Across the USA, Europe, and Over the Andes to South America

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Mother Francesca Xavier Cabrini stood lost in thought, her eyes tracing the raindrops that streaked the windowpane. She found herself at a crossroads, faced with a challenging decision that could greattly impact the future endeavors of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Order she had founded just over a decade earlier. When she and her nuns had arrived in New York from Italy in March 1889, their primary mission was to educate poor Italian immigrants, which led to the establishment of academies, colleges, and normal schools.*  However, what truly distinguished Mother Cabrini’s work was her commitment to founding orphanages that would provide destitute girls with the training to become virtuous Christian women.

Now, two years later, she had received an unexpected request to manage a hospital, a task she felt was beyond her expertise. Yet, Francesca understood the pressing need for hospitals to serve Italian immigrants in the United States, many of whom were plagued by illnesses and injuries resulting from their dire living conditions and hazardous jobs. In public hospitals, they often faced neglect due to their poverty and limited English, compounded by the medical staff’s inability to speak Italian.

As she pondered her next steps, Francesca reflected on the journey that had brought her here. Born prematurely in 1850 in Sant’Angelo, Italy, she had always been frail, but possessed an unconquerable spirit. As a child, the stories of missionaries had captivated her imagination and fueled her longing to serve others.  Despite being rejected by several religious orders due to her health, she had founded the Institute of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in 1880 with a handful of young women. Francesca’s aspirations initially pointed towards China, yet Pope Leo XIII had redirected her to America, where thousands of Italian immigrants awaited assistance. This marked a significant turning point in her life and mission. Upon arriving in New York, she quickly recognized the urgent needs of the immigrant community, both material and spiritual.

Bishop Giovanni Scalabrini, a devoted advocate for Italian emigrants to the United States, had established a small hospital on East 109th Street, entrusting its management to his Order, the Fathers of St. Charles Borromeo, under the direction of Father Felice Morelli. Despite the priests’ commendable efforts in tending to the spiritual needs of the patients, the hospital was on the brink of disaster due to the clergy’s lack of practical experience in healthcare management. Desperate to remedy the situation, Bishop Scalabrini had sought Francesca’s assistance during her recent visit to Italy. He explained that without her intervention, the hospital would be forced to shut down. However, Francesca was hesitant; she feared that the demands of running a hospital would compromise the religious spirit of her nuns, and that her own aversion to physical illness would make her unsuitable for such a role. Although she had cared for patients suffering from diseases like smallpox and typhoid when necessary, managing a hospital presented an entirely different challenge. She already had sought the advice of a Cardinal, who had encouraged her to undertake the task, and also had received a letter of recommendation from the Cardinal-Vicar in Rome.

The decision weighed heavily on her heart as she considered how it might transform lives within the immigrant community she had come to love so deeply. Yet she remained uncertain. Faced with this dilemma, Francesca turned to her usual source of guidance: prayer. She closed the curtains against the gloomy rain, and went to the convent’s chapel, where she knelt in front of the statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. There once again she poured out all her questions and concerns, praying fervently to be shown the right path. That night she had a vivid dream in which she saw the Virgin Mary, sleeves rolled up and skirt pinned back, moving through a hospital ward, comforting the sick. When Francesca rushed to offer her help, Our Lady turned to her and said, “I am doing what you refuse to do.” This dream left Francesca with no doubt about her path forward, and she promptly assigned ten nuns to the Scalabrini hospital.

In October 1891, she traveled to Nicaragua and New Orleans to open missions there. However, when she learned the following Spring that, despite the nuns’ valiant efforts, the hospital had failed, she rushed back to address the situation. She quickly discovered the root of the problem. Contrary to her intentions, the Sisters were still under the control of Father Morelli, who had not paid them the promised $25.00 per month. Additionally, Francesca was expected to assume responsibility for a substantial debt that had accumulated even before she had sent her Sisters there. Francesca refused to pay off the old debts unless her Order could gain ownership of the hospital. Unfortunately, this became impossible when the property was foreclosed that summer. As negotiations regarding the distribution of furnishings stalled, complicated by the fact that the nuns had not been compensated for a year, Francesca made a difficult decision: she and her Sisters would amicably part ways with the Scalabrinian Fathers.

