“Forgive me,” he whispered.“I have not the strength I once possessed.”
I forced myself to speak.“You need not apologize for being human, Father.”
He smiled weakly.“You are gracious, child.More gracious than I deserve, perhaps.”
The silence stretched between us like a thread pulled taut.No one moved toward the door, yet no words came.
How would I survive without this?How could I besaved?How could any of us?
Chapter 2
IfollowedFatherO’Malleythrough the narrow corridor that connected the church to his rectory, my footsteps making no sound against the worn floorboards while his shuffled and scraped with each labored step.The distance could not have been more than thirty paces, yet he paused twice to steady himself against the wall.Behind us, Desiderius’s low voice mingled with Ruth and Rebecca’s whispers, their conversation fading like smoke against the corridor’s shadows.I did not turn back.Whatever words Father O’Malley had for me—whatever farewell this might be—it was mine alone to bear.
The rectory study materialized around us as Father O’Malley lit a single candle with trembling fingers.Shadows leaped across walls lined floor to ceiling with theological texts—Augustine’s Confessions, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologica, volumes of church history whose gold-embossed spines caught the flickering light.The scent of incense from the earlier Mass clung to everything, mingling with the mustiness of old paper and leather bindings.A simple wooden crucifix dominated the wall behind his desk, the carved Christ’s suffering face turned slightly downward as though unable to bear witness to what transpired below.
Father O’Malley eased himself down into the leather chair, each movement deliberate as if cataloging which bones might snap under pressure.I remembered how he used to fill that chair with authority; how his stalwart posture supplied me with vicarious confidence when I had no hope of my own.Now the worn leather engulfed him.His black cassock no longer draped with dignity but puddled around him like spilled ink.In the wavering candlelight, his face had become a map of suffering—hollows beneath eyes that had witnessed too much, cheekbones that threatened to slice through the translucent skin stretched across them.
“Father,” I began, but the word emerged strangled.I cleared my throat—a human habit that served no purpose in my current state—and tried again.“You cannot simply leave us.Leave me.”
He folded his hands in his lap, the gesture so deliberate I wondered if he feared they might shake beyond his control otherwise.“Child, we discussed this in the church.My body—“
“Your body can be sustained!”The words tore from me with such vehemence that I took an involuntary step backward, my cold hands clenching at my sides.“There are treatments, physicians in Boston who might—“
“Alice.”His voice, though barely above a whisper, carried the authority of a man who had spent decades shepherding souls.“You know as well as I do every journey reaches its destination at the proper time.We are all given a time to live, and a time to die.”
I wanted to scream.I wanted to overturn his desk, scatter his precious books, shatter the false peace of this sanctuary.Instead, I stood frozen.My hands remained clenched so tightly that, were I still human, my nails would have drawn blood from my palms.
“But how will I—we—survive without the Sacrament?”The question erupted from me, raw and desperate.“You’ve seen what happens when we go without it.Rebecca barely maintains control even with weekly communion.And I...”
I could not finish.The words died in my throat.
Without the Eucharist, the monster within me grows.Its whispers become shouts.Its hunger—an agony.
Father O’Malley’s gaze never wavered from mine.“I am retiring to New York City,” he said, each word measured and deliberate.“There is a charity mission there, run by the Sisters of Mercy.They have need of a chaplain for their work among the city’s poor.”
“I thought you had little time!”I protested.
Father O’Malley nodded.“As I said, I might have weeks, perhaps months.I will serve the Lord until my body gives out completely.But I may need more help to continue as I am.”
“Then I’ll do it!I’ll help you!”My eyes widened for a moment, imagining I’d just resolved the problem for him.Enough to allow him to stay at St.Mary’s a little longer, at least.
The priest smiled kindly.“But alas, Alice.You are only available to assist when the sun sets.The demands of a parish are more than you might imagine.”
“New York.”The words tasted like ash.“So far.”
“My sister lives there,” he continued, and for the first time, his composure cracked slightly.“Margaret.She has two boys—Michael and James.They’ve never truly known their uncle.I should like to...”He paused, drew a shuddering breath.“I should like to know them before the end.And Margaret, she’s in good health.I’ve never been able to offer her much, but offering her the chance to care for me in my last days is perhaps the most I can give.”
I snorted.“Doesn’t sound like much of a gift.Pardon me for saying so, Father.”
Father O’Malley laughed.“What you do for the least of these, you do also for me.”
I knew the verse.“Jesus said that.In Matthew twenty-five.”
“When we imagine ourselves a burden, dear child, we rob others of the opportunity to love us, to love Christ in us, and through us.There is a time, perhaps most of our lives, when we may be the ones in the position to serve others, to offer charity.There also comes a time when the most we can give someone is the opportunity to love us, to extend a helping hand to us.By doing so, we grant them an opportunity to offer themselves as a living sacrifice, a love offering to Christ.”
I furrowed my brow.“Are you saying you are Jesus?”
“Hardly!”the priest laughed harder than I’d expected he could given his condition.“Not according to my own person or merit, at least!But we are all His body, are we not?Those of us baptized into His namebecomeunified with Him.In this way, when we serve others, we serve Christ’s body.Since His body, the humanity He inherited from the Blessed Virgin, is forever inseparable from His divine person, that means whenever we love one another, we love Christ Himself.”
