Читать книгу The Magic of Christmas - Carolyn Davidson - Страница 10

David McDermott faced his first Christmas in his first church. A graduate of the seminary in St. Louis, he had been sent to Walnut Grove, Missouri, to serve as their pastor in the small community church there. With his wife, Laura, he’d made his home in Walnut Grove, making friends and working to spruce up the building he’d been given as a parsonage during his tenure there.

Bearing her first child was to have been a joyous event that first year of their marriage, but the birthing took its toll on Laura, and she succumbed to the loss of blood and horror of a childbirth gone wrong. The babe she bore lived but hours and breathed his last as his father named him and held him close, aching for the future he’d lost, in the death of those he loved best.

Buried in the church cemetery, Laura held her child in her arms within the wooden casket created by the town’s carpenter. They lay beneath the ground with but a simple wooden cross with two names engraved upon it. “Laura McDermott, wife of David.” And beneath those words was the name of his son, “Darren McDermott.” Simple words that seemed barely enough to describe the youthful beauty and dignity of the woman he’d married, and the son she’d borne.

David had worked hard all summer long, painting the small church, cutting the weeds that threatened to overcome the grass before the parsonage, and in general keeping busy, day by day, his heart aching with the loss of his wife and child.

For nearly a year he’d lived alone and served his parish, loved by the people he served, and after a while he became a target for the young women, who saw him as a prime catch. He was tall and admittedly good-looking, for he saw his face in the mirror every morning and knew that his features were pleasing—dark hair that waved just above his collar, and blue eyes that held a remote sadness.

It had been a hard year, and by summer’s end he’d felt a renewed interest in his work, found that the townsfolk had taken to him with a warmth he hadn’t expected. Perhaps because of his loss, maybe because he’d made it his business to visit the sick, pray with those who needed his comfort, and in all things had done his best to serve the people of Walnut Grove.

He’d received several invitations for Christmas dinner from various members of his congregation and had accepted none of them, unable to find in his heart any joy in this season of the year. If only…His thoughts returned to the family he’d buried and he shook himself abruptly, knowing that self-pity was the last thing he needed to indulge in tonight. For the Christmas Eve service was scheduled to begin in two hours and he still hadn’t purchased his groceries this week.

Donning his hat and a warm jacket, he made his way out the front door, determined to put the sorrow of the past behind him and concentrate instead on the joyous message he would bring to his congregation in just a short while.

The walk to the general store was short, and in less than ten minutes he’d gathered up the basic necessities needed for his kitchen. Not much of a cook at the best of times, he managed to make do with fried eggs for breakfast, bread and cheese and sometimes sausage or bacon for his dinner hour and often was the recipient of casserole dishes from the ladies nearby, who tended to drop off dishes for his supper.

Perhaps they knew that cooking was not a skill he’d mastered in his life or maybe they felt he needed the nourishment of hot meals on occasion. Whatever the reason for the generosity shown him, he appreciated the chicken casseroles and hot vegetable dishes left at his front door several times a week.

Tomorrow was a day that loomed long before him, a day of happiness for the children in town, a day of feasting in most of the homes of his congregation, several of which would welcome him with open arms.

He lingered in the store for but a few minutes, speaking to Janet and her husband, knowing they were anxious to close the door and return to their family in the small house next to the store, where their four children were no doubt enjoying the lights of a Christmas tree in the parlor.

Waving goodbye and reminding them of the service that would begin in an hour or so, he walked the short distance back to his home, his arms full of bundles—the coffee, bacon and sack of eggs he’d purchased. A tin of lard hung from his index finger and he shifted the wrapped parcels to free his hand to open the front door.

The Nativity scene caught his eye and he admired the fresh paint he’d applied to the figures just last week. The shepherds were tall and stalwart, the sheep and donkey suitably humble and the young parents knelt beside the manger. All was ready, awaiting the addition of the small statue of a babe he would add to the scene after midnight, when the service at church was finished and his parishioners were once more in their homes.

