The nurses’ expressions said it all.
There would be no happy reconciliation.
There would be no vision of Julia holding their child.
He’d lost her. As surely as Dante had lost Beatrice, he’d lost his beloved.
“I’ve failed you,” he whispered.
Hugging his daughter close to his chest, Gabriel cried.
Chapter Eighty-seven
As Gabriel sat, holding Spring Roll, time seemed to have no meaning. Images flashed before his eyes. He saw himself taking the baby home from the hospital. Feeding her in the middle of the night. Walking down the hall to the empty master bedroom.
He was so alone.
He’d loved one woman in his life. At first, he’d loved her like a pagan, eager to make her an idol and worship her. Then he’d recognized that some things were more important than his love for her—her happiness, for example.
In his mind’s eye he could see and hear her clutching his hand, whispering, “I don’t regret getting pregnant.”
She’d regret it now. He’d taken her life.
His shoulders shuddered as a sob overtook him.
His beautiful, sweet Julianne.
He had his cell phone but didn’t feel like talking to anyone. From the texts he’d received, he knew that Richard and Rachel would be arriving soon. Rebecca was readying the house for the guests and the baby. Kelly had texted to say that she’d ordered flowers and balloons, which were on their way to the hospital.
He hadn’t had the will to tell them Julianne was gone.
He stared at the face of his daughter, wondering how he was going to parent her alone. He’d relied on Julianne for so much. And ultimately, it was his selfishness that ended her life.
He was lost in his own grief and exhaustion when someone entered the room and stood before him. Once again his eyes focused on a pair of very ugly, sturdy shoes.
“Professor Emerson.”
He recognized the voice of Dr. Rubio and lifted his head.
She looked tired.
“I’m sorry about what happened. We had several emergencies all at once and I couldn’t get away. I’m sorry it took me so long to—”
“Can I see her?” Gabriel interrupted.
“Of course. But I just need to explain. Your wife—”
Gabriel couldn’t hear the doctor’s words. He was enveloped in pain. All his conversations with Julia about children flooded his mind.
This was his fault. He’d persuaded her to have a baby and then they’d gotten pregnant before she was ready.
He’d done this. He’d planted his child inside her, and the act had killed her.
He lowered his head despondently.
“Professor Emerson.”
Dr. Rubio came closer.
“Professor Emerson, are you all right?” Her lightly accented voice sounded at his ear. She muttered to herself in Spanish, words that Gabriel identified, but dimly.
“Can I see her?” he whispered.
“Of course.” Dr. Rubio gestured to the door. “I’m sorry someone didn’t come to get you earlier, but the nursing staff was overwhelmed.”
Gabriel slowly got to his feet, continuing to cradle his daughter in his arms.
Dr. Rubio directed him to place the baby in the bassinet, and then she wheeled the contraption in front of her.
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at his face, ignoring the initials that had been embroidered on it. It had been a gift from Julianne “just because.” She was like that—generous of spirit and generous of heart. How he wished he’d worn the Star of David she’d given to him as an anniversary present. Surely he could have derived some comfort from it.
Gabriel followed Dr. Rubio through a series of rooms, until they entered a very large space that had a number of hospital beds in it.
“Here she is.”
Gabriel stopped abruptly.
Julianne was lying in a hospital bed and a nurse was leaning over her, giving her an injection.
He could see her legs shift beneath the blanket. He could hear her moan.
He blinked rapidly, as if the tears in his eyes had caused a mirage.
He felt his body sway.
“Professor Emerson?” Dr. Rubio took hold of his elbow in an effort to steady him. “Are you all right?”
She called to the nurse and asked her to place a chair next to Julia’s bedside. They helped Gabriel to the chair and wheeled the bassinet so that it was next to him.
Someone pushed a plastic cup of water into his hand. He stared at it as if it were a foreign object.
Dr. Rubio’s voice, which had been hazy in his ear, suddenly became clear.
“As I said, your wife lost a lot of blood. We had to give her a transfusion. When I made the incision for the cesarean section, I encountered one of her fibroids, and unfortunately it bled quite a bit. We had to do some surgical repair afterward, which is why the procedure took so long.”
“Fibroids?” Gabriel repeated, his hand over his mouth.
“One of her fibroids was attached to the uterus right at the place where we make the incision. We stopped the bleeding and stitched her up, but it made the c-section more complicated than usual. Fortunately, Dr. Manganiello, the surgeon on call, scrubbed in. Your wife is going to be fine.” She placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “And there doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage to her uterus. She’ll be waking up soon but she’ll be woozy. We’ll be giving her medication to control the pain. I’ll check on her tomorrow during my rounds. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. She’s a beautiful little girl.” Dr. Rubio patted his shoulder and left.
Gabriel stared at Julia, noticing that the color in her skin had returned. She was sleeping.
“Mr. Emerson?” The nurse noticed his tears. “Can I get you something?”
He shook his head, quickly wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I thought she was dead.”
“What?” The nurse’s tone was sharp.
“No one told me. She looked like she was dead. I thought . . .”