In a show of support, Archbishop Corrigan of New York provided Francesca with $50 and recommended her to four wealthy Italians in the city. With a total of $250 collected from these benefactors, she rented two adjoining houses on Twelfth Street and established her own hospital. She transferred ten patients from the failed hospital to this new facility. The donated funds allowed her to cover the first month’s rent and purchase ten inexpensive beds. The nuns crafted the mattresses themselves and sewed sheets from a large bale of fabric. For the first week, there was no water or gas for cooking, so the Sisters bought food from a nearby restaurant and heated it on a coal stove positioned in the center of the ward. Their meager pharmacy consisted of a dozen bottles of medicine. A writing desk and surgical instruments were donated by a doctor, while another donor provided an ambulance. Lacking funds for their own beds, the Sisters slept on the floor.

Despite these hardships and the criticism that naturally followed, the Sisters’ steadfast devotion more than compensated for their lack of supplies. They cared for their patients with kindness and compassion, placing their confidence in Mother Cabrini and following her example of total trust in God. When it came time to name their new facility in 1892, Francesca chose “Columbus Hospital,” explaining that the year marked the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s discovery of the New World. She declared, “He was the first Italian immigrant. If we call it after him, all the Italian immigrants will know that this is their hospital.”She would subsequently give the same name to all future hospitals she founded in America.

The very first patients at Columbus Hospital were too poor to pay for their care, but Dr. Keane, the head physician, generously offered his services free of charge. He was resolute in his commitment to the hospital’s mission, dismissing any staff doctor who attempted to charge a fee. Alongside Dr. Keane, other charitable doctors—several of whom were Protestants—joined the staff and referred their private paying patients to Columbus Hospital, providing a crucial source of income. As word spread about the hospital’s dedication to serving the needy, donations of money and equipment began to pour in, allowing the small hospital to steadily grow.

Feeling confident that the Sisters could manage the hospital, Francesca returned to Italy in October 1892 to visit the nuns at the original Motherhouse in Codogno and in various convents scattered throughout the country. During her visit, she had the opportunity to meet with Pope Leo XIII, who was celebrating the 50th Jubilee of his consecration as a Bishop. These trips to Italy were essential for Francesca’s spiritual renewal; she often felt the need to retreat to the quiet life of the cloister, which refreshed her for her future endeavors.

She returned to New York in 1895 to find Columbus Hospital thriving. A pivotal moment had occurred when an Italian warship docked in New York, carrying two sailors suffering from typhoid fever. After being turned away from other facilities, the Missionary Sisters welcomed them into Columbus Hospital, gaining significant publicity when the Italian Admiral visited. This led to an arrangement with the Italian Consul General, allowing any sick Italian sailor on a merchant vessel to be admitted for a flat fee. Although finances remained tight, this official recognition ensured that the hospital was consistently full. In March 1895, Columbus Hospital received formal approval from the State of New York and was legally incorporated. That same year, it was relocated to East 19th Street, and in 1973 would merge with another hospital, transforming into the Cabrini Medical Center at 226 East 20th Street, where it operated until its closure in 2008.

With the hospital’s future secured, Mother Cabrini was free to embark on a new journey to South America. First, she traveled to New Orleans to check on her mission there, staying for two days before sailing onward. The mission she and her Sisters had established in Granada, Nicaragua, had been closed by the government following a revolution, forcing the Sisters to relocate to Panama. Francesca intended to visit them before continuing on to Argentina. In Panama, Francesca was captivated by the mission’s stunning location overlooking the sea. In one of her letters, she described it vividly: “One could imagine oneself to be on board a steamer, because on the south and southwest it is surrounded by the sea…. The room the Sisters prepared for me is surrounded on two sides by large orange trees, the fruit of which touches my windowsill. One looks out on a path leading to the sea and its beautiful isles, which seem to be playing in the bay…. In our garden we have six kinds of palms, banana and coffee trees, and various kinds of fruit, the names of which I do not know.” She cherished the tranquility of this beautiful place, despite the fact that 30 girls practiced the piano every day, and 12 girls had singing lessons. “You can imagine our eardrums!” she wrote with her characteristic humor.

