Father Gaetano's Puppet Catechism - By Christopher Golden Page 0,2

his forehead crease in a frown as it occurred to him that the others—boys like Giovanni and Marcello especially—wouldn’t like it very much if Sebastiano acted too nice to the priest.

The boy held Pagliaccio close, staring out the window at the church and the sea beyond, waves crashing upon the rocks.

“Some of them are very angry at God,” Sebastiano whispered to the puppet. “He took their families and their houses, like He did mine. But I know He still loves me, that He did not mean to hurt me.”

The boy gazed at the puppet, worried and hopeful about the new priest at the same time. “They’re angry at God, but they can’t punish Him for it. Sometimes they punish me and some of the other kids instead.”

Pagliaccio stared back at him, but made no reply.

2

SISTER TERESA HAD AN UNDENIABLE DETERMINATION about her, but somehow she still managed a smile that held genuine sweetness. In that regard, the hazel-eyed nun reminded Father Gaetano of his mother. Though he’d been told that Sister Veronica filled the role of disciplinarian amongst the nuns at the convent of San Domenico—and now performed the same duty for the war orphans—Sister Teresa was the order’s mother superior. She did not use the title, she said, because she did not like to set herself above the other nuns, but he wondered if there wasn’t just a little bit of pride involved; a woman just forty might find it difficult to have other grown women calling her mother.

Indeed, it was unusual to have a relatively young woman acting as abbess, but the position was conferred by secret vote of the nuns in the community, so it was clear Sister Teresa had earned the respect of her sisters, even those many years her elder. Judging by the intelligence glittering in her eyes, Father Gaetano believed that the right woman had been chosen for the job.

“Something must be done,” she insisted.

“Sister, I’ve only just arrived—” Father Gaetano began.

“I know, Father. And I hate to burden you with this before you’ve even had a chance to rest. I know that many new responsibilities await you, but that is my fear, don’t you see? If I wait until you are mired in other concerns, you may forget us.”

She smiled even more warmly, her habit proving insufficient to hide her beauty. Father Gaetano had been told that older priests developed the ability to ignore such distractions, but he had not yet reached that pinnacle of grace, and Sister Teresa’s smile was persuasive. They had both given themselves to the service of God, but Gaetano Noe had grown up in a household with a smart, attractive mother and three beautiful sisters and had watched them manage the boys and men in their lives without any of those hapless males realizing how easily they were manipulated. He was not immune to Sister Teresa’s charms.

“I understand,” Father Gaetano said. He took off his round spectacles, wiped them on his cassock, and returned them to the bridge of his nose. “Lead on.”

She had approached him after mass, before he had even had an opportunity to return to the sacristy and remove his vestments. Keeping him engaged in conversation, she had escorted him from the church and across the lawn to the rectory, which had been transformed into an orphanage during the Allied assault. Father Gaetano would be living there as of today, overseeing the boys’ floor while Sister Veronica stood sentinel over the girls, but he had thus far seen only the front parlor—where he had left his suitcase and small valise—and now the kitchen.

Sister Teresa had promised to make him tea, but the moment she had put the kettle on the stove, effectively trapping him with her hospitality, she had opened up this new conversational front, which had surely been her purpose all along. Now Father Gaetano stood, sliding back his chair. Sister Teresa followed suit, but gestured at the already steaming kettle.

“Don’t you want to wait for your tea?”

The priest scratched one finger along his proud nose. “I didn’t actually want tea, Sister. We were engaged in a polite ritual, and while it is kind of you to offer and I am grateful, if we are going to work together effectively, perhaps it’s best we dispense with such courtesies.”

Sister Teresa gave a soft laugh, and then nodded. “I do like you, Father. I think we’re going to get along just fine. And, next time, I’ll even let you change your clothes before I drag you