that she felt sure he had never inflicted on others, perhaps because she herself was so bad, or perhaps God hated her too, although here, at St. Matthew's, it seemed hard to believe that.
“I know that my mother hates me.”
He denied it yet again, and then moved on through the rest of the confession, urging her to say ten Hail Marys and think of her mother lovingly with each of them, and know that her mother loved her. Gabriella didn't argue with him, but realized only that she was a bigger sinner than he knew for hating her mother as much as she did. She couldn't help it.
She said her penance silently with the nuns, and then went back to her room, where Natalie was reading a magazine she had bought on the sly, all about Elvis, while her sister Julie threatened to tell Sister Timmie about it. Gabriella left them to their squabbling and thought about what the priest had said to her in the confessional, and wondered if she would spend eternity in hell because of her hatred for her mother. What she didn't realize, nor did they, was that she had already been in hell for her entire lifetime. Surely had anyone seen what her life had been, she would have been assured a place in heaven.
She slept at the bottom of the bed, as she always did, that night, and in the morning, as they dressed for church, the other two girls teased her about it, but not with any malice. They just commented on how funny it looked when they looked over at her bed and thought no one was in it. That had been the point, of course, though it had never really saved her. But it had long since become a habit.
She went to school with them again that day, and life at St. Matthew's slowly became a routine for her. Living with the nuns and the two other girls, going to church and school with them. She learned their hymns, their ways, the prayers they said morning and night and mid-afternoon, and she fell to her knees on the stone floor in the halls, without even thinking about it, when the church bells rang, just as the nuns did. By mid-May, she knew all of them by name, and the things they liked and did, and she smiled most of the time, and chatted easily at dinner with all of them, and whenever possible she sought Mother Gregoria out, without saying much to her, she just enjoyed being near her.
It was the end of May when the Mother Superior called her into her tiny office. It was odd for Gabriella to see her there, it reminded her of the first day when she had come here with her mother. That seemed so long ago now. It had been six weeks since she'd arrived and Gabriella hadn't had so much as a postcard from her mother. And although she hadn't heard from her, she knew her mother would be home soon.
She wondered if she had done something wrong and was about to be scolded when she stepped into Mother Gregoria's office. Sister Mary Margaret had come to the schoolroom to ask her to come here, and for some reason the request sounded alarmingly official.
“Are you happy here, my child?” Mother Gregoria asked, smiling easily at her. There was something deeply compelling about Gabriella's blue eyes, they belied her years and the innocence one expected to find there. She smiled more openly now, but in spite of it, one sensed a distance between Gabriella and those she still feared might hurt her. Even here, there were times when she was still very guarded. And Mother Gregoria had noticed that she went to confession often, and worried that there were still demons that plagued her, demons she had not shared yet. Gabriella was still extremely private. “Do you feel at home here?”
“Yes, Mother,” Gabriella answered simply, but her eyes were worried. “Is something wrong? Did I do something I shouldn't?” She would rather know immediately what punishment would be meted out to her, for what offense, and how quickly. The anticipation of knowing was terrifying.
“Don't be afraid, Gabbie. You have done nothing wrong. Why are you worried?” There were so many questions she would have liked to ask, but even after six weeks, she did not dare yet. She knew it was still too soon to approach her, and perhaps always would be. She knew