The long road home

“I guess I'll just have to stay here and scrub floors for the rest of my life,” she joked with Sister Lizzie on her fifteenth birthday. “No one else wants to do it. And I like it. It gives me time to think about my stories while I'm scrubbing.”

“You could still write your stories if you join the Order, Gabbie,” Sister Lizzie insisted, as they all did. Everyone in the convent knew how strong her vocation was. Gabriella was the only one who didn't know it. And sometimes they just smiled at her, and ignored the silly things she said. They knew that eventually she'd hear the calling. It was impossible to think that she wouldn't, and she still had a lot of growing up to do in the meantime.

At sixteen, she had completed all her high school work, and in spite of all their efforts to keep her with them, they had to admit she was ready for college. She insisted that she didn't want to go. She was happy here, with them, doing small things for the nuns, errands and chores, and thoughtful gestures for which she took no credit. But with the writing talent she had, Mother Gregoria refused to allow her to neglect her education. The poignant stories she wrote showed extraordinary talent, perception, and insight. They were filled with pathos, and a tenderness that tore at the heart just to read them, but there was a strength about them too. Her writing style was that of a much older person, and certainly not one who had spent their entire adolescence in a convent.

“So what are we going to do about school?” Mother Gregoria asked her when she turned sixteen, after speaking to all of her teachers. They had agreed in unison that Gabriella was entirely ready for college and it was a crime not to send her.

“We're going to ignore it,” Gabriella said firmly. She was terrified of the outside world by then, and had no interest in venturing back into a life that had so desperately hurt her. She never wanted to leave the safe haven of St. Matthew's, not for a single moment. And they teased her about being like the old nuns who complained every time they had to leave the convent to go to the doctor or the dentist. The younger ones still enjoyed going out from time to time, to see relatives, or go to the library, or a movie. But not Gabbie. She preferred to sit in her room and write stories.

“Being here is not for the purpose of shunning the world, Gabriella,” Mother Gregoria said firmly. “We are here to serve God by giving Him our talents, by bringing them to a world that needs what we have to give, not depriving it of ourselves because we are too frightened to venture out of the convent. Think of the Sisters who work at Mercy Hospital every day. What if they chose to sit in their rooms and daydream, because they were too afraid to take care of the male patients? Ours is not a life of cowardice, Gabriella, but of service.” She was met by eyes filled with fear, and silent resistance. Gabrielia had no intention of leaving the convent to go to college. Natalie was a junior at Ithaca by then, but even her enthusiastic letters, or the prospect of joining her, did nothing to sway Gabrielia.

“I won't do it.” For the first time in her years there she defied the Mother Superior, and was surprisingly stubborn about it.

“You will have no choice when the time comes,” Mother Gregoria said, her lips narrowing into a thin line. She didn't want to have to force her, but if that was the only way to get her to go, she would be willing to do it. “You are part of this community, and you will do as I tell you. You're not old enough to make these decisions, Gabrielia, and you're being extremely foolish.” She then ended the subject, annoyed at how resistant Gabrielia was. Mother Gregoria knew it was based on a terror of entering the world again, but she wasn't going to allow her to give in to it. Gabriella knew it wasn't healthy, but she wasn't going to give an inch. She felt safe here, she didn't want to be part of a world that had once hurt her so greatly. In all ways, spiritually and physically, at sixteen, she had removed herself from it, and she had every intention of remaining a recluse at St. Matthew's.

Mother Gregoria told her teachers to apply to Columbia for her, and they insisted Gabriella fill out the application. It was a remarkable battle between them, but in the end, complaining bitterly and swearing she wouldn't go, Gabriella did it. And she was accepted, naturally, and given a full scholarship, which thrilled everyone but Gabbie. The reason they had chosen Columbia, other than the obvious prestige of the school, was the fact that she could attend classes and still live at the convent.

“Now what?” she asked miserably when Mother Gregoria told her about the scholarship. It was June and she was nearly seventeen, and for the first time in her years with them, she was acting like a spoiled baby.

“You have until September to resign yourself to it, my child. You can live here while you go. But you must attend classes.”

“And if I don't?” she asked with rare belligerence, which almost made the Mother Superior want to throw up her hands in frustration.

“We line up the entire community on September first, and spank you, and believe me, you'll have deserved it. You're being very, very ungrateful. This is a wonderful scholarship, and you can do important things with your writing.” It sounded absurd to Gabbie.

“I can do the same things here,” Gabriella said darkly, rampant fear more evident in her eyes than ever, though the Mother Superior was never entirely sure what she was so desperately afraid of.

“Are you telling me that you are so wise, and so brilliant, and so talented that you have nothing to learn about writing? My, my, we do have a little work to do on our sense of humility, don't we? Perhaps a little quiet meditation is in order.” Gabriella had the grace to laugh at that, and the subject came up frequently in the next three months and was always an argument, but in the end, with the prodding of two hundred nuns, she finally went to college in September. And in spite of herself, within a week, she admitted grudgingly that she enjoyed it. And within three months, she not only enjoyed it, but loved it.

For four years she never missed a class. She took every creative writing class she could, soaked up her lit classes, and drank in every word of her favorite professors. But she rarely spoke unless asked, and made a point of staying away from all her fellow students. She avoided boys and girls alike, attended her classes diligently, and the moment they were over, hurried back to the convent. From a social standpoint, at least, the experience was entirely wasted. She wrote papers endlessly, took on extra projects, and when she was a senior, started a novella. And in the end, she graduated magna cum laude. The Sisters in the community drew straws to see who would attend her graduation, and twenty won them, and attended with Mother Gregoria, like so many doting mothers. She was nearly twenty-one when she graduated, and rode home triumphantly in one of the two vans they'd rented. They were thrilled with the awards she'd won, and not nearly as surprised as she was. Her years at Columbia were a great victory for her, and they never doubted for a moment that one day she would write a book and be a very successful writer, although she still had her doubts about it. Even her professors had told her that she was far too unsure of her talent. In their opinion, she was very gifted.

And the night of her graduation, as she walked around the garden with Mother Gregoria on a warm June night, she talked hesitantly about her future as a writer.

“I'm still not sure I can do it,” she admitted, as she always did. The guilt and humility of her youth had become an acute lack of confidence as an adult. Mother Gregoria was well aware of it, and argued with her about it often.

“Of course you can. Look at the novella you wrote as your senior thesis. Why do you think you graduated magna?”

“Because of all of you. They didn't want you to be embarrassed, and besides, the dean is Catholic.” Even she chuckled at that one.

“As a matter of fact, he's not. He's Jewish. And you know perfectly well why they gave you all those awards. It wasn't charity. You deserved it. The question is what you do with it now. Do you want to try your hand at a book yet? Do some sort of freelance work, get a job for a magazine, or a newspaper? There are so many areas open to you now. You could even teach at St. Stephen's, and try to work on a book in your off-time.” She wanted to help her get started. And she knew better than anyone that Gabbie needed a strong push in that direction.

“Could I still live here while I do it? Any of it?… all of it?” she asked anxiously, as Mother Gregoria frowned at her in consternation. It still dismayed the Mother Superior at times that Gabriella was so determined to remain separate from the secular world. She had never allowed herself even the smallest taste of freedom. She had made no friends, knew no men. In some ways, the Mother Superior knew that she needed to know a little bit more of the outside world before she rejected it completely.

The thought of leaving the convent or not being part of it would have killed Gabriella, and Mother Gregoria knew it. “I could pay you room and board from the money I earn, to stay here,” she said, looking determined. “If I earn any at all, which could take time.” She had been worrying about it for months, and dreading this conversation. She had lived at St. Matthew's for more than ten years, more than half her life, and she couldn't imagine leaving it, and she had no desire to even think about it. But she had had another idea for some time now, and had been waiting for the right time to discuss it with Mother Gregoria. She knew the time was right now.

“To answer your question, Gabriella, of course you can continue to live here. And you can contribute something when you can afford it. You contribute more than enough now with all the work you do here, and have ever since you came here. You've always been like one of the Sisters.” The checks from her mother had stopped on the day she turned eighteen. There had been no note, no letter, no explanation, no phone call. They simply stopped. As far as she was concerned, Eloise Harrison Waterford had fulfilled her obligation, and she wanted no further contact with her daughter. There had been none since the day she left her at the convent, and Gabriella had realized for years that more than likely her father had no idea where her mother had left her. But then again, he hadn't contacted her when she was with her mother either, when he still could have. The truth was, neither of them wanted to be part of her life. And during all her years at Columbia, Gabbie had told people she was an orphan, and lived at St. Matthew's convent, though it was rare for people to ask her, it was usually only her professors. The other girls in her class found her painfully withdrawn and shy. And although the young men she met found her attractive, at the first sign of interest on their part, she rebuffed them. By her own choice, she was completely isolated, and even in her college years, her only social life was the one she shared with the nuns at St. Matthew's Convent. It had been in many ways an unhealthy life for a girl her age, but for some time Mother Gregoria had seen what was coming, and she didn't want to push her, one way or the other. Gabriella had to heed her own voices, as they all did. But what Gabriella said next did not surprise her.

“I've been thinking a lot lately,” she began, feeling suddenly shy and awkward with the woman who had been like a mother to her, the only mother she had known and loved since the nightmare of her childhood. She talked about it now occasionally, though rarely, and said only that she had been very unhappy with her parents, and they had been “unkind” to her. She never spoke of the beatings, or the horror she had lived through. But from the nightmares, and the scars the wise old nun had noticed here and there over the years, Mother Gregoria had deduced a great deal about her early life, and pieced some of it together. X rays when she'd had bad bronchitis two years before had shown where her ribs had been broken repeatedly, and there was a small scar near her ear that told its own tale, and explained her sometimes less-than-perfect hearing. There was much that the Mother Superior knew without actually knowing. And Gabriella sighed deeply as she tried to explain what she'd been thinking, but Mother Gregoria had a premonition of what was coming. It was time now. “I think I've been hearing things, Mother… and having dreams, I kept thinking I was imagining it at first, but it seems to be getting stronger and stronger.”

“What kind of dreams?” Mother Gregoria asked with interest.

“I'm not sure. It's almost as though I'm being pushed to do something I never thought I would be able to do… or good enough to do… I don't think… I'm not sure…” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked helplessly at the woman who had been both mother and mentor to her. “I don't know. What am I supposed to hear?” Mother Gregoria knew exactly what she was asking. To some it was so clear, to others, mostly those who were truly meant for it, they were never sure they were good enough for it. And it was so like Gabriella to be uncertain, to question herself, and doubt what she herself knew she was hearing.

“You're supposed to hear your heart, my child. But you're supposed to believe in yourself enough to listen. You can't keep doubting what you hear, and what you know to be right. I think you've known it for a long time now.”

“I thought I did.” Gabriella sighed again, relieved at what the Mother Superior was saying. She had wanted so desperately to make the right decision, but most of the time she didn't feel good enough to offer herself to the others. They were all so much better than she was. “I was so sure of it last year, I almost said something to you last summer, and then again at Christmas. But I thought I just wanted to hear it. I wasn't sure what you'd say.”

“And now?” Mother Gregoria asked calmly, her hands tucked into opposite sleeves as they continued to walk peacefully around the garden at twilight. It was almost dark now. “What are you saying, Gabbie?” She wanted to hear her say the words. She didn't want to take the moment from her. It was too important in her life for anyone to rob her of it.

Gabbie's voice was barely audible as they stopped walking and looked at each other.

“I'm saying I want to join the Order.” She looked worried, and the deep blue eyes reached out to the woman she considered her mother, for confirmation. “Will you let me?” It was a moment of total humility, total selflessness, total giving. She wanted to offer herself to God, and the people who had given her so much —safety, freedom, love, comfort. She owed them so much. And she wanted to devote her life to them now. They had more than made up to her for everything her parents had taken from her.

“It's not up to me,” the Mother Superior said to her gently. “It's up to you, and God. I'm only here to help you. But I've been hoping you would come to this decision. I've been watching you struggle for two years now,” she said warmly.

“You knew?” Gabriella looked surprised as she smiled at her, and tucked an arm in hers as they walked slowly through the garden.

“Perhaps before you did.”

“And? What do you think?” She was asking her as the Mother Superior of the Order she wanted to join now.

“There's a class of postulants beginning in August. I think your timing is perfect.” They stopped and smiled at each other, and Gabriella reached out and hugged her.

“Thank you… for everything… for my life… you'll never know what you saved me from when I came here.” Even now, she couldn't bring herself to tell her. It was still much too painful.

“I suspected that from the beginning.” And then, humanly, she couldn't resist asking her a question she had always wondered about. “Do you still miss them?” It was the question of the adoptive mother about the birth parents the child might still long for.

“Sometimes. I miss what they should have been, or what I wanted them to be, and never were. Sometimes I wonder where they are now… what their lives are like… if they had other children. It's not important.” But it was, and they both knew that. “Even less so now.” Gabbie lied to herself more than to the woman she had always called Mother. “I have a family now… or I will in August.”

“You have had a family ever since you came here, Gabbie.”

“I know that,” she said quietly, and then tucked her arm into the nun's again as they walked back into the house they lived in, and where Gabriella would stay forever. For her, it was an important decision. It meant she would never have to leave them, and could never lose them. It meant she would never be abandoned. It was all she wanted. The certainty that she would belong to them forever.

“You'll make a very good Sister,” Mother Gregoria said quietly, smiling down at her.

“I hope so,” Gabriella answered with a smile of her own. She looked blissfully happy. “It's all I want now.”

The two women walked arm in arm down the hall, as Gabriella felt a wave of relief wash over her. This was truly her home, and always would be.

And the next day, when Mother Gregoria told the other nuns of Gabriella's decision at dinnertime, there were shouts of jubilation. Everyone congratulated Gabriella and embraced her, and told her how happy they were, and how they had known all along she had a vocation. It was a celebration of major proportions, and as she went back to her familiar room that night she knew with utter certainty that nothing but death could ever take her from them. It was all she had ever wanted. And that night, she slept peacefully, until the nightmares came, with all the sounds and the terrors she still remembered so clearly, the memories of her mothers face, her blows, her hatred… the smell of the hospital… and the sight of her father standing helplessly in the doorway. It came back to her, as it always did, as she huddled at the bottom of her bed, as she had for years, trying to escape them. But even if she never did, if they haunted her for eternity, when she woke and looked around the room that was home to her now, she sat up in bed, trying to catch her breath, and knew that she was safe.

One of the Sisters poked her head into the room, and she saw Gabriella sitting there, looking shaken after the seeming reality of the nightmare. As they so often did, the others had heard her screaming. It no longer alarmed them as it once had, but they felt sorry for her.

“Are you okay?” the Sister whispered, and Gabriella nodded, smiling at her through her tears, trying to return to the present.

“I'm sorry I woke you.” But they were used to it by then. She had had the same dreams ever since she'd come here. She never talked about them, never explained them to anyone, and they could only guess at the horrors that haunted her, or what her life had been like before she'd come here. But here, in the safety of the convent where she had been left, and would stay now for the rest of hex life, she knew that the demons could no longer touch her. She lay down on her bed again, thinking about her parents, and Mother Gregoria's questions yesterday evening, about whether or not she missed them. She didn't miss them anymore, but she still thought of them, and remembered them, and she still wondered on nights like this why it was that they had never loved her. Was she truly as bad as they had said? Was it their fault, or her own? Had they done it to her, or she to them? Had she ruined their lives, or they hers? And even now, she didn't know the answers to her questions.

Chapter 8

GABRIELLA JOINED THE class of postulants at St. Matthew's convent in August. She did everything she had always seen the others do, gave up the clothes she wore, had her hair shorn, and donned the short, simple habit that they wore until they would become novices a year later. She knew that she had a long road ahead of her after her first year, two years as a novice, then another two years of monastic training before she could take her final vows. In all, she had five years ahead of her before her final vows would be taken. To her, and to the others who began with her, it would be longer, yet far more exciting, than college. This was the moment they had all dreamed of.

She was assigned endless chores to do, but to Gabriella most of them were neither distasteful nor unfamiliar. She had done so many menial things in the convent over the years that nothing they asked her to do now seemed repugnant to her. Instead, she embraced whatever humiliation they offered with good grace, and unfailing good humor. And it was quietly discussed among the Mistress of Postulants, the Mistress of Novices, and Mother Gregoria that Gabriella had made the perfect decision about her vocation. She had chosen the name of Sister Bernadette, and among the postulants, they called her Sister Bernie.

She had a good time with most of them. There were eight postulants in the class, and six of them were clearly somewhat in awe of Sister Bernie. The eighth was a girl from Vermont, and she had a dour way of arguing with everything Gabriella said, and trying to make trouble for her with the others. She told the Mistress of Postulants that she thought Gabriella was arrogant, and lacked respect for the older nuns. The Mistress of Postulants explained that Gabbie had lived at St. Matthew's nearly all her life, and it was comfortable here for her. The young postulant from Vermont then complained that Gabriella was vain, and she swore that she had seen her looking at her own reflection in a window, for lack of a mirror.

“Perhaps she was just thinking about something.”

“Her looks,” the girl said glumly. She was an unattractive girl who had decided to join the Order six months after a broken engagement, and the Mistress of Postulants was still somewhat in doubt about the girl's vocation, though not in the least about Gabriella's. No one in the convent ever doubted it for a moment. And Gabriella had clearly never been happier in her life. She was obviously thriving in her new life at the convent. And all of the nuns who had known her all her life beamed each time they watched her.

Gabriella wrote a Christmas story for them all that year, and made little books of it for each of them, working on them late at night in Mother Gregoria's office, and each of the nuns found one at their place in the dining hall on Christmas morning. It was a story she had worked on for months, and which the Mistress of Novices insisted ought to be published.

“She's showing off again!” Sister Anne, the girl from Vermont, complained again, showing very little generosity of heart, and even less Christmas spirit. She left the table and went to her room, tossing the little book Gabriella had handmade for her into the garbage. And later that afternoon, Gabriella went to see her, and tried to explain that this had been her home for many years, and it was hard for her not to be jubilant about joining the Order. “I suppose you think everyone here is in love with you because they know you. Well, you're no better than the rest of us, and if you weren't so busy showing off all the time you might make a better nun. Have you ever thought of that?” She spat the words in Gabbie's face, and reminded her suddenly of her mother. Being told how inept and how wrong she was cut into her heart like a dagger, and later that afternoon, she talked to Mother Gregoria privately about it.

“Maybe she's right. Maybe I am arrogant… and show off without knowing it.” But the Mother Superior tried to explain the obvious to her, that the young nun from Vermont was jealous.

