Gabriel's Inferno: Gabriel's Rapture Part 40

He rose early the next morning and made his way to the Basilica of St. Francis. It was a place of pilgrimage for persons of all faiths, if only for its medieval frescoes and the peaceful atmosphere that pervaded it. It was no little coincidence that he found himself retracing the steps he'd taken with Julianne prior to Christmas. He'd taken her to Ma.s.s in the Basilica superiore or upper part of the church, and had even waited patiently while she went to confession before the Ma.s.s began.

As he wandered through the upper Basilica, admiring the images and drinking in the comforting quiet of the sanctuary, he caught a glimpse of a woman with long, brown hair disappear through a doorway. Intrigued, he decided to follow her. Despite the crowd of tourists and pilgrims, it was easy to pick her out, and so he found himself descending to the Basilica inferiore.

Then she vanished.

Distressed, he searched the lower church. Only when his search proved fruitless did it occur to him to descend deeper into the bowels of the Basilica toward the tomb of St. Francis. There she was, kneeling in front of the crypt. He slipped into the last row of pews and out of respect, knelt. But he couldn't take his eyes off her.

It wasn't Julianne. The young woman in front of him was a little fuller in the hips and wider in the shoulders and her hair was darker. But she was beautiful, and her beauty reminded him of how much he'd lost.

The room was small and primitive, a studied contrast to the wide-open and elaborately frescoed upper Basilica. Gabriel was not alone in finding that the simplicity that was St. Francis's life and mission was more accurately reflected in the una.s.suming tomb. It was with such thoughts in mind that Gabriel found himself leaning against the pew in front of him and bowing his head. Before he could form the intention to do so, he began praying.

At first they were just words-desperate utterances and whispered confessions. As time wore on, his prayers took on a more repentant shape, while unbeknownst to him, the young woman lit a candle and departed.

If Gabriel's life had been a major motion picture, an old, weathered Franciscan brother would have stumbled across him as he knelt in prayer, and seeing his distress, would show him compa.s.sion, offering spiritual guidance. But Gabriel's life was not a motion picture. So he prayed alone.

If you had asked Gabriel afterward about what occurred in the tomb, he would have shrugged and evaded the question. Some things cannot be put into words. Some things defy language itself.

But there was a moment in his prayers in which Gabriel was confronted with the magnitude of all his failings, both moral and spiritual, while at the same time feeling the presence of One who knew the state of his soul and embraced him anyway. He was suddenly aware of what the writer Annie Dillard once referred to as the extravagance of grace. He thought of the love and forgiveness that had been lavished on the world and more specifically, on him, through the lives of Grace and Richard.

And Julianne, my sticky little leaf.

The magnet for sin found something very unexpected underneath the floors of the upper Basilica. When he left the church, he was more determined than ever not to return to his old ways.

Chapter 36.

For Julia, the rest of April was a vortex of activity. There were final revisions to be made to her thesis, meetings with Katherine Picton and Nicole, and Friday nights to be spent with Paul.

Katherine ensured that Julia's final draft was error free and something that she could be proud of. Then she telephoned Cecilia Marinelli in Oxford to ask her to look for Julia at Harvard in the fall.

Paul secured a studio apartment in Cambridge for her to sublet. She began working through a list of texts Katherine had suggested she read in preparation for Professor Marinelli's seminar.

At the end of April, Julia received a very official looking letter from the Office of the Dean of Graduate Studies. Dr. Aras requested her attendance at his office in a week's time. He a.s.sured her that their appointment had nothing to do with a disciplinary matter, and he stated that Professor Martin would also be in attendance.

With great trepidation, she trudged across campus on a Monday afternoon, clutching her L.L. Bean knapsack. She took comfort in it, in the fact that it had been her companion for almost a year. Paul had offered to accompany her, but she'd declined, arguing that she needed to face the Dean alone. Still, he'd hugged her and promised to wait for her at their favorite Starbucks.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Mitch.e.l.l. How was your semester?"

Julia gazed across the desk at Dean Aras in surprise. "It was-interesting."

The Dean nodded, his eyes s.h.i.+fting to meet Professor Martin's. "I know this academic year has been challenging for you. I asked to speak with you simply to find out if you have had any other problems since the hearing."

Julia looked between the two academics, measuring them. "What kind of problems?"

"Dean Aras is wondering if Professor Emerson bothered you at all after the hearing. Did he call or email you? Did he try to meet with you?" Professor Martin appeared friendly, but there was an undertone to his demeanor that made Julia suspicious.

"Why do you care? You got what you wanted. He left the city."

The Dean's expression tightened. "I'm not about to retry the case with you, Miss Mitch.e.l.l. This meeting is a courtesy, an attempt to ensure that you have been able to proceed with your education free of interference. We're trying to determine if Professor Emerson kept his word and left you alone."

