The long road home

A story of the dark side of childhood

and one woman's unbreakable spirit

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“A LITERARY PHENOMENON… and not to be pigeonholed as one who produces a predictable kind of book.”—The Detroit News“There is a smooth reading style to her writings which makes it easy to forget the time and to keep flipping the pages.”—The Pittsburgh Press“Ms. Steel excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward.”—Nashville Banner“One counts on Danielle Steel for A STORY THAT ENTERTAINS AND INFORMS.”—The Chattanooga Times“STEEL IS AT THE TOP OF HER BESTSELLING FORM.”—Houston Chronicle“It's nothing short of amazing that even after [dozens of] novels, Danielle Steel can still come up with a good new yarn.”—The Star-Ledger (Newark)

HIGH PRAISE FOR DANIELLE STEEL'S

THE LONG ROAD HOME“HARROWING… HAUNTING.’—People“Steel's fans should be pleased with this story that reveals the power of forgiveness, the shame of child abuse and the spirit of survival.”—Rising Sun Herald (Md.)“A GRIPPING STORY,”—Appleton City Journal (Mo.)“DANIELLE STEEL HAS DELIVERED ANOTHER SURE TO BE BESTSELLER!”—Eclipse-News-Review (Parkersburg, Ia.)“A HARROWING JOURNEY.”—Tri-Lakes Daily News (Branson, Mo.)“RIVETING FICTION… A VIVID PORTRAIT.”—Winsted Journal (Minn.)A MAIN SELECTION OF

THE LITERARY GUILD

AND

THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

Also by Danielle Steel

THE HOUSE THE GIFT TOXIC BACHELORS ACCIDENT MIRACLE VANISHED IMPOSSIBLE MIXED BLESSINGS ECHOES JEWELS SECOND CHANCE NO GREATER LOVE RANSOM HEARTBEAT SAFE HARBOUR MESSAGE FROM NAM JOHNNY ANGEL DADDY DATING GAME STAR ANSWERED PRAYERS ZOYA SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ KALEIDOSCOPE THE COTTAGE FINE THINGS THE KISS WANDERLUST LEAP OF FAITH SECRETS LONE EAGLE FAMILY ALBUM JOURNEY FULL CIRCLE THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET CHANGES THE WEDDING THURSTON HOUSE IRRESISTIBLE FORCES CROSSINGS GRANNY DAN ONCE IN A LIFETIME BITTERSWEET A PERFECT STRANGER MIRROR IMAGE REMEMBRANCE HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: PALOMINO The Story of Nick Traina LOVE: POEMS THE KLONE AND I THE RING THE LONG ROAD HOME LOVING THE GHOST TO LOVE AGAIN SPECIAL DELIVERY SUMMER'S END THE RANCH SEASON OF PASSION SILENT HONOR THE PROMISE MALICE NOW AND FOREVER FIVE DAYS IN PARIS PASSION'S PROMISE LIGHTNING GOING HOME WINGS

For the children who have died, those we know

about, and those we should have. And those who

have lived through it, and come from that terrible

place of knowing their lives and souls constantly in

danger… the children of a war that should

make us all cry more than any other.May we grow wise enough, and brave enough to

protect them. Let no child die again for lack of our

love, our courage, or our mercy.And for Tom, who made me brave enough to say it.

With all my heart

and love,

d.s.

a cognizant original v5 release october 06 2010

Chapter 1

A CLOCK TICKED LOUDLY in the hall as Gabriella Harrison stood silently in the utter darkness of the closet. It was filled with winter coats, and they scratched her face, as she pressed her thin six-year-old frame as far back as she could, deep among them. She stumbled over a pair of her mother's winter boots, as she moved farther back into the closet. She knew that here, no one would find her. She had hidden here before, it had always been a good hiding place for her, a place they never thought to look, especially now, in the heat of a New York summer.

It was stifling where she stood, her eyes wide in the darkness, waiting, barely daring to breathe, as she heard muffled footsteps approaching from the distance. The sharp clicking of her mother's heels clattered past like an express train roaring through town, she could almost feel the air whoosh past her face with relief in the crowded closet. She let herself breathe again, just once, and then held her breath, as though even the sound of it would draw her mother's attention. Even at six, she knew that her mother had supernatural powers. She could find her anywhere, almost as though she could detect her scent, the pull of mother to child inevitable, unavoidable, her mother's deep, inky-brown eyes all-seeing, all-knowing. Gabriella knew that no matter where she hid, eventually her mother would find her. But she hid anyway, had to try at least, to escape her.

Gabriella was small for her age, undersize, underweight, and she had an elfin quality about her, with huge blue eyes, and soft blond curls. People who scarcely knew her said that she looked like a little angel. She looked startled much of the time, like an angel who had fallen to earth, and had not known what to expect here. None of what she had encountered in her six brief years was what they could have promised her in heaven.

Her mother's heels rattled past again, pounding harder on the floor this time. Gabriella knew instinctively that the search had heightened. The closet in her own room would have been torn apart by then, also the equipment closet under the stairs, behind the kitchen, the shed outside the house, in the garden. They lived in a narrow town house on the East Side, with a small, well-kept garden. Her mother hated gardening, but a Japanese man came twice a week to cut things, mow the tiny patch of lawn, and keep it tidy. More than anything, her mother hated disorder, she hated noise, she hated dirt, she hated lies, she hated dogs, and more than all of it, Gabriella had reason to suspect, she hated children. Children told lies, her mother said, made noise, and according to her mother, were continually dirty. Gabriella was always being told to stay clean, to stay in her room, and not disturb anything. She wasn't allowed to listen to the radio, or use colored pencils, because when she did, she always got the colors on everything. She had ruined her best dress once. That had been while her dad had been away, in a place called Korea. He had been gone for two years, and come back the year before. He still had a uniform in the back of a closet somewhere, Gabriella had seen it there once, when she was hiding. It had bright shiny buttons on it, and it was scratchy. She had never seen her father wear it. He was tall and lean, and handsome, with eyes the same color as her own, blond hair, like hers, but his was just a little darker. And when he came home from the war, she thought he looked like Prince Charming in “Cinderella.” Her mother looked like the queen in some of the storybooks Gabriella read. She was beautiful and elegant, but she was always angry. Little things bothered her a lot, like the way Gabriella ate, especially if she dropped crumbs on anything, or knocked over a glass. She had spilled juice on her mother's dress once. She had done a lot of things over the years that she wasn't supposed to.

She remembered all of them, knew what they were, and she tried hard not to do them again, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want to upset anyone, didn't want her mother to be mad at her. She didn't mean to get dirty or drop things on the floor, or forget her hat in school. They were accidents, she always explained, her huge eyes imploring her mother for mercy. But somehow, no matter how hard she tried, the wrong things always happened.

The thin high heels walked past the closet again, more slowly this time, and Gabriella knew what that meant. The search was ending. She had narrowed it down to the last of the hiding places, and it was only a matter of time before her mother found her. The child with the huge eyes thought of turning herself in, sometimes her mother told her that she wouldn't have been punished if she had been brave enough to do that. But most of the time, she wasn't. She had tried it once or twice, but it was always too late, by then, her mother said, if only she had confessed earlier, it would have been different. It would all have been different if Gabriella behaved properly, if she answered when she was spoken to, or didn't when she wasn't, if she kept her room clean, if she didn't push her food “around on her plate, and let the peas fall over the edge until they left grease spots on the table. If only Gabriella could learn to behave, speak only when spoken to, and not scuff her shoes in the garden. The list of Gabriella's failings and transgressions was endless. She knew only too well how terrible she was, how bad she had been all her life, how much they would love her if she could only do what they told her to, and how much they couldn't because of the constant grief she caused them. She was a bad child, she knew, a sad disappointment to both of her parents, and that pained her greatly. Knowing that was the crushing burden she had carried throughout her short existence. She would have done anything to change that, to win love and approval from them, but so far she had done nothing but fail them. Her mother made that clear to her constantly. And the price Gabriella paid for it was the constant reminder of her failings.

The footsteps stopped outside the closet door this time, and for a brief moment, there was an interminable silence before the door was suddenly yanked open. Light filtered back into the bowels of the closet where Gabriella hid, and she closed her eyes as though to shield herself from it. It was the merest crack of light reaching toward her through the coats, but to Gabriella it felt like the bright sunlight of exposure. She could smell her mother's perfume heavy in the air, and sense her closeness. The rustle of the petticoats her mother wore were like a warning sound to Gabriella, and then slowly the coats were pushed apart, creating a deep canyon leading straight into the back of the closet. And for a long, silent moment Gabriella met the eyes of her mother. There was no sound, no word, no exchange between them, Gabriella knew better than to explain, to apologize, or even to cry. Her already too-big eyes seemed to outgrow her face as she watched the inevitable rage grow in her mother's eyes, and with a single superhuman gesture, her mother's arm lunged toward her, grabbed her by one arm, yanked her off the ground, and pulled her forward with such speed that the air seemed to leave Gabriella's lungs with a small whooshing sound as she landed unsteadily on her feet next to her mother. And within an instant the first blow fell, dropping her to the ground with such force it left the small child breathless. There was no whimper of pain, no sound at all, as her mother slapped her hard across the top of her head, and then pulled her to her feet again with one hand, and hit her as hard as she could across the face with the other. To Gabriella, the sound of the blow was deafening.

“You're hiding again,” the tall, spare woman shrieked at her. She was almost beautiful, and might have been, had there been something different in her eyes, something other than rage running rampant across her face. Her long, dark hair was woven into a loose bun. She was elegant and graceful and had a lovely figure. The dress she wore was well cut, an expensive navy silk. And on her hands she wore two heavy sapphire rings. They left their mark on Gabriella's face now, as they had done before. There was a small cut on her head, and bright red marks where she had been slapped, a welt from one of the rings already visible on her cheek. Eloise Harrison slapped the child across her right ear, and then shook her, holding her by both arms, shouting into the tiny, devastated face. “You're always hiding! Always giving us problems! What are you afraid of now, you little brat? What have you done? You did something, didn't you? Of course you did… why else would you hide in the closet?”

“I didn't do anything… I promise…” The words were barely more than a whisper as Gabriella gasped for air. The beating seemed to take all the wind out of her, all the life out of her soul, as she looked up imploringly with tear-filled eyes at her mother. “I'm sorry, Mommy… I'm sorry…”

“No, you're not… you never are… you're never sorry, are you? You drive me crazy all the time, doing stupid things like hiding… What do you expect from us… miserable child… My God, I can't believe what your father and I have to put up with…” She flung the child away from her then, as Gabriella slid across the well-waxed floor, a few feet away from her, never far enough,’ as a blue suede high-heeled shoe kicked her with blinding venom in the small thin thigh that trembled. The biggest bruises were always on her legs and arms, her body, where they were unseen by others. The damage to her face always subsided in a few hours. It was as though her mother knew instinctively where to place the blows. She'd had plenty of practice at it. She'd been doing this for years. Nearly all of Gabriella's life now.

There was no remorse, no words of comfort to Gabriella lying at her feet. No effort to apologize or soothe her. She knew that if she got up too soon, it could start her mother's fury all over, so she waited there for a long time, head bowed, cheeks drenched in silent tears, still wincing from the blows delivered by her mother. Gabriella knew that looking up at her with her tear-stained face would only make her mother angrier, so she kept her eyes focused on the floor, as though she might disappear if she lay there forever.

“Get up… what are you waiting for?” The biting words, followed by another yank on the arm, and one last blow on the side of her head. “My God, Gabriella… I hate you… pathetic child… look how disgusting you are… you're all dirty… look at your face!” Suddenly, from nowhere, two smudges had appeared mixed with tears on the angelic face.

Anyone even minimally human would have been in agony seeing her, but not her mother. Eloise Harrison was a creature from another world, and anything but a mother. Abandoned by her parents as a small child, sent to live with an aunt in Minnesota, she had lived in a cold, lonely world with a maiden aunt who had rarely spoken to her, and most of the time had her carrying firewood or shoveling snow in the freezing winters. It was the Depression then, her parents had lost most of their money, and had gone to Europe to live on the little they had left. There was no room for Eloise in their world, or their hearts. They had lost their son, Eloise's brother, to diphtheria, and neither of them had ever had great affection for their daughter. Eloise had stayed with her aunt in Minnesota until she was eighteen, and then returned to New York, to stay with cousins. She had met John Harrison at twenty, and married him two years later. She had known him as a child, he'd been a friend of her brothers. And his parents had been more fortunate than hers had been. Their fortune had remained intact during the Depression. Well born, well bred, well educated, though without great ambition or strength of character, John had gotten a job in a bank, and met Eloise again shortly thereafter. He was instantly dazzled by her beauty.

Eloise had been pretty then, and young, something of a beauty, and there was a coolness about her that drove him into a frenzy. He begged, he pleaded, he courted, he wanted desperately to marry her, and the more he pursued her, the more aloof she was. It took him almost two years to convince her to become his wife. He had wanted children almost immediately, had bought her a lovely house, and he was so proud of her he almost crowed every time he introduced her. But it took him nearly another two years to convince her to have a baby. She always said she needed more time. And although she never said it openly, having children wasn't really what she wanted. Her own childhood had been so unpleasant, she wasn't particularly attracted to the idea of having children. But it meant so much to John, that eventually she relented. And regretted it almost immediately after. She had a difficult pregnancy, was violently ill almost to the very end, and the delivery was a horror she knew she would never repeat and always remember. In Eloise's mind, despite the adorable pink bundle they placed in her arms the next day, it simply wasn't worth it. And it annoyed her right from the first to see how much attention John lavished on the baby. It was the kind of passion he had once had for her, and suddenly all he seemed to think about was Gabriella… was she warm enough… was she cold… had she eaten… had someone just changed her diaper… had Eloise seen how sweet she looked when she smiled… He thought it was remarkable how much she looked like his mother. Just listening to him, Eloise wanted to scream every time she saw her daughter.

She went back to her own activities rapidly, shopping, going to tea parties in the afternoon, and having lunch with friends. And more than ever, she wanted to go out every evening. She had absolutely no interest in the baby. She admitted to several of the women she played bridge with on Wednesday afternoons, that she found the child incredibly boring and quite repulsive. And the way she said it always amused them. She was so outspoken they thought it was funny. If anything, she was less maternal than she had ever been. But John was convinced she would come to it slowly. Some people just weren't good with babies, he told himself, each time he saw her with Gabriella. She was still very young, she was twenty-four, and very beautiful. He was sure that when the baby started doing more interesting things, she would rapidly conquer her mother. But that day never came, not for Eloise, or for Gabriella. In fact, when Gabriella started crawling everywhere, pulling at things, standing up next to the cocktail table and throwing ashtrays on the floor, she nearly drove her mother crazy.

“My God… look at the mess that child makes … she's constantly knocking things down and breaking things, and some part of her is always dirty…”

“She's just a baby, El…” he said gently, scooping Gabriella up into his arms and hugging her, and then blowing raspberries on her belly.

“Stop that, that's disgusting!” Eloise said sternly, looking at him in revulsion. Unlike John, Eloise hardly ever touched her. A nurse they had early on had figured it all out easily and shared her thoughts with the baby's father. She said that Eloise was jealous of the baby. It sounded ridiculous to John, but in time even he began to wonder. Every time he talked to the child, or picked her up, Eloise got angry. And by the time Gabriella was two years old, Eloise slapped her hands every time she reached out to touch something in their living room or their bedroom. She thought Gabriella should be confined to the nursery, and said so.

“We can't lock her up in there,” John objected when he found her in her room, whenever he came home from the office.

“She destroys everything,” Eloise would answer, as usual looking angry. But she was even more so when John commented on what pretty hair Gabriella had, what lovely curls. It was the next day that Gabriella got her first haircut. Eloise took her to Best and Co. with the nurse, and when they returned, the curls had vanished. And when John expressed surprise, Eloise explained that having her hair cut was healthy for her.

The rivalry began in earnest when Gabriella spoke in sentences and would run down the hall squealing to see her father. Sensing danger near at hand, she generally steered a wide berth around her mother. Eloise could barely contain herself while she watched John play with her, and when he finally began criticizing Eloise for how little time she spent with the child, a chasm began to grow between Eloise and her husband. She was sick of hearing him whine at her about the baby. She thought it was unmanly, and frankly disgusting.

Gabriella's first beating occurred when she was three, on a morning when she accidentally knocked a plate off the breakfast table and broke it. Eloise had been sitting uneasily beside her, drinking her morning coffee. And without hesitating, the instant the plate fell, she reached over and slapped her.

“Don't ever do that again… do you understand?” Gabriella had simply stared at her, her eyes filled with tears, her face a mask of shock and sorrow. “Did you hear me?” she shouted at the child again. Her curls had reappeared by then, and the huge blue eyes stared back in confusion at her mother. “Answer me!”

“I sorry, Mommy…” John had just entered the room and saw what was happening with disbelief, but he was so shocked, he did nothing to stop it. He was afraid to interfere and make things worse. He had never seen Eloise so angry. Three years of anger, jealousy, and frustration were erupting from within, like a long-overdue volcano.

“If you ever do that again, Gabriella, I'll spank you!” Eloise said ominously, shaking the child by both arms until her teeth shook. “You're a very, very naughty girl, and no one likes naughty children.” Gabriella glanced from her mother's face suffused with rage, to her father standing in the doorway, but he said nothing. He was afraid to. And as soon as Eloise was aware of him, she scooped the child up in her arms, and took her back to her room, and left her there, without her breakfast. She gave her a sharp slap on her bottom before she left. Gabriella was lying on her bed, whimpering, when her mother left her to go back to breakfast.

“You didn't have to do that,” John said quietly when Eloise came back to the breakfast table for another cup of coffee. He could see that her hands were shaking, and she still looked angry.

“If I don't, you'll wind up with a juvenile delinquent on your hands one day. Discipline is good for children.” His own parents had been kind to him, and he was still startled by Eloise's reaction. But he was also well aware that their daughter made her extremely nervous. Eloise had never been quite the same since Gabriella was born, and nowadays she was always angry at him about something. His hopes for a large, happy family had long since vanished.

“I don't know what she did to upset you, but it couldn't have been that awful,” he said calmly.

“She threw a plate on the floor intentionally, and broke it. I'm not going to put up with tantrums!” Eloise said sharply.

“Maybe it was an accident,” he said, trying to mollify her, and succeeding only in making the situation worse. There was nothing he could ever say to defend their daughter. Eloise simply did not want to hear it.

“Disciplining Gabriella is up to me,” Eloise said through clenched teeth. “I don't tell you how to run your office,” she said, and then left the table.

Within six months, “disciplining” Gabriella became a full-time job for her mother. There was always some fresh crime she had committed that required a slap, a spanking, or a beating. Playing in the garden and getting grass stains on her knees, playing with the neighbors’ cat and getting her arm scratched, or her dress dirty, falling on the street and scraping her knees and getting blood all over her dress and socks was a particularly heinous offense that cost her her most serious beating to date, just before her fourth birthday. John knew of the beatings, and saw it happen many times, but he thought there was nothing he could do to stop Eloise, and even comforting the child afterward made it worse, and it became simpler to accept Eloise's explanations of why she had to beat, slap, or spank her. In the end, he decided it was best to say nothing, and he tried not to think about what was happening to their daughter. He tried to tell himself that maybe Eloise was right. He didn't know. Maybe discipline was good for children, if she said so.

