“Behave yourself,” was all she said. “Don't give them any trouble. I'll hear about it if you do,” and they both knew what that meant, but Gabriella didn't care now. She put her arms around her mother's waist and cried, as much for the mother she had never had, as for the father she had loved and lost. There was a well of terror and loneliness in her that defied all the words she had to describe them, but whereas it meant nothing to Eloise, the look in the child's eyes had touched Mother Gregoria's heart. She waited to see if Eloise would kiss her, or say something to comfort her, but she simply pried Gabriella's arms from around her waist and pushed her away firmly. “Good-bye, Gabriella,” she said coldly, as Gabriella stared up at her with wise old eyes that understood far more than she should have. Gabriella knew now, and perhaps always would, precisely what it meant, and how it felt to be abandoned. And suddenly she stood very still, the sobs still wracking her, despite her efforts to stop them, and looked up at her mother. She didn't say another word as Eloise left the room, and never looked back as she closed the door firmly behind her.

For an instant, just the smallest slice of a life, Gabriella knew precisely how alone she was, and perhaps always would be, as the tall, wise old nun's eyes met hers. They were two souls that had traveled far, and seen too much of life, and in Gabriella's case, far too early. She simply stood there, making those small heartbreaking sounds as Mother Gregoria moved slowly toward her. And without saying a word to her, she took her in her arms and held her.

She wanted to keep Gabriella safe from a world that had wounded her almost beyond repair. Everything Mother Gregoria knew and felt and believed in was in the strength of her embrace, and everything she wished for the child was implied in the way she held her. Gabriella looked up at her in astonishment and closed her eyes, knowing without words what had just passed between them, and what she had found here. And as she stood nestled in the gentleness of the embrace, the floodgates opened and she sobbed for all the losses, all the pain, all the sorrow, all the terror and disappointment life had inflicted on her. And whatever else happened after that, she knew with all the wisdom of her ten years that she was safe here.





Chapter 6




GABRIELLA'S FIRST MEAL at St. Matthew's convent was a ritual that at first seemed extremely strange to her, and ultimately brought her surprising comfort. It was one of the rare times of the day when the nuns were allowed to converse, and after joining Mother Gregoria in church with the entire community for an entire hour before the meal, Gabriella had been overwhelmed by their numbers and their austerity as they sat in the chapel, praying in silence. But in the dining room, what had seemed like a huge flock of faceless women in black only moments before, became a room filled with laughing, smiling, talking, happy people.

Gabriella was startled to realize how young many of them were. There were nearly two hundred nuns in the convent, more than fifty of them postulants and novices, mostly in their very early twenties. There were a number of nuns Gabriella's mother's age, and then another group the same age as the Mother Superior, and a handful of very old ones. Most of the nuns taught at nearby St. Stephen's School, and the others worked at Mercy Hospital, as nurses. And their conversation during dinner ranged from politics to medical issues, to anecdotes from the classes they taught in school, and funny little household hints that touched on everything from the garden to the kitchen. They told jokes and teased each other, used nicknames, and by the end of the meal, it seemed as though every nun in the convent had stopped arid said a kind word to Gabriella, even the old scary one who had opened the door to them and terrified her only that morning. Her name was Sister Mary Margaret, and Gabriella learned quickly that everyone in the convent loved her. She had been a missionary in Africa when she was young, and had been at St. Matthew's for more than forty years. She had a broad, toothless smile, and Mother Gregoria chided her gently, as she always did, for forgetting to put her teeth in. “She hates wearing them,” one of the younger nuns explained to Gabriella with a girlish giggle.

Gabriella was more than a little overwhelmed by all of them, it was like having been dropped in the middle of a family of two hundred loving women. And for the moment, at least, there didn't seem to be a sour one among them. She had never before met or seen so many happy people. And after ten years of walking through a minefield with her mother, trying to avoid her constant bad temper and devastating rage, it was like falling into a cloud of gentle cotton. So many of them stopped to introduce themselves and talk to her, and she tried valiantly to remember their names, but it was impossible… Sister Timothy… Sister Elizabeth of the Immaculate Conception… Sister Ave Regina… Sister Andrew, or “Andy,” as they called her… Sister Joseph… Sister John… and the one whose name she remembered instantly was Sister Elizabeth… Sister Lizzie… She was a beautiful young woman with creamy fair skin and huge green eyes that laughed from the first moment she met Gabriella.

