The Test

by Patricia Gussin

  Once the police had left and the younger children were put to bed, Chan took the phone call they were all awaiting. All were silent as he spoke to the doctor at Sarasota Memorial Hospital. “Jack Preston’s wound was superficial and they’ll release him tomorrow morning,” Chan reported to concerned faces. “And Cardinal Sean is doing as well as can be expected. The bullet lodged in his lung, but it missed the major blood vessels. They had to take out a section of the lung. There may be complications. That’s all we know. He’s in intensive care and we can’t see him until tomorrow.”

  Dan moaned, “It was an accident. He got in the way—” And, as if reliving the scene, he said, “Cardinal Sean kept saying something very strange. That Conrad was his son—”

  Ashley frowned. “Naturally, all priests call sinners ‘my son.’”

  Cardinal Sean spent three days in intensive care. He tolerated the lung surgery amazingly well, and by the fourth day, the doctors had him up and about. When he insisted on saying Mass in the nondenominational chapel, the family agreed to attend. In borrowed vestments with no trace of ceremonial crimson, the cardinal celebrated Mass from his wheelchair. The service was short, and afterward the family gathered in the hospital’s executive conference room for brunch.

  The cardinal, now in a golf shirt and slacks, began. “Thank you all for being here. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.” Between the wheezes, he reminded the group that he had offered Mass for the souls of Carla and Meredith. As well as for my brother, Paul, and Conrad Welton—the son I never knew I had.”

  A loud, collective gasp followed, but no one said a word. Ashley buried her head in her hands. The father of her baby—her uncle’s son—her cousin.

  The old man continued. “Did you know that we were not always rich? That my father, your grandfather, was the youngest of seventeen children?” More gasps. “Only nine survived childhood. And somehow my father got an education at Penn, married my mother, whose father, your great-grandfather, was an immigrant and one of the founders of the stock exchange in Boston.”

  Cardinal Sean continued. “Dad made a name for himself in the banking business so Paul and I never experienced poverty, to say the least. I remember when Paul went off to the army, right out of high school. It was the Second World War and mother was inconsolable. He got sent to Guam right after boot camp. That’s when my mother extracted from me a promise—a promise that I would be a priest. That I’d never have to go to war. I explained over and over that priests were chaplains, that they died on battlefields. She didn’t want to hear it. To placate her, I promised. I was sixteen when I started the seminary.”

  Dan glanced around the table: everybody spellbound. Where the hell was the old man going with this?

  “Sort of like the medieval days,” he went on, attempting a chuckle. “Eldest son inherits. Second son goes to the Church. Anyway, your father made it back from the Pacific, and you know the rest.”

  After a dry cough, and a sip of water, Cardinal Sean proceeded. “I was twenty-five that summer. My last summer vacation at home in Philadelphia before I was to be ordained a priest. Actually, it started early for me because I came down with appendicitis and had to have emergency surgery. Jefferson Hospital. I had a nurse. Something quite shocking happened between me and this particular nurse. It was a bond, an attraction I couldn’t explain even to myself. Other than my mother, I had never been close to a woman. I had no sisters. I’d been in the seminary since age sixteen. I had never had a date. I had never even held hands with a girl.”

  Dan realized that he’d never known this man, his uncle.

  “It was the same year that your father was dating Kay. I recovered from the operation with horrible reluctance.” Cardinal Sean cast a wistful smile as he toyed with his water glass. “On the day that I was discharged, Paul and Kay came to pick me up. They were young and fun and very happy. My nurse was there, and I introduced her to them. Paul said that they were taking me to a place they had rented on the Jersey shore. So I threw out an invitation for Jessica to come with us. Jessica Long, R.N. ‘I might need a nurse,’ I said, all the while pleading with my eyes that she understand my need to continue to see her. My heart leapt as she accepted. We grew so close so quickly. For the first time, I shared my doubts about my vocation. That I wasn’t sure. That I didn’t know if I had a true vocation, or if I was doing this to please my mother—Paul used to joke that I went to the seminary to be Mama’s pet. And Jessica told me about her life. How she’d grown up in Ohio, graduated tops in her nursing class, and was at Jefferson to finish off a bachelor’s degree. She also told me she was about to become engaged to an orthopedic surgeon in Cincinnati. Did she love him, she kept wondering. She said she didn’t know. We became lovers. At the end of the second week, Mother showed up as we lay on a blanket on the beach—in an intimate embrace.”

  “What did you do, Cardinal Sean?” Ashley prompted.

  Cardinal Sean’s voice trembled as he continued, “Ashamed to be caught by my mother. Ashamed that I did not know my own mind. Just tasting what I now know was love, yet afraid to veer from the path laid out for me. Not knowing where to go, I went home with Mother. I finished the seminary. Was ordained. Never saw Jessica again. Never—ever—held a woman again. Never—ever—forgot Jessica.”

