Conceived Without Sin (45 page)

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup overfloweth.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house
of the Lord forever.

When the song ended, he sat peacefully by the water, waiting for the word of the Lord.

Lord, who is my queen?

The word came.

"She is in my heart!" he called out joyfully.

She had been there all along.

Ellie.

+  +  +

She stood by the side door of her parents' house. The motor of Buzz's car was running. He had jumped out to open the creaky door of the Festiva for her.

"Do you
think it worked?" Donna asked.

"What worked?"

"Don't be silly. The prayers."

He looked at the stars, and imagined a little piece of the True Cross way above their heads, circling the world.

It's there.

"Sure. It worked great. Get some sleep. We got a wedding to go to tomorrow."

She smiled, hugged him with a passion, letting him go with a shudder, then put her key into the door.

Chapter Eighteen

1

Buzz waited calmly in the sacristy, feeling clean and dapper in his rented tuxedo. Sam was late.

Finally, the tall man walked in. There were dark rings under his eyes. He smiled at Buzz; they shook hands.

"Well?" Buzz asked. The question had a hundred meanings. He glanced at the priest on the far side of the room. They were out of earshot.

"If you're worried about last night,
quit worrying. I'm over it. I had some weird dreams last night. I don't quite remember any details."

"Now you're the one talking in riddles," Buzz said with a broad smile.

It's going to be all right.

He thought of the Lourdes Shrine, and the peaceful look on Donna's face as she prayed, her eyes closed.

"You're wrong about dreams, Buzz. There are two kinds. Sirach dreams and Joseph dreams," Sam
continued cryptically. "But to get to the point, the only point that matters this morning: I'm marrying the right woman. I love Ellie. I don't love Donna. If love is a decision, then I never did."

A long, motionless silence held between them.

Sam cleared his throat. He opened his arms. The two men embraced.

"Thank you," Sam whispered.

"Forget it," Buzz croaked, hugging Sam tighter.

"I can't. You're
the best. You're a true friend."

"Aw, hey. I'm just doing my job. I'm the best man."

Sam chuckled at the weak pun. They ended the embrace.

The priest finished donning his vestments and walked over. Two altar boys came out of a side room. Buzz handed them an envelope with four ten dollar bills in it–their tip.

"Ready, gentlemen?" Father asked.

+  +  +

Months later, during his darkest hours, the
only image Buzz seemed to be able to recall from the wedding and the reception was that of Ellie's lovely face, her eyes closed, her head back, as dozens of people whirled past them as he danced with her.

"You're my knight in shining armor," she had whispered to him on the dance floor, making his heart soar and expand until he thought it would burst.

There are different kinds of love,
he kept
telling himself then.
Maybe friendship is the best kind.

+  +  +

Sam and Ellie flew to Aspen for a week-long honeymoon. Neither knew how to ski. The glamorous town was not crowded in the off-season. Skiing was not a priority, anyhow.

They rented a chalet off the beaten path, and wandered into town each evening to enjoy the fine restaurants.

On the last night of the honeymoon, there were two unexpected
developments.

Ellie became pregnant–by accident. Of course, neither became aware of this development until weeks afterward.

The second development occurred when Sam asked Ellie if she would agree to selling their new house in Shaker Heights before they even moved into it.

They were enjoying a cup of tea, sitting Indian-style on a bear-rug before a crackling fire. They were dressed in practically
nothing; it was roughly twenty minutes after their child had been conceived. Three angels hovered above them now.

She raised an eyebrow when he made his halting request to sell the house. The strange stuff that had occurred during the rehearsal dinner had not been mentioned between them. Somehow, both knew that Sam's request was related to the events on the balcony.

"Sure thing, Sam," Ellie told
him. "Under one condition."

She saw the surprise in his eyes. He had been expecting a heated debate or at least heavy resistance.

"What's the condition?"

She let him wait, sipping her tea.

I love that house,
she thought sadly.
But I love you more.

She knew this meant leaving Bucky in Beachwood and having to attend parties in small backyards in Rocky River. Somehow, these prospects didn't seem
so distasteful anymore. She was even attracted to them.

And I can watch Buzz and Sam play basketball!

