This was one of my two entries for the 2006 Christmas Drabble contest at mortrouge dot com. It came joint fourth with my other story, "Motherhood". Hugs and kisses to my wonderful beta, StefanieBean.

Breton legends tells us tales of standing stones that move on Christmas night, and in Provence, you open the windows to let the souls out.

Christine put down the steaming cup next to the bed. "I've brought a new brick, and I want you to try this raspberry leaf tea."

The pile of blankets moved, and a very miserable Meg sat up. "Thank you. I feel awful."

"Some months are really bad, aren't they?"

Meg put the hot brick, wrapped in red flannel against her stomach and smiled wanly, "At least I didn't have to go to Mass with Mama."

Christine asked curiously, "You don't want to? Mama Giry is going to all three."

Meg spoke with unusual sharpness, "A good Catholic attends all three Masses, at midnight, dawn and on Christmas day, and is kept safe from the devil for the rest of the year. Stuff and nonsense! I don't believe in ghosts or demons, but I'm really beginning to wonder about Mama."

"You're a fine one to talk, Mademoiselle Giry! Who left the window open so that the souls of the dead could leave the theatre during the midnight chimes?"

Meg looked a little sheepish but was quick to answer back, "Well, who went searching for gold under the menhirs at midnight with her childhood sweetheart? So who's the most superstitious now?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten that!" Christine smiled and blushed. "The standing stones at Carnac. We believed those stories, that they walked to the sea to bathe on Christmas night, when the bells rang out the midnight Mass. We were so disappointed."

The girls laughed together, and then sat in companionable silence while Meg sipped the tea. "I'm worried about Minette, I haven't seen her for days."

"She's been acting strangely since… you know…. That thing happened."

"Since Buquet died, you mean?" No roundaboutation here, Meg always came straight out with uncomfortable words.

"Yes", said Christine and shivered. "I wonder if she misses him."

"She was the only one who liked him around here, anyway!" was the tart reply.

"Hush, but yes, I suppose you're right. I liked him better when I was younger, he didn't drink so much then, and told nice stories, not horrors. I've been worried about Minette too, she hasn't been well at all. She threw up in the practice room last week. But what was that?" Christine turned her head and listened.

Something scratched at the door and they heard a muffled crying sound. Christine turned white and stared wide-eyed at Meg.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said the fearless Mademoiselle Giry. Armed with a broom she strode to the door and pulled it open.

"Minette!" the girls exclaimed in happy surprise. Christine ran over and scooped her up in her arms.

"Mind her baby!" said Meg, cupping her hands around the tiny ball of fur held in its mother's mouth.

Minette miaowed proudly and rubbed her head against Christine's chin.

A warm smile lit up Meg's face. "Who needs priests or herald angels… here is our very own Christmas miracle!"

Stretched out in a box lined with velvet scraps filched from the sewing basket, Minette purred contentedly as the smoke-coloured kitten curled up next to her.

Christine stroked the warm fur of mother and child. "Merry Christmas, little mother," she whispered.