The nurse came a step closer, a look of horror on her face. “I’m so sorry. Someone from the previous shift should have explained what was happening. There was another emergency c-section at the same time as your wife’s, but that patient lost her baby.”
Gabriel lifted his eyes to meet the nurse’s.
“That isn’t an excuse,” the nurse said quietly. “Someone should have told you that your wife was all right. I’ve worked in labor and delivery here for ten years and we lose very few mothers. Very, very few. And when we do, there is an immediate inquest and everyone is extremely upset.”
Gabriel was about to ask what “very few” meant when he heard a groan coming from Julia’s hospital bed. He put the cup of water aside and stood over her.
“Julianne?”
Her eyelids fluttered open. She looked at him for only an instant, then closed her eyes.
“Our daughter is here. She’s beautiful.”
Julianne didn’t move.
But a few minutes later, she began moaning again.
“It hurts,” she whispered.
“Hold on. I’ll get someone.” Gabriel called the nurse.
After the nurse adjusted Julia’s intravenous, Gabriel picked up the baby.
“Darling, meet your daughter. She’s beautiful. And she has hair.” He held the baby up so Julia could see her from her reclined position.
Julia’s gaze was wide and unfocused before she closed her eyes.
He cradled the baby against his chest once again.
“Sweetheart? Can you hear me?”
“It will take a while for her to come around. But she’ll wake up eventually.” The voice of the nurse broke into Gabriel’s musings, as he wondered anxiously if Julia was un
happy about how the baby looked.
He placed the child back in her bassinet and sat next to it, keeping a watchful eye on his wife. He was never going to let her out of his sight again.
His iPhone chirped with a couple of texts, and he quickly checked it. Richard and Rachel were making excellent time and would arrive soon. Tom and Diane sent their congratulations and their love.
And Katherine Picton restated her insistence that she be named godmother. She even promised a rare manuscript of Dante’s La Vita Nuova as an inducement.
Gabriel snapped a few photos of Spring Roll with his phone and quickly emailed them to everyone, including Kelly, pausing to tell Katherine that no inducement would be required.
“She has hair?” When Julia finally awoke, the first thing she noticed was the dark strands peeking out from under the baby’s purple knit cap.
“She does. Lots of hair. Darker than yours.” Gabriel grinned and placed the baby on Julia’s chest.
She unwrapped the baby and peeled back her gown, placing her daughter skin against skin. The infant immediately snuggled into her mother.
In Gabriel’s mind, it was the most incredible sight he’d ever seen.
“She’s beautiful,” Julia whispered.
“Pretty like her mama.”
She pressed gentle kisses to the baby’s head. “I don’t think so. She has your face.”
Gabriel laughed. “I don’t know about that. I’m not sure she looks like either one of us, except that she seems to have my eye color. She has the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, but she doesn’t like to open them.”
Julia lifted her head to examine the baby’s face, cuddling her even closer.
Gabriel watched her with concern. “Are you in pain?”
She grimaced. “I feel as if I’ve been sawn in half.”
“I think you were.”
She peered up at him questioningly.
“No darling, I didn’t look.” He brushed a kiss against her hair. “We should probably talk about what we’re going to call her. Her grandfathers are not going to be impressed with the name Spring Roll. And I’ve already heard from Katherine, who thinks the baby should be named after her.”
“We talked about Clare.”
Gabriel considered that possibility for a moment.
“I like Clare, but since we prayed at St. Francis’s crypt, perhaps we should call her Frances.”
“St. Clare was Francis’s friend. We could call her Clare and make Grace her middle name.”
“Grace.” Gabriel caught Julia’s eye and felt himself choking up. “How about Clare Grace Hope? She represents the culmination of so much hope, so much grace . . .”
“Clare Grace Hope Emerson. It’s perfect.” Julia kissed Clare on her tiny cheek.
“She’s perfect.” Gabriel kissed Julianne and Clare and wrapped his arms around them both.
“My sweet, sweet girls.”
Chapter Eighty-eight
Julia slept soundly, her breathing deep and her form unmoving. When the nurse directed Gabriel to place Clare in the bassinet so that he could sleep, he refused. He held his daughter in his arms as if he were afraid she’d be taken away from him.
His eyes grew heavy and he reclined in the chair next to Julia’s bed, placing his daughter on his chest. With a yawn, she seemed content, her cheek resting against him, her tiny bottom in the air.
“Faith, hope, and charity,” he murmured to himself. “But the greatest of these is charity.”
“What’s that?” Julia shifted in bed, turning toward him.
He smiled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Julia moved her legs tentatively, clutching the place where her incision was. “The pain is coming back. I’m probably due for a shot.”
She looked over at him, at the way he was holding Clare in his arms, her body resting in the center of his chest.
“You’re a natural, Daddy.”
“I hope so. But even if I’m not, I’ll work hard to become one.”
“I didn’t know,” Julia whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“You didn’t know what?”
“I didn’t know it was possible to love someone other than you so much.”
Gabriel cupped Clare’s head with his hand.
