  “Not for me.”

  “I know. I know, baby. But when you get older, time seems to go faster.”

  “Ma, you’re only forty-three!”

  “I know. It wasn’t me I wanted to talk to you about. It’s your aunt Martha.”

  Vincent stopped walking. So his mother did too. Then they began again.

  “I worry a lot about Martha,” Louise said. “It’s her marriage. She suffers so much because she can’t take Communion. You know she goes to church every Sunday … the Holy Days too. Did you know that?”

  “No … not really. Holy Days too?”

  “And Frank goes with her. Of course he’s not a Catholic. But he loves her so much. And in four years you’re going to be a holy priest of God. Sometimes before I go to sleep at night, I imagine how beautiful it’s gonna be when you say your first Solemn High Mass.” Louise’s smile was beatific. “And then I think of Martha—and Frank too. She’s your godmother. She’ll be at your Mass. And she won’t be able to take Communion.” Tears formed, then brimmed.

  They walked in silence.

  “Can’t you do something, Vinnie?”

  “Ma, what can I do?”

  “Something. Anything.”

  “We don’t even study the marriage laws of the Church until my fourth year. I haven’t the slightest idea of all that might be good or bad in their marriage. I’m just at sea, Ma.”

  “Won’t you try? For me?”

  He had no idea what if anything he might be able to do. But this was his mother. No one on earth did he love as he loved his mother. “Ma, I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to fix things up. Trust me?”

  She tilted her chin. He bent closer. She kissed him on both cheeks. “Now,” she said, “let’s go back to the parlor. Then you can take Aunt Martha and Uncle Frank for a nice walk and tell them you’re going to help them.”

  “But, Ma—”

  “Then Aunt Martha will be as happy as me that you’re going to help her. Not another word now …” She put a finger to his lips to prevent what he intended to be another word.

  They returned to the parlor to find Tony doing stretching exercises in one corner and Frank and Martha sitting on the couch contentedly holding hands. At the sight of the couple’s bliss, Vincent was confused. He knew from Church law that they were not married in the eyes of that same Church. But … living in sin? He wondered.

  Louise steered straight for her sister and brother-in-law. “Vinnie wants to take you to see—what was it you were going to show them, baby?”

  “The … uh … the crypt chapels.”

  “I’ll just take Tony outside so we can be with Lucy,” Louise said. “You can find us there after your little tour.”

  Martha smiled conspiratorially. “Come on, Frank …”

  All the three needed was to turn a corner from the parlor to the prayer hall, which, besides being a place for morning, noon, and evening prayer, tripled as a classroom and an entertainment center.

  They entered a series of five impressive small chapels, all portioned off from one large room and separated from one another by nothing more than a small space.

  “Each of five faculty members has one of these chapels as his own. And all five celebrate Mass daily and all at the same time.”

  “Isn’t that a little confusing?” Frank asked.

  “You’d be surprised, Uncle Frank. Everybody whispers … in fact, they’re called ‘Whisper Masses.’”

  Vincent showed them each chapel, though there was little difference among any of them. Finally, he pointed out the large plaque embedded in the floor at the room’s center. Beneath this plaque, one day, Cardinal Edward Mooney would be buried. For whatever reason, visitors were most impressed by the future tomb of the Cardinal archbishop of Detroit.

  “And now,” Ma
rtha said as they had quite obviously completed their tour, “what does your mother want you to tell us?”

  “What?”

  Martha smiled banteringly. “We’ve been sisters too long not to know what’s going on with each other.”

  Vincent was relieved: He’d had no idea how he would introduce the mission his mother had given him. Somebody had to bring up the subject. His prayer was answered when Martha popped the question. “Come on, Vinnie,” she urged, “out with it.”

  “Well …” Vincent did not feel entirely comfortable. “… Mother is concerned about your standing in the Church.”

