Pierced by a Sword (41 page)

"Please Beck, don't die!"

"Seeing how much it means to you, I suppose I could continue breathing for several more minutes," Becky said, stifling a smile.

"Okay, okay. Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Go ahead, Father Freud. Tell me, what am I? Let me guess–I'm a man trapped in a woman's body, right?"

"Nothing of the sort,"
Chet replied, playing it straight. "Let's put it this way. You lost your dad when you were young, and your relationship with your mom was ice cold–polar. Like most kids in that situation, you developed–how should I put it–a hard edge. On the positive side, instead of retreating within yourself, you developed a certain toughness. I see the same thing in Nathan–don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Becky
agreed. "Nathan's quiet on the surface, but tough as nails underneath. He's not going to change his mind, either, unless you give him excellent reasons. Am I really like that?"

"Sort of," Chet replied, relieved that he had been able to bring up a sensitive topic successfully. "Why do you think most of your friends around here are men? With the exception of Joanie, who's pretty tough herself, haven't
you gotten along better with men most of your life? Maybe that's why you gravitated to one of the most cutthroat industries in the country–advertising? You could have been a model, but you chose a career that depended on your brains. Quite the opposite of your mother, by the way, who's been trading on her looks her whole life.

"That's why Nathan likes to work with you and why Joe wants to spend
every minute of his life with you, starting tomorrow. Contrary to the feminist party line, strong men like strong women. I've known Joe for years, and he never so much as had a crush on a girl 'til he met you."

"He tells me all the time that he likes my 'Sherman tank' personality–"

"Right! And some of that toughness comes out when you're working at the Kolbe Foundation. I'm not advising you to
lighten up on your standards, Beck. I'm telling you not to let whatever Kelly or anyone else says get under your skin. Sure, it wouldn't hurt for you to be extra courteous and kind around the office, but keep your high standard of excellence. The only one in the whole place with higher standards is Joe, which is why he gives you so much free reign. Regardless of whether or not you're engaged to him,
you've earned your working stripes with Joe. He's told me that. Nathan agrees.

"In the meantime, offer up your suffering for souls in purgatory–say a little prayer to the Sacred Heart or 'I love you Jesus' whenever you get miffed or bothered by thoughts about Kelly.

"My guess is that Kelly will either conform to the charitable atmosphere around the Kolbe Foundation, or leave it, eventually. It's
good for her to be here. She doesn't practice her faith, you know. I think her mom was hoping that working here would help her out–"

"She's always hovering around Joe, you know," Becky interrupted, anger and realization creeping into her voice.

"I know," Father Chet said sympathetically.

"You do?"

"Yes. Joe's mentioned it, but I'm not at liberty to say more." Chet could see the look of surprise
in her eyes. "Let's just say that Kelly has been bothering him. He's very sensitive, as you well know. I
can
say that Joe told Nathan to have Kelly do work that keeps her in other areas of the foundation. That's why she's been working for you more and more lately. None of us knew she was trying to hurt your reputation. Sometimes you're not like a woman at all, Becky, because women generally pick
up on these things better than men. It's obvious now, isn't it, that Kelly has a crush on Joe? Her attack on you is a childish way of trying to get him to pay attention to her. And
that
will never, ever happen, knowing Joe."

"What's going on here, Father? I thought this was a Christian outfit. I thought I left office politics back in Chicago."

"The Kolbe Foundation is not immune to this kind of
stuff. Considering how the work it does helps save souls, these kinds of things are to be expected. It's the evil one's backdoor way of trying to destroy us. As the chaplain, I see it and hear it more than anyone else. Joe is well aware that infighting and subtle attacks on the peaceful atmosphere of this place are ways the evil one will try to undermine our work. That's why Joe wanted me to come
here–to help fight this unseen war with spiritual weapons like the sacraments, prayer, and spiritual direction for those who are willing to take it."

"Joe calls you the black robe," she observed.

"And that I am. Just because what we're doing is good doesn't mean we're all magically going to drop our faults and weaknesses when we walk in the front door. So Joe tends to get bogged down in details.
Sometimes I tip the bottle a bit too much. You tend to overwork yourself like you did in Chicago–what other woman would come to work the day before her wedding? And gossips like Kelly will do their kind of damage."