“I didn’t know, either.” He kissed his daughter’s head. “In fact, I was just disagreeing with St. Paul.”
“Oh?” She wiped away a tear. “And what did he say in response?”
Gabriel caught her eye. She grinned.
“I told him that the greatest virtue isn’t charity; it’s hope. I discovered charity with Richard and Grace, but also with you. And it helped me through some very dark days. I also discovered faith, when I went to Assisi. But without hope, I wouldn’t be here. I would have taken my life. Without divine intervention in the form of a teenage girl in a Pennsylvania orchard, I’d be in Hell and not sitting at your side holding our daughter.”
“Gabriel,” she whispered, the tears flowing.
“Charity is a great virtue, and so is faith. But hope means the most to me. This is hope.” He gestured to the baby girl on his chest, swaddled in white and wearing a tiny knit cap.
Gabriel’s prayers of thanks were spontaneous and heartfelt. Here, in this room, he had an embarrassment of riches—a pretty, intelligent wife, who had a very large and giving heart, and a beautiful daughter.
“This is the culmination of all my hopes, Gabriel.” Julia reached out to him and he strained to catch her pinky finger with his own. “This is my happy ending.”
He looked to the future with hope and saw a house ringing with the laughter of children and the sounds of small feet running up and down stairs. He saw Clare with a sister and brother, one adopted, one not.
He saw baptisms and first communions and his family sitting with him in the same pew, Mass after Mass, year after year. He saw skinned knees, and first days of school, prom dates and graduation from high school, broken hearts and happy tears, and the joy of introducing his children to Dante, Botticelli, and St. Francis.
He saw himself walking Clare down the aisle at her own wedding, and holding his grandchildren in his arms.
He saw himself growing old with his beloved Julianne and holding hands with her in their orchard.
“Now my blessedness appears,” he whispered, holding his wife’s hand and Clare Grace Hope as she slept peacefully on his chest.
Fin.
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to the late Dorothy L. Sayers, the late Charles Williams, Mark Musa, my friend Katherine Picton, and The Dante Society of America for their expertise on Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, which informs my work. In this novel, I’ve used the Dante Society’s conventions of capitalization for places such as Hell and Paradise.
I’ve been inspired by Sandro Botticelli’s artwork and the incomparable space that is the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. The cities of Oxford, Florence, Assisi, Todi, and Cambridge lent their ambience, along with the borough of Selinsgrove.
I’ve consulted the Internet Archive site for its version of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s translation of La Vita Nuova along with the original Italian. In this work, I’ve cited Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s translation of The Divine Comedy.
I am grateful to Jennifer for her feedback and support. This book would not exist without her encouragement and friendship. I am grateful also to Nina for her creative input and wisdom. And I owe a special debt to Kris, who read an early draft and offered invaluable constructive criticism at several stages. Thank you.
I’ve enjoyed working with Cindy, my editor at Berkley, and I look forward to working with her on my next two novels. Thanks are also due to Tom for his wisdom and energy in navigating my transition to Berkley. And thanks to the copyediting, art, and design teams who worked on this book.
My publicist
, Enn, works tirelessly to promote my writing and to help me with social media, which enables me to stay in touch with readers. I’m honored to be part of her team.
I would also like to thank those who have offered encouragement, especially the Muses, Tori, Erika, and the readers who operate the Argyle Empire and SRFans social media accounts. Special thanks are also due to Elena, who assisted in specifying the Italian pronunciation for the audiobooks. John Michael Morgan did a magnificent job reading Gabriel’s Inferno and Gabriel’s Rapture.
Finally, it is no great secret that I intended to end the story of the Professor and Julianne with Gabriel’s Rapture. Thank you to everyone who wrote to me asking that their story be continued. Your continued support, and the support of my family, is inestimable.
—SR
Ascension 2013
Keep reading for a special excerpt from Sylvain Reynard’s new novel.
Coming soon from Berkley Books!
Alone figure stood high atop Brunelleschi’s dome, under the shade of the gold globe and cross. His black clothing faded into the darkness, making him invisible to the people below.
From his vantage point, they looked like ants. And ants they were to him, an irritating if necessary presence in his city.
The city of Florence had been his for almost seven hundred years. When he was in residence, he spent every sunset in the same place, surveying his kingdom with Lucifer-like pride. These were the works of his hands, the fruits of his labor, and he wielded his power without mercy.
His considerable strength was magnified by his intellect and his patience. Decades and centuries passed before his eyes, yet he remained constant. Time was a luxury he owned in abundance and so he was never hasty in his pursuit of revenge. A hundred years had come and gone since he’d been robbed of one of his most prized possessions. He’d waited for them to resurface and they had. On this night, he’d restored the illustrations to his personal collection, the sophisticated security of the Uffizi Gallery causing him only the most trifling of inconveniences.
So it was that he stood in triumph against the clouded dark sky, like a Medici prince, looking out over Florence. The night air was warm as he contemplated the fate of those responsible for the exhibit of his stolen illustrations. He hadn’t quite decided whether to kill the men, or merely torture them.