grainy black-and-white photograph showed the carcass of the convent, beams burned to charcoal. A
caption read, “Milton Convent Ravaged by Morning Blaze.” Reading through the article, Evangeline
found that six women, including Mother Innocenta, the abbess who may or may not have been in
correspondence with Mrs. Abigail Rockefeller, had died of asphyxiation.
Evangeline took a deep breath, chilled by the image of her beloved home engulfed in flames. She
opened another box and paged through a sheaf of encapsulated newspaper clippings. By February 15
the sisters had moved into the basement of the convent, sleeping on cots, bathing and cooking in the
kitchen so that they could assist in repairing the living quarters. They continued their regular routine
of prayer in the Adoration Chapel, which had been left untouched by the fire, performing their hourly
adoration as if nothing had happened. Scanning the article, Evangeline stopped abruptly at a line
toward the bottom of the page. To her amazement she read:
Despite the near-total destruction of the convent proper, it is reported that a generous donation from
the Rockefeller family will allow the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration to repair St. Rose
Convent and their Mary of the Angels Church to their original condition.
Evangeline put the articles into their boxes, stacked them one on top of the other, and returned them
to their home in the archive. Edging to the back of the room, she found a box marked EPHEMERA
1940—1945. If Mother Innocenta had had contact with anyone as illustrious as Abigail Rockefeller,
the letters would have been filed among such papers. Evangeline set the box on the cool linoleum
floor and squatted before it. She found all variety of records from the convent—receipts for cloth and
soap and candles, a program of the 1941 St. Rose Christmas celebrations, and a number of letters
between Mother Innocenta and the head of the diocese regarding the arrival of novices. To her
frustration, there was nothing more to be found.
It was possible, Evangeline reasoned as she returned the documents to their correct box, that
Innocenta’s personal papers had been filed elsewhere. There were any number of boxes in which she
might find them—Mission Correspondence or Foreign Charities seemed especially promising. She
was about to move on to another box when she spied a pale envelope tucked below a pack of receipts
for church supplies. Pulling it out, she saw that it was addressed to Mother Innocenta. The return
address had been written in elegant calligraphy: “Mrs. A. Rockefeller, 10 W.54th Street, New York,
New York.” Evangeline felt the blood rush to her head. Here was proof that Mr. Verlaine had been
correct: A connection between Mother Innocenta and Abigail Rockefeller did, in fact, exist.
Evangeline looked carefully at the envelope and then tapped it. A thin paper fell into her hands.
December 14, 1943
Dearest Mother Innocenta,
I send good news of our interests in the Rhodope Mountains, where our efforts are by all
accounts a success. Your guidance has helped the progress of the expedition enormously, and
I daresay my own contributions have been useful as well. Celestine Clochette will be arriving
in New York early February. More news will reach you soon. Until then, I am sincerely
yours,
A. A. Rockefeller
Evangeline stared at the paper in her hands. It was beyond her understanding. Why would someone
like Abigail Rockefeller write to Mother Innocenta? What did “our interests in the Rhodope
Mountains” mean? And why had the Rockefeller family paid for the restoration of St. Rose after the
fire? It made no sense at all. The Rockefellers, as far as Evangeline knew, were not Catholic and had
no connection to the diocese. Unlike other wealthy Gilded Age families—the Vanderbilts came
immediately to mind—they did not own a significant amount of property in the vicinity. Yet there had
to be some explanation for such a generous gift.
Evangeline folded Mrs. Rockefeller’s letter and put it into her pocket. Walking from the archives
into the library, she felt the difference in temperature in an instant—the fire had overheated the room.
She removed the letter she had written to Mr. Verlaine from the stack of mail waiting to be posted and
carried it to the fireplace. As the flame caught the edge of the envelope, painting a fine black track
into the pink cotton bond, an image of the martyred Rose of Viterbo appeared in Evangeline’s mind—
a flitting figment of a willowy girl withstanding a raging fire—and disappeared as if carried away in
a swirl of smoke.
The A train, Eighth Avenue Express, Columbus Circle station, New
York City
The automatic doors slid open, ushering a gust of freezing air through the train. Verlaine zipped his