He saw that his reasoning was having its effect on Becky.

"The Kolbe Foundation is different now," he continued, speaking as much to himself as to Becky. "It used to be that Joe could
pick and choose his paid workers from volunteers who had proven their dedication and value over months and years. That's not possible anymore. And volunteers aren't as willing to follow instructions as paid workers–that's just the way it is with volunteers. I'm not running volunteers down, either; volunteers do much of the drudge work around here. In the old days–lo three whole months ago–everybody
was involved with everything and everybody knew everyone. That's over. You, Lee, Joe, Hal, and several dozen others–each with unique and sometimes strong personalities–have come together rather quickly, and we're under a lot of pressure. This kind of expansion is hard enough to pull off in the secular world. It's much harder to accomplish for a spiritual endeavor. Lee is right; prayer is our
best weapon."

"So that's why you want me to turn the other cheek? For the good of the Kolbe Foundation?" Becky asked, clearly much more willing to follow through on his hard advice.

"And for your own sanctification and for Kelly's good. For Kelly most of all," he added, taking another puff on his cigarette. "I'm also going to give a few lessons and homilies on gossiping over the next few weeks.
The next time Kelly approaches a worker with her jealous lies, the person she talks to is going to be aware of the sin of assassinating reputations. We chaplains have our own ways of fighting this kind of battle.

"Within a month or two, I wouldn't be surprised if you overhear a conversation where someone sticks up for you, Beck."

"That would be a pleasant experience after what happened this afternoon,"
she said, much more at peace with the situation. She looked at her watch. "Look at the time! I've got to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Joanie's waiting for me." She stood to leave.

"Don't let this incident bother you, Becky, not with your wedding tomorrow. Let it be like a fly buzzing around you. Shoo it away," he advised, taking another sip of his hot toddy.

She thought hard for a moment.
Until she heard the conversation in the stockroom, Becky had been walking on air. "I really let it get to me, didn't I?"

Chet said nothing in reply.
Let her think for herself,
he thought.

"I'm not going to let this ruin the biggest day of my life. No way," she continued, thinking out loud.

"That's my girl! Turn the tables on it, Beck. Let your hard edge cut Kelly Jones out of your mind–"

"Right,"
she agreed happily. "Cut her out! Chop her into pieces. Put her on toast. Roast her in the oven! Take her out and lightly baste with butter and sprinkle a little dill weed...No! tarragon, yeah, tarragon–"

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," he interrupted, noting her impish smile.

"I know, Chetmeister. I'm just having fun. Believe me, I'm going to have a great time tonight and a better time
tomorrow. I feel better already. I'm not even going to bother Joe with this. Thanks, Chet! You've got a gift, you know."

He said nothing. He took a sip of his toddy and a drag off his Marlboro Light, thinking to himself for a moment.

Eventually he said, "I'll offer some special prayers, asking Our Lady and the Holy Spirit to give you peace. They were married too, you know. Well, sort of. Saint
Joseph wasn't exactly wallpaper."

Becky thought about that for a moment. She gave him a look. "You don't mind if I just take off, Father. I really do have to get ready for tonight. I want to look special for Joe, and Joanie is waiting for me."

"Not at all, Beck. See you tonight. I've got to get over to the church anyway." He gave her a wink.

He noticed an athletic lightness in her gait as she
walked out of the kitchen toward the front door.
I love being a priest,
he told himself.
Joe's got a real blessing in Becky. And she in Joe.

Chet finished his hot toddy. Joe had sometimes shared his concern over Becky's "hard edges." The two men agreed that her conversion was basically irreversible. Her mind and heart were committed to Catholicism forever. But like most people who return to the
faith–especially those who were not raised watching the example of devout parents–Becky could not be expected to have her bad habits and imperfections disappear like magic. Virtue takes years to develop. Fortunately for Becky, Joe Jackson was a very patient man. Rather than constantly point out her faults, Joe decided to remain silent and wait for her to slowly and gradually recognize her own problems
and then decide for herself to work on them. Through prayer, grace, effort, spiritual direction, study, Joe's unconditional love, and virtuous friends–an all encompassing Catholic atmosphere which Becky herself recognized as "layers"–she would grow into a saint.

