Sister Margaret Beckwith

“Speak now, Sister Margaret so that Jesus Christ can forgive your sins.” Father Hans Mercharaine said softly from behind his curtained screen.  Kneeling before him was an eighty seven year old nun who had come to him with a request that he hear her final confession.  He accepted the request without hesitation since she had served the Saint Johannes Basilika since taking her vows in 1927 sixty three years ago.  

The urgency of her request startled him as he sat in his office preparing a sermon for the following Sunday at the Basilika.  Surviving two world wars and an unfriendly socialist regime, Saint Johannes Basilika was something of a miracle in itself.  Sister Margaret Beckwith was yet another miracle and testament to the human spirit.  

He also knew as he approached his fortieth birthday, he had survived some anxious moments when offering mass could be a one-way ticket to the Gulag Now that the wall had come down, Germany was one once again and all of the peril had evaporated just as he had been promised.  A pope from Poland was now serving in Rome offering a new wave of hope to all once again. 

“Father forgive me…” She wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Speak Sister Margaret, God is listening.” He urged her.

“This is not easy to say aloud.” Her voice was strained and tortured. 

“What is it?  Please confess for none of us know when our time is at hand.” He folded his hands under his chin.

“My time is short.” She put her head down.

“How do you know this?”

“Ack Father, my age tells me that He is at hand.” She lifted her head so he could see her tears through the silk curtain separating them. “Last night He spoke to me during one of my spells. I dare say that my time is coming to an end.” 

“In confession, in order for me to absolve you of your sins, you must tell me what they are.” He insisted.

“Saying them will only bring back horrible memories.” She shook her head. 

“We must do this to show Him that we are truly sorry for our past transgressions.” His voice was soft and soothing as he tried to urge her to confess her sins.  From all of the sisters in the convent, not one of them spoke ill of her.  Many had readily proclaimed her to be as devout as anyone in all of Berlin.  

But it was also no secret that she had harbored Jews fleeing the Wehrmacht during the darkest days of the war.  She had been called to the newly formed German Democratic Republic Deutsche Demokratische Republik where Otto Pleck had presented her with a plaque proclaiming her courage in service to her country.  He had heard this despite the fact that he had never seen it displayed in her cell.  Three years later she was arrested by the same government that had hailed her a hero.  She spent some time in a state facility for the political enemies of the Republik. He had also been told that in the fall of 1961, she had been returned to the convent.  

As a boy, Hans had watched his own father taken to Checkpoint Charlie and escorted by armed guards across the gates into West Berlin as a ghostly white bearded man in shackles was escorted into East Berlin.  He was told by his mother, Hazel, never to ask questions about what took place or else they would have them all arrested. 

In November, he had gone to the wall, that awful wall, and blessed it as it came crumbling to the ground.  So many people had died trying to get across it to freedom.  Now it was gone.  Gone to history just like the Wehrmacht . 

“I do not know how to say this.” Sister Margaret sobbed.

“Do not be afraid.  Speak for Jesus your savior to hear.  If you are to go on this journey soon, go free from sin.” He checked his watch.  He had to finish his sermon soon and he was growing impatient with her reluctance to speak. 

“There were people…” Her words nearly strangled her as she spoke.

“What people?” He asked gently.

“People who had come to me for help.” She answered.

“And what happened to them?” He asked.

“They were taken away…taken away because I did not understand.” She let out a deep sob. 

“Where were these people taken?” He tilted his head.

“Arrested.” She nodded.

“Arrested?  What on earth for?”

“Disloyalty.” She continued to struggle. 

“Against the Republik?” 

“Ja.” She sniffed.

The weight of her words began to weigh on him.  Even as the dust of the wall settled on both east and west, there were still factions, dangerous factions, that had long arms and talons.  

“I met Kurt Reigert many years ago when Germany was in tatters.” Her words flowed gently like a brook in the woods on a hot summer’s day, “He seemed like he wanted to help me.  So I trusted him.” 

Father Mercharaine nodded.  Kurt had once worked for the parish as a groundskeeper.  He could not remember why Kurt had been terminated.  It was a long time ago in a time when it was hard to distinguish an enemy from a friend. He knew that clergy in their vestments were easy political targets in the Republik during his first years as a priest. He knew many who had been taken away, never to return.  It still haunted him.  

