J. Powers - Morte D'Urban

But he did his best to see as few people as possible. Several men were asked not to call at the office except on urgent business (Father Louis, before his transfer, was one of these), and Father Excelsior was asked not to call except on urgent, new business. At Christmastime, Father Excelsior had received an imported card from Dickie Thwaites, who had removed from Des Moines (to Greenwich Village), a card on which editor informed publisher that he was going home to be with Mother during the holidays, after which he hoped to write and clarify the situation. By March, he hadn’t done either. The MS (as Father Excelsior called it) of Sir Launcelot and the Catholic Knights of the Round Table was in the hands of the publisher, but otherwise the marriage between the Millstone Press and Eight Seasons Editions had borne no fruit.

Monsignor Renton had written twice, the first time from the hospital after his prostatectomy, and the second time, some weeks later, to report that he’d had a relapse. This, he wrote, had been brought on by leaving the hospital too soon, and this he’d done because the Bishop had checked in with flu and had wanted his suite. Monsignor Renton, rather than move to a room, had checked out of the hospital. Late in February, on his way back from Florida, Monsignor Renton had phoned from Union Station and invited the new Provincial to have dinner with him in town, but the new Provincial hadn’t cared to come in, and Monsignor Renton hadn’t cared to come out, and so they’d talked for a while and let it go at that. Monsignor Renton said that he’d advised Father Udovic to put off building a new church at St Monica’s until spring, or, better yet, summer. The man hadn’t listened to him, but now wished he had, because it was costing him fifty dollars a day for oil just to keep the bricklayers warm. The new church would be one of those hatchery affairs, with silo attached.

The new Provincial did entertain one visitor from Minnesota, however. Late one morning, he heard somebody asking for him in the outer office and say he hoped Brother Henry wouldn’t mind not being called “Father.” Unfortunately, just as the visitor was being shown in, the Provincial had one of his attacks, which, as usual, wiped out what had gone immediately before, so that when he faced the visitor he had no idea who would be there, and did not realize that a minute before, between trains, he’d said, “I’ll be with you in a minute, Father.”

Mr. Studley, to give him credit, let it pass. He was in Chicago for a reunion of his old squadron, he said, and having got the new Provincial’s new address from the folks at the Hill, he’d thought it might be a good idea to stop by and say hello and also to say that Frank had died. Mr. Studley was invited to stay for lunch, did, and had a wonderful couple of hours meeting priests and brothers, faring somewhat better with the latter than with the former. There wasn’t much news from home, he said. Zim, and all that crowd, were in Florida. Frank had died.

Father Wilfrid wrote often. In January, the weather was very cold in Minnesota, and also in February. The blower had made a big difference, but the house was a bit chilly just the same. In March, Father Wilfrid said he was grateful for permission to set up a speakers’ bureau at the Hill, and, as directed, he and Father Louis would confine themselves to subjects of a religious nature, as would Brother Harold in his chalk talks to teenagers. Rex was fine. In April, Father Wilfrid wrote that the Bishop and Father Feld had been out to the Hill, on a friendly visit.

And the new Provincial, replying at once, said that he was pleased to hear that the Bishop had been out to the Hill, and urged Father Wilfrid to do everything, within reason, to assure continued good relations between Order and Diocese. But the new Provincial was worried. Oddly enough, although for many years he’d traveled out of Chicago, he seemed to think of the Hill as home.