The Slain Saint

One-2

WITH HELEN FINALLY back at work full time as Myerton’s new Chief of Police, the Christmas in July Bazaar over and Anna back as parish secretary, and July turning to August, I am just beginning to think that my life might be getting back to normal.

Obviously, I am wrong. In fact, I have just poured myself another cup of coffee—my third one today, caffeine being one of the few things Helen is not insisting that I limit for my health—and returned to my desk when this becomes abundantly clear.

As I prepare to spend a couple of quiet hours reviewing details of parish life that I’ve neglected while playing Florence Nightingale to my bride-to-be, the strains of Ave Maria float from my cell phone.

I recognize the number immediately and know my hopes for a quiet, normal life are about to be dashed.

I mean, why else would Walter Knowland, the Archbishop of Baltimore, be calling me?

Taking a deep breath and putting a smile on my face, I answer with, “Good morning, Your Eminence. How are you today?”

“Fine, Tom,” he replies with his usual jovial manner. “How are you, and more importantly, how is Helen?”

“She is very well, thank you, and back at work full time,” I say. “As far as I am concerned, Sir, would you hold it against me if I say that I am thankfully lonely now that we are not together all day?”

He laughs. “So, absence makes the heart grow fonder, huh, Tom?”

“I guess so,” I chuckle. “I’m very happy to see her when I see her, which is still at least twice during the day.”

“But she’s doing well?“

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“And she’s back to chasing bad guys?”

“Actually,” I say slowly, “as Chief of Police, she is still only supervising those who are chasing the bad guys. Helen hasn’t recovered sufficiently to be recertified on the shooting range, and until then, she can’t technically go out into the field herself, although I’m sure it will not surprise you to know that that doesn’t stop her from going to a crime scene.”

“Since she found a way to marry a Catholic priest, I have no problem believing that she can find her way around any obstacle.”

“Certainly she has you to thank for that, sir, more than anyone else.”

“She has herself to thank, Tom, and you. The decisions you made in Bellamy to put your own desires aside in favor of remaining true to the Church more than earned you the right to be considered. The rest, well, as I told you, that was the grace of being in the right place at the right time. Not to mention she is now the only member of the Ladies of Charity to ever arrest someone at a Christmas in July Bazaar.”

“Thank you for those kind words, Sir. I’ll be sure to pass them on.”

“Please do, along with my love and my congratulations to her being named Chief. I believe she’s one of the few female police chiefs in the state?”

“Yes, and the first woman in Myerton,” I say proudly.

“Something to add to her unique character,” the Archbishop says. “But, I did not call you to talk about Helen. Actually, I am calling about your activities in Bellamy.”

My heart goes to my throat. Helen and I returned from Bellamy a few months ago, having gone down there to locate my missing sister, then investigate her death. It was there that we admitted that we were in love with each other. We returned to Myerton committed to pursuing a platonic relationship while I remained in the priesthood.

But it was also far from our finest hour. We went further than any priest should ever go, even if that was far from breaking my vows of celibacy and chastity. But I was weak in my faith after what happened with Father Leonard and not even certain of my own vocation anymore. I reached a point where my desire for Helen was so great, I was prepared to cast everything aside to have her.

Fortunately, Helen was strong enough for both of us.

The Archbishop has known all of this for months. We told him as soon as we came back from Bellamy. And he still petitioned the Vatican to allow us to marry.

I can’t imagine what the problem is now.

“Sir,” I say nervously. “I . . . I’m not sure what you mean. Helen and I were very forthcoming about our behavior in Bellamy when we met with you. We held nothing back. There was no inclination on either of our parts to conceal the truth from you. So what—”

“Tom, Tom,” the Archbishop says gently. “I know all of that. I’m not referring to your personal behavior. I’m talking about your other activities. As you know, there was a significant amount of media attention concerning your role in breaking up that s*x trafficking ring. For a number of years, the Church has worked to raise awareness of the problem and to help rescue those who are being exploited by the people who head these abominable operations.”