And for the next three months, it became a kind of holy vendetta. She reported on Gabriella constantly, and confronted her with her failings every time the opportunity arose. It became an agony of worry for Gabriella, who constantly feared that the girl saw flaws in her that were really there and would keep her from serving Christ with true humility and the appropriate devotion. Gabriella went to confession constantly, and began doubting her own vocation. By spring, she was beginning to think she'd made a mistake, and that the girl saw faults in her that were clearly there and had to be excised before she could make a final decision about joining the Order. There was something so painful and familiar about the way the young girl went after her that it rattled her to her very soul, and in confession one night she admitted to the priest on the other side of the grille that she had serious doubts about the vocation she had once been so sure of.

“What makes you say that?” The unfamiliar voice sounded puzzled, and Gabriella was startled to realize that she wasn't confessing to one of the priests she had known since her childhood.

“Sister Anne accuses me constantly of vanity and pride, and arrogance, and self-justification, self-importance, and maybe she's right. How can I possibly be of any use to God if I can't express humility and simplicity and obey Him? And what's more,” she blushed in the darkness as she confessed, but it didn't matter anyway, since she didn't know him, “I think I'm beginning to hate her.”

There was a moment of silence on the other side, and then a gentle question. He had a kind voice, and for some odd reason she found herself wondering what he looked like.

“Have you ever hated anyone else before?”

She answered without hesitation. “My parents.”

“Have you ever confessed that before?” He sounded intrigued by her and she told him she had, frequently, for many years, ever since she had come to St. Matthew's. “Why did you hate them?”

“I hated them because they beat me,” she said simply, sounding humbler than he had expected, and far more open. He knew only that she was one of the postulants, but this was only the second time he had come to hear confession there, and he knew nothing about her. The other priests all knew Gabriella, but he didn't. “Actually, my mother beat me,” she went on to explain. “My father only let her… but when I thought about it as I grew up, I hated him for it.” It was the most outspoken she had ever been in any confession, and she wasn't sure why she was doing it now, except that she needed to make a clean breast of everything so as to free herself of her feelings about Sister Anne. She had been utterly tormented by her but was ashamed of her dislike for her.

“Have you ever told your parents how you felt?” he asked, sounding very modern, trying to heal the wounds and relieve her of them, and not just hearing her confession.

“I've never seen them again. My father deserted my mother when I was nine and I never saw him after that. He moved away to Boston, and a few months later my mother left me here, and never came back. She told me she was going away for six weeks to Reno, and she got married again and decided that I didn't fit into her new life. In a lot of ways, it was a blessing. If I'd gone back to her, eventually she'd have killed me.” There was shocked silence on the other side of the grille again.

“I see.”

She decided to tell him the rest of it then, and make a good confession. “Sister Anne is starting to remind me of my mother, and I think maybe that's why I hate her so much. She shouts at me all the time, and tells me how bad I am… my mother used to do that… and I believed her.”

“Do you believe Sister Anne?” Gabriella's knees were beginning to hurt from the length of the confession, and it was terribly hot in the confessional for both of them. It was like kneeling on the floor of an overheated phone booth, and the total darkness made it seem even warmer. “Do you believe what she says about you, Sister? About how bad you are?” He sounded deeply interested in her problem.

“Sometimes. I always believed my mother. I still do at times. If I hadn't been bad, why would they have left me? Both of them. There must have been something pretty awful about me.”

“Or them,” he said gently in a deep voice, as she tried to imagine the face that went with it. “The sin was theirs, not yours. Perhaps the same is true of Sister Anne, although of course I don't know her. Perhaps she's jealous of you for some reason, because you seem so confident and so at home here. If you've lived here for most of your life, she may simply resent it.”

“And what do I do about it?” Gabriella asked, sounding desperate, and this time he chuckled.

“Tell her to knock it off, or get out her boxing gloves. When I was in the seminary, I had a boxing match with another seminarian I'd had a series of disagreements with. It seemed like the only way to resolve it.”

“What happened?” she whispered, smiling at the unconventional confession. It had been more like a session with a therapist than an ordinary confession. But whoever the unknown priest was, she liked him, and she felt as though he had helped her. He seemed to have compassion, wisdom, and humor. “Did the boxing match help?” she asked with interest.

“Actually, it did. He gave me a fantastic black eye, and almost knocked me out cold, but we were great friends after that, for some reason. I still hear from him every Christmas. He's a missionary priest with the lepers in Kenya.”

“Maybe we could arrange for an early novitiate and Sister Anne would like to join him,” she whispered. Even in college, she had had no exchanges like this one, bantering with her fellow students or professors. And the priest with the youthful voice was chuckling discreetly.

“Why don't you suggest it to her? In the meantime, say three Hail Marys and an Our Father, and mean them,” he said pointedly, sounding serious now that they had shared their little joke. She was surprised at how little penance he had given her before giving her absolution.

“You let me off pretty easy, Father.”

“Are you complaining?” He sounded amused again.

“No, I'm just surprised. I haven't gotten off that light since I got here.”

“Sounds like you're due for a break, Sister. Go easy on yourself, and why not just try to let it roll off your back for a while? It sounds like it's more her problem than yours, or should be. Don't confuse her with your mother. She's not the same person. Neither are you anymore. No one can torment you, except yourself. Love thy neighbor as thyself, Sister. Work on that until your next confession.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Go in peace, Sister,” he whispered, and she left the confessional and slipped into a pew at the back of the chapel to say her penance. And when she looked up, she saw Sister Anne go into the confessional shortly after. She was in it for a long time, and came out with a red face and looked as though she had been crying. Gabriella hoped charitably that he hadn't been too hard on her, and then felt guilty for saying so much to him. But she felt better than she had for a while when she stopped for a moment to chat with the Mistress of Postulants on her way out of the chapel. And they talked for so long about one of the older nuns who had been ill for a while that Gabriella saw the light come on in the confessional, and the priest she had spoken to emerge, and she was startled when she saw him. He was very tall and athletic-looking. He had broad shoulders, thick sandy-blond hair almost the same color as her own, and he smiled as soon as he glanced up and saw the two nuns chatting.

“Good evening, Sisters,” he said easily as he stopped for a moment where they were talking. “What a beautiful chapel you have here.” He was looking around and admiring the church they were all so proud of, as the Mistress of Postulants smiled at him, and Gabriella tried not to stare at him. There was something very powerful and very compelling about him. And in an odd, more athletic, even better-looking way, he reminded her vaguely of her father, as he had looked to her when she was a child and he had just returned from Korea.

“Is this your first time here, Father?” the Mistress of Postulants asked him.

“My second. I'm taking over for Father O'Brian. He's on sabbatical in Rome for six months, visiting the Vatican and doing a project for the archbishop. I'm Father Connors, Joe Connors.” He smiled at them.

“How wonderful.” The older Sister was impressed about Father O'Brian's trip to the Vatican, and for a long moment, Gabriella said nothing.

“Are you one of the postulants?” he finally asked her directly, and she nodded, worried that he might recognize her voice after their long, chatty confession. She was trying to envision him with a black eye, and engaging in a boxing match with the seminarian he had hated.

“This is Sister Bernadette,” the Mistress of Postulants introduced her proudly. She had loved Gabriella since she was a child, and now she was her star student. It had been a personal joy to her when Gabbie had decided to join the Order. “She's lived here since she was a child,” the Mistress of Postulants explained, “and now she's decided to join the Order. We're all very proud of her.”

There was a question in his eyes as he held out a hand to her, and Gabriella smiled as she took it. “I'm very happy to meet you, Sister,” he smiled warmly at her, and relaxing slightly, Gabbie smiled at him.

“Thank you, Father. I'm afraid we all kept you very late this evening.” She could see from his eyes that he recognized her voice instantly, but made no comment about it… “Oh, so you're the one who hates Sister Anne” would hardly have been appropriate, and she could barely repress a smile as she thought of it.

“I'm given to long-winded confessions,” he admitted with a grin that would have melted the hearts of a thousand women, if his circumstances had been any different. Gabriella guessed him to be about thirty years old, although she was usually a poor judge of those things, having lived out of the secular world for most of her adulthood. “Short penances, though,” he grinned with a wink, and she blushed. He knew exactly who she was, and she couldn't help laughing at him.

“I'm very relieved to hear that. It's so embarrassing when you have to stay on your knees for an hour doing four hundred acts of contrition. Everyone can guess just how bad you've been. I like short penances a lot better.”

“I'll keep that in mind. I'll be back at the end of the week. Father George is covering for me in between. I have to go to Boston for the day for the archbishop.”

“Have a good trip, Father,” the Mistress of Postulants said with a friendly smile, as he thanked her and left them. “What a nice young man,” she commented to Gabriella easily as they walked slowly out of the chapel. “I had no idea Father O'Brian had gone to Rome. I never hear anything anymore, you girls keep me so busy.” They wished each other a good night, and Gabriella walked slowly up to her dormitory, hoping she wouldn't run into Sister Anne lurking in the hall somewhere, waiting for her to complain about her or berate her. But she was nowhere in sight as Gabriella walked upstairs, thinking about the young priest who had heard her confession. He was certainly a good-looking young man, and intelligent. He had made her feel a lot better about the hostility with Sister Anne. Suddenly it didn't seem very important. And for the first time in weeks, Gabriella was in good spirits when she got into her bed in the room she shared with two other postulants. Fortunately for her, Sister Anne was not among them. And for once, she didn't even have nightmares. They had been worse than ever lately, particularly since she had noticed how much Sister Anne reminded her of her mother.

“Good night, Sister Bernie,” one of the other postulants called out to her in the darkness.

“Good night, Sister Tommy… night, Sister Agatha…” She loved being with them, being one of them, wearing her habit every day. Suddenly she realized how much she loved all of it, and all of them, everything they did and cared about and shared here. It was what she had wanted to be all her life, and never knew it. Until now, she had always resisted the idea of joining the Order, and now it was all she lived for. And as she fell asleep that night, she realized how much Father Connors had helped her with his good-humored and thoughtful attitude about her confession. She'd have to try and do her confession with him again. She was glad he was coming back later in the week. He was so much more reasonable, and helpful, than Father O'Brian. Everything seemed to be working out for her suddenly, and she smiled as she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep and never woke again until morning.

Chapter 9

THE REST OF the week sped by easily. The postulants had a lot of chores to do. Gabriella had volunteered to do some extra gardening, and she wanted to plant a lot of vegetables for the Sisters before summer. It gave her some peaceful time to think and pray, and she always found it relaxed her to do manual labor. And in the evenings, after she said her prayers, she tried to get in a little writing. But she had had very little time for it lately. And Sister Anne had put a damper on it for her. She said that it was vain of her to be so proud of her writing. And the truth was, Gabriella wasn't proud of it, she just loved it. She was never really sure she had written anything someone else would want to read, it was just a window for her soul to peek through, an avenue she traveled with ease and without even thinking about it. It was the other nuns who loved reading her stories. But as usual, the young postulant from Vermont was jealous.

Gabriella tried to stay away from her that week, and she tried to remember the suggestions Father Connors had made when he heard her confession. He came back at the end of the week, as he said he would. He said Mass for all of them, and heard their confessions. And when he recognized Gabriella's voice in the darkness, he asked her comfortably how things were going. He had an easy way, and a warm, friendly style that made confession seem less austere, and much less daunting, although it was a ritual that had always brought Gabriella comfort. It was the only time and place where she knew she might be forgiven for the terrible, unspoken sins she had been blamed for, and felt so guilty for, since her childhood. It was one of the rare times when, in the darkest recesses of her soul, she didn't feel truly evil.

Gabriella assured him in the confessional that things were going better with Sister Anne, and she had been praying a great deal about her. He gave her five Hail Marys to say for the minor assortment of venial sins she'd confessed, and sent her on her way, and then later saw her again when he stopped in to see the nuns at breakfast. He was having coffee at Mother Gregoria's table, and waved casually at her, as she smiled from where she sat. It seemed odd to her again how much he looked like her father. He had a larger frame, and a warmer smile, but there was something very familiar about him. And it caught her up short when Sister Anne made an ugly comment to her later that afternoon when they were working in the garden.

“Have you spoken to Sister Emanuel about Father Connors yet?” Sister Emanuel was the Mistress of Postulants, and Gabriella couldn't imagine what Sister Anne meant as she looked up from her planting.

“Father Connors?” she asked blankly. “What about him?”

“I saw you talking to him the other day, and flirting with him in the dining hall this morning.” At first, Gabriella thought she was joking. She had to be. She couldn't be serious in her accusation, and Gabriella laughed as she went back to planting a row of basil.

“Very funny,” she said, and forgot the comment almost immediately, but when she glanced up again she saw a look in the other nun's eyes which upset her.

“I'm serious. You should confess to Sister Emanuel about it.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Sister Anne.” A tone of annoyance crept into Gabriella's voice. She always had some new idea with which to torture Gabriella, and try to make her feel guilty, but this time at least, she didn't. “I've only spoken to him in confession.”

“That's a lie, and you know it,” the young postulant from Vermont said harshly. She was a girl for whom life had not gone well, and bitter disappointment had brought her to the convent. She was homely, and her childhood sweetheart had broken their engagement barely a week before their wedding. And it was easy for even Gabbie to see now that she had an enormous chip on her shoulder. “I saw him watching you in the dining hall. And I'm going to tell Sister Emanuel, if you don't.”

Gabriella stood to her full height then, and looked down at Sister Anne with sudden anger. “You're talking about a priest, a man who has given himself to God, and comes here to say Mass for us and hear our confessions. It must be a sin to even think something like that about him. You're not only insulting me, but you're questioning his vocation.”

“He's a man, just like all the rest of them. They only think about one thing. I know more about these things than you do.” She knew full well that Gabriella had led a sheltered life, hidden away for the past ten years at Saint Matthew's Convent. She had been engaged, married almost, and the man she'd loved had cheated on her and run off with her best friend from high school. She felt far wiser in the ways of the world, and was much more cynical than Gabriella, who still had a rare innocence about her.

“I think what you're saying, and thinking, is disgusting, and I think Sister Emanuel would tell you exactly the same thing. I don't know what you're talking about, but I would never say a thing like that about a priest. Maybe it's time you talked to Sister Emanuel about the kind of things you're thinking. A little more faith and charity might be in order.” Gabriella was still angry when she turned back to her work, and the two young nuns did not exchange another word for the rest of the afternoon as they continued working in the garden. Eventually, Sister Anne went back inside to set the long refectory tables in the dining room, and Gabriella stayed in the garden until she finished. And by the time she went back to her room to wash her hands and say her afternoon prayers, she had regained her composure and was in better spirits. But if she'd allowed herself to dwell on it, she would have been furious at Sister Anne again about her accusations about Father Connors. He was the very spirit of Christ-like devotion, and he exuded the warmth and kindness they should all emulate. Gabriella had nothing but admiration for him, and the idea that he'd been “flirting” with her was utterly repulsive.

They all spent the rest of the weekend peacefully, and Gabriella didn't think of Father Connors again until she saw him at the altar saying Mass for them, and then had lunch with them in the garden afterward. It was Palm Sunday, and she was still carrying the palm fronds she had picked up in church when he walked up to her casually after lunch in the garden.

“Good afternoon, Sister Bernadette. I hear you've been busy planting vegetables all week. I understand you have a real gift with herbs and enormous tomatoes. Don't forget to send us some at St. Stephen's.” His eyes were as blue as the April sky, and there was laughter in them as she looked up at him and smiled as innocently as he did.

“Who told you that?”

“Sister Emanuel. She said you grow the best vegetables in the convent.”

“I guess that's why they let me stay for so many years. I knew there had to be a reason.” She said it with good humor, as they began to stroll through the garden without any particular destination.

“There may be other reasons as well,” he said kindly. In just the few times he had come to St. Matthew's, he had discerned easily how fond the older nuns were of her. He knew she had been a protégée of Mother Gregoria's since her childhood, and he could see why she meant so much to them as they walked slowly toward the section of the garden where she had planted her vegetables, so he could see what she'd been doing. There was an air of poise and grace about her that went beyond her looks and the way she carried herself. There was a natural elegance about her, and at the same time a quiet warmth and gentleness that touched everyone around her. She had become very beautiful in the years she'd been here, and she was completely unaware of it. Her looks were something she never thought of. But even as a priest it was easy to admire her. She was like looking at a priceless painting, or a lovely statue, almost like a piece of art one wanted to stare at. And yet what one really saw was the light in her that shone so brightly. She seemed to be lit from within with a force he found irresistible, and he told himself it was the strength of her vocation that enhanced her beauty.

She showed him what she'd done that week, and explained the broad assortment of vegetables and herbs she was growing for the convent. “I can plant some more for all of you, if you like, although well have plenty of extra to share with you next summer, if I can keep my Sisters from getting too enthused and picking them before they're ready. We have a whole patch of strawberries over there.” She pointed it out to him. “Last summer they were delicious.” He smiled at her then, suddenly remembering memories from his boyhood in Ohio.

“I used to pick blackberries when I was a kid. I'd come back to St. Mark's all scratched up from picking them and with blackberry juice all over me.” He grinned. “I ate so many on the way back, I had a stomachache for a week once. The Brothers told me God was punishing me for being greedy. But I kept on doing it after that. I figured it was worth it.”

“Did you go to a boarding school?” She had heard the mention of St. Mark's, and the Brothers, and it was so rare for her to talk to someone new, that she was naturally curious about him. Despite her normal shyness with people from beyond her world, she was surprised by how comfortable she felt with him. And Sister Anne's ugly comments of two days before had been totally forgotten.

“I guess you could call it a boarding school.” He smiled. “My parents died when I was fourteen, and I had no other relatives, so I lived at the orphanage in the town where I grew up. It was run by Franciscans. They were terrific to me.” It still made him smile warmly to think about it.

“My mother left me here when I was ten,” Gabriella said quietly, looking out over her garden. But he already knew that.

“That's unusual.” But he already knew from what she'd said in the confessional that there had been nothing ordinary about her mother. He distinctly remembered her mention of the beatings, and wondered if her being left here had actually been a blessing. “Was it a financial problem that made her leave you?”

“No,” Gabriella said quietly. “She remarried, and I guess I didn't fit into the picture. My father had deserted us the year before, and run away with another woman. For some reason, my mother always used to blame her troubles on me, and she always felt it was my fault.” She spoke very softly, as he watched her with silent compassion.

“Did you? Feel it was your fault, I mean?” He liked talking to her, and wanted to better understand why she had stayed here. He thought it was important to understand the people he tried to help, and worked with.

“I suppose I did. She always blamed everything on me, even as a child… and I always believed her… I figured that if she'd been wrong, my father would have interceded on my behalf, and since he never did, I just accepted the guilt for whatever it was they blamed on me. After all, they were my parents.”

“Sounds pretty painful,” he said gently, and she looked up at him then and smiled. It had been, but it seemed less so now, after more than ten years of peace and safety.

