The Accidental Pope (20 page)

17

FALLOUT

A sense of shock gripped the Catholic world at four
P.M.
in Rome when Pope Peter II had been presented to the huge crowd in St. Peter's Square. It was ten
A.M.
eastern standard time in the United States. In Fall River, Boston, and Washington, D.C., successive waves of the concussion were especially resounding.

Ambassador Kirby's nemesis at the State Department listened, horrified, as the department's assistant director of public affairs read the first two paragraphs of a story moving out over the AP wire. “The
Post
just called about the Kirby recall leak and asked if that information is still operative in view of this AP story. It seems that the ambassador personally delivered the new pope from his home near Boston to the Vatican,” the information officer said. “What's my answer? The
Post
guy told me he had called the White House and heard that the president was very pleased with Kirby's performance.”

The Vatican Desk officer shouted at his assistant, “Is there a cable from Kirby explaining anything?”

“Nothing. I checked around.”

Then came an exclamation from the information officer. “Oh, bloody hell. A picture is being slipped in front of me. It shows Kirby and Peter II at the ambassador's residence this morning just before William Kelly was elected pope. Kelly's wearing a priest's cassock.”

“Get Kirby or the DCM, Seedworth, on the direct line,” the desk officer commanded. “How could Seedworth screw this up so? The
Post
will look like a bunch of asses, just like us.”

The president of the United States was winding up a meeting as his chief of staff reported the latest from Rome. Already the First Lady had summed things up for her husband after talking with Ed Kirby.

“An American pope, a widower ex-priest!” the president exclaimed. “Delivered to the conclave by my ambassador. Didn't I say Kirby was ‘with the next pope' when those State idiots couldn't find him? Wonderful! Here's a God-given opportunity to divert media attention from the last remnants of that impeachment trash.” He was referring to certain final Republican attempts to keep the scandal ongoing. “The talking heads will have to find something else to gossip about. Every big-time editor in Washington knew what previous presidents were up to, but they looked the other way because they liked them personally. I am going to nominate Kirby for the State Department's highest award.”

“The Jefferson Medal?” The press secretary who was present shook his head. “Don't you think that's a bit much? I mean, there'll be a revolt at Foggy Bottom. They'll turn the press against you if you anger and embarrass them too much.”

“They need to be shaken up,” the president growled. “Regularly.”

*   *   *

An awed silence settled over the chancery in Fall River as the TV carried exclusive reports about the news from Rome, where it was now midafternoon. Disbelief and a sense of unreality disconcerted Father Raphael. He was conscious of the backside of his bishop flying out the library door toward his private den and then pausing. Bishop Sean Patrick turned to face the awestruck priest.

“Ralph, get my car out and leave it running. NOW!” He entered his sanctuary and scuttled over to the big mahogany desk. Jerking open the middle drawer, he extracted Cardinal Comiskey's white envelope. He was not surprised now to read the message the cardinal had left for him.

*   *   *

“Sean,” it instructed him, “as soon as you hear the news, get to the Kelly home and provide protective shelter for Bill's children. Do whatever is necessary to help them. I will see to your expenses. And pray for Bill. He will need all the help he can get from all sources when you read this and know what has happened. Thanks, Brian.”

Even before Bishop Sean Patrick had opened the envelope from Comiskey, he was complying with the instructions. His first move was to call the commander of the Massachusetts State Police, Bill McCabe of Charlestown, to provide protection for Bill Kelly's family. Then he called the Kelly house and reached Colleen, who by now had recovered from the initial shock.

Bishop Sean Patrick promised Colleen he would be at the Kellys' home within the hour. He told her to take her phone off the hook until he arrived.

Father Raphael was standing beside the car as the bishop emerged from the rectory. “Want me to drive, Bishop?”

“God no, Ralph. I need you here to answer the phone and the doorbell.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Anything. I'm not here … whatever. I've got to get to the Kellys'. Call you when I need you.”

