Jan Karon - Shepherds abiding: a Mitford Christmas story
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Shepherds Abiding
A Viking Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2003 by Jan Karon
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com
ISBN: 978-1-1012-0040-7
A VIKING BOOK
Viking Books first published by The Viking Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
VIKING and the V design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
Electronic edition: December, 2003
Other Mitford Books by Jan Karon
AT HOME IN MITFORD
A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW
THESE HIGH , GREEN HILLS
OUT TO CANAAN
A NEW SONG
A COMMON LIFE:
The Wedding Story
IN THIS MOUNTAIN
PATCHES OF GODLIGHT
THE MITFORD SNOWMEN
ESTHERS GIFT
Childrens Books
MISS FANNIES HAT
JEREMY: THE TALE OF
AN HONEST BUNNY
All Ages
THE TRELLIS AND THE SEED
To the honor and glory of the Child, Emmanuel,
God with Us
Warm thanks to:
Family Heirlooms of Blowing Rock, where I found the Nativity figures written about in this story; my daughter, Candace Freeland, who got excited with me and contributed a great idea; Mrs. George (Bobby) Walton, who, without knowing my need, sent a helpful book of Nativity images; my publishers at Viking Penguin, who are ever gracious to Mitford; Fr. James Harris, who is always helpful and tender of spirit; Jefferson Otwell; The Right Reverend Keith L. Ackerman, SSC; Gary Purdy; Hoyt Doak; Lisa Knaack; Sherman Knaack; Mike Thacker; Bill Lapham, Asher Lapham, and Michael Summers.
Special thanks to:
Stefanie Newman, who restored the actual Nativity figures to their present charm and beauty.
A nd there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them; and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.
And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.
And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.
Luke 2:818, KJV
T he rain began punctually at five oclock, though few were awake to hear it. It was a gentle rain, rather like a summer shower that had escaped the grip of time or season and wandered into Mitford several months late.
By six oclock, when much of the population of 1,074 was leaving for work in Wesley or Holding or across the Tennessee line, the drops had grown large and heavy, as if weighted with mercury, and those running to their cars or trucks without umbrellas could feel the distinct smack of each drop.
Dashing to a truck outfitted with painters ladders, someone on Lilac Road shouted Yeehaw!, an act that precipitated a spree of barking among the neighborhood dogs.
Here and there, as seemingly random as the appearance of stars at twilight, lamps came on in houses throughout the village, and radio and television voices prophesied that the front passing over the East Coast would be firmly lodged there for two days.
More than a few were fortunate to lie in bed and listen to the rain drumming on the roof, relieved to have no reason to get up until they were plenty good and ready.
Others thanked God for the time that remained to lie in a warm, safe place unmolested by worldly cares, while some began at once to fret about what the day might bring.
Father Timothy Kavanagh, one of the earliest risers in Mitford, did not rise so early this morning. Instead, he lay in his bed in the yellow house on Wisteria Lane and listened to the aria of his wifes whiffling snore, mingled with the sound of rain churning through the gutters.
Had he exchanged wedding vows before the age of sixty-two, he might have taken the marriage bed for granted after these seven years. Instead, he seldom awakened next to the warm sentience of his wife without being mildly astonished by her presence, and boundlessly grateful. Cynthia was his best friend and boon companion, dropped from the very heavens into his life, which, forthwith, she had changed utterly.
He would get up soon enough and go about his day, first hying with his good dog, Barnabas, into the pouring rain, and then, while the coffee brewed, reading the Morning Office, as hed done for more than four decades as both a working and a now-retired priest.
Feeling a light chill in the room, he scooted over to his sleeping wife and put his arm around her and held her close, comforted, as ever, by the faint and familiar scent of wisteria.
Lew Boyd, who liked to rise with the sun every morning, and who always wore his watch to bed, gazed at the luminous face of his Timex and saw that it was the first day of October.
October! He had no idea at all where the time had gone. Yesterday was July, today was October. As a matter of fact, where had his life gone?
He stared at the bedroom ceiling and pondered a question that hed never been fond of messing with, though now seemed a good time to do it and get it over with.
One day, hed been a green kid without a care in the world. Then, before you could say Jack Robinson, hed looked up and found he was an old codger with a new and secret wife living way off in Tennessee with her mama, and him lying here in this cold, lonesome bed just as hed been doing all those years as a widower.
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