"The condition is non-negotiable. If we're going to live on the West Side, you'll have to buy me a house on the water. I'll pick out the house, too–don't worry about that. I want to look at the lake when I wake up in the morning."

Shaker Heights for a view of Lake Erie. Even Steven.

"That's all?"
he asked, not breaking her gaze.

"You won't say 'that's all' when you find out what a house on the lake in Bay Village costs, honey," she replied sweetly.

Maybe I can get Bucky to move to the West Side?

She would always be a step ahead of her men. Divorced kids can be that way.

She leaned over her tea and gave him a long, loving kiss. She pulled her lips away slowly, and looked closely into his
eyes. She thought of how his whole body had shaken with nervousness the first time she had kissed him in his car at the Garden Club.

The burning in her belly from that night was still there, a bit duller because of the events on the balcony, but the dark image of Sam holding Donna had been obliterated by many other, more passionate memories on this mountainside in Colorado.

The balcony image had
also been overlaid and obscured by another, softer image: that of Donna kneeling in a pew at Saint Christophers, praying so earnestly as Ellie opened the door to the confessional the morning of the rehearsal dinner.

Ellie had put three men behind her in that confessional, men she had slept with but had never loved. She felt she owed Donna for that. Ellie felt that if Jesus could forgive her for
sleeping around, then she could forgive Sam for an indiscretion with Donna that had led to nothing.

Everyone has a dark side,
she thought now.

"I love you, Sam," she said confidently.

"I love you, too," he replied hoarsely.

It was a match made in heaven. And on earth.

2

Three months later, on a Sunday morning, Sam still didn't believe in God, or heaven, or the devil, or hell, or angels. But he
was working on believing in saints, and if there was a heaven, he now knew what it sounded like.

It sounded like the Poor Clares singing behind the screen during Mass.

I wonder where Buzz is?
he thought, disturbed, trying not to draw attention to himself while looking past Ellie in the small chapel of the monastery. It had been Buzz's idea for them to go to Sunday Mass here on a regular basis.
No sign of him.

Sam was becoming more familiar with the parts of the Mass, and the priest assigned to celebrate here was a good homilist.

And my father would appreciate the music. It's a shame.

More and more, Sam was coming to appreciate the cultural aspects of Catholicism, despite his lack of belief.

There was a simplicity to the lessons Jesus taught in the Gospels. There was a practicality to
having a professional scholar enlighten and flesh out those lessons. The ritual of the Eucharistic prayer, especially when done with the reverence shown by Father McBride here, was comforting, even beautiful. He even tried, vainly, to pray, as the others went up for Holy Communion. He was amazed that half the time, Ellie couldn't remember what the subject of the Gospel readings had been ten minutes
after leaving Mass. Sam rarely forgot, and found the simple parables of Jesus or the points of the homily staying with him for several days…until the next Sunday rolled along.

It's a nice routine.

My father is foolish to scorn these rituals. This, too, is high culture; what harm is this to society? It's no wonder the museums he loves so much are full of art produced by Catholics. I wonder what
he would think of Catholicism if he went to Mass every Sunday?

Sam had no illusions that he or his father would ever receive the gift of faith. The few signal graces from summertime had stopped completely.

Faith just isn't for me,
he concluded.
Or it would have come by now.

That's okay. Donna has enough faith to make up for all of us. She has sacrificed her whole life for her faith.

Somehow, even
though Donna had not said so explicitly, Sam, Ellie, and Buzz all felt that she had sacrificed her life
for them
in particular. They knew she prayed for them every day in the hidden chapel not thirty feet away.

Sam's first reaction when Ellie told him during the wedding that Donna had decided to become a Poor Clare was:
What a waste. Who would want to spend the entire day praying?

When he mentioned
this to Ellie, she had responded: "Is it any more a waste than you spending the bulk of your day screwing around with computers? I respect her for following her dreams. She wants to pray. She says it makes her feel complete."

He squeezed Ellie's hand now. She looked at him and smiled. Ellie no longer skipped Mass on the odd Sunday.

I guess she likes it here, too. I wonder when the baby will start
to show?

