No Greater Love (26 page)

And then there would be a vocal few whom the changes would hit hard. They would object that Andrea and her precious programs were going too far.

Andrea would treat them gently. But her trump card was the certificate naming her a pastoral minister. And if they didn't know what that was, Andrea would be happy to explain. Or, if push came to shove, they could look it up.

Now she was only a few months from her dream assignment.

Things were on course and on time.

Her future was pretty much assured.

She would, in effect, be the pastor of St. George's.

Father Manor would be pastor by the book. He would offer Mass. No one could take that from him. He would deliver the homilies, something he did quite well. But, through weekly conferences with him, she would have considerable influence on both topics and development.

The rest of the parish would be hers. She could never have hoped to do this so well had not Manor, in effect, already abdicated and become absorbed with his coming retirement.

Of course she had no idea who would follow Bennie as pastor. But it didn't seem to matter. Either she could continue as she was, controlling virtually everything, or she could carry her by-now impressive credentials to another parish of her choice.

She was about to arrive at her life's goal.

Some priest might have thought her “unworthy” to be ordained. But she clearly was not “unworthy” to be the pastoral minister, who was, not counting the deacon, the next best thing to a priest.

Now that her full potential was about to be realized, thoughts of her friend Patty flooded her mind more and more often.

Patty banging her head against an unyielding brick wall. Patty, ever the optimist, hoping against all odds to be ordained.

Patty doomed somehow equaled Andrea guilty.

There was no way Andrea could save Patty from herself. Earlier on, Andrea had tried to get Patty into the pastoral ministry program. But Patty's invariable response was to try to coax Andrea into participating in the protest against women being banned from the Master of Divinity courses.

Now that her own future was assured, Andrea focused on Patty. What could Andrea do for Pat?

She asked herself the question so often that it almost became a mantra.

Then something occurred to Andrea. A scheme that might accomplish much in the area of evening scores. It was a tricky, even dangerous plan. And it was just those adjectives—tricky and dangerous—that endeared themselves to the heart of this confident young woman.

She would need help carrying out this scheme, but with a little bit of luck, Patty Donnelly would end up a very satisfied camper.

Twenty

In the seminary's basement was a small room lined with snack dispensing machines. A few small tables and chairs filled the remaining space.

It was midnight. A lone figure sat very still. On the table before him was a pack of cheese crackers and a small carton of milk. The young man had sampled neither. He was lost in thought. So much so that he jumped, startled, when another man entered the room.

The newcomer was also startled. He had not expected anyone else to be here at this time of night.

The only light in the room came from the vending machines. So it took a few moments for them to recognize each other.

“Al! Whatinhell are you doing here?”

“Couldn't sleep,” the man at the table replied. “It was here or chapel to be alone and think. Chapel's so creepy at night. But come on in, Bill. On second thought, I could use some company.”

“Yeah, sure.” Page produced from beneath his bathrobe a pint bottle of Jack Daniel's. He placed the bottle on the table. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. I'll stay with milk.” Cody opened the carton and took a sip. He marveled at Page's daredevil approach to seminary rules and regulations. For Page, rules were little more than a challenge, hardly anything to be observed as part of character formation.

Page fetched a bottle of Vernor's ginger ale. He took one of the Styrofoam cups and mixed the Vernor's with a heavy dose of whiskey, then tasted it. “Could use ice. But”—he smacked his lips—“it'll do for now.”

Cody smiled. “Bill, don't you take anything seriously?”

“Sure.” Page thought for a minute. “Let's see …” He smiled. “Good alcohol, good food, and good sex. None of which do we get in here.”

Cody hardly ever could tell the difference between Page the epicure and Page the kidder. “Come on, Bill: All you have to do is stick to business, and in a few months you'll be able to have at least two of your requisites.”

“Why settle for two when you can have all three?”

“Quit kidding.”

“Who's kidding?”

Cody shook his head. “Do you realize the chance you're taking right now with that booze?”

