by Hanley, Don;
Of all the things he did at the parish, the most enjoyable was the Saturday evening Youth Mass. The numbers had grown each week since September, and he was happy to note that the church was nearly full as he processed down the aisle behind the readers and servers. As usual, a group of adults stood in the back half of the church—probably accompanying their children who insisted on going up front.
The musicians had improved under Kathy’s tutelage and had begun selecting popular music that they adapted for the service. He smiled to himself as he began his sermon on the subject of feelings, which primarily aimed at the males in the audience, including himself.
He had just uttered the words, “All feelings are okay, even if they are negative ones, as long as we do not act on those feelings. For instance, we all feel anger at times, maybe even want to hurt someone, but it is not the Christian thing to do, to act on those feelings of anger,” when he saw someone burst through the door at the back of the church. The foyer was somewhat dark, so he could not tell who it was.
A man wearing a parka with the hood pulled over his head staggered forward holding something. As he took a few more steps, Jerry saw that it was some kind of automatic pistol. Who was he and what did he want? Jerry wondered, sensing the danger. On shaking knees, Jerry stepped slowly off the sanctuary platform. Everyone in the congregation was fidgeting and looking at the intruder.
The man yelled, “Hey, Holy Man, I wanna know where you took my wife and kid!” His words were slurred as he staggered forward near the back pew.
It was Ralph Kurtz!
How in the world did he find out that they came here? Jerry wondered. He wasn’t sure whether the man’s drunkenness made him more or less dangerous. The side door opened and he thought he saw someone crawl out. He couldn’t remember ever being so scared. His knees continued to shake and he could feel clammy sweat trickle down his back as he slowly walked down the aisle. He definitely was afraid, but the anger that continually boiled inside him kept him moving toward this despicable man.
He stopped about ten feet from Kurtz. “Mr. Kurtz, what makes you think I know where your wife and daughter are? Aren’t they home?”
Kurtz unsteadily aimed the gun at the priest. His finger was on the trigger of the gun. “Don’t lie ta me, ya sonofabitch! You know, an’ ya better tell me or I’ll shoot the shit outta ya!” Several people gasped; most of the people were ducking beneath the pew backs. One man near the back wall crouched down and moved out of his place. Kurtz quickly turned the gun in his direction and pulled the trigger, letting out three rounds against the wall and shattering one window. “Everybody stay where ya are, goddammit! I’m here ta get infermation from this sonofabitch, tha’s all.”
It seemed as if everyone became frozen in place. Jerry briefly glanced at the people on each side of the aisle. They were petrified. For the first time in his life, Jerry knew what people meant when they said they “smelled fear.”
He folded his hands in front of him to hide his own shaking. He slowly took two more steps toward Kurtz. As calmly as he could, he said, “I don’t understand why you think I would know where they are.”
Kurtz puffed out his chest and declared proudly, “Cause I found the parking guy at the airport the night you took them away. He saw three cars come in and only two went out. One had a Paris County license. He remembered, and cost me a goddamn hunnert dollars. One of th’ gals at work gimme a magazine with yer picture on it. An’ I put two and two tagether.” Kurtz aimed the gun over Jerry’s head and pulled the trigger. Jerry could hear the whiz of the bullets. “That’s ta let ya know I mean bizness, Holy Man!”
Several people gasped and many screamed as the gun again went off in the small church. Jerry believed that he had to keep Kurtz talking until someone, or maybe he, could figure out how to stop him. “That’s pretty flimsy evidence that I might know where they are, Mr. Kurtz.” He saw someone trying to slowly open the entry door. Please, God, don’t let it squeak, he thought.
Kurtz again pointed the gun at the priest. “There’s a li’l girl behind ya. Tell me where they are or I shoot tha li’l snot.”
Jerry glanced back. Two pews behind him a mother was struggling to contain a three-year-old attempting to see what all the excitement was about. Is this bastard crazy enough to do something like that? Kenny Gaffin had silently entered the church as Father Jerry said, “Mr. Kurtz, even if I had that information, what good would it do you if you went to jail for murder.”
“Let me worry ‘bout that, asshole!”
