Virgin (37 page)

He turned to stare
again at the Virgin.

"An
incredible story," he said into the silence.

If I were
someone else, he thought, or even if I had happened to stumble upon this little
room only last week, before my encounter with the Blessed Mother, I would have
said they are both mad. Good-hearted, sincere, and well intentioned, to be
sure, but quite utterly mad. But I am not someone else, and I believe every
incredible word.

"Then you
can see, can't you," Sister Carolyn said, and Vincenzo sensed that she was
praying he could and would see, "that she has to remain here? Remain a
secret?"

"A
secret?" Vincenzo said. "Oh, no. That is the last thing this
discovery should be. This is the Mother of God, Sister. She should have a
cathedral of gold, she should be exalted as an ideal, a paradigm for a life of
faith and purity."

"But,
Monsignor, that isn't what the Apostles intended when they brought her to the
Resting Place in the desert."

"Who are
we to say what the Apostles intended? And besides, these are different,
difficult times. True faith, generous and loving, seems to be on the wane,
replaced by wild-eyed fundamentalist factions that call themselves Christian,
and other violent, non-Christian sects.
Think what the physical presence of
the Mother of God could mean to the Church, to Christianity, to all of
humanity? This could usher in a whole new age of faith."

A new age . . .

The words
resonated through his very being as he remembered his conversation with the
strange bearded man who saved his life a few nights ago . . .

My life was
saved twice that night.

. . . of how
the Second Coming might be linked to the end of the second millennium. And of
how the second millennium would be ending this year, was perhaps ending even as
he stood here speaking to these two good people.

Dear Jesus, it
all fit, didn't it. It all made sense now. The discovery of the scroll, the
journey of these two people to the Holy Land, finding the remains of the
Blessed Virgin, removing her from the desert, the Vatican sending him to
Ireland and then New York, the apparitions, his cure, his arrival in the
subcellar of this humble old church--these weren't random events. Three times
his path and the Virgin's had crossed: in Cork City, on the streets outside,
and now in this tiny room. There was a pattern here, a purpose, a plan.

And now
Vincenzo saw the outcome of that plan.

The Virgin was
to be revealed to the world. And when she was brought to the Vatican, when she
joined the Holy Father in Rome, it would herald a new age. Perhaps it would
signal the Second Coming.

Philosophers
and academics had been speaking of the end of history for years already. What
will they say now?

The staggering
immensity of the final sequence of events that might be set into motion numbed
him for a moment.

The end of
history . . .
all
history.

But he couldn't
tell these two what he knew. At least not now. He could, however, try to
reassure them.

"There is
a plan at work," he said. "And we are all playing our parts. You've
played your parts, and now I must play mine. And the Vatican must play its own
part."

"But what
if the Vatican
doesn't
play its part?" she cried. "What if,
instead of showing her to the world, they hide her away in one of the Church's
deepest vaults where they'll test her and probe her and argue endlessly whether
to reveal her or keep her hidden from the world? Don't say it couldn't happen.
This may not look like much, but here at least she has some contact with the
world. People are benefiting from her presence. Leave her here."

"I can't
make that decision."

"Once she
gets to Rome, she may disappear forever, as if we never found her."

"That is
absurd," Vincenzo said.

But within he
wondered if she might not be right. He was more familiar than she with the
internecine ways of the Holy See, and realized it was all too possible that the
Virgin might be lost in the labyrinth of Vatican politics.

"Please!"
she cried.

He was wounded
by the tears in her eyes. How could he separate her from the Virgin? That
seemed almost . . . sinful.

Vincenzo shook
himself. His duty was clear.

"I'm
sorry," he said, "but I really have no choice. I must report this to
Rome at once."

Sister Carolyn
began to sob. The sound tore at his heart. He had to leave. Now. Before he
changed his mind.

"I'll be
back as soon as I have the Vatican's decision."

"Don't be
surprised if you find an empty room," Father Fitzpatrick said.

Vincenzo swung
toward him. "Please do not do anything so foolish as to move her or try to
hide her. I found her here. I can find her anywhere."

He hurried out
of the room leaving behind the sobbing nun and the stricken, silent priest.

This is the way
it has to be, he told himself. This is the best way, the only way.

Then why did he
feel like such a villain?

He would make
it up to Sister Carolyn. He would see to it that she was not separated from her
beloved Blessed Mother. He would convince the Holy See that Sister Carolyn
Ferris must accompany the Virgin to Rome to tell her story.

But first he
had to convince the Holy See that the body in the subcellar of this church was
indeed the Blessed Virgin. He could do that. They'd believe him. He'd debunked
so many reputed visitations in the past that they'd listen when he told them
he'd found the real thing. More than a visitation--the greatest find since the
dawn of the Christian Era.

And then it
would begin.

The Second
Coming . . . the end of history . . .

Carrie clenched
her teeth and tried to rein in her emotions. What was wrong with her? She'd
never cried easily before. Now she couldn't seem to help herself.

