“You’re supposed to think I’m a morally upstanding, independent, capable young woman who takes time to call her mother, sends home a regular paycheck, and is doing her country proud. That’s what you’re supposed to think. Merry Christmas, Mother.” Mary hung up the phone without waiting for her mother’s reply. A sob escaped from her lips. How could she think and say such awful things?

“Is everything all right?” Betty stood several feet away.

Mary sniffed. “Y-yes.”

“Homesick?”

“I was… Until I talked to my mother.”

“I understand how that goes,” Betty sympathized. “Why don’t you come to services with us? Rosalie will be down in a minute.”

“I don’t know. I’m not much in the mood.”

“Well, suit yourself. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Mary returned to her room, flopped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Why did everything with her mother have to be so darned contentious? And why did her mother always think the worst of her? She’d never done anything wild or crazy. Perhaps refusing to marry Sam made her seem a bit willful, but she had legitimate reasons for her decision.

Shake it off, Mary Elizabeth. Stop singing the blues and make the most of the day. Idly, she wondered what Nora was doing today. Was she working, even on the holiday? Had she gone home to be with family, as some of the other girls had? Betty and Rosalie had gone to services. Did Nora go with them? Was she home reading a book? That’s a depressing thought.

She sat up and gazed out the window. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Stop being a gloomy Gus and take yourself for a walk. She changed into a pretty dress to make herself feel better, donned a comfortable pair of saddle shoes, threw on her winter coat, and grabbed her picnic basket. Maybe she could collect some pine cones and make something from them. If she happened to contrive a means to run into Nora along the way, that would be fine too.

Nora never paid much attention to religion growing up. Then, as a college and graduate student, she hadn’t had the time to spend several hours in church on a Sunday. Her energy was devoted to her studies, her experiments, and the occasional visit home to see her parents.

But it was Christmas Day, she had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, and the Alpha-1 situation had her feeling just desperate enough that even she was willing to pray for a Christmas miracle. The Chapel-on-the-Hill was brimming with folks as interested in the fellowship as in the hymns. A kinship born of the circumstances that brought them all to this anonymous town, invisible to the outside world, drew them together like a family of misfits and orphans.