Sanctuary of Sins

by Roger Kazanowski

  “Go now,” the pope said curtly, averting his eyes. “May God bless each of you.”

  CHAPTER five

  John was busy planning his family’s trip to Rome—they’d be leaving in just two days. His daughters, eight and eleven years old, were excited to ride on a plane and to see Europe, a place they’d learned about in their textbooks. John should have been excited too, but he was distracted.

  Setting down his planner, he used his foot to edge the office door closed, then quickly dialed James. Beyond his door, he could hear the girls playing, plastic toys clacking together. He smiled.

  James answered on the second ring.

  “James, you got a few minutes?” He tried to veil the concern in his voice.

  “Sure, what’s going on?”

  “I had dinner at Tony’s last night, and he said there’s trouble brewing in Rome. Seems there’s a younger faction of bishops and some cardinals putting an aggressive plan in place against the female priests. Again.” He tried to hide the anger in his voice; at this, he failed.

  There was a long pause, during which John could hear Maria speaking to the girls. Something about ‘sharing.’ His heart was ballooning.

  “It’s happening again?” James asked.

  “Yes. At least I think so. I’m headed to Rome in a couple days but I’d like to meet with you and Frank when I get back. Tony may have a bit more information about what this group is planning.”

  “Okay, John. I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “Thanks,” John said, rubbing his temples.

  “We saved her once,” James said, as if reading his thoughts. “We can do it again.”

  ✽✽✽

  The following evening John, Maria and the girls boarded their plane. During the flight, Maria battled severe headaches and felt like vomiting.

  “Is it the turbulence?” John asked softly as she squeezed her head in her hands.

  “No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just, like, the worst migraine of all time.”

  “The Advil’s not helping?”

  “Not yet.”

  Helpless, John squeezed his wife’s shoulder and hailed a flight attendant. “Another Advil, please?” he asked. She smiled and bowed away.

  “Mommy doesn’t feel good,” Alka whispered to her sister, who nodded solemnly.

  Eventually Maria fell asleep, a sweatshirt draped over her face. Although it was way past their bedtime, Alka and Kayla were wired. John played rock, paper, scissors with them until he thought he’d go crazy.

  ✽✽✽

  It was Sunday morning and Charlotte was anxious to see John, along with her sister and nieces. She made arrangements to have them all picked up and brought through a private gate into the Vatican grounds. Once there, they’d have a late lunch and a small group tour of Saint Peter’s, including a private tour of the Sistine Chapel. This was a special viewing—under normal hours visitors were herded through the chapel like school children on a field trip. Charlotte had arranged for John to see the Vatican’s private collection of art not available to the public. Only 20,000 of the Vatican’s 70,000 pieces were on public display.

  As John, Shawne and their respective families arrived in the garden area, Charlotte was waiting with a smile so big it hurt her cheeks. “Hello to all of you!” she blurted out, clasping her hands together. “I can’t tell you how exciting it is having you here.” She hugged each of them. Through the chatter and buzz of the group, her eyes met John’s. They smiled. But before they could embrace, she heard a small voice.

  “Aunt Charlotte?” Sherri asked. Charlotte turned to her niece, who was now 16, and her heart felt fit to burst. She couldn’t help but be taken aback. She was growing up so fast. It seemed like just yesterday Charlotte was holding her as a newborn, and now here she was in a denim jacket and long brown hair, a whole person of her own.

  “Yes, sweets?”

  Sherri sidled up next to Charlotte, a little hand cupped next to her mouth as if to tell her a secret. “Why’s John Adams here?” she whispered.

  “Well, he’s my very good friend, and yours too. What’s wrong?”

  Sherri shrugged. “Alka and Kayla are kind of…”

  Charlotte laughed. “They’re just younger than you. Be nice.”

  Sherri glanced at the little girls, who were playing with her own younger sisters. Poor Sherri was just old enough to have no peers of her own in the group. Charlotte wanted her to be able to connect with someone here. She knew if she’d give John a chance, the two would be fast friends. “Luci says I look like them,” Sherri added.

  Charlotte looked at Alka and Kayla; she did look like them, with her straight, dark hair and button nose, freckles and all. Her own sisters had blonde curls. “I guess you do,” Charlotte said, shooing her away, smiling. “Now go and talk to them already!”

  As they enjoyed their lunch, Charlotte was lightheaded with joy. She was surrounded by the people she loved most in the world, on the brink of the biggest accomplishment of her life. Not even the pope’s condition, the uncertainty of the future or the sight of John holding Maria’s hand could dampen her mood.

  “So how excited are you for Tuesday? Nervous?” Shawne asked with a grin.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t know. My life as a priest has been so… surrealistic. Who could’ve guessed this ole gal from Michigan would be elevated to the highest levels of the Catholic Church? There are so many others who are equally qualified.”

  Shawne laughed. “Your humility is just plain ridiculous.”

