by Karen Welch
Before she left, she moved Joseph and Mary into the stable, with the noble donkey grazing on the hearth nearby. The shepherds she placed on a table not far away, where the heralding angel's message could reach them. Finally, she set the angel directly beneath the star that hung over the mantel. Leaving the lamp shining in the window, she started out for church just as rain began to fall in earnest.
The little stone church was packed, buzzing with excitement as families gathered and friends greeted one another as if they hadn’t been together in months, rather than days. Her cherubs, with their shining clean faces and carefully brushed hair, seemed suitably impressed with the importance of their roles in the service, even a little subdued. Emily could only hope that attitude lasted through the hour they spent in full view of the congregation.
But as the music began, and she led them to their places, all her anxiety melted away. It was a sacred night and even if the children were restless or sang a little off key, nothing could cast a shadow over the beauty of this, her favorite night of the year.
With each reading of the beloved scriptures, with the singing of each carol, she found deeper peace. Her littlest charge, Jenny, curled on her lap and at times one or the other of the children snuggled against her as they watched the glimmer of the candles and listened to the choir. When she knelt before them, leading them in the first stanza of “Away in a Manger,” their sweet, clear voices were the only sound in the church. Tears filled her eyes. They not only sang like cherubs, but their faces glowed with the wonder of their accomplishment. As the choir joined in the next stanza, she felt a shiver of joy. This was her home, her church, her people. There could be no doubt. This was where she was meant to build her life.
When they returned to their places near the altar, her tiniest cherub tapped her on the shoulder and pointed into the congregation, calling out a name she couldn't quite understand. Emily put her finger to her lips in a silent shush, and the little girl sweetly imitated her gesture. With a soundless laugh, she gathered the child onto her lap, hugging her close, but something made her look back in the direction Jenny had pointed. At the rear of the church, where several latecomers stood along the wall, she spotted Jack, rain glistening on his uniform jacket. She was surprised. He’d planned to attend the eleven o'clock service, she was sure. She wondered briefly if there had been some kind of emergency.
The congregation sat in rapt attention, all eyes focused on Pastor Mike as he read the final passage of the nativity story. The first chords of “Silent Night” sounded and Emily got to her feet, checking that the children were holding hands as instructed. When she looked back for Jack, the place where he'd been standing was empty. Still wondering about his disappearance, she started to sing, getting through the first measure before her voice caught in her throat.
She could see him clearly, framed by the heads and shoulders of rows of familiar faces. His eyes, fixed on a place somewhere above her head, were glistening with unshed tears. Jenny pulled gently on her hand, and she lifted the little girl to her hip. When she raised her eyes, he was looking straight at her, smiling tenderly. Jenny reached up and touched her face, and she realized tears were coursing down her cheeks. Lowering her head, she kissed the tiny fingertips, smiling into the little face beside her. The hymn ended and in the hush that followed, everyone stood with heads bowed, waiting.
Pastor Mike's voice rang in the silence with the words of the Charge. “Go out into the world in peace; have courage; hold on to what is good. . . .” Through the roaring in her ears, over the pounding of her heart, she could barely make out the familiar words. . . “support the weak; help the suffering; honor all men; love and serve the Lord.” In her arms, Jenny cuddled closer, resting her head on Emily’s shoulder with a contented little sigh as the service came to a close. “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord be kind and gracious unto you. The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace. Amen.”
The first notes of the postlude thundered around her. She stood still, her heart thumping against her ribs. Parents came forward, complimenting her and the children, collecting their offspring. She passed Jenny to her father's arms, accepted hugs from the other children. One of the mothers put a wrapped gift in her hands, but she was only vaguely aware of the activity that surrounded her. Pastor Mike was coming toward her, a smile on his face, his hand extended.
And then he was beside her, his arm gently encircling her waist. Somehow, she found her voice. “Pastor Mike, this is my very good friend, Stani Moss.”