His parents had died in an auto accident and there was no one he could talk to, no one he would have dared tell what Eloise did to Gabriella.

Gabriella was certainly a model child, she barely spoke, cleared the table carefully, folded her clothes neatly in her room, did everything she was told, and never answered back to her mother. Maybe Eloise was right. The results were certainly impressive. And when she sat at dinner with them, her eyes were huge in her face, and she remained completely silent. It was only unfortunate that her father came to mistake terror for good manners.

But in Eloise's less generous eyes, Gabriella always fell far short of perfection. There was always something more to scold her about, punish her for, or a new reason to give her a “spanking.” Eventually the spankings became longer and more frequent, the slaps seemed to punctuate every exchange between them, the shakings, the sharp blows, the resounding slaps to every part of her body. There were times when John feared that Eloise might seriously hurt Gabriella, but he kept his comments to himself about the way his wife was bringing up their daughter. To him, it appeared that discretion was the better part of valor, and he did his best to convince himself that what she was doing wasn't wrong, and he was careful never to see the bruises. According to Eloise, the child fell constantly, and was so awkward they couldn't let her ride a bike or learn to roller-skate. The deprivations her mother inflicted on her were clearly for her own protection, the bruises a sign that she was as clumsy as Eloise declared her.

And by her sixth birthday, Gabriella's beatings had become a habit, for all of them. John avoided them, Gabriella expected them, and Eloise clearly enjoyed them. If anyone had said as much to her, she would have been outraged. They were for the child's own good, she claimed. They were “necessary.” They kept her from becoming more of a spoiled brat than she was, Eloise would have explained. And Gabriella herself knew how truly bad she was. If she weren't, her mother wouldn't have had to hit her… if she weren't, her father would have stopped her mother from beating her… if she weren't, they might have loved her. But she knew better than anyone how unworthy she was, how truly terrible were her crimes. She knew all of it, because her mother told her.

And as she lay on the floor that summer afternoon, and her mother dragged her off the floor by one arm, and slapped her one more time before sending her to her room, she saw her father watching them from the doorway. She knew he had seen the beating and done nothing about it, just as always. His eyes looked mournful as Gabriella crept past him, and he said nothing. He didn't reach out to comfort her, he didn't try to touch her, he simply looked away, refusing to see the look in her eyes, unable to bear it any longer.

“Go to your room and stay there!” Gabriella's mothers words rang in her ears as she walked softly down the hall, feeling her cheek with tiny trembling fingers. She knew she was a big girl now, she knew that the things she did that made her mother so angry were really awful, and as she crept into her room and closed the door, a sob escaped her, and she ran to the bed and clutched her dolly. It was the only toy she was allowed to have, her grandmother had given it to her before she died, her father's mother. It had big blue eyes and eyelashes and pretty blond hair, and Gabriella genuinely loved her. The doll's name was Meredith and she was Gabriella's only ally. Gabriella clutched her now, rocking back and forth, sitting on her bed, wondering why her mother hit her so hard… why she herself was so awful… and all she could remember now was the look in her father's eyes as she walked past him. He seemed so disappointed, as though he had hoped that she'd be better than she was, instead of the little monster her mother accused her of being. And Gabriella believed her. She did everything wrong, and she knew it. She tried so hard, but there was no pleasing them… no way to stop the inevitable… no way to escape it. And as she sat there, holding her doll, she knew deep in her soul that it would never stop. She would never be good enough, she would never win them over. She had known all her life that they didn't love her, and was long since convinced that she didn't deserve love. She didn't deserve anything more than the pain her mother inflicted on her. She knew that, but she wondered still why it had to hurt so much… why her mother was always so angry at her… what she had done to make them hate her… And as she lay crying silently on her bed, the one thing she knew was that there were no answers, and no one could save her from this. Not even her father. All she had in the world was Meredith, her only friend, her dolly. She had no grandparents, no aunts or uncles, no friends or cousins. She was never allowed to play with other children. Probably because she was so naughty. They probably wouldn't like her anyway. No one would. Who could possibly like her if her parents didn't, if she was so bad?… She knew she couldn't tell anyone what they did to her, because it only proved how bad she was, and when they asked her in school what had happened to her, she always told them she fell down the stairs, or over the dog, even though they didn't have one. But she knew this was a secret she had to keep, because if she didn't, people would know how truly terrible she was, and she didn't want anyone to know that.

It wasn't her parents’ fault, she knew that as well. It was her fault for being so bad, for making so many mistakes, for making her mother so angry. It was all her fault. And as she lay on her bed and thought about it, she could hear her parents’ voices. As they often did, they were shouting, and she knew that was her fault too. Sometimes after her mother punished her, she could hear her father shouting at her, as he did now. She couldn't make out the words, but it was probably about her… probably her fault… she was even worse than they said. She made them fight. She made them angry at each other. She made everyone so unhappy, almost as unhappy as she was.

She cried herself to sleep, at dusk, without dinner, and as she drifted off to sleep, feeling her cheek ache and her thigh throb where her mother had kicked her, she tried to think of other places, other things… a garden… or a park… with happy people in it… and children laughing as they played… everyone was playing, and they wanted her to play with them… a tall, beautiful woman came toward her and held her arms out to her and told her that she loved her… It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, and as she thought of it, everything else in her life faded away, and she drifted off to sleep, holding her dolly.

“Aren't you afraid you're going to kill her one of these days?” John said pointedly to his wife, and she looked at him in contemptuous amusement. He'd had more than a few drinks as he stood looking at her, gently reeling. The drinking had started at about the same time as the beatings. It was easier than trying to stop the beatings, or explaining Eloise's behavior. The drinking took the edge off and made an intolerable situation nearly bearable for him, if not for Gabriella. “Maybe she won't end up a drunk like you, if I beat a little sense into her now. It might save her a lot of heartache later.” Eloise sat calmly on the couch looking at him with disdain, as he made himself another martini.

“The sickest thing is, I think you believe that.”

“Are you suggesting I'm too hard on her?” Eloise said, visibly furious at being challenged.

“Too hard? Too hard? Have you ever taken a good look at her bruises? How do you think she gets them?”

“Don't be ridiculous, if you re trying to blame me for that. She falls on her face every time she puts her shoes on.” She lit a cigarette, and leaned back to watch him drink his martini.

“Eloise, this is me you're talking to. Who are you kidding here? I know how you feel about her… so does she… poor kid, she doesn't deserve this.”

“Neither do I. Do you have any idea what I have to put up with? She's a little monster underneath those curls, with those big innocent blue eyes you're so in love with.”

He looked at her as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes, swept away by the force of the alcohol in his system. “You're jealous of her, aren't you, El? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Just plain jealousy. You're jealous of your own daughter.”

“You're drunk.” She dismissed him with a wave of the cigarette, unwilling to listen to what he was saying.

“I'm right, and you know it. You're sick. I'm just sorry for her that we ever had her. She doesn't deserve a life like the one we give her… you give her…” He took no responsibility for his wife's cruelty and took great pride in the fact that he had never laid a hand on Gabriella. But he had never done anything to protect her either.

“If you're trying to make me feel guilty about her, don't bother. I don't. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you? You beat her senseless practically every day. Is that what you had intended for her?” He looked horrified as he drained his glass, and felt the effect of his fourth martini. Sometimes it took more than that to drown the things that he remembered her doing.

“She's not an easy child, John. She needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Well, you've done that, El. I'm sure she'll always remember the lessons we taught her.” His eyes began to glaze as he said it.

“I hope so. Children don't need a lot of fussing over. It's not good for them. She knows I'm right too. She never argues with me when I punish her. She knows she deserves it.”

“She's too afraid to argue with you, and you know it. She's probably afraid you'll kill her if she says anything, or tries to resist you.”

“You make me sound like an ax-murderer, for God's sake.” She crossed one shapely leg over the other, but for several years now he was no longer moved by her. Seeing what she was doing to their child had made him begin to hate her, but not enough to try and stop her, nor leave her. He didn't have the guts to do that, and was slowly beginning to hate himself for it.

“We should send her to school somewhere in a few years, just to get her out of here, away from both of us. She deserves that.”

“She deserves a proper education from us before that.”

“Is that what you call this? ‘Education’? Did you see the bruise on her cheek when she went to her room tonight?”

“It will be gone by morning,” Eloise said calmly.

He knew it was probably true, but hated to admit it. Eloise always seemed to know just how much force to use so that the bruises never showed on the exposed areas of Gabriella's body. The marks on her upper arms and legs were usually a different story. She was an expert at it.

“You're one sick bitch,” was all he said to his wife as he left the room and walked unsteadily to their bedroom. She was, but there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. He stopped in the open doorway of his daughter's room on the way, and stared into the darkness. There was no sign of life there, no sound, and the bed appeared to be empty, but when he walked softly into the room and looked more closely, he saw a small lump at the bottom of the bed and knew it was Gabriella. She always slept that way, hidden way down in the bed, so that her mother wouldn't think she was there if she came to find her. Tears filled his eyes as he looked at the small, barely visible lump of battered terror that was his daughter. He didn't even dare pull her back up to the empty pillow. It would only expose her to Eloise's anger again, if she came in to see her. He left her there, lonely and alone and seemingly forgotten, and turned and walked on to his own room, wondering at the injustices of life, the inhumanity that had befallen his child, and yet he knew as he walked away from her, he knew that there was nothing he could do to save her. In his own way, he was as powerless against his wife as Gabriella. And he hated himself for it.

Chapter 2

THE GUESTS BEGAN arriving shortly after eight o'clock at the town house on East Sixty-ninth Street. A handful of well-known socialites were there, a Russian prince with an English girl, and all of the women Eloise normally played bridge with. The head of the bank where John Harrison worked had come with his wife, and waiters in dinner jackets were serving champagne on silver trays as the guests arrived, as Gabriella sat hidden at the top of the stairs, watching them. She liked watching the guests when her parents gave parties.

Her mother looked beautiful in a black satin gown, and her father looked handsome and elegant in a well-cut tuxedo. The women's dresses shimmered as they came into the hall, and their jewels sparkled in the candlelight as they took their glasses of champagne, and seemed to drift away toward the voices and the music. Eloise and John loved giving parties. They did it less often now, but they still entertained lavishly from time to time, and Gabriella loved watching the guests as they arrived, and lying in her room afterward listening to the music.

It was September, the opening of the New York social season. And Gabriella had just turned seven. There was no special occasion for the party that night, just a gathering of their friends, some of whom Gabriella recognized as she watched them. There were a few she had always liked, and who were nice to her on the rare instances when they saw her, which wasn't often. She was rarely introduced to their friends, seldom seen, never made much fuss of. She was simply. there, hidden away upstairs, mostly forgotten. Eloise didn't think children should be seen in social situations, and Gabriella's existence in their lives was anything but important to her. Now and then one of her friends asked about the child, mostly at her bridge club, and she dismissed their inquiries with a graceful hand, like an annoying insect that had crossed her path and could be brushed away just as quickly. There were no photographs of Gabriella in the house, although there were many of Eloise and John, in silver frames. There were never any photographs taken of Gabriella. Recording her childhood was of no particular interest to them.

Gabriella smiled as she saw a pretty blond woman walk into the hall downstairs. Marianne Marks was wearing a white chiffon dress that seemed to float as she moved, talking to her husband. She was one of her parents’ closest friends, and her husband worked with Gabriella's father. There was a diamond necklace glittering on her neck, and her hands moved gracefully as she took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters. And then, as though sensing something, she glanced upstairs, and stopped when she saw Gabriella. The woman's face seemed to be suffused with light, and from the glow of the candles in the chandelier, she almost seemed to be wearing a halo, and then Gabriella realized that the sparkle she saw there was from a tiny diamond tiara. She looked like a fairy queen to Gabriella.

“Gabriella! What are you doing up there?” Her voice was gentle and warm, as she smiled broadly, and waved to the child hiding on the top step in her pink flannel nightgown.

“Shhh…” Gabriella put a finger to her lips with a worried frown. If they knew she was sitting there, she would get in terrible trouble.

“Oh…” Marianne Marks understood instantly, or thought she did, as she ran upstairs quickly, on light feet, to see her. She was wearing high-heeled white satin sandals, and made no sound, as her husband waited for her downstairs, smiling at his wife and the pretty child who was whispering now, as Marianne embraced her. “What are you doing up here? Watching the guests arrive?”

“You look so pretty!” Gabriella said with an awestruck air as she nodded in answer to the question. Marianne Marks was everything that her mother wasn't. She was beautiful and fair, she had big blue eyes like Gabriella's and a smile that seemed to light everything around her. She seemed almost magical to Gabriella, as she watched her, and sometimes she couldn't help wondering why she couldn't have had a mother like this one. Marianne was about her mother's age, and always seemed sad when she said that she had no children. Perhaps there had been a mistake somewhere, perhaps Gabriella had been destined for a woman like this, and had come to her own parents by mistake instead… maybe because she was so bad, and needed to be punished. She couldn't imagine Marianne punishing anyone. She was always so kind and so gentle, and she seemed so happy, particularly now as she bent down to kiss Gabriella, and as she did, Gabriella could smell the warm, delicious smell of her perfume. Gabriella hated the scent of her mother's perfume. “Can't you come downstairs for a little while?” Marianne asked, wanting to whisk the little girl into her arms and take her downstairs with her. There was a quality to the child that always seemed to reach out to her and seize her heart. Everythi… out the little girl made her want to love and protect her. She didn't know why she felt that way, but Gabriella was one of those rare, fragile souls that reached out and touched you, and Marianne felt the pull of her now as she took her hand in her own and held it. It was small and cold and the fingers felt unbearably frail, the grip firm and almost pleading.

“No, no… I can't come down… Mommy would be really angry. I'm supposed to be in bed,” she whispered. She knew the penalty for leaving her bed and disobeying those orders, yet she could never resist the temptation to watch the people arriving for her parents’ parties. And now and then there was a bonus like this one. “Is that a real crown?” Marianne looked like the fairy godmother in “Cinderella” to her, and Robert Marks, waiting for his wife patiently at the foot of the stairs, looked very handsome.

“It's called a tiara,” Marianne giggled. Gabriella had to call her either Aunt Marianne, or Mrs. Marks. There were severe penalties for calling her parents’ friends, or any adult, by their first names, and she knew that. “Isn't it silly? It belonged to my grandma.”

“Was she a queen?” Gabriella asked solemnly with the huge, knowing eyes that always touched Marianne Marks’ heart in ways she didn't quite understand, but felt acutely.

“No, she was just a funny old lady in Boston. But she met the Queen of England once, that's when she wore this. I thought it would be fun to wear it tonight,” and as she explained, she unpinned it carefully from her elegantly coiffed blond hair, and set it gracefully on Gabriella's head of blond curls with a single gesture. “Now you look like a little princess.”

“I do?” Gabriella looked awestruck at the prospect. How could anyone as bad as she look like a princess?

“Come… I'll show you,” the pretty blond woman whispered, and took her hand and led her across the upstairs hall to a large antique mirror. And as Gabriella stared at her own reflection with wide eyes, she was startled by what she saw there. She saw the beautiful woman standing next to her, looking down at her with a warm smile, and the elegant little diamond crown shimmering atop her own head, as Marianne held it.

“Oh… it's so beautiful… and so are you…” It was one of the most magical moments in her short life, a moment engraving itself forever on her heart as they stood there. Why was this woman always so kind to her? How could she be? How could she and her own mother be so different? It was a mystery that, to Gabriella, defied explanation, except that she knew, and had for years, that she had never done anything to deserve a mother like this one.

“You're a very special little girl,” Marianne said softly as she bent to kiss her again, and then took the tiara gently from her head and pinned it easily onto her own head again, with a last glance in the mirror. “Your parents are very lucky people.” But Gabriella's eyes only grew desperately sad as she said it. If Marianne only knew how bad Gabriella was, she would never say things like that. She knew her mother could have told the woman a very different story, and would have. “I think I probably should go back downstairs now. Poor Robert is waiting for me.”

Gabriella nodded wisely, still overwhelmed by what she had done, the kiss, the tiara, the gentle touch, the kind words. She knew she would remember it for a lifetime. It was a gift to her beyond anything the woman could have known or suspected.

“I wish I lived with you.” Gabriella blurted out the words as she held the woman's hand, and they walked slowly to the top of the stairs. Marianne thought it was an odd thing for Gabriella to say and she couldn't imagine what would make her say it.

“So do I,” she said gently, hating to let go of the child's hand, feeling her tug at her heart, and seeing something so sorrowful in the child's eyes that it physically pained her. “But your mommy and daddy would be very sad, if you weren't here with them to keep them happy.”

“No, they wouldn't,” Gabriella said clearly, and Marianne stopped for a long moment, looking down at her, wondering if the child had gotten into trouble that day, or been scolded by her parents. To her, in her naïveté, it seemed as though it would be impossible to scold a child like this one.

“I'll come back and wave to you in a little while. Shall I come upstairs and visit you in your room?” Promising her something at least seemed the only way to leave her, to soothe her own conscience at leaving those eyes, that pleading look that tore at her heart now. But Gabriella shook her head wisely.

“You can't come upstairs to see me,” she said solemnly. The price to pay for it would have been almost beyond bearing, if she was discovered by her mother. Eloise hated it when her friends talked to Gabriella. It would be worse still if she found out someone had come upstairs to see her. Gabriella knew her mother would blame her for annoying their guests, and her fury would know no measure. “They won't let you.”

“I'll see if I can slip away later…” Marianne promised, as she started down the stairs and then blew her a last kiss over an elegant shoulder. The gown seemed to float around her again as she moved, and she stopped halfway down the stairs, and looked back up to the child watching her. “I'll be back, Gabriella… I promise…” And then, feeling something odd and uneasy in her heart, which she didn't quite understand, she ran the rest of the way down the stairs to her husband. He was drinking his second glass of champagne by then, and speaking to a very handsome Polish count, whose eyes lit up instantly when he caught sight of Marianne. He kissed Marianne's hand as Gabriella watched them. It was like watching a dance as she gazed at them, talking, laughing, and then moving slowly away toward the other guests. Gabriella wanted to run down the stairs and cling to her, to find safety with her, and protection. And feeling the child's eyes still glued to her, Marianne glanced upstairs one last time, and waved, as she disappeared on her husband's arm, as the count said something funny to her and she laughed a silvery sound. Gabriella closed her eyes at the sound of it, and leaned her head against the banister for a little while, just remembering, and dreaming. She could still see the little tiara on her own head, and remember the look in the woman's eyes, and the delicious smell of her perfume.

