The Greatest Evil (19 page)

She seemed to be making an effort to speak strongly. “And so I’m offering my little illness for the kids.”

“That’s beautiful, Louise. But if they knew what you were doing I’m sure they’d object. They don’t want you to suffer. I can’t think that God wants you to suffer.”

She smiled weakly and patted Koesler’s arm. “Honest, when it gets unbearable, I take one. I’ve already taken a couple. Besides, the doctor explained some of the side effects that can happen when you take very much. I’m better off without it.

“But you promised,” she said insistently. “I don’t want the kids to know. You’re probably right: They’d be upset. So, you won’t tell anybody?”

Koesler shook his head. “No, I won’t. But how about Lucy? Doesn’t she give you your medication and vitamins?”

“No. I’m determined to take care of myself for as long as I can, for as much as I can—”

“Din … ner …” Lucy called from downstairs.

Louise swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly raised herself erect, motioning off Koesler’s proffer of assistance.

“Can I help you downstairs?” he asked.

“No … thank you. Just be patient, please; I go kind of slow.”

She did indeed. But Koesler stayed a step ahead of her just in case she were to fall.

The aroma of spaghetti and meatballs permeated the downstairs, tantalizing to all but Louise. After Koesler had led them in grace she forced herself to eat small portions and then to linger at table for longer than she really wished. Lucy, Vincent, and Koesler exchanged concerned looks as Lucy removed her mother’s still nearly full plate after everyone else was finished.

“Dessert, Mother?”

Louise accepted a small portion of Jell-O and listlessly downed it. Then, explaining that she was very tired, she rose and, accompanied by Vincent, made her way up the stairs.

She stretched out atop the quilt, telling Vincent she just wanted to rest for a little bit before getting ready for bedtime; would he stay with her?

Of course.

She stroked his cheek where a bit of stubble showed. He had been clean-shaven early in the morning. It was getting late in the day and in a little while he would have to return to St. John’s.

“Baby …”

“I’m twenty-four years old. In a couple of months I’ll be a priest. And still she calls me ‘Baby.’”

But he didn’t really mind. Their love for each other was a mother-son epitome.

“Baby,” she repeated, “are you all ready?”

“Ready? For what?”

“To get ordained.”

He smiled. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I mean, this has been really tough on you—me being sick and all. Don’t tell me it hasn’t been a distraction.”

“You didn’t choose to get sick now, Ma. We have to roll with the punches.” He smiled encouragingly. “But we can do it.”

“How are your studies going?”

“What’s this all about, Ma? Why are you so concerned about how I’m doing and my studies?”

“It’s funny: I’ll never be able to make anyone understand. But … I can feel your prayers. They seem to take away a lot of the pain.”

“No kidding! You feel my prayers?” His eyes lit up. “Maybe it’s not just mine. There are lots of people praying for you, you know.”

“If it was anybody else, I could tell. That’s why no one will believe me. I know it’s
your
prayers. But I don’t want you to let your school-work go. You’re so close to the end now.”

Vincent smiled broadly. “Don’t be concerned about my schoolwork …” He nodded assuringly. “That’s in the bag.”

“Sure?”

“Sure!” he emphasized.

She ran her fingers through his hair. He simply leaned closer to make the gesture easier.

“Baby, I’ve got one last request for you—”

“What’s this ‘last’ business?”

“Humor me. Someday very soon you’re going to be at God’s holy altar. You’re going to offer the holy sacrifice of the Mass. What I ask you is for you always to have me in your heart. Let me be part of every Mass you offer …” She fixed him with her gaze. “Promise me.”

Vincent choked back a sob. “Don’t talk like this, Ma. Of course you’re going to be in my Masses. But you’re going to be in the prayers for the living. And you can check me out. You can remind me from time to time. But you won’t really need to check: I’ll remember.

“Which reminds me: What dress are you going to wear to my ordination? And whichever one you choose, are you going to wear the same one for my first Mass the next day?”

She laughed softly. “Baby, I’ve lost so much weight, I’ll have to buy a new one. And as long as it’s new, I think I’ll probably wear it for the first Mass too.”

