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level of excitement in the yard grew exponentially with the readiness of the horse. Mother Helena turned her attention to the bay as he danced in his harness.
    “’Tis time to say a silent prayer to the Father that all goes well with this attempt, Sisters,” Mother Helena announced. For the moment she forgot about Abe and the mysterious young woman and took her own advice to direct a prayer to God that the horse would have a complete change of personality and—for once—cooperate.
     
    Reaching up to open the collar button of her wool shirt for some relief from the wet heat, the girl nearly tripped over the huge piece of wood on the ground. Chastising herself for almost falling in front of all the strange women, she quickly realized that they weren’t even looking at her. They were all focused on the beautiful horse. She watched as a woman gave a final tug on the rope knotted around his harness. This woman was young and dressed differently from the others. She wore a black lace cap, black skirt, and white blouse covered in dust and dirt. The young woman got to her feet and looked up at the sisters on the roof.
    “Are you ready, then?” she called out in a voice that practically lilted like a song.
    The sisters hollered back down. “Ready!”
    Though the girl was grateful her presence seemed to go unnoticed, she would have liked to ask one of the women what they were doing. She could see that the rope tied around the horse’s harness was also looped up and around the beam on the roof. That rope went down and was attached to one end of the wood.
    She heard one of the sisters say, “Let’s hope that this horse has found his Catholic roots!”
    The horse started to move forward, straining from the weight of the wood. She watched as the nuns moved on either side of the horse, encouraging him—cajoling him—willing him to keep moving away from the building. The rope grew taut, and the end of the wood came off the ground. Gaining momentum, the horse dug in and continued to move. The rope around the beam groaned and creaked, and as she watched, the wood inched higher and revealed itself to be two pieces of wood that were crossed in the center. The wood wasn’t smooth—it was like living bark that seemed regal and tall and imposing as it came completely off the ground and ascended.
    She couldn’t take her eyes from the beauty of the bare wood lifting into the cloudless blue sky. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she heard nothing but the sound of a breeze sighing over the crossed boughs now poised in the air above the roof. The only sight in the world was the sunlight burning around the edges of the cross suspended from the wide expanse of the heavens. Inexplicable longing made her choke back tears, and she wondered at the power of that simple piece of wood.
    Then her reverie was shattered when the wood began to dance erratically in the air, swinging to and fro from the rope. The nuns behind her started to yell—panicked cries of “ Whoa! Whoa! ” On the roof, Sister Martha seemed to have but one objective—to grab the cross. She scrambled to her feet on the beam. The horse whinnied and snorted and stomped hard enough to cause the sisters around him to scatter back in fear. As the cross swung wildly toward her, Martha got her arms around the wood. Ruth, on the opposite side of the beam, sat frozen and unmoving.
    “Let it go, Martha!” someone shouted, but the nun hung on with fierce determination. And then the horse skittered backward. The nun screamed as the cross plunged off the roof. The sisters tried frantically to gain control of the horse, but he seemed oblivious to everything as he reared in the air—causing the heavy wood to swing back and forth over the ground, the nun hanging on for dear life.
    In the chaos of the moment, the girl’s eyes connected with the horse as his front legs crashed back down against the ground. He’s looking straight at me , she thought. That horse sees me .