Christmas Trio B. Debbie Macomber

did, though.”

      “As soon as you hold your baby in your arms, nothing else matters. You forget the pain.”

      Footsteps clattered up the stairs. “Mom?”

      It was Maryellen, Grace’s daughter.

      “In here,” Grace called out.

      Maryellen hurried into the room, then paused when she saw Mary Jo and smiled tearfully. Her arms were heaped with baby clothes.

      A pain overtook Mary Jo. Again it was Mack she looked to, Mack who held her gaze, lending her his strength.

      She was grateful that Grace was at her side, but most of the time it had been Mack who’d guided and encouraged her. He had a way of comforting her that no one else seemed to have, not even Grace.

      “You’re doing so well,” Mack said to her. “We have a shoulder …”

      Mary Jo sobbed quietly. It was almost over. The baby was leaving her body. She could feel it now, feel the child slipping free and then the loud, fierce cry that resounded in the room.

      Her relief was instantaneous.

      She’d done it! Despite everything, she’d done it.

      With her last reserves of strength, Mary Jo rose up on one elbow.

      Mack held the child in his arms and Brandon had a towel ready. Mack turned to her and she saw, to her astonishment, that there were tears in his eyes.

      “You have a daughter, Mary Jo.”

      “A daughter,” she whispered.

      “A beautiful baby girl.”

      Her own tears came then, streaming from her eyes with an intensity of emotion that surprised her. She hadn’t given much thought to the sex of this child, hadn’t really cared. Her brothers were the ones who’d insisted she’d have a son.

      They’d been wrong.

      “A daughter,” she whispered again. “I have a daughter.”

       Chapter Eighteen

      The natives are getting restless,” Jon Bowman reported to Grace when she came down from the apartment. After watching the birth of Mary Jo’s baby, Grace felt ecstatic. She couldn’t describe all the emotions tumbling through her. Joy. Excitement. Awe. Each one held fast to her heart.

      Katie, April and Tyler raced around the yard, screaming at the top of their lungs, chasing one another, gleeful and happy. Jon went to quiet them, but Grace stopped him.

      “Let them play,” she told her son-in-law. “They aren’t hurting anything out here.”

      “Kelly and Lisa are inside making hot cocoa,” Cliff said, joining Grace. “And Paul’s looking after Emma.” He slid his arm around her waist. “Everything all right up there?” He nodded toward the barn.

      “Everything’s wonderful. Mary Jo had a baby girl.”

      “That’s marvelous!” Cliff kissed her cheek. “I bet you never guessed you’d be delivering a baby on Christmas Eve.”

      Grace had to agree; it was the last thing she’d expected. She was thankful Mary Jo hadn’t been stuck in some hotel room alone. These might not have been the best of circumstances, but she’d ended up with people who genuinely cared for her and her baby.

      Grace didn’t know Roy and Corrie McAfee’s son well, but Mack had proved himself ten times over. He was a capable, compassionate young man, and he’d been an immeasurable help to Mary Jo. In fact, Grace doubted anyone could have done more.

      After he’d delivered that baby girl, Mack had cradled the infant in his arms and gazed down on her with tears shining in his eyes. An onlooker might have thought he was the child’s father.

      The other EMT actually had to ask him to let go of the baby so he could wash her. After that, Grace had wrapped the crying baby in a swaddling blanket and handed her to Mary Jo.

      The two EMTs were finishing up with Mary Jo and would be transporting her and the baby to the closest birthing center. Maryellen had stayed to discuss breastfeeding and to encourage and, if need be, assist the new mother.

      Grace had felt it was time to check on the rest of her family.

      “It’s certainly been a full and busy night,” Cliff said.

      “Fuller than either of us could’ve imagined,” Grace murmured.

      A car pulled into the yard. “Isn’t that Jack’s?” Cliff asked, squinting into the lights.

      “Yes—it’s Olivia and Jack.” Grace should’ve known Olivia wouldn’t just go home after Christmas Eve services. She’d briefly told Olivia what was happening before she’d hurried out of the church, fearing she’d caused enough of a distraction as it was.

      Jack parked next to Cliff’s vehicle. Before he’d even turned off the engine, Olivia had opened her door. “How’s everything?” she asked anxiously as she stepped out of the car.

      “We have a baby girl.”

      Olivia brought her hands together and pressed them to her heart. “I’m so pleased. And Mary Jo?”

      “Was incredible.”

      “You delivered the baby?”

      “Not exactly. But I was there.”

      Being with Mary Jo had brought back so many memories of her own children’s births. Memories that were clear and vivid. The wonder of seeing that beautiful, perfectly formed child. The elation. The feeling of womanly power. She remembered it all.

      “If not you, then who?” Olivia asked.

      “Mack McAfee. The other EMT, Brandon, was there, too, but it was Mack who stayed with Mary Jo, who helped her through the worst of it. By the time I arrived, the baby was ready to be born.”

      “I’m sure she was happy to see you.”

      Mary Jo had been, but she hadn’t really needed Grace; she and Mack had worked together with a sense of ease and mutual trust.

      Grace almost felt as if she’d intruded on something very private. The communication between Mack and Mary Jo had been—she hesitated to use this word—spiritual. It was focused entirely on the birth, on what each needed to do to get that baby born. Grace felt moved to tears, even now, as she thought about it.

      “Grandma, listen! “ Tyler shouted. He pounded on his drum, making an excruciating racket.

      Grace covered her ears. “Gently, Tyler, gently.”

      Tyler frowned as he looked up at her. “I was playing my best for you.”

      “Remember the song about the little drummer boy?” Olivia asked him.

      Tyler nodded eagerly. “It’s my favorite.”

      “It says in the song that he went pa-rum-pum-pum-pum, right?”

      Tyler nodded again.

      “It doesn’t say he beat the drum like crazy until Baby Jesus’s mother put her hands over her ears and asked him to go next door and play.”

      Tyler laughed. “No.”

      “Okay, try it more slowly now,” Grace said.

      Tyler did, tapping on the drum in a soft rhythm that was pleasing to the ear.

      “Lovely,” Grace told her grandson.

      “Can I play for the ox and the lamb?” he asked.

      “In the song they kept time, remember?”

      Grinning, Tyler raced away to show his cousins what he’d learned and to serenade the animals.

      “Come in