The long road home - By Danielle Steel Page 0,57

to wash her hands and say her afternoon prayers, she had regained her composure and was in better spirits. But if she'd allowed herself to dwell on it, she would have been furious at Sister Anne again about her accusations about Father Connors. He was the very spirit of Christ-like devotion, and he exuded the warmth and kindness they should all emulate. Gabriella had nothing but admiration for him, and the idea that he'd been “flirting” with her was utterly repulsive.

They all spent the rest of the weekend peacefully, and Gabriella didn't think of Father Connors again until she saw him at the altar saying Mass for them, and then had lunch with them in the garden afterward. It was Palm Sunday, and she was still carrying the palm fronds she had picked up in church when he walked up to her casually after lunch in the garden.

“Good afternoon, Sister Bernadette. I hear you've been busy planting vegetables all week. I understand you have a real gift with herbs and enormous tomatoes. Don't forget to send us some at St. Stephen's.” His eyes were as blue as the April sky, and there was laughter in them as she looked up at him and smiled as innocently as he did.

“Who told you that?”

“Sister Emanuel. She said you grow the best vegetables in the convent.”

“I guess that's why they let me stay for so many years. I knew there had to be a reason.” She said it with good humor, as they began to stroll through the garden without any particular destination.

“There may be other reasons as well,” he said kindly. In just the few times he had come to St. Matthew's, he had discerned easily how fond the older nuns were of her. He knew she had been a protégée of Mother Gregoria's since her childhood, and he could see why she meant so much to them as they walked slowly toward the section of the garden where she had planted her vegetables, so he could see what she'd been doing. There was an air of poise and grace about her that went beyond her looks and the way she carried herself. There was a natural elegance about her, and at the same time a quiet warmth and gentleness that touched everyone around her. She had become very beautiful in the years she'd been here, and she was completely unaware of it. Her looks were something she never thought of. But even as a priest it was easy to admire her. She was like looking at a priceless painting, or a lovely statue, almost like a piece of art one wanted to stare at. And yet what one really saw was the light in her that shone so brightly. She seemed to be lit from within with a force he found irresistible, and he told himself it was the strength of her vocation that enhanced her beauty.

She showed him what she'd done that week, and explained the broad assortment of vegetables and herbs she was growing for the convent. “I can plant some more for all of you, if you like, although well have plenty of extra to share with you next summer, if I can keep my Sisters from getting too enthused and picking them before they're ready. We have a whole patch of strawberries over there.” She pointed it out to him. “Last summer they were delicious.” He smiled at her then, suddenly remembering memories from his boyhood in Ohio.

“I used to pick blackberries when I was a kid. I'd come back to St. Mark's all scratched up from picking them and with blackberry juice all over me.” He grinned. “I ate so many on the way back, I had a stomachache for a week once. The Brothers told me God was punishing me for being greedy. But I kept on doing it after that. I figured it was worth it.”

“Did you go to a boarding school?” She had heard the mention of St. Mark's, and the Brothers, and it was so rare for her to talk to someone new, that she was naturally curious about him. Despite her normal shyness with people from beyond her world, she was surprised by how comfortable she felt with him. And Sister Anne's ugly comments of two days before had been totally forgotten.

“I guess you could call it a boarding school.” He smiled. “My parents died when I was fourteen, and I had no other relatives, so I lived at the orphanage

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