Angeline, p.22
Angeline, page 22
She draws a deep breath, closes her eyes, and prays.
“Help me. Come to me.”
She focuses with as much force and care as she can, and finally, she lets go, and there is a rushing sensation in her mind and a release of tension in her body, unlike anything she’s ever felt before.
Her legs and hands suddenly stop shaking.
Her mind lifts from itself.
Her body becomes weightless.
It is then she sees Father Matt as a child. A small boy with curly black hair in front of a red-faced mother—the mother with something in her hand, a stick or a pipe, the mother screaming, Stand up! Do as I say! A small boy with big brown eyes looking scared, backing into corners. A small boy wiping his own tears. A mother screaming, Don’t be such a baby. A small boy standing silent in a doorway, waving goodbye to a father who doesn’t turn around, who never returns, who leaves him behind with the mother.
A small boy
who becomes a man
who becomes a weapon.
It is then the force within her transforms to the familiar, the white-hot heat flooding her eyes and body, the thrumming pulse in her ears, the surge of light into her fingers, and again, as with Anu, she can feel the blood slow and the skin around the wound close, and her eyes calm, begin to open, and now her hands lift from the healed wound, the flame inside subsiding until the fire is extinguished.
Father Matt opens his eyes, bewildered and stunned, but understanding something consequential has happened. With effort he brings his hand up and touches the place where Anu punctured the vein. The place that is now covered with a soft, new skin. When he doesn’t find the hole, he moves his fingers around in wider and wider circles, his brows wrinkling together, as if maybe he has the location wrong. His fingers go back to the wound, and he touches the skin again.
He looks at her, openmouthed. His eyes well up.
For a long time, he is completely silent, his eyes looking intently into hers.
“Forgive me,” he says finally, in a thin rasp, and his head drops, and he begins to weep, repeating over and over, “Forgive me,” his tears falling into the pool of blood.
Sister Angeline stays on her knees, one hand holding the other, too exhausted, too numb to feel, not yet completely present in her body, and she watches him weep until he falls asleep.
She crawls back to Anu then and lays her head on the dog’s chest and breathes in the rhythm of her pulse until she, too, is asleep.
She dreams.
She dreams her family is still alive. She dreams her father is sitting on a stool in front of her, playing random chords on his guitar, and telling her stories about stars and planets and sea creatures. She dreams her mother is teaching her to catch light in a jar and Ricky is pretending to be a famous ballet dancer. She dreams of reading Rilke with Jonathan on the old sofa in his garage.
She dreams of her baby kicking, the tiny bones of her infant feet making reverberations inside her.
But then the softness of the dream shifts, and it is the day of her family’s memorial, and the sun shines too brightly, and her aunt feeds her painkillers in a car. And then she limps with a cane alone across a grassy field to the large gathering. The grass is too green, too velvety, and she keeps slipping, keeps falling. No one sees her fall. No one sees her get up.
Strange men lower the three caskets into three different black holes—seven feet, six feet, five feet. The penetrating smell of fresh earth suffocating her.
Her little brother’s child casket in a black hole between her mother’s and father’s. The priest murmuring, May the Lord bless and watch over Phillip and Mary and Ricky and give them peace, as he sprinkles holy water on the caskets, each drop suspended like a sunlit jewel.
Strangers drop colorful flowers like bright songs into the black holes, flowers she can’t identify, and someone gives her a yellow flower to throw into her brother’s, and the yellow flower has a thorn and draws red, and she flings the flower into the blue and watches it grow wings and fly away.
In the dream she doesn’t cry. Maybe it’s the fog of Tramadol, but she just stands there, thinking about why the baby doesn’t have a casket or a name.
There is a banging now, a relentless banging, and she struggles to open her eyes.
“Hello? Father Matt? It’s me, Sheriff Ferguson. I’d like to talk to you.”
