In the Name Of

By Laces

Prologue

December 24, 1889

Francis Sullivan fidgeted in trying to sneak a glance down the pew at his friend. The air hung heavy with incense and frost and the candles and congregation did little to keep out the bitter cold of the New York winter. Francis slithered down and poked his head out looking down the row; five adults separated him and his friend Patrick Conlon. A strong hand grabbed Francis shoulder and pulled him harshly back into his seat.

"Sit still." His father hissed at him and Francis didn't have to look up to see the disapproval. The six-year-old managed to sit still for five minutes until a united Amen echoed off the church stonewalls. The congregation stood in unison, as the priest started his procession down the church. Francis used the moment to sneak a peek around to find his friend again but the mess of blond hair had disappeared. Frowning his young brown eyes scanned the church, only barely seeing over the pews.

A pudgy pale hand grabbed Francis' ankle and within seconds the two boys were crowding underneath the wooden pews as the adults shuffled out of the church. Crouched against the stone floor Patrick grinned at his friend. The boys had meet the previous year, when their fathers had both been laid off from their factory jobs the boys had been sent to stay at the St. Mary's Orphanage. As was the practice of many of the good hard-working Irish Catholic families of the city, when they couldn't care for their children they left them with the church. But troubled times had subdued and both boys were back with their parents for the time being.

"Sister Cecilia might have candy," Patrick pointed towards a pair of faded shoes that he recognized as the youngest nun working for the parish.

"She'll get mad that we're hiding from our folks." Francis warned. Suddenly the Sister Cecilia's honey-colored eyes were starring right at the two little boys. The young nun was on her knees searching the enclaves of the pews frantically.

"Francis, Patrick what are you doing down there?" She demanded of two young wards she was well familiar with.

"Talking." Patrick shrugged his baby shoulders slightly. Francis nodded in agreement and Sister Cecilia tried not to laugh at their honesty.

"Come out from under there." She waved them towards her.

"Were you looking for us?" Francis asked as he crawled out and stood up to lean his small body against the pew.

"No," Sister Cecilia remained on her knees scanning underneath the next pew.

"What are you looking for?" Patrick demanded crossing his little arms.

"A little girl that seems to like to run away too, naughty children don't get visits from Santa Claus." Sister Cecilia said loudly, her threat amplified in the empty church.

"Santa Claus doesn't visit the poor anyway Sister." Francis sighed as his sad brown eyes scanned around looking for a girl. Underneath the table of flickering candles, curled up, sucking her thumb and fast asleep laid a toddler. Francis pushed Patrick as he trotted over to the sleeping babe.

"Of course he does Francis, maybe if you behaved a little nicer you would get visits from old St. Nick." Sister Cecilia lectured as she silently prayed that her current ward hadn't wandered off into the snowy night. Meanwhile Francis and Patrick were crouching down over the sleeping girl, Francis poked her first.

"Santa Claus?" The little girl cooed in her sleep. Her face was barely visible underneath the starched bonnet and behind her pudgy baby hand.

"Nope, I'm Francis Sullivan." Francis giggled.

"He ain't no Santa Claus." Patrick frowned. Sister Cecilia stood up hearing the boys' laughter. She spotted the children in the corner of the church in seconds, hurrying towards them. She didn't want any of her sisters to notice she had not come out of the sanctuary. Sister Cecilia pushed the boys out of her way and scooped down to pick up the baby girl.

"I thought you weren't suppose to sleep in church." Patrick commented, yawning.

"Yeah, but she's a baby stupid." Francis shoved Patrick.

"Francis don't call people stupid." Sister Cecilia chastised as she held out her hand to Patrick.

"Where are her parents?" Francis asked.

"They died. She's an orphan." Sister Cecilia struggled with the sleeping toddler for a second as Patrick slipped his little fingers around her thumb.

"What's her name?" Patrick asked curiously.

"Shandley. It's her birthday today." Sister Cecilia smiled down at the boys as they stepped out into the cold of the winter night.

"She's got the same birthday as Jesus?" Francis' eyes bugged open. Sister Cecilia nodded carelessly as she scanned the crowd of parishioners looking for the boys' families. Mr. Sullivan had found them first though and his rough hand snatched the back of Francis hair violently.

"This rascal being troublesome Sister?" The older Sullivan demanded as Francis squealed in pain.

"No, sir." Sister Cecilia stuttered nervously. She had always been slightly frightened of Mr. Sullivan and hated how rough he was with his poor son.

"Running off like that worrying your poor sick mother," Mr. Sullivan shook Francis a second before pushing him towards a fragile looking woman that had appeared next to him. Francis buried himself into his mother's skirts, trying to hide his tears. Sister Cecilia was trying desperately to hold Shandley in her arms and keep Patrick from curl up to sleep on the snow-covered dirt. Patrick was slumping over, asleep standing up when his father scooped him up into his arms.

"Merry Christmas Sister," Mrs. Conlon smiled brightly at the young nun. Sister Cecilia nodded politely but her attention was focused on Francis, still hiding behind his mother as Mr. Sullivan spoke to Mr. Conlon. Sister Cecilia moved towards the little boy, nodding politely at his mother before bending down towards him.

"Try to be a good boy," Sister Cecilia whispered as she slipped a piece of toffee into the little boy's coat. Shandley stirred awake and turned her head to look straight at Francis with her bright evergreen eyes.

"Santa Claus?" She asked in a yawn. Francis shook his head, his hurt tears still making his brown eyes glimmer in the light from the church.

"He doesn't come to the poor kid, sorry." But Shandley juts blinked at him.