And when the big day came, everyone was ready for it. The food at the picnic was plentiful as usual, and appropriate for the occasion. The priests from St. Stephen's made good on their offer to do the barbecue, and there were hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecued chicken, ribs, french fries, and the first corn on the cob of the summer. There was homemade ice cream, and more apple pie than anyone thought possible. As one of the priests said, it looked as though the Sisters had gone crazy in the kitchen. But it was obvious that everyone loved it. Other than Christmas, it was everyone's favorite holiday, and the convent's favorite picnic. And when the food was gone, or most of it at least, and the last ice cream bar had been smeared all over the last child's face, the talk turned to baseball.

Not surprisingly, Father Joe was the captain of the St. Stephen's team, and he organized it very professionally, and with great fairness. The priests and nuns had put it to a vote, and decided that it would make for a better game if there were both sexes on both teams, and as promised, Father Joe put Gabriella in the outfield, playing for St. Stephen's. Even Sister Anne seemed to relax that day. She was playing first base for St. Matthew's. The priests had an advantage, of course, in their jeans and T-shirts. The nuns wore their habits, but pulled back their coifs, and tied them up as best they could. And they amazed everyone by running nearly as well in their long habits as the men in their blue jeans. Some of the nuns had even found sneakers to play in. And everyone cheered when Sister Timmie slid into third base without even exposing her legs, although the Sister in charge of getting habits cleaned said her habit would never be the same. But when Sister Immaculata made a home run for St. Matthew's, both teams cheered so loudly that it almost frightened the children.

It was a great day, and great fun. St. Stephen's won by a single point, seven to six, and Mother Gregoria surprised everyone with lemonade and cases of beer, and the novices had made delicious lemon cookies. It was the best fun Gabriella could ever remember, and when she and Father Joe stood rehashing the game, he praised her for how well she'd done, and she laughed at him, sipping lemonade and munching on a cookie.

“Are you kidding?” She grinned, finishing off her cookie. “I was just standing there, praying the ball would never come my way, and thank the Lord, it didn't. I don't know what I would have done if it did.”

“Duck, probably,” he teased her. They'd all had a great time, and were sorry to see it end. The families went home just before dinner, and the priests and nuns stayed to eat what was left of the barbecue. There was enough for everyone, and they sat in the convent garden afterward watching the fireworks that lit up the sky. It was a real holiday for all of them, and felt more like an entire vacation.

“What did you do on the Fourth of July when you were a kid?” he asked, in the deep voice that was now so familiar to her.

She could only laugh at the question. They were both still in high spirits. “Hide in the closet mostly, praying my mother wouldn't find me and beat me.”

“That's one way to spend the holiday, I guess,” he said, adding a little levity to what they both knew was a painful subject, and probably always would be.

“It was a full-time job for me staying alive in those days. The only real holidays I remember were here. I've always loved the Fourth of July picnic.”

“So do I,” he said, looking at her with a tenderness that surprised her. “When I was a little kid, we used to go camping with friends. My brother and I used to try and buy sparklers as kids, to take with us, but no one would ever sell them to us.”

She looked surprised then as she glanced over at him. “You never told me you had a brother.” In the four months she had known him, he had never once mentioned a sibling.

Father Connors paused for a long moment, and then met her eyes firmly. “He drowned when I was seven. He was two years older than I was… We went swimming down by the river, and he got caught in a whirlpool. We weren't supposed to be there…” Tears filled his eyes as he talked to her, and he didn't even know it, as without thinking, she reached out and touched his fingers, and something almost electric passed between them. “I watched him go down the first time, and I didn't know what to do… I tried to find a branch to hold out to him, but it was summer, and everything was green, and I couldn't find anything long enough. I just stood there while he went down again and again, and then I ran for help as fast as I could… but when I got back…” He couldn't go on and she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, but she knew she couldn't. “He drowned before we got back to him… There was nothing I could do… nothing I could have done… but I always felt my parents blamed me for it. They never actually said it, but I always knew it… His name was Jimmy.” There were tears slowly rolling down his cheeks as she touched his hand again and this time held it gently.

“Why would they blame you? It wasn't your fault, Joe.” It was the first time she hadn't called him “Father,” but neither of them noticed.

He hesitated before he answered, and then took his hand away from hers to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I begged him to take me to the river. It was my fault. I shouldn't have asked him.”

“You were seven years old. He could have said no.”

“Jimmy never said no to me. He was crazy about me… and I was crazy about him. It was never the same after he died. My mom just kind of lost her spirit.” Gabriella wondered if that explained why she had taken her own life after her husband died so suddenly. Maybe it had just been too much for her, after losing her son seven years before. But it had been a cruel thing to do to Joe, and left him an orphan. To Gabriella, it seemed unthinkably selfish, though she didn't say it to Joe as she listened.

“It's hard to understand why things like that happen. We should know that better than anyone.” There were so many times when all of them had to defend God when people asked questions about situations like this one.

