Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno 2)

She couldn’t help smiling. “He gave me a stuffed Holstein and a pair of Dante and Beatrice figurines.”

Gabriel’s face manifested a look of intense perplexity. “Figurines?” His mouth widened into a provocative smile. “Don’t you mean action figures?”

“Figurines, action figures. Whatever.”

“Are they anatomically correct?”

“Now who’s being a child?”

He reached over to trace the curve of her cheek. “I was just wondering what kind of action they were capable of participating in—privately, of course.”

“Dante would be rolling over in his grave.”

“We could re-enact that event by taking Paul’s action figure and burying it in the back yard. But I’d like to keep Beatrice.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Julia couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you for my presents. And thank you for taking me to Italy, which was the best present of all.”

“You’re welcome.” He cupped her face in his hands and searched her eyes for a moment before pressing their lips together.

What started as a shy, closed mouth kiss quickly escalated until feverish, needy hands pulled and grasped at one another. Julia stood on tiptoes, pressing against his naked chest. Gabriel groaned with frustration and gently pushed himself back. He moved his glasses so he could rub his eyes.

“I’d rather continue what we were just doing, but Richard wants us to go to church.”

“Good.”

Gabriel replaced his glasses. “Wouldn’t a nice Catholic girl like you prefer to go to Mass?”

“It’s the same God. I’ve gone to church with your family before.” Julia searched his expression. “Don’t you want to go?”

“Church is not the place for me.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t gone in years. They’ll…judge me.”

She looked up at him in earnest. “We’re all sinners. If only non-sinners went to church, the churches would be empty. And I doubt very much that the people in Richard’s church will judge you. Episcopalians are very welcoming.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared into the bedroom to lay out her clothes. He followed her into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, watching her rifle through the hangers in the closet.

“Why do you still believe in God? Aren’t you angry with him for all of the things that happened to you?”

Julia paused what she was doing in order to regard him. He looked very unhappy.

“Bad things happen to everyone. Why should my life be any different?”

“Because you’re good.”

She looked at her hands. “The universe isn’t based on magic—there isn’t one set of circumstances for the good and one for the evil. Everyone suffers sometime. The question is what you do with your suffering, right?”

He gazed at her impassively.

She continued. “Maybe the world would be a lot worse if God didn’t exist.”

He cursed softly, but didn’t argue.

She sat next to him on the bed. “Did you ever read The Brothers Karamazov?”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“Then you know the conversation between Alyosha, the priest, and his brother Ivan.”

Gabriel snickered, but not unkindly. “I suppose I’m the rebellious free thinker, and you’re the religious boy?”

Julia ignored him. “Ivan gives Alyosha a list of reasons why either God doesn’t exist or if he exists, that he’s a monster. It’s a very powerful discussion, and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it.

“But remember how Ivan ends his discussion. He says he rejects God’s creation, this world, and yet, there’s one aspect of the world that he finds surprisingly beautiful—the sticky little leaves he sees on the trees in the spring. He loves them even though he hates the world around them.

“The sticky little leaves aren’t faith or salvation. They’re the remnant of hope. They stave off his despair, demonstrating that despite the evil he has seen, there is at least one good and beautiful thing left.”

She moved so she could see Gabriel’s expression more clearly, and very tenderly, she placed a hand on either side of his face. “Gabriel, what are your sticky little leaves?”

Her question took him entirely by surprise. So much so he simply sat there, staring at the pretty brunette in front of him. It was in moments like this that he remembered why he’d initially thought she was an angel. She had a compassion about her that was rare in human beings. At least, in his experience.

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Mine was Grace. And you.” She smiled at him shyly. “And even before that, there were the Salvation Army workers back in St. Louis who were kind to me when my mother wasn’t. They gave me a reason to believe.”

“But what about the suffering of the innocent? Of children?” Gabriel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What about the babies?”

“I don’t know why babies die. I wish they didn’t.” Julia wore a grave expression.

“But what’s wrong with the rest of us, Gabriel? Why do we allow people to abuse their children? Why don’t we defend the sick and the weak? Why do we let soldiers round up our neighbors and make them wear a star on their clothing and cram them into boxcars? It isn’t God who’s evil—it’s us.

“Everyone wants to know where evil comes from and why the world is riddled with it. Why doesn’t anyone ask where goodness comes from? Human beings have a tremendous capacity for cruelty. Why is there any goodness at all? Why are people like Grace and Richard so kind? Because there’s a God, and he hasn’t allowed the earth to be entirely corrupted. There are sticky little leaves, if you look for them. And when you recognize them, you can feel his presence.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, drinking in her words with her touch, knowing in his heart that she had spoken a very deep, very profound truth.

Try as he might, he could never stop believing; even in his darkest days the light had not gone out. He’d had the guidance of Grace, and providentially, when she died, he met his Beatrice again, and she’d shown him the rest of the way.

He kissed her chastely, and when she left him to shower, he marveled at her quiet brilliance. She was far more intelligent than he, since her intellect was marked with a true creative originality that he only dreamed of having. Despite everything that had happened to her, she had not lost faith or hope or charity.

She is not my equal; she is my better.

She is my sticky little leaf.

* * *

An hour later Julia and Gabriel drove to All Saints Episcopal Church. Gabriel wore a black suit and white shirt, proudly displaying Julia’s cufflinks, while she wore a plum-colored dress that skimmed the bottom of her knees, and tall black boots that he’d purchased for her in Florence.

A sea of awkwardness. That’s how Gabriel would have described the atmosphere as he sat with Julianne at the end of the family pew.

He was grateful for the liturgy, the order, and the way in which Scripture and music were used in the service. He found himself contemplating his life and the steps that led him to the beautiful woman who held his hand throughout the service.

Christmas was a celebration of birth—one birth in particular. All around him he saw babies and children: the manger scene at the front of the church, the banners and stained glass windows, and the glowing skin of the pregnant woman who was seated across the aisle.

In one brief moment, Gabriel realized that he regretted his sterilization, not just for himself and the fact that he was no longer able to father a child, but also for Julianne. He imagined lying in bed with a very pregnant Julia and placing his hand on her stomach in order to feel their child kick. He thought about holding their infant son in his arms, shocked by the array of dark hair on his head.

His imaginings startled him. They marked a shift in character and priority, away from the guilt and selfishness that had marked his life up until the reappearance of his Beatrice. A shift toward the permanence of a commitment to a woman with whom he wanted to create a family, with whom he wanted to create a child. His love for Julianne had changed him in multiple ways. He hadn’t been aware of how dramatic the changes were until he gazed at the pregnant stranger with a kind of wistful envy.

Those were the thoughts that occupied his mind as he held Julianne’s hand until it was time to participate in the Eucharist. He was the only one in the family pew who didn’t stand and file to the center aisle in order to walk to the communion rail.

There was something comforting about church, he thought. Although he found the overall experience, especially the homily, convicting. He had wasted a good deal of his life—years that he could never get back.

He hadn’t told Grace the things he’d wanted to tell her before she died. He hadn’t treated Paulina or Julianne with the dignity that they deserved. He hadn’t treated any of the women with whom he’d been involved with respect.

In thinking of Paulina, Gabriel tore his eyes away from the dark haired woman in the pretty plum dress and hung his head, praying almost unconsciously for forgiveness and also for guidance. He was walking a tightrope, he knew, between taking responsibility for his past indiscretions and eliminating Paulina’s dependence on him. He prayed that she would be able to find someone who would love her and help her put the past behind her.