with you. And your baby too.
It’s a miracle neither of you was hurt, climbing down all that way.”
Sylvie stiffened in astonishment. Sister had mistaken Angie’s baby for her child! But, then, it
was a natural mistake. She had come through hell on earth to save this infant. And who but a
mother?
Splintered images spun in her mind. Nikos. The dark, briefly glimpsed face of her own baby.
Gerald’s pale blue eyes, watching her as she undressed.
And then her brain cleared suddenly, like a shaft of light breaking through the clouds in a
medieval painting or an illuminated manuscript.
No one would ever have to know. If she kept this child as her own, who was there to dispute
her? Not Angie. Or Sister Paul.
Only perhaps Sister Ignatious, who was half out of her mind, and she’d already unknowingly
bestowed her blessing. There’d be no records either. The obstetrics floors had been destroyed by
the explosion.
Overwhelmed, Sylvie began to tremble. It was monstrous, how could she even think such a
thing? Give up her own child ... to whom? There were such crazy people in this world. But
Angie’s family—they had to be nice people, like her—and they would no doubt assume the baby
to be theirs.
[32] Could she do this? Could she? Never to see her own daughter again. Never to see her
grow up. ...
Then Sylvie thought of what her life, her baby’s life, would be if Gerald were to divorce her.
Strip her of his love, his protection. Send her off to raise her baby in shame, alone.
Alone. Without Mama. Without Gerald.
No, worse than alone. She would have a baby to take care of. A baby no one would welcome,
not even Nikos.
She remembered how sick she’d been after Mama died. What if she got sick now? Or died?
Who would take care of her baby? Who would love it?
Still, she could not believe she was thinking what she was thinking. To give up her very own
child, take another baby in its place. Why, it was beyond hateful, it was ...
The only thing to do. The only thing that makes sense.
No, no, NO, I mustn’t. I mustn’t even think ...
And Angie’s husband won’t suspect a thing. Remember, he hasn’t seen the baby yet. He will
accept it as his own, love it unconditionally. And didn’t Angie say something about other
children? Yes, that’s right. Two other girls. Your baby will have sisters, a family.
... such a terrible thing, a sin against God ...
You will have Gerald. And a baby he will love, cherish, raise as his own.
Sylvie stared down at the beautiful cameo face asleep in her arms. Tears filled her eyes, and
dropped onto the dirty blanket, running into its folds. Her chest felt as if it were full of broken
glass, sharp cold splinters digging into her heart.
Yes, perhaps it would be better. ...
But how can I forget her, my own baby? Dear God, never to hold her, watch her grow up, love
her ...
The choice was hers. With terrible consequences either way, she turned. And she had no time.
Sister Ignatious was staring at her, waiting for her to say something. She must decide now.
Blinking back her tears, Sylvie raised her head to meet Sister’s squinting gaze.
She had decided.
“Yes,” she said. “It is a miracle, isn’t it?”
Part I
I heartily detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishment, but most
of all because they offend Thee, my God, who an all good and
deserving of my love.
Act of Contrition, a Catholic prayer
I have been consumed by fire, but never so much as the heat of my
desire.
Jewish prayer for Yom Kippur
Chapter 1
BROOKLYN, 1959
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Sixteen-year-old Rose Santini, huddled inside the dark confessional, felt her kneecaps shift
painfully against the hard wooden kneeler. Familiar things, the mingled scents of beeswax and
incense, the faint singsong murmur of evening vespers drifting from the sanctuary, yet she felt
like she had her very first time, scared to death. Her heart thundered in her ears so loudly she
It’s a miracle neither of you was hurt, climbing down all that way.”
Sylvie stiffened in astonishment. Sister had mistaken Angie’s baby for her child! But, then, it
was a natural mistake. She had come through hell on earth to save this infant. And who but a
mother?
Splintered images spun in her mind. Nikos. The dark, briefly glimpsed face of her own baby.
Gerald’s pale blue eyes, watching her as she undressed.
And then her brain cleared suddenly, like a shaft of light breaking through the clouds in a
medieval painting or an illuminated manuscript.
No one would ever have to know. If she kept this child as her own, who was there to dispute
her? Not Angie. Or Sister Paul.
Only perhaps Sister Ignatious, who was half out of her mind, and she’d already unknowingly
bestowed her blessing. There’d be no records either. The obstetrics floors had been destroyed by
the explosion.
Overwhelmed, Sylvie began to tremble. It was monstrous, how could she even think such a
thing? Give up her own child ... to whom? There were such crazy people in this world. But
Angie’s family—they had to be nice people, like her—and they would no doubt assume the baby
to be theirs.
[32] Could she do this? Could she? Never to see her own daughter again. Never to see her
grow up. ...
Then Sylvie thought of what her life, her baby’s life, would be if Gerald were to divorce her.
Strip her of his love, his protection. Send her off to raise her baby in shame, alone.
Alone. Without Mama. Without Gerald.
No, worse than alone. She would have a baby to take care of. A baby no one would welcome,
not even Nikos.
She remembered how sick she’d been after Mama died. What if she got sick now? Or died?
Who would take care of her baby? Who would love it?
Still, she could not believe she was thinking what she was thinking. To give up her very own
child, take another baby in its place. Why, it was beyond hateful, it was ...
The only thing to do. The only thing that makes sense.
No, no, NO, I mustn’t. I mustn’t even think ...
And Angie’s husband won’t suspect a thing. Remember, he hasn’t seen the baby yet. He will
accept it as his own, love it unconditionally. And didn’t Angie say something about other
children? Yes, that’s right. Two other girls. Your baby will have sisters, a family.
... such a terrible thing, a sin against God ...
You will have Gerald. And a baby he will love, cherish, raise as his own.
Sylvie stared down at the beautiful cameo face asleep in her arms. Tears filled her eyes, and
dropped onto the dirty blanket, running into its folds. Her chest felt as if it were full of broken
glass, sharp cold splinters digging into her heart.
Yes, perhaps it would be better. ...
But how can I forget her, my own baby? Dear God, never to hold her, watch her grow up, love
her ...
The choice was hers. With terrible consequences either way, she turned. And she had no time.
Sister Ignatious was staring at her, waiting for her to say something. She must decide now.
Blinking back her tears, Sylvie raised her head to meet Sister’s squinting gaze.
She had decided.
“Yes,” she said. “It is a miracle, isn’t it?”
Part I
I heartily detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishment, but most
of all because they offend Thee, my God, who an all good and
deserving of my love.
Act of Contrition, a Catholic prayer
I have been consumed by fire, but never so much as the heat of my
desire.
Jewish prayer for Yom Kippur
Chapter 1
BROOKLYN, 1959
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Sixteen-year-old Rose Santini, huddled inside the dark confessional, felt her kneecaps shift
painfully against the hard wooden kneeler. Familiar things, the mingled scents of beeswax and
incense, the faint singsong murmur of evening vespers drifting from the sanctuary, yet she felt
like she had her very first time, scared to death. Her heart thundered in her ears so loudly she
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