"I received an email from him a few days after the hearing. He told me to stop contacting him and that we were over. That's what you want to hear, right?" She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Professor Martin exchanged a meaningful look with the Dean. "I'm sure you're glad to put this matter behind you."

Julia sat silently, not bothering to answer.

"You're free to go. Congratulations on a successful year and congratulations on being admitted to Harvard. We'll see you at graduation." The Dean nodded at her dismissively.

She picked up her knapsack and walked to the door. Just as her hand reached for the doork.n.o.b she stopped, turning to face the two professors.

How strange it is, she thought, that these two men, armed only with ma.s.sive intellects and closets full of tweed, could wield so much power over her heart and her happiness.

"I don't regret my relations.h.i.+p with Professor Emerson, even though it ended badly. Both of you were incredibly dismissive and patronizing to me throughout this entire process. I understand the importance of protecting someone who needs protection, but the only people I needed protection from was you."

Julia gave them a withering look and exited the office.

Chapter 37.

Gabriel stayed so long in a.s.sisi, he became a fixture at the Basilica. Every day he spent a long hour sitting by St. Francis's crypt, thinking. Sometimes he prayed. Sometimes G.o.d seemed near and other times he seemed far away. At all times, Gabriel wished he was with Julia, although he began to realize how flawed their relations.h.i.+p had been-how he'd wanted to change his ways to be worthy of her when really, he should have changed because he was an insufferable a.s.s.

He was enjoying lunch one day at the hotel when a fellow American struck up a conversation with him. The man was a physician from California, who was visiting a.s.sisi with his wife and teenaged son.

"We're going to Florence tomorrow, and we'll be there for two months."

"Doing what?" Gabriel asked, eying the gray-haired man curiously.

"We'll be staying with the Franciscans. My wife, who is a nurse, and I will be working in a medical clinic. My son is going to be helping the homeless."

Gabriel frowned. "You're doing this as volunteers?"

"Yes. We wanted to do this as a family." The man paused and looked at Gabriel intently.

"Would you consider coming with us? The Franciscans can always use more help."

"No," said Gabriel, stabbing a piece of beef determinedly. "I'm not Catholic."

"Neither are we. We're Lutherans."

Gabriel gazed at the doctor with interest. His knowledge of Lutherans was limited almost exclusively to the writings of Garrison Keillor. (Not that he was willing to admit it.) The doctor smiled. "We wanted to lend a hand to a good work. I wanted to encourage my son to think beyond beach vacations and video games."

"Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline." Gabriel was firm in his response, and so the doctor changed the subject.

Later that evening, Gabriel stared out the window of his simple hotel room, thinking as he always did about Julia.

She wouldn't have said no. She would have gone.

As ever, he was reminded of the divide between her generosity and his selfishness. A divide that, even after spending so many months with her, was yet to be breached.

Two weeks later, Gabriel stood in front of the monument to Dante in Santa Croce. He'd joined the Lutherans in their trip to Florence and become one of the Franciscans' most troublesome volunteers. He served meals to the poor but was horrified by the quality of food on offer, so he wrote a check to hire a caterer to make the meals. He went with the other volunteers as they gave toiletries and clean clothing to homeless people, but he was so troubled by the lack of cleanliness of the men and women that he wrote a check to construct washrooms and shower facilities for the homeless at the Franciscan mission.

In short, by the time Gabriel had seen every aspect of the Franciscans' work with the poor, he'd endeavored to change everything and agreed to finance the changes himself. Then he paid a few visits to some wealthy Florentine families, who he knew through his academic life, asking them to support the Franciscans as they helped the poor of Florence. Their donations would ensure a steady stream of revenue for years to come.

As he stood in front of the Dante memorial, he was struck by a sudden kins.h.i.+p with his favorite poet. Dante had been exiled from Florence. Even though the city eventually forgave him and allowed a memorial to be placed in his honor in the Basilica, he was buried in Ravenna. In a strange twist of fate, Gabriel now knew what it was like to be exiled from his job, his city, and his home, for Julianne's arms would always be his home. Even though he was forced into exile.

The memorials around him reminded him of his own mortality. If he was lucky, he'd have a long life, but many people such as Grace had their lives cut short. He could be hit by a car, or contract cancer, or have a heart attack. Suddenly, his time on earth seemed very short and very precious.

Since he'd left a.s.sisi, he'd tried to a.s.suage his guilt and loneliness by doing good works. Volunteering with the Franciscans was certainly a step in that direction. But what about making amends with Paulina? It was far too late to make his peace with Grace, or Maia, or his biological mother and father.

What about Julianne?

Gabriel stared at the figure of a despairing woman who leaned on what looked like Dante's casket. He'd accepted his exile, but that didn't mean he'd refrained from writing letter after letter to her, letters that were never sent.