After spending 4-1/2 months in Panama, Mother Cabrini set out with Mother Chiara for what would become her longest and most adventurous journey. Their destination was Buenos Aires, where the Archbishop had requested her assistance in opening a school. From there, they planned to travel down South America’s coast to Chile and then cross the Andes into Argentina. During this voyage, Francesca crossed the Equator for the first time. During a particularly dull stretch of scenery, she took advantage of her background as a former teacher and lover of geography by writing a little lecture about the area for her nuns back home.

While making a long stop in Callao, Peru, Francesca and her companion ventured into Lima to visit St. Rose’s burial shrine. The ship continued its leisurely journey toward Valparaiso, making frequent stops along the way. When they arrived in Santiago at the foot of the Andes Mountains, they received advice from the Archbishop to rest for a while, because the Archbishop of Chile had passed away, making immediate travel unnecessary. Though Francesca chafed at this delay in her plans, she recognized that there was little choice: heavy snow blocked access through the Andes, and it would be several weeks before the first caravan of the season could depart. Her traveling companion, Mother Chiara, was a timid and sickly woman, so Francesca had offered her the choice of their going around Cape Horn by ship, or crossing the Andes mountains. Mother Chiara, who hated sea voyages, chose the Andes route.

On November 24, during the Spring season in the Southern Hemisphere, their journey across the Andes began. The first segment was by train, which navigated precariously along the mountains, hugging the edges of vast gorges so deep that the bottom was invisible. At the railway’s end, they transferred to mule-drawn coaches that trailed the river along a winding road bordering a deep chasm, where turbulent waters churned far below. This marked the beginning of the Cumbre Pass. Only dark green pine trees dotted the landscape, while a huge volcano towered above them. After a long day of travel, the coaches halted, and the passengers eagerly devoured a simple supper. Later, the two nuns stepped outside into the night to admire the brilliant moonlight that bathed the mountains in a lovely blue glow, reflecting off the snow. Francesca mused that the night’s beauty resembled that of the Virgin Mary.

With this uplifting thought, she and Mother Chiara retired to their inn for the night. Exhausted from their travels, they fell into a deep sleep, but were roused at 3:30 a.m. by the sounds of the mules being saddled. They donned long, brown, hooded capes lined with fur—gifts from the ladies in Santiago—preparing for their mountain crossing. The best mules were assigned to them, which meant they would ride at the front of the line. Tiny Francesca had to stand on a chair to mount her mule.

The first hour of their journey was relatively easy; however, they soon found themselves navigating through deep snow as the path vanished. Two muleteer guides led them along a trail that often skirted a precipice. Francesca’s mule was curious about the edge, and despite her shouted warnings in limited Spanish, and frantic attempts to pull its head away, the mule remained undeterred. She glanced over at Mother Chiara, who lay limply on her mule’s back, clearly regretting her decision to traverse the Andes instead of opting for a ship voyage. Yet, despite the perilous conditions, the view was breathtaking—an immense abyss on one side and an expansive stretch of sparkling white snow on the other, with the mountains they still had to cross looming ahead.

Suddenly, one of the guides halted and instructed everyone to dismount; something was amiss. Before them lay a long and terrifyingly deep crevice. The men managed to get some mules to leap across it and informed the travelers they would need to do the same on their mounts. Being at the front meant Francesca had to make the first jump. Bravely, she agreed, confident she would clear it without issue. However, the intense cold and high altitude had sapped her strength, and as her mule leaped, she lost her grip. She began to slide off down the chasm and would certainly have fallen to her death if not for the quick reflexes of a vigilant muleteer who threw himself across and caught her just in time. With assistance from his hiking stick and his fellow guide, he pulled Francesca safely to solid ground, where she promptly fainted into a snowbank.

When she regained consciousness, she found that all her companions had successfully leapt across. Remounting her mule by standing on a boulder, she and the cavalcade continued their adventurous trek. Soon, Francesca recovered from her alarming experience and began to appreciate once again the stunning scenery around them. As they approached the border between Chile and Argentina, they descended the mountain through a feathery snowfall and stopped at an inn for lunch. When asked to write in the visitors’ book, Francesca became the first person ever to express something positive about the crossing. Despite its dangers, she had relished every moment of this adventure. In her diary-letter to the nuns back home, she reflected: “…I was very pleased to have ascended such high mountains, which gave me an inducement to incite myself to ascend the heights of spiritual perfection—a peak much higher than any in the Andes…. Prayer, confidence and total abandonment to God will always be our arms. We are good for nothing…. But I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.”