“It was. But being orphaned at fourteen can't have been easy either. Did they die in an accident?” she asked. They spoke like two friends, and it was so easy and open that neither of them were aware of time passing. It was so pleasant talking to him and she felt entirely comfortable with him, which was rare for Gabriella.

“No,” he explained. “My father died of a heart attack, very suddenly, he was only forty-two, and my mother committed suicide three days later. I wasn't old enough to understand everything that was happening, but I think she must have been overwhelmed with shock and grief. A little grief counseling might have worked wonders. That's why those things are so important to me. They make so much difference.” Gabriella nodded, wondering what kind of counseling would have helped her mother. “It took me years to forgive her for what she did. But I talk to so many people now in those same situations, people who feel trapped, or frightened or alone, or overwhelmed, and just don't see any way out of their problems. It's amazing how many people don't have anyone to talk to, and they just panic in the face of problems the rest of us think aren't all that bad, or all that important.”

“Like Sister Anne.” She smiled at him again, and this time they both laughed. They had shared some important things about themselves with each other. And they had a lot in common. They had both lost their lives in the outside world, and their families, suddenly, and forever. And they had found their salvation in a life where they would never again encounter the kind of problems that had nearly destroyed them as children. “When did you decide to become a priest?” she asked, curious, as they started to walk slowly back to the main part of the garden.

“I went into the seminary straight from high school. I made the decision when I was about fifteen. It just seemed right for me. I can't imagine a better life than this one.”

She smiled at him naively. He was so good-looking that in some ways it seemed incongruous to see him in the familiar Roman collar. “I'll bet a lot of girls you knew were disappointed.”

“Not really. I never knew any. There were only boys at St. Mark's. Before that I was too young, and I was pretty shy as a kid. It just seemed like the right choice for me. I never doubted it for a minute.”

“Neither have I, once I was sure,” she admitted to him seriously. “I thought about it for years, living here. The nuns I grew up with always talked about the ‘calling and my ‘vocation,’ but I never thought I was good enough. I kept waiting to hear voices or something, and then finally I just knew that I never wanted to leave here. I belong here.” He nodded, understanding her perfectly. To both of them it seemed that this was the life they had been born for.

“You still have time to be sure,” he said gently, sounding like a priest again, and not just her friend, but she shook her head at his suggestion.

“I don't need time. I knew when I went to college that I never wanted to live in the world again. It's too hard for me. I don't know how to do it. I never went on dates, never wanted to meet men. I wouldn't have known what to say to them.” She grinned up at him, forgetting that he was one. “And I never, ever want to have children.” It was the only thing she said that struck him as odd, and she said it with such vehemence that it caught his attention.

“Why not?” he asked, curious about her reasons.

“I decided that when I was a little girl. I was always afraid I would turn out to be like my mother. What if it's part of me, and I did the kind of things she did?”

“That's silly, Sister Bernadette. You don't have to be cursed with the same demons that plagued your mother. A lot of people suffer through terrible childhoods, and go on to be extraordinary parents.”

“And if that doesn't turn out to be true, then what? You drop the kids off at the nearest convent and desert them? I wouldn't want to take that chance with someone else's life. I know what it's like to live through it.”

“It must have been terrible when she left you,” he said sadly, remembering the day he had found his mother. With a lifetime of prayer and service to God, he had never been able to forget it. She had been in the bathtub, with her wrists slashed. It had been the first and only time he'd ever seen her naked. She had nearly cut her hands off with his father's razor.

“It was,” Gabriella answered him soberly, “and a kind of relief too, once I understood that I was safe here. Mother Gregoria saved my life. She's been like a mother to me.”

“From what I've heard, she's very proud that you decided to stay and join the Order. You'll make a fine nun, Sister Bernie. You're a good person.” And he looked as though he believed it.

“Thank you, Father. So are you. It was nice talking to you,” she said, blushing slightly, her natural shyness slowly returning as they rejoined the others. For the past hour, as they talked, it had been as though no one else had been there.

“Take care of yourself, Sister,” he said gently as she smiled at him and walked away, and he wandered into the main building to gather up his things and go back to St. Stephen's. It had been a nice Sunday for him. He liked coming here and talking to the nuns. They were such an important part of the life he led, the spirit they all represented, and he had always admired the tireless work they did in the hospitals and schools, and in the missionary posts that were often so dangerous for them. He couldn't help wondering what Sister Bernadette was going to do eventually. It was easy to imagine her bringing great comfort to others, especially children. And he was still thinking of her when he left, after stopping to say good-bye to some of the older nuns he knew, and walked slowly back to St. Stephen's. By then, Gabriella was busy scrubbing the kitchen floor with two other postulants, and she never saw the look of hatred in Sister Anne's eyes as she walked by and glanced at her, just as she hadn't seen Mother Gregoria watching her stroll through the garden with the young priest an hour earlier. The Mother Superior had stood at her office window, watching them, a look of concern in her eyes as she saw Gabriella smile up at him. They both looked so young, and so innocent, and so striking together. There was something so similar about them.

Mother Gregoria had walked slowly back to her desk after she saw Gabriella walk away from him, and sat for a long time lost in thought, but she said nothing when she saw Gabriella that evening. She was so gentle and so loving, and so alive, and so happy with all her Sisters. It seemed foolish to worry about her. Yet there was something about what she had seen that day that struck fear in Mother Gregoria's heart, but she told herself she was being foolish.

Father Connors didn't come back to the convent again the next week. Another priest was covering for him. He was traveling again, and he didn't get back to St. Matthew's until Easter Saturday, when he heard confessions all afternoon. The nuns in the convent were happy to see him, he had a terrific sense of humor and he seemed to have a light touch when listening to confession. Sister Emanuel was talking about him to the Mistress of Novices, when he stopped and chatted with them on his way out.

“Are you joining us for lunch tomorrow, Father Connors?” Sister Immaculata, the Mistress of Novices, asked with a shy smile. She had been beautiful once, but she had been a nun for more than forty years now.

“I'd like that very much,” he said, smiling at both of them. He loved the old nuns, their bright eyes, their shy smiles, the sharp wit, which so often took him by surprise. Their faces were so free of the stresses of the world. They had escaped the horrors that he knew only too well plagued so many lives. Most of them looked younger than they were, the sheltered lives they lived spared them so much anguish.

“The postulants and novices are making Easter lunch for us this year. They've been hard at work on it since last night,” Sister Emanuel explained, proud of the group she was bringing along now. They were doing very well. And they'd been preparing turkeys and several hams. There was corn from the garden, mashed potatoes, fresh peas, and several of the older nuns had been in the kitchen, baking since early morning.

“I can't wait.” There were three other priests coming with him the next day, and some of the nuns’ families came to visit on holidays. And this year the weather had been so fine that Mother Gregoria had agreed to set up picnic tables outside. “Should I bring anything? One of our parishioners has given us several cases of very nice wine.”

“That would be wonderful,” Sister Immaculata beamed, knowing how pleased some of the visitors would be. It was rare for Mother Gregoria to allow any of the nuns to drink wine. It was understood that they drank wine when they went home to their families, or out to dinner with them, but in the convent itself they seldom, if ever, drank alcohol, even wine. The priests who visited them drank liberally, but it was a privilege Mother Gregoria preferred to extend only to them. ‘Thank you for the thought.” Both Sisters smiled at him, and the next day when he arrived for Easter Mass, he had several cases of very good California wine in the back of his car to give them.

He lifted them out easily, and brought them to the kitchen, where he entrusted them to the elderly Sister in charge. He could see the novices buzzing everywhere, and the smells of the food they had prepared were mouthwatering. He could hardly wait for the picnic they had promised him after Mass.

All four priests celebrated Mass together that day, and the chapel was filled with the nuns, and their families. There were little children everywhere, and the crucifix behind the altar and the stations of the cross had been unveiled after the long season of Lent. It was a time for rejoicing everywhere, and spirits were still high after the Mass, when everyone gathered in small, friendly groups outside in the garden.

Mother Gregoria was busy greeting everyone, and shaking hands with old friends, and the young nuns had already begun bringing food out on trays. Gabriella was one of them, and she and Sister Agatha were carefully carrying one of the hams out of the kitchen on an enormous platter when Father Connors spotted them and offered to help them. He took the platter from them with ease, and set it down on a long table, next to another ham and the four turkeys they had worked so diligently to prepare. There were biscuits and buns, corn bread, vegetables of every kind, mashed potatoes, several salads, and half a dozen different varieties of pie, and homemade ice cream.

“Wow!” he said, feeling like a kid again, as he looked at the vast array of food on the table with wide eyes and a broad smile. “You ladies certainly know how to make an Easter picnic unforgettable, don't you?” And as Sister Emanuel looked over at them, and saw the expression on the young priest's face, she was very proud of her students.

The guests stayed for most of the afternoon, and Gabriella was eating a piece of apple pie when Father Connors finally made his way back to her again. He had spent the afternoon chatting with Mother Gregoria and some of the older Sisters. They had introduced him to their families, and he was having a wonderful time talking to them. He had loved chatting with Mother Gregoria, she was so well informed, so intelligent, and so wise. And she had enjoyed getting to know him. He had only been at St. Stephen's for a short time. He had been in Germany before that, and had spent six months working at the Vatican in Rome, and he was very well versed in what was going on there.

“You should try some vanilla ice cream on that.” He gestured to Gabriella's apple pie, as he obviously enjoyed the huge dollop of homemade ice cream on his own piece. “Mmmm… fantastic lunch. You ladies should open a restaurant. We'd make a fortune for the church.”

Gabriella grinned at the look of ecstasy on his face, and laughed at what he had said. “We could call it Mother Gregoria's. I'm sure she'd love that.”

“Or maybe just call it something catchy like The Nuns. I hear there's a nightclub that just opened downtown somewhere, in an old church. They're using the altar as a bar.” Just talking about it seemed sacrilegious to both of them, but it still made them laugh. “I used to love to dance when I was a kid,” he admitted to her, starting in on the second piece of pie on his plate. It was blueberry, and reminded her of the story he'd told about picking blackberries when he was a child. “Did you like to dance, Sister Bernadette?” he asked, as though they were old friends, and she smiled and shook her head.

“I've never tried. I've been here since I was ten,” but he already knew that. “I used to love to watch people dance at my parents’ parties when I was a little girl, but I never got to go downstairs. I used to sit at the top of the stairs, and peek at them. They all looked so beautiful, like fairy queens and princes. I always thought I'd be one of them when I grew up.” She had no idea what had happened to their house, or the furnishings that had been in it. She didn't know if her mother had taken them, or if everything had been sold. It had all been gone for a long time, and she had no way of knowing.

“Where did you live when you were a child?” he asked with interest as he looked at her, putting a small dollop of the delicious ice cream on what remained of her pie.

“Thanks…” She closed her eyes as she tasted it, and then grinned up at him. “That is good… yum… We lived in New York, about twenty blocks from here. I don't know what happened to the house.”

“You've never gone back to look?” That seemed odd to him. He would have gone back, just out of curiosity, and found it strange that she hadn't.

“I thought about it when I was going to Columbia, but…” she shrugged, looking up at him with her enormous blue eyes that were so similar to his own… “too many memories… I'm not sure I want to see it again. It's been a long time.” And her life was very different.

“I'll drive by it sometime for you, if you want, just to see if it's still there. Give me the address, and I'll take a look.”

“That would be nice.” He could face the demons for her, and report back to her. She was almost sure Mother Gregoria wouldn't mind. “Do you ever go back to St. Mark's?”

“Once in a while,” he said, with a warm look at her as he finished his second piece of pie. “My parents’ house has been turned into a parking lot. I don't have any relatives. All I have left of my childhood is St. Mark's.” They were both people with troubled histories, and very little left of their past. Painful memories, and broken dreams that could no longer be repaired, but they were both grateful for the fact that they had survived. They had sought refuge in the church, and were comfortable where they were, just as they were comfortable sitting side by side now in the garden of St. Matthew's. The sun was warm as she looked up at him again, and was struck by how handsome he was. It still seemed hard to believe that he preferred being a priest to being out in the world, but as he looked at the young postulant he was coming to know well, he had the same feelings about her.

They sat and chatted for a while, watching the other nuns talk animatedly to their guests, and it struck both of them at the same time, that neither of them had another soul in the world except the nuns and priests they lived with.

“It's odd, isn't it?” he said quietly. “Not having a family. I used to miss it terribly on holidays, for the first few years at least, and then I got used to it. The Brothers at St. Mark's were so good to me. I always felt like a hero coming home from the Seminary to visit. Brother Joseph, the director of St. Mark's, was like a father to me.” It was a common experience they shared, which went beyond the Masses he said for them, or his kindness to her in the confessional. It was something each of them understood perfectly, and which no one else seemed to share. It was a kind of solitude and loneliness which formed a silent bond between them.

“I was just glad to be away from the beatings when I first came here,” she said softly. He couldn't even imagine it, except that he had seen that and worse when he worked as a chaplain in the hospital as a young priest. It used to make him cry to see the damage people did to their children.

“Did they hurt you very badly?” he asked gently. She thought about it silently, then nodded and looked into the distance.

“Sometimes,” she said in barely more than a whisper. “I wound up in the hospital once. I loved it there, people were so kind to me. I hated to go home, but I was afraid to tell them. I never told anyone. I always lied about it to everyone. I thought I had to protect them, and I was afraid that if I didn't, my mother would kill me. If she had stuck around for a few more years, she probably would have. She hated me,” she said as she looked up at the young priest who had become her friend now. They had shared a multitude of confidences about their childhoods, and it suddenly seemed like a kind of glue between them.

“She was probably jealous of you,” Father Connors said reasonably. He had asked her to call him Father Joe by then, and she had told him that her name was Gabriella, even though all the other postulants, and some of the old nuns, now called her Sister Bernie,

But his suggestion didn't make sense to Gabriella. “Why would she be jealous of a child?” She looked at him with eyes filled with memories and questions.

“People just are sometimes. There must have been something very wrong with her.” Gabriella knew better than anyone that it was an overwhelming understatement. “What was your father like?”

“I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I never really knew him. He looked a lot like you,” she smiled up at him again, “or at least I think he did, from what I can remember. He was scared of her. He never stood up to her, he just let her do it.”

“He must feel terribly guilty about it. Maybe that was why he ran away from her. He probably just couldn't face it. People do strange things sometimes, when they feel helpless.” It reminded them both of his mother's suicide, but Gabriella didn't want to bring up painful memories for him and ask him about it. It was a nightmare she couldn't even begin to imagine. “Maybe you should try to find him one day, and talk to him about it.” She had fantasies about that sometimes, and it was odd that he should mention it. But she didn't know where to begin looking for him. All she knew was that twelve years before, he had moved to Boston.

“I don't suppose he ever knew that I came here. I don't think she would have bothered to tell him. I was going to talk to Mother Gregoria about it once, but she always says that I have to let go of the past, and leave it far behind me. She's right, I guess. He never called or wrote after he left.” She said it with a sad look in her eyes. Talking about them still pained her greatly.

“Maybe your mother wouldn't let him,” Father Joe offered, but it gave her small comfort, and maybe Mother Gregoria was right after all. She had a very different life, and the ghosts of her past had to be released, though they still haunted her in darker moments. “Where is she now?” he asked, referring to her mother.

“San Francisco, or she was up until she stopped sending money for my room and board here.” It still amazed him to think that her family had completely abandoned her, never wrote to her, never visited, never saw her. He couldn't understand how they could do that. It was entirely beyond him.

“Well, Sister Bernie, you have a good life here, and St. Matthew's needs you. The nuns all love you. I think Mother Gregoria thinks you're going to step into her shoes one day. That would be quite an honor. We've done all right for ourselves, haven't we?” he said, smiling at her. But as their eyes met, they both knew how hard-won it had been, how far they had come, and how much of themselves they'd left behind them. He patted her hand gently with his own, and for an instant she looked startled when he touched her. His hand was so firm, so strong, and once again reminded her so much of her father's. It had been so many years since she'd been that close to any man, that it couldn't help but bring back memories of the only other man she'd ever known or been this close to. And as though he sensed the shock of her memories, Father Connors stood up slowly. “I'd better see how drunk my pals are after drinking your wine all afternoon, and get them back to St. Stephen's.” She couldn't help laughing at the vision of drunken priests, falling down amidst the nuns in the convent garden.

“They look all right to me.” She stood up next to him, glancing around, and then laughed at the image he'd created of them. Two of the priests were talking to the Mother Superior, and another was talking to a family he knew. Sister Emanuel looked as though she was trying to round up the postulants to clean up the kitchen, and most of the children and visitors were looking happy but tired. It had been a lovely Easter for all of them, and especially for Gabriella, talking to Father Connors. “I never talk about this stuff with anyone,” she confessed as she prepared to leave him and join the others. “It still scares me a little.”

“Don't let it,” he said wisely. “They can't hurt you now, Gabbie. They're all gone. You're safe here, and you have been for a long time. They'll never come back to hurt you again, and you never have to go back there.” It was as though he had released her, with his kindness and his words, and with his gentle presence. It was as though just being there next to her for a while, he could protect her. “I'll see you in the confessional,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Try to stay out of trouble with Sister Anne,” he said, looking amused. Sometimes he felt so old when he was talking to her. She was twenty-one, and knew so little of the world beyond these walls, and he was a full ten years older than she was, and in his own eyes, a great deal more worldly, and far wiser.

“I'm sure she'll have a lot to say about my talking to you this afternoon.” Gabriella looked a little tired and somewhat exasperated as she said it. It was so annoying to have to deal constantly with the angry young postulant's accusations.

“Will she?” He looked startled. “Why would she say that?”

“She always has a bee somewhere in her bonnet. Last week she was complaining about the stories I write. She claimed I was writing one when I was supposed to be saying Matins… or Vespers… or Lauds, or something. There isn't much I do that she doesn't complain about.”

“Just keep praying for her,” he said simply. “Shell get tired of it.” Gabriella nodded, not particularly worried, and she left Father Joe with Sister Emanuel as she hurried off to the kitchen. There were a mountain of pots waiting to be scrubbed, a stack of platters, the pans the hams and turkeys had been cooked in, and the floor was a complete disaster. But for once, Sister Anne was so busy when Gabriella walked in, that she didn't even see her. Gabbie put an apron on, rolled up her sleeves, and dug into the stack of greasy pans with a handful of steel wool and a bottle of liquid soap. And it was hours before they had finished. By then the older nuns were sitting quietly in the main hall talking about what a good job the novices and postulants had done with lunch, the families had all gone home, and Father Joe was back at St. Stephen's, in his room, looking strangely serious, and staring out the window.

Chapter 10

FOR THE NEXT two months, Gabriella was busy with the other postulants, doing her chores, attending Mass, studying all that she needed to know, and working happily in her garden. She'd been working on a new story for a while, and it was so long that when Mother Gregoria read part of it, she said it was rapidly becoming a novel. But she was proud of her, she had done well, and even Sister Anne had stopped complaining about her for the time being.

