The incredible beauty of Mary and Joseph flanking the glowing manger struck Shay forcefully.
Yes, it was outwardly charming. Three of the five Miracle Five were taking part, which was jaw-dropping. Mary and Joseph, clearly in love, made a striking couple. The shepherds held staffs in their hands. The kings wore lavish robes. The sweet-faced donkey swished its tail. The cow was so bizarrely small it looked fake. The sheep seemed obsessed with Genevieve, and one had even rested its chin on Genevieve’s lap.
This nativity was about much more than outward charm, though. Seeing how real and living the participants were reminded her how real and living the participants in that first Christmas had been. All of them, people just like these, prone to mistakes, heartaches, joys. They’d been going about their ordinary lives when this wildly extraordinary thing had occurred. They’d experienced the birth of a baby who was completely divine, yet also as completely human as they were.
As she was.
The melancholy that had occasionally dragged at her this December had been silenced by the thing that was truest, most lovely, and most powerful about Christmas...
Its actual meaning. Jesus.
Who’d grown up and sacrificed Himself to save the world.
Grateful tears had stung her eyes several times and she’d spent much of the evening praying.
As if by unspoken agreement, the hundreds of people who’d come to view the nativity had responded with quiet reverence. From her vantage point, she’d seen on their faces that many were feeling what she was feeling.
One older man had stood at the fringes for a full hour, tears trickling down his face. Children gazed at the scene with open mouths. Busy adults paused, the stress easing from their posture. The only person who hadn’t responded with proper respect was Gabe. When he’d stopped by, he’d pulled funny face after funny face, in an effort to make her break character and laugh. She’d resisted until he’d started moving his lanky body in geeky dance moves. With supreme self-control, she’d avoided inappropriate church giggles in favor of a smile. Surreptitiously, she shot him angelic jazz hands.
She’d been to the nativity as an observer a couple of times in the past, long ago. It hadn’t impacted her deeply on those occasions.
But this time it had. In just a few hours’ time, Shay had become a fervent supporter of Misty River’s live nativity. She’d dress in costume until she was a very old angel, indeed. Or she’d help in other ways to ensure that Connor’s mom’s project of the heart continued.
By rights, the transcendent experience she’d been having should have protected her from thoughts of Connor and Molly. If only it had. She’d been unable to stop herself from keeping an eye on Connor and trying to figure out Molly’s identity. Still no success at that.
Was there any chance that Molly was her? She’d thought for a split second that maybe there was a chance when he’d brought a plant to dinner the other night. But he’d had lots of opportunities that night to tell her if she was Molly. And he hadn’t taken any of them.
So, stop getting your hopes up, Shay. This was a case of wanting something badly enough that you’re imagining it into existence. He probably asked Molly out tonight and she probably said yes and you’re definitely going to act happy for them.
The choir performed its final song. Then Penny thanked the community members, the choir, the cast. As Penny closed in prayer, Shay’s gratitude mingled with a dash of disappointment. The most wonderful evening she’d had in a long time was coming to an end.
“We praise the one who sent His son,” Penny prayed. “The true source of hope. The true source of love. The true source of peace. The true source of life. Merry Christmas. Amen.”
“Amen,” the crowd responded.
The choir burst into a few famous bars of the “Hallelujah Chorus.” “‘And He shall reign forever and ever!’” they sang.
When they finished on the last triumphant note, everyone clapped enthusiastically. It was only then, when people drifted toward their cars or toward the barn to take off their costumes, that the volume of conversation rose. Shay and her fellow angels chatted warmly for a few minutes, then dispersed.
She looked up, taking one minute longer to seal this night into her memory. On a sigh, she headed in the direction of the barn, a few hundred yards away.
As she walked, the hem of her coat thumped against the front of her ankles. She caught sight of Connor cutting toward her from where he’d been working serving cider.
Tenderness welled high and fast.
He’d been humble enough to ask for her help and good-natured enough to take her advice. He looked gorgeous this evening in her favorite “artist in residence” outfit from their shopping trip. Cardigan. Blazer. His hands were sunk in the blazer’s pockets and his cheeks were doing that hot rugby player thing again.
They came to a stop facing one another. An angel and a handsome, wildly talented, auburn-haired man.
“Good evening,” he said. She loved his perceptive gray eyes. The lips that tilted up at the very edges. His was a thoughtful face, the face of a man who was observant, who took time to care about people.
He’d been a thoughtful kid, she remembered. But that characteristic had only increased over time.
A pang of yearning so real it felt like a hunger pang struck her.
“Good evening,” she replied.
“How was the nativity for you?”
