not. The St. Rose land and buildings had been bought outright in the late nineteenth century, and
despite the temptation to modernize their quarters, they did not borrow on the property. They
produced fruits and vegetables on the grounds, their henhouse gave four dozen eggs a day, and their
pantries were filled with preserves. The convent was so secure, so abundantly stocked with food and
medicine, so well equipped for their intellectual and spiritual needs, that the sisters sometimes joked
that if a second Flood were to encompass the Hudson River Valley, it would be possible for the
women of St. Rose Convent simply to bolt the heavy iron doors at the front and back entrances, seal
the windows tight, and pray on as usual for many years to come in their own self-sustaining ark.
Sister Philomena took Evangeline by the arm and led her to her office, where, stooping over her
work area, the dolman sleeves of her habit brushing the keys of the typewriter, she searched through
the papers for something. Such hunting about her office was not unusual. Philomena was nearly blind,
with thick glasses that occupied a disproportionate portion of her face, and Evangeline often helped
her to locate objects that were hidden in plain sight. “Perhaps you can help me,” Sister Philomena
said at last.
“I am happy to assist,” Evangeline said, “if you tell me what to look for.”
“I believe we received a letter regarding our angelic collection. Mother Perpetua had a telephone
call from a young man in New York City—a researcher or consultant or something of that nature. He
claims to have written a letter. Has such a letter come across your desk? I know I would not have
missed it had I found such an inquiry. Mother Perpetua wants to be sure we are consistent with St.
Rose policy. She would very much like a response sent at once.”
“The letter came today,” Evangeline said.
Sister Philomena peered through the lenses of her glasses, her eyes large and watery as she
strained to see Evangeline. “You have read it, then?”
“Of course,” Evangeline said. “I open all mail the instant it arrives.”
“It was a request for information?”
Evangeline was not used to being questioned so directly about her work. “Actually,” she said, “it
was a request to visit our archives in search of specific information about Mother Innocenta.”
A dark look passed over Philomena’s face. “You’ve replied to the letter?”
“With our standard response,” Evangeline said, leaving out the fact that she had destroyed the letter
before mailing it, an act of duplicity that felt deeply foreign. It was unsettling—her ability to lie to
Philomena with such ease. Nevertheless, Evangeline continued, “I am aware that we do not allow
amateur research in the archives,” she said. “I wrote that it is our standard policy to refuse such
requests. Of course, I was polite.”
“Fine,” Philomena said, examining Evangeline with particular interest. “We must be very careful
when we open our home to outsiders. Mother Perpetua gave specific orders to block all inquiries.”
Evangeline was not at all surprised that Mother Perpetua took such a personal interest in their
collection. She was a gruff and distant figure at the convent, one whom Evangeline did not see often, a
woman with strong opinions and a heady management style whom the Elder Sisters admired for
frugality and faulted for modern vision. Indeed, Mother Perpetua had pushed for the Elder Sisters to
implement the more benign Vatican II changes, urging them to discard their cumbersome woolen
habits for those of lighter fabrics, a suggestion they did not take.
As Evangeline turned to leave the office, Sister Philomena cleared her throat, a sign that she had
not finished quite yet and that Evangeline should stay just a moment longer. Philomena said, “I have
worked in the archives for many years, my child, and have weighed each request with great care. I
have turned away many pesky researchers and writers and pseudo religious. It is a great
responsibility to be the guardian at the gate. I would like you to report all unusual correspondence to
me.”
“Of course,” Evangeline said, confused by the zeal in Philomena’s voice. Her curiosity getting the
better of her, Evangeline added, “There is one thing I was wondering, Sister.”
“Yes?” Philomena responded.
“Was there anything unusual about Mother Innocenta?”
“Unusual?”
“Something that would inspire interest in a private research consultant whose specialty is art
history?”
“I haven’t the slightest notion what might interest such people, my dear,” Sister Philomena said,