“But what happens when you need to leave for the live Nativity and the carol singing?” I asked. “You can’t just leave the turkey cooking in an empty house.”
“I’ve hired a sitter,” he said.
“For the turkey?”
“One of my students who isn’t going home for the holidays will be sitting in the apartment, studying and basting the turkey at half-hour intervals while I’m gone. And no, we don’t have to invite him to share the bird he’s basting. He’ll be at your mother’s tomorrow with the rest of the hordes.”
When Michael came back from cooking we informed the boys that we were doing something special for dinner after the carol sing. We swore them to secrecy, of course, though I was relying less on their discretion than on the fact that they wouldn’t be out of our sight until we took off for the apartment. And if they did babble about the “something special,” I planned to say that we were going to take them driving around to see Christmas lights until they dozed off in their car seats.
Around three we all bundled up to go back into town for the live Nativity.
Randall had arranged for a crew to deliver dozens of hay bales to the newly shoveled town square and arrange them in loose rows facing the Methodist church, which was slightly elevated above the square, giving us a good view of the empty stable. Once everyone was seated and just as we were all getting restless and a little cold and wondering when the show would start, we heard baas and bleats and short, sharp barks. We craned our necks to see a flock of sheep coming around the corner into the blocked-off street in front of us. It was Seth Early in a rough homespun shepherd’s robe leading at least fifty of his enormous Lincoln sheep, accompanied by half a dozen Methodists, similarly dressed, and Lad, Seth’s Border Collie, who did such a good job keeping the flock together and in motion that the humans with their crooks were clearly just for decoration.
Following in the wake of the sheep were the other animals. A dozen cows, complete with old-fashioned bells, marched sedately behind two milkmaids in biblical costume. The half dozen lively goats each had its own keeper and still caused more trouble than all the cows and sheep put together.
I waved to my friend Betsy, who was leading several American Mammoth Jackstock donkeys, including one named Jim-Bob who had helped save my life during the summer. The final donkey pulled a rough wooden cart driven by Rose Noire and piled high with wooden cages containing ducks, geese, and chickens.
Next came the llamas, led by a tall shepherd I recognized as my brother Rob. Another donkey pulled yet another wooden cart, this one driven by Dad and bearing my grandfather, who was holding the leashes of his three wolves. He was right—the Arctic Wolf was particularly striking.
Caroline Willner followed, riding a small elephant that lived at her wildlife sanctuary. She was followed by more costumed men driving a pair of large pigs, a woman leading a very temperamental zebra, and a small flock of ostriches and emus.
It all made for a very unusual manger scene by the time they finally got all the animals gathered around the stable—except for the wolves, which Grandfather kept a little way down the slope toward the street, since the way they were straining at their leashes indicated that they were far too interested in the other animals.
After all that, the appearance of the holy family and the assorted angels, shepherds, and wise men was almost an anticlimax—well, except for the fact that the three wise men arrived leading two camels with magnificent bejeweled trappings. In spite of the many anachronisms, the pageant was a smashing success.
When it was over and the animals were being led off, we all turned around to face the enormous Christmas tree in the center of the square—which meant that anyone who had a back-row seat for the living Nativity now had a front row seat for the caroling—and after Randall ceremoniously plugged in the tree lights, Minerva Burke led us all in a half hour of Christmas carols before wishing us a merry Christmas and telling us to go home and start celebrating with our families.
Michael ducked out a little early with the boys. I stayed behind to make our excuses—no, we weren’t coming over to Mother and Dad’s for the evening—the boys were a little tired, and we had presents to assemble before we fell into bed ourselves.
“But we’ll see you bright and early on Christmas Day!” I said. Probably too early; all the grandparents were determined to be there when the boys woke up and saw their presents. I’d already made sure Mother and Dad could find their keys to the house so I wouldn’t have to let them in.
I took a circuitous route when I left the town square and kept my eye on my rearview mirror. Not that I really expected anyone to be following me for sinister reasons, but I couldn’t help worrying about being spotted by some well-meaning friend or relative who might try to catch up with me to congratulate me on my lucky escape or want to hear the details.