~by Catherine Thompson~

On her way from the chapel after Lauds, Gia heard someone crying. Curious, she changed course, veering away from the refectory, and followed the sound to the alms-gate in the protective wall that surrounded the Abbey of St. Bridget. By the gatepost, almost hidden by tall grass and a broad-leafed dock plant, lay a willow basket, half rotted with age. The crying rose in pitch as Gia parted the plants, then stopped abruptly. The young novice gaped. "Blessed Mother!" she whispered.

She knelt by the basket and its cargo, a small infant wrapped in a blue blanket. "Where did you come from, little one?" she asked. The baby snuffled. Tears stained its round cheeks; more were ready to spill from the grey-blue eyes that peered so intently at her. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Gia!" The voice startled the novice, and she straightened, fanning the skirts of her grey habit so that the basket was hidden. She saw another novice approaching and sighed in relief. "You gave me an awful fright, Maggie," she said. "I thought you were Sister Assumpta."

"She'll be coming next if you don't get yourself to the refectory for breakfast," replied Maggie, brushing her auburn hair out of her face. "What're you doing out here, anyway?"

"I was watching the sunrise, and I heard a noise," Gia explained, "so I came to see what it was, and--" She stepped to one side. Maggie looked into the basket. "Gia, that's a baby!"

"I know it's a baby, Maggie."

"Where'd it come from?"

"I don't know. It was just here, crying."

As if on cue, the baby started to wail again. Maggie scooped the infant out of the basket, making hushing noises. "What're we going to do?" Gia continued, raising her voice over the baby's crying.

"We're going to find her some milk--poor thing's starving." With that, Maggie put the baby in Gia's arms. "You stay here." She hurried off towards the abbey's dairy.

"That's not what I meant!" Gia called after her friend. Sighing, she sat down by the gatepost. "Well, that's Maggie," she said, looking at the baby, who had ceased to cry for the moment.

By the time Maggie returned, the baby had begun crying once more. Maggie sat beside them. "Here, give her to me," she said. She produced a small waterskin fitted with a thin leather teat. "I saw Sister Frances use one to nurse the orphaned calf. Not the same one," she added when Gia made a face. "This one's clean."

"How d'you know it's a girl?" Gia asked, handing over the baby. "You keep calling the baby 'she'."

"She looks like a girl," Maggie said. "Don't look so sceptical, Gia. I've seen plenty of babies to tell."

"You're only fourteen, same as me," Gia scoffed. "I can't tell."

"I've three younger sisters and two younger brothers, which you don't," Maggie retorted. "Trust me. She's a girl."

"I suppose we'll know soon enough," replied Gia, nodding towards the baby's bottom. Maggie wrinkled her nose. "Well, she's clean for now."

Gia combed her black hair off her face with her fingers. "What'll we do, Maggie?" she asked again. She looked at her friend. Maggie wore a puzzled frown. "We can't take care of an infant," Gia explained.

"Of course we can." Maggie laid the baby against her shoulder and rubbed its--her--back. "We are right now."

"Don't be deliberately thick, Maggie," Gia said. "You know we'll have to tell one of the sisters."

"Not Assumpta," Maggie declared in a fierce tone, her blue eyes flashing.

"She is in charge of us novices." Maggie just shook her head. "Well, then, what about Mother Augustine?"

"We'd never get to see her," Maggie said. The baby let out a loud belch. "That's a girl!" The novice offered her the milk-filled waterskin. The baby latched onto the teat as if she thought she'd never see food again. "Poor little lamb," Maggie murmured. "How long d'you suppose she's been out here?"

Gia shrugged. "Maybe an hour--certainly not much longer. Her crying would've roused someone."

"So whoever left her did it just before Lauds," Maggie said. As she spoke, the abbey's bell tolled. Both novices looked up in dismay. "Terce already!" Gia said. "We've missed breakfast."

"Never mind that! We've got to put the little one someplace safe." Maggie scrambled to her feet, cradling the infant against her chest, and ran towards the dormitory, her skirts clutched in her free hand. Gia paused long enough to gather the basket before following.

They hurried into the building, their rapid footsteps echoing along the corridor. Maggie pushed through the door into her tiny, stone-walled room. "Give me the basket," she said. Gia handed it to her. Maggie wedged it into a corner of the bed by the wall, then tucked the baby back under her blanket. "Let's go, before we're missed," she said, grabbing Gia's hand and racing for the chapel.

~*~

Gia watched Maggie change the baby, using her clean handkerchief in place of the soiled nappy. "Where are we going to find more nappies?"

"The orphanage," Maggie said. "There you are, love." She laid the infant in her basket. The baby gurgled and waved a tiny fist. "I can sneak some out of the laundry," the novice continued. "Sneak the dirty ones into the laundry, too." She smiled.

Gia joined her on the bed. "D'you really think we can keep her a secret?"

"Not forever," Maggie admitted.

"Then why try at all?"

