“OKAY, TEAM.” PAUL BRUSHED DUST from his palms. “Your ingenious uncles have the generator figured out. It’ll keep the power on, but not full force. We don’t know how long we’ll be without electricity or how long fuel for the generator will hold out. So, limit your use of anything unnecessary. We have the stone fireplace going in the barn addition. That thing’s big enough to heat the whole place out there. But we don’t want anybody going out to the building alone, understand?” He drew an imaginary line from Elisa down to Twilight, stopping at every other girl in between.
“Can we tie a rope from the house to the barn, Pa? Just like on Little House on the Prairie on TV?” Elisa split her hair into temporary pigtails.
“Yes. And watch that long hair around these candles. ‘Pa’ has seen enough of hospitals for a while.”
“Not kidding, girls,” Tim said. “We have at least four new inches of snow already and it’s blowing like crazy. We’d make you all stay in here, but it’s actually warmer in the addition right now.”
Katie had held her breath until Courtney called to say they’d made it to Brogan’s mom’s house in Hudson. Not a long trip, but the new mom insinuated she’d be more than a little grateful when Brogan could drive again. The babies slept the whole way, which Courtney pronounced a gift. She reported that all of Stillwater was without power, but Hudson, a little south and across the river, still functioned.
With Micah’s sister and little ones safely in Hudson, the great-grandparents reclaimed the master bedroom. Grandpa Wilson took his obligatory nap, but Grandma Dodie busied herself in the kitchen, the exhaustion of Christmas Eve replaced by the adrenalin of prepping for Christmas dinner with generator power only. “How does everyone feel about cold turkey sandwiches?” she called out.
“And canned cranberry juice?” Titus asked.
“Sorry, son. You’ll have to make do with homemade cranberry sauce.”
Katie folded the quilts from her nest, then thought better of it and deposited them in the family room. They might be needed if the fireplace couldn’t keep up and the generator failed. What a difference a few thousand miles made. Florida used generators to keep things cool when the power went out.
Titus bundled his girls for a trip to the barn addition. Mackenzie and Madeline suited up too. Silas reminded them about scarves and to pull their hoods over their hats. “They want one more practice for their annual Christmas pageant. And apparently, it’s top secret again,” he said to the adults. “What time do you want us back for the meal, Mom?”
“I’m aiming for one. Oh, Silas?”
“Yes?”
“I have a stack of paper plates in the storage cupboard out there. Seems like the occasion calls for them.”
Bella and Elisa grabbed their coats and boots. “We were cast as angels’ assistants this year. We’ll keep them out of trouble. Comes with the role.”
“Bless you two. I raised you well,” Paul said.
“It was mostly Mom’s influence,” Elisa said, dodging her father’s lunge on their way to the back door.
THE KITCHEN APPEARED cozier than ever with the lights low and without the typical noises of mixers and outdated dishwasher. The generator would keep the necessaries functioning. But Grandma Dodie declared the washer and dryer, microwave, and several other appliances off-limits. Even the conversation dimmed with the reduced power.
“What’s the longest you’ve been without power during a storm like this?” Katie asked, peering out at her first blizzard. The snow that had been gentle and picturesque before now pelted and careened. Directionless, it changed its mind with every gust of wind. The low howl the wind made reminded her of the kind of scary movies she refused to watch. Yet, through the melee of gusts and snow, light from the barn addition broke through, as holy light from an ancient stable must have lit Bethlehem millennia ago.
“What year was it, Grandma Dodie, that we didn’t get power restored for almost two weeks?” Allie asked.
Two weeks?
“Don’t scare the woman, Allie. One of the boys checked the long-term forecast. Admittedly, that technology came in handy. When the phones all die out, we’ll find the old radio we used to listen to. It’s a fierce but short-lived storm, or so the weathercasters say. Midday tomorrow it should calm down. We never know how long it will be before power can be restored. Depends.”