Sister Angeline blinks into the dark. Only a few candles still burn, barely illuminating the space, casting shadows like so many tongues. Father Matt’s eyes are wide and fearful, looking in the direction of the sheriff’s voice, but he doesn’t make any effort to talk or move.
“Anyone in there?” the sheriff calls. And when there is no reply, he pushes through the door, another police officer behind him, both with their guns extended in front of them. Both making wide sweeps with their flashlights, the beams of light exposing the spills of blood, Matt slumped against the wall, and Sister Angeline still lying on Anu.
And now behind them, Gina, Collin, and Liam. The three immediately rushing to Sister Angeline, helping her into a sitting position.
“Oh my God, what are you doing here?” Gina says. And then, “Oh my God, you’ve been shot!” and she is moving her hand around Sister Angeline’s body, feeling for an entry wound.
Sister Angeline shaking her head slowly, No, no, I haven’t been shot, but looking down at herself, her new white T-shirt completely soaked with blood. “It’s— The blood isn’t mine,” she murmurs, her head so murky.
“Sister Angeline.” It is Collin. He is kneeling in front of her. He gently takes each of her wrists into his warm hands. She is shivering, and he takes off his jacket and wraps it around her shoulders. He is wearing his EMT shirt, and for a moment she is mesmerized by the badge on his pocket—a blue star with a serpent coiled around a staff in the center of it.
“You all right?” he says, and then, “My God, what happened?”
Before she can respond, Liam says, “D . . . d . . . dad, l . . . l . . . look.”
Liam is pointing to the wide-open gun cabinet, the sheriff taping a yellow crime-scene strip across it.
Suddenly, Sister Angeline, too weak to keep her eyes open, slips the room, swimming
with
photos
guns
serpents
bodies
rosaries
and now someone murmuring, But why is there so much blood?
Chapter
Fifty
Sister Angeline wakes up to morning prayer bells. She is in her own bed, but she is not alone. Alice, Edith, Sigrid, Gina, and Kamika are gathered in chairs around her, their eyes closed, praying the Rosary in Latin.
Sister Angeline disoriented, confused about why she’s in bed, why the Sisters are in her room, praying. Images are coming back to her—the carved hawk, the cabin, the unspeakable photos, the cabinet of guns, Father Matt, the gunshot—Anu! She leaps up, calling Anu’s name.
And now here is the sweet creature, paws on the bed, and Edith and Gina help her up, and soon she is licking Sister Angeline’s face with enthusiasm.
“You’re okay, you’re okay!” Sister Angeline repeats, hugging the dog tight, and when she can, when Anu has curled into her side, her fingers search for and find the spot where the bullet entered. The spot warm with a new skin. The skin so warm the heat flows up her arm, into her chest, her neck, her face, forms tears in her eyes.
“She’s more than okay,” Kamika says, sitting on the edge of the bed—all the women are now. “You saved her life. It’s like nothing bad ever happened to her.”
“You saved Matt’s life too,” Sigrid says. “If you had any doubts about your gift for healing, I hope this will clear them up.”
For a moment Sister Angeline says nothing, the intensity of what happened in the cabin severe beneath her skin. The heat of touching Father Matt’s wound, the way her body wouldn’t respond, even though she prayed, her prayers denied, and then her body finally opening. Her heart suddenly pounding, and her mouth asking, “Where is he now—Father Matt?”
“He’s in jail,” Sigrid says. “They found the guns. Found the photos. Took reports from Lisa, who told them of three other women on the island he’d been assaulting.”
“Are you okay?” Gina asks, her huge brown eyes more alive again. “You’ve been asleep for two days, and I was really beginning to worry and I’m so sorry, this was all my fault.”
“What—what was your fault?” Sister Angeline says.