It was another hour before the last of the guests arrived, and Gabriella sat there silently, watching them. None of the others spotted her, or ever glanced upstairs. They arrived, smiling, and talking, and laughing, left their wraps, took their champagne, and moved inside to see the other guests and her parents. There were more than a hundred people there, and she knew that her mother would never come upstairs to check on her. She just assumed that she was in bed, as she was supposed to be. It never occurred to them that she'd be watching the guests and being wicked, as usual, disobeying their orders. “Stay in bed and don't move, don't even breathe,” had been her mother's last words to her. But the lure of the magic downstairs had been too great for her. She wished she could go downstairs and get something to eat. She was starving by the time the last guests had arrived, and she knew there was a lot of food in the kitchen, pastries and cakes, and chocolates and cookies. She had seen a huge ham being prepared that afternoon, a roast beef, and a turkey. There was caviar, as there always was, although she didn't like it. She had tasted it once, and it was terribly fishy, but her mother didn't want her to eat it anyway. She was forbidden to touch it, or any of the things they served at their parties. But she would have loved to have one of the little cakes. There were éclairs, and strawberry tarts, and little cream puffs that were her favorites. But everyone had been so busy that night, no one had thought to offer her dinner. And she knew better than to ask her mother for something to eat when she was getting ready for a party. Eloise had been in her dressing room for hours, taking a long bath, doing her hair, and putting on her makeup. She didn't have time to think of the child, and Gabriella knew that it was better if she didn't. She knew what would have happened if she'd asked for anything. Her mother always got very nervous before their parties.

Gabriella could hear the music playing louder now. There was dancing at the far end of their huge living room, and the dining room and library and living room were full of people. She could hear them talking and laughing, and she waited for a long time, hoping to see Marianne again, but she never returned, and Gabriella knew she had no right to expect it. She had probably forgotten. Gabriella was still sitting there, hoping for a last glimpse of her, when her mother suddenly swept through the hallway downstairs, looking for something, and instantly sensed Gabriella's presence. Without hesitating for a moment, she glanced up at the chandelier, and then beyond it, to the top of the stairs, where Gabriella was sitting in her old pink nightgown. Her breath caught instantly, and she leaped to her bare feet and moved backward, falling over the first step, and landing with a hard thump on her thin bottom. And the look on her mother's face told her instantly what was coming.

Without a sound or a word, Eloise came up the stairs, as though on winged feet, a messenger from the devil. She was wearing a tight black satin gown, which revealed her spectacular figure and shone like her black hair, pulled back in a tight bun. She was wearing long diamond dangling earrings, and an elaborate diamond necklace. But just as Marianne's gown and jewels seemed to soften her, to surround her in an aura of light and gentleness, what her mother wore seemed to accentuate her harshness, and made her look truly scary.

“What are you doing here?” She spat out the words in whispered venom. “I told you not to leave your room.”

“I'm sorry, I just…” There was no excuse for what she had done. Even less for having lured Marianne Marks up to see her… or worse yet, trying on her tiara… If her mother had known that… but fortunately, she didn't.

“Don't lie to me, Gabriella,” her mother said, grabbing her arm so tightly it instantly stopped the circulation, and almost as quickly made it tingle. “Don't say a word!” she said through clenched teeth as she dragged her down the hall, unseen by the people enjoying her hospitality downstairs. Had any of them seen what was happening, they would have been shocked into silence. And as though she knew that, she continued in a poisonous whisper to Gabriella, “Don't make a sound, you little monster… or I'll rip your arm off.” And Gabriella knew with absolute certainty that she would have. She didn't doubt it for a moment. At seven, she had learned many valuable lessons about her mother, and she knew that whatever tortures she promised, she generally delivered. That was one thing about Eloise you could always count on.

Gabriella's feet were literally lifted off the ground, as her mother half carried her to her room, with the rest of her body dangling as she tried to run along beside her mother, so as not to annoy her further. The door was still open, and she threw Gabriella inside, who fell with a sharp thud to the ground, twisting her ankle, but she knew better than to make a sound as she lay on the floor in the darkness.

“Now you stay in there! Do you understand? I don't want to see you out of this room again, is that clear? If you disobey me this time, Gabriella, I promise you, you'll regret it. No one wants to see you out there… no one likes you… no one cares about you sitting at the top of the stairs like some poor pathetic little orphan. You're just a child, you belong in your room, where no one has to see you. Do you hear me?” There was silence from where Gabriella lay, crying silently in the darkness from the pain in her ankle and her arm, but she was too wise and too proud to complain about them to her mother. “Answer me!” The voice sawed into the darkness and Gabriella was afraid her mother would approach her and deliver her message even more succinctly.

“I'm sorry, Mommy!” she whispered.

“Stop whining. Go to bed where you belong!” Eloise said, and slammed the door. She was still scowling over the incident as she hurried back to the stairs, and then as she descended them hurriedly, her face seemed to transform, and the memory of Gabriella and what she had done to her seemed to vanish entirely as she reached the hallway. Three of her guests were standing there, putting on their coats, and she kissed each of them warmly as they left, and then returned to the drawing room to chat and dance with the others. It was as though Gabriella had never existed. And to her, she didn't. Gabriella meant nothing to her.

Marianne Marks said to give Gabriella her love as she made her exit. “I promised to go up and visit her before I left, but she must be asleep by now,” she said with regret as the child's mother frowned and looked startled.

“I should hope so!” she said sternly. “Did you see her tonight?” she asked Marianne, almost vaguely, seeming surprised but not particularly concerned about it.

“I did,” the pretty woman confessed sheepishly, forgetting what Gabriella had said about not being allowed to see the guests, and not giving it much importance. Who could get angry at an angel like Gabriella? But there were far too many things Marianne did not know about the child's mother. “She's so adorable. She was sitting at the top of the stairs when we arrived, in the sweetest little pink nightgown. I ran upstairs to give her a kiss, and we chatted for a few minutes.”

“I'm sorry,” Eloise said, looking mildly annoyed. “She shouldn't have done that.” She said it apologetically, as though Gabriella had done something appalling to offend them, and in Eloise's eyes she had. She had made her presence known, which was an unpardonable sin to her mother, but Marianne Marks couldn't have known that.

“It was my fault. I'm afraid I couldn't resist her, with those huge eyes. She wanted to see my tiara.”

“I hope you didn't let her touch it.” Something in Eloise's eyes told Marianne not to say more, and as they left the Harrison house that night, Marianne said something about it to Robert.

“She's awfully hard on that child, don't you think, Bob? She acted as though she would have stolen my tiara, if I'd let her.”

“She may just be very old-fashioned about children, she was probably afraid Gabriella had annoyed you.”

“How could she annoy me?” Marianne said innocently as they drove home behind their chauffeur. “She's the sweetest little thing I've ever seen… so serious, and so pretty. She has the saddest eyes…” And then, wistfully, “I wish we had a little girl like her.”

“I know,” he said, patting her hand, and glancing away from the disappointment in his wife's eyes. He knew what it meant to her that in nine years of marriage they had never been able to have children. But it was something they both had to accept now.

“She's hard on John too,” Marianne volunteered after a few moments of silence, thinking of the children they would never have, and the pretty little girl she had talked to that evening.

“Who?” Robert's mind was on other things by then. He'd had a busy day at the office, and was already thinking ahead to the next one. He had dismissed the Harrisons from his mind, and his wife's comments about their daughter.

“Eloise.” Marianne brought him back to the evening at hand, and he nodded. “John danced with that English girl Prince Orlovsky brought several times, and I thought Eloise looked as though she were about to kill him.”

Robert Marks smiled at his wife's assessment of the situation. “And I suppose you would have been fine if I'd danced with her?” He raised an eyebrow, and his wife laughed at him. “The woman scarcely had any clothes on.” She'd been wearing a flesh-colored satin gown that clung to her like skin, and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She'd been quite spectacular and John Harrison had clearly found her very entertaining. Who hadn't?

“I suppose I can't blame Eloise,” Marianne admitted sheepishly. And then, seemingly without guile, as she turned her big blue eyes innocently to her husband, “Did you think she was pretty?”

But he knew better than to answer, as he laughed heartily, just as they reached their house on East Seventy-ninth Street. “I'm not going to fall for that one, Miss Marianne! I thought she was dreadful-looking, a complete harpy, and with a figure as bad as hers, she should never have attempted to wear that dress. I can't imagine what Orlovsky was thinking when he brought her!” They both laughed at his extricating himself from his wife's question, and they both knew that she had been a striking beauty and more than a trifle racy. But Robert Marks had never had any interest whatsoever in any woman other than his pretty wife, and it didn't matter a fig to him that she couldn't have children. He adored her. And his only interest now was in getting her upstairs to their bedroom. He didn't give a damn about Orlovsky's new mistress.

But the same was not quite so true for John Harrison, who was engaged in a similar, though far more heated, conversation with Eloise in their bedroom.

“For God's sake, why didn't you just take her dress off?” Eloise said tartly. He had danced repeatedly with the much-discussed English girl in the skintight beige satin dress, and his amorous dances with her had not gone unnoticed, either by Eloise or Prince Orlovsky.

“For chrissake, Eloise, I was just being polite. She'd had a lot to drink and didn't know what she was doing.”

“How convenient for you,” Eloise said coldly. “I suppose when her strap slipped off her shoulder, and her breast was exposed, it was entirely an accident that you were practically kissing her at the time.” She was pacing around the room, smoking, and they'd both been drinking heavily all evening.

“I wasn't kissing her and you know it. We were dancing.”

“You were nearly making love to her, right there on the dance floor. You humiliated me in front of our friends.” And as far as she was concerned, he needed to be punished for it.

“Maybe if you were more interested in sleeping with me, Eloise, I wouldn't need to dance that way with a total stranger.” Not that he cared anymore. How could he after what he'd seen her do to Gabriella? He was standing over Eloise, and their voices were raised, but for once Gabriella couldn't hear them. She was sound asleep in her bedroom. The last guest had left at two o'clock, and it was nearly three o'clock in the morning as her parents argued. They had been at it ever since the party had ended, and their words were getting more and more heated, as were their tempers.

“You're disgusting,” Eloise said, standing as close to him as she dared. They both looked enraged, and the truth was that he would have loved to have taken the girl from Vladimir Orlovsky, and might still do it. His fidelity to, and his feelings for, Eloise had disappeared years before. As far as he was concerned, cruel as she was to their child, and cold as she was with him, she deserved it and he owed her nothing. “You're a bastard, and she's a whore!” Eloise said, wanting to humiliate him and to hurt him, but she couldn't. He didn't care what she thought anymore, or what she said. He hated everything about her, and she knew it.

“And you're a bitch, Eloise. It's no secret anymore. Everyone knows it. There isn't a man worth a damn in this town who'd want you.” She didn't answer him with words this time, but reached back and slapped him as hard as she could, almost as hard as she might have hit their daughter.

“Don't waste your energy. I'm not Gabriella,” he said, giving her a furious shove as she fell backward against a chair and knocked it over. She was still picking herself up off the floor as he strode out of the room, and slammed the door behind him. He never looked back, he didn't care, and for a crazed moment he almost hoped that he had hurt her. She deserved it, she had inflicted so much pain on him, and their little girl, she deserved to get some of it back. He didn't know where he was going that night, and he didn't care. He knew that the English girl would be in bed with Orlovsky by then, so he couldn't go to her, although he knew where she lived. But there were plenty of others, girls he called from time to time, professionals he used, or married women who were happy to spend an afternoon with him, or single ones who deluded themselves he might leave Eloise one day, and didn't care how much he drank when he was with them. There were lots of women willing to go to bed with him, and he took advantage of them as often as he had time to. He never hesitated to seize an opportunity to cheat on her. Why should he?

He flew down the stairs and hailed a cab, and as he got into it, and it drove away, Eloise limped to the window, wearing one shoe, and watched him. There was no sorrow in her eyes, no regret for what she'd said, or what had happened. There was only anger and hatred on her face, and she had bruised her hip in the fall and was furious with him for it. So furious that her anger needed to vent itself, and there was only one place where she could do that. With a look of outrage she took off the other shoe and hurled it across the room, and walked on soundless feet out into the hallway. Everything she felt for him, or didn't, was in her eyes as she hurried down the hall to the familiar door, and all she knew as she walked into the darkened room was that she wanted to hurt him.

With a single gesture, she flipped the light on so she could see what she was doing, and ripped the covers off the small bed. It didn't deter her that there appeared to be no one there. She knew she was always there, hiding, just as evil and wicked and repulsive as her father. She was as disgusting as he was, and Eloise hated her with every ounce of her being as the small pink form was revealed, crouched in a little ball at the bottom of the bed, clutching her doll… the stupid doll his mother had given her and she clung to all the time… Eloise was in a blind rage as she grabbed it, and battered it against the wall, and broke off its head, as Gabriella came awake in a blinding flash and saw what she was doing.

“No, Mommy, no! Not Meredith!… No… Mommy, please…” Gabriella was sobbing as her mother destroyed the doll she had loved for years, and then Eloise turned to her daughter in the same white rage and began to hit her.

“It's just a stupid doll… and you're a wicked little brat… you dragged Marianne up to see you tonight, didn't you? And what did you tell her… did you cry to her… did you tell her about this? Did you tell her you deserve this… that you're a rotten little bitch… that you're a little whore, and Daddy and I hate you because you give us so much trouble?… Did you tell her we have to punish you because you're so bad to us… did you? Did you? DID YOU?” But Gabriella could no longer answer her, her sobs had been drowned by screams as her mother hit her again and again and again, at first with the body of the doll she had called Meredith, and then with her fists, battering her chest and her body and her ribs, pounding at her, ripping at her, grabbing handfuls of her hair and nearly tearing it off her head, and then slapping her until she couldn't catch her breath any longer. The blows were continuous and endless and brutal beyond belief. All her hatred for the child, and for John, the humiliation she had felt that night when he'd gone after the English girl, were visited on the child, who had no idea what she had done to deserve it, except that she knew that in some part of her she was so evil that surely she deserved her mother's hatred.

Gabriella was nearly unconscious when her mother left her that night. There was blood in her bed, and a knife sliced through her each time she tried to breathe. Neither of them knew it, but two of her ribs were cracked. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, and she had to pee desperately, and she knew that if she did it in her bed, her mother really would kill her. The remains of her doll had disappeared. Her mother had taken it and thrown it in the trash when she left the room, exhausted, and somewhat sated. Her fury against John had dimmed. She had fed the monster within her. It had eaten Gabriella instead, devoured her, chewed her up and spat out what remained of her. There was blood matted in the child's hair as she lay in bed, and the bruises she would wear the next day would be the worst she'd ever had. It was the first time her mother had actually broken bones, and Gabriella was terrified and never doubted it would not be the last.

She lay in her bed, unable to cry after her mother left, it hurt too much. She shook violently instead. She was desperately cold as her entire body trembled. Her lips were swollen, her head ached, and every inch of her body hurt, but the worst was the searing pain from within whenever she tried to breathe and found she couldn't. She thought maybe she would die that night, and hoped she would. There was nothing she had left to live for. Her dolly was dead. And she knew that one day she would meet the same fate at her mothers hands. It was only a matter of time before her mother killed her.

Eloise slept in her black satin evening gown that night, too tired to undress. And Gabriella lay in her own blood, waiting for the angel of death to claim her. She tried to think of Marianne and the moments she had shared with her that night, but she couldn't think of that now, couldn't think of anything. She was in too much pain, and hated her mother too much. The hatred she felt took over everything. It almost made the pain bearable. And as she lay in her bed, at that very moment, her father lay in the arms of a pretty Italian prostitute he knew well on the Lower East Side. Gabriella had no idea where he was, nor did Eloise, and it no longer mattered to either of them. Eloise told herself she didn't care where he was, she wished him in hell, and with her he was. And Gabriella knew that wherever he was, he would never save her. She was alone in the world, without saviors, without friends, without even her doll now. She had nothing. And no one. And as she lay there, unable to move that night, in too much pain, she finally peed in her bed, and knew with utter certainty that in the morning, when her mother discovered it, she would kill her. She lay thinking about it, welcoming it, wondering how the end would come, how much more it would hurt, or maybe it wouldn't hurt at all… and as she thought of it, welcoming death into her life, she slipped mercifully into an inky blackness.

Chapter 3

THE FRONT DOOR of the town house on Sixty-ninth Street closed quietly, shortly after eight o'clock, the morning after the party. John Harrison walked silently up the stairs, and paused briefly outside Gabriella's room, knowing she would probably be awake by then. But when he looked into her room, he couldn't see her stirring. Her eyes were closed and she lay on top of the sheets, which was rare for her, but he thought it was a good sign. Instead of hiding at the bottom of the bed as usual, she was lying in the open. More than likely it meant that her mother hadn't bothered her the night before. Eloise had probably been too tired after he left, she had had too much to drink anyway to waste her time with Gabriella. At least for once the child hadn't been punished for the sins of the father. Or so he thought anyway, as he walked down the hall to his own room.

Eloise was still sleeping in her dress, her diamond necklace was still on, her earrings were loose in the bed, and she was still so sound asleep that she didn't move when he slipped into bed beside her. He knew her well enough to know that when she woke, she would say little about his hasty departure. She seldom did. She would be cool with him, distant for a day or two, but once the battle ended, it was never again mentioned. She just held it silently against him.

And just as he thought she would, she woke at ten, stirred lazily, and when she came fully awake, she glanced at him, not surprised to see him beside her. He was still half asleep by then, catching up on the sleep he'd missed the night before, in the apartment on the Lower East Side. There were a number of addresses just like it that he went to. Eloise had no idea where he went when he left her. She suspected, but would never have asked him.

She said nothing to him as she got up, left her jewelry on her dressing table, and walked slowly into her bathroom. She remembered everything that had happened the night before, particularly the part after he left, but there was nothing unusual about it, nothing worth commenting on now. She had nothing to say to her husband.

Gabriella was still in her room when Eloise went downstairs to make breakfast. The housekeeper had stayed to help the caterers clean up the night before, and she was off now because it was Sunday. She was a quiet, unobtrusive woman, who had worked for them for years. She didn't like Eloise, but was civil to her, and Eloise liked her because she minded her own business. Although she silently disapproved of it, she never interfered with Eloise's disciplining of Gabriella.

Eloise put a pot of coffee on, sat down at the breakfast table, and picked up the paper. She was reading it, sipping coffee in a Limoges cup, when John finally came down and joined her, and asked about their daughter.

“Where's Gabriella? Still in bed?”

“It was a late night for her,” Eloise said in a chilly voice, without looking up from the paper.

“Should I go and wake her?” Eloise said nothing and only shrugged in answer. He poured a cup of coffee for himself, took the Business section of the Sunday Times, which Eloise never touched, and read for a half hour before commenting again on Gabriella's absence. “Do you suppose she's sick?” He sounded worried, it didn't occur to him what had happened the night before, although it should have. He didn't realize that Eloise always took it out on her when he left at some ungodly hour after an argument. He should have suspected instantly, but as usual, he didn't really want to know. It was nearly eleven when he went upstairs to find her.

He found her changing her bed, moving with the awkward stealth of someone in great pain, but still he seemed not to see what had happened.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Her eyes bulged with unshed tears as she nodded. She'd been thinking about Meredith, her doll, and she felt as though someone had died the night before. And someone had. Not only the doll, but she had. It had been the worst beating ever administered by her mother. And it had dissolved whatever small hope she had had left that she might survive her life here. She had no further expectation of that now. She knew it was only a matter of time before her mother totally destroyed her. She had no illusions anymore, no dreams, nothing at all, just the unbelievable pain in her side, and the memory of her doll being pounded against the wall, just as she knew her mother would have liked to do to her, but had not yet dared to.