Joe doesn't mind waiting,
Chet reflected happily.
The big lug can wait for years. He loves her just as she is–hard edges and all. He
realizes that the best way for him to improve Becky is to forget her faults and concentrate on his own.

2

Thursday Evening
7 December
Mishawaka, Indiana

"Wasn't it great meeting Jimbo Sullivan and my brothers and their wives tonight? They really liked you, you know," Joanie told Nathan as they rested alone on the old leather davenport in the den of her parent's home. Joanie had changed out of
her dress and into jeans and a sweater after the rehearsal dinner at Bruno's. Nathan was still in a rather expensive suit from his trading days, his jacket and tie on a rocking chair next to the couch. Their feet mingled on the ottoman before them. In front of the ottoman a fire that Nathan kindled was just beginning to rage. The engaged couple could hear conversation and laughter coming from the
Wheat's large country kitchen, where most of Joanie's brothers and their wives were hanging out with her parents.

"I like your brother Greg. Good man. I had a long talk with him. I liked Mindy, too. You know they live only a few miles from where I grew up?" Nathan asked mellowly. Joanie nodded.

"And I always pictured Jimbo Sullivan to be a lot bigger after Chet told me that story about Jimbo's
right hook. I really haven't seen Jimbo since I was in grammar school, except for pictures that Chet has lying around." He mused.

A long silence ensued as they relaxed together. Joanie rested her head on Nathan's arm, which was draped around her shoulder. Nathan talked even more infrequently, but there was an easiness and peacefulness in his conversation since his return from his Warning. Joanie
was comfortable with his silences. They were a natural couple–so much was understood between them without talking.
We're like a couple of old fogies,
Nathan often thought. Joanie and Nathan were almost the opposite of Becky and Joe, who seemed to have regular, almost amiable arguments and discussions.

"I love you," he said simply.

"I love you too, Mister," she replied softly.

He sighed. They sat
in silence for a few minutes.

"Got something on my mind, Joanie. Not about us. About the world. About the Kolbe Foundation."

"Shoot," she replied.

"I feel in my guts like we're in a calm before the storm. For the last several years these Marian prophecies have been building up, like Our Lady was mustering her troops. Slowly but surely the enemy has been gathering his troops, too. The natural disasters,
the worldwide recession that never seems to end, the wars and rumors of wars, the gradual breakdown of families–everything has been building up so slowly that only those with a special grace from God can see it. Especially those who are consecrated to Mary. That's what Chet and Lee say.

"I feel like we're part of an army gathering in a field, waiting for marching orders. No bombs are going off
yet. No shots are being fired. But you can feel it coming. Like I could put my ear to the ground and hear the metallic rumbling of tank treads, far off–"

"You're scaring me, Nathan." It was his tone as much as his words.

"I've seen the preview, Joanie. I've seen my sins. I've also seen God's Divine Mercy. Or I felt it, or whatever you want to call it. Every day I sit in front of Jesus in the monstrance
and I don't say anything to Him. I just look at Him, and think about how He was innocent and they killed Him anyway. I think of how sad Mary must have been holding Him in her arms after they took Him down from the cross. It comes down to a mother holding her son–a son who never did anything but preach about love, heal the sick, and give solace to sinners.

"And I think of how grateful I am that
He let them crucify Him. If that sounds selfish, so be it. I was lost, and Jesus came to get me. And after it was over, He gave me you. I'll never understand it," Nathan was becoming exasperated trying to explain his thoughts.

"Keep trying, Nathan," she said softly, knowing that it was wise to let him speak once he was rolling. She snuggled her head on his chest. She was briefly distracted by
a natural curiosity about what he would be like tomorrow evening.
That can wait,
she told herself.
Listen to him.

"I've racked my brains," he continued, "trying to think of why people won't listen to your dad. That's pretty much my job now–to get people to listen to your dad. Your dad is really like Noah. Very few people are going to pay attention until it starts to rain. I know I didn't pay attention
until I had the accident.