opinionated—some would even say bossy—and she could be sharp-tongued. She had trouble asking for someone else’s advice or help when she knew what she should do. It was difficult for her to flatter and smooth and soothe. The combination of her looks and personality was, she was well aware, a deadly obstruction to marriage.
Her life seemed suddenly so empty and pointless that it took her breath away. Something close to panic swept through Thea, and she knotted her hands together tightly in her lap. She was afraid she might cry out, might weep. Abruptly she dropped down onto the kneeling rail that fronted the votive-candle stand. Her clasped hands on the wooden rail, she closed her eyes. The imprint of the dancing candle flames still burned in her vision.
“Please …” She dropped her forehead to her hands, her mind too overset to know what to say. Intercessions, prayers, pleas, tumbled through her head. “Please help me.” What did she want? “Give me a life. Please, give me a life of my own.” She remained bent over, pain and fear storming through her. For once she could not push it away, could not ignore it, could not superimpose work over it. She could only feel the desperate, lonely longing.
Thea was not sure how long she knelt that way before a noise outside in the church brought her back to awareness of her surroundings. She raised her head and noticed that her cheeks were wet; she knew that she must have been crying. With hands that trembled a little, she wiped away the tears and sat back on her heels, listening.
Again a noise came, something like a squeak. She rose to her feet, frowning. She wasn’t sure what the first sound had been. Perhaps a footfall or a door closing? She wondered if someone had come into the church. Thea wiped her cheeks and eyes again, thinking with embarrassment that she must look a mess. She walked out of the chapel and glanced around the church. It was silent and dimly lit, as empty as when she had entered it.
Then she heard an odd sputtering noise. It seemed to come from the vestibule, and Thea took a few steps in that direction. In the next instant, an angelic little face framed by pale gold curls popped up over the side of the wooden feed bin. Thea stopped, her mouth dropping open in astonishment.
A baby was in the manger.
Four
F or one horrified instant, Thea thought that she had gone quite mad. The baby let out a high-pitched squeal and grabbed the side of the manger with one hand, pulling himself into a sitting position. He grinned as he latched onto the manger with his other hand and shook it as he produced a series of bubbling, blowing noises. If this was a figment of her imagination, she thought, it was incredibly real.
Thea came out of her frozen state and hurried down the aisle, her mind tumbling with questions. She could not imagine who the child was or where he had come from. She was sure there must be a rational explanation for his sitting in the manger, but at the moment she had no idea what it was. Thea half expected to find the child’s mother in the vestibule, but when she stepped into the area, it was empty except for the baby and the manger. She rushed over to the door and opened it to peer outside, but there was no sign of anyone there, either.
Turning back around, she stared at the child. He gazed back at her with lively interest. Up close, she could see that he was truly lovely. He had a softly rounded face with pudgy, rosy cheeks and an adorable tiny dimple on his chin. His blue eyes were enormous and his hair a soft tumble of feathery blond curls. Though she could not pretend to know every infant in the village, Thea was certain that she had never before seen this boy.
“Who are you?” she murmured, coming over to the manger.
He seemed delighted at her movement, and he banged both his hands down on his legs, smiling and releasing a crow of delight. Thea chuckled at the noise.
“Where is your mother?” she asked, bending down toward him.
He
Her life seemed suddenly so empty and pointless that it took her breath away. Something close to panic swept through Thea, and she knotted her hands together tightly in her lap. She was afraid she might cry out, might weep. Abruptly she dropped down onto the kneeling rail that fronted the votive-candle stand. Her clasped hands on the wooden rail, she closed her eyes. The imprint of the dancing candle flames still burned in her vision.
“Please …” She dropped her forehead to her hands, her mind too overset to know what to say. Intercessions, prayers, pleas, tumbled through her head. “Please help me.” What did she want? “Give me a life. Please, give me a life of my own.” She remained bent over, pain and fear storming through her. For once she could not push it away, could not ignore it, could not superimpose work over it. She could only feel the desperate, lonely longing.
Thea was not sure how long she knelt that way before a noise outside in the church brought her back to awareness of her surroundings. She raised her head and noticed that her cheeks were wet; she knew that she must have been crying. With hands that trembled a little, she wiped away the tears and sat back on her heels, listening.
Again a noise came, something like a squeak. She rose to her feet, frowning. She wasn’t sure what the first sound had been. Perhaps a footfall or a door closing? She wondered if someone had come into the church. Thea wiped her cheeks and eyes again, thinking with embarrassment that she must look a mess. She walked out of the chapel and glanced around the church. It was silent and dimly lit, as empty as when she had entered it.
Then she heard an odd sputtering noise. It seemed to come from the vestibule, and Thea took a few steps in that direction. In the next instant, an angelic little face framed by pale gold curls popped up over the side of the wooden feed bin. Thea stopped, her mouth dropping open in astonishment.
A baby was in the manger.
Four
F or one horrified instant, Thea thought that she had gone quite mad. The baby let out a high-pitched squeal and grabbed the side of the manger with one hand, pulling himself into a sitting position. He grinned as he latched onto the manger with his other hand and shook it as he produced a series of bubbling, blowing noises. If this was a figment of her imagination, she thought, it was incredibly real.
Thea came out of her frozen state and hurried down the aisle, her mind tumbling with questions. She could not imagine who the child was or where he had come from. She was sure there must be a rational explanation for his sitting in the manger, but at the moment she had no idea what it was. Thea half expected to find the child’s mother in the vestibule, but when she stepped into the area, it was empty except for the baby and the manger. She rushed over to the door and opened it to peer outside, but there was no sign of anyone there, either.
Turning back around, she stared at the child. He gazed back at her with lively interest. Up close, she could see that he was truly lovely. He had a softly rounded face with pudgy, rosy cheeks and an adorable tiny dimple on his chin. His blue eyes were enormous and his hair a soft tumble of feathery blond curls. Though she could not pretend to know every infant in the village, Thea was certain that she had never before seen this boy.
“Who are you?” she murmured, coming over to the manger.
He seemed delighted at her movement, and he banged both his hands down on his legs, smiling and releasing a crow of delight. Thea chuckled at the noise.
“Where is your mother?” she asked, bending down toward him.
He
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