She made her pronouncements so calmly, as if the disruption to her plans couldn’t faze her. Katie thought again of the woman on the sidewalk outside of LoLo’s—the woman allergic to changes in her plans.
“How can I help with the meal?” Katie squirted waterless cleaner on her hands and rubbed them dry.
“Can you figure out a way to boil potatoes without an electric stove?” Dodie asked. “I told Wilson our next major purchase should be a gas stove.”
“If we were on the beach,” Katie said, “we’d wrap them in foil and tuck them into the embers in the fire.”
“Could work,” Allie said. “Between the fireplace here and the one in the barn addition, we might be able to pull that off. Deb, are you okay?”
She sat at the table with her head in her hands. “I miss my grandsons. I know they’ll be back in a few days. But I didn’t realize how quickly I’d lose my heart to those little guys.”
“This will help.” Grandma Dodie handed Deb a roll of aluminum foil. “Tear off about forty squares of this.”
Deb laughed. “How is this supposed to help?”
“I may have exaggerated its healing impact. But it’ll help us get those spuds on the fire. Serving equals endorphins, which equals a sense of euphoria and there you go. Rhonda, back me up, here.” Grandma Dodie took Deb’s head in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Of all people in this room, I understand, dear. Nothing gives me more joy than having my children and grandchildren close to me, under this roof.”
“Providing, of course, the roof is still standing by morning,” Rhonda said.
“Rhonda!”
“It’s beautiful, in a way,” Katie said. “The chaos.” She leaned on the sink to catch a better view.
Allie put a hand on her shoulder. “The storm?”
“That too.”
“One of you want to drain these potatoes?” Grandma Dodie asked. “We need to get them wrapped and in the fire. How long should we leave them to cook?”
Katie turned to face the Binder women. “Until they’re done, I guess.”
The snickers started with Grandma Dodie then circled the kitchen. “So, you caught Micah’s laid-back stance while you were here?” Rhonda said. “I didn’t realize it was that contagious.”
“He’s a good influence on me.”
Deb tore off another square of foil. “Don’t underestimate your influence on him. We can all see it.”
Katie opened her mouth to argue, but instead silently thanked God for the faint possibility that the statement was true.
THE BLIZZARD RATTLED windows, which no one but Katie seemed to notice. She pulled another batch of foil-wrapped potatoes from the fire, which was doing a fine job of keeping the family room warm.
“God bless whoever had the forethought to finish baking these turkeys and taking the meat off the bones yesterday,” Grandma Dodie said when Katie deposited the final batch of fire-roasted potatoes into the massive mixing bowl reserved for the purpose. “The meat won’t be heated up, but cold turkey that doesn’t come from a vending machine works just fine for me this year.”
“That would be me,” Titus said, entering through the mudroom, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.
“Thank you, son.”
“The turkeys helped keep my mind occupied while you were with Dad. The girls are on their way in, with their props.”
Katie couldn’t imagine fitting homegrown pageant props into the already overcrowded cottage. She waited for someone to object. No one did. The grace that permeated the house like air freshener in other homes extended to overly energetic girls with a flair for the dramatic.
“So, Katie, do you think these potatoes will mash up and stay warm until we’re all gathered?”
“All we can do is try.”
“The boys let me use the generator long enough to make gravy in the electric skillet. Isn’t that something for you?” Grandma Dodie said.
“What is, Mom?” Deb asked.
“My gravy was worth the generator power, but they said it would be a waste of fuel to make the Brussels sprouts.”
Katie used every bit of the energy she’d invested in strength training over the past year in mashing potatoes that smelled of wood smoke and butter.
The dressing seemed risky and not altogether pleasant to serve cold, so it sat in the refrigerator, waiting to perform as an awkward accompaniment to the next day’s planned ham dinner.
With battery-operated candles interspersed among the serving bowls and platters on the tables, the holiday meal seemed ideally decorated. After all had taken their places, Grandpa Wilson said, “Let’s pray.” No words followed.