“I’m well aware of that, Your Eminence,” I say, trying to control the relief in my voice. “I’ve wanted to become more involved, both because of what I saw in Bellamy and because of what I’ve seen here in Myerton. How may I be of service?”

“We’ve held several workshops on the topic around the Archdiocese for local priests and even Protestant ministers who are interested in the topic. They’ve been very successful, but we’ve yet to hold one in western Maryland. So, I’d like to schedule one in about a month at Saint Clare's, if you’re willing to host?”

“I’d be glad to, sir,” I say with a sense of relief. “Will you be in attendance?“

“Unfortunately, my schedule is already packed for the month, including a commitment to celebrate my niece’s wedding Mass, so I won’t be able to be there. However, I’m sure that you will have no problem running the program. I am sending Father Timothy Stratton to you as your keynote speaker. He has been working for decades with those who have fallen prey to s****l exploitation.”

“I have heard of his work,” I say. “It will be an honor to meet him.”

“Father Stratton will help you with publicizing the event. They’re typically held on a Saturday, beginning with a light breakfast, followed by a keynote by Father Stratton and some large group presentations. After lunch, the attendees break up into small groups for discussion. The goal in the end is to lay the groundwork for developing local programs to aid victims.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I say. “My friend, Clark Applegate, the minister of Myerton Methodist, I’m sure will help spread the word among our Protestant brethren.”

“Fine, fine,” the Archbishop says. “As far as the food, I have no doubt that you can persuade Anna to prevail upon the Ladies of Charity to provide some light refreshments at the beginning and then a lunch of some sort.“

“Well, Your Eminence,” I say with a smile “if I’m not able to persuade her, I’m sure you can.”

The ominous silence tells me I just made a big mistake.

“Oh, Your Eminence,” I say immediately. “I am so—”

“Just take care of it, Father Greer,” the Archbishop says gruffly. “Father Stratton will be in touch.” He then ends the call without saying another word.

I close my eyes and curse myself inwardly. “Tom, are you determined to be sent to Outer Mongolia?” I say to myself. I make a mental note never to mention to the Archbishop his high school relationship with my mother-in-law again.

No matter how curious I am.

Feeling sufficiently chastened, I walk to Anna’s office. She’s there as she has been since the Archbishop assigned me permanently to Saint Clare’s. Long before she was parish secretary, she was the mother of Joan, “the wife of my youth.” Since coming back to Myerton, she’s been my friend, confidant, ally, conscience, and ass-kicker when necessary.

Anna stops typing and turns away from her laptop. Smiling, she says, “Still happy to have me back?”

“Ecstatic,” I say. “As much as I enjoyed having Helen around all the time, she didn’t quite have your way with the job.”

“Someday, I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Oh, she’ll agree with me.”

“Well, in any event,” Anna says, “I take it the Archbishop was telling you about the workshop?”

Once again, I’m amazed by her abilities. “How do you know about that?”

“Father Wayne sent an email with the information while you were still on the phone,” she says. “Apparently, His Eminence had a strong feeling you’d agree. I’ve already found a date and placed it on the calendar. I’ll send it to Father Stratton, along with a formal invitation to stay at the Rectory. I’ll make sure the guest room is ready. I assume you’ll contact Clark?”

“I’ll do that right away,” I say.

“Now as far as refreshments, I’ll talk to Virginia Hill about getting the Ladies of Charity to provide a light breakfast—I’ll suggest coffee and juice, with muffins and pastries provided by The Muffin Man. Nick’s been angling for the Sunday morning doughnuts when that starts back up in the fall. We’ll cater the lunch ourselves.”

“Anna, once again,” I say, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Tom, Lord willing, it’s going to be a long time before you have to find out.”

“I certainly hope so,” I say. “Anything else?”

“Just one thing,” Anna says. “Dr. Maycord called and asked if you were available this afternoon. I said you were free after 2 p.m., and he said he’d be here.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

She shakes her head. “No. Have you spoken to him lately?”

“Unfortunately not,” I say. “I know his nieces are living with him now, and I’ve been meaning to stop by, but I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, looks like you’ll have your chance after lunch.”