The Sacrifice (13 page)

“It certainly was,” Reichert agreed.

Morgan, however, was unappeased. “Do you suppose that you and your knee-jerk supporters will heed God's warning and turn away from this heinous sin?”

“To which heinous sin are you referring?”

“Why … why …”—Morgan was incensed—“ the ordination of a Protestant minister into our priesthood. A person whose aim is to destroy celibacy and ordain women!”

“You're getting yourself all worked up over some possible conclusions of a procedure that is entirely kosher.”

“What do you mean?” Reichert asked.

“Our
Catholic Church”—Tully stressed the possessive—“has created a Pastoral Provision that makes it possible to ordain priests and ministers of other denominations into the Roman Catholic Church. All we were about to do today was to follow the procedure sanctioned by Rome to accomplish this.”

“Mark my words,” Morgan warned, “you will live to regret what you're trying to do.”

Reichert was tiring noticeably. “Come on, Harry,” he urged. “We've had a long day. Time to mosey on home.”

“I suppose you're right,” Morgan growled.

“You've had a long day, all right,” Tully said, ushering them toward the exit. “You must've been among the earliest to arrive.”

“Yes, we were.” Reichert shook his head. “I had the damnedest time trying to find the john in this place. When you get to my age, the old bladder makes demands that you can't ignore. I finally had to use one of the bathrooms in the rectory. I left Harry here to find us a good vantage for the event.”

“I got the impression,” Tully said, “that you went by yourself to find the john. Harry made of sterner stuff?”

“I can hold my water,” Morgan stated.

“He certainly can,” Reichert agreed. “We probably wouldn't have gotten such good seats without Harry's self-control.”

“I recall seeing you two in conversation with Bob Koesler,” Tully said.

“Yes. Bob directed us to an even better location,” said Reichert. “But it really is time to go.” He turned to Morgan. “Better check and see if we've got everything. Got your breviary?”

“Didn't need it. Got my prayers said before we started. How about your coat?”

“Oh, yeah. How about that box you brought along?” He looked about uncertainly. “I don't see it.”

“The box?” Morgan seemed suddenly perturbed. “Oh … that was an alb I'd borrowed and used here at St. Joe's for old John Marshall's funeral. Took it home and had it laundered. I returned it today. Come on … let's go.”

They left. Tully started to lock up. So, he mused, Morgan was on his own for some minutes early in the afternoon. And he was carrying a box. Interesting …

Whoever set off that bomb undoubtedly brought it into the church in much the same way that Morgan had returned the alb. Or said he did.

Is that what we're looking for—some sort of a container that could conceal a bomb?

Was that a clue? Tully thought he'd better ask somebody on the Bomb Squad exactly what he should be looking for in the way of such a container.

E
IGHT

Alice Wheatley chose to walk from St. Joe's to the Pontchartrain.

The weather did not invite walking. But Alice's innards were churning. She thought the air, fresh and brisk off the Detroit River, would help calm things a bit.

Among the events and circumstances she had very definitely not anticipated was that she would have to stay over in Detroit for an indefinite period before she could return to Dallas and her studies.

Now she would have to phone the seminary to get an extension of her leave. Ordinarily that would not be a problem. The dean, as well as the faculty and staff, ordinarily bent over backward to be helpful. But, ordinarily, the occasion was not a parent who was converting from the Episcopal to the Roman Church. That fact, plus the caliber of the man they were losing, had put some noses out of joint, making things most awkward for Alice.

She recalled her nervousness and hesitation when she'd knocked at the dean's door. She entered, to be confronted by a stern and disapproving clergyman.

She explained how she felt her presence at the event was required, even though, when she'd first learned of her father's plans, she had been bitter and livid. So angry had she been that even if she were in Detroit during the ordination ceremony she was not certain she could bring herself to attend.

She said she had given this a great deal of thought over the months that her dad had been studying Roman Catholicism and jumping through hoops. She felt there was something she must contribute to this ordination ceremony.

Finally, and most convincing, she felt the seminary would lose some credibility in ecumenical circles should the dean refuse permission for her to attend.

But the understanding had been that she would return on Monday. “No later than Monday,” he had stressed.

Now she felt trapped.

She had planned and expected—and wanted—to return, but Lieutenant Tully had not minced words. Further, she faced the risk of having to come back to Detroit whenever her testimony was needed in the investigation.

She would simply have to convince the dean that, while in no way could it have been foreseen, she had to stay over. The decision was out of her hands—as it also was outside the seminary's purview.

She didn't doubt that when she explained all this, eventually the dean would agree. She just didn't relish having to ask for permission.

As she walked along Jefferson Avenue, she pulled the collar of her coat tight around her neck. Not only did that give added warmth, it hid her seminarian's collar. People were prone to stare at the sign of her religious garb.

She was proud to be in seminary. She was eager to become a priest. And she hoped that one day soon the sight of women clergy would be taken for granted. Just as it was with men. But for the time being, particularly when she wanted to be left alone, she raised her collar as much for privacy as for warmth.

So lost in thought was she that before she was aware of it, she had reached the hotel.

As she entered her room, she heard the shower running. A voice called out, “Hungry?”

Alice dropped her purse and her coat on a chair. “Hard to say. I should eat something. But I don't feel like it.”

A head peered around the corner. “What was that? I couldn't hear you.”