“You're a little young to be a nun, Gabbie, don't you think? But God can use help from all quarters.” No one had ever before called her “Gabbie,” and the laughing eyes that played with her were the gentlest and the happiest she had ever seen. She wanted to stand next to her and talk to her forever. She was only a postulant, and was soon to become a novice. She said she had had the calling since she was fourteen and had seen a vision of the Blessed Virgin when she had the measles. “That probably sounds a little crazy to you, but it happens that way sometimes.” She was twenty-one by then, and she was a nursing assistant in the pediatric ward at Mercy, and she was immediately drawn to the child with the huge blue eyes so filled with sorrow. It was easy to see that there was a long story there, one she might never be able to share with them, but one that had cost her dearly.

But the encounter that had meant the most to her was her meeting with Mother Gregoria that morning when her own mother left her. She didn't have the words to explain what had happened to her, but she knew that she had found the mother she had never had before, and she was just beginning to understand why the others wanted to be here. And the Mother Superior watched her carefully as she interacted with the other nuns. She was a shy child, and in some ways seemed very frail, yet in other ways there was a quiet strength about her, and a depth to her soul that belied her age, and the cautious way she had of dealing with people. It was easy for the Mother Superior to see that in some vastly important way, Gabriella had been deeply wounded. And having seen her mother speaking to her, Mother Gregoria suspected the source of the grief she wore like a veil between her and the others. This was a child who had survived the torments of hell, and for some reason perhaps known only to God, had managed to reach beyond it. And the Mother Superior was intrigued to see if the soul she sensed within was one that was destined for a life of reaching out to others. There were others in the community who had come to them nearly as damaged as she was. And in spite of what the wise nun sensed in her, the broken pieces that had yet to heal, there was a wholeness and an inner force about Gabriella that was deeply compelling. For a child so young, she had a powerful presence.

They introduced their two other “boarders” to her, the two girls that had been orphaned and with them since Christmas. The younger one was fourteen, and a pretty child who longed for the world, and chafed a bit at the restrictions of the convent. Her name was Natalie, and she dreamed of a world of boys and clothes, and she was mad about a young singer named Elvis. Her older sister, Julie, was seventeen, and was relieved to be removed from the world, and clung to the safety she found here. She was desperately shy, and still seemed to be in shock from the circumstances that had left them orphans. She longed to be one of them one day, and had begged Mother Gregoria for months to let her stay there, and seek no other arrangements for them. Julie seemed to have little to say to Gabriella when they met, and Natalie was full of whispers and secrets and giggles, though Gabriella was too young to really appreciate the full measure of her friendship. And after a few minutes of talking to her, Natalie whispered to Sister Lizzie that Gabriella was “just a baby,” but they promised to be kind to her anyway. She was only to be there for a short time, and everyone was sure she would be desperately homesick without her parents.

But it wasn't of them that Gabriella was thinking that night, but of the woman who had held her in her arms that morning and consoled her. She remembered the powerful arms that had held her tight and made her feel safe from the agonies she had endured, and that for ten years she had fled from. She had never known anyone like the Mother Superior, and like Julie she was already wondering what it would be like to stay there forever.

She shared a room with the two other girls. It was small and bare, and had a tiny window that looked out into the convent garden. And as she lay in bed, not making a sound, she could see the moon high in the sky, framed by the tiny window. She wondered where her mother was that night, still at home, or on the train, and how soon she would be back from the mysterious place called Reno. But however long she chose to be gone, Gabriella knew with absolute certainty that, for the first time in her life, she was completely safe here. She could hardly imagine what her life would be like, but for the first time in ten years, she knew she had nothing to fear, no beatings, no punishments, no accusations, no hatred to flee from. She had been so certain when they stood at the front door that day that she had been brought here to punish her, and now, just as certainly, she knew that her coming here had been a blessing.