“I went into the priesthood for them, for the Brothers at St. Mark's, because I knew it was the greatest joy I could give them. It was the only thing they wanted of me, and I gave them my whole heart and my life. I thought that maybe if I did, if I did something right for a change, it would make up for my mother and Jimmy, and maybe God would forgive me.

“It was right for me for a long time. I've been happy here, Gabbie. I felt good about doing the right thing. I liked the idea that I had traded my life for theirs… until I met you, and I knew just how badly I wanted my life back. I had never known real happiness, or real love, until I met you, never knew what life could be like. All I could think of from the first moment I met you was being a husband and lover to you. All I wanted was to be with you, and give you everything I had, of myself, of my life, of my soul. But my soul and my life were no longer mine to give you.

“I have tried every way I could to imagine being with you, living with you, marrying you, being all that you deserve in life. But I know that if I did, I would only disappoint you. I don't know how to give you all that you deserve, and I cannot go back on a promise. I cannot now take my life back from God because I have found someone I love more, or want to be with more than I want to serve Him. I cannot do that to the Brothers at St. Mark's, or my fellow priests here at St. Stephen's. I traded my life for Jimmy's and Mom's, for failing them, and now if I take it back again, I will only fail you and myself and those I have already given my soul to. You will always have my heart, I will always love you, always be with you. I could not bear to live without you, nor to disappoint them all yet again. I cannot leave them now and prove to them how worthless I am. We would never have a decent life together if I did that. I know now that whatever it costs me, I must stay here. The deal was made a long time ago, and the things I have promised you were not mine to give you. But I also know now with every ounce of my heart and soul, that I cannot live without you. I cannot bear to be here another day, knowing that you are nearby and I can't be with you. Gabbie, I cannot live without you.

“I am going now, to Jimmy and Mom. It's time for me. I've done what I can here. I've done a little good for some people in my years in the priesthood. But how could I face them now, knowing how little I care about them, and how much I love you? I cannot be anywhere but with you, or nowhere at all. I cannot live up to the promises I made, neither to you, nor to them. I can't leave here, and can't leave you. I am torn apart, and as bad as I've been, how can I ever be a decent father to our baby?

“Gabbie, you're very strong,” the hateful words again, she winced through her tears as she read them, “you're so much stronger than I am. You'll be a wonderful mother to our baby. And I will be much happier watching both of you from heaven, if I ever get there. Tell the baby one day how much I loved him, or her, and how much I loved you, that I was a decent man, that I tried… and oh, God, Gabbie, tell him how much I loved you. Please always know that, please forgive me for what I've done, and for what I'm about to do now. May God protect you both… pray for me, Gabbie… I love you… may God forgive me…” The writing seemed to go off the page then, and he had signed it simply “Joe.” She sat and stared at it for a long time, sobbing softly. It was all so clear to her now, it was all right there. He thought he had failed them all, he thought she was so strong, but only because he was so afraid to do what he wanted. He had been so much more frightened than she was. And the baby he talked about was already gone. If only he had had the courage to leave St. Stephen's, if only they could have tried to have a life together she could have shown him how wrong he was, that he had not failed anyone until now… when he failed them all, and abandoned her, while telling her to be strong because he wasn't. In so many ways, he reminded her of her father, and he had left her now, all alone, with nothing but a letter to hold on to. She wanted to scream as she read it, but all she did was cry. She sat on her bed for a long time, and read it over several times. It was all there, all his anguish, all his fears, all the guilt he felt for things he had never been responsible for, like his brother's death, and his mothers suicide.