“I lied to you,” Gina says, “about meeting Matt on Saturday—he wanted to meet on Thursday, today—and I should have told you the whole truth when we talked. I should have been brave enough to ask for help then and not told you to keep it secret; I was just so worried the truth would put all of you at risk. But then while I was painting on Tuesday, I became so furious about him trying to control me, and I knew the sheriff was interviewing people on the island, and so I called him—the sheriff. Said I wanted to talk to him. I was so upset. I rushed to meet him so I wouldn’t change my mind. I met him at Collin’s and told him everything, but I didn’t think to tell you first, didn’t think you would go . . .” Gina weaves her rosary beads between the fingers of both her hands, in and out, in and out, until her hands are completely bound together, the silver cross hidden between her palms.
“It’s okay,” Sister Angeline interrupts, reaches out, and folds her hands over Gina’s. “It’s okay,” she says again, and in this moment she realizes she is telling herself as well. It’s okay she felt the rage. Who would she be if she hadn’t felt the rage?
Gina closes her eyes for a long moment, then opens them, tears appearing. “I was just so scared. But I’m sorry for lying, and if I had listened to you from the beginning, this would never have happened.”
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Sister Angeline says, her own eyes watering now.
“And we’re grateful you are safe,” Sigrid says, grabbing a box of Kleenex and passing it to Sister Angeline.
“Collin brought you home in the ambulance,” Edith says. “You were completely passed out. You’re—lucky to be alive. Not sure going to that cabin was the smartest move you ever made.”
It is then Sister Angeline realizes Edith is dressed differently. She’s not wearing her veil or her habit. She’s wearing a sage green cardigan with a brown corduroy skirt, and her short reddish-white hair is brushed into lovely waves.
Edith sees her noticing and says, “I brought you an outfit too. Couldn’t get the blood out of your clothes. Had to toss ’em.” She nods her head to a chair, where a pale blue sweater and a jean skirt lie.
The idea of wearing regular clothes is still new for Sister Angeline, and for a moment she’s startled, feels a profound pang in her stomach, thinking of her habit hanging in the back of her closet, but then she thinks that even in ordinary clothes, she is still a nun.
“Thank you,” she says. “And Edith? You look beautiful.”
Edith waves the comment away with a swish of her hand, but Sister Angeline can see by the flush in her cheeks, she’s pleased.
“The sheriff said Matt told everyone what happened,” Kamika says. “Everything. He admitted to killing the animals and leaving the threatening notes. All of it.”
Sister Angeline takes a deep breath and nods. She’d known he would confess the moment he’d begun to weep. She’d watched something change in him, something passing between shadow and light, an awareness of the child within him crying out to be loved.
“And we got a call from the archdiocese,” Edith says. “From the archbishop himself, la-di-da. Told us Matt’s been relieved from his priestly duties and will be receiving psychiatric help.” She rolls her eyes. “As if,” she says.
“But now people know about the healing,” Sister Angeline says. “What about—”
Alice reaches for her hand and holds it.
In her eyes: infinite tenderness.
In her eyes: love deeply rooted.
“You only have to do what you can,” Sigrid says, “what you’re able to. We’ve got this. You’ve got this, Sister Angeline. We’re here for you.”
“Thank you,” she says, and she looks around at the group. How she loves these women. “And it’s Angeline, please just call me Angeline.”
Chapter
Fifty-One
That night, she stands outside in her nightgown. It is snowing lightly. She stretches out her hands, catching the white flakes. The snow is clean and delicate and touches her hair like tiny doves, and she throws back her head, and the snow melts on her lips, and she feels alive. It is here where she most wants to be. And looking into the sky, the snow melting on her lashes, she realizes the ones she loves will never be gone from her. They will forever be held in sky and ocean
together.
And now here is her baby floating above her, and Sister Angeline reaches for her and holds her in her arms, the slight perfect weight of her, and she brings her close to her breast and strokes the silken blond hair.
My baby, my love, she whispers, and she hears the ocean calling, Hana, Hana, Hana, and Angeline says, Yes, that is her name, and she knows Hana means little flower, and she knows it’s time to let the baby go.
