The rough unsanded floorboards drew blood from her knees. She rejoiced, mistaking it for blood from her womb, before realizing its true source. She bowed her head and continued her prayer. The wooden saint stared down at her knelt form, unrelenting. Voice hoarse and sore, she whispered her prayers. 

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners 

Her words bled together as the hours of her penance crept by. Parishioners came and went from the old chapel, and she heard the moaning cry of the organist warming up for mass. The pipes groaned with aches and pains, like an old man rising from a seat. She had been there all night. 

With her eyes turned down in reverence and the candles glowing dully at the altar, day had bled into night without her notice. The door to the refectory creaked open and the priest tottered out. He staggered to the podium and coughed through rehearsing the day’s mass. She noticed dumbly that it was about charity and the Miracle of Feeding the Multitude. The verse brought her comfort, a reminder of who she’d been begging for help. He was good; He was kind and if she asked enough, showed enough penance, Mother Mary would intervene and He would help her. If He could give so much, He must have been able to take away something so simple. 

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners 

Sometime before mass, an altar boy wiped her blood from the floor and laid a cloth under her knees. She was thankful, for it meant she could stay longer. 

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners 

Mass began and the chapel was filled with the worshipful masses. If they saw her knelt at the base of the statue, no one commented. The floors groaned under the strain of their labour and the pews huffed as they received the worshipers. The organ moaned in pain as it was forced through the music of church. Dust from Bibles crowded her throat and choked her. 

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners 

During a hymn she dared to raise her head and looked up at the statue. It was unchanged from when she first knelt before it: blue veil draped over wooden hair, eyes staring down in expectation, arms open but not receiving. 

Her faith wavered ever so slightly. How could her hours of prayer and supplication have gone unnoticed? She expected the priest, the parishioners, the altar boys, and the organist to pass her by. They were all human, and no human could notice everything. But how could her hours upon hours of prayer, since she first found out she was pregnant, go unanswered? If she had been pleading to another saint, or even to the Heavenly Father, she would understand. They have bigger things to worry about than some knocked up teenager praying in an aging chapel. But Mother Mary? She was supposed to understand. Hadn’t she, before she was the Mother of God, been a young girl? Hadn’t she been scared; hadn’t she prayed for answers? No, she hadn’t. 

God had sent her an angel. She’d never been scared, never doubted God’s plan. Because God took care of her. 

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners 

Mass had been over for some time. No one tried to collect her, no one urged her to eat or drink or rest. They knew she was there for a reason, and the Lord would care for her as she needed. 

But the Lord hadn’t cared for her. He’d left her alone with no angel or vision or wisemen to help her, to comfort her. 

The unsanded wood bit through the cloth and drew more blood from her knees. It flowed freely and pooled at the statue’s feet. 

She blinked tears from her eyes. The words of the prayer failed her. 

“Please, please I can’t do this. I need this to be over. I can’t survive this. Please take this from me,” she begged. 

A flash of blue fabric entered her vision. Frankincense and myrrh floated in her nose and the strength of maternal arms enveloped her. She wept and fell back into the embrace. She was saved. She’d been heard. Someone was here and they would help her. 

A soft hand wiped away her tears and stroked her hair. A voice whispered in her ear, “I am sorry.” 

She fell back and scraped her arms on the unsanded floor. She was alone.