Jerry took two more steps. Kenny was only a few feet behind Kurtz and looked ready to pounce. It would have to be a perfect tackle to keep him from shooting someone.
“Stay back, asshole, and tell me where my wife is!” Kurtz had an unfocused, crazy look in his eyes. The weapon was pointed at Jerry’s chest.
Kenny Gaffin caught Jerry’s eye and nodded. Kurtz started to turn to see what Jerry was looking at. Kenny made his move toward Kurtz, and Jerry, having a moment as the madman turned, lunged forward and grabbed the arm with the gun. With both hands he struggled to push the gun toward the ceiling. The drunken man kept his finger on the trigger. The gun went off. Jerry felt a searing pain in his left shoulder but he didn’t loosen his grip on the madman’s arm. Kurtz’s elbow bent when the gun went off and Jerry kept struggling with the arm and the gun. Kenny had both arms around the struggling man, trying to pin his arms to his side. Kurtz was able to keep his right hand free from Kenny. Jerry managed to get Kurtz’s free arm pushed flat to the heaving man’s chest and the gun pointed at the ceiling. Another blast nearly made Jerry fall backward, but he held on, keeping the gun pointing up. He kept pushing at the gun and the arm. As he worked to pry Kurtz’s finger from the trigger, it went off again, this time splattering blood all over himself and Kenny Gaffin. Kurtz, his face twisted and covered with blood, went limp. Kenny dropped him to the floor.
Jerry fell to his knees and put his right hand to his left shoulder. He toppled over on his right. God, it hurts. I can’t see out of one eye. Oh, shit, I won’t be able to finish celebrating Mass. What’s all the screaming and shouting about? The floor is cold.
* * *
Rebecca put the open book down on her lap. She was reading Colleen McCollough’s Thornbirds. Helene had given it to her, saying, “This might help you get a better understanding of priests and the Catholic Church.” Rebecca wasn’t so sure. The priest reminded her of Jerry in some ways but seemed more ambitious and egotistical. She wondered if Jerry was the same but just hid it well. In the part she had just read, the wealthy and scheming old woman had just given him a challenge and dilemma: Follow his heart and ideals or let her name him the controller of her vast estate, allowing him to have the riches needed to arise to the pinnacle of power in the Church hierarchy. Rebecca thought he had a third choice: drop the stupid priesthood and marry the beautiful Meggie. So, as she saw it, the priest had three choices—leave the priesthood, follow his priestly ideals, or accept the patron’s deal and rise in the Church. She guessed he would accept the power trip, like most men. She picked up the book again to find out if she was right.
Her telephone rang and she let the answering machine monitor the call. “Rebecca, this is Marge Woerner in Kansas.” Rebecca immediately picked up the phone. “Hi Marge, what a pleasant surprise. What’s up?”
Marge’s voice sounded very subdued as she said, “I’ve got some bad news, Rebecca. Father Jerry was shot this evening. He was--”
Rebecca interrupted her. “Oh God, Marge, was he, he, killed?”
“No, I don’t think he’ll die from the wound. He was shot in the left shoulder. He’s lost a lot of blood but I don’t think it’s affected any vital organs.”
“Where is he, I mean, where did they take him?”
“To Mercy Hospital in Aberdeen. I was in the church and it’s a good thing, because I was able to bandage him up and stop the bleeding. As you know, there’s no doctor here in Paris.”
Rebecca couldn’t get the near pa
nic out of her voice as she asked, “What happened? Who did it?”
Marge told her about Ralph Kurtz. She included hearing Kurtz say that he learned where Jerry lived from Rebecca’s magazine article and ended her recitation, saying, “Ralph Kurtz is dead.” Marge waited a moment and then added, “Rebecca, I don’t know if this will make the papers but I was wondering if you would break the news to Angela and Julie Kurtz before they hear it from someone else?”
Rebecca sucked in her breath. She had never done anything like this but it was so little to ask under the circumstances. “Of course. You think I need to go over there tonight?”
“I’m sure it can wait until morning. I think it will be a relief to them to know the bastard is dead.”
“Uh, Marge, did Jerry kill him?”
