As he descended the short flight of stone steps he passed under a hand-painted sign that read “Loaves and Fishes.” He pushed through a battered door and entered a broad room lined with long tables and folding chairs. Toward the rear, a serving counter. And beyond that, a kitchen.
Further inside...
Feeling as if he were in a dream, he skirted the tables and moved toward the kitchen. A growing excitement quivered in his chest. He heard voices, running water, and clinking crockery from the kitchen. He rounded the corner and came upon three women of varying shapes, sizes, and ages busily scrubbing pots, plates, and utensils. The big, red-cheeked one glanced up and saw him.
“Sorry, we’re closed until—oh, sorry, Father. I thought you were one of the guests. Are you looking for Father Dan?”
Vincenzo had no idea who Father Dan was.
“Is he the pastor?”
“No. Father Brenner is the pastor. Father Dan is the associate pastor. He went back to the rectory about half an hour ago.”
Down...it’s beneath your feet.
“Is there a basement here?”
“This is the basement, Father,” another woman said.
“But there’s a furnace room below here,” said the thinnest and oldest of the three.
Vincenzo saw a door in the rear corner and moved toward it.
“Not that one,” said the old woman. “That leads to the rectory. “There’s another door on the far side of the refrigerator there.”
Vincenzo changed direction, brushing past them, unable to fight the growing urgency within him.
So close...so close now.
He pulled the door open. A sweet odor wafted up from the darkness below.
Flowers.
As his eyes adjusted, Vincenzo made out a faint glow from the bottom of the rutted stone steps. He started down, dimly aware of the women’s voices behind him speaking of Father Dan and something about a Sister Carrie. Whether they were speaking to him or to each other he neither knew nor cared. He was close now...so close.
At the bottom he followed the light to the left and came upon a broad empty space with a single naked bulb glowing from the ceiling.
No...this can’t be it...there’s got to be more here than an empty basement.
Off to his left...a voice, humming. He followed the sound around a corner and found the door to a smaller room standing open. As he stepped inside, his surroundings became more dream like.
I’m here...this is the place...I’ve come home...
Candlelight flickered off the walls and low ceiling of a room that seemed alive with sweet-smelling blossoms. He saw a woman there, her back was to him and she was humming as she straightened the folds of the robes draped around some sort of statue or sculpture recumbent on—
And then Vincenzo saw the glow. He recognized that glow, knew that glow. The same soft, pale luminescence had enveloped the apparition. He could not be mistaken. Hadn’t it touched him, been one with him for a single glorious instant? How could he forget it? He realized then that this was no statue or sculpture before him. This was a human body laid out on a makeshift bier.
But whose body?
Suddenly Vincenzo knew, and the realization was like a physical blow, staggering him, numbing him, battering his consciousness until it threatened to tear loose from its moorings and...simply...drift.
This was no holy relic, no unsung, uncanonized saint. This was her!
He knew it and yet a part of him stubbornly refused to accept it. Impossible! Tradition held that she was assumed body and soul into Heaven. And even if tradition were wrong, even if her body had remained preserved for two thousand years, she would not—could not—be here in this church basement in Lower Manhattan. It defied all reason, all belief, all common sense.
Can it be her? Can it truly be her?
As he lurched forward he heard a voice speaking. His own. In his native tongue.
‡
“Puo essere lei? Puo essere veramente lei?”
Carrie cried out in shock and fear at the sound of the strange voice behind her. She turned and saw a man in black silhouetted in the light from the door, staggering toward her. Reflexively, she began to dodge aside, but stopped and forced herself to stand firm. Anyone trying to get to the Virgin would have to go through her first.
Then she saw his collar. A priest.
“Father?”
He didn’t seem to hear. He continued forward, trembling hands folded before him as if in prayer, eyes fixed on the Virgin as his expression twisted through a strange mixture of confusion, pain, and ecstasy.
“Puo essere lei?”
She didn’t understand the priest’s words, but the devotion in his eyes caused her insides to coil with alarm.
He knows! she thought. Somehow he knows!
Sensing he meant no harm, Carrie eased aside and let him approach. Her mind raced as she watched him gaze down at the Virgin. No...obviously he meant no harm, but his mere presence was a catastrophe. No matter what his intentions, he was going to ruin everything.
“Who are you?”
He didn’t seem to hear, only continued to stare down at the Virgin.
“Who are you, Father?” This time she touched his arm.
He started and half turned toward her, tearing his eyes away from the Virgin at the last possible second. Carrie hadn’t realized how old and thin he looked until now.
“It’s her, isn’t it,” he said in hoarse, accented English, and Carrie’s heart sank as she searched but found no hint of a question in his tone. “It’s truly her!”
“Who do you mean, Father?” she said, hoping against hope that he’d give the wrong answer.
But instead of answering in words, he knelt before the Virgin, made the sign of the cross, and bowed his head.
That was more than enough answer for Carrie. She began to shake.
I’m going to lose her. They’re going to take her away from me!
At that moment she heard the scuff of hurried footsteps out in the old furnace room, then Dan dashed in. He skidded to a halt when he saw the figure in black kneeling before the bier, then stared at Carrie, alarmed, confused, breathing hard.
“Hilda called me over...said there was a strange priest...” He glanced at the newcomer. “Who...how?”
Carrie shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Dan stood in the center of the room, looking indecisive for a moment, then he stepped forward and laid a hand on the other priest’s shoulder.
“I’m Father Daniel Fitzpatrick, Father, associate pastor here, and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
The older man turned his head to the side, then rose stiffly to his feet. He stared at the Virgin a moment longer, then turned toward Carrie and Dan and drew himself to his full height.
“I am Monsignor Vincenzo Riccio. From Rome. From the Vatican.”
Carrie stifled a groan as she heard Dan mutter, “Oh, God. You’re the priest from the pub!”
“You must explain this,” Msr. Riccio said, gesturing toward the Virgin. “How...how is this possible?”
“How is what possible?” Dan said.
The older priest raised a hand. “Please. There is no point in trying to fool me. I was touched by her, healed by her. I know this is the Blessed Mother. Do you understand? I do not believe it, think it, or feel it, I know it. What I do not know is why she is hidden away in this dingy cellar, and how she came to be here. Will you please explain that to me, Father Fitzpatrick.”
Dan held the monsignor’s stare for a moment, then turned to Carrie and introduced her as Sister Carolyn Ferris.
“Carrie, this is your show. What do you want to do? Whatever you decide, I’m with you all the way.”
Carrie felt as if she were perched on the edge of a precipice...during an earthquake. Her mind was numb with the shock of being discovered. She could see no sense in lying. The monsignor already knew the core truth. Why not tell him the details.
And suddenly hope was alive within her.
Yes! The details. Maybe if he knew how the Virgin had been hidden away in a cave much like this subcellar room, he’d realize that she had to remain hidden...right here.