familiar faces waited. Edith Darroch and Johnny were there. Mr. Dunsmore, the watchmaker, with his plump wife and four roly-poly children claimed an entire pew.
Mrs. Corr made a brief appearance, sitting at the far end of the Campbells’ pew before joining her family. Pushing her spectacles into place, she began filling Mum’s ear with the latest from Stirling station. Meg picked up every other word. Snowbound trains all up and down the Caledonian line. Their own train still sitting where they’d abandoned it last eve. Mr. McGregor taken ill. No good news from that quarter, then.
Whatever heat the church had to offer was little match for the weather. The parishioners shivered in the pews, coats buttoned to the chin, teeth chattering as they nodded at one another in greeting. When Reverend Duncan bade them pray, ahush fell over the sanctuary, and his petition carried forth, first pew to last.
Meg bowed her head and drew in a quiet breath. The stillness reminded her of standing in the quiet countryside last evening. She listened, eyes closed, as the words fell on her like fresh snow.
“Heavenly Father, we gather to celebrate the birth of your Son, our Savior.”
The tension inside her slowly began to unwind. She heard the minister’s voice but deeper still, another voice, even more tender.
I have loved thee with an everlasting love
. Tears welled up, threatening to spill onto her lap. Meg knew this voice, these words, their meaning. On any other day she might have resisted his love, knowing herself to be unworthy. But on Christmas morning in a candlelit sanctuary she’d known since childhood, Meg could not refuse him. And did not wish to.
With loving-kindness have I drawn thee
. Her breathing deepened, and a sense of warmth moved through her, despite the frigid temperature.
When Reverend Duncan said, “Amen,” Meg lifted her head and her heart as well, prepared to worship the Christ born this day.
I am glad to be here, Lord
.
Lessons were read from Genesis and Isaiah, telling the stories of Adam and the Son of God, of sin and redemption. Carols from centuries past were sung without hymnal or organ, the lyrics pouring forth with all the joy of the season.
Good Christian men, rejoice
With heart, and soul, and voice;
Give ye heed to what we say:
News! News!
Jesus Christ is born to-day.
When the lessons moved to the gospels of Luke, then Matthew, then John, the ancient story came alive once more. A handmaid of the Lord said, “Behold,” and Joseph learned there was no room for them in the inn, and the angels sang, “Glory to God in the highest,” and the wise men saw the star and rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
Meg was overcome, just as the shepherds and the angels and the wise men had once been.
News! News!
She’d never sung with more conviction.
Hark the herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!”
After the last note had rung out and the congregation had begun moving toward the door, the words of the carol prodded at Meg—two in particular, and rather sharply.
Peace. Mercy
.She frowned as Alan came to mind again.
Ye ought rather to forgive him, and comfort him
. Even if he didn’t offer peace to anyone around him? Even if he didn’t ask for mercy?
Aye, even then
.
When the door of the church swung open, Meg looked up to find the snowfall had stopped. The wind too. A faint wash of sunlight shone in the pale gray sky.
“Will you look at that?” Mrs. Corr exclaimed, tipping back her head to take it all in. Her hat promptly fell off and landed in the snow. Within seconds her children ran off with her brown felt bonnet, squealing and tossing it in the air. “Now look what I’ve done.” She started after them, then called over her shoulder, “Mr. Corr is at the railway station. I’ll send word when the trains are running.” She nodded at Meg. “I know you are eager to return to Edinburgh.”
Meg saw the disappointment on
Mrs. Corr made a brief appearance, sitting at the far end of the Campbells’ pew before joining her family. Pushing her spectacles into place, she began filling Mum’s ear with the latest from Stirling station. Meg picked up every other word. Snowbound trains all up and down the Caledonian line. Their own train still sitting where they’d abandoned it last eve. Mr. McGregor taken ill. No good news from that quarter, then.
Whatever heat the church had to offer was little match for the weather. The parishioners shivered in the pews, coats buttoned to the chin, teeth chattering as they nodded at one another in greeting. When Reverend Duncan bade them pray, ahush fell over the sanctuary, and his petition carried forth, first pew to last.
Meg bowed her head and drew in a quiet breath. The stillness reminded her of standing in the quiet countryside last evening. She listened, eyes closed, as the words fell on her like fresh snow.
“Heavenly Father, we gather to celebrate the birth of your Son, our Savior.”
The tension inside her slowly began to unwind. She heard the minister’s voice but deeper still, another voice, even more tender.
I have loved thee with an everlasting love
. Tears welled up, threatening to spill onto her lap. Meg knew this voice, these words, their meaning. On any other day she might have resisted his love, knowing herself to be unworthy. But on Christmas morning in a candlelit sanctuary she’d known since childhood, Meg could not refuse him. And did not wish to.
With loving-kindness have I drawn thee
. Her breathing deepened, and a sense of warmth moved through her, despite the frigid temperature.
When Reverend Duncan said, “Amen,” Meg lifted her head and her heart as well, prepared to worship the Christ born this day.
I am glad to be here, Lord
.
Lessons were read from Genesis and Isaiah, telling the stories of Adam and the Son of God, of sin and redemption. Carols from centuries past were sung without hymnal or organ, the lyrics pouring forth with all the joy of the season.
Good Christian men, rejoice
With heart, and soul, and voice;
Give ye heed to what we say:
News! News!
Jesus Christ is born to-day.
When the lessons moved to the gospels of Luke, then Matthew, then John, the ancient story came alive once more. A handmaid of the Lord said, “Behold,” and Joseph learned there was no room for them in the inn, and the angels sang, “Glory to God in the highest,” and the wise men saw the star and rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
Meg was overcome, just as the shepherds and the angels and the wise men had once been.
News! News!
She’d never sung with more conviction.
Hark the herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!”
After the last note had rung out and the congregation had begun moving toward the door, the words of the carol prodded at Meg—two in particular, and rather sharply.
Peace. Mercy
.She frowned as Alan came to mind again.
Ye ought rather to forgive him, and comfort him
. Even if he didn’t offer peace to anyone around him? Even if he didn’t ask for mercy?
Aye, even then
.
When the door of the church swung open, Meg looked up to find the snowfall had stopped. The wind too. A faint wash of sunlight shone in the pale gray sky.
“Will you look at that?” Mrs. Corr exclaimed, tipping back her head to take it all in. Her hat promptly fell off and landed in the snow. Within seconds her children ran off with her brown felt bonnet, squealing and tossing it in the air. “Now look what I’ve done.” She started after them, then called over her shoulder, “Mr. Corr is at the railway station. I’ll send word when the trains are running.” She nodded at Meg. “I know you are eager to return to Edinburgh.”
Meg saw the disappointment on
Similar Books
