The Gift by Danielle Steel

thought of saying goodbye, and she could hardly withstand the battering of Noelle's questions. In the end, she told her that she was going away somewhere, to a special school, because her grades hadn't been as good as usual, but Noelle only clung to her and cried, terrified to lose her only sister.
    “Please don't go …don't let him send you away …whatever you did, it can't be that terrible … whatever it is, Maribeth, I forgive you … I love you …don't go …” Maribeth was the only one Noelle could talk to. Her mother was too weak, her father too stubborn to ever listen, her brother too self-centered and too foolish. She only had Maribeth to listen to her problems, and now she would have no one at all. Poor little Noelle looked miserable as the two sisters cried through the night, and slept in one narrow bed, clinging to each other. And the morning came too soon: At nine o'clock, her father put her bag into his truck, and she stood staring at her mother, wanting her to be strong enough to tell him he couldn't do this. But her mother would never challenge him, and Maribeth knew it. She held her close for a long moment, wishing that she could stay, that she hadn't been so foolish, or so unlucky.
    “I love you, Mom,” she said in a strangled voice as her mother hugged her tight.
    “I'll come to see you, Maribeth, I promise.”
    Maribeth could only nod, unable to speak through her tears, as she held Noelle, who was crying openly, and begging her not to leave them.
    “Shhh …stop …” Maribeth said, trying to be brave, as she cried too. “I won't be gone long. I'll be home by Christmas.”
    “I love you, Maribeth,” Noelle shouted as they drove away. Ryan had come out by then too. But he had said nothing. He only waved, as his father drove her the short distance across town to their destination.
    The convent looked ominous to Maribeth as they drove up to it, and he stood next to her on the steps as she held her small suitcase.
    “Take care of yourself, Maribeth.” She didn't want to thank him for what he'd done. It could have been gentler, he could have tried to understand. He could have tried to remember what it was like to be young, or to make a mistake of such monumental proportions, but he was capable of none of it. He could not grow beyond what he was, and what he was had powerful limitations.
    “I'll write to you, Dad' she said, but he said nothing to her as they stood there for a long moment, and then he nodded.
    “Let your mother know how you are. She'll worry.” She wanted to ask him if he would worry too, but she no longer dared ask him any questions.
    “I love you,” she said softly as he hurried down the steps, but he never turned to look at her. He only lifted one hand as he drove away, and never looked back, and Maribeth rang the bell at the convent.
    The wait seemed so long that she wanted to run down the steps and back home, but there was no home to run back to now. She knew they wouldn't take her back until after it was all over. And then, at last, a young nun came, and let her in. Maribeth told her who she was, and with a nod, the young nun took her bag, led her in, and closed the heavy iron door resoundingly behind her.

Chapter Three
    The convent of the Sisters of Charity was a cavernous, dark, gloomy place, and Maribeth discovered very quickly that there were two other girls there for exactly the same reason. Both were from neighboring towns, and she was relieved to realize that she didn't know them. Both were almost ready to give birth, and in fact one of them, a nervous girl of seventeen, had her baby on Maribeth's second day there. She had a little girl, and the baby was quickly spirited away to waiting adoptive parents. The girl never even saw her baby. And to Maribeth, the entire process seemed barbaric, as if their secret was dirty and had to be hidden.
    The other girl was fifteen, and she was expecting her baby to be born at any moment. The two girls ate their meals with the