Francesca and Mother Chiara arrived in Buenos Aires, a city where she was virtually unknown, because the Archbishop who had invited her had since passed away. Fortunately, she remembered a priest, Fr. Broggi, whom she had met in Genoa two years prior. He welcomed them cordially and treated them to a delightful Italian dinner. Afterward, he introduced them to the new Archbishop, Ladislao Castellano, a warm and fatherly man, who assured Francesca that he would provide all the support his predecessor had promised. During this time, she also met the influential clergy of the diocese, who were in the city for a procession to a shrine of Our Lady to welcome the new Archbishop. These priests quickly fell under the spell of Francesca’s famous — though unconscious — charm, and she received all the assistance she needed.

The Sisters of Mercy took the two nuns in until they could establish their own convent. Fr. Broggi guided them around the city, introducing them to individuals who would be instrumental in their mission. As was her custom, Francesca walked through the city each day, searching for potential houses for her new school and returning home exhausted every evening; yet she persevered and inspected 60 possible locations. One day, at the very spot where her worn shoes finally fell to pieces, she found a house that met all her needs. Despite warnings that her choice was a grave mistake due to its high cost, she nonetheless insisted that she had a secret inspiration and would take the house at any price.

Without hesitation, she cabled New York and Italy for Sisters to leave immediately for Buenos Aires, alarming Fr. Broggi, who thought this decision was rash and premature. She reassured him, “Don’t worry, Father. If I were to think too much about procuring the means, the Lord would withhold His graces.”

On Christmas Day, she took possession of the house and wasted no time preparing it for the incoming Sisters. One day, Archbishop Castellano came to visit. When Francesca opened the door, he didn’t recognize her at first, as she was clad in an apron, wielding a broom and duster. He asked to see Mother Cabrini, to which she replied, “Certainly, Your Excellency. Please sit down in the parlor and I will call her.” She hurried away and returned moments later without her apron and cleaning tools, her face and hands freshly washed. The Archbishop burst into laughter; however, Francesca was never one to shirk domestic responsibilities.

As often happened with her business decisions, what seemed rash turned out to be brilliant. She later reflected: “The courage shown in undertaking a difficult enterprise made a good impression on the people, so much so that the principal families brought us their children; and this went on so well that when we left, the academy was already full and I had to arrange for a second and larger house.” Although some students came from Italian families, most did not; South America lacked quality schools at that time, making these capable Italian nuns most welcome.

After establishing her school in Buenos Aires, Francesca set sail back to Italy. During the voyage, eager to expand her mission further into Spanish America, Mother Cabrini sought more knowledge about Spain and its people, with hopes of opening a house there and recruiting Spanish nuns. In Rome, she met once again with her old friend Pope Leo XIII to receive his blessing. Noticing her poor health, he inquired how she managed such extensive work. She smiled brightly and replied: “Holy Father, I am your spiritual daughter. That is what gives me the necessary moral strength. I am not going to lose my health by serving that dear Jesus who made me a Missionary of His Sacred Heart.”

Three weeks later, she arrived in Paris, where she longed to open a house. But initial efforts were met with difficulty. Archbishop Cardinal Richard was away, and his Vicar-General denied Francesca permission to proceed until his return. Unable to sway him otherwise, she and Sister Frances, a young Irish nun, took refuge with Madame de Mier, whose sister attended the missionary school in Panama. The woman was frail; while she occasionally conversed with the nuns, most of her time was spent resting in her room. Though Madame de Mier had abandoned religious practice years prior, Mother Cabrini’s influence inspired her return to the Catholic faith. Sadly, upon Madame de Mier’s death several weeks later, Francesca and Sister Frances found themselves without shelter—and still without permission to open a convent in Paris. However, Madame de Mier had left Francesca some valuable furniture in her will—too luxurious for a convent, but suitable for equipping a boarding house for affluent ladies, which Francesca undertook as a temporary solution to help establish a foothold in Paris while potentially attracting French vocations.