He’d heaped the manger with hay, deeming straw to be harsh for a babe’s fragile skin, even though the small statue was but an imitation reminder of the Christ Child and neither hay nor straw would damage its hard surface. The sun had set and the moon was making an appearance in the sky, sending down beams upon the scene he’d created for his church and its people.

The manger seemed to glow with the light of the moon upon it, the simple brown cradle awaiting the final touch that would—David halted suddenly, his breathing loud upon the silence of the evening. For there, waving in the moonlight, was a small hand, a tiny arm. And the sound that reached his ears was that of a babe, a whimpering cry, escalating into a wail of distress.

Placing his packages on the frozen ground, he reached the manger in half a dozen long strides, reaching into its depths even as he caught sight of the tiny babe, wrapped in a bit of white flannel. The blanket had been disturbed by the infant’s flailing arms and he saw that dark hair crowned the tiny head, as with openmouthed cries the child demanded attention.

He picked up the small bundle, his eyes searching the surrounding area, hoping for a glimpse of whoever had left this child here in the cold. Holding the swaddled babe to his chest, he rose, standing before the makeshift shed amidst the shepherds, a sheep on one side, the donkey on the other, and looked down into the face of innocence.

Apparently soothed by the hands that held it, the baby snuffled, poking one small fist into its mouth, sucking earnestly on his hand and opening his dark eyes to look up at the man who held him. David caught his breath, recalling with sorrow the last time he’d held a child thusly, the day of his son’s birth. The poignant memory scalded his eyes, and tears poured forth, dropping upon the white blanketwrapped bundle in his arms.

He turned hastily toward the parsonage and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a figure darting from the side of the church, into the bushes by the road. It had been a woman, a slender form that seemed almost ghostly, yet he knew what he’d seen, and in vain he called out to the woman.

It was cold, the wind picking up, and he quickly carried the baby to his house, opened the door and stepped into the parlor, where he stood immobile for a moment, unsure of his direction. His groceries lay in the churchyard and he placed the baby on his sofa and turned to retrieve the results of his shopping, hastening across the small distance to pick up the bundles of food.

A slight figure walked quickly down the road, heading for the middle of town, and he called out to her, for it was obviously a woman, her skirts swaying as she hurried on her way. Dark hair hung past her shoulders, and a dark cloak was wrapped around her. Yet in the moonlight she cast a glance behind her and he saw the face of a girl, not a woman after all. But a girl with tearstained cheeks, gleaming in the light of the rising moon.

His groceries at hand, he bent and picked them up, then returned with haste to the parsonage, there to hear the wail of the child who lay on his sofa. He dropped the foodstuffs he’d bought onto the kitchen table and returned to the babe, bending to unwrap the blanket, the better to see the infant he’d rescued.

Wrapped in the folds of the blanket was a diaper and a bottle, filled with milk, a nipple attached to it in readiness should the child require feeding. And from the sounds of things, David decided that food was essential, for the cries were louder, the small face redder, and the arms and legs had kicked off the blanket, exposing small limbs and bare feet that did not measure nearly as long as his index finger.

Gathering the baby to himself, he held it cradled in his left arm and offered the bottle to the tiny mouth, a mouth that opened wide to accept the rubber nipple, apparently accustomed to being fed in such a way.

His heart was gripped with an emotion unlike any he’d ever experienced, a pouring out of his need, the memory of an infant, buried in his mother’s arms, and hot tears fell as the child’s face blurred before his sight. His arms tightened as his thoughts soared. If only…And yet there were no such miracles, no such travels back in time in which he might have a taste of the joys of holding his child, a joy that had been denied him.

For these few moments he could dream, and dream he did, his mind moving on to the service he would hold in but an hour. A service of happiness, of joy, of worship. The sight of their pastor carrying in a child to the service might be beyond their ability to understand, and so deciding to spare his small flock the sight, he arose from his chair, discovered that the infant he held needed a dry bottom and tended to that small chore.

Not familiar with such doings, he took much longer than the babe deemed necessary for the task. But in another ten minutes he’d wrapped the tiny form in the flannel blanket, added a shawl he’d hidden deep in a dresser drawer, to provide additional warmth against the winter night, and set off for his church.