It was already hot in New York and well into June when some of the older nuns left for their retreat at their sister convent in the Catskills. The younger nuns stayed in town, to continue working at Mercy Hospital and teaching summer school, but the postulants and novices rarely left the convent, and summer was no exception. Mother Gregoria also stayed to supervise all of them, and diligently run her convent. It had been years since she'd taken a vacation. She felt that was a privilege best reserved for the elders.

A group of missionary Sisters came to town, to stay with them, and the stories they told of Africa and South America were fascinating, and made Gabriella wonder if one day she might want to be one of them. But she said nothing to Mother Gregoria, for fear it would upset her. Instead, she listened intently to the tales they had to tell, and after they left, wrote wonderful short stories about them. And when Sister Emanuel read them, she insisted that they really ought to be published. But Gabriella only wrote them for the pleasure of it. Writing always released something in her. It never felt as though she were doing the writing herself, but rather as though there was a spirit that moved through her. She had no sense of her own importance as she wrote them, but felt instead as though she didn't exist at all, as though she were a windowpane that another spirit looked through. It was difficult to describe, and the only person she said that to was Father Joe, when he found her scribbling away one day, eating an apple and sitting at the back of the convent garden. He asked if he could look at what she'd done, and when he did, he was deeply moved. It was a story about a child who had died, and returned to earth to seek injustices and bring peace to others.

“You really ought to publish that,” he said, looking impressed as he handed it back to her. He had a deep tan, and said he had been playing tennis with friends on Long Island. Listening to him say it reminded her instantly of her parents. She hadn't heard anyone talk about playing tennis since her childhood, although she was sure that some of the people she knew had played while she was in college. But she had never talked to any of them, she just went silently back and forth to St. Matthew's. “I'm serious,” he said, going back to the subject of her writing. “You have real talent.”

“No, I don't, I just enjoy doing it.” And then she told him the feeling she had, about the spirit that seemed to just pass through her. “When I'm conscious of it, of what I'm doing, I can't write anything. But when I just let go, and forget myself, then it just seems to come through me.”

“Sounds pretty spooky,” he teased with a grin, but he understood what she was saying and was impressed by it. “Whatever's doing it, you ought to stick to it. How've you been otherwise?” He'd been on vacation for a week, and felt as though he hadn't seen her in ages.

“Fine. We've been busy planning the Fourth of July picnic. Are you coming?” They had a barbecue every year. Mother Gregoria was good about doing big holiday celebrations. It was their way of staying in touch with friends and relatives and people who were important to their community, and a relaxed way to see them. And as Gabriella looked at him, she felt as though she were talking to her brother. They were becoming good friends, and with very little effort, had developed an easy friendship.

“Is that an official invitation?” he asked, feeling almost exactly the same as she did.

“You don't need one,” she said casually. “Everyone from St. Stephen's comes, all the priests and secretaries, and altar boys. A lot of people from the hospital come too, and from the school. Some of the families come, but a lot of people are away then.”

“Well, I won't be. They have me working six days a week this month. They're keeping me pretty busy, saving sinners.”

“That's good.” She smiled up at him, and handed him a sprig of mint and a handful of strawberries. “If you don't mind their not being washed, they're delicious.” He tried one of the strawberries and seemed to be in ecstasy as he ate it.

“Terrific.” From the look in his eyes, anyone watching him wouldn't have been sure if he meant her or the berries. He seemed happy to see her. And eventually, he walked her back to the main hall where she had to place an order for more seeds with the sister in charge of buying supplies for their garden. He told her he'd be saying Mass the next day, and would be delighted to come to the picnic.

The next time they met was in the confessional the following day. They recognized each other's voices and they chatted all the way through her confession. She was used to his easy style now, and she didn't have much to tell him. He gave her absolution, and stopped for just a moment to say hello to her after she'd completed her penance.

“How about if some of the Fathers and I do your barbecue for you at the picnic?” he asked, and she looked delighted at the suggestion. It was the one job she truly hated. The smoke got in her eyes, and their habits made it awkward for them to deal with the fire and the charcoal The priests had it a lot easier, since they always came to the picnic in jeans or khaki pants and sport shirts.

“I'll ask Sister Emanuel, but I think she'd love that,” Gabriella said gratefully. “Barbecue is not really our forte.”

“What about baseball?”

“What?” She looked at him, not sure if he was joking, serious, or just making idle conversation.

“How about a baseball game? St. Matthew's against St. Stephen's? Or we can mix up the teams if you think you'd be at too much of a disadvantage. I just thought about it this morning.”

“What a great idea. We did it two years ago, with two teams of nuns, and it was pretty funny.”

He looked down at Gabriella with a mock serious air, and pretended to be insulted. “We're not talking ‘funny,’ Sister Bernie. This is serious. The priests at St. Stephen's have the hottest team in the archdiocese in all five boroughs. What do you think?”

“Why don't you ask Mother Gregoria? I can't speak for her, but i think she'll love it. What position do you play?” she asked, teasing him, but the Fourth of July picnic was beginning to sound seriously exciting.

“Pitcher, what else? This arm was once recruited for one of the best minor league teams in Ohio.” It was a small claim to fame, but it was obvious from the way he looked at her, that he had a sense of humor about it, and it amused him. But he did love to play baseball.

“What happened? How come you're not playing for the Yankees?”

“God made me a better offer,” he said, smiling at his young friend, and happy to be talking to her about something as mundane as baseball. Much of the time they dove into serious discussions, about their lives, their histories, their vocations, or her writing. They always had a lot to say to each other. “What about you? What do you play?”

“I think I have a real talent as bat boy,” she said demurely. She had never played any sports as a child, for obvious reasons. She'd been here with the nuns, and hadn't even attended a real school from the time she was ten until she went to college, and the only exercise she'd gotten was walking around the garden at St. Matthew's.

“We'll put you in the outfield,” he said confidently, and promised to talk to Mother Gregoria before he left the convent.

And within days, word of the Big Game, as it was being called, had spread all over the convent. When Father Connors had proposed it to her, Mother Gregoria had loved it. All the nuns were laughing and giggling and whispering. Some hadn't played since they were kids, others were bragging about how good they had been, and the postulants were all arguing amicably about what positions they wanted to play. Chubby Sister Agatha insisted that she wanted to play shortstop. It was all in precisely the right spirit.

And when the big day came, everyone was ready for it. The food at the picnic was plentiful as usual, and appropriate for the occasion. The priests from St. Stephen's made good on their offer to do the barbecue, and there were hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecued chicken, ribs, french fries, and the first corn on the cob of the summer. There was homemade ice cream, and more apple pie than anyone thought possible. As one of the priests said, it looked as though the Sisters had gone crazy in the kitchen. But it was obvious that everyone loved it. Other than Christmas, it was everyone's favorite holiday, and the convent's favorite picnic. And when the food was gone, or most of it at least, and the last ice cream bar had been smeared all over the last child's face, the talk turned to baseball.

Not surprisingly, Father Joe was the captain of the St. Stephen's team, and he organized it very professionally, and with great fairness. The priests and nuns had put it to a vote, and decided that it would make for a better game if there were both sexes on both teams, and as promised, Father Joe put Gabriella in the outfield, playing for St. Stephen's. Even Sister Anne seemed to relax that day. She was playing first base for St. Matthew's. The priests had an advantage, of course, in their jeans and T-shirts. The nuns wore their habits, but pulled back their coifs, and tied them up as best they could. And they amazed everyone by running nearly as well in their long habits as the men in their blue jeans. Some of the nuns had even found sneakers to play in. And everyone cheered when Sister Timmie slid into third base without even exposing her legs, although the Sister in charge of getting habits cleaned said her habit would never be the same. But when Sister Immaculata made a home run for St. Matthew's, both teams cheered so loudly that it almost frightened the children.

It was a great day, and great fun. St. Stephen's won by a single point, seven to six, and Mother Gregoria surprised everyone with lemonade and cases of beer, and the novices had made delicious lemon cookies. It was the best fun Gabriella could ever remember, and when she and Father Joe stood rehashing the game, he praised her for how well she'd done, and she laughed at him, sipping lemonade and munching on a cookie.

“Are you kidding?” She grinned, finishing off her cookie. “I was just standing there, praying the ball would never come my way, and thank the Lord, it didn't. I don't know what I would have done if it did.”

“Duck, probably,” he teased her. They'd all had a great time, and were sorry to see it end. The families went home just before dinner, and the priests and nuns stayed to eat what was left of the barbecue. There was enough for everyone, and they sat in the convent garden afterward watching the fireworks that lit up the sky. It was a real holiday for all of them, and felt more like an entire vacation.

“What did you do on the Fourth of July when you were a kid?” he asked, in the deep voice that was now so familiar to her.

She could only laugh at the question. They were both still in high spirits. “Hide in the closet mostly, praying my mother wouldn't find me and beat me.”

“That's one way to spend the holiday, I guess,” he said, adding a little levity to what they both knew was a painful subject, and probably always would be.

“It was a full-time job for me staying alive in those days. The only real holidays I remember were here. I've always loved the Fourth of July picnic.”

“So do I,” he said, looking at her with a tenderness that surprised her. “When I was a little kid, we used to go camping with friends. My brother and I used to try and buy sparklers as kids, to take with us, but no one would ever sell them to us.”

She looked surprised then as she glanced over at him. “You never told me you had a brother.” In the four months she had known him, he had never once mentioned a sibling.

Father Connors paused for a long moment, and then met her eyes firmly. “He drowned when I was seven. He was two years older than I was… We went swimming down by the river, and he got caught in a whirlpool. We weren't supposed to be there…” Tears filled his eyes as he talked to her, and he didn't even know it, as without thinking, she reached out and touched his fingers, and something almost electric passed between them. “I watched him go down the first time, and I didn't know what to do… I tried to find a branch to hold out to him, but it was summer, and everything was green, and I couldn't find anything long enough. I just stood there while he went down again and again, and then I ran for help as fast as I could… but when I got back…” He couldn't go on and she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, but she knew she couldn't. “He drowned before we got back to him… There was nothing I could do… nothing I could have done… but I always felt my parents blamed me for it. They never actually said it, but I always knew it… His name was Jimmy.” There were tears slowly rolling down his cheeks as she touched his hand again and this time held it gently.

“Why would they blame you? It wasn't your fault, Joe.” It was the first time she hadn't called him “Father,” but neither of them noticed.

He hesitated before he answered, and then took his hand away from hers to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I begged him to take me to the river. It was my fault. I shouldn't have asked him.”

“You were seven years old. He could have said no.”

“Jimmy never said no to me. He was crazy about me… and I was crazy about him. It was never the same after he died. My mom just kind of lost her spirit.” Gabriella wondered if that explained why she had taken her own life after her husband died so suddenly. Maybe it had just been too much for her, after losing her son seven years before. But it had been a cruel thing to do to Joe, and left him an orphan. To Gabriella, it seemed unthinkably selfish, though she didn't say it to Joe as she listened.

“It's hard to understand why things like that happen. We should know that better than anyone.” There were so many times when all of them had to defend God when people asked questions about situations like this one.

“I hear about things like this all the time,” he admitted, “but that doesn't make it any easier for the people I talk to, or for me. I still miss him, Gabbie.” It had happened twenty-four years before, and the pain was still fresh whenever he talked about it. “In some ways, it affected my whole childhood. I always felt so responsible for what happened.” Not to mention the loss of his parents dimming the bright light of the rest of it. But she understood perfectly what he meant about feeling responsible. She was all too familiar with those emotions.

“I always felt as though everything that happened in my family was my fault,” she admitted, “or at least that was what they always told me. Why are children so willing to take on those burdens?” She had never doubted for a moment that her parents abandoning her, and everything that had happened before that, was entirely her own fault. “You didn't do it, Joe. It wasn't your fault. It could have been you, instead of him, who drowned. We don't know why these things happen.”

“I used to wish it had been me, instead of him,” he said in a small, sad voice. “We were all so crazy about him. He was the star of the family, the best at everything, their first-born, their favorite,” he admitted. Lives were so complicated, and the things that happened in them so impossible to explain, so difficult to live with. They both knew that. “Anyway, “I'll see him again one day,” he said, smiling sadly at Gabriella. “I didn't mean to tell you all that. I just think of him a lot on holidays. We used to love to play baseball. He was one heck of a fantastic player.” He had been a nine-year-old kid, just a little boy, Gabriella realized, but to his little brother, Joe, he had been, and still was, a hero.

“I'm sorry, Joe,” she said, and meant it from the bottom of her heart. She was so sorry for him, and all that he had been through.

“It's okay, Gabbie,” he said, looking at her gratefully, and then one of the priests from St. Stephen's came over to rehash the game with them, and congratulated Father Joe on his victory for St. Stephen's.

“That's quite an arm you've got, son.” He really was a very good pitcher. The mood lightened again after that, and when the priests went home that night, Father Joe walked over to say good-bye to Gabriella. She was standing with Sister Timmie and Sister Agatha, and they were laughing and teasing each other. Everyone was still in good spirits.

“Thanks for a great game, Sisters,” he said jovially, and then with a last look at Gabbie that the others seemed unaware of, “thanks for everything,” he said, and they both knew what he meant. He was thinking about telling her about Jimmy.

“God bless you, Father Joe,” she said gently, and meant it. They both needed blessings in their lives, and forgiveness and healing, and that was her most fervent wish for him. In her opinion, he deserved it, even more than she did.

“Thank you, Sister. See you at confession. Good night, Sisters,” he called out with a wave as he went to join the others and gather up their equipment before they went back to St. Stephen's. It had been a great day, a great Fourth of July. And as Gabriella walked slowly back inside with the other postulants, she was startled to realize that one of the things she remembered most clearly about the day was when she had reached out and touched his fingers.

“Isn't that right, Sister Bernadette?” One of the other Sisters had asked her something, and she hadn't heard it. She had been thinking of Father Joe, and his brother, Jimmy.

“I'm sorry, Sister… I didn't hear you.” They all knew that at times Gabriella didn't hear things, particularly now with the habit covering her ears, but they were always patient with her about it and it never occurred to anyone that she would be thinking about the young priest and his lost brother.

“I said Sister Mary Martha's lemon cookies were fantastic. I want to get her recipe for next year.”

“Delicious,” Gabriella agreed, walking up the stairs, just behind them, but her thoughts were a million miles away, thinking of two little boys, one caught in a whirlpool, and the other left sobbing by the river. Her heart went out to him, and all she wanted to do as she thought of him, was drift back in time and put her arms around him. She could still see Father Joe's eyes in the half light that night, and the look of devastation in them. And her own eyes filled with tears again now, just thinking of him. All she could do now was pray for him that night, that he might finally forgive himself. She prayed for the man she knew and had come to love as a friend, and the soul of his brother, Jimmy.

Chapter 11

GABRIELLA DIDN'T SEE Father Joe again for several days after the Fourth of July picnic. Everyone was still talking about it, and the baseball game had made convent history. They could hardly wait to do it again next year. But Gabriella was particularly surprised in light of that, and given the high spirits that had persisted at St. Matthew's, when she saw Father Joe, and he was less than friendly with her. He seemed almost cool, and the word that came to mind as she spoke to him was grouchy. She wasn't sure if he was annoyed with her, or simply in a bad mood, or worried about something. But he was anything but pleasant, and he seemed distant with her. She wondered for a fraction of an instant if he was embarrassed or sorry that he had told her about Jimmy.

She wanted to ask him if he was all right, but she didn't dare. There were other people around, and after all he was a priest and ten years older than she was. He never pulled rank on her, but she didn't know what to make of his behavior changing so radically since the Fourth of July picnic.

He heard her confession that day and was so curt and distracted with her in the confessional that she almost wondered if he was listening and had even heard her. He gave her two Hail Marys, and a dozen Our Fathers, which also wasn't like him. And then he added five Acts of Contrition as a last thought. And finally, just before she left the confessional, she couldn't stand it any longer. She hesitated, and then whispered into the darkness.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” He sounded so brusque that she didn't dare pursue it any further. Something was very wrong with him. He had none of his usual jovial ways, and he sounded very distracted. It was obvious that something had happened to him. Maybe he'd had an argument with another priest, or been reprimanded by a superior. There were also a lot of political things that happened in religious orders, and from long years of living there, she knew that.

She left the confessional, said her penance, and then went off on an errand for Sister Emanuel. Gabriella had promised her that she would look for a series of ledgers that seemed to have disappeared. They were last seen in an office no one used anymore, just down the hall from the chapel, but Gabriella was sure she had seen them there once before. She was standing, bending over a box of books, as she heard footsteps walk past, stop, and then come back toward her. She hadn't bothered to look up. She wasn't doing anything she wasn't supposed to, and she was engrossed in what she was doing, hunting everywhere for the ledgers she had promised to find.

She knew the person that had walked past wasn't a nun, because their footsteps were always soundless, and the footsteps she had heard had echoed loudly on the stone floor. She didn't give it any thought, but if she had, it would have been obvious to her that they'd been the footsteps of a man.

Sensing someone standing nearby, watching her, she stopped what she was doing, turned, and looked around. And she was surprised to see Father Joe standing in the doorway. He was watching her with a pained expression on his face.

“Hi,” she said quietly, only mildly surprised to see him. The room she was in was on his way out, after he left the church. He often walked through the central garden because it was so peaceful there, and the route was shorter, but this time he had gone the long way around. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, watching her in silence, his deep blue eyes mirroring her own. But he looked deeply worried.

“You look upset.”

He didn't answer her at first, and then walked slowly into the room, his eyes never leaving hers, and they both knew that there was no one else around. The rooms on this corridor hadn't been used in a long time.

“I am upset,” he said finally, without further explanation. He didn't have any idea where to start, or how to tell her what he'd been thinking.

“Did something happen?” She spoke to him as she would have to a small child, although she didn't have much experience with children. But there was something about him which made her think of him as one now. He seemed very boyish and looked very worried and very young all at the same time. She almost wanted to ask him if someone had been mean to him at school today, but he didn't look as though he was in the mood to laugh, which was rare for him.

He walked quietly into the room, and picked up one of the books she had discarded. So far, the lost ledgers hadn't surfaced. “What are you doing in here, Gabbie?” He didn't call her Gabriella, or even Sister Bernie, and when their eyes met again, it was clear to both of them that they viewed each other now as good friends, in fact, are thought of him almost as a brother,

“Sister Emanuel is looking for some old ledgers that got misplaced. I thought someone might have stored them in here.” There was dust on her habit, and she looked lovelier than ever. It was hot and she looked a little disheveled. Going through the old boxes was dirty work. He stood very near to her, took the books she held from her hands and put them quietly on the desk.

