Sarah's Christmas Miracle by Mary Ellis Page B

one of the maps from her bag. “I wish to take the Rapid train to Davenport Street.”
    The woman scanned the sheet, locating the “X” Mrs. Pratt had marked before handing it back to her. “You need to take the Red Line and get off at the West Boulevard-Cudell stop. You can catch the train at Public Square. From here, you can either walk to the square or catch the Euclid Avenue connector.” She pulled a pad from her desk drawer.
    “I’ll walk,” said Sarah, unsure what a connector was.
    “Okay, you’re on Chester Avenue.” The woman pointed toward the street. “Head west, which is to the right, until you get to East Ninth. Then turn right, go two blocks, turn left on Superior, and walk to Public Square. You can’t miss it. The Rapid Transit station is the lowest level of the Terminal Tower.” While she spoke, she marked on the pad with red marker. “When you get to the square, look up. The tallest building is the one you want. Good luck, honey.” She ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Sarah.
    She thanked the woman and left the station, clutching yet another map in her hand. Under the terminal’s canopy she studied the red marks and breathed a sigh of relief—it was only a six-block walk.
    But as she set out, the light snow steadily increased to near-blizzard conditions. By the time she reached Ninth Street, she couldn’t see ten feet before her. Sidewalk shoveling had been spotty at best. Some storekeepers had cleared a path, but many abandoned storefronts promised a foot of slush to trudge through. By the time Sarah turned onto Superior Avenue, her outer bonnet and gloves were soggy, and the inside of her leather boots felt clammy.
    However, she forgot how cold and damp she was the moment she arrived at Public Square. The festive display of holiday lights snatched her breath away. All four quadrants of the Square blazed with colorful blinking exhibits, one more impressive than the next. As she crossed the street, she entered a wonderland of red-and-green walkways winding through dozens of illuminated Christmas trees. Each glowed from hundreds of points of light. She marveled at the Soldiers and Sailors Monument and stood in awe before the Old Stone Church, beckoning people inside to worship. Even though most of the decorations were secular, Sarah spotted a Nativity scene in one quadrant that drew her like a moth to a flame.
    As snowflakes fell on the ceramic sheep and wooden shepherds, she approached the manger with her heart swelling with anticipation.
    Wise men journeyed for hundreds of miles two thousand years ago. Can’t I walk a few blocks without complaining of discomfort?
    Sarah stood transfixed for several minutes while office workers and shoppers hurried past her. She wasn’t in a rush, though. She paused before the gentle reminder of what was possible through faith.
    After a little while, she smiled and turned up her face to try to determine which building was the tallest, but heavy snow obliterated the skyline.
    A young man wearing a stocking cap and baggy jeans paused beside her and stared up too. “Wha’cha looking for?”
    “The Terminal Tower.” She withdrew a damp map from her pocket.
    “It’s right in front of you,” he answered, his grin revealing a gold tooth. “Cross the street and you’re there.” Before she could thank him, he disappeared into the throng.
    Sarah fell in step with the people entering the building. The lobby’s interior—marble floors and walls, a picture-frame ceiling of carved golden roses, brass latticework above each doorway—caused her mouth to drop open. Never had she seen anything so ornate. She trailed the crowd of tan trench coats, black briefcases, and plaid scarves into an inner court of shops and restaurants. And English tourists think Amish folk dress alike. All the stores seemed to sell only one type of item—fancy underwear, perfume, scented soaps and lotions, tennis shoes, jewelry—instead of a little of everything like back home.