McCartor said, “Thank you, Brigid, for this most extraordinary interview.”
She turned directly to the camera and told the audience what to expect in next week’s show, and then hot lights went out, stagehands applauded wildly. McCartor leapt out of her chair and embraced me.
“You’re an amazing person, Brigid. It’s hard to believe what you’ve told us, but I do believe you. I’ve never had an interview like this. You’re inspiring to so many people. You’re the real thing. And, take it from me, I know the real thing.”
Chapter 105
LAWRENCE HOUSE was on a bar stool at Cal’s Roadhouse, watching 60 Minutes on the TV over the bar, when Morgan McCartor signed off. Sunday-night drinkers crowded the far end of the bar, a group of rowdies crowded the dartboard, and a couple of kids were fooling around in a booth in the back.
Typical night in a one-saloon town.
House said to the bartender, “Bill. Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Our lady priest was on TV again.”
“Oh, her. Can I get you another one?” Bill asked House.
“No, I’m done.”
A fanfare came over the TV, announcing a breaking news story. House grabbed the remote and turned up the volume as the on-screen reporter intercepted Cardinal Cooney leaving the Boston Archdiocese and heading to his car.
The reporter asked, “Your Eminence. Do you have a comment for us on the Sixty Minutes interview with Brigid Aubrey?”
The cardinal scowled at the camera, then said, “Brigid Fitzgerald Aubrey has said more about her loosely wrapped mind than anything I can say. She’s delusional or blasphemous or both, but in any case, she took the Lord God’s name in vain. She can answer to Him.”
“YES,” thundered House as he thumped the bar with his empty glass. “That’s right, Cardinal. You got that right. Woman’s a fraud and a heretic.”
The bartender was mopping the bar. House shouted to him, “The backlash is coming, Bill! The tide is turning. God-loving people are getting fed up.”
On screen, the cardinal disappeared into the backseat of his car, and the TV reporter turned to face the camera.
“Chet, I’ll be outside the Millbrook JMJ church tomorrow, see if I can get Brigid Aubrey’s comments.”
House slapped some cash on the bar, said “Good night, Billy,” to the bartender, then walked outside onto the street, empty except for the fallen leaves scudding across the pavement.
He unlocked his car and got in.
He sat for a few minutes, thinking about what Brigid had said, how disturbing it was to hear her sickening so-called experiences going out all over the country. It was good, what Cooney had said. But was it enough? Mrs. Aubrey had fouled the name of God with her sick mind. She and her predator husband were infecting true believers with their dangerous nonsense, and nothing seemed to stop them.
House started up the car and drove to the intersection of Main and the highway and parked under a tree where he had a good view of the lights coming from the upstairs windows of the rectory.
He switched off the engine and settled in to watch and to wait. While waiting, he prayed to God.
Chapter 106
JAMES WAS celebrating the second Mass of the day with a full church on a sunny morning in August.
He was in love with everything about this place, from the restored bell tower to the two-hundred-year-old floors and the new, hand-carved crucifix over the altar.
And he loved the people of this town.
He adjusted his stole and was beginning to receive Holy Communion when he felt a sharp stabbing sensation behind his right eye, more stunningly painful than anything he had ever felt before. The chalice jumped from his hand. He stepped back, lost his footing, and dropped hard to the floor.
What is happening? What is wrong with me?
He felt hands pulling at him, heard questions being shouted, but he couldn’t comprehend any of it. The fierce pain obliterated words, his vision, and, struggling to get up, he realized that he had no control at all over his body. He vomited onto the floor.
James tried opening his mind to God as Brigid had described to him, but all he felt was the astonishing, unrelenting pain and the certainty that he was drowning. James heard himself say, “Not…going…to make it.”
He didn’t want to die. Not yet.
He lost consciousness and came back to the pain, still roaring through his head like a runaway train.
James heard his name shouted right next to his ear.
“Daddy!”
He opened his eyes and tried to smile at Gilly; then he rolled his eyes up and glimpsed Brigid’s stricken face.
She said, “James, the ambulance is coming. Hang on to me. Hang on. Please. We’ll get through this.”
“I can’t,” he said. “Last. Rites.”