Dodie laid her hand over his. “Are you okay, Wilson? Is this too much for you?”
“Too little, my beloved. It will always be too little for my liking. But let’s celebrate while we have it. Heavenly Father, thank You for this fam—Thank You for this family gathered around these tables. We thank You for the gift of life, and endless life through Your Son. Now bless this food and the hands that prepared it, that we might serve You all our days, however many, however few. In the Name of Jesus. Amen.”
“Amen,” the family chorused.
He finished his prayer by kissing his beloved on the back of her hand.
Paul picked up a platter of turkey and said, “You can’t blame that one on me. Let’s eat.” He showed the plate to Allie and squinted. “Is this light meat or dark meat?” He flipped the switch on a camping light headband he’d pulled over his forehead. “Ah. Never mind. Light meat. Get it?”
“Uncle Paul,” Elisa said, “look away. Look away! You’re blinding us!”
He flicked the light off. “Told you, Allie. All the girls say I have a dazzling personality.”
So it was going to be that kind of Christmas meal. Katie took the bowl passed to her, but almost didn’t want to eat. She would have preferred to listen, to catch every nuance of conversation and shared banter.
“You never have to wonder, if it’s tofu,” Rhonda said.
Titus held a bite of turkey to his open mouth. Motionless.
“I’m just saying,” she said, “that you never have to wonder if it’s dark or light meat.”
“Because it’s not meat,” Titus said. “I thought you were giving up your normal eating habits in order to enjoy this Christmas, Rhonda.”
“Did I say Christmas?” She looked around the table. “I meant Lent.”
“Food fight!”
“Paul Stephen Binder!”
NO ONE WENT hungry. No one complained the turkey was cold. And hearts filled at least as much as stomachs, Katie guessed, judging from her own experience at this table to which she no longer considered herself an outsider. No longer a virtual orphan.
The tables were cleared by flashlight so as not to miss any stray messes. The kitchen clanged with activity as it always did at the end of a Binder meal. Several volunteered to heat water in the enormous cast-iron kettle Grandpa Wilson once used to boil maple sap into syrup. They’d need an outdoor fire, and courage to brave that kind of cold and misery. How long would it take water to boil with the snow coming down that hard?
In the end, it was decided to do the best they could for the moment and pray the snow would let up, or that they could wait at least until after the remaining traditional Christmas Day activities—the girls’ pageant and Grandpa Wilson reciting the Christmas Story.
True darkness would fall early with such thick clouds blocking the zillion jigawatt sun beyond them somewhere. Mid-afternoon, and it felt like long past sunset.
With the leftovers put away in picnic coolers on shelves in the unheated part of the barn to avoid letting cold air out of the refrigerator and freezer in the cottage, the family settled into its gathering spot. Adults occupied couches and chairs now encircling the room to allow for the theater-in-the-almost-round style production of the Binder Girls Christmas Extravaganza.
The theater troupe waited in the hall while Elisa took her place as announcer in front of the fireplace and Christmas tree wall.
Katie leaned toward Micah. “This can’t wait until after the weather clears?”
“Hard to rein in that kind of excitement,” he said. “Besides, it’s taking the girls’ minds off the storm. A few adult minds too.”
“The creators of this production would like me to read the following disclaimer.” Elisa held the paper to the side to see the words by firelight. “We’ve heard the Christmas story told for many years through the shepherds’ point of view. We know what the angels said. But do we know what they were thinking? No.” She paused. “And you won’t know after this pageant either. Because some things we can’t know until Jesus tells us face-to-face.”
In an aside to the crowd, Elisa said, “They wanted me to say eyeball-to-eyeball, but I edited.” She flicked the paper flatter and continued. “So kindly allow us to take you on a journey to the angels’ dispatch center for . . . ‘The Angels’ Story,’ starring, from oldest to youngest, Sunburst, Mackenzie, Aurora, Madeline, and Twilight Binder, with Bella Binder serving as musical accompaniment and sound effects. The actresses have chosen to retain their own names for their angel characters, since Grandma Dodie always said our names are angelic.”