“I said I don't think I have an appetite. But I ought to eat something. Do you want to go downstairs—or shall we order in?”

“Room service sounds good.”

Alice kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the deep carpet. “Fine with me. Got the menu?”

“In the desk drawer.”

“Okay.” Alice opened the drawer and took out the menu and began to scan it.

“I didn't know what happened to you. You were gone when I woke up.”

“Yes …” Alice hesitated. “I went for a walk earlier. I was trying to make up my mind about several things.”

“Including whether to attend your dad's ordination?”

“Yes. Then I decided I wouldn't. I
couldn't.
But …” She leaned back in the chair. “… by the time I decided not to attend, it was too late anyway. So I came back here.”

“And then the bomb exploded.”

“Yes. And then Ron phoned and took me over there.” She looked up. “I'm surprised the phone didn't wake you.”

There being no immediate response, she closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. “It was on TV already?”

“Yeah, they cut into basketball and hockey games for the breaking news. A lot of jocks were pretty angry, I'll bet. But you were there—”

She reacted unexpectedly. As if she were going to deny being there. But she said nothing.

“You were there. How are your mom and dad—and Richard?”

“They're all okay. None of them was hurt.”

“Did the cops question you and Ron?”

“Uh-huh. And that's where we've got a problem.”

“A problem?
We
've got a problem?”

“Yes. I've got to stay in the vicinity. Seems they need to have everybody—and that includes me—immediately accessible.”

“You mean we're not going to be able to return to Dallas tomorrow?”

“Not exactly …” She shuddered as if all that had happened was catching up with her. “I've got to stay here. You don't. I have to cancel my reservation. You can use yours.”

“You've got to be kidding. I'm not leaving you … especially under the circumstances. You know how air travel is. You never know when the next one will go down. I don't want to leave you … and I don't want you to leave me.”

Alice sighed. “I feel exactly the same. But it just doesn't make sense any other way. You'll have to go back without me.”

“Nothing doing. This is going to be rough on you as it is. My place is at your side … through it all.”

“That can't happen. I had to cover for us when they told me to postpone my trip. I asked Ron if I could stay with him. He said yes.”

“What did you do that for? We could scratch up enough dough to extend our stay here.”

“That's not quite half the problem.”

“You mean …”

“Yes.” She shook her head again. “The larger problem is that your name is Sue.”

Sue's lips tightened. “We aren't back in the dark ages of a few years ago. Our people are, by and large, coming out of the closet. When are
we
going to join them?”

“I don't know.” Alice ran her thumb along the menu. “I don't know.”

An impatient Sue tapped the tabletop. “It's not like you've got a religious problem.”

Alice shook her head. “It's not like
I
've got a religious problem. But there
is
a problem. We got the problem.”

“You mean because I'm Catholic and you're Episcopalian!”

“That'll do for starters.”

“I thought we'd settled on an ecumenical wedding. You surely can get one of your Anglican priest friends. That's can't be too much of a problem. And I think I can solve the Catholic angle.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alice's voice was flat. “The best thing you could possibly come up with would be one of the inactive guys. Somebody who's retired from the active ministry.”

“It's better than nothing. I can't walk away from my Roman roots any more than you can shed the Anglican life you've led.”

Alice didn't respond. She merely sat with closed eyes as if waiting for a sword to descend.

Tears formed in Sue's eyes. At twenty-one, Sue was not seductively attractive. With a little effort, she could've been. She hardly ever wore makeup, and when she did it was no more than lipstick. Her hair hung to her shoulders. It was periodically cut, never styled. Her clothes covered her modestly, without accentuating her well-proportioned figure.

There was no compelling evident reason why Alice and Sue loved each other. They just did. Indeed, that might be one of the unfathomables about people falling in love: They just do.

Alice and Sue did.

“Let's talk about it,” Sue said finally.

Alice shook her head. “We've talked about it so much.”

“But we shouldn't stop.”

“What?”

“Talking.” Sue dropped into a chair. The menu had been forgotten.

“Where do we start? At the very beginning?” Alice sang the latter words in the melody from
The Sound of Music.
“That would be a year and a half ago … roughly … at Western Michigan.”

Sue smiled at the memories evoked by the name. WMU. The flagship of the college-heavy town of Kalamazoo. “We managed to pass each other as the proverbial ships in the night.”

“For three years, anyway. And then, in our senior year …”

“We met …”

“In the temperature-controlled library …”

“Of the Medieval Institute …”

“Carefully rummaging through the rare books section.”

The two women had relived their initial recognition of each other so frequently that they could recite the event antiphonally. Both were now smiling. This was a joyous memory. A pivotal memory.

“We ought to be more grateful to the Cistercian monks who donated so much to that marvelous collection,” Alice said.

“That was the beginning.”

“Then we began to learn how much we had in common.”

“It helped that neither of us had a boyfriend at the time.”

“That opened the way for us to be girlfriends.”

“And then we discovered why we never seemed to be satisfied with any of the boys we dated.”

“And then”—Alice concluded that episode in their young lives—“came love.”

They paused, recalling what had turned out to be the last uncluttered period of their life so far.

“We graduated,” Sue said. “Same class.”

“We spent that summer as counselors at the CYO camp,” Alice said. “Your connections got me the job. And then you decided to come with me to Dallas.”