Patrick’s Cathedral, and the moment he stepped inside it took him back to the first time he ever visited a church. The Church of the Virgin Mary in Lodz. That was the day he had met Father Kasinski. The little boy who knew only the ghetto had been awed by the great open space, the beautiful stained-glass windows, and the faces of the disciples staring back at him. But even that glorious church was nothing compared to St. Patrick’s. This palace had enormous stone columns climbing up to the heights with huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Christine’s family was in New York to spend Easter with Jack and Eve. Sitting next to her great-grandfather in the mammoth cathedral, Christine couldn’t get her mind off the sheer enormity and detail of the place. She wanted to know everything. When it was built. How long it took. The dimensions of the sanctuary. Jack told her that work was suspended during the Civil War. The cornerstone was laid on the Feast of the Assumption – August 15, 1858 – and for years afterward nothing happened because Americans were too busy killing themselves.