“I've been thinking about you,” he said almost sadly. She wasn't sure what he meant by it, but there was nothing ominous about his manner or his words. “Too much,” he added, “after the other night.”

“Are you sorry you told me about Jimmy?” she asked softly, her voice was so gentle in the quiet room, it was almost a caress. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and without saying a word, he reached out and took her hand. It was a long time before he opened his eyes again. And Gabriella was still groping for the right words to offer him in comfort.

“Of course I'm not sorry, Gabbie. You're my friend. I've been thinking… about a lot of things… about you… about myself… about the lives that brought us here, the people who hurt us… the ones we loved and lost.” He had loved and lost more than she had. She wasn't sure she had ever known love before, not until she came here. “Our lives here mean a great deal to both of us, don't they?” He asked as though desperately seeking an answer to a question he couldn't bring himself to ask her.

“Of course they do. You know that.”

“I would never do anything to risk that, to jeopardize either of us… to spoil anything… that's not what I want.” She still had no idea what was on his mind. She had never been alone with a man before this moment.

“You haven't done anything to do that, Joe. We haven't done anything wrong.” She said it with such quiet certainty that it felt like a knife through his heart. And he confessed his sins to her now, as she had done to him so often.

“I have.”

“No, you haven't.” Not that she knew of anyway.

“I've been having dangerous thoughts.” It was the closest he could come to saying what was in his heart, and on his mind.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes and her soul wide open. She moved a little closer to him, without knowing it, but the magnet that was slowly drawing them toward each other was more powerful than anything either of them had ever been exposed to before that moment.

“I don't know how to tell you… what to say…” There were tears in his eyes as he looked at her, and she put a gentle hand on his face. It was the first time she had ever touched him like that, or any man. “I love you, Gabbie.” There was no way to hide it from her anymore, or from himself. “I don't know what to say to you, or what to do about it… I don't want to hurt you, or ruin your life. I want to be sure this is what you want, before I run away from here forever, or give up my job at St. Stephen's and go away. I'm going to ask the archbishop for a transfer.” He had been wrestling with the idea all morning.

“You can't do that.” She looked frightened as he said it. The thought of losing him terrified her far more than the rest of what he had just said. “You can't go away.” He was her friend now and she didn't want to lose him.

“I have to. I can't stay here, close to you like this. It's driving me crazy… Oh, Gabbie…” The words were lost as he pulled her close to him and she buried her face in his powerful chest, his arms held tightly around her. It was the strongest force she had ever felt in her entire life, the safest place she had ever been, even more so than the convent. “I love you so much… I want to be with you all the time… I want to talk to you… hold you… take care of you… I want to be with you forever… but how can we do this? I've been going crazy for the past four days. I love you so much,” he said, sounding agonized as she looked up at him in wonder, and all he wanted to do was keep her in his arms for the rest of time. So far, she hadn't said a word, and there were tears in her eyes now as she looked at him, tears of regret, and pain, and longing.

“I love you too, Joe… I wasn't sure what I was feeling… I think I knew it was wrong… I thought we could just be friends.” She looked both happy and devastated.

“Maybe we can be friends one day, but not now… not yet… We both belong here. I can't ask you to leave the convent. I'm not even sure what to do myself.” He was so troubled, so wracked with guilt, so anguished, that suddenly it made everything clearer to her, and she put her arms around him and held him there, her own strength drawing him still closer as she held him, and gave him all she had to give him.

“Just be quiet… we have to pray about it… shhh… it's all right, Joe, I love you.” She was the strong one now, and he was the one who desperately needed her. He felt all the power and the warmth and the love she felt for him, and without saying another word, he pulled her closer still and kissed her. It was a moment neither of them would ever forget, a moment when universes collided, and two lives were changed forever with a single breath.

“Oh, my God, Gabbie… I love you so much.” He was suddenly glad he had told her. After the agony of the past week, he had no regrets. He had never in his life felt as he did at this moment.

“I love you, too, Joe.” She sounded suddenly so grown up, so brave, and so sure. It was a risky thing they were doing, a still more dangerous game they would have to play. “What are we going to do now?” she asked him quietly, as he sat down next to her on the corner of the old desk.

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “We both need time to figure this out.” But they both knew that if they went too far, it would be impossible for them to continue their lives here. It was not too late yet, they could still turn back. They were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, the apple was untouched and they were still holding it in their hands, staring at it. But the temptation would grow greater very quickly, and if they moved too fast, they would destroy each others lives. It was an awesome responsibility as they looked at each other, and he drew her toward him and kissed her again. “Can we meet somewhere?” he asked after he kissed her. “Just for coffee, or a walk. Out in the real world, with real people. We need to be alone for a little while, just to talk about this.”

“I don't know,” she said, thinking. “I don't see how I can do that. Postulants normally never leave the convent.”

“I know, but you're different. You're like a daughter of the house, you've lived here all your life. Can't you get them to send you on an errand, or do something for someone? I'll meet you anywhere you want.”

“I'll think about it tonight.” She was trembling as he held her. Suddenly, in half an hour, her entire world had turned upside down. But she didn't want to resist it. She knew she could still turn back, but nothing could have made her do that. She wanted to be near him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. For all these months, she had never known it, and with a sudden flash of understanding, she realized that Sister Anne had been right. And she said as much to him.

“Maybe she was smarter than we both were,” he said wisely. “I swear I never saw this coming.” But he had never been involved with a woman in his life, nor had Gabriella ever been close to any man. She had never dated, never flirted, never made friends with her fellow students at Columbia, let alone really talked to a man there. In her heart, in her life, in her behavior, ever since she was a child, she had always been a nun. And now, in the blink of an eye, all of that had changed. She was suddenly a woman, and very much in love with him. “They just asked me to say Mass and hear confessions here every day.” He had been alternating with Father Peter, but the older priest hadn't been well, and had just decided that he already had too much on his plate at St. Stephens. And Father Joe seemed to get on well with the nuns, so he asked him to take over for him. “You can tell me what you've figured out tomorrow morning.”

“It may take me a couple of days,” she said, and then she grinned at him mischievously, and he had a wild urge to remove the headpiece she wore, which concealed all but the front of her golden hair. He wanted to see how long it was, how much there was of it. He wanted to see more of her than he was allowed to, to hold her, to kiss her until they were both desperate for air. But he also knew that he couldn't keep her in the abandoned room forever, and in a minute he would have to let her go back to the others. But he hated to give her up, even for a few hours, until they were able to meet again.

“Maybe I should start hearing confessions here twice a day,” he said with a boyish smile, and feeling the same magnetic force pull them simultaneously, they kissed each other again, with increasing passion.

“I love you,” she whispered, wanting more of him than she dared.

“I love you too. I'd better let you go now. I'll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, kissing her yet again. “I hate to leave you.”

“You'd better. We can meet here again. No one ever comes here, and I know where Sister Emanuel keeps the keys to this office.”

“Be careful,” he warned her, “don't do anything crazy. I mean that.” He sounded very firm, and she laughed as she met his eyes again.

“Look who's talking. This is about as crazy as it gets.” But if they met outside these walls, they both knew it would get crazier yet.

“Are you mad at me for telling you, Gabbie?” He looked suddenly worried as he stood to his full height and faced her squarely. He had taken an enormous risk by telling her, but now he had put both of them in danger. But she looked as though she had no regrets. None whatsoever.

“How could I be angry at you, Joe? I love you.” And then with a shy smile, “I'm glad you told me.” But the situation was easier for her in some ways, she was only a postulant and had taken no final vows. She wasn't even a novice. Joe had been a priest for more than six years, and the consequences of what they had done were far more dramatic for him. His whole life was in jeopardy.

“I'm not sure what we should do now, Gabbie. I don't even know how I'd support you,” he said, looking worried.

“We'll see what happens. We can always work it out later.” There was a strength in her that she had never felt before, and in some ways, she seemed stronger than he was. “It's too soon to think about all that yet. Just know that I love you, Joe. That's enough for now.”

“That's all I wanted to hear. I thought you'd never speak to me again if I told you… I was so afraid…” She touched his lips with her fingers, and he kissed her hand. “Don't forget how much I love you,” he whispered, and forced himself to leave her. He stood in the doorway for one last moment, smiled at her, and then disappeared. She could hear his footsteps echoing in the hallway for a long time. She stood there, listening to them, and thinking of everything he had just said. She still couldn't believe it, didn't understand how this had happened to them. In so many ways, it seemed like an enormous blessing, in others, it was a dragon waiting to devour them. She wondered how long they could keep it a secret. Maybe for a long time. She knew they would have to, for a while at least, until they decided what to do about their future. And it was obvious to her that in spite of her delicate circumstances at St. Matthew's, it was Joe who had to make the biggest decision.

She looked through the rest of the dusty boxes, and only found one of the ledgers. But it would be enough to satisfy Sister Emanuel today, and it would give Gabriella an excuse to come back here again. They could meet in secret in the abandoned office, at least for a while. She left the room, and locked the door behind her, and as she walked back to find Sister Emanuel, she felt as though she were in a daze. He loved her… he had kissed her… he wanted to be with her… It was impossible to absorb everything that had happened, or even to begin to understand. But the sound of his words was still drifting through her head when she rejoined the others, and there was a smile on her lips that no one noticed, or understood, except Sister Anne, who stared at her intently.

Chapter 12

GABRIELLA STOOD IN line for the confessional the next morning. The others still looked half asleep, but she was wide awake, and had been since three A.M. It seemed like hours before she could see him, and she had begun to wonder if she had imagined it all, if he would be sorry, if he would tell her that he had come to his senses and never wanted to see her again. It was entirely possible, and there was a look of terror on her face when she finally stepped into the confessional after one of the oldest nuns in the convent, and said the familiar words to begin her confession. The comforting ritual was only a front now.

He recognized her voice instantly, he had been waiting for her, and without a sound, he opened the grille between them, and she could see the outline of his face, almost as though it were a dream.

“I love you, Gabbie,” he whispered, so softly she could hardly hear him, but she sighed with relief the moment she heard his words.

“I was afraid you'd change your mind.” She looked anxious in the darkness.

“So was I, that you would.” He kissed her through the tiny window, and there was a brief silence, and then he asked her if she could meet him outside the convent.

“Maybe. They take the mail out tomorrow, but one of the other Sisters usually does that. I can offer to do it for her. It's kind of a big job. Mother Gregoria lets me do it for her once in a while. But I wouldn't know till the last minute.”

“Call me at St. Stephen's. Tell them you're the secretary for my dentist, and you had a cancellation. Just tell me the place and time. What post office do you go to?” She told him, and he promised to be there anytime she called him.

“What if you're out?” Gabriella sounded worried.

“I won't be. I've had a lot of paperwork lately, and I've been meeting with parishioners at the rectory. I'll be there, and I can leave quickly if I have to. Just do what you can.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too.” They were in total collusion now, and determined to be together, if only briefly, no matter how high the price. They had both lain awake almost the entire night after their meeting in the abandoned office, and they knew that despite the danger of it, for them what they were doing was right. Neither of them had any doubt. “Say as many Hail Marys as you want to. And pray for me, Gabbie. I mean that. We both need it right now. I'll pray for you. Call me when you can.”

“I'll see you here tomorrow morning if I can't.”

She left the confessional with her head bowed, looking very solemn, and hoping that no one could see the excitement in her eyes. She was very glad that Mother Gregoria had been busy the night before, and had never stopped to speak to her at dinner. It would have been hard to face her now, and Gabbie feared that the Mother Superior knew her too well, and would see the look in her eyes, and discover her secret.

She watched him say Mass that morning, and found herself looking at him differently than she had before. He no longer seemed so remote to her, so mystical. Suddenly he seemed more like a man. It frightened her a little, and when she thought about it too intensely, she felt a little finger of fear race up her spine. But she also knew that she couldn't turn back now. She didn't want to. She wanted more of his kisses, and to feel the powerful hands and arms around her.

She left the church with the other nuns, and was grateful for her work in the garden. It kept her busy, and away from prying eyes. She mentioned to Mother Emanuel after breakfast that if they needed her help for the mail run that day, she'd be happy to do it. Her work in the garden was going well, and she had time to help them.

“That's sweet of you, Sister Bernadette. Ill tell the others. I don't think we have much going out today. But maybe another time.”

In the end, it was a frustrating week for them. There was simply no reason, and no way, for her to get out of the convent. But they met in the abandoned office two more times. There was a definite risk to it, and they were both aware of it. He was quieter when he came here now, and she had found the last of the ledgers, but she kept it hidden there so she continued to have a reason to come back and search for it. They locked the door while they were in the room, and they kissed and whispered and held each other as tightly as they dared. They sat on the floor in the heat of a July afternoon, and talked about their lives. Neither of them had figured it all out yet. All Joe was asking for now was just a little time. Time when they could behave like real people, speak openly, and walk down a street or through a park hand in hand. But even if they met outside, they knew they'd have to be careful, and she couldn't stay out for very long without alarming the Sisters.

For the moment, going out for a walk, and a few minutes of each other's time, was all they dreamed of, a small pleasure other couples took for granted, and one they would have to wait for until they were blessed by chance.

The moment came finally a full week after his first declaration. It came suddenly and unexpectedly when Sister Immaculata handed her the car keys to an old station wagon they used to pick up supplies. Some fabric had come in for their habits, and the nuns in charge of making them were anxious to get to work while they had time. There was no one else to pick it up, and she had to go all the way downtown to get it. The warehouse it had come into was on Delancey Street, and Gabriella knew how to get there. She had done the same errand for them before many times. And as long as she was going out, two of the other nuns had other errands for her as well. She had a lot to do for them, but she knew that if she hurried, she could eke out a little time with Joe somewhere on her rounds.

She took the lists they gave her with trembling hands, and hoped no one saw it. She had the car keys, the money they handed her in an envelope, and as soon as she could leave gracefully, she hurried out the door of St. Matthew's. The station wagon was parked just outside. She waved to Mother Gregoria as she left, and the Mother Superior smiled at her as she always did. She was happy to see Gabbie in such good spirits these days. There was a lovely joyful light in her eyes. Everyone assumed her postulancy was agreeing with her. She was working hard in the garden, and Mother Gregoria hoped, as she always did, that Gabbie was still finding time to write, and reminded herself to ask her.

As Gabbie pulled away from the curb, she stepped on the gas as hard as she dared, and sped around the corner. She drove two blocks, stopped at a pay phone, and then, with trembling hands, she called him. The young Brother on the phone answered on the third ring, and she said, as Joe had told her to, that it was Father Connors’ dentist calling, they'd had a cancellation, and wondered if he had some free time that morning.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” the young Brother answered politely, “I don't believe he's in.” Her heart sank at the words. “I'll check for you, but I saw him getting ready to leave a few minutes ago, and he might be out for quite some time.” There was a long pause while he kept her on hold, and she railed silently at the bad luck that had caused her to miss him, and wished she had had the wisdom to leave half an hour before. For an instant, she wondered if she should feel guilty, if this was God's way of seeing that it didn't work out. They had both talked so much about what it would mean if they left the church together. She knew she should feel guilty about it, but she didn't yet. It was still too new and too exciting, and they had waited so anxiously for just a little time together. Maybe in the end, nothing would ever come of it, and they would come to their senses before it was too late. But if they did, they would have had this love they shared for a few moments, a few days, and she didn't want to give that up now. She had the rest of her life to repent for it, and give her life to God, if that was what He wanted for her.

The Brother came back on the line breathlessly, as Gabbie waited to hear what he'd found, and she almost whooped with glee when he told her he'd caught him, and if she was willing to wait, he'd come right on the line.

A moment later she heard Joe's voice, and he sounded as though he'd been running. He had. He'd been halfway out the door, and hurried back upstairs to take her call. “Where are you?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear. Neither of them had thought this day would ever come. It seemed to have taken forever.

“I'm around the comer from St. Matthew's. I have to go downtown to pick up some things. They gave me a few errands, but I don't think anyone will worry about how long I'm gone,” she explained to him.

“Can I come with you? Or is that too dangerous? I'll meet you somewhere if you want. Where are your errands?”

“Delancey Street, and some stores where they give us discounts on the Lower East Side.”

“What about Washington Square Park? I don't think anyone there will know us. Or Bryant Park behind the library?” He had always liked it there, despite the pigeons and the drunks. It was peaceful and pretty.

They settled on Washington Square Park in an hour, which gave her time to pick up the fabric, and if she hurried, she could get everything else done.

“I'll meet you at ten o'clock.” he promised. “And Gabbie… thank you for doing this, sweetheart. I love you.” No one had ever called her that before, in her entire life, or sounded as he did now.

“I love you, Joe,” she whispered, still afraid that someone would hear them. It took a while to sink in that there was no one else around.

“Go do your errands. I'll see you in an hour.”

They were quick for once at the warehouse. They helped her load the car with the huge bolts of fabric. It took five yards for each habit, and there were two hundred nuns at St. Matthew's. What they gave her this time, just for some of them, filled most of the back of the car. She did the rest of the errands in record time, and it was five after ten when she drove up Sixth Avenue, and turned toward the park until the familiar arch came into sight. The park looked a little like the pictures of Paris she had seen. Joe was already there, waiting for her, when she arrived. She found a place to park the car, and locked it, and then as an afterthought, she unlocked it again, carefully pulled off her coif, and left it on the front seat of the car. She didn't even bother to look in the mirror, but ran her fingers through her hair, as she locked the car again, and went to meet him, hoping that in spite of the somber black dress, she looked like everyone else. She was grateful that she still wore the short dress of the postulants. There would have been no way to disguise her habit if she had already taken her final vows, or become a novice.

She ran across the square when she saw him, beaming at him, and without saying a word to her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He also had taken his Roman collar off and left it and his jacket in the car. He looked like a man in a short-sleeve black shirt and matching pants, and attracted no attention.

“I'm so glad to see you,” he said breathlessly, walking slowly beside her, and excited to be out in the world with her for the first time. It was a world full of colors and excitement and people, even at that hour. There were children with balloons, couples on benches talking and holding hands, old men playing chess, and the canopy of trees overhead softened the summer sunshine. He bought her an ice cream from a passing cart, and they sat down on a bench together. He was smiling at her, and she had never seen him as happy, as they kissed and held hands and ate their ice cream. It was like a dream for them, a dream that could easily become a nightmare, but neither of them could think about that now.

“Thank you for meeting me here, Gabbie.” He looked at her gratefully, and knew only too well how hard it was for her to get out. But their long wait for these few hours made them even more precious to them. They didn't waste a single moment, but talked about everything, shared as many thoughts as they could in the short time they had, and kept themselves focused on the present rather than the future. He wanted to know how soon she thought they could meet again, and she had no idea what to say to him. This seemed like such a miracle to both of them that it was difficult to imagine doing it again, but she knew she had to. The moments they shared at St. Matthew's now seemed like crumbs. It was so wonderful to be out in the world together, and feel so free with each other.

