William Kienzle - The Greatest Evil

“By Easter,” Koesler said as if he were making a casual announcement in church.

Henry stood up, almost suffered a heart attack, and abruptly left the room.

Father Walsh, who understood what Koesler was doing, chuckled. “By Easter, eh?” Walsh, smiling broadly, shook his head.

“I guess you had to be there,” Koesler said. “This seemed to me to be Vincent’s baby completely. Tony was very strong for radiation.”

“Ever the athlete. Mother has to beat cancer.”

“Uh-huh. Louise seemed determined to do everything in her power to gain the miracle-not so much for herself as for her son.”

“The Italian mother … everything for the children.”

“Especially for the priest son,” Koesler said. “Anyway, Dr. Schmidt was open to whatever the family decided. In the end, he is entrusting Louise’s care primarily to Lucy. I’m going to back her up as best I can.”

“Ah …” Walsh sighed, “Lucy. Got a good head on her shoulders. She’s going to make a fine adult. Still, awfully young to lose her mother.”

Koesler nodded. “This would be a hard time for all of them: Lucy graduating high school, Tony graduating college and hoping for a pro football career-and, of course, Vincent about to become a priest. Missing her son’s ordination would be the greatest tragedy for Louise. But”-Koesler shifted in his chair-“I don’t know: What if they got their miracle?”

“Father!” Walsh was surprised at Koesler’s willingness to accept that possibility.

“You should have seen Vinnie,” Koesler amplified. “His strong faith was so evident. It was almost contagious.”

“‘Almost’?” Walsh’s eyes bespoke wisdom that came from paying attention while growing older.

Koesler reddened. “Everyone eventually seemed to hop on Vinnie’s bandwagon,” he said after a moment. “But when push came to shove … well, Doc Schmidt was humoring the family. Tony didn’t buy one share of it. Louise wanted to please her son the priest. Lucy appeared the most sincere, but, I wonder …”

“That leaves you, Father.”

“Truth is … I kind of believe it.”

“But …” Walsh rubbed his bald pate, a frequent gesture. “… a ‘kind of belief’ is not what you’re looking for. Is it?”

“You’re right, of course. We’ll need a firm, steady faith to gain this favor from Almighty God.”

“Indeed …” Father Walsh sat back in his wheelchair.

“Something you may soon hear about-that is, if Lucy keeps her part of the bargain-is the request for your parishioners to join the Delvecchio family in their petition for the miracle.”

“Lucy’s going to ask me for that?”

“So she said.”

Walsh patted the arms of his chair with both hands. “Well, we’ll pray … but not for a miracle.”

“Not?” Koesler hadn’t anticipated this.

“Seen it too many times, Father. People get all worked up-over a very good cause, mind you. But they begin living for that miracle. When it doesn’t happen, for lots of them it cripples their faith.

“We’ll pray. We’ll pray for God’s will to be done.”

“Lucy will come to you-you can depend on that. You will let her down easily …”

“From what you’ve said, I shouldn’t have too difficult a time convincing her.”

Koesler didn’t argue the point. “You’re probably right.”

“And, Father, you are perfectly welcome to visit anytime with any of our parishioners. I think it was good and wise of you to tell us your intentions. The only thing you need from me is delegation if you’re going to perform a marriage in my parish. You will let me know in that case, won’t you?”

It was his small joke. If anything was made perfectly clear to all priests, it was the necessity to be delegated for weddings. Without such delegation, a marriage would be invalid.

“By the way,” Koesler said, as he rose to leave, “may I use your phone? I need to call St. John’s Seminary.”

“You’re leaving? So soon?”

If Koesler had not heretofore been aware of it, it was obvious that Father Walsh would welcome some companionable visitations. The younger priest resolved to drop in more frequently.

“Before you go …” Walsh wheeled himself closer. “… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time … something important. Today’s subject matter brought it to mind.”

“Yes, Father?” Koesler sat down again.

“It’s about that couple-Morris, was it?”

“Frank and Martha Morris?”

“Yes. From Nativity.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I knew what was going on. You told me.”

“Yes, I consulted with you. It was my first, and I hope last use of a Privilege of the Faith.”

“Yes. Well, there were a couple of things. I didn’t get into it before, or even after the incident was closed. But wasn’t there some bitterness over that case? Something between Martha and Louise Delvecchio?”

“They’re sisters.”

“I know. After the trouble, Louise came in to see me. We talked a few times. Didn’t really settle anything, as I recall. But … Martha: Didn’t she blame Louise for what happened?”

The memory of that awful event suffused Koesler’s mind. “Yes-even though it was an irrational charge. I thought at the time that Martha was simply striking out emotionally at the handiest target-which happened to be her sister. And Louise was simply trying to help.”

“But Martha never changed her opinion, did she?”

“To my knowledge, no.”

“She never forgave Louise?”

“No.”

“And she’s never talked to Louise over all this time?”

“No.”

“It’s my opinion,” Walsh said, “that this might have something to do with Louise’s condition.”

“The cancer?”

“Haven’t you sensed that Louise is very troubled by this whole thing? That in her mind, guilt is not very deep under the surface?”

“Guilt?” Koesler reacted with surprise. “But Louise isn’t guilty of anything. She and I have been through that many times … though not recently.”

“So you think because she hasn’t talked to you about this recently, that it’s no longer affecting her.”

Koesler thought a few moments before responding. “I see what you’re driving at. She doesn’t talk about it because she knows my opinion-that she has no responsibility, no need to regret anything-and she knows I’m not going to change my mind.”

Koesler reflected again. “So she’s internalized her feelings and they’ve been …”

“Eating at her.”

“You think this caused the cancer?”

Walsh nodded gravely.

“Could that happen?” Koesler asked. “Could an emotional struggle cause something as serious as a terminal illness?”

“I’m convinced of it. In my years I’ve seen more harm done because of stress than almost any other cause.”

Involuntarily Koesler glanced at the empty trouser leg that had once covered a healthy limb. Could stress have-?

Walsh caught the glance and chuckled. “Well, not every illness.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“Well, then,” Koesler pursued the line of thought, “do you think if we were able to patch things up …”

“That we’d have our miracle? No; I think the damage has been done. But I also think that reuniting the two sisters would bring a lot of peace to one very troubled soul.”

“Maybe even two troubled souls,” Koesler added. “But it won’t be easy. I’ve talked to Martha several times. Nothing. Oh, not a great feeling of animosity or hatred-just no feeling at all.”

“Ouch, that sounds like a killer. But we can try.” The elderly priest looked off into the distance for a moment. “There’s one more thing I wanted to mention, Father.” Walsh wheeled himself so close that he and Koesler might well have been conspirators. “It’s about that suicide-Frank Morris.”