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CHRISTMAS WAS NEARLY upon them. The household had been distracted and delighted by the arrival of Marit’s baby boy, but now they needed to focus on preparations for Christmas and their holiday guests.
Flinty, whose eyes and ears gathered more tidbits of gossip and news than most bartenders in Corinth, dropped in one morning and reported that “visitors” arriving on the train were increasing daily.
“It is th’ Christmas rush, pardon m’ blasphemy, miss,” was his shrewd observation. “I been a-livin’ here twenty-two years. Ever since Judge Brown built them houses a few years back, we git a spate of partiers ever’ holiday season. Th’ bars an’ th’ boardin’ houses in town’ll be full up till after New Year’s. New Year’s’ll be the worst of it, too, it will.”
He made an indignant sound. “No decent woman can walk th’ streets of Corinth ’tween Christmas and New Year’s. Disgustin’ is what it is.”
O’Dell raised his eyebrows. “That, Mr. Flynn, may be a blessing in disguise.” He shot an amused look at Joy. “Maybe all the praying has bought us a bit more time. If Darrow and his men are busy ferrying their customers, they will not have as much time to keep an eye on this place.”
Joy did not reply but time was exactly what she was praying for. Time for Arnie to accomplish the tasks she had given him. Time for her plans to ripen to maturity. Until then, they must purpose not to attract further attention to the lodge. Mei-Xing was healing, however, keeping her out of sight was paramount at present.
When the baby was a few days old, Marit began coming downstairs again to help. Joy and Breona made a comfortable little sitting area in the large pantry room where Marit could nurse in private and without having to climb two flights of stairs. However, it soon became apparent that a certain corner of the kitchen was becoming everyone’s favorite place to loiter.
In that corner Billy and Flinty had placed a rocking chair and second cradle, one they had painstakingly built together. As Marit resumed her cooking and baking duties, someone always found an excuse to sit near the cradle and stare at the tiny baby. Joy began shooing the men off to give Marit and her baby breathing room.
Marit seemed to be recovering nicely from her pregnancy and childbirth. Motherhood suited her, Joy mused. She noted how the girl was looking and acting less child-like and more woman-like as her figure filled out and her confidence in mothering the baby grew.
She was still quiet and sweet, but her face radiated a calm strength that had been lacking when Joy had first met her on the train. Was that only a few months ago?
And gifts! So many of the women of the church treated Marit as they would a daughter. They showered her with hand-made baby blankets and gowns, diapers, and tiny sweaters, hats, and clothes.
All who first saw the baby asked his name and, universally, Marit replied that she had not decided on a name yet. However, after two weeks she still had not named the infant—not that suggestions were lacking. Needing to call the baby something, nearly everyone in the lodge had bestowed their own pet name on him: Breona called him Báibín (baby), “Little Lamb,” and “Lambie”; Flinty referred to him gruffly as “Buster.” Domingo, after hearing the volume of the baby’s squalls, took to referring to him as El Jaleo—the racket. Mr. Wheatley, as he grinned and rocked the infant, cooed, “Little Man.”
O’Dell, on the other hand, took pains not to refer to the baby in any manner and steadfastly declined to hold or even touch him. Joy noted a tinge of panic in O’Dell’s expression any time the infant was too near him, and she laughed at his discomfort.
Joy was frustrated by the baby’s lack of a name. One evening as she wrote a letter at the lobby desk she complained to Breona, “Why has Marit not named that baby? What is she waiting for?”
Breona, that shrewd look on her face, pursed her lips and replied, “I’m wagerin’ ’tis on th’ boy’s father she’s waitin’, miss.”
Joy swung around and fixed Breona with a scowl. “Whatever in the world do you mean?”
Breona’s chin lifted in the direction of the kitchen. “That one, I’m thinkin’.”
Joy heard the murmur of Billy and Marit’s voices in the kitchen as Marit finished the dishes and Billy dried them.
“’Least I’m belaivin’ she’s hopin’ he will take th’ job. An’ be givin’ th’ boy his name.” Breona shrugged in her inimitable way. “Seems loik it would be a prayer answered. If’n you’re b’laivin’ in prayer an’ all.”
Joy stared at the closed kitchen door.