“Chance! Al, do you think for a moment they're going to boot a deacon out over a little moonshine? Kid, I'm everything they want. The ‘mature vocation' they're trying to sell. A nice, conservative theologian. And an all-but-up-there-on-the-altar ordinand.” He snorted. “At this point in time, they need me more than I need them.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Okay, okay; so maybe I'm exaggerating a little. I'm not about to bring some booze into the refectory at mealtime. I'm not going to beg them to fire me. That would be idiotic—and I'm no idiot.

“But, Al! Baby! The
snack room?
At midnight? C'mon …” It was a combination of a grin and a sneer. “I can bluff any security guard who chances in here. And if it's a faculty member, he or she has got more explaining to do than we have. After all, they've got a suite of rooms. They've got a fridge in their rooms. They've got all the snacks, drinks, or whatever right there in the comfort and convenience of their own rooms. So whatinhell are they doing down here? At midnight.

“Meanwhile, I slip the bottle back under me robe as I ask, ‘Excuse me, Father, is there anything I can get you that you don't already have in your room?”

“I still think it's chancy.”

“Lighten up, Al. Most rules can be bent a little, at least. The talent lies in knowing just how much you can get away with—how far you can go before the rule is fractured. And, if you're smart, you stop just in time.”

Cody recalled something the rector, Bishop McNiff, had mentioned in one of his spiritual conferences. It fitted Page to a T.

McNiff was talking about the rule of life laid down for seminarians. He compared it to a fence around a yard. There'd always be at least one seminarian who kept kicking against the fence.

As the years progressed, and ordination drew closer, the fences expanded, allowing room for development and maturation. But the lad kept kicking against the ever-retreating fence.

At ordination, the rules that had guided the seminarian disappeared. Not that there were no more rules. But there was no reinforcement as there had been. The fences stood for reinforcement. The man who was kicking against them now had no more fences holding him back. Where he went from there was anyone's guess. To the moment of ordination he had exhibited little or no self-control. Now, it was possible the man's priesthood might self-destruct.

Could that apply to Bill Page? It certainly seemed so.

Page poured more whiskey in the cup. He neglected to add anything else. “Hey, Al, you sure you don't want some of this? There's plenty more where this came from.”

Cody hesitated. Finally, he stood, emptied his milk into the sink, got a Styrofoam cup, and extended it to Page, who splashed some of the whiskey in. “Want some ginger ale?”

“No. This will help me forget things. Which is why I came down here in the first place. Maybe a drink or two will let me get some sleep.”

Page extended the bottle and Cody let him fill the cup to half full.

“You wanna forget,” Page said, “enough of this should do the trick. And don't worry, I'll be the designated walker. I'll see you to your room. I wasn't planning on getting blotto anyway.

“But, Al—forgive me, but this isn't like you. What's the matter?”

Cody sipped from the cup and let the warming liquor linger in his mouth before swallowing. He shuddered. This was powerful stuff. “You weren't at spiritual conference last night,” he said.

“What else is new?” Attendance at these conferences was not a command performance, Page had learned. So he rarely attended.

“McNiff told this story about a Trappist abbey back in the days when the monks never talked.” Cody tasted the whiskey again.

“Seems,” he went on, “that a bishop was visiting the abbey. He was walking around the garden when he spotted this Brother working in the garden. The guy seemed very depressed.

“The bishop prided himself as a great if amateur psychologist. So he called the Brother over to him. Here you gotta remember,” Cody explained, “that even in those days of perpetual grand silence, the monks were allowed to respond to a bishop.

“So the bishop says, ‘Brother, you look ill at ease—downright depressed. I think I know what's troubling you: It's that perpetual silence. You really want to talk again—freely—if only for a short while … that it?'

“The Brother thinks about this and after a moment says, ‘I don't think so, Bishop.'

“So the bishop ponders a bit. ‘I think I've got it,' he says. ‘It's the food. Never any meat, small portions, no snacks allowed—and all of this in silence, so you can't even complain … that it?'

“The Brother considers this, then says, ‘It seems like you're coming close, Bishop. But no, it's not that.'

