Sometimes, Sister Mary Josepha came to sit with her, regaling Sara with stories of her childhood inSicily . Sister Mary Josepha had been the oldest daughter in a household of ten daughters and two sons. She told of milking cows and goats, of gathering eggs, of shaving her younger brother's head because he threw her favorite doll down the well.
But on this day Sister Mary Josepha was tending the babies, and the other nuns were busily preparing for the Sabbath. And never had Sara yearned for the hours of daylight to end as much as she did now. For Gabriel would come with the darkness.
She was too excited to do more than toy with her food.
"Is something wrong, Sara Jayne?" Sister Mary Louisa asked.
Sara glanced up guiltily. "No, Sister."
"You've hardly touched your supper."
"I'm not very hungry. May I please be excused?"
Sister Mary Louisa and Sister Mary Josepha exchanged glances; then Sister Mary Louisa nodded. "I shall be in later to help you get ready for bed."
With a nod, Sara went to her room and closed the door.
She was the only girl in the orphanage who had her own room, a fact she had never appreciated more than now. They had told her it was because she was the eldest, because it was difficult to carry her chair up and down the stairs, but Sara thought it was because they knew she would most likely be in their care for the rest of her life, a fact Sara had gradually come to accept years ago as she watched one child after another leave the orphanage for a new life.
It had been painful, watching couples come to the home, watching them pass her by with hardly a glance when they realized she was crippled. She couldn't blame them for wanting younger children, children who were whole. But it had hurt just the same.
With a toss of her head, she put such thoughts aside. What did it matter now, when Gabriel was coming?
She brushed her hair until it gleamed like a newly minted gold coin, and all the while she kept glancing at the veranda doors, knowing it was too early for him to appear, yet growing more anxious with each passing minute.
Sister Mary Louisa came in to help her get ready for bed, helping her with the chamber pot, helping her into her nightgown, helping her get into bed.
"Don't forget to say your prayers, child," the nun said.
"I won't, Sister. Good night."
"Good night, Sara Jayne. God bless you."
The minutes ticked by, and still he didn't come. She heard the tower clock chime eight, heard muffled voices as the sisters herded the other children upstairs to bed.
Gradually, the house fell silent. She heard the clock chime nine, ten.
Had he forgotten? Or simply changed his mind? Perhaps he'd never meant to come at all.
She was about to extinguish the night light when she felt a breath of air whisper past her cheek. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him outlined against the veranda door.
"Gabriel! You came!"
"I said I would, did I not?"
Sara nodded as happiness welled up inside her.
"Have I come too late?"
"No."
She held out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room. And then, to her utter astonishment, he dropped to one knee, took her hand in his, and kissed it.
The touch of his lips swept through her like wildfire.
Images imprinted themselves on her mind: the black silk of his hair, the dry warmth of his lips, the width of the shoulders beneath the voluminous folds of the black cloak.
And then he lifted his head, and she gazed into his eyes.
Fathomless gray eyes that seemed to see into her and through her.
Eyes filled with an immeasurable anguish that went deeper than sorrow.
Abruptly, he rose to his feet, as if he feared she had seen more than she should. His hand disappeared inside his cloak and reappeared with a book.
"For you," he said.
It was a volume of poetry, exquisitely bound. The pages were of fine parchment edged in gold leaf.
She would not have cared if the book were old and ragged, not if it came from him. But this... aside from her music box, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
"Thank you." She gazed up at him, clutching the book to her breast. "Will you read it to me?"
"If you wish."
She held it out to him, felt a shiver of delight race up her spine as his hand brushed hers. After removing