“Not directly, I’d say. They were struggling with the gun and it went off. I did talk to Sheriff Gaffin and he said he’d report it as a self-inflicted wound but the district attorney will be obliged to investigate. Gaffin was sure no charges will be filed against his son or Jerry.”
Rebecca was trembling as she hung up the phone. Marge didn’t sound too sure that his gunshot wound wasn’t fatal. She wrung her hands as she paced back and forth in the living room. She had an overwhelming need to get to Aberdeen to see for herself how Jerry was. She muttered aloud, “Why do I need to do this? Hell, I don’t know, I just can’t sit here and I know damn well I won’t be able to sleep.”
She called the St. Louis airport. There were no flights to Aberdeen until morning. She muttered to herself, “Okay, dammit, I’ll drive there!” She quickly packed a bag and changed clothes. She was about to walk out the door when she thought of Marge’s request that she tell Angela and Julie. She dropped her suitcase and called Helene. After she told her about the shooting and her need to go there, Helene asked her why she felt compelled to go. “Maybe guilt. Marge said that Kurtz learned about Jerry’s whereabouts through my magazine.” But Rebecca really didn’t believe that, because Kurtz could have found out some other way. Helene told her to drive safely and that she would call Sister Claire and if the nun was not available, she’d inform Angela and Julie herself in the morning.
It was seven in the morning when a disheveled and tired Rebecca arrived at the hospital. She stopped in a restroom, touched up her make-up, and brushed her hair. When she stopped at the receptionist’s desk, she was told only family members could see patients at this hour. “I’m Father Haloran’s sister.” She hoped they wouldn’t ask her for a name.
“In that case, he has been moved from Intensive Care and is in room four-o-eight.”
The door was slightly ajar. Rebecca gingerly pushed it open. A woman was sitting at the side of the sleeping man’s bed, holding his hand. Rebecca’s mouth dropped and an overwhelming feeling of jealously came over her as the woman turned to look at her. It was Kathy Olson. Damn!
Kathy was sure that she looked as resentful as she felt. What the hell is this reporter doing here, looking for another story?
Rebecca took a deep breath and whispered, “Hi, Kathy.” She moved closer. “How’s he doing?”
Kathy did not feel like showing any kind of warmth and continued to hold the priest’s hand, responded, “All his vital signs are good. They gave him three pints of blood. Luckily the bullet didn’t hit his lungs or heart. The doctor said some bones in his shoulder were shattered.” She never took her eyes off the sleeping man.
Rebecca moved to the other side of the bed. “May I hold his hand?” That, she told herself, was a dumb thing to say. Kathy looked like she had been crying. Rebecca thought of the look she had given Jerry the night she had sung “The Rose.”
Kathy answered curtly, “I don’t own them. Be careful, don’t move it though, that’s the side where he was shot.” She wanted to add, “Why do you want to hold his hand? Go away,” but didn’t.
His hand was positioned on his chest and Rebecca gently placed her hand over his. Quietly, she asked, “Have you been here long, Kathy?”
“I came with him to the hospital last night.” Kathy grimaced and added, “It’s getting to be a habit, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went with him to the hospital when he was shot last May.”
“Oh.”
Jerry began to stir. He moved his head a little from one side to the other. He squinted and then opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling and then at Kathy. He smiled and turned toward Rebecca. “Hi.” He broke out in an ear-to-ear grin. “God, it’s good to see you two. I was afraid I’d wake up to see the Bishop staring down at me. How’d I get here?”
Kathy smiled. “We, Jim Peterson and I, brought you here last night in the Peterson’s station wagon. What do you remember?”
Before answering, he turned to Rebecca. “Rebecca, I’m surprised to see you. Uh, how’d you know about me?”
“Marge called and told me.” She hesitated and then added, “She told me that Kurtz said he found you through my article and ... well, I felt a bit guilty.” She couldn’t just say she was there just because she cared. Maybe she could say that if Kathy weren’t in the room.
He furrowed his brow and turned to Kathy, “Is Kurtz dead?”
“Yes, thank God. I was so afraid he’d kill a bunch of people last night.” Kathy squeezed his hand and softly added, “You were really brave, Jerry.”
“So was Kenny Gaffin. How is he?”
