She had spent days helping coordinate their visit.
But she did not want to make promises about something that might still be disrupted by weather or medical needs.
So she answered, "I think some people have been making sure you aren't forgotten."
Lily considered.
Then asked, "Even if I can't go home?"
Rachel sat beside her.
"Especially then."
The little girl smiled faintly.
Then turned toward the window.
"I hope Cinnamon is warm."
Rachel looked at the horse drawing.
"I'm sure somebody is taking good care of her."
Lily nodded.
After a moment, she whispered, "I wish I could smell her again."
Rachel felt the familiar ache of wanting to fix something she could not simply fix.
Instead, she touched Lily's hand.
"Would you tell me what she smells like?"
Lily smiled.
"Hay."
Rachel laughed softly.
"And?"
"Sunshine."
"Sunshine has a smell?"
"Yes."
Rachel leaned closer.
"Tell me."
Lily closed her eyes.
"Like grass when it's warm. And old leather. And the little apples my uncle gives her."
Rachel listened.
The girl's voice was weak.
But when she spoke about the horse, something bright returned to her expression.
Rachel stayed until Lily grew tired.
Then she quietly left the room.
Outside, she leaned against the wall for a moment.
Her eyes filled.
She could not take Lily home that Christmas.
But perhaps she could help bring some small part of home to her.
By late morning, the hospital's decorations had multiplied.
Paper snowflakes hung above the nurses' station.
A volunteer dressed as an elf handed out approved activity sheets.
Parents helped children who were well enough make ornaments.
A local choir performed softly in a family gathering room, with the sound kept away from patients who needed quiet.
The cafeteria prepared a special holiday menu.
And staff members who had planned to leave early found themselves volunteering to stay a little longer because the day mattered.
Not every family participated.
Some wanted privacy.
Some did not celebrate Christmas.
Some children were too ill for activity.
Rachel made sure the staff respected those choices.
The purpose was not to turn the hospital into a performance.
It was to let each family decide what would bring comfort.
At noon, Rachel visited Marcus.
He was sitting upright, looking at a comic book.
His father had fallen asleep in the chair beside him.
Marcus raised one finger to his lips.
Rachel smiled.
"Shall I whisper?"
He nodded solemnly.
"Dad stayed up all night."
Rachel looked toward the sleeping man.
His face was drawn with exhaustion.
A cup of untouched coffee rested beside the chair.
Marcus leaned closer.
"Do you think Santa brings presents for dads?"
Rachel smiled.
"Sometimes."
Marcus thought.
"What about sleep?"