Father Gaetano's Puppet Catechism - By Christopher Golden Page 0,5

had been a teacher at a Catholic school in Palermo after she had first taken her vows. The school in the village had been destroyed and, while they could not see to the education of all of Tringale’s children, she knew they had an obligation to cultivate the minds of the twelve girls and nineteen boys whom the Lord had put into their care. Born from chaos and tragedy, the orphanage had brought order to the children’s lives.

Father Gaetano was an unknown variable, which made Sister Veronica wary. The nuns had achieved a certain balance through patience, hard work, and the grace of God, and she did not want that balance upset.

“Excuse me, Sister?”

She turned to see a curly-haired boy named Carmelo smiling pleasantly at her. He’d turned eleven the week before and she had given him a fisherman’s cap as a gift. She had traded some fresh tomatoes from the garden for the secondhand cap, but it was in fine condition, and the boy had rarely taken it off since, other than during church and presumably at bedtime.

“What is it?” she asked, smiling to soften her features. Sister Veronica knew that her narrow features and high cheekbones could make her look stern even when she did not intend it. Her height could be imposing enough, so she tried to remember to smile around the children … though sometimes she wanted them to be wary of her.

“Do you know what’s for supper tonight?”

“I’m told Sister Maria has made her fish soup.”

Carmelo made a face, wrinkling his nose. “Again?” he whined.

Sister Veronica tapped the brim of his hat. “It’s good for you. Besides, how can you be a fisherman … How can you be a Sicilian … and not like fish?”

The boy smiled. “I like baccala. Even calamari. But Sister Maria’s fish soup is—”

“Ssshhh,” Sister Veronica said, nodding toward the door to the back kitchen at the far end of the dining room. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

Privately, though, she agreed. Sister Maria’s fish soup was always very bland. It was the one thing the other nuns let her cook. They called it her specialty, but in truth it was a night off for the others, and amounted mostly to a stew of leftovers from whatever fish dishes had been made earlier in the week.

Abruptly, the children began to shush each other, and amidst the susurrus of their voices, Sister Veronica turned to see that Sister Teresa and Father Gaetano had entered the dining room. A pair of twelve-year-old girls, Concetta and Giulia, began to whisper to each other, apparently exchanging first impressions of the priest, but the rest of the children were standing at strict attention.

“Good evening, children,” Sister Teresa began.

“Good evening, Sister Teresa,” they chorused back.

“These long months have been difficult for all of us,” Sister Teresa went on. “Each of us has lost someone we loved. The war came to our doorsteps and did a great deal of damage. But with the grace of God, we have already begun to rebuild our lives. The sisters of San Domenico have become teachers and caretakers. Our futures are intertwined with yours, and we thank God, for we see the opportunity to know you all and to help guide you on the path the Lord has set out for you as a blessing. Along the way, we will all face challenges, among them the loss of Father Colisanti. God called his servant home. I know Father Colisanti is even now singing with the hosts of Heaven. In his absence, we’ve had many kind and wonderful priests visit us, but the church of San Domenico needs a pastor, and you children need a theological instructor and a confessor.”

Sister Teresa paused for effect. Sister Veronica tried to hide her smile at the way the children hung on her words. She envied her mother superior’s command of the children, wishing they would pay even half so much attention in class as they were paying now. There had been much talk and much curiosity ever since it had been rumored that a new priest had been chosen for the church of San Domenico.

“Boys and girls, please give your attention and the warmest of welcomes to your new pastor, Father Gaetano Noe.”

It was an invitation for the children to react, almost as if Sister Teresa expected them to applaud, but the children seemed to sense that clapping would be inappropriate. Instead, they turned to stare at the young, lanky priest with his round spectacles. For his part,