“Right.” His only contribution to this conversation seemed to be serving as a yes-man for their banter.
Genevieve approached. She was portraying Mary tonight, and they’d dressed her in pale blue robes. An even paler blue piece of fabric draped over her head, framing her pretty face and the long hair falling forward over her shoulders. All six of the sheep trailed behind her like lovestruck puppies. “I don’t have any idea why these sheep keep following me everywhere I go,” Genevieve said to them. “I think they’re confused. I’m not a shepherd.”
“Are you Little Bo Peep?” Sebastian asked.
“A sheep whisperer?” Connor suggested.
“As you both know, I’m a Bible study author and teacher.”
“Maybe that’s what they’re picking up on,” Leah said. “The biblical link between them and you.”
“The Bible talks a lot about sheep,” Connor pointed out helpfully.
“Feed my sheep,” Sebastian quoted.
“My sheep listen to my voice,” Leah added.
“Take care of my sheep,” Connor said.
One of the sheep casually gummed the fold of Genevieve’s robe.
Sam joined them, dressed as Joseph in brown robes. He was one of the few lucky men in the room who hadn’t been forced to wear a headpiece. “Are these sheep following you around like I do?” he asked Genevieve.
“Yes. Could it be that they’re attracted to the smell of my perfume?”
“If so, they have good taste. I’m attracted to the smell of your perfume.”
Genevieve smiled up at Sam, seeming to get distracted.
“What?” Sam asked.
“You look great,” she told him.
“Seriously?” Sam looked down at himself, then back at her.
“Let’s just say, if I was Mary, I’d be delighted if you were my betrothed.”
“Well. I am your betrothed.”
“And I’m delighted.” Sheep stood at attention on both sides of her, like trained Dobermans.
“You’re not going to become pregnant with God’s baby, are you?” Sam asked her.
“If I become pregnant after our wedding day, the father is going to be considerably more human,” she shot back.
“Genevieve,” Sebastian asked, “can you make some Manchego cheese out of sheep’s milk for me?”
“Baaa,” the sheep on her right said.
“I could use a wool sweater,” Connor said.
“I like to eat mutton,” Sam commented.
“Gentlemen,” Genevieve said. “I don’t believe Mary had time to give her attention to Manchego, wool sweaters, and mutton on the night of Jesus’s birth.”
They continued their joking conversation as Connor’s vision strayed back to Shay.
The live nativity had new donors this year, so their angel costumes had been upgraded. Instead of wearing choir-robe-type clothing, all the angels were dressed in what looked like floor-length coats with pretend fur around the high collars. The colors of the coats ranged from light beige to bright white. Shay’s coat was in the middle of that spectrum, a deep ivory color.
He’d been trying to meet Shay’s eye since he’d entered the barn. Unlike at the ugly sweater party, he wasn’t having success. She seemed subdued tonight. A little down, maybe?
His mom walked over to her, and Shay rose to hug her. She settled back into the chair so the stylist could finish. Then Mom and Shay talked easily.
Watching them, the nervousness he’d been battling slowly melted away. By degrees, certainty took its place.
He wasn’t sure of how Shay would respond to him tonight. But he was sure of the most important things.
He was sure of her.
He was sure that no one could love her like he could.
Chapter Eight
When Penny had initially asked Shay to portray an angel in the live nativity, she’d agreed purely to make Penny happy. She hadn’t expected to get anything out of it.
But once the nativity was underway, something sort of . . . miraculous had begun to happen. She’d become very still, and the stillness had given her other senses a chance to expand. She’d looked, really looked, deeply at the stars and the slips of cloud skating across them. She’d listened to one beautiful, historic carol after another. She’d smelled woodsmoke from a distant chimney and caught occasional snatches of the cinnamon perfume favored by the angel standing next to her.
As Penny had indicated, the angels were positioned back and to the side of the manger scene. Their group had been very cleverly lit, so that their skin shimmered thanks to the highlighter the makeup artist had applied.
A few of the shepherds were stationed before them, sometimes kneeling, sometimes sitting, depending on what was most comfortable for their knees and backs at any given time.
Someone had built a frame for the manger scene from planks of wood. The planks rose up on either side of Mary and Joseph and formed a point above them, where a lit star gleamed. Straw drifted over the sides of an authentic-looking manger. Instead of a real baby or a doll as a stand-in for Jesus, they’d placed a light at the base of the manger, which sent warm rays upward. The light created a halo, bathing the people that surrounded it.
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.