“I won't do it.” For the first time in her years there she defied the Mother Superior, and was surprisingly stubborn about it.

“You will have no choice when the time comes,” Mother Gregoria said, her lips narrowing into a thin line. She didn't want to have to force her, but if that was the only way to get her to go, she would be willing to do it. “You are part of this community, and you will do as I tell you. You're not old enough to make these decisions, Gabrielia, and you're being extremely foolish.” She then ended the subject, annoyed at how resistant Gabrielia was. Mother Gregoria knew it was based on a terror of entering the world again, but she wasn't going to allow her to give in to it. Gabriella knew it wasn't healthy, but she wasn't going to give an inch. She felt safe here, she didn't want to be part of a world that had once hurt her so greatly. In all ways, spiritually and physically, at sixteen, she had removed herself from it, and she had every intention of remaining a recluse at St. Matthew's.

Mother Gregoria told her teachers to apply to Columbia for her, and they insisted Gabriella fill out the application. It was a remarkable battle between them, but in the end, complaining bitterly and swearing she wouldn't go, Gabriella did it. And she was accepted, naturally, and given a full scholarship, which thrilled everyone but Gabbie. The reason they had chosen Columbia, other than the obvious prestige of the school, was the fact that she could attend classes and still live at the convent.

“Now what?” she asked miserably when Mother Gregoria told her about the scholarship. It was June and she was nearly seventeen, and for the first time in her years with them, she was acting like a spoiled baby.

“You have until September to resign yourself to it, my child. You can live here while you go. But you must attend classes.”

“And if I don't?” she asked with rare belligerence, which almost made the Mother Superior want to throw up her hands in frustration.

“We line up the entire community on September first, and spank you, and believe me, you'll have deserved it. You're being very, very ungrateful. This is a wonderful scholarship, and you can do important things with your writing.” It sounded absurd to Gabbie.

“I can do the same things here,” Gabriella said darkly, rampant fear more evident in her eyes than ever, though the Mother Superior was never entirely sure what she was so desperately afraid of.

“Are you telling me that you are so wise, and so brilliant, and so talented that you have nothing to learn about writing? My, my, we do have a little work to do on our sense of humility, don't we? Perhaps a little quiet meditation is in order.” Gabriella had the grace to laugh at that, and the subject came up frequently in the next three months and was always an argument, but in the end, with the prodding of two hundred nuns, she finally went to college in September. And in spite of herself, within a week, she admitted grudgingly that she enjoyed it. And within three months, she not only enjoyed it, but loved it.

For four years she never missed a class. She took every creative writing class she could, soaked up her lit classes, and drank in every word of her favorite professors. But she rarely spoke unless asked, and made a point of staying away from all her fellow students. She avoided boys and girls alike, attended her classes diligently, and the moment they were over, hurried back to the convent. From a social standpoint, at least, the experience was entirely wasted. She wrote papers endlessly, took on extra projects, and when she was a senior, started a novella. And in the end, she graduated magna cum laude. The Sisters in the community drew straws to see who would attend her graduation, and twenty won them, and attended with Mother Gregoria, like so many doting mothers. She was nearly twenty-one when she graduated, and rode home triumphantly in one of the two vans they'd rented. They were thrilled with the awards she'd won, and not nearly as surprised as she was. Her years at Columbia were a great victory for her, and they never doubted for a moment that one day she would write a book and be a very successful writer, although she still had her doubts about it. Even her professors had told her that she was far too unsure of her talent. In their opinion, she was very gifted.

And the night of her graduation, as she walked around the garden with Mother Gregoria on a warm June night, she talked hesitantly about her future as a writer.

“I'm still not sure I can do it,” she admitted, as she always did. The guilt and humility of her youth had become an acute lack of confidence as an adult. Mother Gregoria was well aware of it, and argued with her about it often.

“Of course you can. Look at the novella you wrote as your senior thesis. Why do you think you graduated magna?”

“Because of all of you. They didn't want you to be embarrassed, and besides, the dean is Catholic.” Even she chuckled at that one.

“As a matter of fact, he's not. He's Jewish. And you know perfectly well why they gave you all those awards. It wasn't charity. You deserved it. The question is what you do with it now. Do you want to try your hand at a book yet? Do some sort of freelance work, get a job for a magazine, or a newspaper? There are so many areas open to you now. You could even teach at St. Stephen's, and try to work on a book in your off-time.” She wanted to help her get started. And she knew better than anyone that Gabbie needed a strong push in that direction.

“Could I still live here while I do it? Any of it?… all of it?” she asked anxiously, as Mother Gregoria frowned at her in consternation. It still dismayed the Mother Superior at times that Gabriella was so determined to remain separate from the secular world. She had never allowed herself even the smallest taste of freedom. She had made no friends, knew no men. In some ways, the Mother Superior knew that she needed to know a little bit more of the outside world before she rejected it completely.