It is then she becomes fully aware of how temporary bodies are, and in thinking this, a tremendous sadness is lifted, and she releases the infant with joy into a light laced with
stars.
Epilogue
Sister Josephine lived in Michigan with her family for a year before writing to Sigrid and requesting to live at Light of the Sea. Working by the quiet of the sea, she wrote essays about her experiences at Tuam, contributing to a growing body of work on the subject. With Lisa’s help, she opened a safe house for victims of domestic abuse. She continued to be a close confidant to Angeline and a cherished member of the community until her death at the age of ninety-six.
Sigrid continued organizing protests for five years before she succumbed in 2021, during the global pandemic, to COVID-19. She passed into the stars, surrounded by her Sisters singing to her and praying for a peaceful transition. Sigrid left behind seventy years of striving for equality and guiding others to live kindly with each other and the earth.
Gina became the second prioress of Light of the Sea, leading the Sunday gatherings after Sigrid’s passing. She began to sell her paintings in galleries along the West Coast, bringing financial stability to the convent. Her only venture into sculpting, she created a modern representation of the beloved seal. The piece is installed on the rock she died upon as a memorial and reminder that cruel acts happen in this world and must be overwhelmed with acts of love.
Edith’s skill as an engineer and her passion for sustainable living served her well as she strived to make Beckett Island 100 percent energy independent. She obtained a grant from the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation to install solar and wind energy that eventually met the needs of the entire island. Edith also managed Sister Angeline’s healing practice with skill and an adequate amount of grace under pressure.
Alice lived to be ninety-three years old. She led an initiative in Washington State that provided landmark support to victims of violence and unprecedented protections from gun violence. The legislation was named Talik’s Law.
Kamika remained at the convent and organized funding to purchase and renovate the defunct St. Paul’s Church. She turned the building into the St. Francis Creative Arts Academy, where she taught music and Middle Eastern culinary arts, Gina taught visual arts and Tai Chi, and Edith lectured on engineering and sustainability. Kamika has yet to find her mother.
Collin continued to live on his tugboat and provide EMT services on the island, eventually setting up an all-island clinic for outpatients needing medical treatment or advice. He often called upon Angeline for her healing, and they remained the closest of friends. He became an artist as well, sculpting intricate metal gates and fences featuring madrona trees. One of his gates was installed in New York City at the First Responder Memorial. He donated it in the name of his wife, Claire.
Liam went on to study political science at Georgetown University. Though he lost his first run for Congress, he succeeded in his second attempt. He plans to return to Washington State and run for governor. Liam and his husband, Mark, purchased a houseboat close to Collin’s and stay there whenever they return for visits.
Sherriff Ferguson retired soon after Matt was arrested. He began to regularly attend the Light of the Sea services. Before he died several years later, he asked that Sigrid perform his memorial, which she did, graciously.
Amelia and Jack were adopted by a loving civil rights lawyer and her husband. Jack excelled at athletics and was signed by the Seattle Mariners, where he played first base. Amelia, inspired by her adoptive mother, became an attorney, graduating from University of Washington School of Law and joining her mother’s office as a civil rights attorney. She named her first daughter Angeline.
Father Matt was laicized by the Catholic Church. Convicted of twenty-three counts of sexual assault and six counts of rape, he was sentenced to thirteen consecutive terms, totaling 111 years. He was forever altered by the night at the cabin, witnessing two miracles, one of which saved his life. While in prison, he wrote a screenplay called Father, which was made into a highly publicized film. He donated all his earnings to Light of the Sea convent. He died in prison with sixty-six years remaining on his sentence.
The cabin Father Matt used was left to decay, becoming the home of any wild creature who wandered in. When the roof fell and the walls buckled, the Sisters gathered to remember the pain and to celebrate the love and courage that intervened, then burned the remnants of the structure to the ground, sending prayers of thanks and celebration into the smoke.