“Now the bishop is really puzzled. After some thought, he says, ‘Probably it's your sleeping arrangements. I mean, trying to get a good night's rest while you're lying on a lumpy straw mattress while all around you in their own cubicles the other monks are snoring and making noises as they also toss and turn on these uncomfortable mattresses … that must be it!'

“The Brother mulls this over. ‘Nope,' he says, finally, ‘I don't think that's it.'

“The bishop throws up his arms in defeat. ‘All right, Brother, I give up. What do you think your problem is?'

“And the Brother drops his hoe and says, ‘Bishop, I think it's the whole damn thing.'”

Page chuckled and poured a little more whiskey in his cup, adding a bare dash of Vernor's—probably to keep his promise of being the designated walker. “And that's it with you, eh? It's the whole damn thing?”

Cody nodded and swallowed a generous mouthful.

“Well, take it apart a little, Al: What's one part of the whole damn thing?”

Cody gazed lingeringly at the little whiskey remaining in his cup. “My father,” he murmured.

“Your dad?” Once again, Page was forced to appreciate that he was indeed old enough to be Al Cody's father. Just barely, but old enough nonetheless.

“Yeah. Earlier tonight he was going to go to the mat with his pastor over a folk liturgy they started in the parish. It's got to be over now. And I don't know how it came off.”

“Pretty bad for your father, I'd guess,” Page said. “He's in the parish council, right?”

Cody nodded. “The president.”

“Even so, he's going up against a battleship … I mean, standing up to the pastor—who is he again?”

“Tully, Father Zachery Tully.”

“Oh, yeah. He's the mulatto—the guy who came from Dallas. The Josephite guy.”

Cody nodded again.

“And he took over St. Joe's from the guy who's here now—uh, Koesler … right?”

“Right again. On top of that, the pastor's got a brother in the Detroit police force—a homicide detective.”

“No shit! I didn't know that.”

“I tried to tell Dad that opposition was futile. But, typical of Dad, he wouldn't hear of it. Once he makes up his mind, that's all she wrote.

“But he can't win this one … I know it. And I just couldn't get through to him.” He shook his head. “He must feel lousy now. And I can't help him. I feel rotten.” He drained the cup and held it out for a refill.

Page too shook his head, but poured more whiskey in Cody's cup. “Okay, so your dad is part of the whole damn thing. And you can't do anything about it right now. But whatever happened tonight he'll get over in time. It ain't like a Folk Mass is gonna bring down the Roman Empire.”

Cody nodded.

“So,” Page said, “what's some more of ‘the whole damn thing'?”

Cody tried to think of all the rest of the mess inside his head. It was, thanks to Jack Daniel's, getting muddled. “I dun—dunno, Bill,” Al slurred. “I coulda sworn there was more. But it dunn't seem to matter.” He knew a big part of what had robbed him of sleep was his pending ordination. He just couldn't get his mouth to cooperate.

“God, Al! I wish you would spit it out. You are so damn depressing. Maybe it would help if you hadn't gotten loaded so soon. It might have helped if you could have talked about it.” Page screwed the top back on the bottle and slipped it into the pocket of his robe. He pressed Cody to lean against him as they wove their way out of the snack room and down the corridor toward the residence wing.

Page continued to talk, not at all sure that Cody was conscious or even semiconscious. Whether he could even hear, much less comprehend.

Actually Page was finding it a bit of a lark. At least Cody wasn't in any condition to interrupt.

“You wanta think about something that's really depressing?” Page stage-whispered.” My sex life. Like, it's a big zilch.

“If I could paraphrase Alfred P. Doolittle, I'm gettin' ordained in June. Ding-dong, the balls are gonna chime. There's girls all over the place, and I've got just three months to lay every one of 'em. Heh, heh, heh!” He laughed mirthlessly.

“Nothin' wrong with the Doolittle character. The problem was Lerner and the way he wrote the role,” Page mused. “Doolittle grieved because he was gettin' married in the morning. And then Lerner wants us to believe that he's gonna live faithful to his wife from that moment on.