“I hear about things like this all the time,” he admitted, “but that doesn't make it any easier for the people I talk to, or for me. I still miss him, Gabbie.” It had happened twenty-four years before, and the pain was still fresh whenever he talked about it. “In some ways, it affected my whole childhood. I always felt so responsible for what happened.” Not to mention the loss of his parents dimming the bright light of the rest of it. But she understood perfectly what he meant about feeling responsible. She was all too familiar with those emotions.

“I always felt as though everything that happened in my family was my fault,” she admitted, “or at least that was what they always told me. Why are children so willing to take on those burdens?” She had never doubted for a moment that her parents abandoning her, and everything that had happened before that, was entirely her own fault. “You didn't do it, Joe. It wasn't your fault. It could have been you, instead of him, who drowned. We don't know why these things happen.”

“I used to wish it had been me, instead of him,” he said in a small, sad voice. “We were all so crazy about him. He was the star of the family, the best at everything, their first-born, their favorite,” he admitted. Lives were so complicated, and the things that happened in them so impossible to explain, so difficult to live with. They both knew that. “Anyway, “I'll see him again one day,” he said, smiling sadly at Gabriella. “I didn't mean to tell you all that. I just think of him a lot on holidays. We used to love to play baseball. He was one heck of a fantastic player.” He had been a nine-year-old kid, just a little boy, Gabriella realized, but to his little brother, Joe, he had been, and still was, a hero.

“I'm sorry, Joe,” she said, and meant it from the bottom of her heart. She was so sorry for him, and all that he had been through.

“It's okay, Gabbie,” he said, looking at her gratefully, and then one of the priests from St. Stephen's came over to rehash the game with them, and congratulated Father Joe on his victory for St. Stephen's.

“That's quite an arm you've got, son.” He really was a very good pitcher. The mood lightened again after that, and when the priests went home that night, Father Joe walked over to say good-bye to Gabriella. She was standing with Sister Timmie and Sister Agatha, and they were laughing and teasing each other. Everyone was still in good spirits.

“Thanks for a great game, Sisters,” he said jovially, and then with a last look at Gabbie that the others seemed unaware of, “thanks for everything,” he said, and they both knew what he meant. He was thinking about telling her about Jimmy.

“God bless you, Father Joe,” she said gently, and meant it. They both needed blessings in their lives, and forgiveness and healing, and that was her most fervent wish for him. In her opinion, he deserved it, even more than she did.

“Thank you, Sister. See you at confession. Good night, Sisters,” he called out with a wave as he went to join the others and gather up their equipment before they went back to St. Stephen's. It had been a great day, a great Fourth of July. And as Gabriella walked slowly back inside with the other postulants, she was startled to realize that one of the things she remembered most clearly about the day was when she had reached out and touched his fingers.

“Isn't that right, Sister Bernadette?” One of the other Sisters had asked her something, and she hadn't heard it. She had been thinking of Father Joe, and his brother, Jimmy.

“I'm sorry, Sister… I didn't hear you.” They all knew that at times Gabriella didn't hear things, particularly now with the habit covering her ears, but they were always patient with her about it and it never occurred to anyone that she would be thinking about the young priest and his lost brother.

“I said Sister Mary Martha's lemon cookies were fantastic. I want to get her recipe for next year.”

“Delicious,” Gabriella agreed, walking up the stairs, just behind them, but her thoughts were a million miles away, thinking of two little boys, one caught in a whirlpool, and the other left sobbing by the river. Her heart went out to him, and all she wanted to do as she thought of him, was drift back in time and put her arms around him. She could still see Father Joe's eyes in the half light that night, and the look of devastation in them. And her own eyes filled with tears again now, just thinking of him. All she could do now was pray for him that night, that he might finally forgive himself. She prayed for the man she knew and had come to love as a friend, and the soul of his brother, Jimmy.





Chapter 11




GABRIELLA DIDN'T SEE Father Joe again for several days after the Fourth of July picnic. Everyone was still talking about it, and the baseball game had made convent history. They could hardly wait to do it again next year. But Gabriella was particularly surprised in light of that, and given the high spirits that had persisted at St. Matthew's, when she saw Father Joe, and he was less than friendly with her. He seemed almost cool, and the word that came to mind as she spoke to him was grouchy. She wasn't sure if he was annoyed with her, or simply in a bad mood, or worried about something. But he was anything but pleasant, and he seemed distant with her. She wondered for a fraction of an instant if he was embarrassed or sorry that he had told her about Jimmy.

She wanted to ask him if he was all right, but she didn't dare. There were other people around, and after all he was a priest and ten years older than she was. He never pulled rank on her, but she didn't know what to make of his behavior changing so radically since the Fourth of July picnic.

He heard her confession that day and was so curt and distracted with her in the confessional that she almost wondered if he was listening and had even heard her. He gave her two Hail Marys, and a dozen Our Fathers, which also wasn't like him. And then he added five Acts of Contrition as a last thought. And finally, just before she left the confessional, she couldn't stand it any longer. She hesitated, and then whispered into the darkness.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” He sounded so brusque that she didn't dare pursue it any further. Something was very wrong with him. He had none of his usual jovial ways, and he sounded very distracted. It was obvious that something had happened to him. Maybe he'd had an argument with another priest, or been reprimanded by a superior. There were also a lot of political things that happened in religious orders, and from long years of living there, she knew that.