Till Death (29 page)

“I wasn’t terribly interested in the thing. A leave of absence suggests that the person will return. Is that how it worked? And how come it didn’t work that way for Jerry? He obviously didn’t go back.”

“Nor did practically anyone else who took a leave of absence from the active ministry. It was the extremely rare bird who returned. It’s as some have charged: The Church has no words for saying ‘Sorry, we were wrong.’ So it seems to state in this case: ‘Father So-and-So is leaving the active ministry’”

“I’m still up in the air,” Pat said. “Why should Jerry’s relationship with Dora take a drastic turn now? What could it have to do with that Ursula thing a month ago?”

Koesler thought for several moments. “Maybe … yeah: It came out during the meeting that Jerry had been laicized years ago.”

“Hold it. I’m familiar with the term. But not precisely. Fill me in on that, would you?”

“Sure. Laicization is a process by which a priest returns to the lay state—becomes a layman again. A priest may apply for such a release. The request may or may not be granted. If it is, then the man, while still remaining a priest forever, is forbidden—barred by the Church—from
acting
as a priest except in cases of serious emergency. But the priest, acting as a layman,
is
free to marry.

“By no means do all priests who leave go through the process. Some couldn’t care less about the procedure. Others apply and are rejected out of hand—depending on the mood of the Vatican at that particular time.

“Now”—Koesler returned to the case at hand—“it was sort of obvious that Jerry Anderson did not go along to any great degree with Church law. You just have to look at that famous, or rather infamous, wedding he witnessed. You could presume he had done things like that in the past. Even without a history, there was so much canonically wrong with that wedding that it would be safe to conclude that Father Anderson did not much follow Church law.”

Pat Lennon’s brow unwrinkled. “I think I’m beginning to understand what’s going on here: Jerry quits the priesthood. The people who know what’s going on naturally assume that Jerry would not bother applying for laicization. He would not fool around begging the Church to free him.

“But it comes out at the Ursula thing that he has, indeed, applied for it.”

“Not only applied for it,” Koesler said, “but had gotten it.”

“Then …”

“Then,” Koesler interrupted, “it was at that party that everyone—including Dora Riccardo—would know for the first time what Jerry had done.”

“Jerry,” Lennon concluded, “is free to marry—and so is Dora. As a former priest and an ex-nun, they would have lots in common. Dora sets her sights on Jerry.”

“Could be.” Koesler finished the salad and sipped his tea. “It’s entirely possible that Dora would not seriously consider marriage with Jerry because he was still bound to celibacy. Until it came out at the party that he was indeed eligible, Dora … none of us … had known that Jerry was already canonically “reduced to the lay state,” as the Church terms it.

“Now, as a priest, Jerry and anyone he entered into marriage with would be excommunicated. However,” he concluded, “for the past month Jerry and Dora have known they’re free to court—and marry if they decide to.”

“So—Lennon finished her salad, then motioned to the waitress for more coffee—“this could explain why Dora has let her work slip.”

“I guess there could be lots of reasons. But the one we’ve just discussed is as good as anyone could devise.”

That having been more or less settled, the two engaged in small talk as lunch wound down.

As they rose to leave, Pat extended her hand and said simply, “Thanks.”

Koesler merely smiled and nodded.

As they parted, Koesler mused that their conversation had cleared things up for him as much as for Pat. If Dora and Jerry were an item, God bless them. They’d both paid their dues.

Nineteen

It was nearing the end of August.

Casserly and Niedermier had returned from their vacation a little more than three weeks ago.

It had been a glorious time for them. The only fly in their ointment was what Casserly termed Lil’s paranoia about being found out. But he was willing to live with their situation. He smiled when he thought that years from now, when most likely there would be optional celibacy, she’d still be worried—just out of habit.

He’d had no further occurrence of impotence. It had happened just that once and never again. However, since he’d returned and assumed his parochial duties, he’d been walking on metaphorical pins and needles.
When would Dora drop the other shoe?

