“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.”