Page 41 of On a Midnight Clear

Stella tightened her grip on the black broom handle that served as the base of her celestial prop , her insides trembling so violently she feared she’d drop the Star of Bethlehem.

Frank loved her. He wished to marry her.

His words replayed over and over in her mind, daring her to believe them.

To believe that a woman no one else wanted had finally been chosen.

Chosen and cherished. For that was how she’d felt when Frank touched his lips to her hand. Cherished. Desired. Loved.

“Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hal-le-lu-jah!”

The singers representing the angels burst out with an abbreviated version of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” and for a heartbeat, Stella thought they rejoiced on her behalf. Until the preacher’s rich voice proclaimed the birth of the Messiah to the shepherds.

Heavens. Had baby Jesus already been born? Her gaze zeroed in on the crèche where Norman stood beside his wife, a babe in her arms.

Get your mind where it belongs , Stella. You’re here to honor the coming of the Savior and to share that good news with your community. Not to stare moon-eyed into the evening air like a lovesick calf.

Easier thought than done. She endeavored to put Frank from her mind and focus on the nativity story playing out before her, but each time he so much as shifted his weight or breathed a little too heavily, her attention immediately diverted.

By the time the shepherds left the manger to go share the good news with the townspeople, she’d become a bit frazzled from the mental back and forth.

“‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king,’” the minister intoned, “‘behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem.’” He paused in his reading of Matthew chapter two, and Stella realized with a start that her cue had arrived.

Lifting her broom handle to chest-height to bring attention to the large tin star at the top of the pole, she slowly walked forward into the staging area, her three Harvard professors dutifully following in her wake.

One of the congregants wearing a purple robe and a paper crown came out to meet her before she neared the manger scene.

Frank obviously knew the story well, for he moved past her to meet the man playing Herod.

“‘The wise men asked, “Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.”’”

Frank waved a hand in the direction of the star she carried, but she would have sworn that his eyes somehow found hers through the shielding of her veil.

The narration continued. “‘After consulting with the chief priests and scribes, Herod sent them to Bethlehem, and said, “Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.” When they heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.’”

Frank stepped back in line behind Stella, and she led them to the crèche where Mary, Joseph, and the Christ child waited.

At the last moment, she shifted to walk behind the manger scene, climbing the small staircase Norman had built behind it until she reached the top platform behind the roof eaves.

There, she held the star high and slid the end of the broom handle into the pocket Norman had installed to hold the pole in place.

“‘When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.’”

She crouched behind the top of the crèche as the preacher continued the story, wanting the star to be the focal point, not her.

Moving quietly, she took a seat on the top step where she would be hidden from the audience, then peeked through a knothole to watch the rest of the production play out.

Well, to watch Frank, at least. Her gaze seemed rather glued to that particular wise man.

“‘And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshiped him.’”

Usually at this point, the men playing the role of the magi bowed their heads in a prayerful pose, but not Frank. He dropped to his knees and prostrated himself fully before the babe. Arms outstretched, face practically touching the ground, the urn extended deferentially before him.

Stella’s heart squeezed, and her eyes misted.

This was no overzealous acting. This was reverence.

Pure and true. Frank’s faith practically glowed, and she wasn’t the only one who noticed.

A decided hush fell over the crowd. Professor Goldstein slowly lowered himself to one knee, his older joints not as nimble as those of his younger colleague.

Even the grumbly Muir bowed deeply at the waist as a spirit of worship filled the air.

The minister cleared his throat, as if he, too, had been overcome by the moment, then finally finished the reading. “‘And when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense and myrrh.’”

Norman stepped forward to accept the gifts, and as he did so, the choir resounded with “Joy to the World.” The preacher urged the crowd to join in the singing, then set the example by doing so himself.

All of the performers, including the wise men, stood and turned to face the audience as they joined in the caroling.

Stella sang softly as she descended the stairs.

She raised her veil and slid into place next to Frank, slipping her hand through his arm.

His clear tenor voice lifted her spirit, and his beautiful smile urged her to greater volume as her need to praise her Savior overrode her self-consciousness about her lack of musical skill.

One carol blended into another as people linked arms and clasped hands in worship.

Scores of voices lifted in song, drawing more and more people to the churchyard until the crowd spilled into the street.

The choir director didn’t stop after the usual three hymns; he started a fourth and a fifth, leading every Christmas hymn in the book.

Spiritual chills coursed over Stella’s arms and through her chest as she sang.

Never had she been so impacted by one of their humble little performances.

Her heart overflowed with gratitude for the gift of Jesus, for the love and truth he bestowed during his life, for the grace and salvation he offered in his death, and the triumph and hope manifested at his resurrection. This was the good news of Christmas.

It took over an hour for the crowd to disperse after the final carol.

Something special lingered in the atmosphere, and people seemed reluctant to leave.

Church members struck up conversations with nonmembers.

Children played around the manger, reenacting the story they’d just seen.

Ladies shared recipes for favorite Christmas sweets, and men clumped together to jaw about the weather.

Baylor students and faculty chatted with the visiting professors, their discussions turning philosophical as they wrestled with the question of why a group of non-Jewish wise men from an eastern culture would follow a star to worship a newborn Jewish king.