On September 8th, she finally received permission from Cardinal Richard to establish herself in the same parish where her new boarding house was located. By September 29th, seven Sisters had arrived from Italy, and they opened their house. Because it was far too grand for a convent setting, the nuns occupied the servants’ quarters, while converting the coach house into their refectory. The elegant residence appealed to exactly the kind of ladies they wished to attract, and on October 1st, their first paying boarders arrived.

With Paris now established as part of her mission field, Francesca and Sister Frances traveled to England for ten days, where she instantly fell in love with London and its polite people who were always willing to help. She wrote: “In other countries they speak of nobility and courtesy; in London they practice them!…I was astonished at the courtesy shown me and inwardly implored blessings on this country of England which I should love to call—if possible—the ‘Land of Angels.’”  Although she was there with intentions of establishing an orphanage for Italian children, this project would ultimately need postponement for several years.

Francesca spent the majority of 1899 dedicated to establishing schools for impoverished Italian children across New York, Newark, NJ, and Scranton, PA. She also opened a boarding school for the children of affluent Italians, who often required spiritual guidance to maintain their faith. This establishment, known as Sacred Heart Villa, was located at 190th St. and Fort Washington Ave. in New York. It became not only the American novitiate, but also the closest thing Francesca ever had to a settled home. In later years, Sacred Heart Villa would evolve into Mother Cabrini High School.

That same year, she was invited to open a mission in Chicago, where the immigrant population faced challenges similar to those in New York. Following the Civil War, Chicago had transformed into a major urban center, second only to New York. The demand for cheap labor surged, due to numerous factories and infrastructure projects like railroads and bridges. Unfortunately, many areas rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1871 were filled with unsafe and unhealthy wooden tenements that housed Italians alongside Black migrants from the South and various other immigrant groups including Jews, Greeks, Croatians, Russians, Lithuanians, Poles, and Mexicans. Living conditions were dire; unsanitary plumbing was common; alleyways overflowed with garbage and dead animals; and toilets often backed up. Rats posed a significant threat to infants. Families resorted to sleeping with guns under their beds to fend off these pests at night, and food had to be stored in tin boxes or suspended from ceilings by ropes or wires. Such conditions bred diseases like typhoid and impetigo in summer, and rheumatism, tuberculosis, and pneumonia in winter. Immigrants faced constant peril in factories, where lost limbs or death were everyday risks. Yet amidst these horrors, a small but ambitious group of immigrants began launching their own businesses, which eventually flourished.

In May 1899, Francesca traveled to Chicago with 14 of her Sisters. Father Morechini of the Servite Fathers had prepared a building for her at his parish of the Church of the Assumption. Francesca’s task would be to organize both students and faculty in this burgeoning city. Her greatest aspiration was always focused on educating children, whom she envisioned as soldiers ready to combat the evils their parents had endured. Soon her school at the Church of the Assumption boasted 700 students. Before leaving Chicago, she laid plans for an orphanage and a potential hospital.

She then sailed back to Europe. Exhausted from her labors, she collapsed into a deck chair for some much-needed rest. Sea voyages were as close as she ever got to a vacation. Upon regaining some strength, she wrote to her nuns: “How lovely and sweet it is to undertake a sea voyage when one is tired and worn out with the labors of the missions! I’m like a fish — I feel better on sea than on land, and eat with a better appetite.” Her journey included stops in Paris and Lourdes before continuing on to Spain, where she opened a school and college in Madrid, along with two orphanages in Bilbao, before returning to Italy.

From birth, Francesca had always been frail, and a near-drowning incident in her childhood had left her with compromised lungs. When she founded her Order in 1880, she had been advised that she likely only had a couple of years to live. In 1889, when she first came to America, she was again warned that her health would not be able to stand the stress and strain. But she would only smile at these warnings. Putting all her trust in God, she knew that if He had called her to this work, He would make sure she had the strength to see it through. By 1900, Francesca was 50 years old; and although her face retained its youthful appearance, her health was gradually declining, due to extreme fatigue and fevers. Nevertheless, once in Italy, instead of succumbing to illness, she opened a chapel and school in Rome, an orphanage in Mariscano, convents in San Raffaele and Citta della Pieve, an exclusive academy for upper-class girls, and a sanatorium for sick nuns in Torino.