Maggie didn't answer her for a moment. "Whoever left her wanted someone to find her," she said at last. "They could've taken her to the orphanage--most anyone would. But instead they left her here." She looked at Gia. "I think God wants us to take care of her."

Gia couldn't have been more stunned if Mother Abbess had danced a jig at Sunday Mass. "Really?" she whispered. Maggie nodded. "It's a test, I think, for us alone."

"But surely God wouldn't want--I mean, we need help to do this, Maggie. We'll need nappies, and clothes--she'll outgrow these in no time--milk, and--"

Maggie chuckled. "Dear Gia, so practical! Don't worry."

Gia fell silent, feeling heat rise into her cheeks. "Oh, Gia, I didn't mean anything by that! That's your strength, you know. You plan, you look ahead. That's why God gave her to both of us," Maggie said. "We're a team." She touched her friend's shoulder. "I'm going to fetch some more milk. And," she added, carefully picking up the dirty nappy, "I'll get this into the laundry."

Maggie hadn't been gone long before the baby started to whimper and fret. Gia tried rocking the basket, but when that didn't work, she took the baby in her arms. "Shh, little lamb, hush," she whispered. "Maggie will be back soon." She paced the floor with the infant. The baby looked at her with wide, anxious eyes, then began sucking on her fist, still whimpering. Gia stroked the dark down that covered her head.

The door rattled behind her. "Thank heavens, Maggie," she said, turning, then she stopped with her mouth open. Two grey-habited novices stood in the doorway. "We met Maggie in the corridor," began Mary Margaret.

"She told us about the baby," Mary Catherine continued.

Gia shrank away a little as they entered. "It's all right, Gia," assured Mary Catherine, brushing her brown hair out of her face. "Maggie swore us to secrecy."

"She made us promise on her rosary," Mary Margaret said, shaking back pale curls. "Please, can we see her?"

Reluctantly, Gia let them gather around her. The two novices cooed over the infant, admiring her soft hair, her tiny fingers, her bright eyes. "What's her name?" asked Mary Catherine.

Gia shook her head. "She doesn't have one."

"The poor lamb!" exclaimed Mary Margaret. "Well, we'll just have to give her one."

They'd worked through the alphabet to the "C"s before Maggie returned with the milk. "Charity?" suggested Mary Margaret.

"Celeste," Mary Catherine countered.

"Carmelita."

"Chastity."

"Constance."

Maggie shook her head at each name. The baby lay in her arms, her belly full, eyelids drooping. Gia watched her yawn hugely and smiled, reminded of a kitten she'd had as a child. Kitten . . . cat . . . "Catalina," she whispered. The half-closed eyes opened at the name, then the baby drowsed again. "Catalina," Gia repeated, a little louder. The others stopped talking. "What did you say?" Maggie asked.

"Cat--Catalina," Gia stammered. "I just--she looked like a kitten when she yawned--it's a saint's name--"

Maggie put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "Gia, that's perfect! Our little lamb shall be called Catalina--Cat for short." She turned to the other two. "Now, we all have to pitch in to take care of her," she said. "I can handle the laundry, as that's my duty this week with Sister Helen. Kitty, you and Gia get nappies and clothes from the orphanage while you're working there."

"If we can sneak them past Sister Agnes," Mary Catherine said.

"Peg, you keep us supplied with milk from the dairy--Sister Frances won't notice," Maggie instructed Mary Margaret, who nodded. "And don't tell anyone, especially not Imogen."

Gia shuddered at the thought. "Saints above," she said. "If Imogen finds out, she'll go straight to Sister Assumpta."

"And Cat will go straight to the orphanage," Maggie added. "So no-one else can know."

Despite their attempts at secrecy, word still got out among the novices, all of whom offered to help with the baby's care. Many of the girls wanted nothing more than to hold and play with Catalina. Maggie tried to discourage them from congregating in her room, but it soon became clear to anyone who cared to observe that there was something of intense interest in that cell.

Nearly a week after she'd found the baby, Gia was walking along the corridor to Maggie's room to relieve Ardyth, who'd been watching Catalina. Finding the door ajar, Gia fumed quietly, ready to take the youngest of the novices to task. "Ardyth, never, ever leave the door open, even a little," she said, pushing into the room. "What if Imogen or Sister Assumpta--" She broke off. Ardyth stood in a corner of the cell, trembling, while Imogen bent over Cat's basket. The baby started to wail as Gia walked through the door. Imogen looked up, an expression of triumph on her round face.

"No," Gia whispered.

Imogen smirked. "Oh, yes," she responded. "Sister will be very interested in this."

Gia grabbed her as Imogen tried to push past. "Immy, no, please!" she cried. "Ardyth, help me!" Catalina's wails increased in volume. Ardyth stood as if her feet had been mortared to the flagstones. "Immy, please, she's just a baby! Assumpta will put her in the orphanage," Gia pleaded.

Imogen's lip twisted in a sneer. "If that's where she belongs--" The novice broke free and ran into the corridor.