“Can I help?” He offered to put the blanket back on the bed with her, but she shook her head. She knew only too well what her mother would say if she found them. She would accuse her of whining to her father, or manipulating, or trying to turn him against her mother. “Don't you want to come downstairs to breakfast?” The truth was, she didn't want to see her mother. She wasn't hungry anymore, might never be again. She didn't care if she never ate, and every time she breathed it seared her like fire, and twisted a knife of pain in her rib cage. She couldn't imagine being able to get down the stairs, or sitting next to her mother at breakfast, let alone eating.

“It's okay, Daddy. I'm not hungry.” Her eyes were huge and more sorrowful than usual. And he told himself she was probably very tired. He refused to see the awkwardness with which she moved, the place where her hair was still matted with blood, the lip that was still more than slightly swollen. He told himself fairy tales about all of it, just as he had from the beginning.

“Come on, I'll make you pancakes.” As though he had something to make up to her. As though he knew, which he would have insisted he didn't. If he allowed himself to think of what Eloise had done to her, it would have made him feel far too guilty.

He walked slowly into the room, and saw that Gabriella had a sweater on over her dress. That was usually the sign that her thin arms had been too badly bruised to expose them. It was a sign he always recognized, and one he never acknowledged. Even at seven, Gabriella understood that she had to cover herself so as not to offend them, especially her mother, with the outward signs of her “badness.” Her father didn't ask her if she was cold, or why she wore the sweater. Sometimes she even wore a sweater, a long-sleeve shirt, or a shawl, at the beach for the same reasons. And no one said anything, they just let her do it. It was a silent vow, a tacit agreement between them.

“Where's Meredith?” he asked, as he glanced around the room, aware for the first time that the doll wasn't there. She was always close at hand in Gabriella's room, and this time he didn't see her.

“She went away,” Gabriella said with lowered eyes, trying not to cry again, thinking of the sound it had made when her mother battered her against the wall and destroyed her. It was a sound she knew she would never forget, a sight she would never forgive her for. Meredith had been her baby.

“What does that mean?” he asked innocently, and then, backing off almost instantly, he decided not to pursue the matter further. “Come on downstairs and have something to eat, sweetheart. We have an hour before we have to go to church, we've got plenty of time for breakfast,” he said pleasantly, and then hurried back downstairs, relieved to escape the intensity of her eyes, the depths of her sorrow. He knew now that something had happened in his absence, but he didn't want to ask, and didn't want to know the details. Today was no different from any other. He never wanted to know what had happened, if he wasn't forced to see it. And even then, he did nothing about it.

Gabriella crept down the stairs quietly, taking one step at a time, gasping for air, and clutching the banister. Her ankle hurt, her arms, her head, and not just two but all of her ribs felt as though they had been broken. She felt sick from the pain as she slipped quietly into her seat at the breakfast table. She had put her sheets in the laundry bag after rinsing parts of them carefully, her bed had been changed, and she thought there was a chance her mother might never discover her “accident” of the night before. She hoped not, with her entire being.

“You're late,” her mother said without ever taking her eyes off the paper.

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” Gabriella whispered. Talking hurt incredibly, but she knew what would happen if she didn't answer.

“If you're hungry, pour yourself a glass of milk and make a piece of toast.” She paused, not wanting to get up again, but without saying a word, her father did it for her, and as soon as her mother became aware of it, she looked up and stared at him in annoyance. “You're always spoiling her. Why do you do that?” She looked at him pointedly, angry about crimes that had nothing to do with making Gabriella's breakfast. But she hated it when he made any effort for her, or offered any kind gesture.

“It's Sunday.” As though that answered her question. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you,” she said curtly. “I have to get dressed for church in a minute. And so do you.” She looked angrily at Gabriella. But the thought of changing again, having to get in and out of her sweater and her clothes almost made the child weep at the thought of what it would cost her. “I want you in your pink smocked dress with the matching sweater.” The directions were clear, as was the penalty if she did not wear them. “And stay in your room until we're ready to leave. Try not to get filthy dirty, as usual in the meantime.” Gabriella nodded, and silently left the table a moment later without breakfast. She knew that today it would take her longer than usual to follow her mother's orders. And her father watched her go without saying a word. It was a complicity of silence between them.

She walked slowly up the stairs again, with more difficulty than she had come down them, but she made it to her room finally, and looked for the dress her mother had requested in her closet. She found it easily, but putting it on was another story. It took her nearly the full hour to change her clothes, and get into the dress as she winced in agony, and wiped away the tears that fell copiously as she did it. The sweater was the final blow in an already wretched morning. But she was dressed and waiting when her father came to tell her it was time to go, and she followed him down the stairs in her black patent leather shoes, and little white socks, and the pink smocked dress and matching sweater. She looked, as she always did, like a little angel.

“My God, did you comb your hair with a knife and fork?” her mother asked angrily the moment she saw her. She had been unable to raise her arms to comb her hair that morning, and foolishly hoped her mother wouldn't notice.

“I forgot” was the only thing she could think of to say, and at least her mother couldn't say that she was lying. At least she hadn't pretended that she'd done it.

“Go back up and do it now, and wear the pink satin ribbon.” Gabriella's eyes filled with tears at the command, and for once her father came to the rescue. He took a comb out of his jacket pocket for her, and instead of handing it to her, he ran it through the silky curls himself, and she looked presentable in less than a minute. The blood had dried in her hair by then and he pretended not to see it.

“She doesn't need the ribbon,” was all he said to his wife as Gabriella looked up at him gratefully. In his dark suit, white shirt, and blue-and-red tie, he looked more handsome than ever. Her mother was wearing a gray wool suit with a fur around her neck, a small elegant black hat with a veil, and white kid gloves that, as usual, were spotless. She had on beautiful black suede shoes as well, and carried a black alligator handbag. She looked like a model in a magazine, Gabriella knew, except that, as she always did, she looked so angry. But for once Eloise decided not to argue with John about the ribbon. It simply wasn't worth it.

They were very nearly late for church, but arrived right on time, by cab, and slipped into a pew, with Gabriella seated between her parents. She knew instantly what that meant. Every time her mother didn't like the way she behaved, or if she moved even a millimeter in her seat, her mother would squeeze a leg or an arm until it bruised, or grab her beneath her dress and pinch her.

Gabriella sat as still as she could, she barely moved today, and she could hardly breathe from the pain in her ribs. She sat in a daze of agony through most of the service. Her mother sat with her eyes closed most of the time, seemingly praying with total concentration. And now and then, she would open her eyes again and glance at Gabriella. But fortunately today, each time she did, Gabriella was sitting completely still, holding her breath so her ribs wouldn't be even more painful.

She followed her parents outside afterward, while they mingled with people they knew, and chatted with friends. Several people commented on how pretty Gabriella looked and her mother ignored both their compliments and the child. And each time Gabriella was introduced to someone new, or met someone she had seen before, she had to shake their hand and curtsy. It was no small feat for her in light of the damage of the night before, but knowing that she had no choice, she did it.

“What a perfect child!” someone said to John, and he agreed, while Eloise appeared not to hear them. Perfection was exactly what she expected of her. And Gabriella did her best to deliver it, though today it was anything but easy.

It seemed hours before they left the church, and went to the Plaza for lunch. There was music, and elegant silver trays being passed with tea sandwiches on them. And her father ordered her a hot chocolate. It arrived with a whole bowl of whipped cream, and Gabriella's eyes grew wide with delight, just as Eloise reached for it, and set it down on the far side of the table.

“You don't need that, Gabriella. It's not healthy. There's nothing more unattractive in the world than fat children.” She was in no danger of becoming fat, as all three of them knew. If anything, she looked like one of the starving children in Hungary she had heard so much about when she didn't finish her dinner. But nonetheless the whipped cream never came her way again. And she knew better than anyone that it was because she didn't deserve it. She had driven her mother to a frenzy the night before. There was no doubt in her mind that the ravages of the night before were probably her own fault, no matter how little she understood it.

They stayed at the Plaza until late that afternoon, greeting friends and observing strangers. It was a fun place to go for lunch, and normally Gabriella would have enjoyed it, but today she couldn't. She was in too much pain, and she was relieved when they left finally, to go home. Her father had already gone outside to find a taxi and Gabriella hung back a little bit, moving slowly, watching her mother stroll elegantly across the lobby. Heads turned as she walked past, as they always did, and Gabriella watched her in awe and silent hatred. If she was so beautiful, why couldn't she be nice as well? It was one of those mysteries to which Gabriella knew she would never have the answer. And as she walked out of the hotel, thinking about it, she stumbled for just an instant and accidentally stepped ever so lightly on the toe of her mother's black suede shoe. Gabriella shuddered inside as she did it, and her mother reacted even more quickly. She stopped dead in her tracks, stared at Gabriella with contempt, and pointed to her shoe in silent outrage.

“Fix that,” she said in a growling undervoice that made her sound like the voice of the devil, at least to Gabriella. Her mother was pointing at her shoe, with an imperiousness that would have startled anyone who heard her, but as usual, no one seemed to notice.

“I'm sorry, Mommy.” Her eyes were bottomless pools of regret and sorrow.

“Do something about it,” her mother snarled, but Gabriella had nothing to fix the black suede with except her fingers, and she began rubbing frantically in order to eliminate the offending dust spot. She thought of using her dress, but that would make her mother even angrier… or her sweater… There had to be something, but there wasn't. There didn't appear to be an available handkerchief, or even a bit of tissue. So Gabriella did the best she could with her nimble little fingers. And on closer inspection, it appeared that the smudge was gone, but Eloise refused to believe it when Gabriella said so. She made her clean the shoe again and again, kneeling on the pavement outside the hotel to do it. “Don't ever do that again. Do you understand?” she said harshly to Gabriella, as the child said a silent prayer of thanks that she had been able to remove the spot. If she hadn't, there would surely have been another beating, or perhaps there still would be. The day was young yet.

They took a cab back to their house after that, and Gabriella's intense pain grew worse with each passing moment. She was as white as a sheet, and her hands trembled as she folded them quietly, hoping her mother wouldn't see them before they got home. But for some reason, Eloise was in good spirits for a change, and although she wasn't pleasant to Gabriella, considering the scene of the night before, she was surprisingly civil to her husband. She didn't apologize for anything, she never did. As far as she was concerned, she didn't have to. In her mind, their argument of the night before was entirely his fault, and nothing she had to apologize for or explain.

She sent Gabriella to her room almost as soon as they got home. She hated finding her afoot, or wandering around the house for no apparent reason. She preferred to see her confined to a small space, sitting on a chair in her room, keeping out of trouble. And Gabriella meant to do just that. She didn't want to provoke her any further. So Gabriella went to her room, and stayed there. She had nothing to do, but she was in so much pain, she couldn't have done anything, if they'd asked her. But as she sat in her room, she couldn't help thinking about Meredith, the doll that had been demolished the night before. She genuinely missed her. Meredith had been her only friend her confidante, her soul mate. And now she had no one.

She was still thinking about it when she heard laughter in the hall, outside her door, and was surprised to realize that she was hearing the voices of her parents. Her mother seldom laughed at anything, but as Gabriella listened, she sounded almost girlish. Their voices drifted away eventually, and she heard their bedroom door close heavily. She had no idea what was happening in there, and wondered if they were fighting. But it didn't sound like it. They sounded happy as they laughed and giggled. And for a long time, Gabriella just sat there waiting. They'd have to come back eventually if only just to feed her.

But by the end of the afternoon, they still hadn't reappeared, and she knew that there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't knock on their door, or speak to them through it. She could hardly demand an explanation as to why they had been ignoring her, or why they had left her to her own devices, and neglected to give her dinner.

In the end, they never came back to her that night. They had come to some kind of temporary peace, and were happily consummating it in the privacy of their bedroom. Eloise had forgiven him for the night before, which was rare, and he was so startled by it and she looked so pretty that day that he was actually attracted to her. That and the fact that he'd had several drinks at the Plaza at lunch helped to soften him to a woman he normally detested. For some reason, they were both feeling unusually mellow. But none of their newly found warm feelings extended to their daughter. John knew it would only be a temporary peace, as did Eloise, but it was enjoyable anyway, for however long it lasted. And Eloise decided not to take a single moment away from their time in bed to bother feeding Gabriella.

Gabriella knew she could have gone downstairs. There were still leftovers from the night before, but she had no idea what would happen if she dared to touch them. It was best to just stay in her room, and wait. They couldn't be that long. They were only talking, after all, with the door closed. But as she sat and watched first six and then seven and eight o'clock come, and finally nine, and even ten, it was obvious to her that she had been forgotten. She went to bed finally, grateful that the day was done and nothing particularly untoward had happened to her. But it could still happen, just as it had the night before, if her father angered her mother, or abandoned her, walked out and left her, as he did so often, however much or little she deserved it. Anything was possible, and Gabriella would have to pay the price for all his weaknesses and failings. But this time nothing happened. He didn't go anywhere, and the two lovebirds remained in their room, and Gabriella fell asleep finally, without her dinner.

Chapter 4

BY THE AGE of nine, having survived two more years of her parents’ unthinkable behavior, Gabriella had retreated into a world where she could occasionally escape them. She wrote poems, stories, letters to imaginary friends. She had begun to develop a world where for an hour or two at least, her parents and the tortures they inflicted on her seemed to vanish. She wrote about happy people in pretty worlds, where wonderful things happened. She never wrote about her family, or the things her mother still did to her whenever the mood struck her. Her writing was her only escape, her only means of survival. It was a respite from a cruel world, despite seemingly comfortable surroundings. Gabriella knew better than anyone that neither her address, nor the size of her father's income, or the distinction of the families from which her parents came, protected her from the kind of realities that other people's nightmares were made of. Her mother's elegance, and the jewels she wore, and the pretty clothes that hung in her own closet, meant nothing to her. She knew the meaning of life better than most, and the stood early on what was important, and what wasn't. Love meant everything to her, she dreamed of it, thought of it, wrote of it. It was the one thing in her life that had eluded her completely.

People still talked about how pretty she was, how well behaved, how immaculate, how she never misbehaved or answered back, or challenged her parents. As did her teachers, her parents’ friends talked about her lovely hair, her huge blue eyes, how rarely she spoke. Her grades were excellent, and although her teachers lamented the fact that she seldom spoke up in class, and only answered questions in class when directly pressed to do so, she was nonetheless far ahead of most of the other children her age. She read constantly, and had learned early. Just as her early writing did, the books she read transported her to another world, light-years away from her own. She loved reading, and now when her mother wanted to torment her, she threw away her books, and took her pencils and paper away from her. She was always quick to discover what meant the most to her, and to seal off all of Gabriella's avenues of escape. But when that happened, Gabriella sat lost in thought, dreaming. In the ways that mattered, at least, they could no longer touch her, though they never noticed. And for reasons Gabriella herself couldn't explain, she knew instinctively now that she was a survivor.

Eloise often had Gabriella help in the kitchen, scrubbing, or washing dishes, or polishing silver. She complained that Gabriella was still intolerably spoiled, and owed it to them to make herself useful somewhere in the house. She did her own laundry, changed her sheets, cleaned her own room, and bathed and dressed herself. She was never allowed to be idle for a single moment, unlike other children her age, who were left to play outdoors, or in their own rooms, and given books or toys to entertain them. Gabriella's life was still a constant battle for survival, and as she grew older, the ante was upped frequently, the rules changed on a daily basis. Her skill lay in deciphering her mother's threats, determining her mood of the hour, and striving constantly not to annoy her, doing everything possible not to incur her fury.

The beatings still occurred just as frequently, but she was in school for longer now, which mercifully kept her away from home for more hours every day. And inevitably, the sins she was accused of committing were more serious as she grew older. Forgotten homework, lost articles of clothing, breaking a plate when she was doing dishes in the kitchen. She knew better than to make excuses for her crimes. She just braced herself and took what came. She was artful at hiding the bruises in school, from teachers and the few children she played with. She kept to herself most of the time. She couldn't see the children after school anyway, her mother would never have allowed another child in the house to visit. It was bad enough, as far as Eloise was concerned, having Gabriella underfoot to destroy the house, she had no intention of inviting other children in to help her. One child to endure was bad enough. Yet another was inconceivable torture to her.

Only twice in her three years in school had teachers observed something wrong with Gabriella. Once her uniform had slipped up her thigh while jumping rope at recess, and they had seen the appalling bruises on her legs. When questioned, she had explained that she'd fallen off her bike in her parents’ garden, and after sympathizing with her over the enormity of the bruise and how much it must have hurt when it happened, they let it go and forgot about it. The second time had been at the start of the current school year. Both her arms had been badly bruised and one of her wrists had been sprained. Her face, as was almost always the case, was remarkably untouched, her eyes innocent as she explained a bad fall from a horse over the weekend. They had excused her from doing homework until her wrist got better, but she couldn't explain that to her mother when she got home that night, so she did the homework anyway, and turned it in at school in the morning.

Her father remained as uninvolved as he had always been. And in the past two years, he seemed to spend most of his time away. He was traveling for the bank, and Gabriella knew that something untoward had happened between her parents, although it had never been clear to her exactly when it had occurred, or what it was. But for the past six months, they had had separate bedrooms, and her mother seemed angrier than ever whenever Gabriella's father was home.

Eloise went out in the evenings alone a lot now. She got dressed up, and left Gabriella alone when she went out with friends. Gabriella wasn't entirely sure her father knew that, since he was gone so much, and her mother stayed home whenever he was in town. But the atmosphere between them had clearly deteriorated. Eloise made a lot of rude remarks about him, and no longer seemed to hesitate to insult him to his face, whether Gabriella was in the room or not. Most of the comments were about other women, whom she called harlots or hookers. She talked about him “shacking up,” which was an expression Gabriella heard a lot, but she never knew quite what it meant, and she never dared to ask. Her father never answered her mother when she said it, but he drank a lot more these days. And when he did, eventually he left the house, and Eloise came to take it out on her.

Gabriella still slept at the bottom of the bed to escape her, but it was more out of habit than out of any success she'd had in convincing her mother that she wasn't there. Eloise always knew exactly where to find her. Gabriella didn't even waste time hiding now. She just took what she knew was coming to her, and tried to be brave about it. She knew that her only mission in life was to survive.

She also knew that somehow she must have caused the coldness between them, and although her mother never mentioned her name when she berated him, she knew that somehow, in some way, she was to blame for all their troubles. Her mother told her frequently that all her problems were because of Gabriella, and she accepted that now, along with the beatings, as her fate.

By Christmas that year, her father almost seemed not to live there. He hardly ever came home anymore, and whenever he did, Eloise flew into an uncontrollable rage. She seemed, if possible, angrier than ever. And now there was a name she screamed at him constantly. She shouted at him about “some little tart,” or “the whore you're shacked up with.” Her name was Barbara, Gabriella knew, but she had no idea who she was. She could never remember meeting any of their friends by that name. She didn't understand what was happening, but it seemed to make him even more remote, and he seemed to want nothing to do with her mother. He scarcely ever spoke to Gabriella, and most of the time when he was home now, he was drunk. Even Gabriella could see that, and he made no attempt to hide it anymore.

