At Nightfall... A Christmas Story from 1925

Merry Christmas from the Nuns!

On Christmas Eve more than 2000 years ago, Mary and Joseph would have been on their way to Bethlehem. This story, published in the Dec 1925 - Jan 1926 edition of the Rosary Pilgrim, considers what might have happened at one of the homes which had “no room” for them.

The soft tinkling of a camel's bells came to Sarah and she rose and went to the lattice. Her gentle movement disturbed the child and he moaned fretfully, but her touch soothed him, and he fell back into his torpor. Then Sarah glanced out again and watched the caravan go by. It was sunset, and presently the shadows crept up the silent street, and weary men and women passed the house, the men walking, the women -- some of them -- riding on donkeys, and all of them carried burdens, for they were going up from their cities and villages to be enrolled, in the great enrolling of Caesar.

Bethlehem was already crowded. Sarah wondered vaguely where all these people would find shelter for the night, and as she wondered, the last of the long procession passed her house. Quiet people, these, the girlish face of a young matron looked out from under her dark veil for a moment, and arrested the attention of the Jewish mother, it was so fair, so pure, so pitying; as though the young wife knew all about the sickness of the child who lay uneasily on his little mat at her feet. The expression of the eyes almost startled Rachael, it was so full of comprehension.  She made a quick movement and gathered her child into her arms-and then she looked again, but the travelers had gone, she could see the dim outlines of their forms losing themselves in the dusk of the street. Suddenly she knew that it was dark, and that the street was empty, with a strange emptiness that made her shiver, and Josiah, her infant son lay easily now against her breast. She looked at him for a moment under the lamp that she had already lighted for the Sabbath, and he gave a little tired cry and stretched himself and she knew that he still lived -- her sudden fear had been vain.

Deep shadows blotted out the golden glow, it was a blur of yellow shot with neutral tints, and then the blue darkness turned to black night, and the air was keen with frost; and little clouds drifted up that blotted out the stars; and a strange brooding stillness settled down upon the city. It was as though the whole great world were listening for some expected sound, for some mysterious event.

Old Laban the shepherd called a blessing to her as he passed the house, and he added, "The Lord will send us snow before dawn, Sarah." And she answered the old man briefly. He tended the flocks of her father, Jacob, and she had known him all her life. Then silence fell again until a soft "pad," "pad," announced the coming of another camel. A huge white Arabian. She could just make it out as it picked its careful way, swaying from side to side, and then she became conscious of human footsteps--and the creaking of the camel's harness, and then she was awake again, for the camel driver stood back to let his master pass.

"Peace to thee, Sarah!"

"And to thee, Josiah, peace!"  but even as she spoke her breath caught in a great sob of anguish and she came to meet him. .

The man threw his arm about her and his hand touched the head of the sleeping child:

"Is this my son?" he murmured brokenly.

"It is our son, Josiah. Behold the days have been long since he was born. I looked for thy coming yesterday, and the day before, and our little one sickened--as it seemed to me--unto death—“ The last word was spoken in a whisper and the man realized terror, even despair, in the soul of his wife. But he was a Jew; his hands fell from her shoulders.

"Unto death--" he reproached, "unto death, Sarah? Our first-born?"

"Thou sayest it. But now, I had no hope, yet during the past hour he hath fallen asleep. He seems to rest more easily. Hope strives again within me."

"How long hath this fever oppressed him?"

"For seven days have I held him in my arms both day and night."

He made a movement as though he would take the child from her, but she would not suffer it.  

"Thou art weary, Josiah, come into the house," she said, and, scarcely knowing what he did, he followed her. It was warmer within, the lighted lamp hung above the spread table, and a fire of logs flickered upon the hearth, but his eyes glowed with sorrow--and resentment--he had so counted on this child--and now!

 "I had looked to meet thee and the boy with joy, but behold sorrow hath sitten down at my table--" He stopped speaking for there was a knock at the gate and he went to open it.

"Do not let them in--tell them the child hath the fever," she admonished him. Every thing was full of terror to her that night; she could remember no other like it. The voice of Josiah came to her from the gate--

"At any other time I should have joyed to welcome thee, Joseph, Son of David, for I also am of thy house; but my son is sick unto death with a fever, and my wife is stricken with grief, and her arms are weary. The boy is her first born, and like to die."

Sarah kept nearer to the door, she had a strange desire to look upon the stranger. He was a man in middle life, tall, clad in a coarse white mantle, and he held a long staff in his hand. His bearing was full of dignity, thus she thought must David the King have looked. And then the stranger's salutation came to her as he turned away--

"Peace," he said gently, "Peace to thee and thy house."

“Stay!" was it Josiah speaking? "I will go with thee, Joseph. Perchance Nathaniel, my kinsman hath room. We will go and see. Where is thy wife, of whom thou hast spoken?"

A woman rose quietly from a large bundle upon which she had been seated, a dark figure wrapped in an ample cloak. The music of her voice came to Sarah where she stood.

"Hast thou found room?" she asked, but the men had already turned away, and Sarah closed the door and seated herself beside the fire.

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 “What said the stranger woman?” asked Sarah when Josiah had come back. He turned to her gravely and she saw a light, as it were of comfort in his eyes.

“She spoke a strange word, Sarah,” he said gently, “and hope sprang again within me, for her words were words of blessing, and her voice was as the voice of one who prophesies. “Blessed be the first-born of Josiah,” she said, “and may thy son be the glory of thy house.”

Sarah did not answer him for the babe awoke and smiled at her, but bending her face to his she kissed him and he fell asleep upon her arm.

“See, Josiah!” she said, “and behold our son, for the fever hath left him.”

The story scanned from the Rosary Pilgrim, below. When the Rosary Pilgrim functioned as a Catholic periodical, editions often contained such stories with an edifying message!