Man Who Loved God Read Online Free PDF

brief Mary O’Connor on the newcomer. Mary, longtime secretary to Father Koesler, could and would see to it that the parish functioned on all cylinders in his absence.
    No matter what else happened, Mary would hold the fort.
    With a lighter heart, Father Koesler began to pack.

Five
    At the outset, Father Tully attempted small talk with his driver. The response was monosyllabic.
    The driver’s only bow toward a uniform was a pair of leather gloves. Why the hand covering? Father Tully hadn’t a clue, but judging from the driver’s reaction to other questions, the priest decided not to pursue it.
    Riding along Jefferson at this early evening hour, Father Tully was most impressed by the emptiness of the streets.
    Downtown Detroit’s gigantic buildings—the Renaissance Center, the Millender Center, Cobo Hall, the Pontchartrain Hotel—all of them attested to a vibrant city. But where was everybody?
    As it happened, they had a very short ride.
    Just past Cobo Hall and beyond the Joe Louis Arena stood the Riverfront Apartments, the home of Thomas A. Adams, Father Tully’s host for this evening and soon-to-be recipient of the St. Peter Claver Award.
    They had to pass through two checkpoints, one to enter the garage and another for the building itself. The security system seemed quite formidable to Father Tully. He had no idea how it would have been viewed by a professional burglar.
    They left the elevator at the fourteenth floor and walked a short distance down the hall. The decor, though obviously expensive, was depressing; it seemed dark and confining.
    The door to the Adams apartment was opened promptly after the driver rang the doorbell. Father Tully’s chauffeur preceded him, peeled off to the right, and disappeared through another doorway. The priest assumed they would not meet again until it was time to return to the rectory.
    Father Tully was ushered into an expansive living room. Off-white walls and ceiling, comfortable leather furniture, here and there a small table, art work tastefully exhibited, and a delightful vista through floor-to-ceiling windows.
    The apartment complex was located at the edge of downtown Detroit. At one time, the heart of downtown had been several blocks to the north. But with the Ren Cen, Hart Plaza, and the City-County Building established close to the Detroit River, the city’s heart had shifted.
    He had no reason to reflect on it, but Father Tully was now at the very place where, in 1701, Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac and companions got out of their canoes and set up camp at the “straits,” or in French, détroit.
    The view from this apartment showcased Windsor, Canada—much industry, some housing, Assumption University, and the University of Windsor—Detroit’s Ste. Anne’s, the second-oldest parish church in the United States; and of course the dynamic river that connected—via Lake St. Clair and the St. Clair River—two of the Great Lakes: Huron and Erie.
    In any case, Father Tully had little time to reflect on the topography. His host had just entered the room. Thomas A. Adams crossed directly to the priest.
    Adams’s open-arms carriage was amplified by his welcoming smile. Abundant snow-white hair was styled to touch his ears and collar, then graded upward. His handsome face was, suntanned and heavily creased, giving it a leathery texture, highlighted by crinkly laugh lines. At several inches under six feet tall, he was about Father Tully’s height, though heavier. Noting Adams’s dinner jacket, the priest was again reminded that his own clerical clothing fit in anywhere, from a formal affair such as this, to the streets of the barrio.
    Evidently, Adams had caught his guest’s fascination with the view. “Really something, isn’t it?” he said as he took the priest’s out-stretched hand.
    “Beats anything I’ve seen in Dallas.”
    Adams laughed heartily and patted the priest’s shoulder.
    Several servants bustled about, setting out hors d’oeuvre trays, decanting