Garret stood inside the church with his arms folded across his chest.

She breezed by him, ignoring his disapproving look. "Well, I guess I'll go sort through this sewing kit and see what we can use."

"Be careful, lieutenant."

She turned back to him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Dr. Macy," she said without much conviction.

"I know emotions are running high right now," he said with a firm but gentle voice. "It's easy to get carried away. Don't."

"Who, me?" She turned back around and hurried off with the sewing kit.

XXXXXXX

On the morning of the 24th, Nigel and Bug cut down a small pine tree from the village square and dragged it back to the hospital, needles dropping off all the way. They managed to lash the sad little thing to a table top, and Jordan and Lily decorated it with garlands of Life Savers and twine.

Towards nightfall, they pooled their C-rations and prepared a feast of tinned turkey and dumplings, applesauce, and lima beans. As the table was ready, they heard the sound of the jeep returning to the village, and Woody and several of the men poured into the church with exuberant laughter.

The room glowed with candlelight. They ate and toasted each other with a punch someone had made from the last of the whiskey and a beverage powder from one of the C-rations. It was nauseating, but they drank it, and all were soon warm with drink and the fire.

Nigel entertained them with bawdy English music hall songs, and later, Bug brought out an old victrola and some records he had salvaged from one of the bombed out buildings. They danced to Glenn Miller, and even the old priest, Father Rene, joined them, crooning along in his tipsy voice.

Each of the men had to take a turn jitterbugging with Lily and Jordan, but then "Moonlight Serenade" came over the victrola. The music slowed, and Jordan found herself in Woody's arms. They didn't speak, but she leaned her head against his chest as he hummed softly.

Finally, as midnight approached, the mood became more somber. They gathered around and one of the men led them in "Silent Night" and "O Come All Ye Faithful." Someone passed Woody an English Bible, and he read aloud the nativity story from Luke.

Father Rene appeared in full vestments as the clock struck midnight. Those who wanted communion moved up to the altar, heads bowed. She hadn't taken communion in more than a decade, but she found herself following Woody and kneeling at the rail with him.

As she waited there, eyes closed, she felt bathed in a strange sense of peace. Here she was, in some unknown place, perhaps never to know her old life again, but it was the most meaningful Christmas she had spent in years.

Woody took her hand as they rose from the rail. "Come with me. I have something for you," he whispered.

He led her to the door at the side of church that opened onto the crumbling cloister. They hurried silently down the walkway and into the abandoned convent next to the church.

He pulled her inside one of the little cells. They stood giggling like schoolchildren while he blew on her hands for warmth.

"I got you something." He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small box. "Merry Christmas, Jordan."

She took it in her hands and gently lifted the lid. There was a delicate little glass bottle inside, and the scent of roses wafted up to her. "Woody! This is perfume! Where did you get it?"

"Don't ask."

"It must have cost you a fortune."

"It doesn't matter."

She pulled out the glass stopper and ran it across her wrist. "It's beautiful. I love roses. Here, smell."

She lifted her wrist, and he caught it in his hand. Their eyes met; he stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. He placed a gentle kiss there and pulled her in to him.

His mouth fell on hers. She didn't resist but ran her hand through his dark hair and pulled him closer. They stumbled backward onto the cot there in the empty room. Their eyes met again; he looked at her questioningly. She would not deny him. She wanted this. Time was precious, she had learned. She reached up to his face and nodded.

There was hurried fumbling with buttons and belts. His hand clasped hers as he slipped inside her. They moved together in the passion of need and fear, rising to a heated crescendo.

Afterwards, she kissed away his tears. "It's okay," she whispered as she smiled through her own tears. "It's okay."

They lay silently wrapped around each other in the tiny cot. Finally, they rose and straightened their clothing. He led her by the hand back through the cloister, pausing to kiss her once more before they re-entered the church.

The others were drowsily cleaning up from the festivities as the men packed their things back up. They all traded thanks and good wishes.

She walked them to the door as they headed out. She caught his hand and pulled him in. "When are you coming back?"

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I'll always come back."

And then he was gone, out into the dark Christmas morning.

When she turned around, Garret was glaring at her with paternal reproof. She shrugged and brushed away a tear. When had she ever listened to Garret?

Her cot was waiting, and she curled up under her blanket feeling warm and content. As she drifted off, she raised her wrist to her nose and drew in the sweet scent of roses.