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THE LAST OF THE BAUBLES WERE BEING HUNG ON THE TREE, WHEN THE DOORBELL RANG.
The night had long since fallen, and with that, a surprising electrical outage. The power had cut throughout the convent when the clock had struck had three, earlier that day, and had yet to come back. As darkness fell, the sisters were forced to light their candles and say prayers that God saw fit to return the electricity before morning broke. Or else, breakfast would be rather simple and without cooked food.
Sister Bridget and Sister Augustus were charged with decorating the convent with appropriate Christmas decor, after much begging from the two - who were younger than all else, a tree was allowed. Sister Carla was in charge of the convent, and did not like to bend to the commercialisation of Christmas. In her eyes, it was a celebration of Christ and nothing more.
When the doorbell had rang, the clock had just struck eight. It was rather unusual, and completely forbidden, for guests to be permitted so late. With that in mind, the two dropped the tinsel back into the box and shared a glance.
In the end, it was Sister Carla who headed to the door, prepared to give Hell to whoever dared to disrupt the sisters at such a late hour, knowing they slept at nine. But alas, when she opened the door, no one was there.
Frustrated, the elderly woman leaned forward with her flashlight and shone it around the dark front yard, prepared to meet the eyes of a mischievous teenager, but found nothing. Stepping back and prepared to close the door, a soft cry interrupted her actions.
Looking down this time, instead of around, Sister Carla saw the real reason the bell was rang, heartbreakingly so. Without delay, she reached down to pluck the newborn off of the step, tutting at the recklessness people held. The night was freezing, had the child been left longer she would surely have frozen to death.
"How could anyone do such a thing?" She complained as she shut the door, keeping the warmth inside and clutching the child in her arms.
"What is it, Sister?" One asked curiously, stepping forward to catch a peak, reeling at the sight of the baby.
"No doubt a precarious teenager who is too afraid of their parents to own up to their mistakes," she ranted, tightening the blankets around her. Without doubt, the baby was adorable. As beautiful as a baby could be at that age. Her skin held a glowing shine to it, as if she were kissed on the head by God himself.
Her skin was dark, with large brown eyes that stared peacefully off at nothing in particular.
The convent no longer held a children's wing after ethical issues arose about their punishments in the 1990s, but there were still beds and cots left over. The night was too late to figure out the girl's fate at this hour.
