She learned that his name was Mr. Baum, and he came from Munich. There were four other women working in his shop, all of them middle-aged, and three of them German. It was a family operation, a nice clean place, and they served hearty German meals, and in between all afternoon, and late at night, they served pastry. Mrs. Baum made the pastries and did the cooking.

Gabriella was grinning from ear to ear as she walked into the house on Eighty-eighth Street, and Mrs. Boslicki saw her.

“Well, did you meet Prince Charming, or did you find a job finally?” Mrs. Boslicki had been worried about her. She was out all day, looking for work, and stayed in her room alone at night with the lights out. For a girl of her age, it wasn't a happy existence, or even normal.

“I got a job,” she said, beaming. They were paying her two dollars an hour, and she knew she could pay her rent now. Mother Gregoria's money had been dwindling daily. “I'm working at a konditorei on Eighty-sixth Street.” It was four blocks away, and despite the long hours, it seemed absolutely perfect. She just prayed that, for the next few weeks, being on her feet for so many hours wouldn't cause her to hemorrhage. It had been less than two weeks since the miscarriage… less than two weeks since Joe had been gone… only a week since she had been forced to leave the convent… so many awful things had happened to her, but now, finally, something good had happened.

“Congratulations!” Mrs. Boslicki said, grinning. “Maybe now you'll come out of your room once in a while, and watch a little television, or listen to some music. Everyone thinks I rented your room to a traveling salesman.”

“I'll be gone most of the time, Mrs. Boslicki,” Gabriella explained. “I'll be working noon to midnight. But I'll come down tonight. I promise.”

“After you go eat some dinner. Look at you, you look like a broomstick. You're never going to find a husband if you don't feed yourself once in a while. Boys don't like broomsticks.” She wagged a finger at her, and Gabriella laughed. She reminded her of some of the old nuns in the convent, although none of them had been pushing her to find a husband. Far from it.

Gabriella actually took her advice and went across the street to the greasy spoon that night, and ordered a plate of meat loaf. It was plain but nourishing, and reminded her a little of the food at St. Matthew's, which in the end made her homesick. She would have done anything to see Mother Gregoria again, just a glimpse of her, hurrying down the hall, with her arms crossed and her hands tucked into her sleeves, and her heavy wooden rosary beads flying. Or any of the other Sisters would have been a welcome sight too. Sister Agatha or Sister Timothy, or Sister Emanuel… or Sister Immaculata. She was thinking of all of them as she walked back to the boardinghouse again, and remembered her promise to Mrs. Boslicki to stop in the living room for a moment. She didn't feel like it, but she thought it might seem rude if she didn't. So she forced herself to go in for just a few minutes. And when she did, she was surprised how many people were sitting there. There were six or seven, chatting and playing cards. The TV was on, and an old man with white hair who looked like Einstein was tinkering with the piano. He said they needed a piano tuner to come look at it again, and Mrs. Boslicki was arguing with him and telling him it had never sounded better to her.

They all looked up in surprise as she walked into the room, and Gabriella was suddenly embarrassed. She hadn't expected to see so many people. There were men and women, mostly in their sixties, except for the man at the piano, who seemed even older. The women had white hair, some with a blue rinse, and they smiled when they saw Gabriella. She was such a breath of youth in the room, and she was so startlingly pretty. She was wearing the blue flowered dress, and old, well-worn shoes, but her straight, shining blond hair framed her face and looked almost like a halo. Her huge blue eyes seemed full of innocence, and none of them were perceptive enough to see the sadness beyond it. She looked far too young to have seen much of life or even have suffered. And just seeing her there in their midst made them feel happy.

Mrs. Boslicki introduced her to everyone. Many of them were European, and one of them, Mrs. Rosenstein, proudly said she was a survivor of the camp at Auschwitz. She had lived at Mrs. Boslicki's for twenty years now. And she introduced the man at the piano as Professor Thomas. Gabriella wasn't sure if it was his first name or his last, but he made a little bow to her and clarified it by saying his name was Theodore Thomas, and explaining that he was no longer a professor, he was retired. She was intrigued to learn that he had been a literature professor at Harvard. His field of expertise had been eighteenth-century English novels.

“And where did you go to school?” he asked with a mischievous smile, abandoning his attempts to revitalize the piano. It never occurred to him that she might not have gone to college at all.

“Columbia,” she said quietly.

“That's a fine school.” He smiled at her. They had heard about her from Mrs. Boslicki, though none of them had seen her even once in the week she'd been there.

