27

“Don’t you think Shelby should be center stage for when she’s telling the town’s people about the miraculous birth of Jesus?” Tessa Tarrington asked.

Finn’s cousin, Tessa, the author of the Christmas play, and the soon to be stepmother of the lead in said Christmas play, was rapidly transforming into something he’d never experienced: A stage mom.

With each sweetly offered suggestion, Darcy’s body stiffened tighter beside him. Of course, her tormented response could have also been explained by the fifteen, under eleven-year-olds treating the sanctuary as a playground. Stained glass rattled with each race up the outer aisles while the smattering of adults and parents, spread over multiple rows of pews, focused on their phones or muffled conversation. Even his love of children and the congregation was wearing thin.

Tessa’s hands began to move in windmill patterns as she pointed to the makeshift stage.

Darcy’s eyes closed as she rubbed her temples.

“OK, folks.” Finn used the voice he discovered when he interned as a youth pastor. “I’d like to ask Mrs. Mallory to take everyone to the kitchen for the refreshments the LAS members prepared this morning.”

Without a pause, Megan Mallory ushered the children and adults to the basement fellowship hall.

Tessa feverishly marked a copy of the script and turned to Darcy.

“Tessa, do you mind going down to help Megan?”

His cousin’s waterfall of blonde hair draped over her shoulder as she locked her gaze with his. She opened her mouth, but nodded with the lift of a single eyebrow. “Of course.”

The click of her heels against the wood floor planks echoed through the holy space. Finn lowered onto the pew in front of Darcy. Her head rested against her folded arms.

“I quit.”

“Can’t quit.”

She lifted her head, barely linking her gaze with his. “Why not?”

“Two Darcy darlings.”

Slamming against the high back pew, she released a sound somewhere between a strangled cat and a wounded bear.

“Madame Director, quitting not being an option, what is your solution for our little play?”

“Cancel?”

“Also not an option.”

Darcy stood and stretched her arms long and high above her head. Her body was fit beneath the mounds and layers she seemed to prefer. She walked down the aisle and across the stage. She extended her unpainted fingertips over the thick white batting as she sat in the fluff.

“Darcy, it isn’t that bad.”

Lifting a single brow, she shook her head. “Really? We have mini-monsters running amuck through hallowed ground. Stage Mom Tessa-I-am-the-Author-Tarrington seems to know better than everyone else what we should do with the scenes. And we seem to have zero parental responsibility while the kids are in the church building. How, possibly, could it be worse?”

“We have fake snow. Not having snow for a play about a snow angel would be worse.”

A strangled chuckle trickled from her lips. “Really, Pastor Finn, you do have a strange sense of optimism.”

He closed the space between them in two strides, and sat beside her. “Kind of in the job description.”

“Oh…” A single tear slipped down her cheek.

With a finger, he wiped the wetness from her face. “Hey, there’s no crying in church plays.”

Shaking her head, she reclined on her elbows and stared toward the pitched ceiling. “How am I supposed to figure out my life, or even help Aunt Lulu, if I can’t pull together a twenty-minute kids Christmas play?”

“Thirty minutes with music.”

“You really are not funny.”

“Well, that is not officially in the job description, but it does help to sell a sermon.”

The street lamps’ muted light scattered the confines of the barely lit room, splashing a rainbow from the stained glass. Her profile, highlighted with the wash of evening color stole his breath. Thick hair knotted on top of her head accented high cheekbones dotted with a wash of blue and pink, reminding him of a modern storybook princess, forlorn and yet brave, as she faced her unknown path.

“It’s only the first practice, Darcy.”

“The first of four. Four practices. There is no way we’ll be prepared or polished in a week. Aunt Lulu comes home tomorrow and the festival starts the day after. I don’t know how…”

He linked his grip with hers. The tender connection filled him with peace and purpose. “You aren’t doing this alone. I’ll do anything you need. Tessa is willing to help too.” Her eyes seemed to roll involuntarily in their sockets ripping a chuckle from his chest. “Listen. She’ll let you lead. You just need to show her you are in charge. You are dealing with literally her written baby, and her might-as-well-be human baby. But she will step back. She’s a PK after all.”

“PK?”

“Pastor’s kid. They’re used to being behind the scenes without making a fuss.”

“Well, she’s definitely breaking the mold.”

“As I said. Just show her you’re in charge.”

She squeezed his hand, releasing the connection. “OK... How do I?”

“Be in charge?”

She stood and nodded.

“How did you do it in the lab?”

Shrugging, she walked to the large stained-glass window of Mary and Baby Jesus. “I was in charge of mice, interns, and blood samples. There wasn’t a need for leadership.”

The sound of dozens of tiny feet pounding against the stairs filtered into the sanctuary. “Well, Not-Doctor-Langston, I think it’s time to put on your mice and intern leading cap because your colony of kiddos is descending.”

“Paddor Finn, those cookies were so good. I tink I can sing dat solo.” Emma Jessup, the star of the Christmas pageant, shouted as she zoomed into the sanctuary lunging her whole person into Finn’s arms.

“Emma”—Tessa’s lyrical voice came from the sanctuary entrance flitting over the excited tones of the other children and their parents returning from the snack break— “we discussed this yesterday. And this morning. Lizzie will sing the Snow Angel song. You have a very special part, but every kid in the play needs their own special part.”

Emma twisted to face her soon to be stepmother. Tilting her head, her soft curled pony tail brushed her shoulder. “Likes Baby Turner being the Jesus?”

Tessa nodded. “Just like Baby Turner. And Rose is Shelby’s friend who goes door to door to get the townspeople to come and hear the story of Jesus.”

“I guess dat makes senses.” Emma turned back to Finn and Darcy. “Guess I wont’s be singing. Too bads ‘cause I really loves to sing.” She zoomed to the rear of the church where the other children waited to start practice once again.

Tessa sighed, a soft tilt to her lips. “I love Emma as if she’s my own daughter. But only Jesus could love the singing voice she inherited from her father. She’ll be the perfect Shelby. After all she was the inspiration. She actually co-authored the first book. But I think solos should be a gift left to other parents.”

“To endure?” Finn asked.

“To enjoy, I’m sure. Dr. Langston. Darcy. I need to apologize. Shelby and Guard-Ann are like my family. And this is the first time they’ve been three dimensional. I’m sorry I overstepped.”

“Oh…It’s…it’s OK.”

“No, it isn’t. But thank you for being generous.” Tessa turned to Finn. “Cousin. I’ll be transitioning my volunteer service to the refreshment committee for the night of the play. I talked to Ryland while we were having a snack. He will bring Emma to the rest of the rehearsals.”

“Sounds wise.” Leave it to Tessa to read what wasn’t written.

“Right.” Tessa turned to the back of the sanctuary. “Kids, come on down and listen to Miss Darcy and Pastor Finn.” She gave a quick wink to Finn. “Darcy and Finn, these little sugar-high heathens are all yours.”