  “Cardinal Parnell, how difficult.” Monica dabbed at tears. “Did you ever try to contact her? The nurse? Jessica?”

  “I called the hospital. I was told she’d gone back to Ohio. Much later I found out that she had married that orthopedic doctor and that she had children. Nothing more. What could be gained? I had had my one chance. There would be no other.”

  Dan looked at Gina, tears welling in his eyes. He, too, had blown a chance, but for him things had turned out so much differently.

  “When Carl Schiller called, and told me what the private investigator had found about Conrad and about Jessica, I knew. I felt it like a profound blow. The days, the months, the year—they all fit. Jessica had given birth to my child. If I had known, I would have quit the seminary and married her. And the child, Conrad, was treated so cruelly by a father who was not his own.” The old man cast his eyes down. “And then Jessica took her own life. How can I ever forgive myself? How can God forgive me?”

  “Cardinal Parnell,” Monica murmured, sympathy pouring out of her dark eyes.

  “There is no excuse,” he preempted her. “My son has been the cause of so much anguish.” He bowed his head as if to pray, but no more words came forth.

  Finally Ashley said, “Cardinal Sean, the anguish is over; you can’t help Conrad now; and it is for the best that our child was not born.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Cardinal Sean said, his voice assuming a more authoritative tone. “When they took the bullet out of my lung, they found something else. “Cancer,” he said. “Metastatic from somewhere. They want to do more tests, but I told them no. I don’t want chemotherapy. I don’t want more tests. I’m going back to Detroit. I’ll announce my retirement. Get my affairs together.”

  Everyone locked their eyes on the old man, who seemed to have more to say.

  “But, I must tell the story of Conrad. I want people to understand the hardship, the deprivation he suffered because of me, a selfish, spineless man.”

  “No way,” Monica blurted. “That’s not going to help anything. It’ll only bring more problems to the family, and think of the impact on the church.”

  “We can’t let embarrassment for the family or the church get in the way of the truth,” he countered. But the family finally convinced the old man that, in this case, truth would be folly. Dan was the spokesperson. “Cardinal Sean, you’ve been an exemplary leader. Maybe you weren’t sure about your vocation, but I think God was sure. Look at all the good you’ve done. All the people you’ve helped.” Dan took a break to consider his next move. “Despite all the horrors of the last year,” he continued, “our family has survived. We have become closer and stronger. And I, for one, want to put at the top of my agenda, t
hat we, as a family, do everything we can to elect a Parnell president. We owe it to Meredith and to Dad. It was their dream, and now it’s up to us to see it through. I’m just a tree farmer, but I intend to throw myself into Frank’s campaign.”

  As Frank registered shock, Ashley said, “We’ll all pitch in. Maybe Monica could do one of her fabulous concerts.”

  Dan’s idea elicited excited suggestions for an hour before the nurse wheeled the cardinal away. Afterward, Dan brought up the last piece of unfinished business. “Next month will be the one-year anniversary of Dad’s death. Thought I’d check to see what everybody’s doing about that inheritance test.” One year ago, he’d not have given it a second thought, but he’d promised Terry.

  “Forget me,” said Monica. “Remember, I renounced it from the beginning.”

  “I just want to forget it and get on with my life,” Ashley said.

  “Same for us,” said Chan. “We have everything we need except what money can’t buy.”

  “No matter, I think we all owe it to Dad to show up for the test,” said Frank, dropping back into command mode, “to respect his legacy. Including Rory, Chan, and Monica.”

  EPILOGUE

  SIX WEEKS LATER

  Carl Schiller scheduled the test one year and a day after the reading of Paul Parnell’s will. He chose the Devon homestead, where Frank and Elise lived.

  Much had happened that year: a botched presidential election, terrorist attacks, homeland security, congressional reaction. A year had passed since Frank had fumed over his father’s will. How dare his father impose a test period on his inheritance, he had thought then. How embarrassing that he’d tried to challenge it, he thought now. He still felt every day the fathomless loss of Meredith, Rory’s illness, Carla’s pointless death, and the psychopath cousin who had tried to kill off the family.

  Frank noted that when Monica arrived, she had dyed her hair with red streaks. Elise had read about her new hair in People magazine. “Monica, Patrick, good to see you.” Frank greeted them. “Caught your show last night—had to sneak off the dais during another fund-raiser. Steve Spurrier was great on the show, but it’s not a slam dunk to go from college to the pros.”

  “Please don’t get him started!” Monica said as Frank led them inside. “Are the others here yet?”