Leaving his assistant trembling at the thought of handling the press and the crowds sure to descend on the pope's home diocese, the bishop eased in behind the wheel of his car and, quietly praying for heavenly supports, sped off in a cloud of dust. His prayer was answered when he turned onto Interstate 95 toward the Cape. A state police cruiser was up ahead, giving someone a speeding ticket. Bishop Sean Patrick pulled over quickly and jumped out to see Trooper Joe Collins whirl around, staring at him. Miracle of miracles, not just a trooper but also a parishioner from St. Mary's in Fall River!

“Joe, I need help. I need to get to Buzzards Bay posthaste. Know what I mean?”

The trooper nodded, looked back at the stopped speedster, and warned, “Slow down. Now get going.”

Turning from the driver he had halted, who was gratefully moving away, Joe called out, “Follow me, Bishop. Stay close.”

The cruiser's blue lights flashed as the bishop struggled to keep up with the trooper. Twenty-five minutes later he was shaking the hand of Trooper Collins on the main street of Buzzards Bay. “Thanks, Joe. I'd appreciate it if you would follow me and stand by the home we're about to visit.”

“What's happening, Bishop?”

“No time to explain now. Turn on your radio and you'll find out.” Bishop Sean Patrick sped off down the back road to the Kelly house and dock with Trooper Collins behind him. Colleen Kelly came out to meet him.

“Welcome to our humble house, Bishop. So good of you to come. I have the kettle on for tea or coffee if you wish.”

“Thanks very much, Miss Kelly.”

“Call me Colleen, Your Excellency. Dad always tells me friends should use first names.”

“Well, I agree with that, especially given present circumstances. Please call me Sean.”

Trooper Joe Collins emerged from his car. “Bishop, I heard the news. Wow! I can't believe it! I don't know what to say! Anyhow, I figured the Kellys might need a bit of protection, so I called my sergeant to let him know I was taking on the duty. I'll be here until my relief comes at midnight, Miss Kelly. No one gets near your house without permission.”

Touched, Colleen replied, “Dear Lord, what can I say, Trooper, except thank you so much. Will you come in for some tea or coffee with us?”

“Thanks, no, Miss Kelly. When the media arrives I can best handle the show out here.”

“Thanks for your thoughtfulness, Joe,” the bishop broke in. “We'll need some time to decide how to handle these people.” He followed Colleen into the house.

“Please sit at the table, Your Excel … Sean,” Colleen corrected herself. “I want you to meet my younger brother, Roger. My sister, Meghan, is at school, but should be home as soon as her teacher gets the news. My older brother, Ryan, is a fisherman like our father and is on his way to Georges Bank. I think he'll call us on the shortwave radio when he hears the news. We didn't really believe Dad when he told us where he was going or why. I guess I am a bit confused,” she ended helplessly.

“Colleen, I'm as baffled and amazed as you are. But I do know that if your father was picked by all those cardinals there must be some reason for it.” The bishop thought about his statement for a moment, watching as Colleen took a kettle off the stove.

“From what Cardinal Robitelli said on the balcony at St. Peter's,” the bishop continued, “they have had more interest in the laity than I could have ever imagined! There have been lay popes before. But most were men from powerful and influential families.”

As Colleen poured the hot water into the teapot she discerned a note of wonderment in the bishop's voice.

“This is so vastly different,” he went on. “Like, well, like choosing the first fisherman, Peter, I guess. Choosing him all over again.”

Colleen nodded and turned toward the kitchen door. “Roger,” she called. “Please come out here and say hello to Bishop Sean Patrick.”

A ruddy face emerged from the bedroom area.

“Hi, Roger,” the bishop said. “I'm happy to meet you. Would you like to sit down with your sister and me? We can discuss what has taken place today in Rome and how we feel about it.”

Roger sat down quietly and looked warily at the table. Colleen finished pouring tea for the bishop and herself.

“Well, Roger,” the bishop began, “may I ask how you feel about your dad being made pope? It certainly sounds like a scary thing to me. I never would have imagined him being made pope of our entire Church.”

