Chapter 8
Confession and Prayer
Overwhelmed by guilt and fear for Aggie, Angela prays fervently. She confesses her deed in her heart, begging for forgiveness and Aggie’s recovery. The statue feels heavy with her plea.
The wind howled like a banshee around the little house, rattling the windowpanes with a fury that made Angela’s teeth chatter. Outside, the rain lashed down, blurring the world into a grey, watery mess. Inside, Aggie coughed, a small, weak sound that tore at Angela’s heart. It was all her fault. Every shiver, every cough, every gust of wind was a punishment for taking the Infant Jesus from Saint Joseph’s.
Angela sat huddled by the hearth, the dying embers offering little warmth against the chill that had seeped into her bones. The little statue lay nestled in a shoebox, wrapped in a scrap of her old wool blanket. It felt heavy now, heavier than it ever had when it sat on its cold, stone altar. It was no longer a tiny, innocent figure; it was a burden, a secret that weighed her down like a sack of stones.
She looked at her mother, who sat by Aggie’s bedside, her brow furrowed with worry, her hand cool on Aggie’s forehead. Pat and Tom were huddled together on the floor, their faces pale, the usual boisterousness of boys their age completely extinguished by the storm and Aggie’s illness. No one looked at Angela, but she felt their eyes on her, or perhaps it was just her own guilt making her imagine it.
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