It was November 1839. They named her Mary because it was Advent and she would be used for the Christmas pageant.
Those who knew the sheriff thought that he was the one who planned her arrival a year before, but this time it was Mary Ann.
The older ones needed something extra special this Christmas.
Mary Ann asked her best friend, Polly Metcalf, who was now Mrs. Ralph Knickerbocker Finch, to direct the play.
As the headmaster for the Bath Classical School, Mr. Finch also helped, noting that they should use the larger Presbyterian Church in Bath, which also held more receptacles for the sperm-oiled lamps.
The pastor there had a shy girl, who was the right age of the Virgin Mother and he had in mind a confidence booster.
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If she would play the part, holding the one-month-old Mary Brother, then he would buy her a new dress at the Brother store—her pick.
Recovering from the birth, Mary Ann slept in, knowing that Polly was driving the performers in the mornings for rehearsals and sewing sessions.
When she heard the door slam and the buggy slop off with the songs and chatter of the children rounding the corner of the Magee House, she dosed off with the baby at her breast.
With everything that is wrong with the world, she praised God for the gift of knowing what to do in this moment. Let nature take its course.
Her duty, chores, and her desires were aligned naturally, according to God’s will, and this time it was something that agreed with her, which was rare, she confessed, and said a little prayer in thanksgiving.
She awoke when Jane, their servant, was climbing the stairs to report that the red-cheeked children had returned.
All at the table having their stew. The plan to keep them occupied was working marvelously. But not too far from her mind was the nativity stage way back then. How bare the platform was, made of hay, and with the animals it all started, out back.
Jane took the baby and Mary Ann turned to dress herself. Brushing her hair, feeling how smooth her hair felt, she smoothed down her loose ends and tucked in her wrap.
This grooming and this conversation with Jane, this cooperation and alignment of gifts and of time itself, she tried to remember, was during Advent, when something else was on His way. How fortunate she was to have friends who tolerated chaos and who knew who was coming.
The star of the pageant, now back in her mother’s arms, began to cry.
Back on the kitchen table stage, a spillover from the morning's rehearsals, she heard from the first floor came a rousing applause, “Encore!! Encore!! Encore!” and a hearty case of the giggles and the dropping of spoons.