At that moment Meghan Kelly burst in the front door of the house. She saw her brother and sister sitting at the table with Sean Patrick. Her eyes fixed on the bishop, she cried accusingly. “I don't want my dad to be a pope. All the kids at school will terrorize at us. Why does he want to do it? I want my dad at home, like always.”

The bishop slid his chair closer to the children. “Kids, I know this must be very hard on you. I am as amazed and puzzled as you are, and I doubt we will ever know exactly how your dad got to be pope. I have known your dad and his close friend Brian Cardinal Comiskey for many years. Perhaps all those cardinals in Rome wanted a good man of the people like your dad to help make the world a better place to live in. I'm sure that's why Cardinal Comiskey came this far to see him.”

“Yes,” Roger interrupted, “it's Uncle Brian's fault. I hate him! I hate him!”

“No, no, Roger, it's not his fault.” Colleen turned to the bishop. “Tell him, Sean.”

“Your sister is right, Roger. The cardinal—‘Uncle Brian,' you called him—he alone could never make your dad the pope. That would be the choice of all those cardinals in Rome. It seems like they must have wanted to elect a layman for a reason we may or may not discover one day. They probably discussed many, many fine laymen from all over the world that various cardinals knew. And think of this: Your Uncle Brian must have been able to convince them what a kind, loving, decent man your fisherman dad is, and they were so impressed that out of all possible choices they came down on the side of your dad. But I'm sure he will be calling here very soon and wanting you to go to Rome to live with him there.”

“Is that right, Bishop?” Meghan asked breathlessly. “We can go to Rome?”

“Meghan, don't worry. Your father is working on that right now and he'll call you soon. If he wants you there tomorrow I'll arrange everything. I'll even take you over to Rome myself if that's what you three want.”

“Will we have our own bedrooms?” Roger asked, acceptance slowly settling in.

The bishop chuckled. “Why, certainly, Roger. Maybe even two bedrooms!”

“Wow!” Meghan smiled. “Is it a big house he lives in?”

“Yes, Meghan. It's very big. It will probably take you a month or two just to find your way around.”

“How big is it?” Roger asked.

“Well, from what I know of the place, I think there are about fourteen hundred rooms inside the Vatican. I'm sure they'll have plenty of space there for you. It has its own post office, railroad station, movie theater, and supermarket. And you can learn all kinds of things from your dad's new friends there. So please, just try to be happy for your dad. He has a very hard job. And if the kids in school make remarks about it, you can tell them about your big new house. Okay?”

Meghan and Roger looked at each other happily. “All right.” Meghan smiled.

Bishop Sean Patrick turned to Colleen. “It seems to me I heard that you have a problem with the Church, Colleen.”

“No problem whatsoever, Sean,” she replied coolly. “I don't go anymore. I guess you could say I'm an atheist of sorts. Or perhaps merely an agnostic.”

Sean Patrick recalled Brian's mentioning how hard Colleen had taken her mother's death and how she had lost faith in God because of it. He could only think to say, “We must talk sometime about that.”

To the bishop's surprise, the Kelly children gave him a hug.

“Why, thank you, kids! Incidentally, would you do me a very special favor?”

“What?” they chorused.

“Well, it's this. I may be around here for a while … visiting you until you go over to live with your dad. Would you mind calling me ‘Uncle Sean'?”

They looked at each other and smiled broadly. “OK.” Their personal crisis seemed over for the moment.

“Oh dear,” Colleen exclaimed. “I forgot you told me to leave the phone off the hook. I better hang it up now in case Dad is trying to call.” She walked over to replace the receiver on the hook. Before she made it back to her chair the phone rang. She ran back, hoping to hear her father's voice.

“Hello, Colleen Kelly speaking. Who? Oh, yes, I am. No. I mean look, I need some time … Hold on, please.” She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and looked up at the bishop. “It's the
Cape Cod Times.
What do I do?”

Bishop Sean gave the matter some careful consideration. “They'll be all over you, even if an entire state police battalion surrounded this house. You've got to get through a first meeting with the press as soon as possible. After that you can routinely refer them to my diocese and I will clear with the Vatican every question they may have after you make your statement.”