“I'll do what I can. I think Mother Emanuel will let me do errands for her again. I don't think anyone will object, as long as I get everything done, and don't disappear for too many hours.” The nuns always broke the rules for her, they always had, and she had always been extremely helpful to them. There was no reason for that to stop now, as long as she did what she had to with the other postulants. She hadn't written a word all week, but she had still managed to work for hours in the garden.

“I'd love to go to Central Park with you sometime, or walk by the river.” There were so many things he wanted to do with her, and they had so little time in which to do them.

He walked her back to the car at eleven-thirty, and the moments they had shared had been so well filled they seemed like hours to them. Their time together had been everything they hoped it would be, and it made them hungrier still to meet again. They both knew what the dangers were, the risk to them potentially, yet it was too late for either of them to turn back. He kissed her one last time, and she could feel his body so close to her that it startled her at first, and then she relaxed and seemed to melt into his arms.

“Take care of yourself, Gabbie. Be careful. Don't say anything to anyone,” he warned unnecessarily, and she smiled at him.

“Not even to Sister Anne?” she teased, and he grinned. He wanted to take her back, to be with her, to call her that night. He wanted to do all the things men in love did, and he never had. At thirty-one, he had never loved a woman, never allowed himself to even think of it. He had never had a crush, never flirted, never allowed himself the kind of fantasies he had now. But for him, it was like the opening of a dam. And once open, it was impossible to stop the avalanche of feelings that overtook him.

He stood next to the car and watched her put her coif back on. She looked like a little girl to him, as she looked up at him with her huge blue eyes. Just seeing her like that made him want to run away with her right then. And neither of them had the vaguest idea when they would be able to meet this way again.

“I'll see you in the confessional tomorrow,” she said cautiously, and he nodded at her, wanting so much more of her. He hated to let her leave him.

“Do you still have the keys to the locked room?” he asked hopefully, and she smiled at him.

“I know where they are.”

It was dangerous, but better than the whispers they shared in the confessional. He already wanted more of her than he had now.

They kissed one last time, and as she drove away, she waved at him, and drove back through the mid-town traffic as fast as was allowed. She got back to St. Matthew's easily, and one of the other postulants came out to help her unload the car. The bolts of fabric were heavy, but Gabriella felt as though she had the strength of ten after the time she had just spent with Joe, and the tenderness they d shared.

She had lunch with the other nuns, worked in the garden that afternoon, arrived at dinner on time, after saying her prayers with the rest of them, and that night she went to her room in her spare time, and began to write. Mother Gregoria came to visit her, and asked if she had written any new stories. She felt as though they hadn't talked in a while. But she was pleased to see that Gabbie was looking well, and all the reports she'd had recently told her that Sister Bernadette was thriving. She could hardly wait for her to take her final vows. It wouldn't be for a long time, but she was well on her way. And when Mother Gregoria left her room, Gabbie felt the first serious stab of guilt she'd felt since the whole odyssey with Joe began after the Fourth of July. It had been only two weeks since then, but it was hard to believe, it seemed like a lifetime to her.

She couldn't help thinking about how disappointed Mother Gregoria would be in her, how devastated she would be. And yet Gabbie knew she couldn't stop now. All she wanted in her life was to be with Joe Connors.

She saw him in the confessional the next day, and they met in the abandoned office late in the afternoon, but it seemed so confining to them after the time they'd spent in Washington Square Park. And she had no hope of getting out and doing more errands for a while. In the end, it was a full two weeks before she could get out again, and waiting for the time to come almost drove them both mad.

As he had hoped they would, they met in Central Park. They walked around the model pond, and watched the children and adults playing with their boats, and then they walked slowly uptown. The park was lush and green, there was a steel band playing in the distance somewhere, and as it always did when she was with him, it felt like a dream to her, an entire holiday compressed into a single hour. They had so little time to be together, and all they wanted now was more. Of each other and their lives. Every moment they shared was precious to them. A few days later, they were able to go back to Central Park. They lay on the grass under a tree this time, and he put his head in her lap, as she stroked his hair and listened to him intently as they talked. There was so much to say, so little time in which to say it. And he bought her an ice cream again as they walked back to the car. They were seeing each other every day, hidden away in the confessional and the dusty office they felt was theirs, and they had only been out in the world together three times.

There was still so much to say, so many things to work out. Neither of them had any idea where to begin. It was a difficult journey to undertake, although they felt sure of each other. It had been done before, in circumstances similar to theirs. Priests usually left with nuns, he would not be the first, or the last. But they both knew what an explosion it would cause, how many people would feel betrayed. And there were times he was afraid for himself. Joe especially was worried about leaving the church, and had said as much to Gabbie, although he was certain that he loved her.

“We need more time,” Gabriella said sensibly. “You can't do something like that, Joe, without giving it a lot of thought.” And he had. He thought of it all the time, especially at night when he was alone, waiting to see her again, desperate for their stolen kisses in the confessional. He was doing something he could never have conceived of, until he met her.

She had begun writing a journal to him, about their love, and her dreams for them. She hoped to give it to him one day. It was a never-ending love letter to him, and she kept it concealed with her underwear in her only drawer, where she knew no one would find it. It was a way of being with him, even when she was not, and talking to him when she couldn't.

“When do you think you can get out again?” he asked, looking sad one afternoon, as he walked her back to the car.

“Whenever I can. Maybe next week.” The older nuns were all going away to Lake George. Someone had lent them a house there, and Mother Gregoria was going to join them for a few days to help them get settled. It might mean more freedom for Gabriella, or not, those things were always hard to judge in the convent.

But the day they left, Gabriella found herself with an entire afternoon at her disposal. The rest of the postulants had gone to the dentist that day, and they were planning to be out for several hours. Gabriella had been to the dentist only two months before, so they left her at home, with no obligations and no plans. She told the nun in charge that she was having a problem with some of her vegetables and needed some sprays. The old nun had had a bad headache for days, asked her no questions at all, and handed her the keys to the car without comment. Gabriella said vaguely that she'd be back in a while. She drove around the corner, as she always did, and called Joe, and luckily, he hadn't gone out. He hadn't expected to hear from her, but he hated leaving St. Stephens now, he was always afraid to miss one of her rare calls, and an opportunity to see her.

“How long do you have?” He always asked her that, but this time he was startled when she told him several hours. He had been waiting for this day, but he was stunned that it had come. They had been meeting this way for more than a month. “Meet me all the way east on Fifty-third Street.” He gave her an address, and she had no idea what it was. But it was only a few blocks away from her. She got there before him this time, and waited in the car, without her coif, anxiously awaiting his arrival.

He parked across the street from her, and put an arm around her as they walked slowly down the block. He seemed quiet and thoughtful.

“Don't you want to go to the park?” She seemed surprised.

“I thought it was a little too hot.” He turned to her then and looked down at her. He seemed concerned, as he took her in his arms. He knew that no one they knew would see them there, which was why he had suggested she come here. And he explained to her then what he'd done. He told her an old friend of his from St. Mark's had just moved to New York. He was in advertising and had done well, and he and Joe had had a long talk recently. Joe had told him that he was having serious qualms about his life, though he hadn't explained why. And his old friend had given him the keys to his apartment, and told Joe to use it anytime, just to get away from everything, and think and relax away from St. Stephen's. Joe knew his friend was out of town that week. He was staying with friends in Cape Cod for his summer vacation.

“Would you like to spend a little time in the apartment, just so we can be together for a while? I didn't know if you'd be afraid, or if you'd like to get off the streets for the time we have together.” He didn't want to pressure her, and he had no master plan. But he had brought the keys with him, and he was prepared to let her do whatever was comfortable for her. “It's up to you,” he said gently, and she smiled at him.

“I think it would be very nice,” she said quietly, and followed him inside. Joe had never been there before, and they were both impressed by what they saw. There was a large, comfortable living room with big leather chairs, and a long, brown leather couch. It was very modern, very male. There was a large, airy kitchen, and a big, handsome bar. And in the back, overlooking a small garden, were two bedrooms, one that was obviously his, and another he used as a guest room.

Joe put the air-conditioning on, and whistled admiringly at the stereo. He put on a selection of things he liked, after consulting her, and then helped himself to a glass of wine from the bar. It was a kind of time they'd never shared before, and Gabbie looked more than a little overwhelmed, as they sat down side by side on the couch. She was more nervous with him than she'd been before, but mostly because this was all so new to her. But as they listened to the music, and she took a small sip of his wine, she began to unwind. It was still Joe, the man she loved, even if the circumstances were different this time, and he asked her if she'd like to dance with him.

She smiled at the thought. She'd never danced with anyone before, but they moved together easily, as he held her close. He thought he'd never been as happy before, and she seemed to dissolve into his arms as they kissed and moved slowly to the music. He had put on a tape of Billy Joel.

This was different than anything they'd ever shared before, but it was what they had both longed for, for so long, a chance to be alone, to be who they were, to do anything they wanted together. And as they danced, he looked down at her, and their passion slowly mounted. He could feel her heart beating too fast as he held her next to him, and he couldn't stop kissing her. They were both excited and out of breath as they stopped dancing.

“I know what I'd like to do,” he said quietly, wanting her desperately, but unsure if she was ready to take a step of that magnitude with him. It had been five weeks since he declared his love to her, but they were hungry for each other in ways that neither of them were fully able to understand. He had never been with a woman before, and she had never been with a man. It was all so new, yet it felt so right to both of them, and she understood what he meant. She looked up at him with loving eyes.

“I'd like that too,” she whispered, as he felt the pounding of her heart as he held her.

“Don't be afraid, Gabbie… I love you so…” He swept her easily into his arms, and walked slowly into the guest bedroom with her. The room looked inviting, and he set her down gently on the bed. She was still wearing her postulant's dress, and he fumbled with it. She helped him with the buttons and folds and pins, as they kissed, and suddenly he sat looking at her, her flesh like cream, her breasts the first he'd ever seen, her limbs longer and far more graceful than he'd ever dreamed they would be.

She had no fear of him, as he began to undress, and he slipped into the bed and took off the rest, as did she. Their clothes lay in a small heap on the floor as he began to explore her, aching with desire for her. Neither of them had ever felt this way before. It was a time of discovery, and trust, neither of them quite sure what to expect, yet both of them certain they wanted to be here, needed to be with each other. It was a road they had to travel, side by side, to move on to their new life together.

He kissed her everywhere, as she trembled beneath his hands, and began to look slowly for him. She found what she was seeking, and her eyes widened in surprise. No one had ever prepared her for this. She had no idea what to do, but nature took over gradually, and he knew instinctively what to do for her. She was startled when he entered her, and he was careful with her, despite his mounting desire, which was harder to control with each moment. He knew it would be painful for her, and it was at first, but he restrained himself for as long as he could, and then he couldn't stand holding back anymore. He came, shuddering violently, calling her name, and she held him tightly to her as she moaned in a strange mixture of pain and pleasure that seemed to transport her. He caressed her afterward, and looked down at her, there were tears in her eyes, but they were for the new life they shared, the sorrows they had left behind, the tie that would hold them together now for the rest of their lives. She knew that she could never leave him now, nor he her. They had come far for this, and he kissed her lips and her hair and her eyes, and then just lay there with her and held her tight. And when finally he could bear to be parted from her, he looked at her, in awe of the beauty that had been hidden so carefully in the ugly habit.

“You're so beautiful…” He had never dreamt it would be anything like that, and he wanted her again, but he was afraid to hurt her. But as he kissed her passionately once more, she wanted him too, and it was different for her this time. They lay wrapped in ecstasy, lost in each other's gifts for what seemed like an eternity, and then afterward, he took her into the bathroom with him, and they took a shower. She was surprised at how easy they were with each other despite their lack of experience, and their natural shyness. She stood in the shower with him, the water running down on them, washing them clean, as they kissed again, and she smiled. It was obvious to both of them what they had to do now, what they would do after this. The die had been cast. And they no longer had any doubts about the future.

They changed the bed together, and put the sheets and towels through the washing machine, and then they walked back into the living room to wait for them to dry and sat on the couch again, discussing what they were going to do about their lives now.

“We can't do this forever, sweetheart,” he said practically, and they both knew that afternoon had changed their lives forever. She couldn't even imagine what she'd say to Mother Gregoria eventually. She couldn't begin to think about that now. All she could think about was him, and what they'd done that afternoon. She knew that she was his now for the rest of her life, whatever their future brought them.

It would be hard to be satisfied with a walk in the park, or a quick kiss in the confessional, after all they had shared here.

“We can do whatever we have to, for a while,”Gabriella said, worried about him. He had so much on his mind.

“Could you live in abject poverty?” he asked, looking worried. He knew she never had before, and it troubled him. She had lived without luxuries in her convent days, but all her needs had been met, and she had total security. If he married her, he knew they might have to starve for a while, or close to it.

“I can work too, you know.” She had a college degree, she could teach, or work for a magazine. She could always try to write and sell her stories. She had no idea how much money she'd make at it, but Mother Gregoria and the other nuns had always wanted her to try and sell them.

“I can get a job teaching school,” he said nervously. St. Stephen's paid him a salary, but if he left the church, none of the skills he needed there would be of any use to him outside. He had never before had to worry about making a living.

“You can do a lot of things,” she said reassuringly, “if that's what you want.” She didn't want him to feel he'd been pushed out of the priesthood. He had to walk out because he wanted to, otherwise he might hate her for the rest of his life, particularly if their road got rocky. And she knew it would for a time. It was a huge adjustment.

“You know I want to be with you more than anything in the world,” he said, kissing her again, transported again by the emotions of the past two hours. He was glad now that there had never been anyone else. He had never realized how much it would mean to him to have saved himself for her. And what they lacked in experience, they made up for amply in passion.

“I'd better go back,” she said with regret finally. It was hard to believe she still had to go back to the convent, but Joe still had a lot to work out in his own mind. They had agreed to wait for a while, to give him time to sort things out, but they had both made their decisions. It was just a question of time now. But they both knew they couldn't continue the charade indefinitely, and to Gabriella, at least, that part of it seemed very wrong. They had to admit it now, confess their sins, and eventually move on toward their future. If they were going to be together, she didn't want to lie to Mother Gregoria for a long time.

She adjusted her dress carefully again, and he took her in his arms one last time before they left the apartment together. “I'm going to miss you terribly,” he said in a voice still gruff with passion. “I'll remember this day for the rest of time.”‘

“So will I,” she whispered, her love for him mixed with the guilt she felt for the women she had betrayed when she gave herself to him. But in her heart, she already felt married to him.

They left the apartment, and he walked her slowly back to the car, and watched her put her coif on. She was a postulant again, a nun in the eyes of the world. But as he looked at her, he knew better. He remembered every inch of her, all the sheer, raw beauty of her, and their passion for each other as he leaned down and kissed her.

“Take good care of yourself,” he said gently to her. “I'll see you tomorrow morning.” He heard confessions and said Mass every day now. It wasn't much for them to share, but it was all they had beyond the world of their borrowed apartment.

“I love you,” she said, and they kissed again, and then with a heavy heart, she drove away. She hated to leave him. And it was even more depressing when she got back to the convent. She wanted so desperately to be with him, and seeing the nuns around her everywhere reminded her of what she'd done, and how far behind she'd left them. And yet, she still had to be here. Until they decided what to do about it, she had nowhere else to go, and neither did Joe. They had a lot of practical issues to work out before they made any kind of announcement. And she still wanted Joe to be sure about his decision to leave the priesthood. But she also knew that if he left her now, she had no doubt whatsoever in her mind that it would kill her.

She lay awake in her bed for hours that night, and several of the postulants had noticed that she scarcely spoke at dinner. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, and the Sister in charge of them that week was worried that she might be getting sick. In fact, the next morning she urged Gabbie to go see the doctor. She looked tired and pale, but she insisted that she was fine, and as usual went to both Mass and confession.

Joe was waiting in the confessional for her, and he opened the grille immediately to kiss her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, sounding worried. He had been anxious about her all night, as well as hungry for her. She had awakened an insatiable appetite, and after he'd gone back to the apartment to clean up, it had seemed so empty without her. “No regrets?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

“Of course not. It was so sad coming back here yesterday. I was so lonely without you.”

“So was I.” He wanted to go back to the apartment with her again, but she had no idea when she could do that.

They met in the empty office at noon instead, and for once they both seemed very nervous. They had been lucky here so far, but Gabriella was beginning to worry that one of these days someone might see them.

She worked in the garden for the rest of the afternoon, thinking of him, and longing to be with him. She even took the chance of calling him from Mother Gregoria's office. They had a quick chat, and were careful not to reveal their names or their secret. But they both knew the risks were high and the stakes were mounting. They would have to make a clean breast of it soon, but Joe still hadn't decided when to do it.

She managed to meet him in the apartment again one more time before Mother Gregoria came back, but this time she couldn't stay away for as long, and they were both still hungry for each other when she left. The time they spent in bed in each other's arms seemed much too short, their hours together, infinitely precious.

And when Mother Gregoria returned from Lake George, she was worried by what she saw. Gabriella seemed far too quiet to her, and there was something in the young postulant's eyes that concerned her. She had known her for a long time, and she knew instinctively that Gabriella was deeply troubled about something. She tried to talk to her about it the night she came back, but Gabriella insisted that it was nothing. She perked up a bit the next afternoon after she'd written to Joe in her journal, but she was lonely for him all the time now, and she felt that she no longer belonged at the convent.

She went to the post office the following day, and met with Joe for a walk in the park. She knew she wouldn't have time to go to the apartment, and she was too afraid that Mother Gregoria would notice something.

“I think she senses it, Joe,” Gabbie said with a worried frown as they listened to a group of wandering musicians and shared an ice cream. “She knows things about people, even when she doesn't really know them.” And then she looked up at him with grave concern and a mild look of terror. “Do you think someone has seen us?” They'd taken a lot of walks, and met more frequently than she should have dared, and they'd gone to the apartment. Someone could have seen them on Fifty-third Street.

“I doubt it,” Joe said calmly. He was far less worried than she was. He had a lot more freedom than she did. Priests were never as carefully watched as nuns, and had the right to go places she would never dream of. No one questioned his comings and goings. He was conscientious, responsible, and highly trusted. “I think she's just keeping an eye on her little chickens.”

“I hope so.” It was August by then, and the summer seemed to be speeding by very quickly. Soon the teaching Sisters would be back at school, the older nuns would be back from their retreats at Lake George and in the Catskills. The kitchen staff were already planning a Labor Day picnic, but all of it seemed less important to Gabbie now as she contemplated their future.

And when Labor Day finally came, she came down with a bad case of flu, and Mother Gregoria began to worry seriously about her. There was something wrong with more than just Gabbie's flesh, there was something seriously amiss with her spirit, and Mother Gregoria knew it.

