Shepherds Abiding A Mitford Christmas Story

One The rain began punctually at five oiclock, 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 oiclock, 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 painteris ladders, someone on Lilac Road shouted iYeehaw!,i 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 wifeis 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 heid 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. a 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 heid never been fond of messing with, though now seemed a good time to do it and get it over with. One day, heid been a green kid without a care in the world. Then, before you could say Jack Robinson, heid 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 heid been doing all those years as a widower. He tried to recall what, exactly, had happened between his youth and old age, but without a cup of coffee at the very least, he was drawing a blank. Though heid worked hard and saved his money and honored his dead wifeis memory by looking at her picture on Sunday and paying to have her grave weed-eated, he didnit know whether heid made a go of it with the Good Lord or not. For the few times heid cheated somebody down at his Exxon station, heid asked forgiveness, even though heid cheated them only a few bucks. Heid also asked forgiveness for the times heid bitten Juanitais head off wKaron, Jan is the author of 'Shepherds Abiding A Mitford Christmas Story' with ISBN 9780670031207 and ISBN 0670031208.