Chapter 20: Healing

The suicide of the priest was front page news on all of the city and regional newspapers. It was even featured on both national wire services. Frank and Madeline Jacobs, who had known Father Bernard and attended his church for most of their adult lives, were stunned.

Frank struggled with conflicting emotions. He wanted Father Bernard punished. He wanted him jailed and defrocked for his crimes against Marilee. But suicide? God forbid that Frank should feel any satisfaction at such an end. Suicide was a mortal sin. For a priest it must be an immediate fall to Hell. His soul would be damned for an eternity! Frank was quite torn: he had half a mind to rejoice, and half a mind to mourn. He could do neither. He was numb with grief over the loss of his daughter, her fleeing to the west, and his impotence at bringing the priest to account. He feared he hovered on the verge of a mental breakdown. Nothing had prepared him for such rage and anguish and helplessness.

Madeline felt no hesitation. Her fury was unbounded. Her child had been assaulted; her child had fled for her own protection. Father Bernard, the perpetrator, seemed untouchable, invincible. He was protected by law and church alike. She regarded his death as a gift from God, a gift that spared her from having to hunt him down to kill him. She understood her husband’s stalemate, but she did not share it. Given time, she would have stalked the priest and shot or run him down with her car. God spared her the effort; she was spared certain doom to self and family.

The news stories contained detailed accounts of Father Bernard’s service in the church and his long tenure at the city’s most prominent cathedral, but told little concerning his death. Unflattering details in the reporters’ story drafts were excised by their editors. They had been told by their publishers and managers to censor any such reports. Late evening telephone calls from officers of the church enlisted cooperation from the media owners. Wise business and political sensibilities prevailed over sensationalism. Only the police detectives and the astonished coroner and his morgue staff knew the details of the priest’s self mutilation.

Without sensationalism, the story faded away. The priest’s career may have been long and laudatory, but as regional news it was soon pushed aside by lurid reports of scandals, killings, and the usual parade of urban corruption and violence.

Friday evening found Frank and Madeline alone at their indifferent dinner, staring past each other. Neither wanted to confront the obvious, to indulge idle talk just to fill the long, silent spaces between them. During such an interlude, the doorbell rang.

“Who? Damn! Who would that be?” Frank muttered, half in anger, irritated at being disturbed. Madeline gazed bleakly at her plate.

“Probably nobody,” she offered. “Or maybe it’s that silly television reporter again, doing her breathless survey of the congregation. How do we feel? she asked us. If I told her how I truly felt, it would be the story of the century in this city, I’d betcha!

“Answer the door, Frank. Tell whoever it is to go away. We’re not at home for anyone tonight!”

Frank nodded, agreeing with her feelings. He opened the front door, prepared to give anyone there a quick send-off. Instead, he stood gawking, trying to understand why he would be looking at a tall, elderly man with long hair and a Stetson hat. The man wore blue jeans and a soft flannel rancher’s shirt, and richly beaded and fringed buckskin moccasins with high legging tops laced halfway to his knees. His piercing eyes were not the least bit threatening. His face, stature, and aura exuded reassurance and comfort. The stranger waited for a response to enter or leave.

Frank astonished himself with the next words from his mouth:

“Come in, please.”

“I assume you know of the death of Father Bernard at the cathedral,” Mike asked the Jacobs, who sat nervously on their couch in the living room. Mike sat facing them, a glass of iced tea by his hand, offered moments after he had introduced himself as a visiting friend from the Methow Valley. He brought news that their daughter was settling in well with her aunt and uncle.

“Yes, we’ve heard. These last few days it’s been all the news. Our church ... our friends ... everyone is upset. We’ve been harassed by TV reporters, and others, all trying to get stories from us.” Frank was embarrassed, still trying to sort out his feelings.

“A fitting end!” Madeline snarled, unable to contain her emotions. “He deserved it, for what he did!”

Frank stared open-mouthed at his wife’s outburst. She clamped her hand over her mouth but her words echoed in the silent room.

Mike smiled, nodded his head gently. In a low voice he spoke to her directly:

“It was an unforgivable thing that he did. He has gone to answer to a higher power. Your family will never be touched by him again. In a sense, you have been avenged. In another sense, you have a chance for a new beginning.”

Madeline stared back at Mike, questions racing through her mind. Before she could react, Frank half rose from the couch, quickly reconsidered and sat back, his body posture poised to challenge Mike:

“How do you know this? What causes you to say what you just did? Nobody, no one at all, could know what you just said, other than the authorities who refused to help us!”

“No one told me, but yes, I know. I know that he assaulted your daughter over a period of years. I know that you trusted him and your trust was betrayed. I know that you sought justice and were denied. The law was used against you as a threat, to deny you any hope of justice. Yes, I know all that. And you must accept that I am a friend. I am here to help.”