are you staying, dear?” she asked quietly. “Do you need to sleep at the store tonight?”
Marianne looked over her shoulder at the tall figure who walked just behind her. “I’m going to have tea with the minister and then decide where I’ll go,” she said softly, lest anyone else hear her words. It would not do for the representative of the church to be spoken of badly should he give refuge to a woman so late at night.
“David McDermott will take care of you. He’s a good man,” Janet said readily. “You come and see me the day after tomorrow if you need anything. The store will be locked up tomorrow, but you know where I live.”
Marianne nodded, smiling her thanks as she reached for her small brother and took him from Mr. McDermott’s hands. The small churchyard emptied rapidly, for the parishioners were anxious to return to their warm homes where Christmas celebrations were about to begin.
Together Marianne and Mr. McDermott walked next door to the parsonage and entered the foyer of the small house. Removing his coat and hat, he turned to her, offering his big hands to take the baby, allowing Marianne to take off her cloak and hang it on a hook by the front door before returning her brother to her arms.
She felt awkward, out of place, and knew that her cheeks were red with embarrassment. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your home for tea,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion, for tears hovered near, and she dreaded shedding them before a stranger.
“I could not leave you out in the cold, young lady,” he said kindly. “For I have a dish of chicken and gravy, sent me by one of the ladies of my congregation, and it will go to waste if you don’t help me eat some of it. There are potatoes to go with it, and I can slice some bread. Someone sent me a pound or so of fresh butter yesterday, so my kitchen is well equipped to handle a Christmas Eve meal.”
Marianne felt her small brother awaken in his blankets, for he wriggled and pushed his feet out, demanding that he be unwrapped from the binding of his blankets. One arm rose from the wrappings and waved in the air, even as he cried aloud, craving attention.
“I think he’s hungry again. Would you have the bottle handy that I left with him?”
“So it was you who put him in the manger. I thought as much, when I saw you in the back of the church. I caught a glimpse of you when you walked away from here earlier, and I figured you’d show up sometime tonight. I knew you’d be wanting to check on the baby.”
David pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and offered it to Marianne, watching as she sank into its depths, the infant in her arms squirming now, anticipating his next meal. She unwrapped him, delving beneath the blankets to check on the condition of his diaper, and her face flushed as she looked up at the man before her.
“I need to have a bit of privacy to change him, I fear. There are several clean diapers in my bag, if you’ll let me use a flat surface somewhere to clean him up a little.”
David smiled, his thoughts not altogether above reproach, for this young woman was appealing to him on a level he had not considered for some time. Her scent was fresh, clean and her face was akin to what he thought the young mother in Bethlehem might have looked like. Dark hair hung long, waving and thick, in a veil that almost covered her back. She was dressed in rough clothing, but everything about her was clean. Even the child she carried in her arms had not carried the scent of an unwashed body, but had been as fresh and clean as a babe could be.
Somewhere she had found resources to keep the child well fed and clean, and he admired the courage of a young woman so able to do her duty as she saw it. “How old is your little boy?” he asked, attempting to lure her into conversation, lest she be frightened and flee his house.
“He is three weeks old, sir. But he is not my child, but my baby brother. My mother and father died of the fever and he was born as my mother breathed her last.” Her head bent over the baby and a tear fell on the blanket, one he knew she’d tried not to shed, for she had been careful up until now not to show her emotional state.
“Bring him into the parlor,” David said, leading the way. “I’ll warm up the chicken and heat a bit of milk for his bottle while you change him and make him comfortable.”
Marianne followed him, thankful for his help, her stomach rumbling as she considered the meal she would eat at his table. Her bag held the clean diapers she’d washed earlier at Janet’s home, and in much less time than David had taken to do the same task she had changed and freshened Joshua’s bottom, then she wrapped him again and headed back to the kitchen.
Smells of food were welcome, for she knew she must keep up her strength, and she sat at the table once more, watching as the tall minister worked around the kitchen. Adept at his chores, he stirred the chicken as it simmered on the stove, took plates from the cupboard and found forks in a drawer, all simultaneous moves that astonished Marianne. Her own father had been useless in the kitchen, her mother had often said, for the man was more at home with cows and horses than in the house where the food was prepared.
This young minister seemed to know his way around the kitchen, and in just a few minutes he set a plate of chicken and gravy, side by side with a helping of mashed potatoes, in front of her. A plate of sliced bread and a pat of butter were between them as he settled into a seat across the table, with his own plate of food.
She watched as he lowered his head and spoke soft words of blessing on their food, then she picked up her fork, shamed by the trembling of her hand as she lifted it to her mouth. “I didn’t know I was so hungry,” she said quietly. The food was good, tasty and nourishing, for there were bits of carrots and peas mixed in with the gravy and the chunks of chicken were hearty and plenteous.
A slice of bread was halved and buttered and placed on her plate, and she smiled her thanks. “I suspect it might be difficult to deal with a baby and butter your bread at the same time,” David said with a smile.
Marianne had held Joshua across her arm as she ate, resting his bottle on her breast as he nursed, leaving her free to eat while feeding him. “I usually lay him across my lap and let him sleep while I eat,” Marianne told him. “But he’s wide-awake tonight for some reason. And until he finishes and gets rid of his burp, he’ll be restless.”
David smiled and a chuckle escaped his lips. “Probably because he slept all through the service tonight. He was behind me on a pew and I had hopes that I could outtalk him if he woke up before we were finished.”
“I didn’t see him up there,” Marianne said. “I wondered what you’d done with him, for I saw you carry him into the church.”
“What did you think would happen to him when you left him in the manger?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know, but I’d decided to watch until someone found him and then thought I might offer my services to help take care of him. I really didn’t plan ahead well, but when I saw the empty manger in front of the church, I knew I should put him there and hope for the best.”
“You’re a brave young woman.” He leveled his gaze at her and his voice was soft as he asked her name.
“Marianne Winters. Joshua, as I said, is my brother.”
And if she expected him to believe that, he’d do his best to accept her words as truth, David decided. For the child bore a definite likeness to her—eyes widespread, dark hair and a pointed chin that were small replicas of her own. If he was not Marianne’s own child, it would be a miracle, for being