On Christmas Day, Eloise never came out of her room. John had been gone since the day before, and didn't return until late that night. There was no tree that year, no lights, no decorations. There were no presents for her, or any of them. And the only Christmas dinner she ate was the ham sandwich she made herself on Christmas Eve. She thought of making something for her mother, but she was afraid to knock on her door, or draw attention to herself. It seemed wiser to keep to herself and stay well out of the way. She knew how angry her mother was that her father wasn't there, particularly on Christmas Day. She was nine by then, and it was easier to understand what had happened, though the reason for her parents’ hatred for each other was not entirely clear. It had something to do with the woman called Barbara, and undoubtedly something to do with her as well. It always did, always had, according to her mother. Gabriella understood that very well.

When he came home late on Christmas night, the argument they had was not confined to their bedroom. They pursued each other around the house, shouting, and throwing things at each other, and knocking things down. Her father said he couldn't take it anymore, and her mother said she was going to kill them both. She slapped him, and he hit her mother for the first time. But instinctively, Gabriella knew that whenever the fight ended, she would be the one to take the brunt of it. She wished for the first time in a long time that there was a safe place to hide, a place to go for protection, people she could turn to. But there was no one, and she knew that all she could do was wait and see what happened. She had known for years that there were no rescuers, no saviors in her precarious life.

Eventually, her father left the house, and it was then that her mother found her. It was all too predictable, as she descended on her like a large, furious black bird. Her hair was down and flying out behind her. Her fists were powerful and relentless. Gabriella was aware of a sharp pain in her ear right from the first, a blow to her head, and a battery of blows to her chest, and this time her mother used a candlestick to hit one of her legs. Gabriella was sure she would hit her in the face or on the head with it, but miraculously she didn't. And after the shock of the first few minutes, the rest was a blur. Eloise was angrier than she had ever been, and Gabriella could sense easily that whatever she did now, whatever she said, might cost her her life.

She did nothing to avoid the blows that rained down on her that night. She simply waited, as she always did, for the storm to abate. And when it receded finally, and her mother left her alone on the floor of her room, Gabriella couldn't even crawl onto her bed. She simply lay there, drifting between consciousness and darkness, and was surprised to find that this time nothing hurt. She felt nothing this time, and all through the night she saw what seemed like halos of light around her. She thought she could hear voices once, but she couldn't hear what was being said. It wasn't until morning that she realized someone real was speaking to her, the voice was familiar, but just like the voices the night before, she couldn't distinguish what she was hearing. She didn't even realize it was her father. She never saw his tears, or heard his gasp of horror when he saw what Eloise had done to her. Gabriella was lying in a pool of blood this time, her hair matted to her head, her eyes glazed and unseeing, a terrifying wound on the inside of one leg. He wanted to call an ambulance but he was afraid to. Instead, without even waiting to talk to Eloise, he wrapped Gabriella in a blanket, and hurried outside to hail a cab.

When he arrived at the hospital, he wasn't even sure she was still breathing, but he rushed inside and deposited her on an empty gurney, called for help through his tears, and explained that she had fallen down the stairs. It was almost a believable tale, considering the extent of the damage, and no one questioned him. They put an oxygen mask on her small pale face and rushed her away, surrounded by nurses with worried faces, while John stared at them in disbelief.

He sat there looking stunned for several hours, and it was four o'clock in the afternoon before they came to reassure him that she would in fact survive. She had a concussion, three broken ribs, a broken eardrum, and a serious wound on one leg. But they had stitched her up, taped her ribs, and after a few days in the hospital, they felt sure that the worst of her injuries would be repaired. They asked him how long he thought it had been from the time she fell until he found her, and he said he thought several hours, although he admitted he wasn't sure when she had “fallen.” He didn't tell them he'd been out.

“Shell be fine,” a young intern reassured him, and the nurses promised to take good care of her. He peeked in at her once, but she was sleeping, and without approaching her again, he left. He felt dazed as he rode home in the taxi, unsure of what to say. He had no idea how to stop Eloise now, how to end this, how to do anything except escape himself. At least Gabriella was in good hands now. It seemed like nothing short of a miracle that she'd survived the beating of the previous night.

He entered the house with overwhelming trepidation, and was relieved to discover when he went upstairs that Eloise wasn't there. He had no idea where she was, and he no longer cared. He went to the library and poured himself a stiff drink, and then sat there waiting, not even sure what to say to her when he saw her at last. What could he possibly say to her? She wasn't human. She was an animal of some kind, a being from another planet, a machine that destroyed everything it touched. He wondered now how he could ever have loved her, how he could have deluded himself that she could be a wife to him, or a mother to their child. He wanted nothing now except to get as far away from her as possible. He wanted to be with Barbara that night, but for once he didn't dare. He knew he had to wait for Eloise and confront her, even if it was only for this one last time. He had to do it now.

She came home shortly after midnight, in a dark blue evening gown, and as he looked up at her all he could think of was that she looked like an evil queen. The Queen of Darkness. And seeing the state he was in, she glanced at him sprawled across the couch in the library with utter disdain.

“How nice of you to visit, John,” she said with icy contempt that wasn't lost on him even in his drunken state. “You're looking well. To what do I owe the honor? Is Barbara out of town, or is she servicing one of her other clients?” She walked slowly into the room swinging a small beaded purse in her hand, and he was aware of an overwhelming urge to throw his drink in her face or hit her, but he refrained. He knew that whatever he said or did to her, inhuman as she was, he could never hurt her. She was well beyond his reach in every possible way.

“Do you know where our daughter is tonight, Eloise?” His words slurred, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say now. It had finally become crystal clear to him, after far too many years. He was only sorry it had taken him this long to do it. But Barbara had finally given him courage. And seeing the state Gabriella had been in had strengthened his resolve.

“I'm sure you're going to tell me where she is, John. Did you leave her somewhere, or perhaps give her away?” She seemed amused rather than concerned, and it was easy to see her now for the monster she was. The only thing he didn't understand was how he could have been fooled by her for so long. He had wanted to be, wanted to believe that she was someone she wasn't, but that was another story, and something he was still unable to face, even now.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I gave her away, I mean. Why didn't we just drop her off at an orphanage when she was born, or leave her on the steps of a church? You'd have loved that, wouldn't you, and it would have been so much better for her.” He was fighting back tears as he spoke, remembering the sight of Gabriella's small broken body on the gurney. It was a sight he knew he would never forget.

“Spare me your maudlin theories, John. Is she at Barbara's? Are you planning to kidnap her? If so, you know I'll have to call the police.” She set her evening bag down on a table, and sat down elegantly across from him in a chair. She was still a beautiful woman, but rotten to the core. She had no soul. She was an iceberg, and cruel beyond measure. The woman he was with now was far less beautiful, but she seemed to care a great deal more about him. Her ancestors were far less aristocratic, but she loved him, and she had a heart. And all he wanted to do now was forget this woman, and the life he'd shared with her, and get as far away from her as he could. He had been hesitating for a year because of Gabriella, but he couldn't help her now anyway, couldn't stop this monster anymore. All he could do now, he was certain, was save himself.

“Gabriella is in a hospital,” he said ominously. “She was nearly unconscious when I found her this morning.” Just looking at Eloise, he was trembling with rage. Yet in some part of him, she still terrified him. He knew what she was capable of now, and he was afraid he would lose control of himself and kill her. The only thing she deserved was to be destroyed,

“How fortunate that you came home then, isn't it? What a blessing for her,” Eloise said coolly.

“She might have died if I hadn't. She has a concussion, broken ribs… a broken eardrum…” But it was obvious from the look on his wife's face that she didn't care. It was of absolutely no importance to her. And she felt anything but guilty about what she'd done to their child.

“Are you expecting me to cry? She deserved it.” She looked completely in control and utterly indifferent as she lit a cigarette and stared at him.

“You're insane,” he whispered hoarsely, running a nervous hand through his hair. This was harder than he thought it would be. With her unshakable calm and guiltless cruelty, she was a formidable opponent. And she was much stronger than he was. He had known that for a long time.

“I'm not insane, John. But you look it. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You look quite mad.” Her eyes only laughed at him, and he suddenly wanted to cry.

“You could have killed her.” His eyes blazed as he spoke hoarsely from his own emotions.

“But I didn't, did I? Perhaps I should have. Most of our problems are thanks to her. If I didn't care about you so much, I wouldn't be as angry at her. None of this would have happened if she hadn't come between us, if you hadn't been as besotted with her as you are.” It was obvious as he watched her that she believed that, that in some twisted part of her mind, she had convinced herself that Gabriella was to blame, and deserved everything they'd done to her ever since. It would have been impossible to make her see the insanity of what she was saying, and he knew that now.

“She has nothing to do with what happened between us, Eloise. You're a monster. You're insanely jealous, and you hate that little girl. Blame me, for God's sake, don't blame her. Hate me if you have to, because I failed you, because I've been unfaithful to you, because I'm not strong enough to give you what you want… but please… please…” He started to cry, pleading with her to hear the truth of his words. “Don't blame her.”

“Can't you see what she's done to us? She turned you around completely. You loved me before she was born. We loved each other… now look at us…” There were tears in her eyes for the first time in years as she looked at him. “She did this…” She even blamed Gabriella for the fact that he was in love with another woman. As far as Eloise was concerned, Gabriella was responsible for it all.

“You did it,” he accused her, unmoved by her tears. “I stopped loving you when I realized how much you hated her, when I saw how you beat her… and, oh God, one day she will hate us for what we did to her.”

“She deserves it.” Eloise retreated to her earlier stance, convinced of the wisdom of her words. “I don't care what I did to her. She cost me everything… cost us our marriage and our love…”

“You hated her from the day she was born. How could you?”

“I could see what was coming even then.”

“You have to stop, Eloise, before you kill her,” he implored her. “You have to… You'll spend the rest of your life in jail.”

“She's not worth it,” Eloise said firmly. She had thought about it before, and she was careful never to go too far, for her own sake, not for the child's. But the night before, she had come dangerously close. He understood that better than she did. He had seen Gabriella in the hospital, and heard what the doctors said. No one had accused him of beating her, fortunately. It would have been inconceivable to them, particularly given his good manners, respectable name, and expensive address. Asking him a question like that would have been offensive, and even if they suspected it, which he hoped not, they wouldn't have dared to accuse him of abusing his child.

“I wont kill her, John,” Eloise reassured him, but it was an empty promise from a woman with no soul. “I don't have to. She knows what I expect of her. She knows the difference between right and wrong.”

“The trouble is, you don't.”

“I'm tired,” she stood up then, “and you're boring me. Are you going up to bed, or are you going back to your little harlot? And when is that going to end?” Never, he promised himself. Never in a thousand years. He was never coming back to this woman. But he knew he had to be here now, to calm her down again, until Gabriella came home. No matter how much he hated her, he knew he owed that much to Gabriella. He couldn't give up the rest of his life for her, but he could smooth things over for her, at least until she came home.

“I'll go up in a while,” he said calmly, pouring himself one last drink. He was grateful they had separate bedrooms. He would have been afraid to sleep in the same bed with her now, for fear that she might kill him. Knowing what she was capable of terrified him. He had warned Barbara of that, and tried to tell her how dangerous Eloise was. But Barbara foolishly insisted she wasn't afraid of her. She couldn't conceive of the monster she truly was. No one could. Except he, and Gabriella, who knew it only too well.

“I assume you're sleeping in your own room tonight,” she said as she walked out of the room, and he watched the train on her evening gown trailing behind her. But he didn't answer her, he was thinking of Gabriella again, and he didn't have the strength to say another word. He just watched her as she walked slowly up the stairs.

When Gabriella woke up in the hospital that night, she had no idea where she was. Everything was white and clean and looked very stark. There were shadows on the ceiling, and a small light in the corner of the room. A nurse in a starched cap was looking down at her, and as soon as Gabriella's eyes fluttered open, the young woman smiled at her. It was an unfamiliar sight to Gabriella. The nurse's eyes looked very kind.

“Am I in heaven?” she asked softly, convinced, and relieved to think, that she had died.

“No, you're at St. Matthew's Hospital, Gabriella. And everything is fine. Your daddy went home a while ago, but he said he'd come back tomorrow to see how you are.”

She wanted to ask if her mother was angry at her for being here, and if she ever had to go back there again. If she never got well again, couldn't she just stay? There were a thousand questions in her head, but she was afraid to do anything more than nod, and when she did, it hurt. A lot.

“Try not to move around too much.” The young nurse had seen her wince. She knew the concussion was giving her a severe headache, and there was still blood draining from her ear. “Your daddy said you fell down the stairs, and you're a very lucky girl that he found you when he did. We're going to take good care of you while you're here.” Despite the pain, Gabriella nodded gratefully again, and closed her eyes.

She cried in her sleep after that, the shifts changed, and an older nurse came to watch over her for several hours. She checked her vital signs and changed the dressing on the wound on her leg. She stood and stared at it for a long time, and then back at the little girl's face. There were questions in the nurse's mind that she knew would never be answered, questions that should have been asked, but no one would have dared. She had seen injuries like this before on children, but usually children with wounds like these were poor. They went home anyway, just as this one would. And most of the time, they came back again. She wondered if Gabriella would too, or perhaps they had frightened themselves enough this time, and it wouldn't happen again. It was hard to say.

Gabriella slept fitfully till morning, and most of the time for the next few days. Her father came to see her twice, and explained to the doctors and the nurses that her mother wasn't able to come because she was ill. They understood and sympathized with him, and complimented him on his little girl. She was so good, so sweet, so well behaved. She never gave them any trouble, never asked for anything, and was grateful for everything they did. She never even spoke to them. She just lay there, watching, but she smiled whenever she saw him.

He came to take her home on New Year's Day, and brought some clothes for her to wear. She left the hospital in a navy coat, a gray wool dress, white knee socks, and red shoes. He had forgotten to bring her hat and gloves, and she looked so small and pale when she left the hospital after thanking everyone for how nice they'd been to her. And just before the elevator doors closed, she smiled and waved. They all agreed on what a nice child she was, and were sorry there weren't more like her. She had even told them the night before that she was sorry to be going home.

“That's a first!” one of the nurses said with a grin as she hurried off to take care of a child with whooping cough, and another with severe burns. Gabriella had been the darling of the pediatric ward, and they were sorry she was leaving too. But not nearly as sorry as Gabriella was herself. She hated leaving their safe haven, and returning to her life in hell.

Her mother was waiting for her when she got home, frowning darkly, with eyes filled with accusation. She had never gone to the hospital to see her, and had told John repeatedly that all that pampering was unnecessary and an outright disgrace. He didn't argue with her, but anyone could have seen how pale Gabriella was when he brought her home, and from the damage to her ear, she was still a little unsteady on her feet.

“Well, did you get enough attention playing sick for all the nurses and doctors?” Eloise asked unkindly as John went to Gabriella's room to drop off her things and turn her bed down for her. The doctor had told him she should rest.

“I'm sorry, Mommy.”

“You should be. Whining little brat,” she said, and then turned on her heel and disappeared.

Gabriella had dinner with both her parents that night, and predictably it was a silent and awkward ordeal. Her mother was clearly angry at her, and her father was lost in another world, and had had too much to drink by the time they sat down to eat. Gabriella spilled some water on the table, and her hands shook as she quickly mopped it up.

‘Your table manners haven't improved in the last week. What did they do, feed you?” Eloise asked meanly, and Gabriella lowered her eyes, and thought it best not to speak. She never said a word during the entire meal. And as soon as she'd eaten the last bite of her dessert, her mother ordered her to her room. Gabriella could sense that a battle was brewing and it was a relief to leave.

She got into her bed immediately, and listened in the dark as her parents argued, and it was no surprise when she heard footsteps in her room late that night. She was sure it was her mother, and braced herself for what was to come. This time the covers were peeled back slowly, and she tensed her entire body and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the first familiar blow to strike her. But for a long moment, there was none. She could feel someone standing over her, but she couldn't smell her perfume, there was no sound, and nothing happened. After waiting an interminable moment she couldn't stand the suspense and opened her eyes.

“Hi… were you sleeping?…” It was her father, he was whispering, and all she could smell now was the whiskey on his breath. “I came to say… to see… if you were all right.” She nodded, confused. He never came into her room like that.

“Where's Mommy?”

“Asleep.” She exhaled slowly at the news, deeply relieved, although they both knew it wouldn't take much to wake her. “I just wanted to see you…” He sat down gently on the bed. “I'm sorry… about the hospital… and everything… The nurses said you were very brave…” But he already knew better than anyone how brave she was, far braver than he was.

“They were nice,” she whispered, watching his face in the darkness. She could see him clearly now in the moonlight from her window.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay… my ear still hurts… but I'm fine…” The headache had been gone for the past two days, and her ribs were still taped, as they would be for the next two weeks.

“Take care of yourself, Gabriella… always be brave, you're very strong.” She wondered why he said that to her, what he was really trying to say. And she couldn't help asking herself why he thought she was strong. She didn't feel it. Most of the time, she just thought about how bad she was.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he didn't know what to say. And even he knew that if he had loved her, truly, he wouldn't have let her mother beat her to within an inch of her life. But Gabriella had no idea what was on his mind. He stood there looking at her for another moment, and then pulled the covers up around her again, and left her, without saying another word.

He paused in the doorway for just the fraction of an instant, as she watched him, and then closed the door as softly as he could. Neither of them wanted to wake her mother, and he was so quiet, she couldn't even hear him tiptoe away. She burrowed down in the bed again after that, and she was still asleep the next day when her mother threw open the door to her room, and shouted at her.

“Get out of there!” the familiar voice screamed at her, as Gabriella bounded out of bed still half asleep. Her rapid movements brought the headache back instantly, challenged her ribs, and caused her to lurch a bit from the damage to her ear. “You knew, you little bitch, didn't you! Did he tell you? Did he?” She was shaking Gabriella by both arms by then, with total disregard for where she'd been for the past week, or the injuries that had caused her to be there.

“Know what? I don't know anything, Mommy…” She was out of practice suddenly, and in spite of herself began to cry. She knew from her mother's face that something terrible had happened, but she couldn't begin to imagine what it was. For the first time Gabriella could remember, her mother looked frantic and disheveled.

“Yes, you do… Did he tell you in the hospital? Is that it? Just what did he say?” She was shaking her so hard, Gabriella could hardly answer.

“Nothing… he didn't tell me anything… what happened to Daddy?” Maybe he was hurt, or something had happened to him. She couldn't imagine it, but her mother spat the words in her face before she could ask again.

