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“And to think she’s missing out on Matt McHugh’s fruitcake,” Cathy said, and was delighted by the responding laugh that echoed down the line. Even Matt chuckled. An hour ago Cathy would have thought that impossible.

“I never thought I’d say this about fruitcake,” the young sailor said, saluting Matt with a slice, “but this ain’t half-bad.”

“What about my peanuts?” the guy with long hair asked. “I spent hours slaving over a hot stove to make those.”

Everyone smiled and the silly jokes continued.

“Quiet,” Nick said suddenly, jumping to his feet. “I hear something.”

“A train?” Matt teased.

“‘Do you hear what I hear?’” someone sang.

“I’m serious.”

It didn’t take Cathy long to pick up the faint sound of voices singing. “Someone’s coming,” she announced.

“Carolers?” Kelly asked. “On a night like this? For us?”

“No night more perfect,” Cathy murmured. Years ago she and Ron had been members of the church choir. Each holiday season the choir had toured nursing homes and hospitals, giving short performances. They’d been active in their church for a number of years. Unfortunately their attendance had slipped after Ron retired, then stopped completely when he became seriously ill. And afterward…well, afterward Cathy simply didn’t have the heart for it.

For the first time since the funeral, she felt the need to return. This insight was like an unexpected gift, and it had come to her at the sound of the carolers’ voices.

The door opened and a group of fifteen or so entered the train depot.

“Hello, everyone.” A man with a bushy gray mustache and untamed gray hair stepped forward. “I’m Dean Owen. Clayton Kemper’s a friend of mine and he mentioned you folks were stranded. This is the teen choir from the Regular Baptist Church. Since we weren’t able to get out last night because of the snow, we thought we’d make a few rounds this evening. How’s everyone doing?”

“Great.”

“As good as can be expected.”

“Hangin’ in there.”

“I love your Christmas tree,” one of the girls said. She was about sixteen, with long blond hair in a ponytail and twinkling eyes.

“We decorated it ourselves,” Kate said, pointing to her hair bow. “That’s mine.”

“Would anyone mind if I took a picture?” the girl asked, pulling a digital camera from her coat pocket.

“This is something that’s got to be seen to be believed,” Matt whispered to Cathy. “Actually I wouldn’t mind having a copy of it myself.”

“Me, too.”

“Shall we make it a family photo?” Elise asked.

A chorus of yes’s and no’s followed, but within a minute the ragtag group had gathered around the tree. Cathy ran a comb through her hair and added a dash of lipstick. Others, too, reviewed their appearance as they assembled for the photograph, jostling each other good-naturedly.

What amazed Cathy were the antics that went on before the picture was taken. They behaved like a group of teenagers themselves. Len held up the V for peace sign behind Nick’s head. Even Matt managed a crooked smile. For that matter, so did Cathy. Someone joked and she laughed. That made her realize how long it’d been since she’d allowed herself to be happy. Too long. Ron wouldn’t want that.

The girl took four snapshots. Before long, she had a list of names and email addresses to send copies of the photo. Cathy’s name was there along with everyone else’s. She wanted something tangible to remember this eventful day—the oddest Christmas Eve she’d spent in her entire life.

“We thought we’d deliver a bit of cheer,” Dean said, once the photo arrangements were finished.

Their coming had done exactly that. The travelers gathered around without anyone’s direction, positioning the benches in a way that allowed them all to see the singers.

The choir assembled in three rows of five each and began with “Silent Night,” sung in three-part harmony. Cathy had heard the old carol all her life, but never had it sounded more beautiful than it did this evening. Without accompaniment, without embellishment, simple, plain