The girls floated in, wearing white tunics belted with gold garland and sporting halos of glow sticks on their heads. Bella sat on the floor at the far side of the tree, almost in the hallway, a guitar in her lap.
“I didn’t know Bella plays guitar,” Katie whispered to Micah.
“She’s really good.”
He wouldn’t have had to say it. From the first notes, Katie could tell Bella had a gift. She played an unfamiliar tune with light notes and sweet harmonies appropriate for an angel’s dispatch center. It resonated uniquely in the candlelight and firelight.
The five youngest Binder girls stood together in a line, tapping and swiping on pieces of cardboard cut to the size and shape of electronic tablets. Each “tablet” was personally decorated on the side that faced the audience.
“Anything happening?”
“See anything new, anybody?”
“I think she’s dropped.” Aurora held her tablet for the other angels to see.
Snickers circled the room.
“Yes, Mary’s definitely dropped,” Mackenzie said. Taller than the others, she had no trouble acting the part of a convincing head angel.
“Technically, it’s the Baby who dropped.” Sunburst thrust her hip out and rested her hand on it, more than self-assured.
“I’ll bet Mary’s breathing a little better now,” Madeline said.
“But she’s probably getting up even more often at night,” Twilight added.
Katie wondered if Rhonda had trained her girls to be midwives.
“Won’t be long now,” the girls said in unison.
Madeline swiped an imaginary screen on her “tablet.” “I want to go tell her she’s almost there,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“We’re all excited, Angel Madeline,” Twilight said. “But you got to be the one to tickle Elizabeth’s belly and make her baby jump when Mary showed up at her house.”
“That was fun,” Madeline said, looking wistfully heavenward, which Katie found amusing since they were supposedly in heaven at the moment.
“That was the first time Mary sang.” Aurora and the other angels bowed their heads.
Silence. “Is it over already?” Katie whispered.
“Not by a long shot, if I know these girls.” Micah put his arm around Katie and drew her closer.
Bella’s guitar music swelled. She sang into the darkened room, “In the very depths of who I am, I rejoice in God my Savior. He has looked on me with favor, looked on me with favor . . .”
As comical as the Binder angels had been, Bella’s song brought Katie into the wonder of what it must have been like to be among the cast of humans who welcomed the Savior into the world. Bella sang as the voice of a woman who couldn’t believe she of all people had been chosen to carry the Christ Child. In her youth. With the scars and dings on her family history. But with a purity of heart that, no matter how difficult or socially uncomfortable or at what risk to her relationship with her betrothed, she could make only one choice—say yes to God. “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it be with me just as You have said,” Bella sang. “May it ever be with me just as You have said.”
An unbidden thought lingered with the final notes of the song. A few days ago, Katie would have intentionally ignored it. Now, she mentally tore down remnants of resistance and invited it closer. A fully formed thought she couldn’t imagine came from within her. What Christmas accomplished enables me to forgive my heritage and consider it now as dramatic contrast to who I want to be and the life I want to live. The scars and dings on Mary’s family history accomplished what years of trying had been unable to do.
She didn’t try to stop her tears. She didn’t have to look around to know others were sniffing, too, including the man on whose shoulder she leaned.
It had been brewing, maybe even since ten months ago when Micah first asked if she wanted to go for coffee. He prayed over the coffee and their conversation. Who does that? Someone who has lived the lyrics, “May it ever be with me just as You have said, God.”
Bella was “Undeclared” for her major? With a voice like that, and an ability to engage an audience, Katie had an idea for her. Had Bella written the song? So much more to learn about this family.
When Bella’s song ended, and her guitar returned to mood-setting background music, the angels raised their heads, onstage again. Aurora repeated, “That was the first time Mary sang. Won’t be the last.”