“And what are you up to now, young lady?” he asked, looking a little wild and woolly with his fuzzy hair and droopy trousers. He definitely looked like an eccentric old professor. He was visibly older than the other guests there, and Gabriella correctly guessed him to be close to eighty, but his wits were still sharp, his eyes clear, and he seemed to have a good sense of humor.

“I just got a job working in a restaurant on Eighty-sixth Street,” she said proudly. It had been a real victory for her, and one she needed very badly. “I start tomorrow.”

“One of those cozy places that sells pastry, I hope. Mrs. Rosenstein and I will have to come to see you, when we take a stroll in that direction.” He was fascinated by the stories she told about her past, and he had lived there for almost as long as she had. His wife had died eighteen years before, and he had moved to the boardinghouse when he gave up his apartment. He lived on a pittance now, and had no relatives, and he enjoyed the company of Mrs. Boslicki and her boarders. But this latest addition to the group he found both fascinating and lovely. And he commented to everyone in the room afterward that she had a face like an angel and a noticeable natural elegance and style.

But for now he asked her what sort of things she had studied at Columbia, and embarked on a long, interesting conversation with her about the novels she'd read while she'd been there. He was intrigued to discover that she did a bit of writing. But she was very modest about it and said that it was nothing anyone would want to read. She was sure, although she didn't say it to him, that only the nuns who knew her would like her stories. Joe had read some of them, of course, she had given them to him one afternoon when they met in the park, and he had told her he thought they were terrific. But like the nuns, he knew and loved her.

“I'd like to see some of your work one day,” the professor said, giving it an importance she knew it didn't deserve, and she smiled shyly.

“I don't have any of it with me.”

“Where are you from?” he asked, fascinated by her. It had been a long time since he'd had a chance to chat with a girl her age, and he found it incredibly refreshing. It reminded him instantly of his years at Harvard. There was something about youth and the excitement of their minds that still invigorated him, and he would have loved to sit and talk to her for hours.

“She's from Boston,” Mrs. Boslicki answered for her, and Gabriella looked suddenly nervous. If he had taught at Harvard, he knew the city well, and of course she didn't.

“My mother lives in California,” she said by way of a distraction. “My father lives in Boston.” And she lived nowhere. Only here now.

“Where in California?” one of the women asked. She had a daughter in Fresno.

“San Francisco,” she said, as though she had seen her mother, or at least talked to her, only the day before, instead of the twelve years it had been since she'd seen her last.

“They're certainly both lovely cities,” Professor Thomas said easily, watching her eyes. There was something about her that touched him, something deep and sorrowful, and excruciatingly lonely. Mrs. Boslicki would have put it down to homesickness, but it was far deeper, and something far more raw than that, and he sensed an aura of tragedy about her.

Her gentleness touched all of them, and she chatted with each one, and then went upstairs finally, with a set of fresh towels Mrs. Boslicki had handed her, and for which she thanked her politely.

“Lovely girl,” Mrs. Rosenstein said, and one of the other women said she reminded her of her granddaughter in California. “Very well brought up. She must have nice parents.”

“Not necessarily,” Professor Thomas said wisely. “Some of the best students I had, and the most decent ones, came from people who were slightly less well behaved than Attila the Hun, and some of the brightest ones had incredibly stupid parents. There's no telling what mysteries happen in the gene pool.”

Gabriella would have been relieved to hear it. All her life she had waited anxiously, in fear of seeing telltale signs of her mothers personality defects emerging in her, but so far, much to her relief, that hadn't happened. It was why, until she met Joe, she had never wanted children.

“But she is a very nice person. I hope she stays for a while,” he said warmly.

“I don't think she's going anywhere now that she has a job,” Mrs. Boslicki reassured them all. It was nice having someone young in the place, although she was certainly very quiet. “She doesn't seem to have any friends here. And her parents haven't called all week. I thought they would, but she never asks for messages. She doesn't seem to expect anyone to call her.” They noticed everything about each other at Mrs. Boslicki's, since they had nothing else to do with their time, being widowed or retired. Once in a while a young boarder came into their midst, but only to stay temporarily, until they saved some money and moved on. Until Gabriella the youngest resident of the house was a salesman in his early forties, who had just gotten a divorce. He had been more than a little intrigued by Gabriella, and her striking looks hadn't been lost on him, when she was introduced to him as he stopped by to say good night on his way in from a movie. But she hadn't even seemed to see him. She was far more interested in talking to Professor Thomas.