He waited. Instead of the opening request to be acknowledged as a sinner who needs forgiving, there was silence. Through the screen he could see the shadow of the woman. The silence continued and his senses came alert. Finally, he took the initiative.
“My child, how can I help you?”
The response was a whisper. “I don’t know.”
He caught the accent. The girl was Irish. “Have you sinned?” he asked gently.
“Some say I have. I don’t think so.” The girl started sobbing quietly.
“Talk to me, my child.”
Molly leaned forward so her head touched the screen and her words tumbled out. “I went to that other priest to ask him why I hated all Germans for what one had done to me, and when he asked what caused my hate and I told him how one had raped me, he told me it was my fault.”
She related how she had told the other priest of her standing on the barricade and being chased down and attacked by the German. “He said it was my fault for tormenting the man and leading him on. He said that what I did proved I was a loose woman and that no good Catholic would have been on the streets like that. He said I had brought that man into an occasion of sin by my disgraceful behavior.”
Father McCluskey put his head in his hands. Damn Rosselli.
The girl continued. “Did I sin, Father?”
Time to be tactful, McCluskey thought. “No, child, you did not sin. I think the other priest might have misunderstood you.” He also thought Father Rosselli would make a good missionary to the Eskimos, and would soon be one if he could swing it with the bishop. “You did the right thing by standing there to proclaim your right to be free. That is why we came to this land, is it not?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And as to your actions being responsible for the attack upon your body,” he had a difficult time using the word “rape,” “you are no more responsible for the events that occurred than a passenger on a boat would be if it sank because of the actions of a captain. The person responsible for your being raped,” there, he said it, “was your attacker, not you. Do you understand?”
“I think so.” Her voice was definitely more cheerful, and McCluskey felt relieved. This was going to be a good day after all.
“Now, let us talk about your hatred of all Germans. May I assume you have met a German you do not particularly wish to hate?”
Molly giggled. “That could be.”
“Now child, let us be serious. Did the Germans invent the heinous crime of rape? Are there no Irish rapists about? Could you not be assaulted someday by an Irishman? Has it not happened to others of our faith and our race?”
He saw her head bob up and down. “Yes.”
“And if your assailant had been Irish, would you hate all men of Irish descent?”
“Of course not.”
“Then have you not answered your own question?”
There was silence while Molly digested this bit of logic. “Thank you, Father. I know now that I have not sinned and I know also that I will succeed in not hating.” She asked for absolution and he gave it gladly, along with a personal blessing and a promise to pray for her.
“But only if you will pray for me as well,” he said, and she agreed warmly.
As she started to rise, she added, “You’ve answered one other question as well, you know.”
He caught the humor in her voice. “Oh?”
“Yes, now I know why that other priest never has anyone in line at his confessional.”
If the kaiser had still been a child, he likely would have been skipping. As it was, he waved his good hand in a display of exuberance that annoyed Holstein, especially since it was largely directed at him.
“See, von Holstein, did I not tell you we would be victorious?”
Holstein bowed. “That you did, All Highest, that you certainly did.”
“And now the Americans will surely come to the negotiating table and we will have our empire. I told you it would be a short war.”
“Sire, my people have heard nothing to the effect that the Americans are ready to negotiate. Even the neutral countries are silent on that topic.” But not on others, he mused.
“No matter. If not today, then tomorrow. They’re whipped, beaten. I have the finest army in the history of man, and they have utterly routed the American farmers. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Holstein’s informants told him that the battle, although it had certainly gone Germany’s way, might not have been quite as one-sided as the kaiser believed.
“Sire,” said Holstein, “have you given any thought to canceling or delaying the troop shipments?”
The kaiser paused and turned to Schlieffen, who shook his head. “No. We have two corps there and two on the way. There is no reason to stop.”
“And von Tirpitz will be able to supply them?” Holstein asked.
Tirpitz was not present and the kaiser was irritated. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”
Holstein continued. “Well, for one thing, the American navy has not been brought to battle. Although we certainly defeated their army, we have not touched their navy.”
“It’s just as well,” the kaiser said laughing. “When they come to the table, we will have their fleet undamaged for our very own. Won’t the British love that!”
Holstein was persistent. “Sire, I hear unsettling rumors that the execution of prisoners—”
“Traitors!”
He bowed. “As you wish, sire. But the international community is upset by those actions, and the Americans seem to be outraged. It may just delay their willingness to bargain.”
The kaiser was surprised, indignant. “But what I did is within the law. Even the British do it.”
Holstein winced. What the British had done, nearly a century earlier, was, under duress of war, to refuse to acknowledge that a British citizen could ever become an American citizen. Thus they impressed seamen off American vessels and thereby precipitated the War of 1812. The British no longer impressed seamen.
“Yes, sire, they certainly did. I must point out, however, that they merely conscripted them. They did not execute anyone unless they could prove with an absolute degree of certainty that the person had actually deserted a Royal Navy ship.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sire.”
The kaiser paced the room. “Well, then, we will show mercy. Change the directive from execution to transportation to Germany and conscription, unless, as you say, we can prove they actually deserted.” His brows knit in thought. “Of course, if they refuse to serve, we will have to shoot them.”
“Certainly, sire.”
The meeting ended and Holstein, by design, found himself with Schlieffen. “General, I understand your army in America is in no shape to fight.”
Schlieffen started to bristle, then thought better. “Almost true. They can certainly fight. What they cannot do until we reinforce and reorganize is move out of our perimeter. You are correct that the actual fighting force, not the occupation and administrative types, did suffer heavy casualties while winning their battle.”
“Ah. And in that perimeter you plan to have two hundred thousand men, if I understand your plans correctly?”
“Just a little under that number, yes.”
“Astonishing. And von Tirpitz promises that his ships will be able to protect the transport ships that will feed and supply them?”
Schlieffen’s eyes flickered and Holstein saw an instant’s doubt. “It will be a mighty endeavor, but he assures me his ships are up to the task. When the Americans negotiate shortly, as the kaiser assures, the point will be moot anyhow.”
“Ah, yes,” Holstein said softly. “The negotiations will solve everything.”
“Moving pictures?” asked Roosevelt. “Secretary Hay, with all that is occurring, do we have time for this?” Roosevelt waved in the general direction of the projector. A screen was set against a wall of the East Room. “I thought you had meaningful plans to discuss.”
Hay did not take his president’s objections seriously. He knew the president loved moving pictures. “I certainly do. However, these gentlemen just arrived from Mr. Edison’s laboratory in New Jersey, and Mr. Root has been delayed. I thought we’d take this opportunity to show you what we have.”
Roosevelt was intrigued and took a seat. Moving pictures were such a marvelous invention and so full of potential. Cleveland had been the first president filmed; now Roosevelt was the third.
The Edison man explained that Mr. Edison would have liked to be there himself, but he was busy with important projects. Roosevelt tried not to smile. It was more likely that the deaf Thomas Edison didn’t want to be embarrassed by having to answer questions he couldn’t hear regarding whatever it was they were going to see.
The lights were turned off and the screening began. At first there was a title that screamed “Invasion,” in large, bold letters. Roosevelt tensed and leaned forward. A second title read “Long Island,” and the picture showed people lying on the ground. No. They were dead. The camera mercilessly showed bloodied corpses of men, women, and children while workers wearing masks prepared them for burial.