  Martha reddened. “She shouldn’t have involved you. There’s nothing you can do. We saw a priest before we got married. He said there wasn’t any way we could be married in the Church. I don’t think it was her place to involve you—”

  “Wait a minute, Marty,” Frank broke in. “You never know. Vinnie is smart … and he’s young. The things he learns here probably are the most up-to-date developments there are in the Church. I know how bad you want to go to Communion. Maybe Vinnie can help. We don’t want to turn down an offer like this.”

  Martha fell silent. Half of her saw the logic of Frank’s statement. The other half was upset that Louise had brought the matter up again. Martha went through life trying not to think about it. It was too painful, even after all these years.

  “Well,” she said at length, “what did you have in mind, Vinnie?”

  Vincent thought as intensely as he ever had. Then, an inspiration.

  “Look, Aunt Martha, as I explained to Mother, I won’t even be studying the Church’s marriage laws until I’m in my fourth year here. And by that time I’ll be on the verge of ordination and my first Mass—which seems a target date for Ma: She wants to be sure that you’ll be able to receive Communion from me …” He hesitated.

  “So? So what happens now?” Martha demanded.

  Vincent brightened markedly. It was as if the Holy Spirit Himself had visited. “I know that you saw a priest before you got married. But maybe the priest you talked to wasn’t up on everything. Things in the Church generally don’t change very fast … but they do change.

  “What I’m suggesting is that you see a friend of mine—Father Robert Koesler. As luck would have it, he was assigned to our parish, St. William’s, right after his ordination.”

  Martha recollected. “Yes … Louise has mentioned him. He gives good sermons … or so she says. When was he ordained?”

  “Last June.” The words were muffled.

  “Last June! Why, he’s been a priest only four or five months!”

  “Now, Marty,” Frank said soothingly, “remember what we just got done talking about—how these younger priests might be up on the latest? What could it hurt if we give this a chance?”

  “I don’t know …” She was skeptical. “I don’t have a very good feeling about this. I know how you don’t put much trust in my intuition, Frankie. But it proves true more often than not.”

  “Come on, Marty, what could go wrong? What with where we are now, it could only get better. It’s not going to get any worse. I would do anything so you could go to Communion again.” Well, Frank thought, just about anything. The one thing he knew neither of them could possibly do would be to separate and get a divorce. But anything else …

  “I guess …” Martha said tentatively, “… it would be all right then. Do we know this Father …”

  “Koesler.”

  “… Koesler will see us? We don’t live in his parish. We’re in the neighboring parish, Nativity. Our pastor is mean and gruff. Maybe he won’t let us see your Father Koesler—”

  “I don’t think he has any choice in the matter,” Vincent said firmly. “I think for consultation, you can go to any priest you want.”

  “Okay, we’ll try it. No,” Martha said after a moment, “we’ll give it all we’ve got. I’ve been negative and reluctant about this only because neither of us wants to get hurt again. Really, I’m very grateful to you, Vinnie.” She reached up and pulled him down to her height and planted a big kiss on his lips.

  Frank shook Vincent’s hand vigorously.

  “Now,” Martha said, “how do we go about this?”

  Vincent thought for a moment. “Using the phone here in the seminary is kind of awkward. We have to get permission. And catching Father Bob at just the right moment is problematical in any case.

  “I think what I’ll do is write him a note and get. it in tomorrow’s mail. I’ll just explain that my aunt and my uncle will be phoning for an appointment. And I’ll ask him to see you. I’ll just give him a general idea of what this is about. I think it’ll be better if I don’t get too deeply into the marriage thing. That way you can start fresh. And actually, I don’t know that much about it. So if I don’t go into it, I won’t mess things up.”

  “Okay, Vinnie.” Martha checked her watch. “Visiting time is almost over; we’ll have to leave.”

  “I’ll walk you to the car,” Vincent said, leading the way.

  They all began piling in. Frank, the last to enter, turned and held out his hand. “Really, Vincent, we—me especially—are grateful. If this works out, Marty and me are going to be about the happiest two people on the face of this earth.”

  As the car pulled away, everyone was waving good-bye.

  “How did it go?” Louise asked.

