Devoted Heart

by Bill Myers

I found the lighter and with dripping hands pushed it into its receptacle. It took forever to pop back out but when it did the coil glowed red and hot. I placed the ends of three or four pieces of straw against it, noticing how my fingers shook. The straw began to smoke then catch fire.

  But how to carry it back in the rain? I scanned the car, searching, until I spotted the ashtray. I yanked it out, reignited the straw, and carefully dropped in more bits and pieces to feed the flame. Then, shielding it with my hand, I stepped back out into the rain, slid down the embankment, and was half way to the shed when I heard her scream:

  “Joey! JOEY!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I burst through the door. Mary had moved to the far wall. She was no longer on all fours, but squatting.

  I raced to her. “What are you—”

  “I have to . . . push.”

  I kicked aside the hay to lay down the burning ashtray. I kneeled and took her shoulders. “Here, I’ll help you lie—”

  “No!”

  “Mary—”

  “This way . . . I’m okay. . .”

  “Don’t be crazy. Here, let me—”

  “This way.” She took a breath, then another. “YouTube.”

  “What? I don’t— You saw this on YouTube?”

  She nodded through a grimace.

  “You saw someone give birth like this on YouTube?”

  She gasped. “Lots . . .”

  “What do I do? Tell me what—”

  “Hold me. Something’s happening. I have to push.”

  I nodded. But before joining her, I grabbed both of her sweaters and draped them over her for warmth. Then I slipped between her and the wall, sitting with my legs spread so she could lean against me for balance.

  Another contraction hit. I felt it through her whole body. She groaned and pushed. I wrapped my arms around her, placing my hands on her belly. I couldn’t tell if she appreciated the contact, but I did. Somehow it helped me experience, though just a fraction, of what she was going through. The contraction continued. She stopped pushing, panted, then pushed again.

  When it had passed she lay her head against my chest, exhausted. “I don’t . . . I don’t know if I can. . .”

  I wiped the sweaty hair from her face and whispered into her ear. “You’re doing great. Hang in there, you’re doing great.”

  She nodded.

  Then, unable to leave well enough alone, I added, “You sure you don’t want to lie on your back. I bet it’s a lot more—”

  “Stop,” she gasped.

  “I just—”

  “People do this.”

  “Right, of course,” I said, silently wishing for something more medically certified than YouTube.

  We stayed that way through six more contractions—Mary pushing whenever she had the strength—me, never so helpless in my life.

  “He’s coming!” Mary dropped her head to look. “He’s coming, he’s crowning!”

  I followed her gaze and saw what looked like a little, black yarmulke—the top of a tiny head, wet and covered with hair.

  Another contraction. More pushing.

  I couldn’t look away. I’d never seen anything so strange and . . . miraculous.

  She paused, gasping, resting, until another contraction hit and then more pushing. The head slowly appeared, more and more black hair. Then the neck.

  “Do you see him?” Mary cried.

  “Yes.” I choked out the words. “Yes, I see him.”

  “Catch him!”

  “Wha—”

  She clutched my hand, pulled it under her.

  Another push. The shoulders appeared, followed by the rest of the body, quickly slipping out, dropping into my hands. Dropping into our hands.

  I was stunned. Unbelievable. In that single moment the two of us held a brand new life, an entirely different life. No words could describe it. Suddenly, we were no longer two, but three. The shock and euphoria was overwhelming.

  We cleared his mouth and he began to cry. That’s when I noticed his coloring. “He’s blue,” I said. Which was a lie. He was practically purple. “Mary, he’s—”

  “Dry him.” She pulled away the sweaters. “Put him on my tummy.”

  I reached over, grabbed a shirt from my backpack and dried him. When I’d finished, I laid him on her stomach. She stared at him, mesmerized.

  The cord,” I said. “It’s still—” But I saw no need to bother her. I reached into my pocket for my Swiss Army knife. I took the umbilical cord in one hand and sawed back and forth with the other. It was tough and fibrous but easy to cut through. Meanwhile, Mary had begun covering the baby with the sweaters.

  The placenta came quick and sudden. I pushed it aside and replaced it with clean, dry straw. I bunched up hay behind her so she could lean back. Her neck and shoulders were damp with sweat and coated in fine dust from the straw. I also noticed several tiny welts. Flea bites. I saw a couple on my own hand. And the baby? I could only imagine how they’d be attracted to his soft, tender skin.

  “More clothes,” Mary said. “We need to keep him warm.”

  I dug into our packs, pulled out jeans, shirts, underwear, anything I could find. Together we piled them on top and around the baby. But even as we worked, Mary, like me, couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

  “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” she whispered.

  I nodded. Once we’d finished, I scooted beside them and she laid her head on my shoulder. Now it’s true, ‘beautiful’ may not have been the description I’d have chosen. He still looked a bit alien to me and definitely the worse for wear. But, ‘miraculous,’ now that was a word I could get behind. And ‘astonishing.’ Yes. Miraculous, astonishing and . . . miraculous.

  But not just him. I wrapped an arm around my wife. “You did it,” I said. “You did it.”