When she had finally said all the required Merry Christmases and good nights, after she’d introduced him to at least a dozen people whose names she struggled to recall, they dashed out into the rainy night. Pulling him by the hand, she led him to her car; and once inside, they met in a crushing embrace, laughing, talking and kissing all at once.
“I don't know how you're here and it doesn't matter right now. Just tell me you can stay!” She stroked his face, straining to see his eyes in the darkness.
“Five days! Oh, Emily, what a miraculous night!
“It always is, but tonight especially so. Where did Jack run off to?”
“A call. He said he'd see us at about twelve thirty. I'm staying at his place.” He kissed her, a long exploratory kiss, and she forgot her next question completely.
Eventually, she realized there was no one else left in the parking lot, and started the engine, easing the car out of the lot.
“A BMW, Emily? I had no idea. And with a gear box. You can drive a thing like this? Is there no end to your talents?” Stani slid near her, watching her face in the light of passing streetlamps.
“How did you like my little choir?”
“Heavenly. The whole service was. . .I don't think I know the words. Moving, beautiful and powerful. Transforming. I've never experienced anything like that.” His voice was soft, quivering with emotion.
“I saw it in your face.”
Suddenly the rear view mirror reflected the revolving lights of a police car. The siren gave one low burst, and she quickly steered the car to the side of the street. Within seconds, Jack was yanking open the driver's door.
“Em, come with me, quick!” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the car and started down the street toward the cruiser, yelling over his shoulder. “There's a baby coming, any minute! Thank God I spotted your car.” As they raced through the rain, he went on, panting, “It's Bobby Dixon's wife. He got her as far as my office. But I don’t care how fast I drive. . . she'll never make it to the hospital. I called for an ambulance, but they're tied up. Just do what you can!”
In the back seat of the car a woman sat hunched over, obviously in great distress. Emily crawled in beside her, touching her gently on the shoulder. “I'm Emily. I'm a nurse. How can I help you?” Dark eyes turned to her, filled with gratitude and relief.
The woman, along with Jack and the man in the front seat, apparently her husband, all started to talk at once. Emily was informed that labor had started an hour before, pains were very close together, and this was the woman's fourth delivery.
Emily backed out of the car, removing her coat. Stani was standing nearby and she passed it to him. One look at his face, and she said softly, “Hold this over me and don't watch! I don't want to have to pick you up out of the street!” Rolling up her sleeves, she crawled back into the car. Somewhere in the babble of information, she had learned the woman's name was Ruthie. Now she spoke to her calmly. “Ruthie, I'm just going to have a look. You've had lots of experience with this. Are you ready to push yet?” But even in the dim light of the car's interior, she knew the answer. She smiled reassuringly. “That's fine. I'll be right back.” She turned to find Jack standing next to the car. “I need some water, towels, rubbing alcohol and a pair of scissors, and there's no time to waste.”
Behind him, the lights of a house were coming on. She tried to orient herself. “Jack, that's Myrtice Green's house. She was in church, she's just getting home. Go! She'll have what I need.”
Next, she turned to the man in the front seat. Her first glimpse of him had not been encouraging. He was clearly terrified, his eyes glazed and his mouth gaping. Now she asked his name and Ruthie answered for him. “Bobby.”
“Hi, Bobby. I need you to get back here with your wife. Get behind her and support her shoulders, please.” Seeming to respond to the firmness in her voice he obeyed, crawling in the rear door to kneel on the seat. “That's it. Now Ruthie, by the time Sheriff Deem gets back, I think you're going to be ready to have this baby, aren't you?” She kept her voice low and smiled into the woman's eyes, implying they shared some special secret.
“Yes, ma'am, I sure am. The last one came fast like this too. But this one doesn't seem to want to wait for anything!” Ruthie hunched forward in the grips of another contraction at the same moment Jack thrust a bundle over Emily's shoulder.
It all happened within a matter of seconds, it seemed. Emily poured alcohol over her hands, and spread towels on the seat. Ruthie's voice was rising slowly to a scream, Bobby was yelling encouragement, and in the next instant, she was cradling a newborn to her own heaving chest. The baby's welcome wail harmonized with that of the approaching ambulance. Emily wiped the tiny face, and passed the infant to Ruthie's waiting arms. “You have a beautiful daughter. Congratulations!”
