“You're up bright and early,” Sister Maggie commented, when Melanie turned up. She looked young and beautiful, and clean, although she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. She had no others, but she had gotten up at seven to line up at the shower stalls. It had felt wonderful to wash her hair and take a hot shower. And she'd had oatmeal and dry toast in the mess hall.

Fortunately the generators were keeping the food cold. The medical personnel were worried about food poisoning and dysentery if they didn't. But so far their biggest problems were injuries, not diseases, although eventually that could become a problem too. “Did you sleep last night?” Maggie asked her. Sleeplessness was one of the key symptoms of trauma, and many of the people they were seeing said they hadn't slept in two days. A fleet of psychiatrists had volunteered to deal with trauma victims, and were set up in a separate hall. Maggie had sent many people over to see them, particularly the elderly and the very young, who were frightened and badly shaken.

She set Melanie to work doing intakes then, writing down the details, symptoms, and data about patients. There was no charge for what they were doing, no billing system, and all the administration and paperwork was being done by volunteers. Melanie was glad she was there. The night of the earthquake had been terrifying, but for the first time in her life, she felt as though she was doing something important instead of just hanging out backstage in theaters, recording studios, and singing. At least here, she was doing people some good. And Maggie was very pleased with her work.

Several other nuns and priests were also working at the Presidio, from a variety of orders and local churches. There were ministers who walked around, talking to people, and had set up offices where people could come for counseling. Clergy members of all denominations were visiting the injured and sick. Very few of them were identified by Roman collars or habits, or religious paraphernalia of any kind. They said who they were and readily talked to people as they wandered around. Some of them were even serving food in the mess hall. Maggie knew a lot of the priests and nuns. She seemed to know everyone. Melanie commented on it later that morning, when they took a break, and Maggie laughed.

“I've been around for a long time.”

“Do you like being a nun?” Melanie was curious about her. She thought she was the most interesting woman she'd ever met. In her nearly twenty years on earth, she had never met anyone with as much kindness, wisdom, depth, and compassion. She lived her beliefs and exemplified them, instead of talking them. And she had a gentleness and poise about her that seemed to touch everyone she met. One of the other workers at the field hospital said that Maggie had an amazing grace about her, and the expression made Melanie smile. She had always loved the hymn by that name and sang it often. From now on, she knew it would remind her of Maggie. It had been on the first CD Melanie ever made, and allowed her to really use her voice.

“I love being a nun,” Maggie answered. “I always have. I've never regretted it for a minute. It suits me perfectly,” she said, looking happy. “I love being married to God, the bride of Christ,” she added, which impressed her young friend. Melanie noticed then the thin white gold wedding band she wore, which Maggie said she had been given when she took her final vows ten years before. It had been a long wait for that ring, she said, and it symbolized the life and work she loved so much and was so proud of.

“It must be hard to be a nun,” Melanie commented with deep respect.

“It's hard to be anything in this life,” Maggie said wisely. “What you do isn't easy either.”

“Yes, it is,” Melanie disagreed. “It is for me. The singing is easy and what I love. That's why I do it. But concert tours are hard sometimes, because you travel a lot, and you have to work every day. We used to go on the road in a big bus, and we drove all day, and performed all night, with rehearsals as soon as we arrived. It's a lot easier now that we fly.” The good times had finally come with her enormous success.

“Does your mother always travel with you?” Maggie asked, curious about her life. She had said that her mother and several other people were with her in San Francisco. Maggie knew it was in the nature of her work to travel with an entourage, but she thought that the addition of her mother was unusual, even for a girl her age. She was nearly twenty.

“Yes, she does. She runs my life,” Melanie said with a sigh. “My mom always wanted to be a singer when she was young. She was a showgirl in Vegas, and she's pretty excited that things have gone well for me. A little too excited sometimes.” Melanie smiled. “She's always pushed me hard to do my best.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Sister Maggie commented, “as long as she doesn't push too hard. What do you think?”

“I think sometimes it's too much,” Melanie said honestly. “I'd like to make my own decisions. My mom always thinks she knows best.”

“And does she?”

“I don't know. I think she makes the decisions she would have made for herself. I'm not always sure they're what I want for me. She nearly died when I won the Grammy.” Melanie smiled, and Maggie's eyes danced as she watched her.

“That must have been a big moment, the culmination of all your hard work. What an incredible honor.” She hardly knew the girl but was proud for her anyway.

“I gave it to my mother,” Melanie said softly. “I felt like she won it. I couldn't have done it without her.” But something about the way she said it made the wise nun wonder if that kind of stardom was what Melanie wanted for herself, or just to please her mother.

“It takes a lot of wisdom and courage to know what path we want to take, and what path we're taking to please others.” The way she said it made Melanie look pensive.

“Did your family want you to be a nun? Or were they upset?” Melanie's eyes were filled with questions.

“They were delighted. In my family, that was a big deal. They'd rather have their kids be priests or nuns than get married. Today, that sounds a little crazy. Twenty years ago, in Catholic families, parents always bragged about it. One of my brothers was a priest.”

“ ‘Was'?” Melanie questioned her, and Sister Maggie smiled.