  Martha snorted. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Come on, Lou. All you told that boy was to fix things for Frankie and me. You didn’t even know what he was going to show us when you suggested that ‘tour.’”

  “Okay, okay. So I just told him to do everything he could to help so you could receive the sacraments again. How’d he do?”

  “We’ll see. We’re to wait a few days. Vinnie is going to write to his friend, your priest—”

  “You mean Father Koesler? Oh, that’s good. He’s a good priest. He gives such good sermons. And he says Mass so fervently—”

  “How is he with miracles?”

  “If anybody can do it, he can. And we’ll help as much as we can.” Louise turned to the others. “C’mon everybody,” she said loudly, “we’re going to say the Rosary on the way home. It’s for the intention of Uncle Frank and Aunt Martha.”

  Tony began to grumble. Lucy began to whine. But that was all drowned out as Louise began: “‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen …’”

  Vincent watched them leave. Then he headed back toward the residence hall. It was time for Sunday Vespers.

  As he walked, he pondered.

  No two ways about it: If Uncle Frank and Aunt Martha wanted an adjustment in their religious status they would have to consult a priest. The only question was: Which priest?

  There might well be priests better qualified than Bob Koesler. Oh, he knew his stuff all right; all he lacked was experience.

  That could be both good and bad.

  If the incidence of success with this sort of marital problem was poor, Bob wouldn’t know that. So he could be more confident. But if it involved knowing whom to consult for best and quickest results, Koesler would be behind the eight ball.

  Then another thought entered Vincent’s head. Lourdes. That repository of astounding miracles. A grotto decorated with crutches and wheelchairs left by the grateful cured.

  Yet it was said that the greater miracle was that experienced by those who came and left crippled—crippled but resigned to their fate and filled with inner peace. Another sort of miracle.

  It was a good thing that he was headed for the celebration of Vespers, the Church’s evening prayer. This enterprise was going to need a lot of prayer.

  7

  Rumor had it that an Italian priest fresh in America from his mother country was offering ten Masses a day and accepting a five-dollar stipend for each one.

  Once the chancery was apprised of this practice, a chancellor called and told the priest in no uncertain terms tha
t he could not offer ten Masses a day.

  His response: “Ma, shu’ I can. I’m a big-a strong guy.”

  Father Robert Koesler was a big, strong guy too, and he would have been happy to offer ten Masses a day—sans all those stipends.

  Father Koesler had been a priest four months now and he was enjoying every minute of it. In a way, he regretted that his once-a-day Mass (except for Sundays, when, due to the crowds, priests were given permission to offer two Masses) was always scheduled for early morning. Mass was the highlight of his day. He wished he could have all day to anticipate it. He tried to adjust to this minor disappointment.

  His days in this first parochial assignment had fallen into a routine. This also pleased the young priest. He loved routine.

  On most days, after Mass, he taught in the parochial school. Never mind that he was totally unqualified as a teacher. He was a priest; Father could do anything. Afternoons were usually spent outside the rectory—visiting the sick, or parishioners who, for one reason or another, were homebound. In the evening there were endless instructions for people who wanted to convert to Catholicism. Or he would meet with couples who were making arrangements to be married.

  Initially, he had been surprised at the time consumed in clearing the deck for marriage. The simplest procedure—a marriage between two Catholics of independent age, neither previously married—required several visits to fill out all the forms and to be instructed by the priest.

  The priest, of course, had never been married. But he was Father: Ex officio, he could do everything.

  From his—so far—parochial experience, Koesler had concluded that while it was fairly difficult to enter a Catholic marriage, it was extremely difficult to get out of one.

  Canon Law had all the lines—and the questions. Were both parties to this marriage over twenty-one years of age? If not, parental consent was required. Were both Catholic? If not, a dispensation given by the local chancery was required. Were both free to marry, or did either have a previous marriage? If so, the previous marriage had to be annulled. Not infrequently, this process was as easy and successful as jumping the Grand Canyon. Were the parties entering this marriage of their own free will, or were they being coerced by force or fear? If so, the procedure stopped here until the coercion ceased—or, no marriage.