“She’ll be singing lullabies soon,” Angel Mackenzie said. She waved her tablet. “I made a playlist for her.”
More snickers around the room.
Sunburst switched hips and attitudes. “I wonder what Jesus will look like as a baby.”
“Give me a minute.” Aurora tapped the screen of her tablet. “Age-reversing software won’t work on this, since He’s been around since the beginning of time. But take a look at these possibilities. I made a composite of the faces of male babies from the region, assuming there will be some likeness to Mary’s family line.”
“You’re such a geek, Angel Aurora,” Angel Twilight said.
Aurora’s eyes grew wide. Between clenched teeth, she said, “That’s not in the script.”
“I’m ad-lipping.”
“Libbing.”
“What?”
Mackenzie cleared her throat and adjusted her glow stick halo. “Could we see your composition?”
“Composite.” The other angels gathered around Aurora, peeking over her shoulder. In sync, they each tilted their head to the left and sighed, then slowly to the right and sighed.
Paul laughed out loud. “Sorry, girls. Er, angels,” he said. “Carry on.”
Twilight looked at her tablet. “Oh, that’s a good sign!”
“What is?” The angel troupe shifted focus to Twilight.
“They just arrived in Bethlehem. We all know the baby’s supposed to be born in Bethlehem.”
“Copy that. According to . . .”—Madeline tapped—“my Micah app . . .” She stopped and whispered, “Uncle Micah, did you know you were in the Bible?”
“Yes, I did,” he whispered in return.
“I mean, a whole book of you?”
“He’s named after that Micah,” Tim said. Katie admired the man’s ability to keep a straight face through that exchange.
“Oh. Cool. Here it is on my Micah app. Micah 5:2—‘As for you, Bethlehem of Ephra . . . Ephrawhatever, even though you remain least among the clans of Judah, nevertheless, the one who rules in Israel for me will emerge from you. His existence has been from anti-quidity, even from eternity.’”
Mackenzie huffed. “Antiquity.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” Madeline jumped. “Got a text. Huh.”
“Me too.”
“Me too.”
“Me too!”
Madeline looked at her companion angels. “Where are you being assigned?”
“Some field out in the middle of nowhere. Seriously?” Sunburst dropped her shoulders. “I wanted to be assigned to Bethlehem. Where are you going?” she asked the next in line, Aurora.
“Field.”
“Field.”
“Field.” Twilight presented a perfect pout, as if she’d rehearsed long before arriving at the cottage. “We’ll miss everything!”
Aurora looked at the others. “You’re not thinking about disobeying a direct order, are you?”
“We’re angels. Not idiots,” Twilight said.
Rhonda groaned.
Twilight walked over to her mother and said, “Mom, it’s okay. It’s pretend. I would never use that word for real.”
Rhonda kissed her youngest on the cheek and sent her back to the scene.
“No,” Twilight continued, affecting a beyond-angelic nature. “We would never disobey a direct order.”
Sunburst heaved a gigantic sigh. “We’ll have to DVR the birth and watch it later.”
Micah coughed so hard, Katie’s head bounced off his shoulder. She patted his knee.
“More incoming instructions,” Sunburst said, eyeing her tablet. Her face brightened. “Ohh.”
“What?” Angel Mackenzie repositioned her halo again.
“Time to rock and roll, angels,” Sunburst said. “To the fields!” She extended her arm like a raised sword and led the others offstage.
Bella’s guitar music swelled again. An ancient carol about shepherds watching their flocks.
The troupe of angels reappeared at the end of the song, crouched as they walked in.
“When will we know?” Madeline asked.
“We’ll know.” Angel Mackenzie told her.
Sunburst exaggerated her disappointment. “I wanted to be the one to tell the shepherds, ‘Fear not!’ I’ve been practicing all the way here. Listen to this.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Fear not, for Pete’s sake! This is good news!”
Katie covered her amusement as best as she could, grateful for the semi-darkness and shadows.
“Which is why”—Aurora said—“all the big parts go to the bigger angels.”
