Read The Expected One Page 43


  It proved immensely convenient for Magnus O’Connor, now elevated to the rank of bishop, that the Paschal girl had a close relative with a vocation. When Peter Healy entered the seminary, O’Connor worked the Irish angle to get to Peter in the same way they had worked on Bernadette. Peter was informed of Edouard Paschal’s history and asked to keep a close eye on his cousin and make regular reports on her progress.

  Maureen stopped the Cardinal to ask for clarification. “You’re telling me that my cousin has been watching me and reporting my actions to these men since I was a child?”

  “Yes, Signorina, that is the truth. However, Father Healy did not do so out of anything but love. These men manipulated him, led him to understand that this was all in the interest of protecting you. He did not know that they had refused to help your father or, worse, that they were perhaps to blame for his sad demise.”

  The Cardinal looked at her with compassion. “I believe that your cousin’s motives where you are concerned are pure and commendable, in the same way that I believe he chose to turn over the scrolls to the Church for the right reasons.”

  “But how can that be? He knows what’s in them. How can he want to suppress that?”

  “It would be an easy thing to misjudge him based on the limited information that you possess. But I do not believe that Father Healy wanted to suppress anything. We have reason to suspect that Bishop O’Connor and his organization put pressure on him by threatening your safety. Please understand that this is entirely outside of official Church business and is not sanctioned by Rome. But your cousin took the scrolls to O’Connor to trade for your safety.”

  Maureen was allowing it all to sink in, not sure how she should feel. There was a sense of relief that Peter, the only true and trusted ally in her life, had not betrayed her in any real sense. But there was so much new information to digest.

  “And how did you discover all of this?” Maureen wanted to know.

  “O’Connor’s ambition got the best of him. He was hoping to utilize the discovery of Mary’s gospel for his own advancement within the accepted hierarchy of the Church. In turn, he would have more power and access to higher-level information for his shadow organization and their intolerant agenda.” Cardinal DeCaro’s smile was just the slightest bit smug. “But don’t worry. We are working to reassign O’Connor and his associates now that we have identified them all. Our intelligence network is second to none.”

  This did not surprise Maureen, who had always thought of the Catholic Church as an omnipotent organization with arms that stretched all the way around the world. She knew they were the richest organization on the planet and had the best resources that money could buy.

  “What will happen to Mary’s scrolls?” she asked him, preparing herself for an unpleasant answer.

  “If I am to be honest with you, it is hard to say. I am sure that you can understand that this discovery is the most important of our time, if not the most important in Church history. It is a matter that will need to be discussed at the highest levels once they are authenticated.”

  “Peter told you what was in them?”

  The Cardinal indicated affirmatively. “Yes, I read some of his notes. Signorina Paschale, this may surprise you, but we do not sit on silver thrones in the Vatican and plan conspiracies all day.”

  Maureen laughed with him for a moment, then asked very seriously, “Will the Church try to stop me if I write about my experiences here — and more important, if I write about what is in the scrolls?”

  “You are free to do whatever you choose and go where your heart and conscience guide you. If God is working through you to reveal Mary’s words, it would not be anyone’s place to stop you from that sacred duty. The Church does not set out to suppress information, as many believe. That may have been true in the Middle Ages, but it is not today. The Church is interested in the survival and propagation of the faith — and it is my personal belief that the discovery of Mary Magdalene’s gospel may give us a new opportunity to bring more and younger people into our fold. But” — he held up his hand as he said this — “I am only one man. I cannot speak for the others, nor for the Holy Father himself. Time will tell.”

  “And until then, what happens?”

  “Until then, the Arques Gospel of Mary Magdalene shall be preserved in the Vatican library, under the observation of one Father Peter Healy.”

  “Peter is going to stay in Rome?”

  “Yes, Signorina Paschale. He will oversee the team of official translators. It is a great honor, but one that we feel he deserves. And do not think we have forgotten your contribution,” he said, handing her a calling card from his attaché case. “Here is my personal line in Vatican City. When you are ready, we would like to invite you to be our guest. I would like to hear from your lips the entire journey that brought you here to this place. Oh, and you can reach your cousin at this number until his own is established. He will be working for me directly.”

  Maureen looked at the name on the calling card. “Tomas Francesco Borgia DeCaro,” she said aloud. “If you’ll forgive me for asking…”

  The Cardinal laughed now, a true smile spreading across his face. “Yes, Signorina, I am a son of the bloodline, just as you are a daughter. You’ll be surprised at how many of us there are — and just where you will find us when you know where to look.”

  “The moon is full and the night is perfect. Would you do me the honor of joining me for a walk in the gardens before retiring?” Bérenger Sinclair asked Maureen after the Cardinal had taken his leave.

  Maureen agreed. She was entirely at ease with him now, comfortable in the unique manner that comes to people who have endured extreme circumstances together. And there were few things more beautiful than a summer night in the southwest of France. With the floodlights illuminating the majestic château and the lunar light reflecting on the marble paths, the Trinity Gardens were transformed into a place of pure magic.

