nothing left to live for. She didn't want to live without him. And as she lay there, she thought about him constantly, and the journal she had written to him, the time they had shared, the talks, the confidences, the whispered laughter, the walks in Central Park, the stolen moments, and the brief hours of passion in the borrowed apartment. She couldn't even remember where it was now, and as she lay there, thinking of him, she struggled to remember every word, every inflection, every moment. And then each time, she came to the end of it, the two priests sitting with Mother Gregoria only that morning and telling her that he had taken his life, and she would live with it on her conscience forever. And now she believed that it was her fault. She remembered seeing him that morning, in her dreams, while they were working on her, and knew that she had almost gone to join him, and hated the fact that she hadn't. She would have done anything to be with him. And she tried to bring him back now as she dozed fitfully, but he would not come to her. She could not bring him to mind again, or make him seem real. He had left her, like the others. And all she could think of now was what he must have felt before he died, the agony that had brought him to a decision like that, the sorrow and pain he must have felt. It reminded her of his mother. She had made the same decision seventeen years before, and left her son an orphan. But this time, Joe left no one, except her, all alone now. She didn't even have their baby. She had nothing. Except sorrow.
Mother Gregoria came to see her that night. She had spoken to the doctor twice that afternoon and was well aware of how close Gabriella had come to dying. He mentioned what Gabriella herself had said, about the father of the child dying the day before, and he said he felt very sorry for her. And although she didn't say so, so did Mother Gregoria when she saw her. Gabriella looked deathly pale, her cheeks were as white as the sheets where she lay, and her lips seemed bluish and almost transparent. It was easy to believe they had barely been able to save her. She had had yet another transfusion by then, but so far, they seemed to have made no difference. She had hemorrhaged so violently, the doctor had told Mother Gregoria that it could take her months to recover. And for the Mother Superior, that posed a serious problem.
She sat next to Gabbie's bed for a while, and said very little to her. Gabbie was almost too weak to speak, and everything she tried to say made her cry, and cost her an enormous effort.
“Don't talk, my child,” Mother Gregoria said finally. She just sat there, holding her hand, and was grateful when Gabriella drifted off to sleep again. And it made the Mother Superior shudder to see that she looked dead as she lay there.
News of Father Connors’ death had already reached the convent that morning. There had been frantic whispers all day, and Mother Gregoria had made a solemn announcement in the dining hall at dinner. She said only that the young priest had died unexpectedly, there would be no services for him, and his remains were being cremated and returned for burial with his family in Ohio. It had been the archbishop's decision.
Joe's own mother, having committed suicide, was not buried in a Catholic cemetery, and Archbishop Flaherty's decision seemed to be the humane one. He had to be disposed of somehow. And no further explanation was being offered, but the nuns themselves knew that the fact that he was being cremated was suspicious. It was forbidden by the Catholic Church, and only a special dispensation would have made it possible for him to be cremated. As Mother Gregoria asked for a moment of silent prayer for the peace of his soul, their eyes were filled with questions. And later, when she looked around the room at them, she could see that Sister Anne had been crying.
It was several hours later when Sister Anne appeared at the door of the Mother Superiors office, looking stricken. As she waved to her to come in, the Mother Superior asked, “Is something wrong?”
At first the young nun said nothing, and then she came in