She caught sight of Jack's face over the front seat, his eyes shining with pride. As she backed out of the car, the ambulance team was racing toward them. “She's all yours. She's done all the work for you.” She stepped aside, waving them on.
Soaking wet, Emily started to shiver uncontrollably. Stani gently laid her coat over her shoulders, and for a moment, she wanted nothing so much as to sag into his arms. But the ambulance attendant, one she recognized from her time in the ER, was congratulating her on a job well done. How unprofessional to fall into a man's arms just now, she thought. She stood by watching as they finished the job, cutting the umbilical cord, and transferring mother and child to the ambulance. Finally, with a wave from the now proudly grinning Bobby, they pulled away in a flash of lights.
They stood in the rain, Emily and Stani holding on to each other, and Jack leaning on the open car door, until the lights turned the corner toward the highway. Jack was the first to speak. “Well, I guess that'll be the talk of the town this Christmas. And I thought this fellow showing up in church would be the big news.” He grinned at the two somber faces, glistening with raindrops. “You two better get somewhere warm. I'll see you after the eleven o'clock service.”
Emily came to life, her eyes flashing. “Oh, no! He's staying with me tonight! Locked doors, barricades, I don't care if I have to sleep in the barn. He's not leaving me alone tonight!” She clung to Stani's arm, staring defiantly up into Jack's face. As Stani began to protest, Jack held up a restraining hand.
“If I were you, I'd just do whatever she says. I'm sure not going to argue with her. If you haven't already figured it out, Emily, when she makes up her mind, is a force of nature. No mere man is any kind of match for her. I'll see you at lunchtime, then.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You did just fine, Em. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Jack, I love you.”
Emily drove home slowly, her knees trembling. Stani, once the initial shock had passed, was excitedly praising her skill, her calm, her bravery, and even her beauty. “To think you delivered a baby in the back seat of a car, in the pouring rain, on Christmas Eve! And you never seemed the least bit afraid. I was scared to death, and that poor man, Bobby, I thought he was going to faint.” He reached out to touch her hair, still dripping with rain. “Emily, do you realize what an angel you are? First you pull me out of a blizzard, and now you've delivered a baby under the most primitive conditions. Who knows what you've done in between? You are, as Jack said, a force of nature.”
She parked the car near the house, turning off the engine. “I'm just so glad to finally be home.” Falling into his arms, she sobbed into his shoulder, “Oh, Stani, please hold me!”
Chapter Forty-four
By the time Stani could persuade her to go into the house, Emily had cried herself out. Once inside, she waited listlessly as he removed his dripping overcoat. He'd never seen her like this, her tear-streaked face pale, her eyes vacant. The sight of her drenched hair and bloodied clothes aroused an unfamiliar feeling of protectiveness in him. Relieving her of her coat, he took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the couch.
The fire was low. As he had seen her do, he stirred the embers with the poker and carefully laid a log across the grate. Kneeling in front of her, he removed her sodden shoes and began to gently rub her feet. She was shivering, the thin fabric of her blouse plastered to her skin. He spotted a quilt, draped over one of the armchairs, and got up to spread it over her, tucking it around her against the chill of the room. Again, he knelt on the rug, stroking her icy feet, moving up her ankles, watching for a response. Tears still welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, holding her trembling lower lip between her teeth.
“Emily, darling girl, what can I do to help?” he asked gently. To his dismay, the tears began to flow and she brought the quilt up to cover her eyes. Taking a seat beside her, he gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently. “Dear, brave Emily, it's over now. Mother and baby are both fine, all thanks to you. Why are you so upset?”
She raised her head from his shoulder, lowering her eyes. “Because you're here, and this is not the way I wanted this night to be.” Sobs rising again, she buried her face on his chest.
Stani laughed softly in relief. “I'm here and this night is perfect. If you'll only let me get you warm and dry, you'll see.” He held her a little away, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Where are your nightclothes? You need to get out of these wet things. Now.”
