Yuletide Baby. Deb Kastner

Noelle had initially drifted off to sleep. Shawn had thrown together a makeshift bassinet from a shallow plastic bin and some blankets and placed it by the side of his own bed. All was calm—and bright.

      For about five seconds.

      No sooner had he laid his head on the pillow than Noelle started to wail. And wow, but the kid had a pair of lungs.

      He shuffled through his mental list. Diaper changed. Warm bottle. Patting her back to help her remove any lingering bubbles in her tummy. Swaddled. Multiple attempts at a pacifier, although he’d qualified that as a fail, since he couldn’t even get the baby girl to keep it in her mouth.

      Nothing seemed to work. If anything, the more attention he paid to Noelle, the harder she cried, and now she was making little hic sounds when she breathed. He was afraid she was hyperventilating.

      Could babies hyperventilate? It frightened him that he didn’t even know the answer to that question.

      What if she passed out? What if something was seriously the matter with her? Had Dr. Delia missed something critical when she’d examined the baby?

      Noelle scrunched up her tiny face and sneezed. Shawn reached for his cell phone, then stopped and shook his head, laughing at how easily flustered he was getting.

      Who was he going to call? Emergency services? And say what?

       Hello, can you help me? My baby just sneezed!

      “I’m overreacting, aren’t I, little darlin’?” he murmured to Noelle. Her face relaxed, and she quieted, appearing to respond to the sound of his voice. Well, that was good, right? He kept talking. “Let me tell you, sweetheart, I have a brand-new appreciation for the parents of infants. Is this what Eli and Mary are going through every night right now? Huh? You think?”

      Noelle sneezed again.

      “Uh-oh. I hope you’re not getting sick. Dr. Delia was pretty thorough when she was examining you, and she pronounced you good to go, at least for the time being. But I suppose there’s always the possibility that she missed something. Are you coming down with a cold, little darlin’? Or am I just being a worrywart?”

      He chuckled softly when he realized Noelle had stopped crying. When he gazed down at her, he realized she was looking at him expectantly, sucking contentedly on her tiny fist.

      “So that was all you needed? A little man-to-baby conversation? Well, I don’t mind talking to you, sweetheart, but wouldn’t it be great if we could table this discussion for now and pick it up in the morning?” From the expectant look on her face, it seemed the answer to that question was no.

      Well, if all he had to do was talk, he supposed he could handle that. He was a preacher, after all. Words were his livelihood.

      Just not in the middle of the night.

      He took a seat on his plush easy chair and kicked back the footrest so he could settle Noelle on his shoulder. He’d heard young parents joking about how their babies had their days and nights mixed up, but he’d never quite understood what that meant.

      Now he got it, and got it good.

      If nothing else, taking care of Noelle over the Christmas holiday would be a tremendous learning experience for him. After what he’d experienced tonight, he had all kinds of ideas on how to be a better pastor to the parents of newborns in his congregation. Up until this point he realized he’d kind of missed the mark. For one thing, he’d be more sympathetic, and he’d be sure to look for ways to make the transition into parenthood easier. He’d never envisioned the type of sacrifice parents made on a daily—and nightly—basis, and he imagined a strong support system would make all the difference in the world for them.

      Noelle gurgled, and Shawn rubbed his fingertips against her tiny back. “What are you here to teach me?” he murmured, offering his heart to God and to the child. “I’m your student now. You’ve got me in the palm of your sweet little hand. So why don’t you tell me, young lady—what am I here to learn?”

      * * *

      In a more innocent time of her life, Heather’s favorite time of the year had been Christmas. Peace on earth, goodwill to all. She recalled participating in joyful caroling parties with hot apple cider and eggnog afterward. Joining in the throng of busy shoppers as they scurried around trying to catch seasonal deals for their loved ones. The anticipation as she wrapped presents and created pretty, elaborate homemade bows to tie around them. And most of all, she remembered the joy of celebrating God made Man in the person of Jesus. The nativity.

      All of that had been part of her best childhood memories.

      But her parents had passed on, and all the goodness associated with the season had gone by the wayside during her years with Adrian. Oh, they’d attended their fair share of Christmas parties, but Adrian was in the habit of secretly imbibing on the side. Then afterward, he’d cross town to where no one knew him and hit the bars until he was stumbling drunk.

      He despised Christmas, and he’d mocked her attempts to give their house a personal touch for the season. He’d insisted on professional decorators and expensive ornaments, and eventually she’d just stopped trying. She hadn’t even bothered to give any input—it wasn’t like anyone listened to her wishes, anyway. It was just more work for her to do and there was no one but her to enjoy it. There wasn’t much joy in her life to celebrate. Adrian would complain about the twinkling lights and the space it took up and failed to appreciate the tree and Christmas decor for what they represented.

      Church services became exercises in deception. So many people loved and respected Adrian, an active leader and deacon in the church. To members of the congregation, she strived to appear to be the happy, faithful wife of a charming man, with a seemingly perfect marriage and not a care in the world.

      What a lie. A whole pack of them, as a matter of fact.

      Well, no more.

      But even though she no longer carried the weight of the lies on her shoulders, the damage they had done to her still remained. Some days it was all she could do to rise out of bed and go about her daily activities. Her foster children—nine-year-old Jacob, seven-year-old Missy and three-year-old Henry—gave her the strength to face life again. Their precious hugs and sweet laughter made even the worst of days bearable.

      This year she’d purchased a freshly cut Virginia pine tree from a tree farm. No artificial trees in her house. If she was being honest, it was as much for her as for the children. It filled her heart with great joy to see the children’s excitement as they spotted the perfect tree and hauled it inside. Little hands helped as much as the big ones did.

      The tree filled her home with the crisp, refreshing scent of evergreen. She’d helped the kids decorate it with a string of lights and candy canes, and then they’d threaded popcorn and cranberries and draped them over the branches for the final touch. Every cent she made from the state for fostering went straight back into caring for the children, and on the tiny salary she made as a virtual assistant, she was barely making ends meet. It was unfortunate that her finances didn’t stretch nearly as far as she would have liked, and this year, at least, she wasn’t able to afford the shiny new glass ornaments displayed in the window of Emerson’s Hardware, but if her years with Adrian had taught her anything, it was that fancy decorations didn’t make for a better holiday.

      Simple pleasures were worth treasuring. She was surviving and taking care of the children, and for now, that was enough. She’d budgeted every spare dime to purchase at least one gift for each of the kids from their wish lists, and it was important to her that she followed another old Lewis tradition, so their stockings were overflowing with tokens of her affection, small and inexpensive though they were.

      The scene this Christmas morning was picture-perfect. All that was missing was the pitter-patter of feet and the happy squeal of children.

      She didn’t have to wait long before she heard stirring from down the hall. She promptly attuned her practiced ear to the sound. Muffled whispers emanated from the shadowed spot where the hall met the living