They rushed through the cold, snowy streets to Notre Dame. To the warmth that Colette always felt when she went in there. The embrace of God, the symbol of His son’s sacrifice upon the cross, the candles, the sunlight colored by the gorgeous stained-glass windows.
There would be no brilliantly colored sunlight tonight. But there would be candles and warmth. And those were most welcome to Colette as she led her two daughters and son toward the sanctuary.
Day after day, she had passed by the church and its scowling gargoyles as she worked to earn what meager pay she could, with her husband, Emile, fighting his sickness for so long and too weak to work.
Now that Emile had finally lost that battle, Colette needed to get inside the church to be embraced by that warmth and to embrace her three children. For their hearts were heavy with loss and with the worries over their future.
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