“He's gone, and you knew it. It's your fault… you were so much trouble to both of us, that he left us. You thought he loved you, didn't you? Well, he didn't. He left you just like he left me. He doesn't want either of us anymore… you little bitch… you did it, you know. You did it! He left because he hates you, just as much as he hates me.” She said it with a resounding slap across Gabriella's face. “He left because of you… and there's no one to protect you now.” And as she descended on the child with a vengeance, Gabriella began to understand. Her father had left them. That was why he had come into the room last night. He had come to see her one last time… he had come to say good-bye… and now he was gone… and all she had left was this. The blows that never ended, the beatings that were her life. He had told her to be brave the night before… told her she was strong. His words were all she had now, and as she remembered them, and her mother's fists flailed at her harder than ever this time, Gabriella fought valiantly not to cry, but she couldn't stop herself. All she had left now was this nightmare. Her mother said he hated her, and she knew that wasn't true. Or did he? He had never protected her, never helped her, never saved her from any of it. And now, whatever his reasons, he had left her. And all she could feel, rising up in her throat like bile, was fear.

Chapter 5

THE REST OF the year until Gabriella turned ten was a kaleidoscope of darkness, the patterns moving and shifting, but the theme always the same, the terrors always as acute no matter how varied the colors.

Gabriella's father disappeared as effectively as if he had vanished off the face of the earth, never to be seen again. He never called, never wrote to her, never came to see her, never explained how or why it had happened, what he had done, or why.

And the day her mother got her first notice from his attorney she was so enraged that, predictably, she nearly beat Gabriella senseless. Only her own exhaustion finally stopped her. But in the days following, she showed Gabriella no mercy. She blamed her for everything, as she had since Gabriella was born, and told her that he hated Gabriella as much as he hated her. She said he no longer needed her, the woman he was going to marry had two little girls who had replaced her. “They're not like you“ her mother raged at her venomously every time she mentioned them, which was as often as she could. “They're beautiful and good and well behaved, and everything you aren't. And he loves them,” she whispered cruelly. And once when Gabriella foolishly tried to argue with her, defending the feelings she attributed to him but no longer felt quite so sure of in the face of his defection, her mother took out a scrub brush and the laundry soap and washed her mouth out until the soapsuds oozed down her throat and she vomited, as much from the soap as from the bitter taste of her own sorrow and loss. She knew her father had loved her, she told herself, she knew it… or thought so… or perhaps only wanted to believe it. Until, finally, she no longer knew what to think.

She spent most of her time alone, in the house, reading, and writing her stories. She wrote letters to her father sometimes, but she didn't know where to send them, so she tore them up and threw them away. He had left her no address, and when she tried to look for it when her mother was out, she never found it. She wouldn't have dared ask her mother for it. She knew where he worked when he left, and when she called she was told that he had left the bank, and had moved to Boston. It might as well have been in another galaxy, for all Gabriella knew. And when she didn't hear from him on her tenth birthday, she knew she had lost him forever.

She still felt rising waves of panic sometimes, when she thought about it, remembering back to that last night in her room, when they had whispered in the moonlight. There was so much she would have liked to say to him… maybe if she had… if she had told him how much she loved him, he might have stayed, he might not have left her for the two little girls her mother talked about… the ones who were so much better than she was, the ones he loved now. Maybe if she had tried harder, or got better grades in school, though she could hardly have done much better… or perhaps if she hadn't had to go to the hospital at times… if she hadn't made her mother hate them both so much, maybe then he wouldn't have run away… or maybe he was dead, and it was all a lie. Maybe he'd been in an accident and she didn't know it. The very thought of it made it impossible to breathe… What if she really never did see him again? What if she forgot what he looked like? She stood and stared at pictures of him sometimes. There were two on the piano, and several in the library, but when her mother saw her doing that one day, she took all of his photographs out of their frames and tore them into a million pieces. Gabriella had an old one of him in her room, from when she was five, in Easthampton one summer, but her mother found that one too, and threw it away.

“Forget him. He doesn't care about you. Why waste your time thinking about him? He won't save you now,” she said, laughing at her, making fun of her, watching Gabriella's eyes fill with tears. The one thing that reached her now, with greater force than her mother's blows, was the knowledge that she would never see her father again, as her mother reminded her constantly, and that he had never loved her. It was hard to believe at first, and then eventually, she knew it had to be true. His silence confirmed it. But if he did love her, she knew she would hear from him one day. All she could do was wait.

And one year after he left she spent Christmas alone in the house on Sixty-ninth Street. Her mother spent the day with friends, and the evening with a man from California. He was tall and dark and handsome, and looked nothing like her father. He spoke to her once or twice when he picked her mother up to take her out to dinner, but whenever he did, Eloise made it clear to him that it was neither necessary nor welcome for him to speak to the child. Gabriella was wicked, she explained to him vaguely more than once, so much so that she was reluctant to share the details with him. And he understood early on that befriending Gabriella was not the way into Eloise's good graces. If anything, it was wiser to avoid her, so after a while, he said nothing to her at all.

There had been a constant parade of men who came to see Eloise to take her out, but the man from California was the most frequent visitor. His name was Frank. Franklin Waterford. And all Gabriella knew about him was that he was from San Francisco, and living in New York for the winter. She wasn't sure why, and he talked about California a lot with her mother, and told her how much she was going to love it when she came out. And then her mother began to talk about going to Reno for six weeks. Gabriella had no idea where that was, or why her mother wanted to go there, and they never explained any of it to her. All she knew was what she overheard as they walked past her room, chatting animatedly on their way out, or what she could hear when they sat in the library late at night, drinking and talking and laughing. And she couldn't help wondering what she would do about school when she and her mother went to Reno. But there was no way to ask her about it. She knew that if she asked her anything, her mother would fly into a rage.

Gabriella just went on with her life, waiting for news and explanations, checking the mail every day when she got home from school, hoping to find a letter from her father, telling her where he was. But it was never there, and when her mother saw her rifling through the mail one day, the inevitable happened. But the beatings were a little less energetic these days, and slightly less frequent. She was too busy with her own life now to worry about “disciplining” Gabriella. Most of the time, she informed Gabriella that she was hopeless. Her father had figured it out after all, hadn't he? And she herself could no longer be expected to waste her life trying to make something of Gabriella. It wasn't even worth her time to do that. So she left Gabriella to her own devices, to fend for herself and, most of the time, make her own dinner, if there was enough food in the house to do it at all, which more often than not, there wasn't.

Jeannie, the housekeeper, left promptly at five o'clock every afternoon, and whenever she thought she could get away with it, she left a little something on the stove for Gabriella. But if she fussed over her, or “spoiled” her, or talked to her too much, the child paid a high price for it, and she knew that, so she feigned indifference, and forced herself not to think of what would happen to Gabriella after she left. She had the saddest eyes of any child Jeannie had ever seen, and it pained her just to look at her. But she knew better than anyone that there was nothing she could do to help her. Her father had disappeared and left her to work out her own fate with her mother, and Eloise was a hellion. But Gabriella was her child, after all. What could Jeannie possibly do to help her, except leave a little soup on the stove sometimes, or put a cool compress on a bruise the child said she had gotten in the schoolyard. But even Jeannie knew that schoolyard bruises didn't happen in those sizes and locations. There was a handprint on Gabriella's back once that looked like someone had drawn it on her, and Jeannie didn't have any trouble figuring out how it got there. At times, she almost wished the child would run away, she'd have been better off alone in the streets, than with her mother. All she had here were warm clothes and a roof over her head, but she had no warmth, no love, scarcely enough food to survive, and no one in the world to care about her. But Jeannie knew that even if Gabriella ran away, the police would only bring her back. They would never interfere between parent and child, no matter what Eloise did to her. And Gabriella had long since known that as well. She knew that grown-ups didn't help you. They didn't interfere, or come riding up on a white horse to save you. Most of the time, they pretended not to see things, closed their eyes, or turned their backs. Just like her father.

But as the months passed from winter into spring, Eloise's rages seemed to dwindle to indifference. She seemed to care nothing about what Gabriella did now, as long as she didn't have to see or hear her. And the only time she had beaten her recently was when she claimed Gabriella “pretended” not to hear her. The “pretense” was simply that Gabriella's hearing was no longer what it had once been. She seemed to hear well most of the time, but from certain angles, or if there were other confusing noises in the room, she could no longer distinguish the words quite as clearly as she once could. It was simply a remnant of earlier beatings, and Gabriella never complained about it, though it hampered her in school at times, but no one seemed to notice, except her mother.

“Don't ignore me, Gabriella!” she would shriek, and descend on her like a banshee with fists flailing. But Frank was around more than ever these days, and she was careful around him. She never laid a hand on Gabriella during his visits, but now only when they were alone, or he disappointed her in some way by not showing up when he promised or forgetting to call her, which she always blamed on Gabriella. “He hates you, you little wretch! You're the only reason he's not here tonight!” Gabriella didn't doubt it for a moment, she only wondered what would happen if he stopped coming over. But for now anyway, that seemed less than likely, although he was talking about going back to San Francisco in April, and Gabriella could tell that made her mother very nervous, and her nervousness translated into something far more dangerous for Gabriella.

And in March, every time he came over, the door to the library was closed so they could talk in private, or they went upstairs to her mothers bedroom and stayed there for hours. It was hard to imagine what they were doing, and they were always very quiet. He would smile at Gabriella when he walked by her room, but he never stopped to chat, or even say hello anymore. It was as though he understood that that was forbidden. Gabriella was treated like a leper in her own house.

And in April, he left, as promised, and returned to San Francisco. But much to Gabriella's surprise, Eloise didn't seem particularly dismayed by it. If anything, she seemed busier and happier than ever these days. She scarcely spoke to Gabriella, which was a blessing. And she seemed to be making a lot of arrangements. She spent a lot of time on the phone, talking to her friends, and always lowered her voice when Gabriella came into the room, as though she were telling secrets. But Gabriella couldn't hear them anyway.

It was three weeks after he had left that she began dragging suitcases out of the basement, and asked Jeannie to help her get them upstairs. Eloise seemed to be packing everything she owned, and Gabriella wondered when she would tell her to pack her things. It was days after she had started when she finally told Gabriella to pack a suitcase.

“Where are we going?” Gabriella asked with cautious interest. It was rare for her to ask a question, but she wasn't sure what kind of clothes to put in the suitcase, and didn't want to infuriate her mother by packing the wrong ones.

“I'm going to Reno,” she said simply, which told Gabriella nothing. She didn't dare ask where it was, or how long they would be staying, and prayed she'd make the right guesses about what clothes to pack. She went quietly to her room and began packing, and she couldn't help wondering if, when they got there, Frank would be there. She didn't even know if she liked him. She scarcely knew him. All she knew was that he was handsome and tall, and very polite to her mother. They didn't shout at each other the way her mother and father had, but he didn't say anything to Gabriella either. It was hard to tell if she'd like him, or if she would disappoint him as she had everyone else. It was something she had come to expect now, a fear she lived with. She knew that if she loved someone enough, they would eventually come to hate her, and possibly leave her, just as her father had. And if her own father felt that way about her, who wouldn't? But maybe Frank would be different. It was hard to guess that. And just to relieve her own worries on the subject, she began writing stories about him, but when her mother found them, she tore them up and said she was a little slut, and she was after him herself. She had no idea what her mother meant, or why she was so angry. She had described him as Prince Charming in one of her stories, and she'd been beaten for it. It would undoubtedly have sickened Frank, if he knew that, but of course he didn't. He was already in California by then.

And on a bright Saturday morning, two weeks after Easter, her mother looked at her over breakfast, and smiled at her for what seemed like the first time in her life. It almost frightened Gabriella. There was something glittering in her eyes that warned Gabriella that, if she wasn't careful, there would be trouble. But all Eloise said was, “I'm leaving for Reno tomorrow.” And she seemed happy about it. “Are your bags packed, Gabriella?” Gabriella nodded silently in answer. And after breakfast, her mother checked her room and the suitcase, and nodded. Gabriella was relieved to see she hadn't made any unpardonable mistakes in her packing. She saw her mother glance around the room, as though checking to see if she'd forgotten anything, but she seemed satisfied with what she saw. There were no pictures on the walls, there never had been, and the single photograph she'd had of her father on her dresser had been thrown away by her mother shortly after he left. There was nothing to adorn the room, just her bed, the dresser, a chair, plain white curtains at the window, and a linoleum floor, which Jeannie helped her scrub every Tuesday afternoon.

“You won't need any fancy clothes, Gabriella. You can take the pink dress out of the suitcase,” was her only comment as Gabriella quickly removed it and hung it back in her closet before it could displease her further. “Don't forget your-school clothes.” The instructions were confusing, but she had packed some of them anyway because they were comfortable and warm and she wasn't sure how long they'd be staying in Reno. Her mother turned and looked at her then with a look of sarcasm that wasn't unfamiliar to Gabriella. “Your father is getting married in June. I'm sure you'll be happy to know that.” But all Gabriella felt was relief, along with the crushing disappointment of the realization that he was never coming back again. She had known it anyway, but now it was certain. But she was relieved to know he was alive, and hadn't died in a terrible accident, which would have explained his persistent silence. She had written a story about it, and it seemed so real as she wrote it that she had begun to fear that he really had died, and not just left them. “You won't be hearing from him again,” her mother confirmed for the ten thousandth time. “He doesn't care about either of us. He never did. He never loved you, or me. I want you to remember that, Gabriella. He never cared about you.” Eloise stared down at Gabriella with a spark of anger kindling in her eyes and she seemed to be waiting for an answer as Gabriella stood there. “You do know that, don't you?” Gabriella nodded in silence, wanting to say that she didn't believe her, but doing that might have cost her her life and she knew that as well. She was far too wise now to risk her own survival for the sake of defending her father. And perhaps he never had loved them, though she still found it hard to believe that. Perhaps if she had been better, and less troublesome, he might have loved them more, and stayed… but she still remembered the look in his eyes on that last night in her bedroom. His eyes had told her he loved her, no matter what her mother said now. That's what made it all so confusing.

Her mother went out with friends that night, and Gabriella made a sandwich, and ate it in the kitchen by herself. The house was quiet and peaceful, and she sat for a long time, contemplating the mysterious trip they were undertaking the next day. What awaited them in Reno, or their reasons for going there, was still a mystery to her, and she knew she would have to wait until they got there to discover the answers to her questions. It was a little unsettling not knowing anything at all, and she felt sad, in an odd way, leaving home. This was the house where she had lived with her father, and she could still envision him there as she walked from room to room, or slowly up the stairs, remembering the sound and the smell of him, when he had just put on his aftershave. But they wouldn't be gone long, and maybe it would be an adventure. Maybe Frank would be there, and he would talk to her this time. Maybe he would be nice to her, and if she was very, very good, and did everything possible not to make him angry at her, he might even like her. She promised herself to try hard, as she walked slowly up the stairs.

She was asleep when her mother came in that night, and she didn't hear her as she walked down the long hall to her bedroom. Eloise was smiling to herself as she undressed, a whole new life was about to begin, filled with new promise, and the opportunity to close the door on all her old disappointments. She could hardly wait to leave the next day. She was taking the train the following evening, but she hadn't explained that yet to Gabriella, who still had no idea what time they were leaving.

And so as not to be late, and anger her mother before they left, Gabriella got up at dawn the next day, and when her mother came downstairs for breakfast at nine o'clock, Gabriella had coffee waiting for her. She set the cup down in front of her mother, excruciatingly careful not to spill it. She rarely did now. By this time, she had learned most of her lessons to perfection. The coffee was exactly the temperature her mother liked it. And Eloise said nothing, which was a sign to Gabriella that at least she hadn't upset her. Yet. But that could change in an instant, like a flash of summer lightning.

It was a full half hour before her mother spoke to her, and then she asked Gabriella if she was ready. She was. She had closed her suitcase before coming downstairs, and she was wearing a gray skirt and a white sweater, and she had a navy blue blazer carefully folded over the chair in her bedroom, along with her navy beret and the white gloves she wore whenever they went out together. Her black patent leather Mary Janes were impeccable and without scuffs, and the white ankle socks she wore were immaculate and folded over just the way her mother liked them. With her blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her huge blue eyes, she was a vision that would have melted any heart but her mother's. At ten, she was still an adorable little girl. Not yet gangly, and no longer a baby, there were already signs that she would be a beauty one day, which won her no favor with her mother.

Eloise stood waiting in the doorway as Gabriella went upstairs to put on her hat, her gloves, and her jacket and pick up her suitcase, and when she came back downstairs, she saw that her mother hadn't brought her own bags down yet. She wondered instantly if her mother expected her to do it for her, and started back up the stairs to get them.

“Where are you going now?” Eloise asked in an exasperated tone. She had a thousand things to do and didn't want to waste another moment.

“To get your bags for you,” Gabriella said solemnly, turning to look over her shoulder.

“I'll do that later. Hurry up now.” The directions were confusing, but there was no way Gabriella could ask her for an explanation, even now, at the eleventh hour, as they seemed to be ready to leave the house. She noticed then that her mother was wearing a gray skirt and an old black sweater she usually only wore in the house, or to do errands. Unlike Gabriella, she didn't seem to be dressed for travel. And she hadn't even bothered to put on a hat that morning, which was rare for her mother. But without saying a word, Gabriella preceded her out of the house, carrying her small suitcase, and suddenly as she glanced back into the house where she had known so much pain, she felt a brief stab of terror. Something was wrong and she knew it, but it seemed crazy to think that. But suddenly all she wanted to do was run back inside and hide in the back of the hall closet. She hadn't done that in nearly two years now. She had learned long since that hiding only made the beatings worse, she was better off just subjecting herself to them, and yet suddenly now anything would have seemed better than following her mother blindly down the stairs to an unknown fate, which might possibly be even worse than the familiar agonies she had known here.

“Don't drag your feet, Gabriella. I don't have all day,” she said with a scowl as she walked across the sidewalk briskly in high heels and hailed a taxi. But she had no suitcases with her whatsoever, and Gabriella knew now without a doubt that wherever she was going, her mother wasn't going with her. But where could she possibly be taking her, with a valise, on a Saturday morning? Gabriella had no idea, and her mother told her nothing.

Eloise gave the cabdriver an address Gabriella didn't recognize, in the East Forties, and Gabriella could feel her heart pound as they silently drove the twenty blocks downtown. The uncertainty of their destination filled her with terror, but she knew that if she asked a single question now, she would pay for it dearly later. Her mother did not look inclined to talk as she stared out the window of the Checker cab, lost in her own thoughts, with nothing to say to her daughter. Eloise glanced at her watch once or twice, and seemed satisfied that her tight schedule wasn't being jeopardized too badly. And by the time they reached a large gray building on Forty-eighth Street near the East River, Gabriella's hands were shaking and she felt nauseous. Maybe she had done something really terrible this time, and her mother was taking her to the police, or somewhere similar, to be punished by someone else. Anything was conceivable in a life as filled with terror as hers was. There was never any security for Gabriella, anywhere.

Her mother paid the cab, and got out ahead of Gabriella, who seemed to be moving with irritating slowness as she wrestled awkwardly with her suitcase, but nothing on the outside of the building gave her the least clue as to what it was or why she had come here. Her mother rang the bell, and banged a heavy brass knocker. It was an impressive building, and it seemed unusually austere to Gabriella, as they waited interminably for someone to open the door. Her eyes sought her mother's for a long moment, and then she looked down at her feet, so her mother wouldn't see the tears she was trying not to succumb to, as she felt her legs shake in raw fear. And then finally, with agonizing slowness, the door opened just enough for a small, frail face to peek through.