—
IT WAS MEI-XING WHO began to spend most of the day near the babe while Marit worked. The bruising on her face was nearly gone. The most visible reminder of her injuries was a nose that was decidedly off-side. Not as easily seen—or healed—were the cracked and bruised ribs, the strained ankle tendons, the scabbed cuts and scratches beneath her clothes, and a heart that was destroyed.
Since she was unable to stand for long or lift much, Mei-Xing sat in the little chair near the cradle, silent, but watching over the baby or at the nearby table cleaning vegetables and doing other easy hand work. After a few days of helping Marit in the kitchen or with the infant, Mei-Xing began to feel productive and perhaps a little needed.
She told herself not to become emotionally attached to the baby, but her heart was in such need of love that it drank in the sweet acceptance a baby offers. More than once the corner of his little blanket soaked up tears that no amount of effort could stem.
With the rest of the household, she gathered in the kitchen for devotions after breakfast each morning. The morning Bible study was now an accepted part of the daily routine. While not everyone was a believer in the Savior, they had all become engaged in the Bible reading and discussions.
Joy could hardly believe that she was leading the study herself, having only taught a girl’s Sunday school class in the past. One morning it occurred to her that she was, unconsciously, emulating her father. Joy had grown up watching Jan lead young men in Bible study and had, without realizing it, begun to lead the lodge’s devotions as she had seen him lead their family’s and the men’s studies he had led in their home.
They always ended their study in prayer, mostly with Joy asking for guidance and strength for the day. Once in a while though, someone would mention a need that the group would pray over: Domingo asked prayer for his mother’s health; Flinty mentioned that his knee was causing him pain.
And Billy asked for the Lord’s direction in his life.
—
CHRISTMAS WAS ON FRIDAY. The lodge’s guests arrived two days prior. Billy, driving the lodge buggy, fetched a young couple and their small daughter from the morning train and an older couple from the afternoon train. Their guests’ first sight of the great room had prompted delighted exclamations.
Joy had asked Billy and Mr. Wheatley to gather copious amounts of evergreen boughs several days before. The women had tied them together into long strands that the men hung in swags along the ceiling line around the entire room. On the mantle of the large stone fireplace they arranged pine branches in which they nested the largest pine cones they could find.
In the middle of each wall’s center swag, Breona tied large red bows, their ends curling and trailing down. She then positioned the most elaborate bow she could fashion on the mantle. On the two dining tables they had created centerpieces that resembled miniature forest scenes, including Flinty’s hand-carved wooden deer grazing under tiny pine trees.
Completely filling a corner of the parlor stood a twelve-foot Ponderosa pine, its branches festooned with swooping strands of popcorn and red berries. On the end of each branch dangled a small, glittering star.
Flinty, at Joy’s request, had cut each one from lightweight wood. The household had spent several evenings sipping cider while painting the stars a bright white and then coating them with glue and silver glitter. The stars twisted and swayed at the end of green thread hangers, sparkling in the light from the fireplace. And from the top of the tree gleamed the largest and brightest star of all.
“No’ seen better, even in th’ foine houses o’ Boston,” Breona had stated with satisfaction.
But the crowning piece of their decorations was a simple, even crude, manger scene. They placed the rough-hewn Mary, Joseph, and empty manger amid straw strewn across a brown cloth at the foot of the tree.
Now their guests were admiring the decorations and sipping the spiced cider that Marit kept warm on the back of the great room’s oil stove. The mingled aromas of cinnamon and cloves warmed the air. Their guests’ young daughter sat cross-legged before the tree staring in awe at its loveliness.
Her mother approached Joy. “Would you allow us to put a present under the tree for Molly on Christmas Eve? And, if we could do so without harming your wonderful mantle, may we hang her stocking from it?”
“Of course.” Joy asked Billy to find a way to hang Molly’s stocking from the mantle. She noticed the other couple, a man and woman in their later years, nodding their approval.
The older woman leaned her head toward her husband and said, “It was a good idea to come here for Christmas, Geoff. Thank you. Thank you for getting us away from the loneliness of that empty house.” Her smile was tinged with nostalgia as she watched Molly counting the stars on the tree.
With all of her guests present in the parlor, Joy announced, “As you know, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Our household will be singing carols together here in the great room after dinner. I hope you will join us as we celebrate the Savior’s birth.”
