dead.”
Celestine touched Evangeline’s hand. “Come,” she said. “I have something else for you.”
She indicated a magnificent tapestry of the Annunciation in which Gabriel, his wings tucked behind
him and his head bowed, gave the Virgin the news of the coming of Christ. “The messenger of good
news indeed,” Celestine said. “Of course, the holiness of the news depends upon the recipient. You,
my dear, are worthy. Go, roll back the cloth from the wall.”
Evangeline followed Celestine’s instructions, lifting the tapestry to reveal a square copper safe
sunk flush with the concrete.
“Three-three-three-nine,” Celestine said, pointing to a combination dial. “The perfect numbers of
the celestial spheres followed by the total species of angels in the Heavenly Choir.”
Evangeline squinted at the numbers of a combination dial and—as Celestine told her the
combination—twisted the dial right, then left, then right, listening for the soft sweep of metal disks.
Finally the safe clicked and, with a swift tug of the handle, popped open. There was a leather case in
the belly of the safe. Fingers trembling, Evangeline carried it to the table and wheeled Celestine to it.
“I brought this case with me to America from Paris,” Celestine said, sighing as if all her efforts had
led to this singular moment. “It has been here, safe and sound, since 1944.”
Evangeline ran her hands over the cool, polished leather. The brass clasps were shiny as new
pennies.
Sister Celestine closed her eyes and clutched at the armrests of her wheelchair.
Evangeline remembered the extent of Celestine’s illness. The journey to the depths of the convent
must have taxed her enormously. “You are exhausted,” Evangeline said. “I am terribly thoughtless to
have allowed you to bring me here. I think it is time for you to return to your room.”
“Hush, child,” Celestine said, lifting a hand to stop her from protesting further. “There is one more
item I must give you.”
Celestine slid her hand into the pocket of her habit, removed a piece of paper, and placed it in
Evangeline’s palm. She said, “Memorize this address. It is where your grandmother, as head of the
Angelological Society, resides. She will welcome you and continue where I have left off.”
“This is the address I saw in my file in the Mission Office this morning,” Evangeline said. “The
same address as that on Gabriella’s letters.”
“The very one,” Celestine said. “It is your time. Soon you will understand your purpose, but for
now you must remove this case from our domain. Percival Grigori is not the only one who covets
Abigail Rockefeller’s letters.”
“Mrs. Rockefeller’s letters?” Evangeline whispered. “This case doesn’t contain the lyre?”
“The letters will lead you to the lyre,” Celestine said. “Our dear Philomena has been searching for
them for more than half a century. They are no longer safe here. You must take them away at once.”
“If I leave, will I be allowed to return?”
“If you do, you will compromise the safety of the others. Angelology is forever. Once you begin,
you cannot leave it. And you, Evangeline, have already begun.”
“But you left angelology behind,” Evangeline said.
“And look at the trouble that ensued,” Celestine said, fingering the rosary around her neck. “One
might say my withdrawal into the sanctuary of St. Rose is in part responsible for the danger your
young visitor is in now.”
Celestine paused, as if to let her words sink in.
“Don’t be frightened,” she said, gripping Evangeline’s hand. “Everything has its proper time. You
are giving up this life, but you are gaining another. You will be part of a long and honorable tradition:
Christine de Pizan, Clare of Assisi, Sir Isaac Newton, even St. Thomas Aquinas did not shy from our
work. Angelology is a noble calling, perhaps the highest calling. It is not an easy thing to be chosen.
One must be courageous.”
In the course of their exchange, something about Celestine had changed—her illness seemed in
retreat, and her pale hazel eyes burned with pride. When she spoke, her voice was strong and
confident.
“Gabriella will be very proud of you,” Celestine said. “But I will be even more so. From the
minute you arrived, I knew you would make an exceptional angelologist. When your grandmother and
I were students in Paris, we could pick out exactly which of our peers would succeed and which
would not. It is like a sixth sense, the ability to discover new talent”