Angelology(53)

Philomena had been right: Celestine was painfully frail.

“You asked to see me, Sister,” Evangeline said.

With great effort Celestine pushed herself up against a bank of pillows. “I must ask you to excuse

my behavior earlier this afternoon,” she said, meeting Evangeline’s eye. “I do not know how to

explain myself. It is only that I have not spoken of these things for many, many years. It was quite a

surprise to find that, despite the time, the events of my youth are still so vivid and so upsetting to me.

The body may age, but the soul remains young, as God made it”

“There is no need to apologize,” Evangeline said as she placed her hand upon Celestine’s arm, thin

as a twig under the tissue of her nightgown. “I was at fault for upsetting you.”

“Truthfully,” Celestine said, her voice hardening, as if she were drawing upon a reserve of anger,

“I was simply taken by surprise. I have not been confronted with these events for many, many years. I

knew there would be a time when I would tell you. But I expected that it would be later.”

Once again Celestine had confounded her. She had a way of tipping Evangeline off balance,

upsetting Evangeline’s delicate sense of equilibrium in a most disturbing fashion.

“Come,” Celestine said, looking about the room. “Pull that chair over here and sit with me. There

is much to tell.”

Evangeline lifted a wooden chair from a corner and brought it to Celestine’s bedside where she sat

listening carefully to Sister Celestine’s faint voice.

“I think you know,” Celestine began, “that I was born and educated in France and that I came to St.

Rose Convent during the Second World War.”

“Yes,” Evangeline said lightly. “I was aware of this.”

“You might also know . . .” Celestine paused, meeting Evangeline’s eyes, as if to find judgment in

them “. . . that I left everything—my work and my country—in the hands of the Nazis.”

“I imagine that the war forced many to seek refuge in the United States.”

“I did not seek refuge,” Celestine said, emphasizing each word. “The war’s deprivations were





serious, but I believe I could have survived them had I stayed. You may not know this, but I was not a

professed sister in France.” She coughed into a handkerchief. “I took my vows in Portugal, en route to

the United States. Before this I was a member of another order, one with many of the same goals as

ours. Only”—Celestine held her thought for a moment—“we had a different approach to attaining

them. I ran away from this group in December of 1943.”

Evangeline watched as Celestine edged herself higher up in the bed and took a sip of water.

“I left this group,” Celestine said at last. “But they were not quite done with me. Before I could

leave them, I had one final duty to perform. The members of this group instructed me to carry a case

to America and present it to a contact in New York.”

“Abby Rockefeller,” Evangeline ventured.

“In the beginning Mrs. Rockefeller was no more than a rich patron attending New York meetings.

Like so many other society women, she participated in a purely observational capacity. It’s my guess

that she dabbled in angels the way the wealthy dabble in orchids—with great enthusiasm and little

real knowledge. Honestly, I cannot say where her real interests lay before the war. When war struck,

however, she became very sincere in her involvement. She kept our work alive. Mrs. Rockefeller

sent equipment, vehicles, and money to assist us in Europe. Our scholars were not overtly affiliated

with either side of the war—we were at heart pacifists, privately funded, just as we had been from

the beginning.”

Celestine blinked, as if a mote of dust had irritated her eyes, then continued.

“And so, as you can guess, private donors were essential to our survival. Mrs. Rockefeller

sheltered our members in New York City, arranging their passage from Europe, meeting them at the

docks, giving them refuge. It was through her support that we were able to undertake our greatest

mission—an expedition to the depths of the earth, the very center of evil. The journey had been in the

planning for many years, since the discovery of a written account outlining a previous expedition to

the gorge. This account was brought to light in 1919. A second expedition was undertaken in 1943. It

was risky driving into the mountains as bombs were falling over the Balkans, but—due to the

excellent provisions Mrs. Rockefeller donated—we were well equipped. You might say that Mrs.

Rockefeller was our guardian angel during the war, although many would be unwilling to go that far.”