“Sounds good, Ma. In another week you’re going to wonder what it was like to be sick.”

Her smile was like a sunburst. “I can hardly wait, baby.” She lay back and licked her lips.

“Can I get you some water, Ma?”

“No … no, I’ll be fine. But I think I need to get some sleep. This has been a busy day.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then his thumb traced the sign of the cross on her brow. She smiled and closed her eyes.

He pulled a comforter over her still form, waited till her breath was deep and even, then tiptoed out of the room and went quietly down the stairs.

He stepped into the kitchen where Lucy was finishing up the dishes. Koesler, after drying the last pot, folded the towel and draped it on its hook. “Maybe I ought to go up and say good-bye.”

“She’s sleeping.”

Koesler nodded. “In that case, I’ll just leave. I should at least drop in at home and visit with my folks for a while.”

“Tony said he’ll definitely be home for Easter,” Lucy said, apropos of the word “home.”

“Good,” Vincent said. “There ought to be a doubting Thomas around at any miracle.”

“If custom prevails—and there’s no reason it won’t,” Koesler said, “this will be the busiest week of the year for parish priests. But I’ll be here—definitely—right after St. Norbert’s last Easter Mass.”

“And I,” Vincent added, “will be home as soon as the Easter vigil is finished next Saturday morning. And then,” he added further, “I’ll be home for a full week. To gloat.” His chin was firm.

Koesler donned coat and hat. It was late March—spring, which in Michigan could mean bundle-up weather well into April or even May.

After making his good-byes, Koesler, still in the flush of youth, fairly skipped down the steps to his car.

As he drove toward his familial home in southwest Detroit, he played back the memory of today’s visit with the Delvecchios.

His experience with the terminally ill was quite limited compared with what it would be when he’d had many pastoral years behind him. He could envision Louise lasting a few more weeks, even a month or two. On the other hand, she could be gone before this week was over; it all depended on the relentless advance of the cancer against her will to live. She did
so
want to be there for Lucy at graduation.

Koesler felt it was not in the cards that she would see even the beginning of any sports career Tony might have. But she did want to see him graduate.

Then there was Vincent. Louise would give anything to attend his ordination. And who knows, maybe she would. It was altogether possible the miracle would save her and extend her life into many fruitful years. But it definitely would be Vincent’s miracle.

17

Monday and Tuesday of Holy Week were spent largely shoring up against the special demands of the final four days of that week.

Of course there were the children’s confessions. Public school catechism classes were heard in the afternoon and evening. Students of St. Norbert’s recently opened grade school were taken care of in the morning.

Instruction sessions and meetings ordinarily held during the last four days of any week had to be capsulized into the first two.

There were the special liturgies of Thursday morning: Chrism Mass at the Cathedral with the blessing of three oils used throughout the coming year, and, in the parish, the evening commemoration of the Last Supper. Friday saw a Communion service as part of the noon-to-three
Tre Ore
. Saturday was the Easter Vigil service.

Tucked tightly around those services were individual confessions. By no means were there as many penitents in Koesler’s suburban parish as there were in St. William’s. However, St. William’s supplied four priest confessors; St. Norbert’s, only two.

All in all, Father Koesler was as busy now at St. Norbert’s as he had once been at St. William’s. And equally exhausted by the close of Holy Week.

At the conclusion of the noon Mass on Easter Sunday, he wanted nothing more than a place to stretch out horizontally and ease the tired muscles used for sitting, listening to endless confessions.

But he had a commitment at the Delvecchio home.

He was surprised to find only Vincent, Tony, and Lucy there. He had expected to see some of the relatives—or at least some of the kids’ classmates. He expressed this.

“Oh,” Lucy said, “some of our aunts and uncles and cousins plan to stop by later in the day—but just for a short time. Mom’s kinda tired. As far as our classmates”—she shrugged—“it’s Easter: They’re with their families.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, same with my gang: Easter break; most of ’em went South.”

“Some of the guys said they’d come to visit during the week,” Vincent said quietly.

Vincent looked about as tired and washed out as Louise had the last time Koesler had visited. And thinking of Louise …

“How is she?” Koesler asked.

