I began to speak. “I come to you with a message of our Almighty’s boundless love….”
I did not hear myself. I didn’t know if I spoke loud enough; if I sounded powerful as a celestial being should or scratchy and hoarse like a girl in a robe that overwhelmed her, acting a part she’d not been assigned. None of it mattered. As I spread my arms in the flowing sleeves that hung over my bony wrists, I felt divine light emanate from me when I blessed Tobias, and the townspeople fell to their knees. I moved across the stage as though my wings were ablaze, a blinding halo of feathers drenched in holy flame.
I was no longer little Sarah Bernhardt, illegitimate daughter and unbaptized Jew.
I had become God’s divine messenger.
It was over in a minute. Or so it seemed to me. When the applause came crashing over us as we took our bows, I realized I was soaked in perspiration, pushing back my hair to find a damp, disheveled mass. I thought I must look anything but angelic.
Monseigneur was on his feet, clapping. So was Reverend Mother Sophie, her smile beaming approval, obliging everyone else in the audience to follow suit.
Elation filled me. That applause…it was like music to me.
Until I gazed out over the sea of faces and upraised hands and caught sight, with a leaden blow to my stomach, of my mother and Rosine. My aunt was clapping with pride.
Julie was immobile, her gloved hands stiff at her sides.
V
“My dear child, you were marvelous!” exclaimed Mère Sophie. As the other girls shed their costumes for their uniforms, eager to go into the hall to greet their parents, I stood as if immured by invisible walls. I scarcely heard the Reverend Mother until she touched my shoulder.
“My mother and aunt…they are here,” I said. I had wanted them to see me, to prove how accomplished I was, but in truth, I hadn’t believed they would actually arrive.
“Naturally, they are,” said Mère Sophie. “They’re waiting for you.” She set her palm on my forehead. “Oh, but you’re sopping wet. Come, you must remove this robe and—”
I stepped back, not sharply, but enough to detain her. “Mère Sophie, if you please, I would like to kiss Monseigneur’s ring.”
Her face lightened. “And so you shall. As soon as you’ve dressed, I’ll take you to him myself. But you must make haste. He prepares to depart as we speak.”
“We must go at once.” Without waiting for her response, I moved toward the hall. Behind me, she protested, “Sarah, you’re still in your costume,” but I wouldn’t wait, so she had to hasten after me, catching me by the elbow as I entered the hall and saw the archbishop in his cloak, smiling benevolently at the people surrounding him.
“What is this?” asked Mère Sophie. “Why such urgent need to greet Monseigneur?”
“I must have his blessing,” I replied, and the plea in my voice made her hesitate before she nodded.
“Very well. But just his blessing. We mustn’t delay him.”
As I walked to him, I was keenly aware of Julie and Rosine watching me from the edge of the crowd. I could feel my mother’s eyes boring into my back when I stepped before the archbishop. He shifted his regard to me. I sank to my knees.
He chuckled. “Whom do we have here? Is this our fierce archangel?”
“Monseigneur,” I said, with what I hoped was humble reverence. “I ask for your blessing. I was born a Jew, but I wish to be baptized and request that you be present to welcome me into our Holy Church.”
The archbishop looked taken aback. He turned to the Reverend Mother. “Is the child sincere in her devotion?”
Somewhat flustered, Mère Sophie replied, “She studies her catechism daily and is very devout. Perhaps next year, upon her twelfth birthday, she will be ready.”
Peeking up at him through my tangled hair, I found Monseigneur contemplating me. “Well, then. If she is ready, I shall give her my blessing and see her baptized.”
I grasped his hand, kissing his ring. “God save you, Monseigneur,” I whispered, and he smiled again, turning away. With a disconcerted glance at me, the Reverend Mother accompanied him out.
As I came to my feet, Julie and Tante Rosine walked up to me. My mother’s indignation fell upon me like an ax. “Have you gone mad, to make such a spectacle?”
Her mouth was pinched. She looked paler than usual, but she was magnificently dressed in blue taffeta, a cameo affixing her fichu over her high-necked bodice. She was also svelte, the corset outlining her waist disguising any sign of her suspected pregnancy. It surprised me, until I remembered that over two years had passed and, of course, she would have given birth by now, if she’d been with child.
Rosine anxiously kissed my cheek. She, too, appeared well groomed in a mauve gown with canary satin trim, her dark blond hair upswept in contrived ringlets. My heart missed a beat. Had Rosine joined the family profession? In my naïveté, I’d failed to realize that my aunt was twenty-two, several years younger than my mother, and she must have been expected to earn her keep after I’d been removed from her charge.
Posed behind them, each with a sardonic smile, were two gentlemen in frock coats, with gloves and top hats in hand.
I ignored them as I returned my mother’s stare. “Spectacle?” I said, pretending to misunderstand. “Monseigneur is our honored guest.”
“Never mind that,” snapped Julie. “Baptism is out of the question. I forbid it.”
“But you sent me here, to a convent. Isn’t this what you wanted?” I asked, taking satisfaction in the heated flush that spread across her face.
She looked about to explode in rage—a circumstance I found both frightening and curious—when footsteps hurrying toward us announced the return of Mère Sophie.
“You must forgive me,” the Reverend Mother said. “I had to see Monseigneur to his coach, but I am so pleased you could come. As you can see, madame, Sarah is excelling in her time with us here.”
“Yes,” said Julie dryly. “I do see. Too much so, it would seem.”
Mère Sophie patted my shoulder. “She can be overly enthusiastic, but she has such a generous heart. And significant artistic promise. You’ll find she is—”
“Reverend Mother,” cut in Julie, making me cringe. “Is there some place where we may speak in private?”
“Why, yes. My study. Only…” Mère Sophie glanced at the milling girls waiting to speak to her, most of whom, including Marie, were surrounded by their families.