  Maureen told him everything she had discussed with the Cardinal, and Sinclair listened with sincere interest and attention. When she was finished, he asked her, “And what will you do now? Do you think you will begin a book about this experience? How do you intend to reveal the words of Mary’s gospel to the world?”

  Maureen walked around the perimeter of the Magdalene fountain, running her finger along the cool, smooth marble as she thought about her answer.

  “I haven’t decided what form it will take yet.” She looked up at the statue. “I’m hoping she’ll give me some guidance. Whatever it becomes, I only hope I can do her justice.”

  Sinclair smiled at her. “You will. Of course you will. She chose you for a reason.”

  Maureen returned the expression of warmth. “She chose you, too.”

  “I think all of us were selected to play roles in our own way. You, me, certainly Roland and Tammy. And, of course, Father Healy.”

  “So you don’t all despise Peter for what he did?”

  Sinclair answered quickly. “No. No, not at all. Even if Peter did the wrong thing he did it for the right reasons. Besides, what kind of hypocrite would I be if I felt hatred for a man of God after discovering this treasure? Our Magdalene’s message is one of compassion and forgiveness. If everyone on earth could embrace those two qualities, we would have a much nicer planet to live on, don’t you agree?”

  Maureen looked up at him with admiration, and the dawning of an emotion that was new to her. For the first time in her eventful life, she felt safe. “I’m not sure how to thank you, Lord Sinclair.”

  The Scottish burr came out with greater force, rolling the “r” in her name as he spoke it. “Thank me for what, Maureen?”

  “For this.” She gestured to the lush surroundings. “For introducing me to a world that most people have never even dreamed of. For showing me my place in all of it. For making me feel that I’m not alone.”

  “You will never be alone again.” Sinclair took Maureen’s hand and led her deeper into the rose-scented lushness of the garden
s. “But you must stop calling me Lord Sinclair.”

  Maureen smiled then, and called him “Berry” for the first time, right before he kissed her.

  The following morning, a package for Maureen arrived at the château. It had been sent from Paris the day before. There was no return address, but she didn’t require one to know who the sender was. She would know Peter’s writing anywhere.

  Maureen ripped open the box, anxious to see what Peter had sent. Although she had no anger toward him for anything he had done, he wouldn’t know that yet. They would have to get through an awkward period of apologies and undertake some serious discussions about their shared history, but Maureen had no doubt they would come through this as close as ever.

  Maureen let out a small scream of surprise and delight when she saw the contents of the box. Inside were photocopies of each page of Peter’s notes from all three books of Mary Magdalene’s gospels. All of his notes were here, from the first transcriptions to the final translations. On the top page, written on a page torn from one of his yellow legal pads, Peter had written:

  My dear Maureen:

  Until I can explain everything to you in person, I will entrust these to you. In the end, you are their rightful keeper, far more so than the people I am finding myself forced to give the originals to.

  Please extend my apologies as well as my thanks to the others. I hope to do this in person as soon as possible.

  I will contact you very soon.

  Peter

  …It was many years later when I had the chance to thank Claudia Procula in person for the risks she had taken for Easa. The tragedy of Pontius Pilate and his decision to choose Rome as his master was that it did not save his career or serve his ambitions in the end. Herod did indeed go to Rome the day following Easa’s passion, but he did not speak well of Pilate to the emperor. A true Herod until the end, he had another agenda, a cousin he wished to see in the position of procurator. He spoke poison in the ears of Tiberius, and Pilate was recalled to Rome to stand trial for his misdeeds while he was the governor of Judea.

  Pontius Pilate’s own words were used against him at his trial. He had sent a letter to Tiberius telling him about Easa’s miracles and the events of the Day of Darkness. The Romans used his words against him, to not only eliminate his title and position, but to exile him and confiscate his lands. If Pilate had pardoned Easa and stood up against Herod and the priesthood, his fate would have been no different.

  Claudia Procula remained loyal to her husband through the most terrible times. She told me that their little boy, Pilo, died within a few weeks of Easa’s execution. There was no explanation for it; he simply wasted away before their eyes. Claudia told me that at first it had taken all of her strength not to blame her husband for the death of their child, but she knew that Easa would not want that. She had only to close her eyes and see Easa’s face on the night he healed her son — that was how Claudia Procula found the Kingdom of God. This Roman woman of royal blood had an extraordinary understanding of the Nazarene Way. She lived it effortlessly.

  Claudia and Pilate moved to Gaul, where she had lived as a child. She said that Pilate spent the rest of his life attempting to understand Easa — who he was, what he wanted, what he taught. Over many years she told him often that Easa’s Way was not something that he could apply his Roman logic to. One had to become like a little child to understand the truth. Children are pure, open, and honest. They are able to accept goodness and faith without question. While Pilate did not think it was in him to embrace The Way in the manner that Claudia had, she felt that he was, in his own way, a convert.