Joe came to the Labor Day picnic with the other priests, as he always did, but he seemed to avoid Gabbie this time. They had discussed it the previous morning and agreed that it was wiser to stay away from each other, in case someone noticed the ease with which they talked now. There was something private and intimate about all their exchanges. And halfway through the day, Gabbie left and went back to her room. She felt too ill to eat, or even be with the others. Mother Gregoria noticed it, as did Sister Emanuel, and they discussed it quietly with each other.

“What do you suppose is wrong with her?” the Mistress of Postulants asked with genuine concern. She had never seen Gabbie like this.

“I'm not sure,” Mother Gregoria said with an unhappy expression. She had already decided to talk to her about it, and that afternoon she went to her room, and found Gabbie writing furiously in her journal. “Something new?” she asked pleasantly, as she sat on the single chair that stood in the corner of the stark room, for occasions such as this one. “Anything for me to read?”

“Not yet,” Gabriella said wanly, as she shoved the thin volume under her pillow. “I haven't had much time lately,” and then she looked at her apologetically, for more than the Mother Superior knew. “I'm sorry I left the picnic.” It had been blazing hot outside, and Gabriella had looked green by the time she left them.

“I'm worried about you,” Mother Gregoria said honestly, and Gabbie looked nervous as she answered.

“It's nothing. Just the flu. Everyone had it while you were away.” But Mother Gregoria knew that wasn't true. Only one very old nun had been ill, and that had been due to her gallbladder. No one else had been ill recently at St. Matthew's.

“Are you having doubts, my child? It happens to all of us at one time or another. Ours is not an easy life, nor an easy choice to make, not even for someone like you, who's been here seemingly forever. At some point we must all wrestle with it and come to a final decision. After you do, you will be at peace for a long time, perhaps forever.” And as she said it, she wished that Gabriella had taken greater advantage of her years in college. Perhaps she was regretting giving up a world she had never known, one which, in her childhood at least, had never been kind to her. “Don't be afraid to tell me.”

“No, Mother, I'm fine.” It was the first time she had ever lied to her, and she hated herself for it. This was rapidly becoming an untenable situation for her. She wanted to tell her she was in love with Joe, that she had to leave. As awful as it would have been, she would almost have preferred it.

“Perhaps you should take a last look at the world again, while you are still free to do it. You could get a job somewhere, and still live here, Gabriella. You know we'd allow you to do that.” It was precisely the opening she needed, and yet she knew that even that liberty would be abused if she was meeting with Joe in borrowed apartments. If she left, she had to do it honestly and cleanly.

“I don't want to do that,” she said firmly. “I love being here with my Sisters.” That much was true, she did, but now she loved Joe more, that was the problem. And he still had a final decision to make about the priesthood. They both had to be sure. She was, and he said he wanted to leave, but so far he had offered no clear plan as to how he was going to do it. It was still too soon for him, no matter how much he said he loved her, and she knew that. It had only been two months since it all began between them.

But the next weeks rapidly became a nightmare for her. She did errands whenever she could, but Mother Gregoria was so worried about her that most of the time she wouldn't let Gabbie do them. She and Joe still met in the spare room, and in the confessional, but most of the time they were together now was spent discussing their plans, and his obvious guilt at leaving the priesthood. She kept telling him to take his time about his decision. She never wanted him to regret it, once he did it. And they had only been able to meet two more times in the borrowed apartment. His friend was back in town by then, but Joe was still able to use it while his friend was at the office.

And to make matters worse, by mid-September Gabbie was feeling deathly ill much of the time. She tried to conceal it from the others, but everyone noticed how pale she was, how little she ate, and there was real panic when she fainted in church once. Joe had been there, he'd been saying Mass, and he looked up sharply when he saw the stir in the row of postulants, and then nearly panicked when he saw her carried outside. He had to wait a full day before he could meet her in the confessional and ask her what had happened.

“I don't know, it was just very hot in church yesterday.” They had been having an endless heat wave, but as he pointed out to her with anguish in his eyes, none of the other nuns had fainted, not even the old ones. He was desperately worried about her.

She waited another two weeks to be sure. It was the end of September by then, and there was no doubt in her mind, although she had no scientific way to confirm it. But she was sure anyway. She had all the signs, and inexperienced as she was, she was still able to figure out that she was pregnant. Finally she managed to leave the convent and she called Joe to meet her at the apartment. They met in the apartment that afternoon, and he knew there was something wrong as soon as he saw her. But when she told him, Joe looked terrified, and he held her in his arms and cried. He felt terrible about it. In his eyes, it was no way to start a marriage. And it was certainly going to force their hand very quickly. From all she could determine, she must have gotten pregnant the first time, and she was now nearly two months’ pregnant. She couldn't wait much longer to make her own decision. And whatever he did now, she had to leave the convent. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the baby, and he didn't expect it. In fact, he would have done anything to stop her. They both had deep religious feelings on the subject.

“It's all right, Joe,” she said quietly, sensing his distress over it, and the enormous pressure it added to an already untenable situation. “Maybe it was meant to be this way. Maybe it's what I needed to make my decision.”

“Oh, Gabbie, I'm so sorry… it's all my fault… I never thought… but I should have.” But how could a priest even think about buying condoms? And there was certainly nothing available to her in their circumstances. They had had no choice and no options. They had been forced to take their chances. And naive as they were, it had never occurred to either of them that something like this could happen so quickly.

Now he had two people to think about, a wife, and a baby, and no way to support either of them. The prospects facing him seemed suddenly devastating, and the pressure almost beyond bearing.

“I'm going to leave St. Matthew's in a month,” Gabbie said. She had already made her decision once she realized what had happened to her. “I'll tell Mother Gregoria about it in October.” That gave him a month to figure out what he was doing. In these circumstances, it was all she could give him. She could give him longer than that, but she had to make a move herself before they all figured it out and it became the scandal of the convent.

He held her in his arms for a while that afternoon, afraid to touch her now, to damage her or the baby, and he began to cry again as he held her. “I'm so afraid to fail you in the world, Gabbie… what if I can't do it?” It was his worst fear now.

“You can do it, Joe, if you want to. We both can. You know that.” She seemed remarkably certain, given how unproven they both were.

“All I know is how much I love you,” he said, knowing that now he had not only her to think of, but their baby. He wanted to leave the church, for both of them. He wanted to be with her, and take care of her, but he still wasn't sure he could do it. ‘You're so strong, Gabbie, you don't understand. I've never known anything but the priesthood.” And she had never known anything but St. Matthew's, and a lifetime of beatings before that. And why was it that they all thought she was so strong? Her father had said the same thing to her the night before he left her. It touched a chord of memory for her now, and a deep, silent place of terror. What if Joe left too? What if he abandoned her, and their baby? The mere thought of it filled her with panic, but she didn't say a word to him as he held her. She merely clung to him silently, trying not to frighten him further.

He kissed her before she left, and she drove back to the convent lost in her own thoughts. She didn't even see Mother Gregoria watching her as she came in, or Sister Anne leaving an envelope outside her office. And she had no way of knowing later on when the Mother Superior called St. Stephen's. She met with the monsignor there that night, and came back to St. Matthew's with a heavy heart. No one knew anything for sure, but there had been rumors, and a number of phone calls from a young woman who left different names at different times. Father Connors had been out a lot lately, and, Mother Gregoria realized now, at St. Matthew's far too often. And she and the monsignor had come to an agreement that night. Father Connors would not be back again for some time to hear confession or say Mass at the convent.

Gabriella had no way of knowing that, and when she slipped into the confessional the next morning and said, “Hi, I love you,” the voice that answered her was not one she recognized. There was a long moment of silence, and then he continued the confession as though everything were normal. Her heart was pounding as she left, and she couldn't even remember hearing her penance. She wondered if something had happened to Joe, if he were ill, or if he had told them he was leaving, or worse yet, if they had been discovered. She knew he wouldn't have said anything to them without consulting her first, but maybe after her announcement the previous afternoon, he had decided to move ahead and tell them he was leaving very quickly.

She was still frantic over it when Mother Gregoria called her into her office later that morning. She said nothing for a short time, and then looked across her desk sadly at Gabriella.

“I think you have some things to say to me, don't you, Gabriella?”

“About what?” Gabbie's face was as white as paper as she looked across the desk at the woman whom, for twelve years, she had called “Mother,” and loved as though she had been born to her.

“You know what I'm talking about. About Father Connors. Have you been calling him, Gabriella? I want you to be honest with me. One of the priests at St. Stephen's thought he saw you with him in Central Park, in August. I don't know for sure if it was you, and neither does he, but everyone at St. Stephen's seems to suspect it. It's still not too late to avoid a scandal, if you tell me the truth now.”

“I…” She didn't want to lie to her this time, but there was no way she could tell her the truth. Not yet, at least. Not until she talked to Joe about it, and found out what he'd told them. She was sure that they had already questioned him about it. “I don't know what to say to you, Mother.”

“The truth would be your best course of action,” Mother Gregoria said grimly, feeling her heart ache as she looked at the young woman she loved like a daughter.

“I… I've called him, yes… and we met in the park once.” It was all she was willing to give her. The rest belonged to them, and was far too private.

“May I ask why, Gabriella? Or is that a foolish question with a far-too-obvious answer? He's a handsome young man, and you re a beautiful young woman. But although you have not taken final vows yet, you have told me that you're sure of your vocation, and I believed you. I am no longer quite so certain. And in his case, he has been a priest for a number of years. Neither of you are free to behave this way, or to violate your commitments:’

“I understand that.” There were tears in her eyes, but she refused to cry now, or beg for mercy.

“Is there more to this ugly story, Gabriella? If there is, I want to know it.” It was not an ugly story, and hearing it described that way nearly broke Gabriella's heart as she listened. All she could do was shake her head. She refused to tell her any more lies now. “I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that there is going to be an investigation at St. Stephen's. The archbishop will be called today. And we won't be seeing Father Connors here for quite some time.” She paused for breath, looking deep into Gabbie's eyes, searching for answers Gabriella wouldn't allow her to see there. “I am going to suggest to you that you spend some time seriously examining your conscience, and your vocation, at our sister house in Oklahoma.” It sounded like a death sentence to Gabbie, and she almost shrieked when she heard it.

“Oklahoma?” It came out as a single croaking sound that seemed unfamiliar to her. But it was all she could say now. “I won't leave here.” It was the only time Gabriella had defied the Mother Superior since their initial battle over her going to college. But Mother Gregoria was more than firm now. Beneath her calm exterior, she was livid. At Gabriella, and the priest who had offered her temptation and nearly broken her spirit. It was an unpardonable sin as far as the Mother Superior was concerned, and she would have to do a great deal of praying herself, she knew, to forgive it. He had had no right to do this to her. He had been in a situation of extreme trust here. She was a young, innocent girl, and he should have known better.

“You have no choice in this matter, Gabriella. You are leaving here tomorrow. And you will be carefully watched until you go, so don't try to reach him. If you choose to stay with us, and that choice is still yours, you must carefully think about what you've done, and decide if you really want to be here. I offered you every opportunity to go back to the world for a time, to be part of it, if that's what you wanted to do, and you refused it. But at no time did that include consorting with a priest in clandestine meetings.”

“I didn't,” Gabbie said, looking agonized, and hating herself for the lies she was telling, but she felt she had to, if only for his sake.

“I wish I could believe you.” The Mother Superior stood up then, and signaled in no uncertain terms that the meeting was over. “You may go back to your room now. You will not speak to the other postulants for the rest of the day, or until you leave. One of the Sisters in the kitchen will bring a tray to your room, but you may not speak to her either.” Overnight, she had become a leper. And without a word she left the room, and went back upstairs, desperate to call him, but there was no way she could do it. All she knew was that she could not go to Oklahoma. She would not leave him.

She lay on her bed all that day, thinking of him, and by nightfall she was in a total state. She had written to him in her journal all day, and when she wasn't writing or lying down, she paced, wishing she could at least get out to the garden, but she knew she couldn't. She could not defy Mother Gregoria's orders any further. And all day she wondered what they were doing to him, and what he was saying to the archbishop. But neither of them had ever thought for a moment this would be easy. They had both known that from the beginning. Now all they had to do was survive the pain and humiliation until they could be together.

She never touched the food that came to her that day, and it was after dinnertime when she felt a strange pain low in her belly. It took her breath away at first, and then disappeared, and in a little while, it was followed by another. Gabriella had no idea what it meant, but she was in such a state worrying about Joe that she scarcely noticed. And by the time the other two postulants returned to the room, she was in bed, in agony, but she said nothing to them. She knew that whatever it was, it was from sheer terror.

The others said nothing at all to her, they had been warned that Gabriella was deeply troubled and they were not to speak to her. They had no idea what she had done, or what punishment was being meted out to her, but they whispered about it constantly whenever Sister Emanuel left the room, trying to guess what had happened. Only Sister Anne remained strangely silent.

Gabriella never slept that night, thinking about him, worrying about what he had said, or what they were saying to him. She imagined something much akin to the Spanish Inquisition going on at St. Stephen's, and at two o'clock that morning, she was in so much pain, she almost called out to the others, but she couldn't. What could she tell them? She could hardly say she was afraid she might lose her baby. Instead, she nearly crawled, hunched over, to the bathroom, and there she saw the first telltale signs of what she suspected was a serious problem. But there was no one she could turn to for help, not even Mother Gregoria this time, and surely not the others. And she had no way of reaching Joe. She had to wait to hear from him. She felt sure he would come for her, and that the whole situation would explode by morning. If he had told them he was leaving the priesthood for her, when they confronted him, it was only a matter of time before he came to find her at St. Matthew's. And then, she promised herself, she would tell Mother Gregoria everything that had happened, or as much of it as she needed to know. But she would not leave here with a trail of lies, like tin cans, rattling behind her.

But by morning, Gabriella was nearly blinded by pain and terror. And she had no idea what time they would come to try and make her go to Oklahoma. But that, at least, she knew she was not doing. She would refuse to leave here, and they could hardly carry her out in her nightgown.

She heard the others get up silently, and waited until they were gone, and when she stirred finally from her own bed, she saw that there was blood on the sheets, and she had no idea what to do about it. She went back to bed, crying softly, and lay there. And as the first light of day came up, after she had heard them singing in the chapel, she heard the door to her room open again, and saw Sister Emanuel looking down at her with immeasurable sorrow. She thought the old nun had even been crying.

“Mother Gregoria wants to see you now, Gabbie,” she said sadly. This was a sad day for all of them, saddest of all for Gabriella, who had so terribly betrayed them.

“I'm not going to Oklahoma,” she said hoarsely, not even sure she could get up. The pains had continued getting worse as she lay there.

“You'll have to come downstairs and talk to her about it.” She was afraid to say she couldn't, and waited instead until Sister Emanuel left the room, and then struggled into her clothes with enormous difficulty. It reminded her of the days when she'd been beaten, had been wracked with pain, and had to dress for her mother. And much to her own amazement, she found this was harder.

And as she dressed, the pains were worse than ever. She could barely get down the stairs, and she nearly had to crawl into the Mother Superior's office. But she forced herself to stand upright as she walked into the office, and was so blinded by pain she nearly fainted. And as she entered, Gabbie gave a visible start to see that there were two priests standing beside Mother Gregoria. They had been there for nearly an hour, discussing what they were going to say to Gabriella.

When the Mother Superior looked up at her, she had never seen Gabriella look worse. She was clearly in hell now, and it took all her restraint to keep from getting up and going to her.

“Father O'Brian and Father Dimeola have come to speak to you, Sister Bernadette,” she said, using the name of her postulancy so it would seem less personal to both of them, and not hurt her quite so much as she listened to what they had to say to her. But in spite of herself, her entire heart and soul went out silently to the child she had known and loved as Gabbie.

“Mother Gregoria will decide your fate later today,” Father O'Brian said, with a look of grief in his eyes, which took in nothing of Gabbie's situation. She seemed to be gasping for air, as the room closed in around her, and with each passing second she got paler. But as far as they were concerned, whatever agonies she suffered now, she deserved them. “But we have come to speak to you about Father Connors.” He had told them then, Gabbie thought with relief as she watched them with unseeing eyes. She was in such pain, she could barely hear them. “He has left a letter for you,” Father Dimeola said sadly, “explaining how he felt about the situation you lured him into.”

“Did he say that?” Gabbie looked shocked as she stared at him. Joe would never have said that about her. It was clearly their interpretation of the situation, and they had decided to blame her. She could hear a clock ticking on the wall somewhere and she wished they'd get through with it, so she could leave them.

“Father Connors did not say that precisely, but it's obvious from what he did say.”

“May I see the letter, please?” Gabbie held out a shaking hand with surprising dignity, and had they been able to admit it to her, or themselves, they admired her for it.

“In a moment,” Father O'Brian answered. “We have something to tell you first. Something you must live with now, and understand clearly your part in it. You have condemned a man to hell, Sister Bernadette. For eternity. There will be no redemption for his soul. There cannot be, after what he's done… after what you brought him to. Your hell will be in knowing that you did this.” She hated the ugly sound of their words, and their cruel lack of forgiveness, for either of them. No matter what they had done, they did not deserve this, and all she could think of now was how Joe must have suffered at their hands, and she hated them for it. She only wanted to see him now, to tell him how much she loved him, and bring him comfort. They had no right to torture him, as well as condemn him.

“I want to see him,” she said in a strong voice that surprised even her. She was not going to let them do this to him. And they could not keep her from him. They no longer had a right to.

“You will never see him again,” Father O'Brian said in a voice so terrifying, Gabriella actually shuddered.

“You have no right to decide that. It is Father Connors’ decision. And if that is his decision, I will respect it.” She looked beautiful and strong and dignified as she said it, and in spite of herself, Mother Gregoria loved her for it. And as pale as she was as she spoke to them, Gabriella looked almost angelic.

“You will not see him again,” Father O'Brian intoned again, and Gabriella looked immovable this time as she faced him. And then he dealt her the final blow, the only one she had in no way expected, and they meted it out to her so cruelly it nearly destroyed her faith forever. “He took his life early this morning. He left you this letter.” Father Dimeola waved it at her menacingly as the room spun slowly around her.

“He… I…” She had heard the words, but she did not fully understand them. Not yet. That would come later. She looked up at them imploringly, begging them with her eyes to tell her they had lied to her. But they hadn't.

“He could not live with what he had done… he could not face leaving the church… or taking on what you expected of him. He took his life rather than do what you wanted. He hanged himself in his room at St. Stephen's last night, a sin for which he will burn in hell eternally. He chose to die rather than to abandon the God he loved more than he loved you, Sister Bernadette… and you will live with this on your conscience forever.” She looked at him clearly then, and stood up with a strength she didn't know she had. She stood very still for a moment, looking at each of them with eyes that refused to believe what he had just said, and then with a small, startled sound, the life went out of her entirely, and she fainted, knowing only as she fell that Joe had abandoned her, he was gone. He had left her alone, like all the others.