And sing they did. Snow blanketed Corinth all the next day. The very air around the lodge smelled of snow. Within the warmth and serenity of the lodge, Joy, her household, and their guests gathered in the great room to sing the old hymns of Christmas.
By candle- and fire-light alone, they raised their voices to sing.
O’Dell would have preferred being elsewhere—anywhere elsewhere, he insisted to himself—but he also told himself that, as a “guest” at the lodge, he needed to keep his cover story intact by participating in the holiday activities.
He did not sing, of course, but he listened. The songs rising around him evoked emotions and memories he had thought long gone. “Strange,” he muttered and, for a moment, saw in his mind’s eye his mother bending over him, her eyes tender with love . . . and felt her tender hand on his head.
“Joy to the world!” Mr. Wheatley sang, his voice raspy and thin. His heart was full of thankfulness. It would not be many years—perhaps only months—before he would see his Savior face-to-face. In the meantime, for the first time since he was a boy, he had a family, people who needed and loved him.
“The Lord is come!” Marit sang the words from her heart. Something wonderful was happening to her in this place. God was drawing near her day by day. As surely as the sun rose each morning, the Lord himself was making his home in her heart . . . and she was coming to grips with the immensity of his love for her. Tears started in her eyes. So much joy! How had she lived before without this joy?
As she hugged the baby in the crook of her arm, she made to wipe her eyes with her other hand—but another’s finger caught the tear making its way down her cheek. She glanced up. Billy placed his hand over hers and squeezed it.
“Let earth . . . receive . . . her King!” Breona had sung those words all her life but tonight they struck her differently than they ever had. Receive her King? Have I received the King? Is that what Miss Joy means? Is that what all the Bible blather is about?
She frowned but kept singing.
“Repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding joy,” Joy warbled. She was not much of a singer, but she knew all the tunes and all the words. Were Mama and Papa singing these very songs tonight? Were they with their grandchildren at Søren and Meg’s? Were Sigrün and Harold there, too? Kjell and Karl and all of their children?
Joy thought of the last Christmas she and Grant had spent together. They had been so happy, so in love.
“Repeat . . . repeat . . . the sounding joy.” She was still in love with Grant and, as Mama said, would never stop loving him. But, for the first time since he had died, Joy acknowledged that it might be—would be—possible to be happy again. And it would be all right to be happy again. She studied her friends and her guests, each one dear in their own way.
She turned to her left. O’Dell was staring back at her, something hidden but bold at the same time in his eyes. Joy felt heat rise on her cheeks and turned away.
Mei-Xing sat by herself in the kitchen, listening to the music, and wondering. Wondering why, alone in this darkened room, hiding from those who would destroy her if they found her, she felt not alone for the first time in—oh, so long!
We three kings of orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
She sighed, but not in despair. She was traditional Chinese and unfamiliar with these Christian customs and songs. But she liked the one they were singing. It spoke to her, somehow. And through the kitchen’s single window, high above the sink, she could see only a patch of dark sky and, framed by the window, a single star twinkling down on her.
Ohhh! Star of wonder, star of night
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy Perfect Light
Star of wonder. She felt that wonder this night. Guide us to thy Perfect Light. Was there a Perfect Light to be found in this world, in this life? She looked to the star casting its light on her. And she pondered the song’s message.
Long after Billy, Mr. Wheatley, and their guests had gone to bed and all the lights in the lodge but the glow from the fireplace had been extinguished, Joy, Marit, and Breona broke their own sacrosanct rule. They locked the front door and checked that every window curtain was drawn.
O’Dell, shaking his head, watched as the women encouraged Mei-Xing to limp into the great room. They helped her to a soft chair in the parlor where she could view the glimmering tree. Marit drew a tiny wooden infant from her dress pocket and placed it in the empty manger under the branches of the tree.
Then they gathered about Mei-Xing, Joy holding the girl’s hand in her own, while Joy, Marit, and Breona, in hushed voices, sang,
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
‘Round yon virgin, mother and Child
Holy Infant, so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
O’Dell averted his gaze, sensing that he was intruding on something precious—something of which he had neither place nor part.
~~**~~