Yet she was nowhere to be seen. He did not go out looking for her. However, as he celebrated the liturgy he would scan the congregation carefully. Day after day, weekend after weekend, there was no Dora. He felt particularly vulnerable in the confessional rooms. All she’d have to do was enter and he would be trapped.

He answered the phone tentatively. He opened the door to visitors warily. But—bottom line—no Dora.

After a couple of weeks, he phoned Father Koesler. Ostensibly, the call was just chitchat. How everyone was getting along. What had happened during Rick’s vacation. And, oh, by the way, anything new with the Ursula group?

Nothing major, Koesler reported. There
was
a rumor that Jerry and Dora were dating. Nothing certain, just a rumor. “But keep that to yourself, won’t you?” Koesler added.

Would he ever! His heart soared. Long life and abundant children to Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Anderson. After a couple of weeks of constant nervous exhaustion, he breathed freely once again.

Lil didn’t know the cause for his great relief, but she was enjoying it.

Their dating was falling into a pattern. From two to four evenings a week they would meet at one of the suburban Detroit restaurants, of which there were very many. They would have a couple of drinks and order dinner. She stayed on veggies and fish. He was meat and potatoes.

The conversation was pleasant. Either they were dredging up stories about their years in the rectory or the convent, or they talked shop. The rectory/convent stories were fun and funny. Shop talk grew one sided. Dora seemed to be losing interest in work. Up to these last couple of months, she had been completely taken up with the magazine. Now she gave every indication that her time there was coming to an end.

Jerry took that to mean that, just maybe, she was considering marriage. He would not mind at all supporting her and providing a good home for her and their family. But when it came to family, they should get serious soon about children. Dora was forty. The biological clock was running.

In the meantime there was fun to be had. Though it was limited to dinner and a show or movie and a good night kiss at her door.

Until this night.

Everything had progressed routinely until they reached her door. She invited him in. Eagerly he accepted. About all one could say about her apartment was that it provided shelter. It was neat but nondescript.

She brought out the fixings and asked him to brew some instant decaf. She disappeared into an adjacent room. It might have been the bedroom; Jerry couldn’t tell, as she had closed the door behind her.

The water was boiling by the time Dora returned. She wore nothing beneath a diaphanous gown. The water in the kettle was ready, but so was Jerry. And his condition took precedence. He didn’t want to misjudge this situation, making more of it than was offered. But she left little to no doubt that this was the supreme invitation.

She guided him backward to an upholstered chair into which he tumbled. Draping her legs over the chair’s arm she settled in his lap. She put her arms around his neck and began kissing him. He returned the kisses. Neither was an expert at this art, but both felt excited.

In no time he had her in his arms and carried her into the other room. It was, indeed, the bedroom. She moved from his arms and stood before him. She touched her negligee at the neck and it dropped to the floor. Jerry was dumbstruck. She stretched out on the bed. The light from the single lamp cast shadows that emphasized the deep curves of her body.

In no time Jerry was out of his clothes.

Somehow they were able to slow themselves down and make love lingeringly. They remained in each other’s arms, both satisfied and relaxed.

After perhaps half an hour, Jerry was drifting toward sleep. Dora rose, slipped into a bathrobe, and said, “Jerry, you’d better leave now.”

“What?”

“I said it would be a good idea for you to leave.”

“What? After …”

“It’s just that I have neighbors,” she interrupted, “who are nosy busybodies. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them have spotted your car in the parking lot. They will make note of when you arrived and when you left. It’s better this way, believe me.” She smiled broadly.

Don’t push her, he reminded himself. She had offered a lot—almost everything but permanent residence and marriage. He accepted everything she put forth. There’ll be another day and another night.

Words were not appropriate now. He dressed, kissed her no longer as a mere friend, and left.

She finished making the coffee. She sat, and sipped, and thought.

Jerry was great. He could not have had a great deal of experience. His sensitivity made up for that. Lovemaking, she determined, could be all she dreamed of. Especially if it involved the one and only person with whom you wished to share your life, your all.

Unfortunately, Jerry was not that person.

Father Koesler was living in a private apartment in a priests’ retirement compound on a Catholic college campus. In his opinion, the chief benefit of living here was the companionship of other Senior Priests.