But before she could say a single word to them, she had disappeared into the merciful arms of darkness. As she fell, they stared at her, and saw for the first time, the pool of blood spreading rapidly around her.

Chapter 13

GABRIELLA WAS AWARE of a high-pitched wailing somewhere in the distance. It was an endless sound, the howling of banshees, and sounded to her like the death screams of her spirit. She tried to speak, but found that she couldn't. She tried to open her eyes, but could not see. Everything was dim and gray, alternating with silent blackness. She had no idea where she was, and did not understand that the sound she heard was the siren of the ambulance she rode in.

It seemed like years before she finally heard a voice speaking to her, but she could not decipher what it was saying. Someone kept calling her name, pulling her back from somewhere, dragging her back forcefully to a life she no longer wanted. She wanted only to drift away, toward the blackness and the silence, but the dim voices she heard sporadically would not let her.

“Gabriella!… Gabriella!… Come on! Open your eyes now… Gabriella!” They were shouting at her, and clawing at her, and someone with a knife was tearing her heart out. She had begun to feel the pain now. It was like a dragon fighting from within her, tearing her from top to bottom. She didn't want to wake up to this, couldn't bear what she was feeling, and beyond the pain, she knew that something terrible had happened. She opened her eyes finally, but there were lights everywhere, blinding her, searing through her mercilessly, just as the pain was. People were doing something to her, but she had no idea what they were doing, only that the pain devouring her was beyond bearing. She could not even seem to breathe now. And then suddenly, as a pain so terrible it could not be borne ripped through her, she remembered why she had come here… her mother had beaten her… and broken her doll… she killed Meredith, and nearly killed her… and she knew that her father must be here somewhere, watching.

“Gabriella!…” They were shouting her name again, and the people around her sounded angry. All she could see was still light and dark, and no matter how hard she tried, as the demons of pain devoured her, she could not see their faces. And as she fought to see them again, and listen to what they said, a single horrifying pain seemed to tear her body apart, as she fought desperately to free herself from it. But it would not loose her from its clutches. And then suddenly, with total clarity, she saw not her father, but Joe smiling down at her. He was holding out a hand and beckoning to her, saying something she could not hear… the other voices seemed to drown out what he was saying. But when she looked at him again, trying to ask him where she was, he was laughing.

“I can't hear you, Joe…” she kept saying to him again and again. And then he started to move away, and she shouted at him to wait for her, but she found her feet would not move as she struggled to go to him.

Everything about her was too heavy. He stood there, waiting for her, and then he shook his head and disappeared, and suddenly she was free and running toward him. But he was moving too fast for her, she couldn't keep up with him, and the people who were behind her now sounded very angry as they followed. They were still calling her name, and this time when she looked at them, she saw why she could not follow Joe. They had tied her down, with her legs strapped high in the air, and her body and arms strapped down, and everything around her was too bright now. “No… I have to go…” she shouted weakly at them… “He's waiting for me… he needs me…” Joe turned and waved, and he looked so happy that it frightened her. But in the room where she lay, the people around her were very angry, and she knew that they were doing something terrible to her. They were ripping out everything inside her, tearing her soul away, and keeping her from him. “No!” she kept shouting at them. “No!” But they wouldn't listen to her.

“It's all right, Gabriella… it's all right…” There were women and men, and they all seemed to have knives and were stabbing her, and when Gabriella looked at them, she saw that none of them had faces.

“Her blood pressure is dropping again,” a voice said from somewhere, and she had no idea who they were talking about, and to Gabriella, it no longer mattered.

“For God's sake,” a different voice said, “can't you stop it?” And like the others, he sounded angry at her. She had done something terrible, obviously, and they all knew what it was, but she didn't. She closed her eyes again, howling in pain this time, and in the distance she could hear the same sound she had heard before, and this time she knew it must be sirens. There had been an accident, someone was hurt, and in the darkness that engulfed her again, she could hear a woman screaming. And then more people came, they seemed to be everywhere, surrounding her, but she couldn't help them. Every part of her was too heavy, except the part of her where the demons of pain were raging. She tried to move her arms, to push them away, but they were still tied down, and she didn't doubt for a moment now that they were going to kill her.

“Shit…” a voice in the darkness said, “get me two more units.” They had been pumping blood into her to no avail, and it was clear to all of them now, they were not going to win this one. There was no way they could save her. Her blood pressure was almost gone, and when her heart began fibrillating, they knew they had lost her.

For a long time, the voices stopped, and Gabriella lay quietly, at peace finally. They had left her alone at last, and the demon within her was silent. Joe came back to her then, walking slowly back from the shadows, but this time he did not look happy. He said something to her, and she heard him clearly this time. Her arms were free again, and she held a hand out to him, but he wouldn't take it.

“I don't want you to come with me,” he said clearly, and he no longer seemed angry, or even sad. He looked very peaceful.

“I have to, Joe. I need you.” She began walking next to him, but he stopped and would go no farther.

“You're strong, Gabriella,” he said, and she struggled to tell him that she wasn't.

“I'm not… I can't… I won't go back without you.” But he only shook his head and drifted away, as she felt a crushing weight drop down on her again, and a final searing pain that tore her away from him like a riptide. And suddenly, she knew she was drowning, just like Jimmy. She was fighting for air, and being pulled into the whirlpool with him, but when she tried to find him, she saw that she couldn't. He had abandoned her, just as Joe had, and she was alone in the roaring waters, and a force greater than any she had ever known pushed her suddenly toward the surface. She came up, gasping for air, spluttering and crying and screaming.

“Okay, we've got her…” She could hear the voices again, and hands seemed to pull at her from everywhere. She could feel each one of her broken ribs when she breathed, her eyes were filled with pain, they had tied her arms down again, and the place where the demons had been, burned with a white heat now.

“No! No! Stop!” She was trying to scream at them, but she couldn't, and all she knew was that they were tearing something from her. It was the place where her heart had been, and she knew they were trying to take Joe from her, but they couldn't. She had never before known such agony, and all she could think of now was her mother, wondering if she had done this to her.

“Gabriella!… Gabriella!” They were talking to her, more gently now, but all she could do was cry. There was no way to escape the pain they had caused her. They kept calling her name, and she felt someone stroking her hair. It was a gentle hand, but she couldn't see the face that went with it. Her eyes were still blurred, and the lights shining on her blinded her, but someone had begun to pull the demon from her.

“Christ, that was a close one,” a man's voice somewhere in the room said softly. “I thought we'd lost her.” They had for a while, more than once. But she was still alive, in spite of all her efforts to leave them. She had stayed because of Joe. It was Joe who had refused to take her with him. She knew, as she opened her eyes again, that he was not coming back again. They never did. They all went away and left her.

“Gabriella, how do you feel now?” She could see a woman's eyes as the voice talked to her, but they still had no faces. They all wore masks, but their voices were gentler. And when Gabriella tried to answer her, she found that she still couldn't. No sound came from where the screams had been. Every part of her body and her soul seemed empty.

“She's not hearing me,” the voice complained, as though, once again, she had failed them, and she wondered if now they would beat her. It didn't matter to her, they could do anything they wanted, as long as the demons did not come back again with their knife-sharp tails that cut through her soul like rapiers.

They left her alone then for a while, and she drifted off, but to a different place than she had been, and when she woke, there was a mask on her face. It smelled terrible, and she was very drowsy. And then, without saying anything to her, they rolled her away, and she saw people and hallways and doors drifting past her, and someone told her they were taking her to her room now. She wondered if she was in jail, if they were going to punish her finally for the terrible things she had done to all of them. They knew, they all did, that she was guilty. But no one said anything to her as they wheeled her into a room, and left her there, dozing on the gurney.

Two women in white walked into the room finally, wearing starched caps and somber faces, and without saying a word to her, they lifted her carefully from the gurney to the bed, and adjusted the IV that was still giving her a transfusion. They said very little to her, and left her to sleep for the rest of the day. Gabriella still didn't know why she was here, though she still remembered the sound of the woman she had heard screaming. It had been a wail of agony, a keening of pain, and sorrow. And later, when the doctor came in to talk to her, she cried again, but this time she understood what had happened. She had lost Joe's baby.

“I'm very sorry,” the doctor said solemnly. He did not know she was a postulant, but he assumed because of the convent where she lived that she was an unwed mother, and had been placed there by her parents. “There will be other children one day,” he said optimistically. But Gabriella knew better than he did, that there wouldn't. She had never wanted children because she was too afraid that she would become a monster like her mother. She would never have risked it. But with Joe at her side, she thought it might have been different. It had been a chance for another life, with a man she loved, and the child born of their love for each other. It had been a dream she had cherished all too briefly and didn't deserve, and now it had become a nightmare without him.

“You'll have to be very careful for a while,” the doctor admonished her. “You've lost a lot of blood, and,” he added ominously, “we almost lost you. If you'd come in here twenty minutes later, we would have.” Her heart had stopped beating twice in the delivery room, and it was the worst miscarriage he'd ever seen. She had lost more than enough blood to kill her.

“We re going to keep you here for a few days, just to watch you, and to keep up the transfusions. You can go home after that, as long as you promise me you'll rest and take it very easy. No running around, no parties, no visits, no dancing.” He smiled at her, imagining a life different than any she had ever known, but she was young and beautiful and he assumed she would be anxious to get out and see her friends again, and probably the man who had gotten her pregnant. Then he asked her if she wanted him to call anyone for her, and Gabriella looked up at him with grief-stricken horror.

“My husband died yesterday,” she said in a hoarse whisper, endowing Joe posthumously with the role she had wished for him, and the doctor looked at her with wisdom and compassion.

“I'm very sorry.” It was a double blow for her, he knew, and explained something to him. For most of the surgery and delivery he had had the odd feeling that she was fighting them and didn't want to make it, and now he knew that for certain. She had wanted to die and be with the man she called her husband, although he still doubted they'd been married. If they had been, she would never have come to them from St. Matthew's. “Try and rest now.” It was all he had to offer her, and after a few more minutes of observing her, he left her. She was a pretty girl, she was young and had a long life ahead of her. She had survived this, and would survive other things. It would all be a dim memory one day, he knew, but for now she looked and felt as though her world had ended.

And in Gabriella's eyes, it had. She was absolutely convinced she had nothing left to live for. She didn't want to live without him. And as she lay there, she thought about him constantly, and the journal she had written to him, the time they had shared, the talks, the confidences, the whispered laughter, the walks in Central Park, the stolen moments, and the brief hours of passion in the borrowed apartment. She couldn't even remember where it was now, and as she lay there, thinking of him, she struggled to remember every word, every inflection, every moment. And then each time, she came to the end of it, the two priests sitting with Mother Gregoria only that morning and telling her that he had taken his life, and she would live with it on her conscience forever. And now she believed that it was her fault. She remembered seeing him that morning, in her dreams, while they were working on her, and knew that she had almost gone to join him, and hated the fact that she hadn't. She would have done anything to be with him. And she tried to bring him back now as she dozed fitfully, but he would not come to her. She could not bring him to mind again, or make him seem real. He had left her, like the others. And all she could think of now was what he must have felt before he died, the agony that had brought him to a decision like that, the sorrow and pain he must have felt. It reminded her of his mother. She had made the same decision seventeen years before, and left her son an orphan. But this time, Joe left no one, except her, all alone now. She didn't even have their baby. She had nothing. Except sorrow.

Mother Gregoria came to see her that night. She had spoken to the doctor twice that afternoon and was well aware of how close Gabriella had come to dying. He mentioned what Gabriella herself had said, about the father of the child dying the day before, and he said he felt very sorry for her. And although she didn't say so, so did Mother Gregoria when she saw her. Gabriella looked deathly pale, her cheeks were as white as the sheets where she lay, and her lips seemed bluish and almost transparent. It was easy to believe they had barely been able to save her. She had had yet another transfusion by then, but so far, they seemed to have made no difference. She had hemorrhaged so violently, the doctor had told Mother Gregoria that it could take her months to recover. And for the Mother Superior, that posed a serious problem.

She sat next to Gabbie's bed for a while, and said very little to her. Gabbie was almost too weak to speak, and everything she tried to say made her cry, and cost her an enormous effort.

“Don't talk, my child,” Mother Gregoria said finally. She just sat there, holding her hand, and was grateful when Gabriella drifted off to sleep again. And it made the Mother Superior shudder to see that she looked dead as she lay there.

News of Father Connors’ death had already reached the convent that morning. There had been frantic whispers all day, and Mother Gregoria had made a solemn announcement in the dining hall at dinner. She said only that the young priest had died unexpectedly, there would be no services for him, and his remains were being cremated and returned for burial with his family in Ohio. It had been the archbishop's decision.

Joe's own mother, having committed suicide, was not buried in a Catholic cemetery, and Archbishop Flaherty's decision seemed to be the humane one. He had to be disposed of somehow. And no further explanation was being offered, but the nuns themselves knew that the fact that he was being cremated was suspicious. It was forbidden by the Catholic Church, and only a special dispensation would have made it possible for him to be cremated. As Mother Gregoria asked for a moment of silent prayer for the peace of his soul, their eyes were filled with questions. And later, when she looked around the room at them, she could see that Sister Anne had been crying.

It was several hours later when Sister Anne appeared at the door of the Mother Superiors office, looking stricken. As she waved to her to come in, the Mother Superior asked, “Is something wrong?”

At first the young nun said nothing, and then she came in and sat down at Mother Gregoria's invitation, and burst instantly into tears. “It's all my fault,” she wailed. She knew that something terrible must have happened, and she was filled with remorse now.

“I'm equally certain that you had nothing to do with it,” Mother Gregoria said calmly. “Father Connors’ death is a shock to us all but it has nothing to do with you, Sister Anne. The circumstances are rather complicated, and he apparently had a health problem none of us were aware of.”

“One of the altar boys told the man at the grocery store that he hanged himself,” she sobbed openly, having heard the horror story third-hand from the mailman, who stopped at the grocery store to buy a soda before he delivered the mail at St. Matthew's. And Mother Gregoria was not pleased to know that.

“I can assure you, Sister, that's nonsense.”

“And where is Gabriella? Sister Eugenia said she was taken away in an ambulance and no one knows why. Where is she?”

“She's very well. She had an attack of appendicitis last night, and came to tell me about it early this morning.” But Sister Anne had seen the somber-faced priests from St. Stephen's leaving Mother Gregoria's office. The convent was a small community, an enclosed world, and like others of its kind, even here in the arms of God, it was filled with gossip and rumors. And there had certainly been plenty of them that morning, but Mother Gregoria was far from happy to hear it. All she wanted to do now was reassure the young postulant who felt so guilty.

“I wrote you an anonymous letter,” she confessed haltingly, sobbing between words, “about them, because I thought she was flirting with him… Oh, Mother… I was jealous… I didn't want her to have what I lost before I came here…”

“That was wrong of you, my child,” Mother Gregoria said calmly, remembering the letter only too well, and the concern it caused her. “But the letter was harmless. I paid no attention to it at the time, and your fears were groundless. They were merely good friends, and they only admired each other in the life in Christ they shared. None of us here need to involve ourselves in the worries of the world. We are free of them. And now you must forget all this, and go back to your Sisters.” She comforted the girl for a while, and sent her back to Sister Emanuel with a little note, urging her to come to the Mother Superior's office as soon as the postulants were in bed. She sent the same to Sister Immaculata, and spoke to the others herself to come to a meeting that night after they had completed their duties.

There were twelve faces looking at her expectantly across her desk at ten o'clock that night, and she urged each of them to quell the rumors that were flying. It was a time of great grief for all of them, particularly the priests at St. Stephen's, but she felt that it was their responsibility as well to protect the others in the community from them. It served no purpose to seek further information about the details, or fan the flames of a potential scandal. On the contrary, they had every reason to want to silence the whispers of the devil. She was firm, and hard, and very powerful in what she said, and when they asked about Gabriella's whereabouts, she told them nothing more than what she had told Sister Anne. She had had an attack of appendicitis and would be back in a few days when she was better.

“But are the rumors true then, Mother? Is it true what they are saying?” Sister Mary Margaret was the oldest nun in the convent, and had no hesitation in questioning her superior, who was far younger. “They say that she and Father Connors were in love with each other.” But not, Mother Gregoria silently thanked God for small indulgences, that she was pregnant. “Is that possible? Did he kill himself? The novices were all buzzing with it this morning.”

“And we won't be, Sister Mary Margaret,” Mother Gregoria said sternly. “There are circumstances surrounding Father Connors’ death of which I am not aware, nor do I wish to be, nor do I wish you to worry about it any further. He is in the hands of God, where we will all be one day. We must pray for his soul, and not to discover the details of how he got there. I am certain that whatever happened between him and Sister Bernadette was entirely without merit. They were both young, intelligent, and innocent. If they were drawn to each other in any way, I'm sure that neither of them was aware of it. And I do not wish to hear any more about it. Is that clear, Sisters? All of you? The rumors are over. And to be certain that my wishes on this subject are carried out, and those of the Fathers at St. Stephen's, the convent will maintain silence for the next seven days. There is to be no conversation whatsoever, not a word spoken among any of us, as of the moment we rise tomorrow morning. And when we speak again, let it be on hallowed subjects.”

“Yes, Mother,” they said in unison, mollified by the force with which she said it. But this was more than just a directive from the Mother Superior. She could not bear to hear the things they were saying about Gabriella. She still loved her far too much to hear her name linked with the scandal that had caused a young priest to take his life. And she was grateful that no one had discovered she'd been pregnant. Fortunately, the priests who had seen her collapse were as anxious to keep the matter quiet as she was. But they had also agreed on the inevitable resolution before leaving Mother Gregoria that morning. Gabriella's rapid departure in the ambulance had made a huge impression on them all, and it was nothing short of miraculous that almost no one had seen what had really happened. The story of her appendectomy seemed to cover the situation for the moment.

Mother Gregoria dismissed the other nuns summarily, and remained in her office briefly after they left, and then went to the church and fell on her knees, praying to the Blessed Virgin to help her, as she slowly gave way to the wracking sobs that had been begging to be released since morning. She couldn't bear what had happened to them, couldn't bear losing Gabriella, couldn't stand what might happen to her in a cruel world that had so badly ravaged her before, and which she was in no way prepared for. If only they had listened to the wisdom in their hearts, if only they had stopped before it was too late… but they were both so young, and so innocent… and so unaware of the risks they were taking. She knelt in prayer, thinking of the child Gabriella had been when she came to them. She prayed for Joe Connors’ soul as well, knowing only too well how tortured he must have been the night he died, and how bereft Gabriella must feel now. And she was sure, as she prayed for both of them, that there could be no hell for either of them worse than that one.