A bright light shone from near the door. Elisa held a flashlight overhead, trained on the floor in the middle of the room.
The angels looked up.
“The star!”
“Oh!”
“It’s almost time.”
Faintly, under her breath, Mackenzie counted, “One. Two. Three,” and the angels made classic surprised expressions—wide eyes, round mouths.
“Oh! The angel of the Lord is speaking!”
“What’s our cue? What’s our cue?” Twilight asked.
Madeline whispered, “He has to get to the part about ‘and lying in a manger.’ We’re the ‘Suddenly.’”
“Got it.”
“Look at the shepherds.” Aurora stood and crossed her hands over her heart. “This is like the biggest thing that’s ever happened to them!”
Sunburst dragged on her sister’s shoulder to get her into crouch position again. “Biggest thing that’s ever happened . . . ever! Now, shhhh. We’ll miss our cue.”
The little girls’ faces reflected the anticipation Katie felt in her own heart.
From the corner by the door, Elisa said, “And suddenly—”
The girls leapt to their full height, arms raised high. Madeline’s halo slipped. She quickly righted it.
Elisa smiled but continued, “There was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly hosts, praising God and saying—”
The angelic host, perfectly synchronized, with “Hallelujah Chorus” kind of joy on their faces shouted, “Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace. Goodwill toward men!”
They high-fived each other and exited to the backstage hallway.
“Hey!” Twilight stuck her head around the corner. “Isn’t anybody going to applaud?”
Laughter, applause, tenderness, tears . . .
The girls received hugs and kudos from their parents first, then the rest of the family.
Uncle Paul couldn’t help himself. He said, “So, Madeline, they had tablets in Bible times? I don’t think so.” He tickled his daughter, Bella, in the ribs.
“We knew you’d say that, Dad. Elisa, show him.”
Grinning, Elisa borrowed Grandpa Wilson’s Bible from the end table by his chair.
“It’s in Luke,” Madeline said.
“I remember.” Elisa flipped pages, using the “star” flashlight to find the spot. “This is Zechariah when he couldn’t speak while Mary’s aunt Elizabeth was expecting. And I quote . . .”
“And she quotes,” Madeline said.
“‘Then they began gesturing to his father to see what he wanted to call him. Zechariah asked for a tablet, and surprised everyone by writing, “His name is John.”’”
Paul raised his hands in surrender. “I stand corrected. And hungry. Grandma Dodie, is there anything to eat?”
The entire Binder family groaned.
Katie sought out Bella. “I didn’t know you could play and sing like that.”
Bella shrugged one shoulder. “It was either do the music or wear a glow stick halo. Easy choice.”
“Well, I know I’m not the only one who appreciated it, and who recognizes that you have an exceptional gift.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you write the first song?”
Bella nodded.
“Pretty amazing. Who wrote the script?”
“Collaboration,” Bella said. “We’ve done a Christmas play every year since Elisa and I could both talk, I think. It got bigger and bigger with every granddaughter born.”
“No parts for male characters?” Katie said, nodding toward where Micah stood.
“The year we made him the donkey, he said ‘Never again.’”
Elisa joined them. “When you were fifteen,” she said, “would you have appreciated putting on plays with your six-year-old and four-year-old cousins? Oh, wait a minute. That’s practically what we just did.”
“I didn’t have a lot of interaction with my cousins growing up,” Katie said. A stab of pain. It resolved more quickly than usual.
“That’s too bad.” Elisa turned toward the jagged line of little girls in halos. “Let’s get your costumes off and props put away, angels. It’s about time for the real Christmas story.”
GRANDPA WILSON SETTLED into his chair, but left the footrest down, almost a necessity in a room with that many people and that little light. He pulled his Bible onto his lap.
“Do you want me to find you that flashlight, Dad?” Paul asked, already on his way to standing.
“No, son. No. This is just right.”
The sense of calm in his voice quieted the undercurrent of random discussions and chatter. Peace on earth.