A tiny spark of amazement lit her brimming eyes. “Upstairs. But I can get them.”
“No, please. Let me do this for you. You've done so much tonight.” Gently settling her against the cushions, he tucked the quilt around her again. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”
“The room on the right. They're hanging on the closet door,” she called after him.
As Stani climbed the stairs, he admitted to himself that he was entering uncharted waters. He had never in his life taken care of another human being. But he was determined to do his best now. At the top of the stairs a door stood slightly ajar. Reaching in, he found the light switch. Sparkling tile and pristine porcelain sprang to life. Here were her brushes and hair clips, her meager collection of cosmetics, arranged in meticulous order on a small vanity. A basket of bright towels sat on the floor next to a beautiful old claw-foot tub. Across the tub, a wire tray held a sea sponge, soap and a jar of bath salts, telling the story of frequent soaks. His mind began to race.
He turned up the temperature dial on the little electric heater, pressed the plug in the drain and turned on the tap. Waiting just long enough to check that the water was warming, he turned back to the landing, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar as he went.
A dim light shone from the door he knew must lead to her bedroom. As he entered, he had the impression of jewel-toned fabrics and comfortable tidiness everywhere in the room. Here was her desk, her reading chair by the window, and her bed, a big four-poster with a beautiful velvet patchwork cover. He could smell her in the room, the delicate scent of her soap and the faintest hint of lavender. Turning to the closet, he found the tailored nightshirt and robe, both deep blue with tiny rows of white trim at the collar, hanging on a hook behind the door. Looking around, he spied the toes of her slippers peeking out from under the bed. He approached the dresser, trying to think of other items she might want. Cautiously he opened drawers, until he located the simple undergarments, neatly folded and stacked.
Bearing his findings to the bathroom, where steaming water was filling the tub, he laid out her clothes on a small armchair under the window. Taking up the jar of bath salts, he measured a generous scoop
into the flow of water. Another glance around the room to make sure he hadn't overlooked any other potential luxury, and he gave a nod of approval to his efforts thus far.
Fairly bounding down the stairs, he paused as Emily raised her head and turned with a questioning arch of her brows. Going to her, he took the quilt and reached for her hands. When she was on her feet, he laid it gently over her shoulders and turned her toward the staircase. “Up you go. You'll soon feel better, I promise.” She walked obediently ahead of him, turning up the stairs and mounting slowly. When they reached the landing, she hesitated. “I think you'd best take it from here, love.” Lifting her hair, he laid a kiss on the nape of her neck. “Please soak as long as you like.”
Slowly, she turned to him, a tremulous smile spreading over her face. “Oh, Stani, how sweet.”
“Go on now, in with you. Come down when you're done and we'll have some tea.” Reluctantly, he closed the door, his desire to stay with her a sudden unanticipated ache.
He raced down to the kitchen, quaking with fear at the thought of his own ineptitude. He was British, he reminded himself; he certainly knew how to brew a pot of tea. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he glanced around the kitchen, searching for some sign of what to do first. The copper kettle sat on the range. Nearby, the tea caddy and the blue teapot, the sugar bowl and a little pitcher stood lined on the counter as if ready to show him the way. Encouraged, he filled the kettle and turned on the burner. He next went to the refrigerator, not at all sure what he was looking for. Inside, a wedge of cheddar sat on a plate beneath a little glass dome. A bowl held apples and grapes. He took both and closed the door. On the counter near the sink, he spotted the tray he remembered from their breakfast feast. Carefully, as he waited for the kettle to boil, he arranged his findings. In the tin breadbox, he found a loaf of what appeared to be home-baked bread, one end sliced away. He rummaged in the drawers for a knife and spoons. She took milk in her tea, he remembered, so he went back to the fridge, filling the pitcher from the carton. Fruit, bread and cheese, and tea. It would do for a first course. Another survey of the counter top and he spied a promising looking tin. Popping the lid, he was rewarded with the sight of little paper cups filled with shortbread and jam prints.