Arriving early, he lowered the lamps, lit them and set them in place, then placed the sleeping babe on the back pew of the choir loft, careful to prop hymnals before the tiny form, lest it roll to the floor.

Within a half hour the small church was filling with his congregation, the children excited, whispering among themselves, the adults properly worshipful for this most holy of services in the life of his church.

They sang with uplifted voices, they sang from memory the old carols that told the Christmas story, of Mary and the babe of Bethlehem. They sang of shepherds, of the kings from afar, and then, after the reading from St. Luke, they bowed in prayer. To the faint echoes of “Silent Night” the flock filed from the church, and David stood before his pulpit, watching as one lone woman knelt in the very last row of seats.

He picked up his charge, thankful that the baby had slept throughout the hour-long service, and with the wrapped bundle against his shoulder, he walked silently down the long aisle to the back door of the church. As he passed the last pew, he looked aside to where the young woman knelt, and paused there.

Marianne looked up, knowing that there were eyes intent on her, feeling the warmth of someone’s scrutiny. Her eyes were blurred with tears, for she had just committed her small brother into God’s hands, not knowing what his future might hold, but trusting that somehow he would find sanctuary this night.

In the dim light of the moon, shining through the church doors, a tall man watched her—the pastor of this church, the man who had lifted Joshua from the manger just hours earlier. Now he held the baby against his shoulder, the white blanket a pale blur against his dark suit.

“Do you need help?” the man asked, his voice deep and tender, as if he knew somehow who she was. “Why don’t you come with me and have some tea over in the parsonage kitchen?”

He waited, unmoving, as she looked into eyes that even in the dim light seemed to glow with an unearthly light. There was no question of trust, for she’d known from her first glimpse of him that this man was kind and wore the cloak of goodness on his shoulders. How such a thing could be, Marianne didn’t understand, but she felt a trust in him that was without reason. Perhaps he’d been sent to help her; maybe he would be the answer to her prayers.

She rose and left the pew, looking up at him as he ushered her to the door, his hand on her elbow, his head bent to look into her face.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. And she nodded slowly, unwilling to admit her need, but aware that she must have nourishment to sustain her for the night to come.

They walked from the church together, most of the congregation already leaving the churchyard, only a few townspeople lingering to call out their messages of holiday cheer to the pastor.

Marianne walked ahead of him, aware of the watching eyes, the whispers that followed her progress along the path through the light snow that formed patterns on the ground. Janet, the storekeeper’s wife, stood near the gate and lifted a hand in greeting.

“Where are you staying, dear?” she asked quietly. “Do you need to sleep at the store tonight?”

Marianne looked over her shoulder at the tall figure who walked just behind her. “I’m going to have tea with the minister and then decide where I’ll go,” she said softly, lest anyone else hear her words. It would not do for the representative of the church to be spoken of badly should he give refuge to a woman so late at night.

“David McDermott will take care of you. He’s a good man,” Janet said readily. “You come and see me the day after tomorrow if you need anything. The store will be locked up tomorrow, but you know where I live.”

Marianne nodded, smiling her thanks as she reached for her small brother and took him from Mr. McDermott’s hands. The small churchyard emptied rapidly, for the parishioners were anxious to return to their warm homes where Christmas celebrations were about to begin.

Together Marianne and Mr. McDermott walked next door to the parsonage and entered the foyer of the small house. Removing his coat and hat, he turned to her, offering his big hands to take the baby, allowing Marianne to take off her cloak and hang it on a hook by the front door before returning her brother to her arms.

She felt awkward, out of place, and knew that her cheeks were red with embarrassment. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your home for tea,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion, for tears hovered near, and she dreaded shedding them before a stranger.

“I could not leave you out in the cold, young lady,” he said kindly. “For I have a dish of chicken and gravy, sent me by one of the ladies of my congregation, and it will go to waste if you don’t help me eat some of it. There are potatoes to go with it, and I can slice some bread. Someone sent me a pound or so of fresh butter yesterday, so my kitchen is well equipped to handle a Christmas Eve meal.”