“Weak. But hanging in,” Lucy said.

“We’ve been taking turns being with her,” Tony said. “She seems more comfortable without having the whole gang of us at once.”

The three kids were right here, in front of Koesler. It seemed no one was with Louise now. “Do you suppose I might go up for a little while?”

“We hoped you would,” Lucy said.

Somehow, Louise’s condition did not surprise Koesler. In his modest experience, cancer could wreak a devastating punishment. So it was with Louise; Koesler had to look intently to recognize her features clearly.

But she was awake and alert—much more than he’d expected. They greeted each other and Koesler took the rocking chair after pulling it closer to the bed.

“You must be exhausted, Father, after your busy schedule this week. You don’t have to visit with me.”

“How about I want to?”

Her smile evidenced embarrassment, though her cheeks showed no blush. “But you must be tired,” she insisted.

As if triggered by the word “tired,” he yawned, segueing into a chuckle. “You mesmerized me. I’m not really all that tired. I’ll recover. But you: How are you feeling?”

“To be honest, it’s been a tough week. But I’m still able to care for myself, which is a blessing. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to continue doing that. But I’m grateful,”

“Yeah, I guess that is a blessing …”

Koesler didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to let Lucy do more for her. He knew Lucy was ready and willing to take over.

“To tell you the truth, Father, I think I’ll be with Jesus soon.”

Koesler shook his head. “No. No. Not if Vincent has his miracle.”

Louise’s smile was no more than pulling back her lips from her teeth. It was almost ghoulish. “Vincent’s miracle,” she mused. “It better hurry along.”

“Maybe it would help if I prayed,” he suggested.

“Yes. I’d like that.” She folded her hands over her chest.

Koesler removed from his suit pocket his ritual book of prayers and the small stole, which he draped over his neck. He opened the book and began to read:

“‘O God, full of love, forgiveness and compassion, graciously receive our prayer that we and this Thy servant, who are bound with the chain of our sins, may by your kind forgiveness be graciously absolved.

“‘O God, the one only help for human infirmity, give to your servant in this hour of her need the power of Thine aid, that by the assistance of Thy loving kindness she may be restored in health to Thy Holy Church.

“‘Grant, O Lord God, we beseech Thee, that this Thy ill servant may enjoy continued health of body and soul. And through the glorious intercession of Blessed Mary ever virgin, be freed from her present sorrow and enjoy eternal gladness. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.’”

He traced the sign of the cross over her. “The blessing of God almighty, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost descend upon you and remain with you always. Amen.”

She nodded, and whispered, “Amen.”

“I’d better let somebody up here to take my place,” Koesler said. “I don’t know whose turn it is.”

“They’re taking turns?”

“Uh-huh. They seem to think that having one visitor at a time is easier on you. I think they picked up this routine from a hospital … seems hospitals are always real concerned about the number of visitors. How do you feel about it?”

“Hmmm. I think it’s better on them. I’d just as soon have all my kids with me. But don’t tell them that, Father: They’ll feel better doing it their way. Besides, I am awful tired. It’s probably better I don’t have a crowd now. Just let whoever’s next come up. I’ll try to keep track of them.”

He smiled and briefly held her hand. “Remember, I’ll be down there if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you when my turn comes around again.”

It reminded him of wrestling’s Australian tag team matches, where a beleaguered contestant tags his partner, who, in turn, enters the ring a bit fresher for battle.

When Koesler reentered the living room, Lucy stood up. Evidently, she was next to be at her mother’s side.

That left Koesler, Vincent, and Tony in awkward silence.

“The Tigers are on TV,” Tony announced. He looked from the priest to his brother. “Any objections?”

There were none, at least none stated.

Van Patrick was saying that the score was Chicago White Sox 4, the Tigers 2, in the bottom of the fifth inning.

Somehow, to Father Koesler, watching a game seemed inappropriate with Louise so ill just upstairs. On the other hand—life goes on.

But the first few minutes appeared to have reached Vincent, who retreated into the dining area. He sat at the table and buried his head in his hands. He was praying, Koesler knew. And, while affecting interest in the ball game, Koesler joined, in spirit, the praying Vincent.