  She looked at me, totally exhausted. Yet, somehow, she managed to smile . . . and I thought my heart would burst. There would be other concerns, other worries, and they’d come soon enough. But for now, we just sat there. Enjoying the moment. Trying to comprehend what all had happened.

  I felt Mary adjust the child, bringing him higher to nurse as she softly spoke to him. “There you go, little one. Everything’s going to be alright. Yes, we’re going to be just fine.”

  And I believed her. We both believed her.

  * * *

  “SHE WILL GIVE birth to a son and you are to give him the name Jesus because he will save his people from their sins.”

  He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.

  * * *

  NONE of us knew what that meant or what would follow. But for this moment, in this time, we would rest. As we did, I thought of Mary’s words:

  “You have a responsibility to love. If you do that, God will take care of the rest.”

  I turned to her. Her eyes were closed but she was smiling. I leaned over and gently kissed her cheek.

  She found my hand and squeezed it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Twenty minutes later I headed back into the rain to turn off the headlights and save the battery. I could have left the car running to keep it charged, but like I said, the Impala was old school which meant it preferred chugging, not sipping, gas. I also decided to rekindle my ashtray and use it as nightlight. No need to build a fire. Mary assured me, at least for now, that the baby was warm. As soon as both had rested I’d get them back into the car, heater running full blast, and head to a Fresno hospital. She questioned going to a hospital since all the heavy labor (pun intended) was done. But she knew I wouldn’t budge on that and finally agreed. At least that was our plan.

  But as we kept learning over and over again, our plans are not necessarily God’s.

  I was kneeling in the front seat, relighting some hay with the lighter, when I saw the headlights in the mirror. I had pulled quite a ways off the road so they didn’t have to slow. But they did.

  Of course my training kicked in. I had no idea what they were up to and
I had a wife and kid to protect. I checked the back seat, looking for anything to use as a weapon. Everything was in the shed. I reached to the glove compartment, smacked it a couple times until it opened. There was nothing but a sales slip, misfolded maps, a couple McDonald’s wrappers, and, wait—there . . . an ice scraper. Cheap plastic, nothing fancy, but in the right hands the serrated edge was sharp enough to do some damage.

  The car, a Toyota pickup with camper shell, pulled up behind me and stopped. I gripped the scraper and stepped out to meet them. The driver, pudgy and middle aged, opened the door. He would be no problem. The dome light showed two other men in baseball caps, much younger. They might be.

  “Amigo!” The driver climbed out of the pickup. “Amigo, my friend.” He shielded his eyes from the rain. “Are you the one with the baby?”

  I blinked, caught off guard. But prepared myself as he approached.

  “Are you the one with the baby?”

  “What?”

  He continued toward me, motioned to the shed. “A baby. Do you have a baby in there?”

  “A baby? What makes you think—”

  “The angels. They said a baby. Here. Somewhere here.”

  “Angels?”

  “Sí, sí. A baby. In a shed. Dressed in many clothes.” He turned to the building. “Is that the place?”

  I’ve got a pretty good poker face, but he must have seen something in my eyes. Because when he stopped, five feet away, his own eyes twinkled with delight and he broke into a grin. He gave the slightest nod and I couldn’t help but return it.

  He turned to the pickup. “Aquíes!” he called. "Este es el lugar!"

  I watched the young men pile out of the car as the driver reached out to shake my hand. “It is such a pleasure, señor.” I didn’t offer him mine, it was too soon, things were too crazy. But it didn’t curb his enthusiasm. “You are a blessed man. Very, very blessed.”

  Keeping my eyes on the approaching men, I shifted my weight, preparing, just in case.

  As they arrived, the driver said something else to them in Spanish and their faces lit up. Like the old man, they reached out their hands, anxious for me to shake them. I hesitated, but they were so excited and insistent that I finally agreed, discretely slipping the scraper to my other hand. One after another they pumped my hand, as enthusiastic as their leader. There were plenty of grins to go around and exchanges I didn’t understand as they stood in the rain, excited as school kids, casting looks to the shed.

  Finally, the driver spoke. “Señor, if it is not too much trouble, if it is possible, may we see the child?”

  “You want to see him?”

  “Sí, sí.”

  “The baby.”

  All three nodded.

  By nature I’m a suspicious man. You never get burned by expecting the worst. But somehow. . . Maybe it was all my time with Mary, her trust, her compassion. Or maybe it was the baby. Regardless, as I searched their faces, I saw no malice. Only joy. And hope. I looked over to the shed, then back to them as they eagerly waited.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He’s resting now with his mother.”

  “But the angels,” the old man said, “they told us to come. We will make very little noise, I give you my word.”

  “Right, right,” I nodded, “the angels.”

  “Sí.”

  Three weeks ago I would have written them off as nut jobs. But now. . . “The angels,” I repeated, “they told you to come here.”

  “Sí, sí. To find a baby wrapped in many clothes.”

  It was a risky choice, more foolish than wise. But they seemed so genuine. And there were all the coincidences. And “the angels.” Against my better judgement, I gave a nod. They practically leaped in excitement.