Marianne felt her small brother awaken in his blankets, for he wriggled and pushed his feet out, demanding that he be unwrapped from the binding of his blankets. One arm rose from the wrappings and waved in the air, even as he cried aloud, craving attention.

“I think he’s hungry again. Would you have the bottle handy that I left with him?”

“So it was you who put him in the manger. I thought as much, when I saw you in the back of the church. I caught a glimpse of you when you walked away from here earlier, and I figured you’d show up sometime tonight. I knew you’d be wanting to check on the baby.”

David pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and offered it to Marianne, watching as she sank into its depths, the infant in her arms squirming now, anticipating his next meal. She unwrapped him, delving beneath the blankets to check on the condition of his diaper, and her face flushed as she looked up at the man before her.

“I need to have a bit of privacy to change him, I fear. There are several clean diapers in my bag, if you’ll let me use a flat surface somewhere to clean him up a little.”

David smiled, his thoughts not altogether above reproach, for this young woman was appealing to him on a level he had not considered for some time. Her scent was fresh, clean and her face was akin to what he thought the young mother in Bethlehem might have looked like. Dark hair hung long, waving and thick, in a veil that almost covered her back. She was dressed in rough clothing, but everything about her was clean. Even the child she carried in her arms had not carried the scent of an unwashed body, but had been as fresh and clean as a babe could be.

Somewhere she had found resources to keep the child well fed and clean, and he admired the courage of a young woman so able to do her duty as she saw it. “How old is your little boy?” he asked, attempting to lure her into conversation, lest she be frightened and flee his house.

“He is three weeks old, sir. But he is not my child, but my baby brother. My mother and father died of the fever and he was born as my mother breathed her last.” Her head bent over the baby and a tear fell on the blanket, one he knew she’d tried not to shed, for she had been careful up until now not to show her emotional state.

“Bring him into the parlor,” David said, leading the way. “I’ll warm up the chicken and heat a bit of milk for his bottle while you change him and make him comfortable.”

Marianne followed him, thankful for his help, her stomach rumbling as she considered the meal she would eat at his table. Her bag held the clean diapers she’d washed earlier at Janet’s home, and in much less time than David had taken to do the same task she had changed and freshened Joshua’s bottom, then she wrapped him again and headed back to the kitchen.

Smells of food were welcome, for she knew she must keep up her strength, and she sat at the table once more, watching as the tall minister worked around the kitchen. Adept at his chores, he stirred the chicken as it simmered on the stove, took plates from the cupboard and found forks in a drawer, all simultaneous moves that astonished Marianne. Her own father had been useless in the kitchen, her mother had often said, for the man was more at home with cows and horses than in the house where the food was prepared.

This young minister seemed to know his way around the kitchen, and in just a few minutes he set a plate of chicken and gravy, side by side with a helping of mashed potatoes, in front of her. A plate of sliced bread and a pat of butter were between them as he settled into a seat across the table, with his own plate of food.

She watched as he lowered his head and spoke soft words of blessing on their food, then she picked up her fork, shamed by the trembling of her hand as she lifted it to her mouth. “I didn’t know I was so hungry,” she said quietly. The food was good, tasty and nourishing, for there were bits of carrots and peas mixed in with the gravy and the chunks of chicken were hearty and plenteous.

A slice of bread was halved and buttered and placed on her plate, and she smiled her thanks. “I suspect it might be difficult to deal with a baby and butter your bread at the same time,” David said with a smile.

Marianne had held Joshua across her arm as she ate, resting his bottle on her breast as he nursed, leaving her free to eat while feeding him. “I usually lay him across my lap and let him sleep while I eat,” Marianne told him. “But he’s wide-awake tonight for some reason. And until he finishes and gets rid of his burp, he’ll be restless.”

David smiled and a chuckle escaped his lips. “Probably because he slept all through the service tonight. He was behind me on a pew and I had hopes that I could outtalk him if he woke up before we were finished.”

“I didn’t see him up there,” Marianne said. “I wondered what you’d done with him, for I saw you carry him into the church.”