  That evening, the group enjoyed dinner outside the walls of the Vatican at the Dar Poeta restaurant, one of Charlotte’s favorites. Here she could dress casually and be herself, and no one stopped her to shake her hand and bring up work. Between John and Shawne, many old stories were told that the children hadn’t heard. Charlotte found herself laughing the sort of deep belly-laugh she hadn’t experienced for years.

  Halfway through the meal, Charlotte noticed Maria was suddenly absent.

  “Hey, where’s Maria?”

  John glanced at her empty seat and shrugged. “Nature calls, I guess.”

  Several minutes passed as the conversation carried on. Soon everyone had finished their meals. Maria was conspicuously absent.

  “Did she fall in?” Shawne asked with a grin.

  “I’ll go check on her,” Charlotte decided, standing up from the table.

  In the restroom, she heard the distinctive sounds of someone vomiting. She knocked hurriedly on the stall door. “Maria?”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry,” Maria replied weakly.

  “I’m getting John,” Charlotte announced.

  Charlotte brought John into the bathroom, where Maria continued to be sick.

  “Well, we’re never eating here again,” John muttered, throwing Charlotte a smile and a wink. Charlotte smiled back, but it wasn’t convincing. She’d eaten here lots of times—she was sure it wasn’t the food that was making Maria so ill. Perhaps she was pregnant.

  “Honey, I think we need to get you to a doctor,” John said through the stall door.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Maria repeated, emerging to wash her hands. She looked just as gorgeous as always, not as though she’d just spent the last 40 minutes kneeling on the bathroom floor. “I feel better now, really.” She turned to head back out to the restaurant, and John stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “When we get home,” he said sternly.

  Maria looked at Charlotte and rolled her eyes as if to say, Can you believe this guy? So dramatic.

  Then she returned her attention to John. “I’ll be better by then. Watch.”

  ✽✽✽

  The next day, John took his family to visit the Colosseum, Forum, Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps. The sun was shining brilliantly, glittering like diamonds on every landmark. He felt honored to be able to give this gift to his daughters. Watching his girls stand together before such beautiful attractions, their dark hair like thei
r mother’s dancing in the summer breeze, he felt as though he were dreaming.

  By the afternoon the girls and Maria couldn’t walk another step—they were eager to head back to the hotel for a nap. Maria suggested John go visit Charlotte while they slept. “Good idea, baby.” He kissed his wife and left her to rest—though she said nothing about it, he knew she still didn’t feel well.

  After getting dropped off by a taxi, John was directed to a private location in the Vatican gardens. Charlotte arrived with two cups of coffee. “Hey.” She sat down opposite him and smiled as they sipped their drinks. “I just can’t tell you how great it is to have you here for the ceremony. God, I almost forgot how gorgeous Maria and your girls are.”

  But John detected a lingering sadness in Charlotte’s eyes. “Hang on… something’s wrong. What is it?”

  “I just…” Charlotte sighed. “Bishop Sanchez told me another problem is starting. I’m worried it’s happening again.” John knew exactly what she meant by that word: it. “I wanted to catch up and just enjoy ourselves,” she continued, “but I’m just sick to my stomach with dread. Can you feel it too, or am I just going nuts?”

  John studied her a moment. Yes, he could feel it too. But he didn’t say that.

  John’s mind raced with Tony’s words. “Before we think about all the negative possibilities, let’s see how this plays out.” He figured Bishop Sanchez already notified Charlotte that John and his Detroit contacts may be asked to help. “Let’s give the authorities some time to investigate the matter while we enjoy the celebration, okay?”

  John stood and offered Charlotte a hug; she nearly melted into his arms. Charlotte now realized just how much she still missed him. God and John—a daring love affair.

  As they sat down, Charlotte pulled her hair behind her ears. She suddenly felt very young, and very nervous. Her heart fluttering, she said, “I still think about the wonderful times we had.”

  John smiled. Then he looked away. “Me too.”

  “I was in love with you,” Charlotte continued, her voice just above a whisper. As she looked across the table at John, finally alone together, her heart began to swell. “It was the most difficult decision to leave you for the monastery. I knew I’d always be in love with you, but I also knew my position would keep those feelings tucked away… it would have to.”

  Birds chirped in the tall trees and lush shrubbery of the garden, soft light playing on the leaves. A slight breeze kicked up, ruffling the collar of John’s shirt. Charlotte pulled at the hem of her shirt, avoiding his eyes.

  “I feel the same,” John confessed, his eyes on the table. “I’ll always think about what could’ve been. I’ll always have… special… feelings for you.” An abrupt silence followed, with John unsure whether he said the wrong thing.

  Then Charlotte smiled, her eyes shining, and his heart told him he hadn’t.

  “Ah, well.” John set down his coffee. The seriousness had left his voice, and now it was the same old John. “It’s time I head back. Maria’s been having some bad headaches, so I need to pick up some medicine. Anyhow, let’s see if we can’t catch up again once we’re back home. How does that sound?”