“He left after ten years and got married. I thought it would kill my mother. My father was already dead by then, or it would have killed him. In my family, once you take your vows, you don't leave religious orders. To be honest, I was kind of disappointed in him myself. He's a great guy though, and I don't think he ever regretted it. He and his wife have six children, and they're very happy. So I guess that was his real vocation, not the Church.”

“Do you wish you had children?” Melanie asked wistfully. The life Maggie led seemed sad to her, far from her family, never married, working on the streets with strangers, and living in poverty all her life. But it seemed to suit Maggie to perfection. You could see it in her eyes. She was a happy, totally fulfilled woman, who was obviously content with her life.

“All the people I meet are my children. The ones I know on the streets and see year after year, the ones I help and get off the streets. And then there are special people like you, Melanie, who happen into my life and touch my heart. I'm so glad I met you.” She gave her a hug, as they put their conversation aside and went back to work, and Melanie returned the hug with obvious affection.

“I'm so happy I met you too. I want to be like you when I grow up,” she giggled.

“A nun? Oh, I don't think your mother would like that! There are no stars in the convent! It's supposed to be a life of humility and cheerful deprivation.”

“No, I mean helping people the way you do. I wish I could do something like that.”

“You can, if you want to. You don't have to be in a religious order to do it. All you have to do is roll your sleeves up and get to work. There are people in need everywhere around us, even among fortunate people. Money and success don't always make people happy.” It was a message for Melanie, and she knew it, and more importantly for her mother.

“I never have time to do volunteer work,” Melanie complained. “And my mother doesn't want me around people with diseases. She says if I get sick, I'll miss concert dates or tours.”

“Maybe one day you'll find time for both. Maybe when you're older.” And when her mother loosened her grip on her career, if she ever would. It sounded to Maggie as though Melanie's mother was living vicariously through her. She was living her dreams through her daughter. It was lucky for her Melanie was a star. The blue-eyed nun had a sixth sense for people, and she could sense that Melanie was her mother's hostage, and somewhere deep inside, even without knowing it, she was struggling to get free.

They got busy with Maggie's patients then. They saw an endless stream of injured people all day, most of them minor injuries that could be ministered to by a nurse and not a doctor. The others, in the triage system they were using at the field hospital, went to someone else. Melanie was a good little assistant, and Sister Maggie praised her often.

They took a lunch break together later that afternoon, and were sitting outside in the sunshine, eating turkey sandwiches that were surprisingly good. Some very decent cooks seemed to be volunteering for the cooking, and food was appearing from somewhere, donated in many cases by other cities, or even other states, being airlifted in, and often delivered by helicopter right on the Presidio grounds. Medical supplies, clothes, and bedding for the thousands of people living there now were airlifted in as well. It was like living in a war zone, and there were helicopters constantly whirring overhead, night and day. Many of the older people said it interfered with their sleep. The younger people didn't care and had gotten used to it. It was a symbol of the shocking experience they were living.

They had just finished their sandwiches, when Melanie noticed Everett walk by. Like so many others, he was still wearing the same black tux pants and white dress shirt he had had on the night the earthquake struck. He walked past them, without noticing them, with his camera around his neck, and his camera bag slung over his arm. Melanie called out to him, and he turned, and saw them with a look of surprise. He came over quickly, and sat down on the log where they were sitting.

“What are you two doing here? And together yet. How did that happen?”

“I'm working at the field hospital here,” Sister Maggie explained.

“And I'm her assistant. I volunteered when they moved us here from the church. I'm becoming a nurse,” Melanie beamed proudly.

“And a very fine one,” Maggie added. “What are you doing here, Everett? Taking pictures, or are you staying here too?” Maggie asked him with interest. She hadn't seen him since the morning after the quake, when he sauntered off to see what was happening in the city. She hadn't been home herself since then, if he had tried to find her, which she doubted.

“I may have to now. I've been staying at a shelter downtown, and they just had to close it. The building next to it is starting to lean badly, so they cleared us out, and suggested we come here. I thought I was going to be out of here by now, but there's no way. Nothing is leaving San Francisco, so we're all stuck here. There are worse fates,” he said to both women with a smile, “and I've gotten some great shots.” As he said it, he pointed his camera at both of them, and took a picture of the two women smiling in the sunshine. Both looked happy and relaxed, despite the circumstances they were in. But both were being productive and enjoying what they were doing. It showed on their faces and in their eyes. “I don't think anybody would believe this vision of Melanie Free, the world-famous superstar, sitting on a log in camouflage pants and flip-flops, working in a field hospital as a medical tech after an earthquake. This is going to be a historical shot.” And he had some great ones of Maggie from the first night. He could hardly wait to see them when he got back to L.A. And he was sure his editors would be thrilled with whatever shots he got out of the aftermath of the earthquake. And whatever they didn't use, he might be able to sell elsewhere. He might even win another prize. He knew instinctively that the material he had gotten had been great. The photos he had taken seemed historically important to him. This was a unique situation that hadn't happened in a hundred years, and maybe wouldn't for another hundred. He hoped not. But in spite of the enormous tremor, the city had withstood it surprisingly well, as had the people.