  Claudia related an extraordinary story to me about the day before she and the procurator left Judea forever. Pontius Pilate had gone to the Temple in search of Jonathan Annas and Caiaphas, demanding that they see him. He asked them both to look him in the eyes on the most sacred ground of their people and tell him: did we or did we not execute the Son of God?

  I do not know what is more extraordinary — that Pilate sought out the priests to ask the question, or that both of the priests confessed that they had made a terrible mistake.

  Following Easa’s resurrection to our Father in Heaven, a number of men came forward to say that our followers had moved his physical body. These men had been paid to do so by the Temple, who now feared a terrible backlash if people were to learn the truth. Annas and Caiaphas confessed to this. Pilate told his wife that he believed these men were truly repentant, that they would suffer every day for the rest of their lives on earth as they lived with the knowledge of their terrible deeds.

  If only they had come to me and told me this. I would have given them the teachings of The Way, and assured them of Easa’s forgiveness. For on the day that the Kingdom of God is awakened in your heart, you need never suffer again.

  THE ARQUES GOSPEL OF MARY MAGDALENE,

  THE BOOK OF DISCIPLES

  Chapter Twenty-one

  New Orleans

  August 1, 2005

  Maureen drove the rented car through the pastel dusk hours of the southern summer. As she pulled into the parking lot alongside the suburban cemetery, the fading light illuminated the little church within the cemetery gates.

  This time, she did not skirt the gates. The daughter of Edouard Paschal entered through them, head held high. No one with loved ones buried here would ever have to visit their final resting places in a misfit and overgrown graveyard. The gates had been moved to incorporate the previously pathetic plots, thanks to the influence and a grant from a particular Italian cardinal.

  The white marble of her father’s new grave marker seemed to glow from within as Maureen approached. An elaborate wreath of roses and lilies rested against the marble, just below the large gilded fleurdelis and the inscription that read:

  EDOUARD PAUL PASCHAL

  BELOVED FATHER OF MAUREEN

  She knelt before the grave and had a long overdue conversation with her father.

  The sense of peace that Maureen experienced internally was entirely new to her, and very welcome. She had butterflies about what tomorrow would bring, but overall she felt more excited than afraid. Tomorrow in New Orleans she would meet members of the Paschal clan — aunts and cousins she had never known — for a lunchtime reunion. Following that event, she would fly to Shannon Airport in Ireland and drive to a little western Galway town and stay at the Healy family farm. Peter was meeting her there. It would be their first meeting since her cousin left the Château des Pommes Bleues. They had spoken on the phone a number of times, but they had not seen each other. Peter had requested that they meet in Ireland, far away from crowds and curious eyes. There, they could talk at length and he would have the time and opportunity to fill her in on the official status of the Arques Gospel.

  Maureen was thinking of all these things as she strolled through the French Quarter, which was coming to life on a beautiful Friday evening. As she walked, the distant sound of saxophone music floated on the southern breeze. Rounding a corner, drawn by the music, Maureen caught her first glimpse of the musician. He wore his dark hair long, which emphasized his gaunt and soulful appearance. As she drew closer to him, he looked up at her, and their eyes locked for a moment.

  James St. Clair, the street musician from New Orleans, winked at Maureen. She smiled at him as she walked by, the saxophone strains of “Amazing Grace” floating behind her through the air of the French Quarter.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  County Galway, Ireland

  October 2005

  There is a stillness that exists within the heart of the Irish countryside, a hush that sweeps across the land as the sun sets. It is as if the night demands silence, devouring any enemy to tranquillity, without bias.

  For Maureen, this peace was a necessary respite from the chaos of the previous months. Here she was safe in her seclusion — a solitude that included her own heart and mind. She had not allowed herself to process recent events from a personal perspective; that would come later. Or perhaps it would n
ot come at all. It was too overwhelming, too far-reaching…and too absurd. She had fulfilled her role as The Expected One, for whatever bizarre quirk of fate or destiny or even divine providence she had been chosen.

  Her job was finished. The Expected One was a spectral creature, tied to time and space in the wilds of the Languedoc — and left happily behind in France. But Maureen Paschal was a flesh-and-blood woman, and an exhausted one at that. Breathing in the sweet still air of her childhood home, Maureen retired to her bedroom for a long-awaited rest.

  Her sleep would not be dreamless.

  She had witnessed a similar scene before — a figure in shadow huddled over an ancient table, a stylus scratching as words flowed from an author’s pen. As Maureen watched over the writer’s shoulder, an azure glow seemed to emanate from the pages. Fixated on the illumination shining from the writing, Maureen didn’t see the writer move at first. As the figure turned and stepped forward into the lamplight, Maureen caught her breath.

  She had been given glimpses of this face in previous dreams, fleeting moments of recognition that were over in an instant. He now fixed the full force of his attention on Maureen. Frozen in the dream state, she stared at the man ahead of her. The most beautiful man she had ever seen.