Francesca then spent seven months in Argentina visiting not only Buenos Aires—where her schools were thriving—but also the pampas, where many scattered groups of Italian immigrants worked. She had learned that her Sisters in Panama had been forced to leave that country due to civil war. Despite the fact that they had tirelessly nursed the sick during outbreaks of typhoid, yellow fever, and bubonic plague, and also those wounded in the conflict, the Sisters had been ordered away from Panama. Francesca promptly reassigned them to her schools in Argentina, while welcoming the new South American novices who were starting to arrive.

When she returned to Italy in the spring of 1902, Francesca Cabrini found herself gravely ill, confined to her bed, with the specter of death looming once more. In her weakened state, she began making arrangements for the governance of her Institute after her passing. However, on March 19, the feast of St. Joseph, a basket of oranges arrived from the Vatican gardens, a thoughtful gift from her steadfast friend and patron, Pope Leo XIII. Despite not having eaten for days, Francesca took one of the oranges and declared it delicious, claiming it had restored her energy. She soon recovered enough to visit the Pope, who bestowed upon her a blessing that would be his last for her. He passed away the following summer at the age of 93.

With renewed vigor, Francesca set out to visit her many convents across Italy and Spain. The elegant boarding house in Paris was relinquished in favor of an orphanage in Neuilly. Yet, her primary focus shifted towards founding a convent in London. With the support of Bishop Bourne of Southwark (Suth-erk), she established a house at Brockley, which would later move to nearby Honor Oak. She was now free to return to the United States, where she would spend the next four years.

Francesca’s aspirations led her toward the Rocky Mountains, with hopes of eventually reaching the Pacific coast. Her immediate mission was to assist Italian immigrants laboring in Colorado’s mining fields. Although these immigrants fared better materially than others across the nation, they still faced challenges. Separated from their families, with limited opportunities to practice their Catholic faith, they faced great temptations presented by their lucrative wages in the gold and silver mines. Setting up headquarters in Denver, Francesca and her nuns traversed rugged terrain to reach miners working underground. They descended hundreds of feet into dark shafts, walking miles along tunnels to offer brief moments of connection during lunch breaks.

The miners deeply appreciated these visits; they had felt isolated and forgotten until uplifted by the presence of these kind nuns who spoke their language. In recognition of their positive impact on worker morale, the mine superintendent provided accommodations for them, where they would sometimes stay for several days. During these interactions, Francesca learned about the pressing need for a hospital and orphanage because of frequent injuries or fatalities that left many children homeless.

Starting with a small school on Palmer Avenue for immigrant children who lacked parental supervision, Francesca later returned to Denver and strategically acquired a large property on the city’s outskirts. Despite initial protests from the Bishop regarding its isolation, Francesca’s keen understanding of maps and population trends proved invaluable as she secured properties that would thrive as the cities developed. Denver soon expanded in the direction of her property, constructing streetcar lines into what would become thriving suburbs.

She returned East and established St. Anthony’s Orphanage in Arlington, New Jersey. She also added an annex to the Columbus Hospital in NY. Francesca demonstrated remarkable financial acumen in managing her projects. While she sought donations from Italian communities, yielding modest sums, for larger amounts she also approached wealthy benefactors with surprising success. One notable encounter was with a Mr. Wentworth. After several unsuccessful attempts to meet with him, she finally cornered him outside his office one day. He asked her what she was selling. She declared, “Sell, Mr. Wentworth? Only children.” She passionately shared her dreams with him, leaving that day with a generous contribution.

Despite her aversion to begging, Francesca excelled at it by framing requests as opportunities for the donors, telling them, “In asking you for something, I am conferring a privilege upon you – the chance to do some good.” Her bright blue eyes and infectious smile made it hard for potential donors to refuse her appeals. They could only stare at her, dumbfounded…and reach for their checkbook. As she often remarked to her fellow nuns, “We have nothing, yet we spend millions.” Long before Women’s Liberation, Mother Francesca Cabrini employed all the skills of the greatest female CEOs.