And who was responsible now? Whose fault was it”? She knew that it was her own, because she had led him to a place where he could not exist, she had led him right into the arms of yet another failure. She had done that to him, just by loving him. She had led him to the edge of a cliff he didn't know how to escape from, so he had jumped off, into the abyss, and taken her with him. But she had lived and he had died. He had condemned her to this now, a room in a boarding-house far from anything comforting or familiar. He had left her all alone, with nothing but memories and a letter that told her how strong she was, and had to be new, because he had opted for weakness. And as she read it for the tenth time, she was suddenly angry at him for what he hadn't dared, hadn't tried, hadn't cared enough to live for. He had run away, to be with his mother and Jimmy. He had done the same thing his mother did. He had chosen to die rather than to fight and take the chance that they might win this time, that it would be right, and they might even be happy. He had left her no choice, no options. He had taken the only way out he saw, and left Gabbie to fend for herself without him. She wanted to scream at him, to shout, and shake him… if only she had known what he was thinking. She could have talked to him, argued with him, even left him if it would have meant his staying alive. But he had shared none of it with her. He had simply left, at the end of a piece of rope in a dark closet.

It was a cowards way out, and part of her hated him for it, yet, she also knew that part of her would always love him. And as darkness fell, and she sat staring out the window long after dinnertime, she remembered Mother Gregoria's words about him, reminding her that his mother had done the same thing, that there was some fatal flaw Gabriella had nothing to do with. But even knowing that, she felt intolerably guilty. She knew in her heart of hearts that she was responsible for this, just as he knew it about Jimmy. And as she lay down on her bed in the darkness again, thinking about him, she knew that no matter how much she had loved him, and he her, she had killed him. She had paid a high price for it, but she also knew with utter certainty that whatever happened now, God would never forgive her.





Chapter 16




FOR AN ENTIRE week after she rented the room at Mrs. Boslicki's, Gabriella pounded the pavements. She looked for jobs everywhere she could think of. She tried department stores, the 5 & 10, coffee shops, restaurants, even the small, dirty restaurant across the street from where she was living. But no one wanted to hire her, despite her degree from Columbia, her experience at gardening, her gentle ways, or her talent at writing. All the restaurants said, dismissing her, was that she had never waited on tables. And the department stores and 5 & 10 said she had no experience with retail.

And she walked so much and so far, looking for jobs, that she hoped she wouldn't begin to bleed again, because she didn't dare spend any money on a doctor. She had all but given up hope, and her funds were dwindling alarmingly, when she stopped late one afternoon in a small konditorei on Eighty-sixth Street for a piece of pastry and a cup of coffee. She hadn't eaten anything since morning, and couldn't resist this one treat, but she was frightened of spending too much money.

She had an éclair and a cup of coffee with schlag, the delicious sweet whipped cream they served there. And she saw the old German man who owned the place put a HELP WANTED sign in the window. She knew how hopeless it was by now, but she decided to ask him anyway, when she paid for the pastry and the cup of coffee. She told him point-blank that she had no experience, but she needed a job, and she felt sure she could wait on tables. And then in desperation, she admitted that she'd lived in a convent and waited on tables there. He was the first one she'd ever said that to, she didn't want to have to answer a lot of questions, but she needed the job and was willing to say almost anything she had to, to get it. And he was obviously intrigued by what she said.

“Were you a nun?” he asked, looking at her with interest. He had a bushy white mustache and a shiny bald head, and all she could think as she looked at him was that he looked like Pinocchio's father, Geppetto.

“No, I was a postulant,” she said, with eyes so full of sorrow that he wanted to reach out and touch her. She looked as though she needed a good meal, and a kind hand in her life. She was rail thin and frighteningly pale, and he felt sorry for her.

“How soon can you start?” he asked, still watching her. She carried herself well, she had an elegant carriage, and she was a beautiful girl. He sensed that there was more to her than met the eye, and he was startled to see the ugly dress she wore. She was still wearing the shiny black one with the indelible stains that they had given her in the convent, but she didn't dare waste her money buying another. The funny thing about her, he thought, was that she had very aristocratic looks, and somehow looked as though she came from money, but it was obvious from what she was wearing that she had fallen on hard times.

“I can start anytime,” she answered him. “I live nearby. And I'm free now.”

“I'll bet you are.” He smiled. The state of her wardrobe told him she needed the money. “Okay. Then you start tomorrow. Six days a week. Noon to midnight. We're closed on Mondays.” It was a twelve-hour shift and she knew she wasn't up to it, but she was so grateful for the job that she would have done anything he wanted, scrub floors then and there if he'd asked her. But that would come later.