a proper state to rejoin the Order, and maybe she never would be. Perhaps one day, in another place, another time, they said… but for now… Archbishop Flaherty was immovable in the conclusion he'd come to. And now it remained for Mother Gregoria to tell her.
She sent one of the Sisters to the hospital for her the morning she was released, and reminded her once again before she went of her vow of silence, and that they were not to engage in conversation. And as soon as they returned, Gabriella was to come to the Mother Superior's office. There was no doubt in her mind that the Sister she sent would follow her orders.
But she was in no way prepared for how Gabriella looked when she returned. She was so deathly pale, and appeared so frightened, that she looked like an apparition. She sat uncomfortably in the stiff chair where she had sat the morning they had told her that Joe Connors had hanged himself in his room at St. Stephen's. The morning she had nearly died, and still wished she could have. Her eyes met the Mother Superior's now, and there was something broken and empty in them.
“How are you, my child?” But she didn't need to ask the question. It was easy to see how she was. She was dead inside, as dead as Joe Connors, and their baby.
“I'm all right, Mother. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you.” Her voice sounded weak, and she looked frail, and the black coif she wore with her postulant's dress made her look even more somber. But trouble seemed a small word for the two lives that had been lost, and the one remaining that had been ruined.
“I know you must be.” And she meant it, she knew that Gabriella must be torturing herself, but no one could help her. She had to find her own peace, and eventually, forgiveness. And Mother Gregoria knew it would not come easily to her, if ever.
“I am entirely responsible for Father Connors’ death, Mother. I understand that,” she said, as her lips quivered and her chin trembled. She could barely finish the sentence. “I will do penance for it for the rest of my life.”
For a moment, the Mother Superior stepped aside, and Gabriella glimpsed the woman. “You must remember one thing, my child. His mother did the same thing at an early age. It's a very wrong thing to do, not only in the eyes of God, but to the people one leaves behind. Whatever your part in this, there was something in him, more powerful than he was, that allowed him to do it.” It was her own way of giving Gabriella absolution, of reminding her that perhaps some fatal flaw in him had led him to do it. And in Mother Gregoria's eyes, it was a terrible sign of weakness. “You are very strong,” she said, fighting for composure herself, “and whatever life metes out to you, whatever it is, I want you to remember that you are equal to it. God will not give you more than you can handle. And when you think you can bear no more, you must remember that you will survive it. You must know that.” It was a message delivered from the heart, but one that Gabriella could bear no longer. They all told her how strong she was. It was always the sign they gave just before they hurt her.
“I'm not strong,” Gabriella said in a broken whisper. “I'm not. Why do people say I am?… Don't they know I'm not?” Tears swam in her eyes as she said it.
“You have more strength than you know, and much more courage. One day you will know that. These people who have hurt you, Gabriella, are the weak ones. They are the ones who cannot face it.” Like Joe, and her father, and her mother. “But you can.”
Gabriella didn't want to hear it, nor did she want to hear what Mother Gregoria was about to say to her, almost as much as the Mother Superior didn't want to say it. “I'm afraid I have some difficult news for you.” It was going to be quick and hard and cruel, but Mother Gregoria had no choice now, and she could not question their wisdom, no matter how much she questioned their mercy. But hers was a life of obedience, and she could not break her vows now, even for Gabriella. “The archbishop has decided