The few people who passed our threshold administered to either the body or the soul. Doctors made house visits and did what they could for Ofelia. The church sent its redeemers. Often, Monsignor Miles himself would come to take Ofelia’s confession without any cloak of anonymity for her, administer rosaries and prayers, the rolling timbre of his voice with the plaintive murmur of hers. When the monsignor was not able to attend to her himself, he sent others, deacons from the church or young acolytes who hadn’t yet received their own parish clutch.
I was not often near her room when she received her religious guidance. I would find reasons to busy myself below – there was always cleaning, always the kitchen, always the fires to tend. On a day when one of the young priests made a house call