He peered through the dim light at the faces of his family, resting on each one for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath and, without glancing at his open Bible, announced, “The Christmas Story, as told to us by the apostle Luke. ‘Because of our God’s deep compassion . . .’”
“Grandpa,” Madeline, who sat cross-legged at his feet, whispered. “That’s not how it starts. Remember? ‘And it came to pass in those days . . . ?’”
He leaned to put his hand on her head. Katie’s heart ached with that simple act missing from her childhood. “The story begins long before that, little one,” Grandpa Wilson said. “But today, we’ll start here. ‘Because of our God’s deep compassion, the dawn from heaven will break upon us, to give light to those who are sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide us on the path of peace.’”
“That’s us!” Twilight said in breathy awe. “Sitting in darkness.”
When he paused, the whole dark room paused with him. Peace deepened. “‘And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:).’”
Micah squeezed her hand. Lineage. David’s, with unsavory relatives, a father who didn’t always respect him, a wife who didn’t understand him, friends who loathed what he’d done when he walked away from God’s plan for him. She squeezed back. I noticed.
“‘To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.’” Grandpa Wilson let those words settle over them. “‘And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a—’” He held his hand toward the two youngest.
“‘Manger! Because there was no room for them in the inn.’”
That’s what Katie had walked into. No room. Somehow the Binders made room for her.
“Micah?” Grandpa Wilson said, “Do you want to take it from here?”
“Me?”
“The day’s coming—maybe not for a while—when you’ll be sitting in a place like this, looking out over your legacy,” Grandpa Wilson said, “telling them the unending Christmas story. I won’t live to see it. But I imagine it will look and feel a lot like this. I pray it does.”
Katie laid her head on Micah’s arm and her hand on his heart. She wanted to feel the vibration of the words as he granted his grandfather the gift of hearing what Micah’s children and grandchildren would hear.
“Do you want this?” Grandpa Wilson lifted his Bible toward him.
“No.” Micah bowed his head briefly, then raised it and said, “‘And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.’”
Katie would never tire of the sound of his voice. She would . . . never . . . tire of it.
“‘And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’”
The soft rustling sound turned out to be Grandma Dodie passing a box of tissues around the room. Katie let her tears fall on Micah’s shirt.
“‘And suddenly!’”—he said at double volume, making the little girls giggle—“‘there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”
A log in the fireplace settled into a new resting place, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney.
Bella began to play again, this time the song Katie had found herself singing in the dark, the one that captured her attention within minutes of being introduced to the Binder Family Christmas. “All Is Well.”
As her song drew to its end, Grandpa Wilson, holding his Bible to his chest now, began to sing. Katie watched the firelit room settle once more.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
Why had she never realized “Amazing Grace” was as much a Christmas song as any other?
“Grandpa Binder?”
In the dim light, two Binder men answered “Yes?” which started another wave of laughter. Tim winked at his nieces. “Sorry. I’ve been waiting a long time to respond to that name.”
“So far,” Grandpa Wilson told Tim, “you can only answer when little boys call for their grandpa. So far.” He made a dramatic point of directing his attention to where Micah and Katie sat before turning to answer his granddaughter. “What is it, Madeline?”
“Who’s Haste?”
“Haste is when you hurry up real fast.”
“Not what is it,” she said. “Who. In the Bible?”
“I don’t know what you mean, sweetie.”
She stood and drew closer to his good ear. “You know, when the shepherds said, ‘Let’s go to Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass. And they came with Haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.’ Was Haste just a friend? Or somebody important?”
“Haste is rarely a friend,” Grandpa Wilson said, his wide smile visible even in the semi-darkness. “But . . . sometimes important.”
Grandma Dodie spoke up. “Don’t confuse the girl, Wilson. When they went ‘with haste,’ that just means they hurried.”
The girl pondered. “Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t? Even you hurried when Gabe and Evan showed up, Grandma Dodie. Imagine if we were on our way to see Jesus! Like Mom did.”
