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and the axes and sledgehammers and blowtorches were mostly gone, but there were still nails and screws and tacks strewn everywhere. Kids had to be watchedconstantly because they absolutely would crawl under the plastic and end up poking one another with screwdrivers and then crying and fighting and demanding Band-Aids, which had run out long ago and…
    Mary took a deep breath. The council had a lot to do. A lot of problems to deal with. Maybe this wasn’t their top priority.
    Mary forced a smile for the girl, who watched her solemnly and clutched her doll.
    “I’m sorry, sweetie: what’s your name again?”
    “Jill.”
    “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jill. You can stay here for a while until we work something else out.”
    “I want to go home,” Jill said.
    Mary wanted to say, Yeah, we all do, honey. We all want to go home. But she had learned that bitterness and irony and sarcasm didn’t really help when dealing with the littles.
    “What happened? Why were you out on the streets?” Mary asked.
    Jill shrugged. “They said I had to go.”
    “Who?”
    Jill shrugged again, and Mary gritted her teeth. So sick of being understanding. So deeply, deeply sick of being responsible for every stray child in Perdido Beach.
    “Okay, then, do you know why you left your house?”
    “They said they would…hurt me, I guess.”
    Mary wasn’t sure she wanted to pry any deeper. Perdido Beach was a community in a permanent state of fear andworry and loss. Kids didn’t always behave too well. Older brothers and sisters sometimes lost it when dealing with their siblings.
    Mary had seen things…things she would never have believed possible.
    “Well, you can stay with us for a while,” Mary said. She gave the girl a hug. “Francis will tell you the rules, okay? He’s that big kid over in the corner.”
    Jill turned away reluctantly and took a couple of hesitant steps toward Francis. Then she turned back. “Don’t worry: I won’t sing.”
    Mary almost didn’t respond. But something about the way Jill had said it…
    “Of course you can sing,” Mary said.
    “I better not,” Jill said.
    “What’s your favorite song?” Mary asked.
    Jill looked bashful. “I don’t know.”
    Mary persisted. “I’d like to hear you sing, Jill.”
    Jill sang. A Christmas carol.
    What child is this who laid to rest
    on Mary’s lap is sleeping?
    Whom angels greet with anthems sweet
    While shepherds watch are keeping…
    And the world stopped.
    Later—how much later, Mary could not know—Jill satdown on an unoccupied cot, cradled her doll close, and fell to sleep.
    The room had fallen silent as she sang. Every child standing stock-still, as if they’d been frozen. But everywhere eyes were alight and mouths formed dreamy half smiles.
    When Jill stopped singing, Mary looked at Francis.
    “Did you…”
    Francis nodded. There were tears in his eyes. “Mary, you need to catch some sleep, hon. Eliza and I will handle breakfast.”
    “I’m just going to sit down, rest my feet for a while,” Mary said. But sleep took her, anyway.
    Francis woke her what seemed like mere minutes later. “I have to go,” he said.
    “Is it time?” Mary shook her head to clear it. Her eyes didn’t seem to want to focus.
    “Soon. And I have some good-byes to say first,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “You’re a great person, Mary. And another great person has come to see you.”
    Mary stood up, not really following what Francis was saying, just knowing that someone was there to see her.
    Orsay. She was so slight and fragile looking Mary instinctively liked her. She seemed like one of the kids, almost, one of the littles.
    Francis touched Orsay’s hand and almost seemed to bow his head as if in prayer for a moment. “Prophetess,” he said.
    “Mother Mary, the Prophetess,” Francis said, performing avery formal introduction. Mary felt like she was meeting the president or something.
    “Orsay, please,” Orsay said in a soft