Christmas in the City - Jill Barnett Page 0,8

to you" and "Merry Christmas."

There were magic lanterns and fancy dolls, newfangled electric trains that chugged and chooed and circled the store Christmas tree. It was festive and joyous and alive.

By the time the storm had stopped, she was smiling when she wandered to the park. Snow-covered trees and plants looked as if they'd been sprinkled with sugar. Ponds that had iced over took on the quality of frosted mirrors, and the fountains and birdbaths stood like stiff snow soldiers.

Before long the air sang sweetly with laughter and the jingle of brass and silver sleigh bells. She smiled, rather sadly, at the sound of the bells.

Every time a bell rings, an angel gels its wings.

For most of the afternoon the sleighs dashed by, their runners whizzing on the fresh white snow and knocking down keep off the grass signs. She laughed at snowball fights and gave a misty little smile at a group of children, skates in hand, running for the skating pond with dire threats that the last one there would be a rotten egg.

But by evening, she was alone and the last one to leave the park. She felt like a rotten egg. She was little more than an aimless wanderer in a foreign land. She had found a small bit of joy in the laughter of others, which had gotten her through a very long day, but by the time the sun had set, she had no idea what she was going to do. She huddled against the cold.

It was difficult to believe that one could be cold with all the clothes she wore. She took a deep breath, something that was nigh on impossible laced into this corset contraption. Her mortal underwear was the closest thing to Purgatory she'd ever come across.

The air was colder than the frostiest cloud, and she could feel the chill right through to her bones. She pulled her jacket even tighter and looked around.

The streets were edged with snow, and ice covered the curbside gutters. A delivery wagon rattled past, and a hansom cab was parked just a few steps away. Near the corner, a small boy hawked newspapers to the passersby. Everyone looked as if they had a place to go and were hustling to get there now that night had fallen.

She stopped and just stood for a moment, feeling so lost and alone, aware that she had no place to go. She stepped back and looked upward, instinctively turning toward the Heaven that had been her home.

There were buildings all around her, so tall—as tall as seven stories, and she could barely see the stars twinkling in the night sky. She wanted to see those stars, wanted to reach out and touch them, to wish on them and hope that they would show her the way back to Heaven.

Finally she looked down, staring bleakly at the snow. The tears just fell until she had no more tears left. She wiped her eyes and cheeks, then took a deep breath.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned, then made her way toward a different area of the city, where immigrants, foreign and homeless as she was, were huddled on street corners or around small weak fires in alleys and on stoops.

She wondered how many of them were like her— fallen angels.

Cold, tired, and hungry, she finally stopped and leaned against a brick building where the scent of German sausages made her mouth water and her stomach growl. A group of families swarmed nearby, taking shelter under an awning over a side door in the alley.

The children, bundled in thin blankets and knit mufflers, watched her from frightened eyes and pale faces.

A baby wailed.

It had a hungry sound.

Hunched over a meager fire, a woman was cooking. She turned and looked up at Lilli. Something passed between them, something female. Something spiritual.

The woman reached over and poured steaming liquid into a dented tin can and held it out to Lilli. Though her belly was empty, a foreign feeling since no one in Heaven was ever hungry, Lilli shook her head and smiled slightly. "Feed your children."

The immigrant woman frowned, then with a pride and determination that belied her circumstances, she walked up to Lilli and pressed the can into her hands. "Frohliche Weihnachten. Merry Christmas."

Lilli thought she might cry, but she managed a weak smile and to choke out a "Thank you."

The woman rushed back to her children and meal.

A few minutes later, huddled on a chilly stoop where damp snow drifted down and stuck