She'd just
about regain control when Dan stepped up beside her and gently encircled her in
his arms. His touch, and the depth of love and warmth in the simple gesture
toppled her defenses. She sagged against him and broke down again.

"It'll be
all right, Carrie," he said softly. "We'll work something out."

But
what
could
they work out? Her worst nightmare had come true.

She
straightened and faced him. "They're going to take her, Dan. They're going
to take her and seal her away where no one will ever see her again, where no
one but a privileged few will even know she exists."

"You don't
know that."

"I
do
know
that." Anger was beginning to elbow aside the fear and desperate sorrow.
"And I know we didn't go to all that trouble to find her and bring her
here just so she could be locked up in a Vatican vault!"

"But what
the monsignor said about a 'plan' makes sense. Don't you feel it? Don't you
sense a hand moving the pieces
around a
chessboard? We're a couple of the pawns, Carrie. So's
the monsignor."

"Maybe,"
she said, although she knew exactly what Dan was talking about. She'd felt it
too. "And maybe the 'plan' isn't meant to play out the way the monsignor
sees it. We can't let the Vatican have her."

"How are
we going to stop it? You heard what he said about being able to find her if we
try to hide her. I don't know how or why, but I believe him."

Carrie believed
him too. Maybe it was the cure he claimed the Virgin had performed, maybe it
was part of the "plan." Whatever it was, the monsignor seemed to have
been sensitized to the Virgin. He was like a smart bomb, targeted on Carrie's
dreams.

But there had
to be a way to stop him.

And suddenly
she knew how.

"All right
. . ." she said slowly. "If we can't hide her from the monsignor, we
won't hide her at all . . . from anyone."

"I
don't--"

"You
will."

Excitement and
dread blossomed within her as she considered the repercussions of what she was
about to do.

She drew Dan to
the Virgin's side.

"Will you
carry her upstairs for me?"

"Upstairs?
Into the kitchen?"

"No.
Farther up. Into the church."

Dan stood in
the nave of St. Joe's with the Virgin's stiff remains in his arms and tried to
catch his breath. The church was locked up tight for the night, silent but for
the muffled voices of the latest contingent of Mary-hunters chanting their
nightly Rosary outside on the front steps. He wasn't puffing from the exertion
of carrying her up from the subcellar--the Virgin was as light as ever--but from
anxiety.

What was Carrie
up to? She wouldn't explain. Was she afraid he'd balk if she told him? No.
He'd do almost
anything to keep her from crying again. He'd never heard
her cry before. It was a sound he never wanted to hear again.

"Now
what?" he said. "Where do I put her?"

She stood in
the church's center aisle, turning in a slow circle, as if looking for
something.
Suddenly she stopped her turn.

"There,"
she said, pointing to the space past the chancel rail.

"In the
sanctuary? There's no place--"

"On the
altar."

Dan felt his
knees wobble. "No, Carrie. That wouldn't be right."

She turned and
faced him, her expression fierce. "Can you think of anyone with more of a
right to be up there?"

Dan couldn't.

"All
right. But I don't like this."

He passed her
and walked down the center aisle, genuflected, then stepped over the chancel
rail and approached the altar, a huge block of Carerra marble. It stood free in
the center of the sanctuary so the celebrating priest could say Mass facing his
congregation.

This was
strange, really strange. What was this going to solve or prove? Carrie didn't
expect the Virgin to come alive or anything crazy like that, did she?

The thought rattled
Dan as he stood before the altar. His life had been so full of strange
occurrences lately that nothing would surprise him.

As he set the
Virgin gently upon the gleaming marble surface of the altar, he heard a
metallic clank at the far end of the church. He turned in time to see Carrie
pushing open the front doors.

"She's
here!" he heard her cry to the Mary-hunters gathered outside. "You
don't need to look any further. The Blessed Mother is here! Come in! See her!
She's waiting for you!"

"Oh,
no!" Dan said softly as he saw the Mary-hunters edge through the doors.
"Oh, God, Carrie. What are you
doing?"

They crowded
forward, candles in hand, hesitant at first, the curious at the rear pushing
those ahead. They were older,
mostly female, with
a few younger men and women salted among them. Plainly dressed for the most
part, but they had an eagerness in common. He saw it in their eyes.
They were
searching for something but not quite sure just what.

And when they
saw the body stretched out on the altar they hesitated, but only for a moment,
only for a heartbeat. Then they were moving forward again, surging ahead like
some giant, single-celled organism, filling the center aisle and splashing
against the chancel rail.

Dan listened to
the talk within the Mary-hunter amoeba.

"Is it
her?" . . . "Do you think that's really her?" . . . "That's
not what I expected her to look like" . . . "Aren't you forgetting
the Assumption? Can't be her" . . . "Right. She was assumed into
heaven, body and soul" . . . "Besides, she looks too old, all dried
up . . ."

And then the
crowd was parting like the Red Sea to make way for a pinch-faced old woman in a
wheelchair. She wore a fur cap despite the heat and was propelled from behind
by a burly orderly in whites.