curtains, he could not help also thinking of a burial shroud. How could he convince more than two dozen orphans ranging in age from seven to fifteen that God loved them, that He had taken away their parents as part of His great plan for mankind?
“It will be repaired immediately,” he said.
“It’s been months, Father,” Sister Teresa replied. “There was so much damage to the village—houses and shops destroyed, the schoolhouse nothing but debris—people have been so busy clearing the rubble that they’ve barely begun to rebuild their own homes. And building supplies are as scarce as everything else right now.”
Father Gaetano frowned. He knew that his youth sometimes caused people to underestimate him, but there was power in the Roman collar and he knew how to wield it.
“I will speak to them from the altar at tomorrow’s mass,” he said firmly. “You and the other sisters minister to their spiritual needs. Without your guidance, they might well wander from the path of God. The very least they can do in return is to see to your safety. A few men, a few hours a day until it’s done. They’ll be able to see to their own concerns at the same time.”
He turned to her. “Trust me, Sister. It will be done.”
3
SISTER VERONICA WATCHED the children file in for dinner, noting with approval the combination of excitement and nervous curiosity on their faces. Word had spread of Father Gaetano’s arrival and they would naturally be wondering what changes in their lives might be heralded by his coming. Sister Veronica had already met him, but she felt herself plagued by the same questions. The lanky, awkward young man looked more like a scientist than a priest. It was good that he was not a handsome man, for that might have been a distraction for the older girls. And the younger nuns, she thought.
For herself, Sister Veronica was mainly concerned about what sort of teacher and administrator Father Gaetano would turn out to be. While he could not interfere in the lives of the nuns within the convent, as pastor of San Domenico he had authority over both church and orphanage. Sister Teresa seemed convinced that the young priest would fulfill his role as teacher and confessor to the students, but otherwise would leave the running of the orphanage to the sisters. Sister Veronica hoped it would be so. It had been difficult enough for her to coordinate the creation of the orphanage when she had the freedom to act without constraint. The newcomer’s interference would make it that much more troublesome and complex.
When the battle for Sicily had begun, she and the other sisters had worked with the church’s former pastor, Father Colisanti, to help wherever they could. They had nursed the injured while Father Colisanti performed the last rites for so many, Italians and Germans at first, and later for Allied soldiers as well. And when the battle was over and the Allies had taken control, they had helped bury the dead. Father Colisanti survived it all, only to suffer a heart attack mere hours after giving a final blessing at the funeral of the last of the war dead. It had been days before a priest from Gera could come and speak the same blessing for Father Colisanti, but at last the kindly old man had been given into the hands of God.
With no pastor, the sisters had been left to their own devices. Nearly every day, a priest from one of the neighboring villages had come to say mass for the people of Tringale and for the sisters of San Domenico, and in the meantime, the nuns had been busy gathering the children left orphaned by the long fight for control of Sicily, its strategic position in the Mediterranean making it a prize for either side.
Some of the children whose parents had been killed during the long weeks of battle had other relatives in the village who could take them in, but in too many cases the children were alone. Several had lost their mothers and had fathers who had gone off to war and not yet returned, their fate uncertain. With Sister Teresa’s blessing, Sister Veronica had organized the nuns at San Domenico to give thirty-one children a place to sleep, warm clothes to wear, and three meals a day. Still mourning their own losses, the sisters had turned their grief into tenderness toward these children who had nothing and no one.
But it wasn’t enough. Sister Veronica