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She was tired

Not old in years Just tired While her vocation called to her as powerfully as it had always done, the reality was a relentless workload that offered little time for the life of study and reflection that she craved

But this was the life the Lord wished for her and so this was the life she would live

The worn black fabric of her habit brushed the wooden floor as she walked down the aisle, checking the pews for ite on in years so, though he always offered to close up the church, Constance was the one who did it every night At least she didn’t have to deal with the homeless Her closest friend in the order, Maria, as in a house of worship in a e out those unfortunates

It made her question her faith on a daily basis

“Should we not provide sanctuary, Sister Constance?” she’d ask when they gathered at the order’s simple house for their late dinner meal “And yet I must push them out into the dark and the cold because, elsewise, they defile the church Why, the other day, I found a vaht out in the open”

Constance had no answers for Maria, but she’d volunteered to take charge of that church next year, to help balance the load For they must all do their duty

Ah, it looked like someone had left behind a coat

They would surely return for it, she thought as she moved down the pew

Then the coat , she stoppedand realized that while the pale blue fabric was of a coat, that coat was on a person A small person A child

Close enough now to see the peacefully sleeping child’s golden-skinned face and soft hair so pale it was almost white, she looked down and saw the child wore a dress of soft pink broderie anglaise The stockings on her little legs hite with blue butterflies along the sides, her shoes a shiny black

This was a child as loved, who’d been dressed with care

A little bag sat next to her, printed with the ie of a storybook princess

Constance whispered a prayer and looked around in case she had somehow missed one of the faithful, but no, she was alone in the church but for this beautiful child, who couldn’t have beenquite what to do but aware she couldn’t let the child sleep on the hard wood of the pew, she bent to lift her into her arms

The child awoke “Maman?”

It was a hopeful word but the little girl’s lower lip trembled

Constance replied in the saue It was not her own, but she’d lived for many years in this land of corner bakeries and stylishly dressed people and hidden avenues cloaked in darkness “Your o have hot chocolate and cookies while ait for her”

“I have toys,” the child said, picking up the princess bag before slipping her tiny hand into Constance’s with the sweet trust of a being who had never been hurt, who knew only love As she walked the child to the back room, where she and Father Pierre often did the paperwork of an afternoon, she caught sight of a stark white envelope in the child’s coat pocket

She didn’t reach for it until her s a cookie, Constance having made her a hot chocolate in a chipped but pretty red cup she thought a child would like