He was pleasantly surprised when Father Rick Casserly phoned to arrange for a meeting. It was a bit of a drawback that there was not more contact from the world outside. While it could be fun swapping all the old stories with elderly priests, from time to time Koesler itched to hear the latest clerical gossip and, in general, to keep current.

So, at just a few minutes after two in the afternoon, Father Koesler welcomed the knock at his door. He greeted Father Casserly, who passed on anything to drink.

They sat opposite each other and Koesler prompted Casserly to reveal the latest scuttlebutt.

“Most of the talk,” Casserly said, “is that we’re going to get another auxiliary bishop.”

“Another?” Koesler clearly was surprised. “Who’s it going to be?”

“Disputed, as usual. It’s been a long time since we’ve had an active Pole as auxiliary. The time gap is there, plus Detroit’s still got a thriving and loyal Polish community.”

“But another auxiliary!” Koesler couldn’t get over it. “Pretty soon we’ll have more bishops than priests. All chiefs and no Indians.”

They chuckled.

“I hate to cut this visit short,” Casserly said. “I really enjoy talking with you; you know that. But I’ve got something you could do for me. It’ll take just a minute. And then I’ll have to run.”

“Well, sure. I’ll be glad to help with anything I can. Watcha got?”

Casserly pulled out of his small, black valise a bound stack of loose-leaf papers. Koesler looked at it speculatively. He had no idea what it was.

As if anticipating his question, Casserly said, “It’s my Last Will and Testament.”

“You’ve never had one?”

“Sure. I just wanted to update it. I did it myself,” he added.

Koesler accepted the document. “Are you sure it would pass a judicial exam?”

“Yes, I’m positive. A lawyer gave me a model will. I just had to fill in the blanks and change what needed changing.”

Koesler was unclear why Rick would not simply let an attorney handle this. Heck, next Casserly would be performing a self-appendectomy! Whatever. Koesler began to leaf through the document.

“Go ahead and read it, Bob. I’m going to ask you to witness it. And, more important, I’m naming you as executor.”

“What! I’ve got a decade on you! What makes you think I’ll be around when you reap your heavenly reward?”

“You’re doing just fine. If you do leave before me, I’ll try to get someone else. But … read it. Then I think you’ll have a better idea why I’m asking you.”

“All right.” As Koesler scanned, he quickly skimmed to the salient parts.

“Clothing to the St. Vincent de Paul Society,” Koesler said aloud. “Books to the seminary …” He looked across to Casserly. “Are you sure they’ll want them?”

“I talked to the librarian. She said they’d be careful to absorb what they wanted and, more important, find a good home for the rest.”

“Uh-huh.” Koesler returned to the document. “Furnishings—again—to the S.V de P. I don’t think you could find a better organization.” He was silent for many moments. He raised his head, a look of disbelief on his face.

“You’re leaving everything else to Lillian Niedermier? Car? All financial assets? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Literally. Everything to Lil.”

“Rick, I’ve been around a long time. Nothing much surprises me. But this surprises me.”

Casserly replied with no sense of embarrassment. “Lil and I have been living ‘the third way’—neither married nor celibate—for a long, long while.”

“I never would have guessed. Does anyone else know?”

“Tom Becker. If you’ll look at the last page you’ll see that Tom is a witness. You’re the other one. That’s why I’m telling you our secret. Tom’s known about us almost since we began sharing our lives. So now, you’re the only ones who know—at least as far as we’re aware.”

“Not even Peggy Becker?”

“Shows you how close-mouthed Tom can be. And so can you, I know. That’s why I’ve told you. And that’s why I’m asking you to witness. How about it, Bob?”

“Just give me a moment. At my age, I don’t take shocks all that well. How have you pulled it off?”

“By being super-careful. Our success is almost entirely Lil’s doing. She wanted to protect me as much as herself.” Casserly glanced at his watch. “She is so much younger than I—she’s got to outlive me by a bunch of years. I want to take care of her as best I can. Bob, I’m running a little late. How about it?”