It was not unusual for Sam's thoughts to skip around like this during Mass. Outside this chapel, unlike Buzz, Sam was single-minded by nature and habit. Mass had become a time for Sam to relax his brain; it was a time to step away from the rush of modern life, the pressures of running a successful company, even the insulated existence of being married. He often let his mind wander from
subject to subject during this hour of peaceful culture. Maybe the Catholics here were supposed to pay attention, but as a nonbeliever, he thought he was within his rights.

The chapel was shaped like a
T
and attached to a larger building that housed the nuns. In effect, there were three chapels in one. Thirty people could fit into the "public" chapel, which formed one end of the top of the
T.
Until the Poor Clares sang, it was easy for a newcomer to mistake the white wooden screen to the right of the altar for a wall. It was here, to the side, where the Poor Clares attended Mass in a tiny second chapel. They spent the majority of their days, however, adoring the Eucharist in a third chapel that was opposite the public chapel. There was a small opening in the wall between the public and
private chapels in which a monstrance was placed so both laymen and cloistered could adore Jesus from their separated worlds.

Buzz had mentioned to Sam that Notre Dame's alumni magazine had featured an article interviewing Phil Donahue, a Notre Dame graduate who had grown up nearby. The television personality was now a vocal, practically daily critic of the Catholic Church.

Phil used to serve
Mass here when he was a kid,
Sam thought, trying to picture the scene in his mind.
Was his hair white when he was a kid? Weird.

Sam admired the public chapel as a perfect marriage of beauty and simplicity. Beautiful statues represented the Poor Clares' king. The simple architectural structure exemplified their vow of poverty. Spare, exquisite wood carvings portrayed the stations of the cross.
Simulated-stone linoleum covered the floors to accommodate the often wet, slushy weather brought in on pilgrim's feet.

So this is where Donna works.

Outside, a tall brick wall surrounded the spacious grounds where the nuns recreated, worked, and prayed. Some of the Poor Clares here, Ellie told him, had not seen the world outside the walls for decades.

"Wow," Sam whispered under his breath.

It
was Communion time now. Others climbed by him to go up for Communion. The singing began again. The feminine harmonies of the sisters were truly–well, angelic. Their singing reminded him of listening to a beautiful orchestra. It was hard to believe that Donna was behind the screen, playing her part.
Weird.

He missed her. The morning of the wedding, he had woken up with his love for her intact,
but his desire
to possess her
was completely gone. He did not remember the details of his dream in the green pastures, only that marrying Ellie was the right thing to do.

Ellie is my queen,
was the word that popped into his head that morning. And that word had stayed with him to this day.

He watched his wife come back from Communion. She knelt down to pray.

I wonder what she's praying about?
he
thought.

Dear Lord, why did you let me get pregnant?
she asked silently.
I don't want to be a mother yet! Help me!

To Sam, she appeared completely serene. He envied her. He knew he was on the outside looking in.

All around him, nuns and laymen were pouring their hearts out to the Word Made Flesh.

His mind wandered to his financial affairs. When he came home from the honeymoon, he wasted no time
hiring subcontractors to refinish the wood floors in the Shaker Heights house, then invested several thousand dollars into the landscaping, which was uncharacteristically shoddy for the highbrow town. Two weeks after he put it on the market, with his typical golden-touch, he sold it for a net ten-thousand dollar profit. This made up his loss on the original closing costs, and even covered some of
the closing costs on their new home in Bay Village. Fortunately, Ellie had fallen in love with a small Cape Cod on the lake that was only modestly more expensive.

His golden touch had extended to Edwards & Associates. The new girl, Amy, had turned out to be a Johnny Traverse clone. She had just closed a multi-year deal to redesign, install, and maintain the network systems for one of the biggest
banks in Cleveland. Over the course of the contract, the deal was worth several million dollars in fees (and initially, several months of long hours for Sam, who again needed to recruit and train more employees).

Amy had even managed to get the first six months payment up front. His cash flow was excellent, and along with heavy profits from several other "bank jobs," as Johnny had taken to calling
them, Sam planned to share out a large portion of the year-end profit in the form of bonuses to his workers. He calculated that he would be able to give a seventy-seven thousand dollar bonus to himself. He didn't feel the least bit guilty about his bonus. Johnny would get a hundred thousand, and Amy almost fifty. It was good to reward hard work–

"Sam?" Ellie whispered, looking down. Everyone had
stood up.