“He claimed to have smuggled Jews out of the country during the war into Switzerland, but I was too foolish to ask him for proof.” She paused again to recompose herself as her tears were flowing heavily once again.  He looked at his watch.  He would not be able to make the deadline he had set for himself.  His patience was wearing thin. “You must believe me, father.  I did not know.” 

“Know what?” He asked, shaking his head.

“Know that he was working for the police.” She said so softly that he asked her to repeat what she had said.  This time she added, “Stasi.”  

He swallowed hard since Stasi was the official name of the Ministerium für Staatsicherheit.  The uniform bore a strong resemblance to the SS uniform of the Gestapo during the war.  The Stasi was both feared and hated.  His father was taken by the Stasi during a raid.  He would find out while he was at the seminary that the neighbors turned Klaus Mercharaine out of spite and jealousy since he worked at the ministry.  Back then no one was above suspicion even those like his father who worked for the government. 

“I could not believe he was an informant.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. Father Mercharaine’s mouth went dry.   

He remembered how Kurt always walked around with that smug smirk on his face as he clipped the roses in the yard.  He also remembered how right after Kurt cleaned the rectory, the Stasi would come the next day to arrest one of the clergy for one reason or another.  Monsignor Stetcheimer consoled Father Mercharaine when he was a novice and the police raids would rattle him.  He was told that God was his protector, his refuge, but when the Stasi took his father, Hans realized that God’s protection only went so far.  

While religious practice was forbidden in the utopian German Republik, there was seldom strict enforcement for the most part as long as things were kept underground for the most part.  Consign or Stetcheimer made sure that all ceremonies and masses were celebrated in secrecy.  He had survived the Third Reich by staying invisible and silent even as the Jews were rounded up on a daily basis.

"I came to you father, because I knew you would understand. "Sister Margaret said in a whisper.

"God will forgive you, I promise."

"It is not God's mercy I seek." She smiled, "You see I have been haunted by those I betrayed because of my stubborn pride."

"Then whose mercy do you seek, sister." 

"Those who sought my assistance.  They came to me and Kurt promised me that he would take care of the problem.  Little did I know he would deliver them to the authorities.  When I saw the wall come down, I was reminded of the promises I didn't keep." She paused to finger the rosary needs that hung from her neck.  Her fingers sought the metal cross with the mortal likeness of Jesus in the hour of His death. "There were children.  Young children.  They were terrified and for good reason.  I led them through the underground tunnel.  When we walked through the cemetery, the Stasi were there waiting and I, like St. Peter in his moment of weakness, ran to save myself.  Kurt found me three days later to inform me the problem had been taken care of.  I had little doubt what he meant by that.  Those children-"

She cried out in her sorrow and grief before tell him, "Not A day goes by when I can't hear them cry out for me...their ting hands reaching out to me through the bars...pleading...and I helpless to rescue them, turn away and ran back to my room for vespers."

"While you have sinned against these innocent children, God will forgive you." Father Mercharaine was about to absolve Sister Margaret, but she stopped him.

"I told you, I am not seeking God's forgiveness." She said firmly, "The forgiveness I seek cannot be attained."

"Then why did you come to confession in the first place?"  He was frustrated with her insurance for forgiveness that was impossible to attain.

"Her name was Lily and she was my younger sister.  She fell madly in love with Kurt." She paused again to gather herself as she took a long soothing breath, "She was so in love with him, she emulated him and believed his lies.  He corrupted her in every way imaginable. I tried to warn her, but she would not listen.  One night while he was drinking gin, he told me that I should join their operation to purify the government.  I told him this was not my place as a servant of God, but they both laughed at me.  That monster had brainwashed Lily.  I was powerless.  They bragged about the traitors they executed and I remained silent.  He told me my silence would be my Salvation.  All my silence did was to affirm my acceptance of their actions.  Lily was twenty weight when she jumped from one of the bridges. They found her bloated body a week later.  During the autopsy, the coroner found she was with child."

Father Mercharaine sat in stunned silence at Sister Margaret's confession.     

"He got away with everything." She sobbed. "I was part of it as well."

"No, Sister Margaret." He assured her.

"Every night same nightmare." She closed her eyes. "Soon it will end. If my God is A merciful God..."   She made the sign of the cross before leaving the confessional. 

“Amen.” Father Mercharaine blessed as she left. 

“Father Mercharaine.”  One of the sisters was knocking at his door.

“What is it?” He fumbled for his glasses on his nightstand.

“Sister Margaret passed away in her sleep.” Sister Rohnard slowly opened the door to give him the news.  He could see she had been crying.

