I left the chapel and started down the aisle toward the front door. Almost immediately there were footsteps behind me and I turned and saw the young woman who had been praying so devoutly. She beckoned to me as she hurried toward me. My first thought was that I had dropped something, although I had my purse and gloves.

She was younger than I had first thought, in her early twenties maybe, but thin, really emaciated-­looking in a cheap print dress that was too large for her. Her dark eyes were bright, almost feverish as she took my arm.

“I have a message for you,” she said.

“From whom? I don’t think I know you.”

“I don’t know you either, but I was told to give you a message.” We were outside the church now and she was still clutching my arm. “It’s from Our Lady.”

“I see.” Gently I tried to disengage her fingers, but she held on all the harder.

“The message is: ‘Don’t worry about your son. Everything is going to be all right.’ ”

“Thank you very much.” I couldn’t get her fingers loose and I began to wonder if I should call for help.

“I come here every day and I get messages all the time for people.”

“I see.”

“I don’t ask for anything for myself, that’s the reason. I used to ask that I get a boyfriend, but I don’t do that anymore. I know now I’m just supposed to come here and help other people. I’ve got something else for you.”

She let go of my arm and reached into her shabby shoulder bag. After some fumbling, she produced what looked like an aspirin bottle. There was a liquid in it.

“This is holy water, blessed by Our Lady,” she said handing it to me.

“I see.” Although I was free now, I was curious. “How does she bless the water?”

“I bring several bottles down here every day and put them behind her statue. Then the next day I collect the old ones and put new ones.”

“Well, thank you. What should I do with the water?”

“Sprinkle it around. It will keep him away.”

“Keep who away?” I was frightened now.

“You know.” She smiled knowingly. “I’m a friend of Mrs. Scaravelli’s. I go to see her every day. I take holy water to her too. She doesn’t like to come here much anymore because Father Fogarty doesn’t like her.”

“Did Mrs. Scaravelli tell you I would be here?”

“She thought you might be.” The girl patted my arm. “You mustn’t be afraid of Mrs. Scaravelli. Mrs. Scaravelli doesn’t have anything to do with those people anymore.”

“What people?”

“You know.” She smiled and backed away.

“What people!”