Cemeteries had a stillness all their own. Even cemeteries located in busy urban centers possessed this stillness-an unearthly quiet that clings to the air.

Walking through the cemetery, Gabriel couldn't pretend that he was strolling in a park. The spa.r.s.e trees that peppered the landscape were not teeming with singing birds. The gra.s.s, though green and very well kept, was not alive with squirrels or the occasional urban rabbit, playing with his brothers or looking for food.

He saw the stone angels in the distance, their twin forms standing like tall sentries among the other monuments. They were made of marble, not granite, their skin white and pale and perfect. The angels faced away from him, their wings spread wide. It was easier for him to stand behind the monument. He couldn't see the name etched in stone. He could stay there forever, a few feet away, and never approach. But that would be cowardly.

He inhaled deeply, his sapphire eyes shut tightly, as he said a silent prayer. Then he walked a half circuit around the monument, stopping in front of the marker.

He removed a pristine handkerchief from his trouser pocket. An onlooker might have guessed that he had need of it for sweat or tears, but he didn't. He leaned forward and with a gentle hand swept the white linen over the black stone. The dirt came away easily. He would need to tend the rose bushes that had begun to encroach upon the letters. He made a mental note to hire a gardener.

He placed flowers in front of the stone, his mouth moving as if he were whispering. But he wasn't. The grave, of course, was empty.

A tear or two clouded his vision, followed by their brothers, and soon his face was wet with their rain. He didn't bother to wipe them away as he lifted his face to gaze upon the angels, the souls of silent, marble compa.s.sion.

He asked for forgiveness. He expressed his guilt, a guilt he knew would ache for the rest of his life. He didn't ask for his burden to be removed, for it seemed to him to be part of the consequences of his actions. Or rather, the consequences of what he failed to do for a mother and their child.

He reached into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone and dialed a number from the iPhone's memory.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Paulina. I need to see you."

Chapter 38.

Julia's father insisted on attending her graduation and refused to allow Paul to move her to Cambridge alone. Tom paid the security deposit and rent on her summer sublet. And it was Tom who flew to Toronto so he could watch his only daughter graduate with her MA on June eleventh.

Dressed in simple black with artful shoes, Julia left Paul and Tom on the steps of Convocation Hall while she went to line up with all the other graduating students.

Tom liked Paul. A lot.

Paul was forthright and had a firm handshake. He looked Tom directly in the eye when they spoke to one another. Paul offered his a.s.sistance in helping move Julia to Cambridge, including accommodations on his family's farm in Burlington, even after Tom had insisted that he could move Julia by himself. Tom dropped a hint to his daughter over dinner the evening before graduation, suggesting that Paul was an obvious choice for a new love interest, but Julia pretended she hadn't heard him.

As the graduates filed into the hall, Julia couldn't help but scan the audience, looking for Gabriel. With so many people it was unlikely that she would see him, even if he were present. However, when she gazed over at the faculty section she easily located Katherine Picton, dressed in her Oxonian robes. If the faculty were arranged alphabetically, and it certainly seemed as if they were, then Julia should have been able to guess where Gabriel would be seated, dressed in Harvard's crimson. But he wasn't.

When they called Julia's name, it was Katherine who ascended the stage in slow but certain steps to hood Julia with the vestment of a magister. It was Katherine who shook her hand professionally, wished her well at Harvard, and handed her the diploma.

Later that evening, after a celebratory dinner with Paul and Tom at a local steakhouse, Julia checked her voice mail and found a new message. It was from Rachel.

"Congratulations, Julia! We all send our love and we have presents for you. Thanks for sending me your new address in Cambridge. I'll mail everything and make sure it arrives after you do. I'm also sending your bridesmaid's dress.

"Dad booked your flight from Boston to Philadelphia for August twenty-first. I hope that's okay. He wanted to pay for it, and I know that you were planning on coming a week early.

"I still haven't heard from Gabriel. I'm hoping he was at your graduation. But if he wasn't, maybe you two will be able to sort everything out at the wedding. I can't imagine that he'd miss it. He's supposed to be a groomsman, and I don't even have his measurements for his tux!"

Chapter 39.

A certain blue-eyed Dante specialist read T.S. Eliot's poem Ash Wednesday before offering his nighttime prayers. He was alone, and yet not alone.

Looking at the photograph on his bedside table he thought about her graduation. How beautiful and proud she would have looked in her robes. With a sigh, he closed his book of poetry and turned out the light.

In the darkness of his old bedroom in the Clarks' former house, he reflected on the past weeks. He'd left Italy and traveled to Boston and Minnesota. He'd promised the Franciscans he'd return, for they'd said (wisely) that they prized his presence more than his donations. With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes.