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Josephine,” Father Leone whispered. “I just want you to unbutton your dress for me,” he said, his voice low and kind. “Like you did that day.”
    Josephine felt her body fly up to the ceiling and watched herself from some distant spot, unbuttoning the dress, unclasping the bra so that her ample breasts fell free. She watched the way Father Leone’s eyes gobbled them first, before he bent to suckle them. This was all he had wanted? she found herself thinking. Just like that day in church. Again, newspaper images of the war in Europe filled her mind. All of those young boys had suckled at their mother’s breasts, had grown from their milk, grown into men about to die. Josephine wrapped the priest’s curls in her fingers and pulled him closer to her.
    â€œYes,” he whispered. “Give yourself to God.”
    With one hand he unbuttoned his trousers and for an instant she froze. He had taken a vow of chastity. He couldn’t expect her to do that , could he? From her place high above the man and woman on the burgundy leather sofa, with the afternoon light streaming amber and cobalt through the stained-glass window, Josephine saw the priest take himself in his own hand, and smoothly slide his penis up and down in his firm grip, all the while sucking her breasts, all the while Josephine pushing him closer to her, nourishing him, until a spasm went through his body. He lifted his mouth from her then, and turned away.
    â€œFather?” she said.
    Father Leone took the clean white linen napkin he had placed beneath the wine bottle and cleaned himself with it. Quickly, Josephine clasped her bra and buttoned her dress, worried he might look back at her and see naked breasts. When he did face her again, his face was as serene and holy as always.
    â€œGod loves you,” he told her. “You are selfless, Josephine. He knows that. He is grateful.” Then he touched her forehead and blessed her.
    She grabbed his hand and kissed it. “I feel closer to God, Father,” she whispered in a hoarse voice.
    Later, as she walked home in the late afternoon light, Josephine thought of his mouth on her nipples. For a while on that sofa, she had forgotten he was a servant of God and she had thought of him as a man. Ashamed of herself for these impure thoughts, Josephine considered going back and confessing them to Father Leone. But hadn’t he blessed her? Hadn’t he told her God was grateful? “If you need anything else,” he had said to her, “come back.” Her head ached, like the sounds of cannons approaching.
    ON VALENTINE’S DAY, a month earlier than she’d expected, Josephine gave birth alone at Saint Mary’s Hospital. The baby was a girl, with soft blond hair, different from any of the other babies Josephine had. So tiny, this beautiful baby girl; her last two babies had been so big they’d ripped her so that she couldn’t even pee without pain for weeks. But Valentina was small and calm. Worse, when Josephine held her, she felt a surge of love that she had not felt so immediately with any of her other children. She loved this baby with every cell in her body.
    â€œHer name is Valentina,” Josephine told the nun. “Today is her day. The day of love.”
    â€œSure,” the nun said, “but the parents give them whatever name they want.”
    â€œWho are they?” Josephine asked, her voice catching.
    â€œCan’t tell you. Sorry. She’s going to Vermont, though.” The nun lowered her voice. “Very rich family. She’s a lucky one. You’re doing a selfless thing,” the nun said, handing Josephine her daughter wrapped in swaddling.
    It was the only time she was allowed to hold her. Valentina opened her eyes and struggled to focus them. But she managed, and looked right up into Josephine’s. Josephine’s heart tumbled. “I love you,” she whispered.
    That night, as the