Joy, joy, joy, joy….
The cascade of “joy, joy, joy” rang as rich as the bells of Rome.
Genova claimed the angel Gabriel, wings gleaming freshly gold, and attached the figure to the peak of the stable—the last step before the miracle of Christmas. Without her having to guide, everyone ended their song until the last “joy” faded into silence.
She moved Mary-on-the-donkey behind the stable. Then she took out the baby Jesus and gave it to Thalia, who seemed as filled with wonder and excitement as Genova had always been.
The children were shifting closer, eyes wide. Heart swelling at their pleasure, Genova put the ass into the stable with Joseph and the Mother Mary in place. Then she stepped aside to let Thalia put the chubby baby on the straw.
“And now,” said Genova, as her father had always done, her voice choked, “it is Christmas. Peace to all.”
Everyone applauded and cried, “Peace to all!” and turned to greet and kiss those nearby.
Tears were pouring down Genova’s cheeks and shecouldn’t seem to stop them. Ash pressed a handkerchief into her hand. Silk, finely embroidered, and edged with precious lace.
When she’d dried her eyes, he dropped a kiss on her lips. “May all your Christmases be blessed with peace, Genova.”
Something in his eyes suggested more, but then Lady Walgrave spoke.
“I know that it’s quite disgustingly apropos, but I do think this baby is beginning to make its appearance.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Amid exclamations, the company split into action. Lord Walgrave insisted on carrying his wife upstairs, despite her laughing protests. Orders were given and the ladies of the family hurried off to varied preparations.
Children were swept off to bed, but Lord Rothgar encouraged the rest of the company to continue the festivities. Some returned to the ballroom for more dancing. Others went to the drawing room for cards and chatter.
Genova, who’d waited through some births, doubted the baby would arrive before morning, but she, too, was in no mood for sleep. She lingered by thepresepe, journeying through its lifetime of memories.
“It means a great deal to you,” Ash said.
“It’s home. I hadn’t realized, but everything in my life was changeable except this one thing. Thepresepechanged only by being enriched every year.”
“Enriched?”
“My father always gave me a new animal on my birthday, a new worshiper at the manger.” She touched the Chinese dragon. “This was the last one before my mother died.”
“A dangerous guest at the feast.”
“Not really. In many cultures dragons are predators, but the Chinese dragon is a harbinger of good fortune. Ironic, isn’t it?”
He picked up the brilliantly colored figure, its scales picked out with gold. “So a dragon doesn’t have to breathe fire and eat people.”
She waited, hopefully, for him to develop the point, but he put the little figure down. “Even Chinese dragons must eat. What,” he asked her, “if not unwilling victims?”
She pulled a face at him. “What does anyone eat but unwilling victims?”
“Genova, you’re a cynic!” He took her hand. “Come back to the ballroom and dance your bile away.”
To dance the night away with him would be heaven, but she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“You’re for bed? The night is young.”
She knew she should just slip away, but she couldn’t lie to him. “I have to find the Christmas Star. It’s part of the tradition.”
He laughed, puzzled. “You can’t think that Elf Malloren is about to give birth to a new Messiah.”
“Of course not! It’s always in the sky at Christmas, and I have to make a wish on it.”
