The primary thing on her mind that autumn was the St. Mary's rummage sale, an annual event held in the basement of St. Mary's Church on a weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The proceeds were used to buy Christmas presents for the children at the orphanage, and for several weeks prior to the event St. Mary's students collected items from friends and neighbors to be sold at the sale. Previously, Rose's participation in this effort had been minimal since Nonna didn't approve of her granddaughter ringing doorbells and asking people for castoffs. “Like a beggar,” she sniffed. She felt the same way about going trick-or-treating on Halloween and selling Girl Scout cookies. But this year Rose went to every house within a ten-block radius of her home, gathering piles of unwanted stuff. She then packed her loot into special cardboard boxes that had been issued by St. Mary's and were picked up every week by the school's handyman, who stored them in the gym.

“But I don't feel like I'm doing enough,” Rose said to Sister Phil.

“What are you giving of your own?” the nun asked.

And Rose realized that she'd skipped the most important part. “Just some old dishtowels of Nonna's,” she whispered, embarrassed.

“Real charity involves sacrifice,” said her mentor.

So Rose went home to look through her belongings. She started small, choosing a doll and a puzzle, but toys had never been important to her, so that wasn't much of a sacrifice. Steeling herself, she took down her brand-new Christmas dress and the new winter coat Nonna had bought for her, and added them to the cardboard box. And then something happened to her. It was as if she'd gone into a blissful trance and she wasn't thinking anymore. In that state, she pulled clothes out of drawers and closets; shoes, bedroom slippers, and the pretty nightgowns and matching robes Nonna had hand-made for her. Everything but her school uniforms went into the rummage sale boxes. She pulled the Mickey Mouse watch—her pride and joy—off her wrist and put it in a box without a second thought. Then, in a final act of abandon, she took down her ice skates from their special hook on her closet wall. This action did give her pause. The skates were horribly expensive; even Nonna, who never talked about money, complained about the cost. Furthermore, they were custom made for her feet so no one else would ever skate as well on them as she would. But there was no real giving without sacrifice. She put the skates into the last box and closed it.