“What did you think would happen to him when you left him in the manger?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know, but I’d decided to watch until someone found him and then thought I might offer my services to help take care of him. I really didn’t plan ahead well, but when I saw the empty manger in front of the church, I knew I should put him there and hope for the best.”

“You’re a brave young woman.” He leveled his gaze at her and his voice was soft as he asked her name.

“Marianne Winters. Joshua, as I said, is my brother.”

And if she expected him to believe that, he’d do his best to accept her words as truth, David decided. For the child bore a definite likeness to her—eyes widespread, dark hair and a pointed chin that were small replicas of her own. If he was not Marianne’s own child, it would be a miracle, for being born in the midst of a typhoid epidemic such as the one running rampant over the county during the past month or so was a death sentence in itself. The child surely would have been exposed to the dread disease upon birth. To live through such a thing would have been a miracle.

“If you would like to stay here for the night, I have a spare room to offer you,” David said suddenly. Whether or not his congregation would approve was not an issue as far as he was concerned. This woman needed help and a warm place to sleep with her child, and it would not behoove him as a man of the church to cast her out into the cold. Perhaps she would be willing to work for her keep until she could find a job with enough pay to care for herself and her child.

“I need someone to keep house for me,” he began slowly, offering the idea for her to chew on. “Perhaps you would be interested in working here during the day and staying in a nearby home at night. I’d not be able to pay you a lot, but your food would be included in your wage and I don’t mind having the baby around.”

Marianne looked up in surprise. That such an offer might be made tonight was beyond her wildest dreams. And especially from a man living alone, a man who stood to ruin his good reputation if it became known that he had opened his home to a single woman and a child.

“I wouldn’t do anything to damage your name in town,” she said quietly. “I’m sure it would cause talk if I were to spend my days here, and even though I need work to support myself and Joshua, I hesitate to accept your offer.”

“Stay for tonight anyway, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings,” David said.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Marianne said, her words sincere, for she hadn’t expected such a welcome.

“My name is David. Would you mind calling me by name? It’s been a long time since anyone spoke to me without a title. Sometimes I yearn to be an ordinary man, and I fear that my congregation has put me in a box and labeled me as a man of the church, and I miss being just David McDermott.”

“Have you never been David to anyone here in town?” Marianne asked, seeking to know more about the man who sat so quietly across from her.

“My wife called me David, and had he lived, my son would be calling me Daddy by now, I think.” His eyes grew dark with sorrow as Marianne watched and she rued her words that had caused him such pain. Her hand patted Joshua’s back in a rhythmic fashion as he stirred against her shoulder, and she rubbed the length of his back, knowing that the burp he held within was making him restless.

It erupted on a loud note and Marianne laughed softly, bending to kiss the small head, accepting his offering gladly, for without it he would have slept badly. Now the chances were that he would last until morning without food, kept warm and cuddled closely as he seemed to enjoy.

“Thank you for the meal and for your help,” Marianne said, looking up at David as he cleared the table. His hands moved rapidly as he put the plates into the dishpan, the silverware with them, and then poured in hot water from the stove’s reservoir.

“I’d like to wash the dishes, if you’ll show me where to put the baby down,” she said, rising and looking about for a hallway that might lead to the bedrooms.

“Follow me,” David said quickly. “There are clean sheets on the bed in the spare room and we can leave the door open to let the heat from the stove enter. It’s the room closest to the kitchen, so he should be warm enough.”

The bedroom was small but clean, the bed covered with a handmade quilt, and two fat pillows were propped at the headboard. “This is lovely,” Marianne said, pulling back the quilt to place Joshua in the middle of the big bed.

“I wish I had a cradle to offer you for him, but the one I made for our son was given away after he and his mother died. I couldn’t stand to keep it in the house, and a lady outside town was having her first child and they couldn’t afford a bed for the baby. It seemed the right thing to do, so I offered the one I’d made. They put it to good use.”

Marianne’s heart ached for the loss he’d suffered and her tender heart went out to him, wishing she might have the words to offer that would give surcease to his pain.

“I’m sure your wife would have wanted someone else to use the cradle, David. I think she’d be happy to know that another child slept in it.”