The thought of leaving the convent or not being part of it would have killed Gabriella, and Mother Gregoria knew it. “I could pay you room and board from the money I earn, to stay here,” she said, looking determined. “If I earn any at all, which could take time.” She had been worrying about it for months, and dreading this conversation. She had lived at St. Matthew's for more than ten years, more than half her life, and she couldn't imagine leaving it, and she had no desire to even think about it. But she had had another idea for some time now, and had been waiting for the right time to discuss it with Mother Gregoria. She knew the time was right now.

“To answer your question, Gabriella, of course you can continue to live here. And you can contribute something when you can afford it. You contribute more than enough now with all the work you do here, and have ever since you came here. You've always been like one of the Sisters.” The checks from her mother had stopped on the day she turned eighteen. There had been no note, no letter, no explanation, no phone call. They simply stopped. As far as she was concerned, Eloise Harrison Waterford had fulfilled her obligation, and she wanted no further contact with her daughter. There had been none since the day she left her at the convent, and Gabriella had realized for years that more than likely her father had no idea where her mother had left her. But then again, he hadn't contacted her when she was with her mother either, when he still could have. The truth was, neither of them wanted to be part of her life. And during all her years at Columbia, Gabbie had told people she was an orphan, and lived at St. Matthew's convent, though it was rare for people to ask her, it was usually only her professors. The other girls in her class found her painfully withdrawn and shy. And although the young men she met found her attractive, at the first sign of interest on their part, she rebuffed them. By her own choice, she was completely isolated, and even in her college years, her only social life was the one she shared with the nuns at St. Matthew's Convent. It had been in many ways an unhealthy life for a girl her age, but for some time Mother Gregoria had seen what was coming, and she didn't want to push her, one way or the other. Gabriella had to heed her own voices, as they all did. But what Gabriella said next did not surprise her.

“I've been thinking a lot lately,” she began, feeling suddenly shy and awkward with the woman who had been like a mother to her, the only mother she had known and loved since the nightmare of her childhood. She talked about it now occasionally, though rarely, and said only that she had been very unhappy with her parents, and they had been “unkind” to her. She never spoke of the beatings, or the horror she had lived through. But from the nightmares, and the scars the wise old nun had noticed here and there over the years, Mother Gregoria had deduced a great deal about her early life, and pieced some of it together. X rays when she'd had bad bronchitis two years before had shown where her ribs had been broken repeatedly, and there was a small scar near her ear that told its own tale, and explained her sometimes less-than-perfect hearing. There was much that the Mother Superior knew without actually knowing. And Gabriella sighed deeply as she tried to explain what she'd been thinking, but Mother Gregoria had a premonition of what was coming. It was time now. “I think I've been hearing things, Mother… and having dreams, I kept thinking I was imagining it at first, but it seems to be getting stronger and stronger.”

“What kind of dreams?” Mother Gregoria asked with interest.

“I'm not sure. It's almost as though I'm being pushed to do something I never thought I would be able to do… or good enough to do… I don't think… I'm not sure…” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked helplessly at the woman who had been both mother and mentor to her. “I don't know. What am I supposed to hear?” Mother Gregoria knew exactly what she was asking. To some it was so clear, to others, mostly those who were truly meant for it, they were never sure they were good enough for it. And it was so like Gabriella to be uncertain, to question herself, and doubt what she herself knew she was hearing.

“You're supposed to hear your heart, my child. But you're supposed to believe in yourself enough to listen. You can't keep doubting what you hear, and what you know to be right. I think you've known it for a long time now.”

“I thought I did.” Gabriella sighed again, relieved at what the Mother Superior was saying. She had wanted so desperately to make the right decision, but most of the time she didn't feel good enough to offer herself to the others. They were all so much better than she was. “I was so sure of it last year, I almost said something to you last summer, and then again at Christmas. But I thought I just wanted to hear it. I wasn't sure what you'd say.”

“And now?” Mother Gregoria asked calmly, her hands tucked into opposite sleeves as they continued to walk peacefully around the garden at twilight. It was almost dark now. “What are you saying, Gabbie?” She wanted to hear her say the words. She didn't want to take the moment from her. It was too important in her life for anyone to rob her of it.

Gabbie's voice was barely audible as they stopped walking and looked at each other.

“I'm saying I want to join the Order.” She looked worried, and the deep blue eyes reached out to the woman she considered her mother, for confirmation. “Will you let me?” It was a moment of total humility, total selflessness, total giving. She wanted to offer herself to God, and the people who had given her so much —safety, freedom, love, comfort. She owed them so much. And she wanted to devote her life to them now. They had more than made up to her for everything her parents had taken from her.

“It's not up to me,” the Mother Superior said to her gently. “It's up to you, and God. I'm only here to help you. But I've been hoping you would come to this decision. I've been watching you struggle for two years now,” she said warmly.

“You knew?” Gabriella looked surprised as she smiled at her, and tucked an arm in hers as they walked slowly through the garden.

“Perhaps before you did.”

“And? What do you think?” She was asking her as the Mother Superior of the Order she wanted to join now.

“There's a class of postulants beginning in August. I think your timing is perfect.” They stopped and smiled at each other, and Gabriella reached out and hugged her.

“Thank you… for everything… for my life… you'll never know what you saved me from when I came here.” Even now, she couldn't bring herself to tell her. It was still much too painful.