  “Lovely,” Charlotte said.

  As John walked away, Charlotte felt a warmth in her chest, but it mingled with a sharp and familiar sense of loss.

  ✽✽✽

  “Is it going to be like a party?” Kayla asked.

  Sitting at the breakfast table, John smiled. “It’s a celebration, yes. But it’s not a noisy party—we’ll have to be quiet and respectful. That’s very important, girls.”

  Alka frowned. “A quiet party?”

  Maria giggled. “Girls, go brush your teeth.” As they scampered off, she turned her attention to John. “You don’t think you’ll distract from Charlotte’s elevation?” she asked in a low voice.

  For a moment he was caught off guard. What was his wife insinuating? Then he realized what she meant. John was well-known in the art world and beyond, sure to be recognized at the event. “I won’t let that happen,” he said. “I’ll keep a low profile. Wear a disguise.”

  “A disguise?”

  He winked at her. “Sure, why not?”

  A few hours later, John and his family were seated with Shawne and her family among high ranking members of the Church. Looking around at the vast crowd in dark sunglasses, John couldn’t help but feel like an undercover spy. But this line of thinking brought up bad memories, making him think about the two female priests assassinated years earlier. His eyes scanning the crowd behind the safety of his glasses, he wondered: was anyone attending this ceremony involved? Would they go after Charlotte now that she was being elevated even higher within the Church? Simply because she’s a woman?

  John shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. It was clear women were doing an excellent job in the Church—better than most men—and yet they continued to face danger. Charlotte had been through enough. He had been through enough.

  As the organ started and the choir began their hymns, John was surprised to see the pontiff enter. He arrived stoically, walking stiffly without help down the long aisle. He looked tired as he slowly approached the Bernini altar. John squinted to see the pope; his once grand frame now stretched thin, his face gaunt with fatigue.

  Charlotte arrived next, and John’s breath caught in his throat. There was a glow about her that shone throughout the basilica, a glow John recognized from years earlier—one of pride and power and love. The cathedral fell silent as a tomb, watching her every move. John’s worried thoughts eased. This was Charlotte’s day, and she looked as important as any star on their opening night.

  During mass, John couldn’t quite focus on the prayers. The woman he once loved was about to be the first female cardinal of the Catholic Church. As she was seated at the side of the altar, John caught a glimpse of Charlotte’s face. She glanced over to her family and friends and gave them an almost undetectable smile. A sudden warmth spread in John’s chest, all the way to his fingers and toes. He smiled at her, mouthing the words: Proud of you.

  The pope had a tired softness to his gestures. It was almost as though he was aware this would be his last opportunity to elevate any other bishops to the position of Prince of the Church. Many in the pews thought similarly, watching him with quiet reverence.

  The pontiff began his sermon by speaking not just to Charlotte, but to all 27 cardinals in attendance. “There are but a blessed few that will ever achieve the privilege of becoming a Prince of the Church. From the outside, this is a position that seems only ceremonial. But for you that have reached this position it should be looked upon as a special responsibility. It requires an acute understanding of our history. You are the ultimate face of the Church. Respect your positions, hold our fellow members accountable, and remain humble in all that you do.”

  Then it was time for Charlotte to approach the altar and receive her red skull cap and ring. Unlike most elevations where multiple bishops receive the elevation, Charlotte’s being on such short notice, she would be the lone recipient.

  As Pope Peter Paul placed the cap on Charlotte’s head, a mask of peace fell over his face. This elevation was a sign to not only the other female vicars of the Church, but to women everywhere. Criminals could try all they wanted to interfere, but the truth was that they had no power to stop this. The world was changing, with or without them.

  As the pontiff smiled, Charlotte stood and turned. A sense of pride swelled in John as she faced the people—her people—chin held high.

  ✽✽✽

  After the ceremony was completed and Charlotte received congratulatory hugs, the pontiff and Charlotte had a private meeting.

  “Well my good prince… or do I say princess? Quite honestly, I’m not sure.” He chuckled as he eased into his seat. “You’ll be heading back to the States tomorrow to get back to work. I couldn’t be any prouder of you than I am now.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte beamed.

  “Before you go, I wan
t to tell you about a person I’ve assigned to your archdiocese as your direct contact with us at the Vatican. Ms. Anne Lawrence is working here on some… marketing projects. Once completed, she’s been requested to spend some time in Michigan. She has significant experience connecting the politics between what you can expect as a new cardinal and some potential barriers here in Rome. Please use her skills to your benefit.”

  Charlotte nodded in understanding. “Yes, your Holiness.”

  “Now Charlotte, go in peace. It’s time we smile at the Lord’s will. I’m giving you my rosary that I received from Pope John Paul.” He placed the cool stone beads into Charlotte’s hands, and she held on tight. “Bless you, my dear. And be safe.”