In 1903, she returned to Chicago with plans to establish a hospital. One snowy April day, she spotted the six-story North Shore Hotel on Lincoln Park’s edge—a prime location selling for the bargain price of  $160,000, due to previous mismanagement. Despite raising only $1,000 initially—much to the Archbishop’s amusement—Francesca’s relentless spirit led her back into Chicago’s Italian community, where she successfully raised $10,000. Encouraged by the Archbishop to proceed with purchasing the hotel despite her trepidation, Francesca’s astuteness soon became evident during negotiations, when she suspected some deception regarding the property measurements. She sent two Sisters out with string and chalk to measure the lot accurately before signing any documents. The sellers of the property soon learned that although she was a woman and a foreigner — two strikes against her in that era — Francesca was not one to be easily deceived. They had, in fact, been secretly intent on retaining 25’ of the property for their own use. Seeing that they were defeated, they agreed to her terms. As a wise businessman once noted, “One does not fool with Mother Cabrini.”

However, when the time came to renovate the hotel into a hospital, unscrupulous contractors again tried to cheat the nuns. Francesca then took charge of the project herself, acting as chief contractor and retaining only the honest workmen. The dishonest ones she fired, after paying them only what was fair and not a penny more. She made friends with the remaining workers, fostering camaraderie while ensuring efficiency, and renovations expected to take 12 months were completed in just eight. Donations poured in, not only from Italians, but also from non-Italian Catholics, Jews, and Protestants. An eminent Catholic surgeon named John B. Murphy offered his services to Francesca’s hospital, acting as President and head-of-staff, and he was the one she turned to for medical advice. On April 26, 1905, the Columbus Hospital of Chicago officially opened its doors.

Francesca Cabrini’s legacy extends beyond her establishment of orphanages, schools, and hospitals; she also exhibited profound compassion for prisoners. She started this ministry at Sing Sing prison in Ossining, NY, where she communicated with Italian inmates in their native language—a necessity, since none of the official chaplains spoke Italian. To address this gap, she arranged for Italian-speaking priests to visit the prison for confessions, while her own nuns made regular visits several times a week. The prisoners on Death Row especially received tender compassion and comfort. In New Orleans, her Missionary Sisters visited a young Black man sentenced to hang, offering him solace and helping him reconcile with God before his execution. On the occasion of Mother Cabrini’s 25th Anniversary, the prisoners at Sing Sing sent her a beautifully-illustrated message of gratitude. Additionally, inmates from a Chicago prison contributed funds for a horse and carriage to facilitate the Sisters’ visits.

Despite suffering from a high fever, Francesca journeyed to the West Coast, where she opened a small orphanage, parochial school, and modest wooden chapel in Seattle. She even wielded a pickaxe herself for the chapel’s construction, placing a note and religious medals into its foundation. During her return trip, an attempted train robbery occurred, and a rifle shot pierced the train window precisely where Francesca had been sitting moments before she leaned forward to better hear the nun traveling with her. When the frightened conductor pointed out how narrowly she had escaped death, she calmly reassured him: “Sir, that bullet could never have found me, for the Sacred Heart protects me.”

Chronologically summarizing Mother Cabrini’s extensive travels across the U.S. during the early 1900s is challenging. Her primary bases of operation included New York, Chicago, Denver, Seattle, Los Angeles, and New Orleans. In 1905, while Francesca was in Chicago, a yellow fever epidemic ravaged New Orleans, claiming many lives among poor immigrants in the overcrowded slums. Often, it was only Francesca’s Missionary Sisters who were permitted into these homes, working alongside medical authorities to alleviate the immigrants’ suspicion of doctors and nurses. Miraculously, not one Sister contracted the illness, despite their constant exposure.

In the Fall of 1905, Francesca traveled to Los Angeles with plans to assist both Italian and Mexican immigrants. There, she established an orphanage on Sunset Boulevard, a school on Alpine Street, and a sanitarium in Burbank for children suffering from tuberculosis or at risk of contracting it.

By this time, Mother Cabrini had gained recognition among Italians everywhere. The Italian government officially praised her efforts and provided some financial support for her work. She was honored by the Queen of Italy, and acknowledged by politicians who conceded that she did more for immigrants than all other agencies combined. As one biographer noted: “The name ‘Mother Cabrini’ began to sound like music to the ears of the clergy and civil authorities, and of all Italians as well. There had never been—and has not been since—a woman in America quite like Mother Cabrini. As Americans witnessed the flourishing communities under her influence—hospitals, orphanages, schools, religious and social centers—they gradually began to respect immigrants and shed ignorant prejudices.”

Coming in Part 4: The Final Years, Miracles & Canonization