Angelic revelation proved a popular theory, since all the other major players in the nativity story—Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds—had experienced a direct call.

A faculty member known for his Old Testament scholarship proposed a theory regarding Daniel’s influence as a wise man in the courts of the kings of Babylon as well as the Medes and Persians—eastern peoples.

Perhaps Daniel’s prophesies had been studied by the wise men who came after him and led them to seek a messianic king at a calculated time.

Hence why they would seek Herod for directions instead of having direct knowledge of where to go.

Stella found the discussion fascinating and incredibly stimulating.

She could have listened for hours. Especially to Frank.

His thoughts, his suppositions, the way he never disparaged an idea, even if it disagreed with his own.

She could have stood there all night. However, the drop in temperature combined with the increasing darkness that encroached after the sun set finally convinced the group to abandon the mystery of the magi in favor of warm parlors and waiting suppers.

After leading Frank and the other Harvard men back to the church to remove their robes and tunics and collect their overcoats, Stella packed all the costumes away in the battered trunk that would hold them until next year.

“I say.” Goldstein clapped Frank on the back. “What a grand evening. So glad you talked us into participating, my boy.” He tipped his head toward Professor Muir. “Randy’s glad, too. He just hides it better.”

Muir drew himself up to his considerable height, his mouth edging downward in an impressive scowl. “I don’t need you speaking for me, you old windbag.”

Mr. Goldstein winked at Stella, his tone rich with laughter. “He offers no denial!”

Mr. Muir practically growled as he stormed from the church, which only made Goldstein chuckle harder. Though he did follow his comrade outside. Whether to apologize or further pester the man, Stella couldn’t surmise.

She pushed away from the trunk and allowed Frank to help her with her coat.

“It really was a remarkable evening, Stella,” Frank said as she turned to face him. “You should be very proud.”

She shook her head as she did up the buttons on her coat. “No. I’ve helped put on this production for several years, and we’ve never had the kind of reception we had tonight. This was different. Special. I feel as if...”

Frank searched her face. “As if what?”

Stella dipped her chin. “You’ll think me fanciful.”

His hand touched her face, and she nearly forgot to breathe. Her gaze flew to his, where she found nothing but curiosity and gentle encouragement. “I deal in abstractions all the time, Stella. Fanciful is one of my favorite frames of mind.”

His thumb rubbed the edge of her cheek, and she nearly lost the thought she’d been holding back. Yet his touch, his regard, made her feel completely safe in exposing the inner workings of her heart.

“I felt as if ... as if God were present.” Her lashes lowered.

“Which is quite obvious, I suppose. God is always present. Everywhere. It is his very nature.” She raised her lashes and met his eyes.

“But tonight, it felt as if his presence was purposeful. As if he were not only present but at work.”

Frank nodded. “I felt it too. I think everyone did, at some level.”

Was it her imagination, or was he drawing her closer? Stella’s belly tightened as she stared into his eyes. Eyes filled with desire. And love.

“Frank?” Her mouth suddenly dry, she struggled to make herself heard over the pounding of her heart. “I don’t want you to leave tomorrow.”

“All right. I’ll stay.” He leaned close, his mouth mere inches from her own.

“Just like that?”

“Mm-hmm.” His hand slid around her waist. A good thing, since her knees seemed to be weakening by the second.

“But what about your family? Won’t they be expecting you?” Her gaze skipped down to his lips, and a delicious lightheadedness assailed her.

He tugged softly on her neck, bringing her so close to him, she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “I want you to be my family, Stella.”

“I want that too.” So much. Her entire being ached with it. “I love you, Frank.”

His blue eyes darkened as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Slowly ... gently ... with infinite sweetness, he kissed her, and she was reborn.

The unattractive spinster she believed herself to be metamorphosed into a woman unafraid to take flight in the arms of the man she loved.

Her palms spread across his chest as he deepened their kiss.

She could feel his heartbeat through her fingertips, and the evidence of his desire filled her with wonder and exultation.

Along with a surge of unexpected shyness. She pushed against his chest ever so slightly, and he responded at once, separating his lips from hers and loosening his hold on her waist.

Her eyes opened and met his. Neither of them spoke, for what words could possibly do justice to what they’d experienced? Two hearts had melded into one. She belonged to him, and wherever he decided to live his life, she would follow. Without an ounce of regret.

“Frank! Stella! Come quick!”

Goldstein’s shout tore through the church storage room like a cannonball. Stella and Frank jumped apart, then ran for the door.

Heart pumping for an entirely new reason, Stella raced outside, almost colliding with a visibly shaken Goldstein.

Eyes wide, he pointed in the direction of the crèche. “The manger. Hurry.” He began to run, but since he was already winded, Frank and Stella easily outpaced him.

Mr. Muir stood at the manger, shoulders hunched and hands hovering above the trough as if unsure what to do.

“Randolph,” Frank called as they approached. “What is it?”

But for once, the esteemed professor had no answer.

A few steps ahead of her, Frank skidded to a halt, his face taking on the same unbelieving expression as his colleague. A mewling cry penetrated Stella’s senses a heartbeat before her feet brought her to the manger.

There in the straw, swaddled in a strip of blanket, lay a very unhappy newborn babe.