“The last time I saw him, he was covered with blood. He wasn’t hurt, physically, anyway. I saw his dad put his arm around him and take him to the car. What’s the last thing you remember, Jerry?”
The priest moved his arm a bit and winced. Rebecca quickly pulled her hand away. “Pain,” he said. “And I remember Marge hovering over me and cutting away on my vestments. I wondered where she got the scissors. Isn’t that funny?” He smiled at both of them. “I think I passed out when Marge was putting bandages on and I recall hurting as they bundled me into the back of the station wagon. I thought it was an ambulance. And you rode in back with me didn’t you, Kathy?” She nodded and he pressed her hand. “Thanks. I hope that’s the last time you have to do that.” He turned to Rebecca. “Did you know that Kathy accompanied me when I was shot in Aberdeen, too?”
Again, Rebecca had to suppress the jealous feelings. “Yes, she told me about that. So, how are you feeling now?”
He looked to his left shoulder. “That area hurts.” He moved his arm again and winced. “And I’m hungry. Kathy, have you been here all night?”
“Yes. I wanted to keep your guardian angel company.”
“He hasn’t done a very good job lately, has he?”
“Oh, I think she has. I’m sure your angel is female, they’re smarter.” She smiled at Rebecca for the first time and went on, “If she had not done so well, you would have been dead back in May. If not, then last night. So thank your angel!”
Jerry looked at the ceiling and smiled. “Thanks, angel. If you have a name, give it to me and we’ll communicate better.” He turned back to Kathy. “Suppose they’d give me breakfast?”
“I don’t know. You just got out of intensive care about two hours ago. I think they’re feeding you with that.” She pointed at the IV bottle filled with clear liquid. “They gave you three pints of blood.”
“That much, huh? Rebecca, you say you drove from St. Louis?” She nodded. “Did you have breakfast?”
She was happy that he asked. It made her feel less like an outsider. “No, I haven’t. How about you, Kathy, have you been able to get breakfast?”
“A nurse brought me some coffee.”
“Well, why don’t you two go down to the cafeteria and get breakfast? I’m sure I’ll still be here when you get back.” He glanced at the IV. “But I don’t think that thing will fill my stomach.” He let go of Kathy’s hand and pressed the call button.
Rebecca looked over at Kathy, who didn’t look too excited by the idea. “I am a bit hungry. Want to join me, Kathy?”
At the cafeteria, they both g
ot scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. They sat at a table near the back wall, away from the dozen or so nurses and hospital workers.
Rebecca took a sip of coffee. “That must have been quite a scene at the church last night.”
Kathy looked at her in a way that Rebecca could only interpret as accusingly. “Are you going to do another article on him now?”
Rebecca dropped her fork. “I hadn’t even thought of it! What makes you think that?”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. When Marge called last night, I just felt the urge to be with him. I’m not sure why.”
“You’ve only seen him that one weekend in Paris. He can’t mean that much to you, to drive all night to see him in the hospital.” Kathy wanted to shout at this uppity reporter.
Rebecca remembered that Marge said once that Kathy was in love with Jerry, and she was sure that was true at that moment. She wondered where the boyfriend was that Jerry told her about. Kathy definitely did not want the reporter in the hospital, that was obvious. Was Kathy jealous? “I guess Jerry didn’t tell you that he brought Angela and Julie Kurtz to St. Louis this past week?”
Kathy looked shocked. “No, he didn’t. Last night Kurtz kept jabbering that Jerry knew where his wife and daughter were. Jerry didn’t tell him, of course. Why did he take them to St. Louis? In fact, why did they come to him in the first place?”
“According to what Jerry told me, Angela didn’t know anyone else to turn to. I don’t know how she managed to drive to Paris. She was so banged up when they got to St. Louis, she could hardly walk or see. As to why St. Louis, when I was in Paris, I’d mentioned that my best friend was a social worker. Jerry remembered that. He called in the middle of the night last Sunday and asked me to check to see if Helene, that’s my friend, could find a shelter for them. He said he wanted to get them as far away from Aberdeen as possible. Helene found them a wonderful shelter named St. Claire’s. I talked to them yesterday. God, it seems a week ago. Anyway, they’re doing fine.”