about her neck and placed it carefully on the paper, the golden chain trailing behind it like the glimmering tail of a meteor. Her mother’s necklace was the twin of the golden seal.
From her pocket Evangeline removed the letter she had found in the archives, the 1943 missive from Abigail Rockefeller to Mother Innocenta, and placed it on the table. She did not understand the connection between the seal and the necklace, and the chance that Verlaine might know suddenly made her anxious to share her discovery with him.
“What’s this?” Verlaine asked, picking it up.
“Perhaps you can tell me.”
But as Verlaine opened the crinkled paper and scanned the lines of the letter, Evangeline suddenly doubted herself. Recalling Sister Philomena’s warning, she wondered if perhaps she truly was betraying her order by sharing such a document with an outsider. She had the sinking feeling that she was making a grave mistake. Yet, she merely watched him with growing anticipation as he read the paper.
“This letter confirms the relationship between Innocenta and Abigail Rockefeller,” Verlaine said at last. “Where did you find it?”
“I spent some time in the archive this morning after I read your request. There was no doubt in my mind that you were wrong about Mother Innocenta. I was certain that no such connection existed. I doubted that there would be anything at all relating to a secular woman like Mrs. Rockefeller in our archives, let alone a document that confirmed the correspondence—it is simply extraordinary that physical evidence would remain. In fact, I went into the archive to prove that you were wrong.”
Verlaine’s gaze remained fixed upon the letter, and Evangeline wondered if he’d heard a word she’d said. Finally he took a scrap of paper from his pocket and wrote his telephone number on it. “You said you found only one letter from Abigail Rockefeller?”
“Yes,” Evangeline said. “The letter you just read.”
“And yet all of the letters from Innocenta to Abigail Rockefeller were responses. That means there are three, perhaps four, Rockefeller letters somewhere in your archive.”
“You honestly believe we could have overlooked such letters?”
Verlaine gave her his telephone number. “If you find anything, would you call me?”
Evangeline took the paper and looked at it. She did not know what to tell him. It would be impossible for her to call him, even if she were to find what he was looking for. “I’ll try,” she said at last.
“Thanks,” Verlaine said, gazing at her with gratitude. “In the meantime, do you mind if I make a photocopy of this one?”
Evangeline picked up her necklace, refastened it about her neck, and led Verlaine to the library door. “Come with me.”
Escorting Verlaine into Philomena’s office, Evangeline removed a leaf of St. Rose stationery from a stack and gave it to Verlaine. “You may transcribe it onto this,” she said.
Verlaine took a pen and got to work. After he’d copied the original and returned it to Evangeline, she could detect that he wished to ask her something. She had known him all of ten minutes, and yet she could understand the turn his mind had taken. At last he asked, “Where did this stationery come from?”
Evangeline lifted another sheet of the thick pink paper from the stack next to Philomena’s desk and held it between her fingers. The top section of the stationery was filled with Baroque roses and angels, images she’d seen a thousand times before. “It’s just our standard stationery,” she said. “Why?”
“It is the same stationery that Innocenta used for her letters to Abigail Rockefeller,” Verlaine said, taking a clean sheet and examining it more closely. “How old is the design?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” Evangeline said. “But it must be nearly two hundred years old. The St. Rose crest was created by our founding abbess.”
“May I?” Verlaine said, taking a few pages of the stationery
From her pocket Evangeline removed the letter she had found in the archives, the 1943 missive from Abigail Rockefeller to Mother Innocenta, and placed it on the table. She did not understand the connection between the seal and the necklace, and the chance that Verlaine might know suddenly made her anxious to share her discovery with him.
“What’s this?” Verlaine asked, picking it up.
“Perhaps you can tell me.”
But as Verlaine opened the crinkled paper and scanned the lines of the letter, Evangeline suddenly doubted herself. Recalling Sister Philomena’s warning, she wondered if perhaps she truly was betraying her order by sharing such a document with an outsider. She had the sinking feeling that she was making a grave mistake. Yet, she merely watched him with growing anticipation as he read the paper.
“This letter confirms the relationship between Innocenta and Abigail Rockefeller,” Verlaine said at last. “Where did you find it?”
“I spent some time in the archive this morning after I read your request. There was no doubt in my mind that you were wrong about Mother Innocenta. I was certain that no such connection existed. I doubted that there would be anything at all relating to a secular woman like Mrs. Rockefeller in our archives, let alone a document that confirmed the correspondence—it is simply extraordinary that physical evidence would remain. In fact, I went into the archive to prove that you were wrong.”
Verlaine’s gaze remained fixed upon the letter, and Evangeline wondered if he’d heard a word she’d said. Finally he took a scrap of paper from his pocket and wrote his telephone number on it. “You said you found only one letter from Abigail Rockefeller?”
“Yes,” Evangeline said. “The letter you just read.”
“And yet all of the letters from Innocenta to Abigail Rockefeller were responses. That means there are three, perhaps four, Rockefeller letters somewhere in your archive.”
“You honestly believe we could have overlooked such letters?”
Verlaine gave her his telephone number. “If you find anything, would you call me?”
Evangeline took the paper and looked at it. She did not know what to tell him. It would be impossible for her to call him, even if she were to find what he was looking for. “I’ll try,” she said at last.
“Thanks,” Verlaine said, gazing at her with gratitude. “In the meantime, do you mind if I make a photocopy of this one?”
Evangeline picked up her necklace, refastened it about her neck, and led Verlaine to the library door. “Come with me.”
Escorting Verlaine into Philomena’s office, Evangeline removed a leaf of St. Rose stationery from a stack and gave it to Verlaine. “You may transcribe it onto this,” she said.
Verlaine took a pen and got to work. After he’d copied the original and returned it to Evangeline, she could detect that he wished to ask her something. She had known him all of ten minutes, and yet she could understand the turn his mind had taken. At last he asked, “Where did this stationery come from?”
Evangeline lifted another sheet of the thick pink paper from the stack next to Philomena’s desk and held it between her fingers. The top section of the stationery was filled with Baroque roses and angels, images she’d seen a thousand times before. “It’s just our standard stationery,” she said. “Why?”
“It is the same stationery that Innocenta used for her letters to Abigail Rockefeller,” Verlaine said, taking a clean sheet and examining it more closely. “How old is the design?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” Evangeline said. “But it must be nearly two hundred years old. The St. Rose crest was created by our founding abbess.”
“May I?” Verlaine said, taking a few pages of the stationery
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