“Yes?” Gabriella couldn't see far enough past her mother to determine even if it was a man or a woman. The face, or what little she could see of it, appeared to be both ageless and sexless.

“I'm Mrs. Harrison, and I'm expected,” Eloise said curtly, annoyed at the painfully slow procedures. “And “I'm in a hurry,” she added, as the heavy door closed with a resounding thud, as the unidentifiable face went to research the matter further elsewhere.

“Mommy…” Gabriella began, fueled by her own terror, despite the fact that wisdom should have forced her to keep silent. But she just couldn't anymore. “Mommy…” Her voice was a trembling whisper, as Eloise turned to her sharply.

“Keep quiet, Gabriella! This is no time for bad manners, and certainly not the place for it. They're not going to put up with the nonsense I have.” It was true then… she was being taken to jail… or the police… or a place of punishment for her ten years of misdeeds that had ultimately cost them both her father. She was going to pay for it now. Her eyes filled with tears at the sound of her mother's words. She felt as though she were waiting for a death sentence, standing here, and couldn't understand what had happened to their trip to Reno. Or was this Reno? Was that what they called it? Where was she? And what were they going to do to her here?

And just as she thought that fear could get no greater grip on her, the heavy door began to open in front of them, and it opened to reveal a yawning black cavern behind a small, ancient, gnarled woman in a black habit. To Gabriella she looked like a witch, and she was wearing an old black shawl over her habit and walked with a cane, as she gestured to them to step into the darkness with her. Gabriella gasped as she beckoned, and against her will, a sob escaped her, as her mother grabbed her arm and yanked her inside the building, as the door closed resoundingly behind them. And the only sound they could hear was Gabriella crying.

“Mother Gregoria will see you in a moment,” the old woman said to Eloise, without even glancing at Gabriella, and Eloise looked down at the child in fury, as she shook her by the arm.

“Stop that right now!” she commanded, and shook her harder to emphasize the statement, but she didn't dare do more than that here. “I'm not going to listen to you wailing. You can cry all you want here when I'm gone, and I'm sure you'll do a lot of it, but at least spare me that nonsense. I'm not your father, and I'm not going to put up with your whining, and neither will the Sisters here. Do you know what nuns do to children when they misbehave?” She never answered her own question, but as Gabriella lifted her eyes in terror, all she could see was an enormous crucifix with a bleeding, dying Christ hanging from it, and she only cried louder at all that it implied. This was truly the worst day of her life, and all she wanted now was to die as quickly as possible before they did anything to her for the innumerable sins she had committed in her short life. She had no idea why she was here, or how long she was staying, but the suitcase she had brought was clearly not a good sign.

Her small, breathless sobs had rapidly become uncontrollable, and no amount of warnings from her mother seemed to stop them. She simply could not stop, and she was still crying when the old nun returned and announced that the Mother Superior would see them now. They followed her down a long, dark hall, lit only by tiny, dim lamps and small clusters of sputtering candles. The general impression of the decor was that of a very daunting dungeon, and in the distance, Gabriella could hear people singing mournfully. Even the sound of their voices seemed frightening to her now, and the music that accompanied them was lugubrious and depressing. And all she knew was that she'd rather be dead than be here.

The old nun stopped at a small door, and gestured them inside, before hobbling away on her cane, her feet seeming to glide soundlessly on the stone floors despite her infirmity and her age, and as Gabriella watched her, she shook as though she were freezing. Her mother grabbed her arm then, and pulled her into the room where they were expected, and Gabriella's sobs only grew louder as she looked around. There was a nun with eyes like ice and a face like granite who stood up from behind a small battered desk to greet them. She had a crisp hand of starched white across her forehead, and the rest of her was swathed in black, as they all were in the Order, and Gabriella was surprised to see that she was very tall. And more terrifying still, she seemed to have no hands at all as she looked down at Eloise Harrison and her daughter. Her arms were crossed, and her hands were invisibly tucked into the full sleeves of her habit, and the only decoration she wore were the heavy wooden rosary beads which hung from her waist. There were no visible signs of her importance in the Order, or the fact that she was the Mother Superior, but Eloise knew it. They had met twice in the past two months to discuss her plans for Gabriella. But the Mother Superior hadn't expected the child to be so upset. She had assumed that she would be forewarned about her mother's plans before she got here.

“Hello, Gabriella,” she said solemnly. “I'm Mother Gregoria, and you're going to be staying with us for a while, as I'm sure your mother has told you.” There was no smile on her lips, but her eyes were kind, although Gabriella could not yet see that, and all she did was shake her head vehemently as she cried, as much to signal that she didn't want to stay as to explain that her mother had told her nothing at all about the visit.

“You're going to stay here while I'm in Reno,” Eloise said now in a flat voice, as the Mother Superior watched the exchange with interest, understanding easily that this was the first Gabriella had heard of it, and silently disapproving of the way Eloise had handled her child.

Gabriella looked up at her mother in obvious terror. “How long will you be gone?” As much as she had hated her all her life, she was all she had now. Gabriella couldn't help wondering as she looked at her mother if this was her punishment for silently hating her for so long. Maybe her mother had known all along, and now she was leaving her here to be tortured and punished for her evil thoughts.

“I'll be in Reno for six weeks,” Eloise said clearly, offering not a single word of comfort, and standing apart from the distraught child as Mother Gregoria watched them both.

“Will I go to school?” Gabriella asked, her voice still catching on the tears that continued to overwhelm her. She was hiccuping between sobs and having trouble breathing.

“You will study with us,” Mother Gregoria said in a quiet voice that did not reassure her. Suddenly nothing was familiar to her, and it scared her just being here. Being beaten by her mother at home seemed infinitely better to her. And had she had the choice at that moment, she would have gladly gone home and let Eloise do anything to her that she wanted. But she was not being offered that option. Her mother was going to Reno, wherever that was. “There are two other children here as well,” the Mother Superior explained. “They're older than you are, and sisters. One is fourteen and the other seventeen, and I think you'll like them. They've been very happy with us.” She didn't explain that the girls were living at the convent because they were orphaned. Their parents had died in a plane crash the year before, and the grandmother they had gone to live with, their only living relative, had died unexpectedly at Christmas. They were cousins of one of the Sisters in the Order, and for the time being, until something else could be arranged, it was the only solution for them. And for Gabriella, it was only a temporary measure. Two months, her mother had said, three at the most, but she said nothing about that to Gabriella now, as Mother Gregoria watched them. There seemed to be an extraordinary awkwardness between them, which the wise old nun observed with considerable interest. In fact, she might even have said that the child seemed frightened of her mother. She knew that the child's father had abandoned them, and was himself planning to remarry shortly, but Eloise had said nothing of her own plans, only that she needed a place to leave the child while she went to Reno for a divorce. It was certainly not a plan that met with the Mother Superior's approval, but she was not judging the morals of the mother, she was only interested in providing shelter for Gabriella.

Gabriella continued to sob as the three of them stood awkwardly looking at each other, and Eloise glanced at her watch with a look of surprise. “I really have to go,” she said, as a small hand shot out suddenly to clutch her. Gabriella grabbed a handful of her skirt and clung to it, and begged her not to leave her.

“Please don't go, Mommy… please… Ill be good… I swear… please let me come with you…”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Eloise said, shrinking backward, away from the child, in obvious revulsion. Just being that close to her, and having Gabriella clutch at her, made her want to run screaming out the door.

“Reno is not a happy place for a child,” Mother Gregoria interrupted firmly, “or for adults either,” she said in a disapproving tone. The Mother Superior had no idea that Frank had made reservations for Eloise at one of Reno's most luxurious dude ranches, and planned to be there with her the entire time. He was going to teach her how to ride, Texas style. “Your mother will be back soon, Gabriella. You'll see, the time will pass very quickly,” Mother Gregoria said kindly, but she could see that Gabriella was engulfed by panic, and her mother did not seem to care, or even notice. The Mother Superior nodded ever so slightly at Eloise, allowing her to go, and within seconds, Eloise had picked up her handbag, shook Mother Gregoria's hand, and stood staring down at her daughter. There was a small smile on her lips, as though she could not suppress her pleasure at leaving, and in the face of Gabriella's overwhelming grief, she obviously had nothing to offer her. All she wanted was her freedom.

“Behave yourself,” was all she said. “Don't give them any trouble. I'll hear about it if you do,” and they both knew what that meant, but Gabriella didn't care now. She put her arms around her mother's waist and cried, as much for the mother she had never had, as for the father she had loved and lost. There was a well of terror and loneliness in her that defied all the words she had to describe them, but whereas it meant nothing to Eloise, the look in the child's eyes had touched Mother Gregoria's heart. She waited to see if Eloise would kiss her, or say something to comfort her, but she simply pried Gabriella's arms from around her waist and pushed her away firmly. “Good-bye, Gabriella,” she said coldly, as Gabriella stared up at her with wise old eyes that understood far more than she should have. Gabriella knew now, and perhaps always would, precisely what it meant, and how it felt to be abandoned. And suddenly she stood very still, the sobs still wracking her, despite her efforts to stop them, and looked up at her mother. She didn't say another word as Eloise left the room, and never looked back as she closed the door firmly behind her.

For an instant, just the smallest slice of a life, Gabriella knew precisely how alone she was, and perhaps always would be, as the tall, wise old nun's eyes met hers. They were two souls that had traveled far, and seen too much of life, and in Gabriella's case, far too early. She simply stood there, making those small heartbreaking sounds as Mother Gregoria moved slowly toward her. And without saying a word to her, she took her in her arms and held her.

She wanted to keep Gabriella safe from a world that had wounded her almost beyond repair. Everything Mother Gregoria knew and felt and believed in was in the strength of her embrace, and everything she wished for the child was implied in the way she held her. Gabriella looked up at her in astonishment and closed her eyes, knowing without words what had just passed between them, and what she had found here. And as she stood nestled in the gentleness of the embrace, the floodgates opened and she sobbed for all the losses, all the pain, all the sorrow, all the terror and disappointment life had inflicted on her. And whatever else happened after that, she knew with all the wisdom of her ten years that she was safe here.

Chapter 6

GABRIELLA'S FIRST MEAL at St. Matthew's convent was a ritual that at first seemed extremely strange to her, and ultimately brought her surprising comfort. It was one of the rare times of the day when the nuns were allowed to converse, and after joining Mother Gregoria in church with the entire community for an entire hour before the meal, Gabriella had been overwhelmed by their numbers and their austerity as they sat in the chapel, praying in silence. But in the dining room, what had seemed like a huge flock of faceless women in black only moments before, became a room filled with laughing, smiling, talking, happy people.

Gabriella was startled to realize how young many of them were. There were nearly two hundred nuns in the convent, more than fifty of them postulants and novices, mostly in their very early twenties. There were a number of nuns Gabriella's mother's age, and then another group the same age as the Mother Superior, and a handful of very old ones. Most of the nuns taught at nearby St. Stephen's School, and the others worked at Mercy Hospital, as nurses. And their conversation during dinner ranged from politics to medical issues, to anecdotes from the classes they taught in school, and funny little household hints that touched on everything from the garden to the kitchen. They told jokes and teased each other, used nicknames, and by the end of the meal, it seemed as though every nun in the convent had stopped arid said a kind word to Gabriella, even the old scary one who had opened the door to them and terrified her only that morning. Her name was Sister Mary Margaret, and Gabriella learned quickly that everyone in the convent loved her. She had been a missionary in Africa when she was young, and had been at St. Matthew's for more than forty years. She had a broad, toothless smile, and Mother Gregoria chided her gently, as she always did, for forgetting to put her teeth in. “She hates wearing them,” one of the younger nuns explained to Gabriella with a girlish giggle.

Gabriella was more than a little overwhelmed by all of them, it was like having been dropped in the middle of a family of two hundred loving women. And for the moment, at least, there didn't seem to be a sour one among them. She had never before met or seen so many happy people. And after ten years of walking through a minefield with her mother, trying to avoid her constant bad temper and devastating rage, it was like falling into a cloud of gentle cotton. So many of them stopped to introduce themselves and talk to her, and she tried valiantly to remember their names, but it was impossible… Sister Timothy… Sister Elizabeth of the Immaculate Conception… Sister Ave Regina… Sister Andrew, or “Andy,” as they called her… Sister Joseph… Sister John… and the one whose name she remembered instantly was Sister Elizabeth… Sister Lizzie… She was a beautiful young woman with creamy fair skin and huge green eyes that laughed from the first moment she met Gabriella.

“You're a little young to be a nun, Gabbie, don't you think? But God can use help from all quarters.” No one had ever before called her “Gabbie,” and the laughing eyes that played with her were the gentlest and the happiest she had ever seen. She wanted to stand next to her and talk to her forever. She was only a postulant, and was soon to become a novice. She said she had had the calling since she was fourteen and had seen a vision of the Blessed Virgin when she had the measles. “That probably sounds a little crazy to you, but it happens that way sometimes.” She was twenty-one by then, and she was a nursing assistant in the pediatric ward at Mercy, and she was immediately drawn to the child with the huge blue eyes so filled with sorrow. It was easy to see that there was a long story there, one she might never be able to share with them, but one that had cost her dearly.

But the encounter that had meant the most to her was her meeting with Mother Gregoria that morning when her own mother left her. She didn't have the words to explain what had happened to her, but she knew that she had found the mother she had never had before, and she was just beginning to understand why the others wanted to be here. And the Mother Superior watched her carefully as she interacted with the other nuns. She was a shy child, and in some ways seemed very frail, yet in other ways there was a quiet strength about her, and a depth to her soul that belied her age, and the cautious way she had of dealing with people. It was easy for the Mother Superior to see that in some vastly important way, Gabriella had been deeply wounded. And having seen her mother speaking to her, Mother Gregoria suspected the source of the grief she wore like a veil between her and the others. This was a child who had survived the torments of hell, and for some reason perhaps known only to God, had managed to reach beyond it. And the Mother Superior was intrigued to see if the soul she sensed within was one that was destined for a life of reaching out to others. There were others in the community who had come to them nearly as damaged as she was. And in spite of what the wise nun sensed in her, the broken pieces that had yet to heal, there was a wholeness and an inner force about Gabriella that was deeply compelling. For a child so young, she had a powerful presence.

They introduced their two other “boarders” to her, the two girls that had been orphaned and with them since Christmas. The younger one was fourteen, and a pretty child who longed for the world, and chafed a bit at the restrictions of the convent. Her name was Natalie, and she dreamed of a world of boys and clothes, and she was mad about a young singer named Elvis. Her older sister, Julie, was seventeen, and was relieved to be removed from the world, and clung to the safety she found here. She was desperately shy, and still seemed to be in shock from the circumstances that had left them orphans. She longed to be one of them one day, and had begged Mother Gregoria for months to let her stay there, and seek no other arrangements for them. Julie seemed to have little to say to Gabriella when they met, and Natalie was full of whispers and secrets and giggles, though Gabriella was too young to really appreciate the full measure of her friendship. And after a few minutes of talking to her, Natalie whispered to Sister Lizzie that Gabriella was “just a baby,” but they promised to be kind to her anyway. She was only to be there for a short time, and everyone was sure she would be desperately homesick without her parents.

But it wasn't of them that Gabriella was thinking that night, but of the woman who had held her in her arms that morning and consoled her. She remembered the powerful arms that had held her tight and made her feel safe from the agonies she had endured, and that for ten years she had fled from. She had never known anyone like the Mother Superior, and like Julie she was already wondering what it would be like to stay there forever.

She shared a room with the two other girls. It was small and bare, and had a tiny window that looked out into the convent garden. And as she lay in bed, not making a sound, she could see the moon high in the sky, framed by the tiny window. She wondered where her mother was that night, still at home, or on the train, and how soon she would be back from the mysterious place called Reno. But however long she chose to be gone, Gabriella knew with absolute certainty that, for the first time in her life, she was completely safe here. She could hardly imagine what her life would be like, but for the first time in ten years, she knew she had nothing to fear, no beatings, no punishments, no accusations, no hatred to flee from. She had been so certain when they stood at the front door that day that she had been brought here to punish her, and now, just as certainly, she knew that her coming here had been a blessing.

She fell asleep that night, thinking of all of them, the nuns who had circled her like gentle birds in the dining hall that night… Sister Lizzie… Sister Timothy… Sister Mary Margaret… Sister John… and the tall woman with wise eyes who had brought Gabriella into her heart, without a sound, without a word, but kept her nestled there, a small bird with a broken wing, and already now, as she lay hidden at the bottom of her bed as she always did, she could feel the broken parts in her soul slowly mending.

They came to wake them the next day, as they always did, at four o'clock in the morning. The three young girls spent the first two hours of the day in church, with the nuns, praying silently, and then finally, just before the sun came up, the entire community began singing together. Gabriella thought she had never heard anything as beautiful as their voices raised in unison, praising a God she had implored for years, and whom she often had reason to doubt ever listened. But here, in the power of their faith and love, his love for them seemed so obvious and irresistible, the safety he offered them seemed so certain. And by the time she entered the dining hall with them again for their first meal of the day, she felt strangely at peace among them.

Breakfast was a silent meal, it was a time for contemplation, and preparation for what they would bring to the world beyond these walls throughout the day, in the hospital and school where they worked, bringing solace and healing to those they touched and moved among as they sought to live and express God's blessing. They left each other with nods and smiles, and went to their cells and dormitories, depending on their age and status in the convent. The older nuns had individual cells of their own, the novices and postulants lived in small dormitories, just as Gabriella did now with the other two boarders. And like them, she would study here with two of the old nuns who were retired teachers. A small schoolroom had been set up for them, and she and the other two girls were settled into it and hard at work by seven-thirty that morning. They worked hard until noon, doing work that was appropriate for each of them, and then took their noon meal in the dining hall with the handful of nuns who did not work outside the convent.

Gabriella didn't see Mother Gregoria all day. In fact, she didn't see her again until that night at dinner, and Gabriella's eyes lit up, as did Mother Gregoria's, the moment she saw her. She walked shyly over to her, and Mother Gregoria asked her with a warm smile how her first day was.

“Did you work hard in school?” Gabriella nodded with a cautious smile. It had been much harder than her normal classes, and there had been no breaks for games or recess, but she was surprised to find that she liked it. There was something very peaceful about being here, and sharing the things they did. It seemed as though everyone had a job, a purpose, a goal. It was not merely the absence of the world one noticed here, but the presence of something more, a way of giving, rather than just surviving and taking. In their own way, in their own time, they had each come here for a reason, and they were each expected to empty their souls each day, for the benefit of others. And rather than depleting them, it seemed to fill them. Even the children were aware of it, like Julie, Natalie, and “Gabbie,” as half the convent already seemed to have named her, and she was surprised to find that she liked it.

Everything about this was so different from the life she had known before. The women here were the exact opposite of her mother. There was no vanity, no egocentricity, no anger, no rage. It was a life entirely devoted to love, and harmony, and serving others. They were all amazingly happy and safe here. And for the first time in her life, so was Gabriella.

