Hanna slipped her hands into her pockets. “And now, I really do need to get back to work before the head nurse notices I’m missing.” Without giving Julia a chance to protest, this time she headed across the ward at a fast clip. Work, she needed to work. Needed to keep her hands busy and her mind focused on taking care of the patients who were too sick or too hurt to spend Christmas at home.
And she knew just which patients needed her most.
Time dragged during the long afternoons in the children’s ward. In the mornings, the hospital bustled with activity. Doctors made their rounds. Orderlies and nurses rushed about delivering medicine and changing linens. There were sponge baths to get and clean pajamas to don. Later, visiting hours brightened the early part of the afternoon. But toward the end of the day, things quieted around the hospital. Footfalls echoed in silent halls. And the children grew restless.
The image of a sad-eyed waif who’d fallen from his bunk bed at the Children’s Home surfaced, and Hanna’s heart went out to the little boy who had lost both his parents far too early. She stopped by the nurses’ station long enough to empty her tray, careful to store the medicines and supplies in their assigned places. Retrieving two books from a cubby, she headed for the other side of the hospital.
Toby’s face brightened when she approached the bed where the little boy sat, his arm awkward in its heavy cast. She ran one finger across the metal rail at the foot of his bed, checking for dust. Her finger came away clean, and she smiled, satisfied that the area was as neat and tidy as the rest of the hospital.
“I have a few minutes before the end of my shift,” she told him. “I picked out some good stories to read.” She held out the books she’d chosen from the library cart earlier that day. When the move failed to generate much enthusiasm, she paused to think. What would interest an eight-year-old boy? Sure she’d hit on a good idea, she reached into her pocket. “Would you like to look at my camera while I read to you?”
Toby’s eyes lit up. “You have a camera? I’d like to see it very much, Nurse Hanna.”
She handed the slim box to the polite child without hesitation. Settling in the chair beside his bed, she read while Toby pretended to snap pictures. “On the left side of her, she presently spied a little wooden hut painted blue and something rose-colored was tied to the handle of its shut blue door. ‘A bunch of roses,’ said the fairy godmother. And she thought of going over and smelling their sweetness. But when she came close to it…” Hanna looked up from the book. The most exciting part of the story was just ahead, and Toby wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. Instead, he stared out the window with a faraway look on his face while he flipped the buttons on the camera back and forth. Hanna stopped reading. When Toby didn’t seem to notice, she cleared her throat. “You don’t want me to read to you anymore?”
Her heart melted when a single tear rolled down Toby’s cheek. The boy shook his head.
Anxious to find out what troubled the child, she probed a little deeper. “Are you sad, Toby?”
His tiny fingers on the camera stilled. “I don’t want to go back to the orphanage.” He spoke softly, as if he didn’t want anyone else to overhear his biggest secret.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hanna sighed. She had to find a way to help the child who’d lost his mother in childbirth, his father to the war. “You know what I do when I’m sad?”
Toby’s blue eyes scoured her face with an intense gaze. The child was far too intelligent to accept the platitudes and false bravery that fooled so many others. She took a breath. Only one thing had brought her a measure of comfort over the last six months. For Toby’s sake, she’d share it.
“I try to help somebody else who’s sad.”
The boy’s thin lips turned down at the corners. “But I’m just a kid. I don’t have anybody to help.”
“You’re helping me,” Hanna confessed. She watched as the small child turned the idea over in his head.
“Are you sad, Nurse Hanna?” he asked at last.
Hanna stared at a spot on the wall over the little boy’s head. “Sad” was an understatement. Sometimes, she thought she’d drown in her grief. But she’d stopped by to cheer Toby up, not to pull him down into despair with her. Deliberately, she shook aside her own feelings. “Everyone gets sad sometimes, Toby,” she pointed out. She summoned a bright smile. “Spending time with you makes me very happy.” When a tiny bit of interest flickered in Toby’s eyes, she leaned forward. Determined to chase away his blues, she let a teasing note creep into her voice. “I bet you don’t know what’s coming tonight.”
A wide, snaggle-toothed grin spread across Toby’s face. “Do, too,” he insisted. Ever so carefully, he twisted a button on the camera.
“Oh, yeah? What?” Hanna challenged, although she wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn that Toby knew all about the event that had the whole town buzzing.
“The comet!”
“You are so right!” Hanna patted the child’s arm and did her best to hide her concern at his thin frame. Slighter than most boys his age, Toby had lost weight during his stay in the children’s ward. Most kids did. Although the food at the county hospital was good, it didn’t compare to home cooking.
“Is the comet a miracle?” Toby’s little face scrunched as if he was working hard at solving one of the world’s biggest mysteries.
“Hmmm.” She nodded while she made a mental note to contact the orphanage. Someone there needed to make sure the boy spent the holidays with a family in town. “That’s a good question.”
“What’s the difference between a miracle and”—he tapped his chin thoughtfully—“and something that just happens? Like, um, rain. Is rain a miracle?”
Hanna studied the child. She’d known all along that Toby was a smart boy, but his questions dug much deeper than what anyone would’ve expected from a youngster. Beneath the folds of her skirt, she crossed her fingers and wished for a Christmas miracle for Toby. He shouldn’t be in the orphanage. He should be in a home with parents who could give him all the attention and encouragement he deserved. “Maybe everything is a miracle.” She bent forward to tickle Toby’s arm and delighted in his giggle. “Rain. Comets. You. Me. It just depends on how you look at it.”
“People are calling this the Christmas Comet, but that’s not its real name.” Toby straightened against his pillows.
“Is that right?” Interested in this new piece of information, Hanna tilted her head.
“It’s the De Vico Comet. That’s the person who discovered it. I read it in a book,” he said, rather proud of himself. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“It won’t come again until seventy-one years. And you know what else?” The child’s eyes widened.
“What?” she asked, enjoying the conversation.
“I know a secret.” He crooked a finger on his free hand to beckon her forward.
She leaned in, eager to share the little boy’s confidence.
“I think comets are miracles,” he said with very adult-like
