“I have committed a mortal sin, Father.”

I waited, but the priest was silent.

I took a deep breath then, and let it all out, beginning with the night the Titanic sank and up to the present day. When I had finished, I was drained. I waited for the rush of outrage that certainly would have come from Father McGinty. Instead, the priest’s voice was gentle, his words kind.

“My child, in the circumstances you describe, this lie is one that God will understand.”

“But it’s still a mortal sin, Father,” I protested.

I thought I detected the hint of a smile in his voice. “Yes, lying can be a mortal sin, but such definition is based on circumstances, including intention and whether or not someone was harmed by it. In your case, your intention was not immoral; you were simply seeking a way to survive, and your poor sister was already dead, so you could not have harmed her by your actions.”

“But I told the same lie many times over! And each time it was an occasion of sin.”

He sighed. “You have been well-schooled in sin. I see it in many immigrant girls like yourself. But you must stop believing that every move you make or every thought you have is a sin that will lead you to burn in Hell. God is not wrathful. He is compassionate and loving.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that you have had to carry this burden for all this time—particularly given the pain and loss you have already suffered.”

Tears stung my eyes as a wave of self-pity washed over me. Perhaps I had punished myself far too harshly. I wanted to believe this young priest’s words

“For your penance say an Act of Contrition, and a decade of the rosary for each time you told this lie.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Go in peace, my child, and sin no more.”

The window between us slammed shut. I waited until he had left before I opened the door, stepped into the aisle and genuflected before the altar.

After confession, I found another priest and paid him to say Nora’s Mass. Back out in the May sunshine, I felt light and cleansed for the first time since arriving in New York. A great weight had been lifted from me. My guilt, if not entirely erased, had been folded away like an out-of-style garment that had served its purpose but was not quite ready to be thrown out.