Two priests came to hear confession that night. They came four times a week, and the nuns lined up in silence in the chapel after dinner, and Sister Lizzie asked if she would like to join them. She had made her first communion four years before, and was able and expected to take the sacraments, though not necessarily as often as the Sisters, all of whom took communion daily. Most of their confessions were brief, some long, all prayed quietly for a considerable amount of time afterward, contemplating their failings and sins as nuns, and doing the penance they had been given.

Gabriella's confession was very short, but interesting to the priest who listened. After telling him how long it had been since her last confession, she admitted to him the sin of often hating her mother.

“Why, my child?” he asked her gently. Of the two priests hearing confession that night, he was by far the elder, a kindly man who had been a priest for forty years and had a deep love of children. He could hear through the grille how young her voice was, and knew from Mother Gregoria that there was a new child among them, although he had not yet met her before her confession. “Why would you allow the devil to tempt you to hate your mother?”

There was an interminable silence before she answered. “Because she hates me,” the smallest of voices told him, but she sounded certain.

“A mother never hates her child. Never. God would never allow that.” But God had allowed a lot of things to happen to her that she felt sure he had never inflicted on others, perhaps because she herself was so bad, or perhaps God hated her too, although here, at St. Matthew's, it seemed hard to believe that.

“I know that my mother hates me.”

He denied it yet again, and then moved on through the rest of the confession, urging her to say ten Hail Marys and think of her mother lovingly with each of them, and know that her mother loved her. Gabriella didn't argue with him, but realized only that she was a bigger sinner than he knew for hating her mother as much as she did. She couldn't help it.

She said her penance silently with the nuns, and then went back to her room, where Natalie was reading a magazine she had bought on the sly, all about Elvis, while her sister Julie threatened to tell Sister Timmie about it. Gabriella left them to their squabbling and thought about what the priest had said to her in the confessional, and wondered if she would spend eternity in hell because of her hatred for her mother. What she didn't realize, nor did they, was that she had already been in hell for her entire lifetime. Surely had anyone seen what her life had been, she would have been assured a place in heaven.

She slept at the bottom of the bed, as she always did, that night, and in the morning, as they dressed for church, the other two girls teased her about it, but not with any malice. They just commented on how funny it looked when they looked over at her bed and thought no one was in it. That had been the point, of course, though it had never really saved her. But it had long since become a habit.

She went to school with them again that day, and life at St. Matthew's slowly became a routine for her. Living with the nuns and the two other girls, going to church and school with them. She learned their hymns, their ways, the prayers they said morning and night and mid-afternoon, and she fell to her knees on the stone floor in the halls, without even thinking about it, when the church bells rang, just as the nuns did. By mid-May, she knew all of them by name, and the things they liked and did, and she smiled most of the time, and chatted easily at dinner with all of them, and whenever possible she sought Mother Gregoria out, without saying much to her, she just enjoyed being near her.

It was the end of May when the Mother Superior called her into her tiny office. It was odd for Gabriella to see her there, it reminded her of the first day when she had come here with her mother. That seemed so long ago now. It had been six weeks since she'd arrived and Gabriella hadn't had so much as a postcard from her mother. And although she hadn't heard from her, she knew her mother would be home soon.

She wondered if she had done something wrong and was about to be scolded when she stepped into Mother Gregoria's office. Sister Mary Margaret had come to the schoolroom to ask her to come here, and for some reason the request sounded alarmingly official.

“Are you happy here, my child?” Mother Gregoria asked, smiling easily at her. There was something deeply compelling about Gabriella's blue eyes, they belied her years and the innocence one expected to find there. She smiled more openly now, but in spite of it, one sensed a distance between Gabriella and those she still feared might hurt her. Even here, there were times when she was still very guarded. And Mother Gregoria had noticed that she went to confession often, and worried that there were still demons that plagued her, demons she had not shared yet. Gabriella was still extremely private. “Do you feel at home here?”

“Yes, Mother,” Gabriella answered simply, but her eyes were worried. “Is something wrong? Did I do something I shouldn't?” She would rather know immediately what punishment would be meted out to her, for what offense, and how quickly. The anticipation of knowing was terrifying.

“Don't be afraid, Gabbie. You have done nothing wrong. Why are you worried?” There were so many questions she would have liked to ask, but even after six weeks, she did not dare yet. She knew it was still too soon to approach her, and perhaps always would be. She knew that Gabriella was entitled to her private griefs, and secrets, even at her age.

“I was afraid you were angry at me. When Sister Mary Margaret came to get me, she said you wanted to see me in your office, and I thought…”

“I only wanted to talk to you about your mother.” A tremor of fear instantly ran through her. The mere mention of her name filled Gabriella with dread, yet she knew she would see her again soon, and in some ways she missed her. But she had been praying constantly to quell the hatred she felt, and had said countless Hail Marys. She wondered suddenly if the priests who were hearing her confessions had said something to Mother Gregoria about her. The wise old nun saw the shadows darting across the child's face and could only guess at the terrors they represented. “I heard from her yesterday. She called me from California.”

“Is that Reno?”‘

“No.” She smiled. “We're going to have to work on your geography. Reno is in Nevada. California is a different state.”

Gabriella looked confused. “Isn't she supposed to be in Reno?”

“She was in Reno. And now she's divorced, and has gone to California. She said she was in San Francisco.”

“That's where Frank lives,” Gabriella said, by way of explanation. But Mother Gregoria already knew that. It had been rather a lengthy conversation, and she had felt strongly that Eloise should talk to the child herself, but she had been emphatic about wanting the Mother Superior to do it.

“Apparently…” She took a long, slow breath, wanting to choose her words well, and not shock Gabriella unduly. “Apparently, your mother and Frank, whom you seem to know…” She smiled warmly at the child, watching her eyes for signs of suspicion or discomfort, but so far there were none, other than her initial look of terror. “Your mother and Frank are getting married tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Gabriella said, looking at first blank, and then startled. She had never said more than ten words to him, and he had always more or less ignored her. And now her mother was marrying this stranger. And God only knew where her father had disappeared to. She still thought she would hear from him again one day, but it had been a long time now. And she got a sinking feeling when she realized again that she was alone now.

But now came the hard part, the rest of the story the child's mother had entrusted her with telling her only daughter. “They're going to live in San Francisco.” Gabriella felt the briefest stab of disappointment as she heard the words. It meant she would have to leave and go to a place she didn't know. It meant she would have to fight for her life again, and struggle every moment, every hour, every day, for survival. It meant a new school, and new friends, or none at all. And it also meant living with a stranger, and the mother she both feared and hated. And leaving the women she had come to love in the convent.

‘When do I have to go there?” Gabriella asked bluntly, and Mother Gregoria could see that something had died in the child's eyes again. It was the same look she had seen the first time Gabriella had come to her office.

There was another long, silent pause, while the Mother Superior weighed her words carefully, never taking her eyes from Gabriella's. “Your mother thinks you would be happier staying here with us, Gabbie.” It was the kindest way to translate what her mother had really said, about not being able to put up with the child any longer, not wanting to jeopardize her own happiness, or burdening her new husband with a child she herself had never even wanted. She had been brutally frank with Mother Gregoria on the phone, while offering to pay her board there for as long as they would keep her. Forever, possibly, was how Mother Gregoria had interpreted it, and she had not read her incorrectly. Eloise had no plans whatsoever to bring the child to San Francisco, and seemed to have no remorse about it. And when she had inquired about the child's father, and the possibility of Gabriella staying with him, Eloise had assured her that he didn't want her either. Mother Gregoria knew that this was the sorrow she read in the child's eyes, or some of it at least. She herself was well aware that her parents didn't love, or want, her.

“My mother doesn't want me, does she?” Gabriella said bluntly. There were shards of pain in her eyes, and relief, at the same time, which confused the woman who watched her.

“You can't look at it that way, Gabriella. She's confused. She's still very hurt by your father leaving both of you, and now she has a chance for a new life. I think she wants to make sure it's a good one before she brings you to it. That's sensible of her, and although it's hard to be away from her, it's very loving of her to leave you here with people who care about you and want to make you happy.” It was a nice thought, but Gabriella knew it was more complicated than that, and she understood the subtleties better than she should have.

“My parents hated each other, and she says they never loved me.”

“I don't believe that. Do you?” Mother Gregoria said gently, praying that she didn't, but fearing that they had been far too open with her, just as Eloise had been on the phone with the Mother Superior. She had said it in no uncertain terms the day before: “I don't want her with me.” Mother Gregoria would have cut her tongue out before repeating that to Gabriella.

“I think my father used to love me… sort of… he never… he never did anything to…” Her eyes filled with tears remembering all the times he had stood in doorways, watching helplessly, or listened to her screams from the next room while her mother beat her. How could he have loved her? And he had left, hadn't he? He had never looked back, never written, never called. It was hard to believe he still loved her, if he ever had, which for a long time now, she doubted. And now her mother was doing the same thing. She was glad in a way. It meant the beatings would never happen again, she would never have to hide, and pray, and beg, and go to a hospital because she had been beaten so badly, and wait for the moment when her mother would finally kill her. It was over. But it also meant facing all that her mother had never felt for her, and never would. In spite of the nun's gentle words, Gabriella knew that her mother would never come back now. The war was over. But the dream of being loved by her one day, of doing it right, of winning her love at last, died with it.

“She's never coming back, is she?” Gabriella's eyes bore straight into the Mother Superior's, and the child's eyes were so direct and so clear, the question in them so powerful that Mother Gregoria knew she could not lie to her.

“I don't know, Gabriella. I don't think she knows. Maybe she will one day, but maybe not for a long time.” It was as honest as she could be without telling her the whole truth. Essentially, she had been abandoned by both her parents, and no matter what Mother Gregoria said now, Gabriella knew it.

“I don't think she's ever coming back… just like my father. My mother said he's going to be married to someone else, and he has new children.”

“That won't make him love you less.” But there was no denying he had never contacted her, and she suspected that Eloise wouldn't be in touch with Gabriella either. They were despicable people, and it was hard to understand how they could abandon a child like this one. But Mother Gregoria knew it happened, she had seen it. She had cried over children like Gabriella before. She was only very glad that they could be there for her. And perhaps this was God's way of making His wishes known. Perhaps her place was here with them, perhaps in time she herself would hear Him, and somewhat cautiously she said so. “Maybe one day you'll decide to stay with us, Gabriella. When you're grown up. Maybe this was God's way to bring you to us.”

“You mean like Julie?” Gabriella looked startled by what Mother Gregoria had suggested. She couldn't even begin to imagine being a nun like they were. They were much too good, and she was much too bad, they just didn't know it. And she was still trying to absorb the shock of hearing that her mother had moved to San Francisco and left her. She couldn't help wondering if her mother had known that when she left her there. But unlike the last time she had seen her father, she had sensed none of the tenderness or sorrow or regret she had understood afterward, when she thought about it. There had been none of that when her mother had dropped her off at St. Matthew's. As usual, there had only been threats and anger, and she'd been in a hurry to leave her.

“One day you will know Gabbie, if you have a vocation. You must listen very, very carefully. And if you do, it will come to you very clearly. God speaks to us as loudly as He needs to, so we hear Him.”

“I don't always hear things,” Gabriella said with a small, shy smile, and the Mother Superior laughed gently. “I think you hear everything you need to.” And then her eyes grew sad as she looked at the child. She had taken it well, but it was a hard thing to tell her, harder still to live with, knowing your parents didn't want you, which was what it amounted to for Gabriella. Impossible to understand how people in her parents’ circumstances, particularly, could do this. But it wasn't the first time it had happened. And perhaps, in some way none of them could understand, perhaps it was a blessing. And despite the confusing emotions she felt, Gabriella knew that. She had never cried once when Mother Gregoria had told her. She just felt a sick feeling in her stomach, when she realized she might never see either of them ever again. It was hard to understand that, and in some ways Gabriella didn't.

“You're a strong girl” the Mother Superior said to her mysteriously, and Gabriella shook her head in answer. She wasn't, she knew she wasn't, and she wondered why people always said that to her. Her father had said the same thing the night before he left. He told her how strong she was. She didn't feel strong. She felt very lonely, and much of the time, very frightened. Even now, it was scary. What if she couldn't stay here? Where would she go? Who would take care of her? All she wanted to know was that she had a place to be forever, a place where she didn't have to hide, where she was safe, and no one would ever hurt her, or leave her. And Mother Gregoria understood that. She came around her desk, as she had once before, and silently put her arms around the child who was so brave, so strong, so dignified as she stood there, but the nun could feel her tremble as she held her. Gabriella didn't sob this time, she didn't beg, she didn't rage against her fate, but she clung tightly to the only person who had ever offered her love and comfort, and a lone tear rolled slowly down her face, as she looked up into the older woman's eyes with something so terrible and so powerful there that the wise old nun nearly shuddered.

“Don't leave me,” Gabriella whispered, so softly she almost couldn't hear her… “Don't make me go away…” The single tear was slowly joined by another, and then two more, but she maintained her dignity as she stood with her arms around the woman who offered her all she had now.

“I won't leave you, Gabbie,” she said softly, longing to give her something more, but not even sure how to do it. “You will never have to leave here. This is your home now.”

Gabriella nodded silently, burying her face in the black habit that had already become so familiar. “I love you,” she whispered, and Mother Gregoria held her as tears filled her own eyes.

“I love you too, Gabbie… we all do.”

They sat together that afternoon for a while, quietly holding hands, talking about Gabriella's mother, and why she had decided to leave Gabriella there. But it didn't make sense to either of them, no matter how reasonable the words, and in the end, they both decided it didn't matter. She had done it. And Gabbie had a home here. Mother Gregoria walked her slowly back to her room then. It was too late for school, and she left Gabriella there with her own thoughts, her memories, and her visions of her mother… the places she had hidden from her… the times she had been unable to hide… the brutality… the pain… the bruises… she remembered all of it, and she was glad it would never happen again. But it was hard to believe it was over. What she would have loved most was another chance, a chance to be better than she had been, to do it right this time, and win her love. She would have loved to make her mother happy instead of angry. But she had made her so angry, and been so bad, that her mother had had to leave her. They both had. Gabriella couldn't say that to Mother Gregoria, she didn't want her ever to know how bad she was, how terrible, how much she deserved this. And knowing how bad she had been, and how much they had hated her, it was impossible to believe anyone would ever want her. The nuns did. Maybe God. But He knew how bad she was, how wrong she had been, and how much at times she hated her parents… but he also knew, as she lay on her bed alone in the room for once, as she began to sob, how much she missed them… she would never see either of them again… and she knew it. She had driven both of them away… with her badness. And there was no hiding from the truth now. There was no hiding from the fact that they had never loved her. How could they, she asked herself, as she lay there and cried… how could they… how could anyone? It was her destiny, her fate, her life sentence… her punishment for having been so bad for so long… her curse, and she believed in it to her very core. She knew as she lay on her bed that day that not only had they not loved her, but no one ever could, not if they really knew her. And no amount of Hail Marys and confessions and rosaries could change that.

She went through the motions for the rest of the day, thinking of what Mother Gregoria had said… and about her mother in California. She was quiet at dinner that night, went to confession afterward as usual, and went to her room with Natalie and Julie. She was in bed before either of them, and she burrowed down to the bottom of the bed, as she always did, and lay there thinking about all of it. Her parents were both marrying other people, her father had “new” children to replace her… her mother didn't want any children at all, or maybe she would now… good ones… not bad ones this time… They had new lives, new husbands and wives… and Gabriella had to live with knowing why they had left her… and knowing that if she'd been better, things might have been different. She had a lifetime to make up for it, to give herself to God, and other people, to atone for her sins, regret all that she had done, and forgive all that had been done to her. The priest had told her in the confessional later that night that the responsibility was hers now, and what she had to strive for, for the rest of her life, was forgiveness. She repeated it over and over to herself that night as she fell asleep… forgiveness… forgiveness… she had to forgive them… it was all her fault… she had to forgive them… forgive them… and halfway through the night, they heard her screaming… her screams resounded down the long, dark halls, echoing off the walls… It took three of them to wake her, and they finally had to call Mother Gregoria to calm her… the memories of the beatings had been too clear, too real, she could feel the blood on her head again, the blinding pain in her ear, the shattering of her ribs, the aching in her limbs where she had been kicked so often… and she knew she would never forget it. And as she lay sobbing in the Mother Superior's arms that night, all she could say again and again was, “I have to forgive them… I have to forgive them…” Mother Gregoria held her until she slept again, and watched her silently until she saw peace on the small face at last, and she understood better than anyone, or thought she did, how much Gabriella had to forgive them. And she knew, as Gabriella did, that it would take her a lifetime to do it.

Chapter 7

THE NEXT FOUR years were peaceful ones for Gabriella, living in the quiet safety of St. Matthew's. She continued studying with the nuns who taught her there. Julie became a novice, and her sister Natalie left on a scholarship to college. By then she was not only fascinated by Elvis, but passionately in love with all four of the Beatles. She wrote to the Sisters often from upstate New York, where she was happy in school, dating boys, and doing all, or at least most, of the things she had dreamed of while she was at St. Matthew's.

Two new boarders had arrived at the convent by then, two little girls from Laos, sent there by one of their missionary Sisters. They were much younger than Gabriella, but shared a room with her, just as she had shared hers with Natalie and Julie.

For four years Gabriella never heard from her mother, but she still thought of her from time to time, as she did her father. All she knew of him was that he had gone to Boston and had been planning to get married, to a woman with two daughters. She had no idea what had happened to him after that, and had no way to pursue it. Her mother, she knew, still lived in San Francisco, and a check came to Mother Gregoria once a month, precisely on time, paying for her room and board, but there was never a letter with it, a note, an inquiry as to how Gabriella was, or if she was well and happy. There were no cards or gifts on Christmas or birthdays. Gabriella's life centered now entirely around life at St. Matthew's, and everyone there loved her. She worked harder than almost anyone, would scrub any floor, any table, any bathroom, she would do chores even the other nuns would balk at. And she did brilliantly at her schoolwork. She still wrote stories and poetry, and all of her teachers agreed that she had real talent.

She still slept at the bottom of the bed, still had nightmares at night far too frequently, and never explained them. And Mother Gregoria still watched her from afar, concerned at some of what she saw there. The pain in Gabriella's eyes was dimmer now, she had grown even more beautiful, though she herself had no sense of it, nor any interest in what she looked like. She lived in a world without vanity. There were no mirrors in the convent, and she still wore the cast-off clothes of the girls who came in as postulants, and never seemed to think anything of it. As she had set herself the goal at ten, her life was one of sacrifice, and doing for others. But she still insisted, when they talked about it from time to time, that she had no vocation. When she compared herself to girls like Julie, or the ones who came in from elsewhere, she could see the difference between them. They were so sure, so certain, so unfailing in their devotion to their calling. All Gabriella could see in herself were the faults, the failings, the mistakes she made, or the times she insisted she had thoughtlessly hurt others. In truth, her humility was far greater than those who held up their vocations like so many trophies. And Mother Gregoria tried year after year to make her see it. But she was so intent on denying her virtues and pointing to her flaws that she couldn't imagine herself becoming a nun at St. Matthew's, nor could she see herself ever leaving. Hers was a completely sequestered life, living among the love and protection of the nuns, and she knew without a doubt that she would die without that.