“I’ll be right there.” He waved her out of his room so he could get dressed. He sat for a moment to run things through his mind.  How she had forecast her own death.  How she had asked for forgiveness from people who were no longer alive.  How she hoped her nightmare would end.  How it finally had ended.  

After her simple funeral service, Father Mercharaine opened his rusty file cabinet that was behind his desk.  Inside one of the drawers was a file labeled Kurt Reigert.  Without much thought, he removed the thick file and put it on his desk.  Inside the cover was a narration that caught his attention.

As he read the thirty some pages, scanning over the typewritten words, where some of the ink had smeared or faded from the yellowed pages, he began to get a sense of why Sister Margaret had come to him in the first place. The further he read, the clearer the twisted picture became.  In reality, Kurt Reigert was a monster according to the pages that were in front of him. 

When he was a younger man, he met a young girl who he fell in love with, but he left on a transport ship when she told him she was pregnant.  When he returned to Germany in 1922, he was remanded to a mental hospital.  Upon his release, he found himself in a chaotic political rally in Berlin.  Caught up in the heat of the moment, Kurt became a Brown Shirt and a devoted follower of the National Socialist Party. 

Moving up the ladder, Kurt rose like a rocket so in 1936 when the leader, Adolph Hitler became Chancellor of Germany, Kurt was put in charge of a program to rid Germany of the Jewish problem.  Kurt argued that there were other enemies that also needed to be eliminated if the Third Reich was to prosper to its full potential.  

Working on new methods to exterminate these enemies, Kurt saw that the Reich would not win the war.  Hiding out in the countryside, he managed to disappear so that when the Russian tanks came rolling in, he was out of sight.  Once the East Germans with the help of the Russians, set up the Republik.  With his skills as an able administrator, Kurt rose in the ranks of the government as an informant. 

When the wall came down, Kurt Reigert vanished into the scenery once again only to reappear as  Monsignor Stetcheimer hired him to be the new groundskeeper at Saint Johannes Basilika.  After three months of incompetence, Kurt Reigert was dismissed from his position.  He disappeared once again. 

Or so it seemed according to the file.  Father Mercharaine had some nagging feeling that something else had happened to Kurt Reigert, something one of the nuns had told him once but he had been busy and disregarded the information.  Now it tugged hard at his memory.  

“I saw Sister Margaret talking to Kurt.” She confided in him, “But then that wretched old man disappeared.” 

“Um-huh.” He nodded as he was scanning the ledger.

Her name was…

Sister Katherine Schwalt.

Her face was now clear in his memory.  She was young, but she had been transferred to Stuttgart soon after that by Monsignor Stetcheimer.  At the time he thought nothing of it, but at the diner table the monsignor mentioned it in passing.  He was evasive in his recalling the young sister, but he could tell there was a lot more to the story or confession as it were. 

He called the convent there and asked for her, but Mother Superior told him that there was no one there by that name.  He asked her if she was sure.  She was sure. 

It was a beautiful early summer afternoon, so Father Mercharaine decided to take a stroll in the garden where the roses were in full bloom.  Enchanted by the delicate scent of blooming flowers, he sat down on one of the benches.

Suddenly Monsignor Stetcheimer flashed through his memory.  Father Mercharaine asked the elderly priest about the disappearance of Kurt.  When he asked, the monsignor put down his fork, put his hand to his chin as if he was considering what to say next. 

“Father Mercharaine, never ask too many questions in these old cathedrals.  For they hide many secrets that are buried deep.” He put one of the buds to his nose and sniffed it.  He turned to Father Mercharaine with a mischievous twinkle in his eye,

So it was true what Sister Katherine Schwalt had tried to tell him.  Kurt Reigert had been murdered by Sister Margaret Beckwith to avenge her younger sister.  With the help of the monsignor, she had buried his body in the garden.   

It was becoming quite clear.   The subtle clues were always there, but he had chosen to believe that such a thing could not be possible.  

Margaret Beckwith was such a gentle soul, how could she be capable of such a heinous crime?  

Indeed there were questions that he learned not to delve too deeply into.  Some secrets were better off left buried where they were.  All of those involved were no longer around.  Germany had been reunited after decades of hard penance.  

“How many souls buried in the cemetery have gone to their eternal rest with their deep secrets?  I, for one, shall not be the one to disturb them.” He mused to himself as he pulled a rose from its thorny stem and held the sweet scented bud to his nose.