Mary McGill stood on top of the library steps, trying to
hear the person shouting into her cell phone. She could
only make out every other word. It sounded as if they
said the cow had run away. She should have learned to
text.

“Where did the cow go?” She listened for a minute as the
growing crowd made their way through the park toward the
Victorian Christmas Extravaganza on Maple Street, one
block over. “Why we ever let the Maids a Milking bring in
a real cow, I’ll never know. Can you catch it? It what?
Oh, oh. Keep me posted.”
S

e hung up, hoping Bobby Conner’s [D1] was right and he
could keep the cow out of Mrs.Wittiker’s mums. She was
pretty proud of those mums. Oh, well. It was a bit late
for them anyway.

It was getting dark fast. Clouds were coming in. The
forecast was for rain, but not until later tonight. Mary
sent up a silent prayer it would hold off until at least
midnight. It would take that long to get everyone out of
their costumes, make sure all the animals were accounted
for and back in their barnyards or kennels and any stray
children found and returned to their parents. No matter
how hard you tried, children strayed.

Her phone rang again. “Mary here. Everything’s fine. No,
no sign of the cow. You tell Bobby to get on it. We can’t
have a cow running—oh. Good. Where’s the Posada? The
donkey did what? Is Luanne all right? Take care of her.
She’s about as far along as Mary was when they got to
Bethlehem and I have no intention of closing this event
tonight birthing a real baby.” She listened a moment.
“All right. I should hear the singing any time now.”

The library Mary stood outside of was in the middle of
the town park, almost directly across from St. Theresa of
the Little Flower Church, where the Posada was supposed
to end. Mary and Joseph would finally be welcomed
someplace after all of the inns set up along the
procession route had rejected them. Mary would lay Baby
Jesus in the manager, the children’s choir would sing a
hymn, the people who had followed the procession would
join in and a party would immediately commence. Libations
were supposed to consist of lemonade and hot chocolate.
Mary fervently hoped that was all that was served. This
was the first year St. Theresa’s held the Posada in
conjunction with the Victorian Christmas Extravaganza and
the plan, or at least the hope, was after the singing and
the breaking of the piñata, all the pilgrims would leave
Main Street and move over to Maple and enjoy the
extravaganza. Every house on Maple Street was lit to the
hilt with Christmas lights, and almost every house
offered some kind of tableau. This year it had almost
gotten out of hand. The Maids a Milking were really going
to try to milk that cow while the lords were leaping all
around them. How they could do that every fifteen minutes
while people walked up and down the street, gaping at the
exhibits, she didn’t know and was afraid they didn’t
either.

They weren’t the only ones taking “extravaganza”
seriously. Mimes, Morris Dancers, a Barbershop Quartet, a
storyteller, a group wearing Dickinson era costumes while
singing Christmas Carols, even Ebenezer Scrooge, were all
making an appearance. Evan Wilson played Scrooge every
year. He came out on his balcony, dressed in a bathrobe
and stocking cap, shaking his fist at the children,
telling them to “get off my property.” Then he’d throw
down gold-wrapped chocolates. The children loved it. Mary
didn’t know how he did it. Evan was usually such a mild
man.

The Posada would come down Maple, turn the corner on
11th, a block before the extravaganza started, continue
up Main and stop on the church lawn, where the manger
scene was set up, just to the right of the church steps.
Joseph, portrayed by Stan Moss, led the procession,
walking alongside Luanne Mendosa who portrayed Mary. She
was perched worryingly on the Bates’ donkey, an animal
who wasn’t mild in the least. Shepherds walked behind,
followed by the Three Kings, who had thankfully not been
able to come up with any camels. They were mounted
instead on Irma Long’s three most elderly and unflappable
mares. The townspeople came next, singing traditional
Mexican, and in this case, traditional English Christmas
hymns as well, pausing only to howl in disappointment
each time they were refused entry by one of the Inns
along the route. They should make St. Theresa’s manger
scene in—Mary checked her watch—about fifteen minutes.
The crowd was already moving her way. Mary hoped the
baby, or rather the large doll they borrowed from Jenny
Johnson, was wrapped and ready for Luanne to lie in the
manger. She sighed and shifted her weight. Why she ever
agreed to coordinate this mob scene, she had no idea.
Yes, she did. It was either that or prance around in a
reindeer costume. The choice had been clear. She surveyed
the crowd and checked her cell again. All quiet.

“Mrs. McGill?”

Mary looked down at Dalia Mendosa. The child had climbed
the stairs without her noticing.

“Dalia. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to
be over at the manger?”

Dalia nodded. “I was. We have the doll and everything,
but he won’t get up and I don’t know what to do.
Ronaldo’s there. He’s holding the doll.”

Mary surveyed the ten year old and slightly shook her
head. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s Dr. Mathews. He’s lying in the manger, asleep, I
think. He won’t get up.”

The child’s eyes were large and a little frightened.

“Old Dr. Mathews? The vet? Are you sure?”

Dalia nodded, her large green eyes wide with
apprehension. “We called his name, but he won’t get up.”

Oh, lord. Cliff Mathews. He’d been so good too. Why did
he have to pick this night, of all nights, to fall off
the wagon? Why did he have to pass out in the manager?
She clicked on her cell. “Tony? I think we have a
problem. Can you meet me at the manger? No. St.
Theresa’s. Now. Cliff’s been drinking again and it looks
like he’s passed out in it. The Posada will be here in
just a few minutes. I can’t get him out of there by
myself.” She listened a few minutes. “Thanks.” She hung
up and took Dalia’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They crossed the street with some difficulty. People were
everywhere. Strollers decorated with battery pack
Christmas lights were pushed by parents who weren’t
looking where they were going; dogs on leashes, even
though outlawed, wound themselves between people’s legs,
doing their best to trip someone. Traffic lights were off
tonight and the sea of people that flowed in all
directions, laughing, talking, kept Mary and Dalia from
making much progress. Finally, they stood in front of the
church. The lawn was clear of spectators. There was, so
far, nothing to see, but as soon as the Posada got
closer…Was that singing coming their way?

“Where is he?”

Dalia pointed to a rough-built lean-to, open to the
street. Inside, where the manger was set up and where the
animals were housed, was in shadow. Spotlights were
ready, sitting at both the inside and outside corners,
for the arrival of Mary. The place would radiate light,
the North Star would shine from the oak tree and angels
would appear. Now, everything was in shadow. Mary could
just make out the outline of what looked like a goat. It
bleated as she came up. A couple of other animals hung
their heads over small pens, staring at the figure that
overflowed the manager in the middle of the display,
waiting for Mary and Joseph to appear.

“Cliff Mathews, you promised.” Mary let go of Dalia’s
hand and marched up to the manager. “Get up right this
minute. How you could—“

She stopped abruptly. Cliff wasn’t going to get up, now
or ever again. He lay in the middle of the manger, eyes
staring up at nothing, the shadows failing to hide the
front of his gray hoodie stained bright red.