"Sweet St. Bridget, help us!" Gia whispered. She hurried to the basket, lifting Catalina out of her nest. "Shh, shh, hush, lambkin," she soothed, rubbing the small, shuddering back as she cradled the baby against her shoulder. "What happened, Ardyth?"

"I-Imogen c-came in when I s-stepped out to use the--the loo," Ardyth stammered, still shaking. "S-she was h-here w-w-when I got back. I was only gone a moment, Gia, I swear!"

"What's going on?" Both novices turned as Maggie entered. Gia quickly explained. Maggie swore, using words Gia hadn't known existed. "Hurry, before Immy fetches Assumpta here," she said, gathering Catalina's things.

"What'll we do?" Gia asked.

"Hide her," Maggie replied.

"Where?"

"Anywhere--in the dairy, in the loo--we'll take her to the river and hide her in the bulrushes, but we'll hide her! C'mon." Maggie hustled Gia out the door. "When they get here, Ardyth, stall them. Don't let them follow us."

Gia and Maggie had almost reached the cloister-walk when they heard Imogen's voice behind them: "There they are, Sister!"

Maggie grabbed Gia by the shoulders and turned her. "The night-stairs," she muttered, her voice urgent. "Get to the chapel." She gave Gia a shove. "Go!"

Gia ran full-tilt down the corridor. She could hear Maggie loudly denying Imogen's accusations, doing her best to hinder her and Sister Assumpta, as she shut the night-stairs door behind her.

The only light in the stairwell came from a window high above; the torches used at the early and late services rested unlit in their sconces. Gia felt her way along the narrow passageway that led from the stairs to the chapel, glad that Maggie's cell was on the ground floor. Catalina made fretful noises in her arms. "It's all right, lamb," Gia assured the baby. "Just a little farther."

At last, her groping fingers found the door, and Gia entered the chapel, blinking in the multi-coloured light that streamed through the stained-glass windows. She paused for breath, her back against the door. "What do we do now, Cat?" she murmured, absently rocking the baby. "Stay here, or try to make a break for somewhere else?"

"You could claim sanctuary, dear."

With a startled gasp, Gia spun to see a spare, straight figure. "Mother Abbess!"

Mother Augustine stood in the chancel, a garden trug full of cut flowers over one arm. "Goodness me, dear--it's Giavanna, isn't it?--I didn't mean to alarm you. It was only a joke. Why, whatever is the matter?" she asked, for Gia had begun to sob. "And who is this sweet child?" She smiled at Catalina. "Come, dear, sit and tell me."

Gia shook her head. "I can't, Mother--Sister Assumpta's right behind me--she wants to take Cat from us!"

No sooner had she spoken than Sister Assumpta and Imogen burst into the chapel, Maggie close on their heels. "Giavanna!" the nun snapped. "Bring that infant to me immediately!" She paused upon seeing the abbess. "Mother Augustine." She bowed her head.

"Assumpta." The abbess nodded back. "Giavanna was just going to tell me about this adorable little lamb." She motioned to the front pew, an invitation that clearly wasn't.

Assumpta glared down her hawklike nose at the novice, but moved to take a seat. Imogen followed like her shadow. Maggie joined Gia. "Is she all right?" she asked, parting the blanket wrapped around Catalina with her fingers. Gia gave her friend a shaky smile. "Right as rain."

"Now, Giavanna," said Mother Augustine, "tell me how you came to be guardian of the baby." When Maggie opened her mouth to reply, the abbess interjected, "Dear, come sit by me." She patted a spot beside her. Casting a wry glance at Gia, Maggie obeyed.

Looking at the faces before her, Gia drew a deep breath and, focusing on the abbess' mild blue eyes, began her story. When she had finished, Mother Augustine held out a hand. "Bring her to me, dear."

Swallowing hard, Gia carried Catalina to the abbess, sitting beside her when bidden. The abbess smiled at the baby, who gazed back with a solemn expression. "Well, dear, you and the other novices seem to have taken quite good care of little--Catalina, you named her?" Gia nodded. "I see no reason to place her in the orphanage. I agree that whoever left her could just as easily have taken her there himself. She was brought to us for a purpose, and she shall remain with us."

Gia looked at Maggie, hardly daring to believe her ears. Maggie grinned at her.

"But, Mother Abbess," Assumpta protested. Mother Augustine raised a hand to silence her. "My decision is made, Sister. Catalina shall be raised here, by the grace of God and St. Bridget." She rose; the others followed suit. "I shall make arrangements for Father Abbot to baptize her this coming Sunday." She smiled. "Come, my dears. There is much to do." The abbess started for the outside door, then paused. "Sister Assumpta, would you be so kind," she said, handing the blossom-filled trug to the nun. "In all the excitement, I nearly forgot I'd come in to change the altar flowers . . ."

Outside, Gia paused to gaze down at the infant she held. "Did you hear, Cat? You can stay with us," she said.

"And you'll never have to leave," Maggie added, standing by her friend's shoulder. Catalina looked from one to the other, then yawned and closed her eyes.

© Catherine Thompson, 2002. All rights reserved.

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