  “But only if you’re quiet,” I said. “Only if you promise to let them rest.”

  The driver turned to the men and explained. They nodded enthusiastically.

  “Okay then.” I turned toward the shed. “But just for a moment.”

  “Sí, sí, only a moment.”

  We slid down the embankment and jumped the growing rivulet along its base. They turned on their cellphone flashlights as we waded through the wet grass. I switched the ice scraper back to my right hand.

  As we approached the door, I called out, “Mary? Babe, are you decent?”

  Her weary voice answered, “What?”

  “Are you covered up?” I motioned the men to a stop. “Are you decent?”

  “What? Yes, why?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “Joey?”

  “Looks like we’ve got company.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I pushed opened the door and caught movement in the shadows as Mary pulled herself together. I signaled the men to stay outside while I entered.

  “What’s going on?” she asked

  “Visitors. They say they saw angels.”

  “Angels?”

  “That’s what they say. Told them to come see the baby.”

  She continued gathering herself. “Angels?”

  “They said they were to come here and see a child wrap in lots of clothes.”

  “Angels?”

  “So they say.”

  Once she’d gotten herself in order, she took a deep breath, then gave a nod.

  I motioned them inside. I was careful to stay between them and Mary, and I made sure they moved to the far wall, a good fifteen feet away.

  They obeyed and took their places silently, reverently. Mary raised a hand, shielding her eyes from their cell lights, which they quickly lowered. The driver motioned them to remove their hats. They did, all the time keeping their eyes to the ground.

  Mary and I saw the gestures and both relaxed. Slightly.

  Finally, Mary asked, her voice thick and husky, “You saw angels?”

  The driver nodded.

  “What did, what did they say?”

  The men exchanged looks. The driver cleared his throat. “We . . . work in some of the fields around here. And a camper, we have a camper we sleep in at night. To save money.” He looked back to the floor.

  “Tell us about the angels,” I said.

  He looked up, cleared his throat again. “At first we thought,” he motioned to the youngest, “Edmund here, he thought they were flying saucers.”

  The men chuckled softly. The youngest smiled, shook his head good naturedly.

  The driver continued. “They were bright, very, very bright.”

  “They?” I said. “How many?”

  “One at first. Floating high above us. And big. Ten, maybe fifteen feet tall.” He looked to the other men who nodded in agreement. “And then he said, the angel said, I will translate it: “‘You are not to be afraid.’”

  “Afraid?” I repeated.

  The driver explained. “We were so scared, we were climbing over each other to get back into the truck. But the angel, he said, “‘Pay attention, this is very important. I’m bringing you good news, something that will give you much, much joy. And not just you. The joy, it will be for everyone.’”

  “Joy,” I repeated.

  “Sí.”

  The other two nodded.

  He continued, “‘Because today, the savior of the whole world, he is being born. The Messiah, the great leader you have all been waiting for.’”

  I cut a look to Mary. She was taking it all in, listening intently.

  “And we, all three of us, we didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was some kind of trick—like on those TV shows where they fool people.” The men softly murmured in agreement.

  “And then the angel, he says he’ll give us a sign to prove it. He says we will find the baby, in a shack, a shed, and he will be wrapped in many, many clothes.”

  The old guy fell silent. He glanced to the floor, then back up. By now all three had worked up the courage to look at Mary. There was no missing their awe.

  Mary looked over to me and I knew what she was thinking. It wasn’t my first choice, but I
knew there was no stopping that sensitive heart. I turned to the men and motioned them forward. “Come.”

  They hesitated.

  “It’s alright. Come closer.”

  The younger ones turned to the driver for permission. He nodded and they took a tentative step forward.

  I motioned them closer. “Come.”

  I could hear Mary pull some clothes aside as they shuffled forward. They were careful to keep their lights pointed at the ground, but the reflected glow was enough. They arrived, not six feet away, as Mary revealed the baby.

  They stood in rapt silence . . . until the driver slowly lowered to his knees. The other two followed.

  Mary and I could only trade looks.

  The driver continued. Apparently there was more to the story. “As we stood there, listening, the whole sky, it lit up. Suddenly there were hundreds of them. Thousands. They were everywhere.”

  “Angels?” I said. “Thousands of angels?”

  “Sí. And they were all singing. But music like I have never heard. Some, their voices were so high. Others very, very low. We heard them with our ears, but we also felt them, inside.” He tapped his chest. “In here, we heard them in here.” He glanced to the other two who nodded.

  “Were there words?” I said. “Could you make out what they were singing?”

  He raised his head and closed his eyes. ‘“Gloria a Dios. Glory to God in the highest. And on the earth, peace to all those who please Him.’”

  He said nothing more.

  The room filled with silence. Absolute, holy silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I looked to Mary lying beside me in the pickup. “You comfortable?”

  No answer. Who could blame her. She was entranced by the baby in her arms.

  “Mary?”

  She turned to me.

  “Everything okay?”

  The driver hit another rut, jostling us back and forth. She nodded. “What about you?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  It was a lie and she smiled, making it clear she knew.