“Thank you,” he said, avoiding her gaze, as if he hid a trace of tears in his eyes and did not want to share his grief.

Marianne propped pillows around Joshua, making sure that he was well padded so that should he wet his diaper it would not dampen the bedding. Then she went back to the kitchen and found a dishcloth, preparing to clean up the kitchen. It was a small matter, washing and drying the few dishes they’d used, cleaning out the pan he’d warmed the food in and then hanging the dish towel and cloth to dry on a small line he’d strung behind the stove.

She wiped the table clean, swept the floor and lowered the lamp a bit, to save the kerosene for another day. David sat at the table, paper and pen before him, bent over a letter he had begun.

“I’ll go on to bed now,” Marianne told him, walking to the bedroom doorway, then turning back to face him.

He looked up from his writing, his eyes distracted by her words, then he smiled. “I’m just writing a letter to my folks, back home in Ohio. I’m telling them about you and Joshua and the way you left him in the manger for me to find. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Will they think badly of me for abandoning my brother that way?”

He shook his head. “They’ll understand that you were desperate, that you had no resources to care for him by yourself. It was a smart move for you to make, actually. You just didn’t imagine that I would be the one to find him and take him indoors, did you?”

Marianne flushed uncomfortably, for she had indeed thought just such a thing might happen and her words verified that fact. “I thought perhaps a minister and his wife would care for a foundling like Joshua. I had no idea you were alone here in the parsonage.”

David smiled, his thoughts hidden from Marianne. “I think perhaps things worked out the way they were supposed to, anyway. I needed Joshua as much as he needed someone to care for him.”

“I’d have spent my whole life tending him if I could, Mr. McDermott.”

“I thought we’d gotten past the Mr. McDermott thing,” David said quietly. “I liked it much better when you called me by my given name. I felt we were becoming friends, Marianne.”

Bravely Marianne spoke her thoughts aloud. “I’d like to keep house for you, David, if the offer is still open. I’ll see if Janet will let me sleep at the store, and then I can come here during the day to cook and clean for you. In exchange, perhaps you would consider giving Joshua a home until I can provide for him.”

“I’ll want to talk to the men on my church board before I make a commitment to you, Marianne. I can’t do anything that would reflect badly on my position here, and I don’t want any hint of gossip to touch you or Joshua.”

“Can you do that? Talk to the men who run the church with you? Do you think they’ll object to such a plan?”

“They’ve known for quite a while that I need help in my home and surely it is an obvious solution to my problem and yours, too. I’ll speak to them after the Wednesday-night meeting.”

“And for tonight you think I should stay here in your spare room?”

He nodded agreeably. “I don’t see that we have any choice. Tomorrow is Christmas and the town will be closed up tighter than a drum, with folks celebrating with their families and such. Why don’t you plan on cooking dinner for me and getting Joshua settled in here? You can walk over and talk to Janet in the morning and sound her out about you staying at the store nights.”

Marianne considered the plan, not willing to put David to shame in any way, but the hour was late and the lights were out in the houses around them. It was beyond time for folks to be in bed and she accepted that her fate for this day was out of her hands.

“All right. We’ll do as you say, David. I’ll go on to bed now and be up early with the baby, then it will be time enough to cook your breakfast and take a walk to see Janet.”

He watched as she went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and his heart was full as he considered the day to come. He’d been beyond lonely without the companionship he’d come to enjoy with a wife. His years with Laura had been few, but his months without her had seemed an eternity, so quiet had been the house, so empty his heart.

For a moment he thought of another plan that might work, and decided to seek out Marianne’s thoughts in the morning. Should she be agreeable, they might be married and share the parsonage together, thus satisfying any gossip that might arise in town concerning her presence here. She was a lovely girl, with pleasing ways about her, and he didn’t doubt that she would be more than capable of running his home as his wife.

Whether or not Joshua was her own child or her brother, as she claimed, he was willing to accept her as she was, without any guarantees, and he might find an end to the long days and nights he’d spent alone.

He went to his bedroom and closed the door, aware that even through that stout panel he would hear should Joshua awaken during the night.