Something shifted in Katie’s heart. Weeks ago, a scene like this would have sent her into mourning over how far the sweetness was from the kind of family Christmas she’d known in her growing-up years.
Here, in this cramped cottage, in the middle of a blizzard, with the fragility of life all the more real and the hard roads these people had traveled far more rutted than the lane along the split-rail fence, with all plans upended and the meal a shadow of what Grandma Dodie hoped it would be, with Grandpa Wilson home but for how long, she allowed herself to feel the full impact of the enduring love that hemmed the Christmas story. The amazing grace laced through its ancient yet ever-new lines.
Grandma Dodie clapped her hands together. “Have you ever made s’mores with Christmas cookies, kids?”
Paul answered, “No! Great idea!”
Dodie tsked. “Paul, I was talking to the younger ones.”
“Oh, the burdens of being the oldest in the family,” he said, his gift for drama evident.
“We’ll toast marshmallows in the fireplace,” she said. But I’ll need some helpers to get everything ready.”
All the Binder girls volunteered and followed Grandma Dodie into the kitchen.
The four Binder sons donned coats, boots, and gloves to search for long sticks suitable for roasting marshmallows and to gather more wood for the fires. Deb, Rhonda, and Allie disappeared into the kitchen, too, Rhonda leading the charge for healthy alternatives to the marshmallows.
At that moment, the cottage seemed almost roomy, despite the way shadows and darkness can make walls close in.
“Want more coffee?” Micah asked Katie.
“Definitely.”
“Be right back.”
She sat on the wide hearth and waited for him. When he returned with their coffee mugs, she took his, too, and set both mugs a few feet away on the hearth. She invited him to sit beside her. “Do you still have your phone, Micah?”
“Grandma Dodie told us to get rid of them.”
She tilted her head. “Do you?”
He pulled it from his pants pocket. “I was going to get to that.”
Katie stood and walked to the darkened Christmas tree. She shone the light from the phone’s flashlight onto a spot on the back of the tree at about eye level.
“You can’t hide my phone behind the tree. She’ll find it.”
“Uh-huh. Here, you can have it back.” Katie tossed it to him and found her way back to the hearth.
“Find what you were looking for?”
“I did.” She didn’t elaborate.
Micah slid closer to her. “I’m glad you came here, Katie.”
“Me too.”
“A whole new level of intensity this year. Would you believe me if I told you it isn’t always this bad?”
She took his hand and stroked his palm. “I believe you.” She pressed her find into his opened hand.
“Where’d you get that?”
“From under the washing machine.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Micah, will you marry me? Dysfunctions and all?” She could hear his heart pounding.
“Your dysfunctions or mine?” His voice held an unusual tremble.
“I’d better say both.”
He entwined his hand with hers, the ring cupped between them. The battery-operated candles in the windows flickered, but not because the wind howled outside. The fire warmed her back. His presence warmed her heart. But he didn’t speak.
“Micah? You haven’t said anything.”
“Praying. Give me a minute.”
So, now he was the one with doubts? A cold draft swept through her, despite the fire at her back.
“Amen,” he said.
“Did you get the answer you needed?” Katie asked.
“I wasn’t asking. I was thanking God for giving me my heart’s desire.” He took the ring from the space between their hands and slipped it on her ring finger. “Yes. An endless yes.”
She held her hand so the ring could catch the light from the flames. “I believe the next step,” she said, “is that you kiss me?”
He didn’t need convincing. The hug that followed was well in excess of the necessary twenty seconds, Katie noted.
“Sorry, folks. We’ll need you to do that all again,” Uncle Paul said. “My cell phone died mid-taping. But Allie’s still has battery power. So, from the top.”
From deep in the kitchen, they heard, “Paul Stephen Binder! Don’t make me come in there.”
“Mom, she said yes!”
“Technically,” Katie interjected, “he did.”