  “Gina and Dan are coming in on the Lear, Chan with them. Rory’s in isolation getting ready for the bone marrow transplant.”

  “And how is Elise?” Monica asked, settling on the plush sofa.

  “If she had her way, we’d live in Florida with the Stevens kids. But we’re going to be fine here. I’m keeping the farm so Elise can have horses. And when Chan brings the kids up, they can use the house. I think that’s what Meredith would have wanted.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Monica said. She looked at the family portraits. Some with Frank’s mother, Kay. Some with Vivian. None with her mother. “You know, I still feel weird about this. I really don’t want the trust money. I’m happy just being part of the family.”

  Family had become important to Frank, too, so he didn’t contradict her. Instead, he said, “Here’s Ashley!”

  “You look so much better.” Monica embraced her sister. “Back to your natural hair color.”

  Ashley, now living in Tampa, could not let that statement go unre-marked. “Speaking of hair color—” She looked at her sister quizzically, and Monica grinned.

  Everyone had gathered in the living room by the time Carl arrived. They talked first of personal events: Carrie and Matt were engaged, and Terry was still seeing Monica’s niece Jenna.

  Monica spoke up. “She’s crazy about him. But then she’s just plain crazy.”

  The conversation stopped when Carl shuffled to the Sheraton desk in the middle of the room. Frank tried not to notice the palsy as Carl removed some papers from his briefcase. The old man looked sad, defeated, but he had been loyal to Dad up to the end, Frank thought. He glanced about the room. Everyone seemed relaxed, at peace with themselves and each other. A year ago they’d all been strangers.

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” Carl began. “The trust distribution will be based on the stipulations your father set. He provided each of you with written, individual guidance. Your father felt you each needed to make certain life adjustments to bring you into harmony with his personal credo.” He bowed his head, then went on, “I will read verbatim what he wanted for you.”

  “For Dan, involvement in the family. Reconciliation with Gina and his children. I score that a pass.”

  “For Frank, involvement in the family. Moral leadership in family and government affairs. I score that a pass.”

  “For Monica, involvement in the family. Forgiveness. A pass.”

  “For Rory, just be your wonderful self. A definite pass.”

  “For Ashley, balance of family and medicine. I think we’d all agree, a pass. And Ashley, as special thanks for your gift of bone marrow to Rory.”

  Carl seemed to have finished. So this was the test that had so shaped their lives?

  “And for Carla, Uncle Carl?” Ashley asked softly. “What did Dad want for Carla?”

  “For Carla, that she seek help to find inner peace.” Carl read. “And for Carla, her inheritance was to be held in trust until I, as the trustee, saw fit to release it.”

  Dan spoke up. “Is that all there is? No actual test? No number two lead pencils? Proof of performance?”

  Carl returned the papers to the briefcase. “I can now distribute a sum of one point eight billion in equal portions to Dan, Frank, Rory, Monica, and Ashley. That’s three hundred sixty million each. Congratulations.”

  “So there was no real test?” Frank looked disappointed.

  “Yes, there was, Frank,” Carl replied, holding his head high. “When your father knew he was dying, he created this incentive to urge you to accept the moral credo that he himself had embraced. The ‘wisdom of age’ he kept saying. He felt that in life he had failed you, and perhaps in death he would be more successful. ‘If they follow my credo, they’ll be truly happy.’” Carl ended his statement with, “Your father could not have anticipated the tragic consequences.”

  “We mustn’t blame him.” Gina looked from face to face. “He did what he thought was right. What happened is not his fault.”

  “Let’s make a pact,” Dan suggested. “No more speaking of faults. We’ve all made mistakes, but we must move forward. We have each other; that’s what Dad wanted for us. Now how about we head for the airport and take the Lear to pay Cardinal Sean a visit. He’s bound to need some cheering up in that nursing home where he insists on staying.”

  “Not so fast,” said Carl. “You have to sign papers, and pick up your millions.”

  “The papers can wait,” Frank said. “I agree with Dan. Let’s head for Detroit.”

  Dan jumped up, pulling Gina with him. “On the way, let’s get started on ‘Parnell for President.’ How about we plan some strategy?”

  “Whoa.” Frank laughed. “We’ve unleashed a political machine.”

  “Family’s got a lot of connections,” Dan said with a grin. “And a lot of money. If we pool it, we should be able to pull this off.”

  “I just hope having a brother as president won’t bring on more paparazzi, Monica said.”

  Meredith, if only you were here. Frank had to steel himself not to cry.

  “We’re going to have to start in your state. Get those voting machines fixed,” Frank said to Dan, as he slung an arm around his brother’s shoulder.

  “Come on, everybody.” Dan opened his arms and they all gathered for a group hug. Paul Parnell’s dream, come true.

 

 

 
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