BY ANASTASIA SANTOSO

That month was not usually a busy season for their inn, but trade had picked up tremendously over the past two weeks due to the census.  People who hailed from this town but dwelled elsewhere came and sought lodging, while others stopped by for a night or two before continuing their journey to their hometowns.

Leah sighed as she went about her morning routine.  She welcomed the travellers, of course—she needed the money, what with her ailing father-in-law and four young children.  Yet, more guests meant more work to do, and they did not have the means to hire extra help.

A knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts.  Leah dried her hands hastily, gave the stew a quick stir, and left the kitchen to answer it.

A man stood at the door.  He looked travel-weary, but he stood straight and his bearing was noble.  Behind him, Leah could see a donkey, carrying a young woman.  She was with child and strikingly beautiful, with a face that seemed to draw one’s gaze.

Leah sighed inwardly.  She fervently hoped they were not here for a room.  Her inn was full, and she was loath to turn away an expectant mother.

But of course a room was what they were looking for.  The man spoke courteously despite his weariness.  His attire was humble, but he exuded an air of quiet dignity, like an elder or a prince in disguise.

“I am sorry, we have no room left,” Leah said, in a tone less harsh than her wont.  “Try ‘The Golden Fig’ at the end of the road.”

The man nodded, still courteous.  He turned to his wife, who smiled reassuringly.  He placed a hand over hers and took hold of the donkey’s reins.

Leah saw the husband patted the wife’s hand gently, and off they went.

Must have been recently married, Leah scoffed inwardly.  Her own husband could not take his eyes off her when they were first married, but how long had that lasted? 

She returned to the kitchen and was soon busy serving the morning meal to her guests.

The day brought more knocks at her door, more travellers she had to turn away.

That afternoon, as she and her eldest daughter Salome were cleaning the main room, there came another knock.  Salome opened the door.  “There is no room,” Leah heard the girl say.  But Salome did not immediately return.

Leah went to check, and she saw the same couple—the noble-looking man and the beautiful lady.  Salome, wide-eyed, turned to her. “They are going to have a baby, Mother.”

“Yes, I know,” Leah said.

Her father-in-law, resting on a bench by the entrance, opened his eyes and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the strangers outside.

“A man and his expectant wife, Father,” Leah said to him.  “Alas, we have to turn them away.”

Leah addressed the man at the door before he made any plea.  “I am truly sorry, Sir, but I do not have any room available tonight.”

The man’s gaze met hers, and unlooked-for, Leah felt peace washing over her.

The man greeted her father-in-law respectfully, then he turned to Leah again.

“Pardon my boldness, Mistress,” he said, “but I think you do have a room.  This main room, perhaps, or your kitchen. I also noticed a stable behind.”

Leah blinked, astonished.  The man was desperate enough to mention the stable, and courteous enough not to suggest she give up her own room.

“Sir, would it not be better to continue to the next town?  You might find lodging in Bethany.”

The man shook his head.  “It is nearly time for my wife to give birth, Mistress.  She may deliver this very night.”

Leah studied the woman with the practiced eye of a mother of four.  Yes, it does look about time.

“And if we travelled further, we would need to return here for the census.”

They were her fellow townspeople, then.  A thought struck her.  With the man’s dignity—which his humble attire could not veil—she would not be surprised if this man was of the line of King David. 

But she almost laughed at her own musing.  What did it matter, even if he was the Son of David?  The kingdoms of Israel and Judah were stories of old; the people of God was now at the mercy of the pagans.

“Let them stay, daughter,” her father-in-law suddenly said, before closing his eyes again.

Leah turned to him in surprise.  It had been a long time since her father-in-law had voiced an opinion, or shown any interest in any matter.

She glanced around the main room, which also served as a dining area for guests, with a board and benches set for meals. 

Where should she move the board and benches to make room for the man and woman?  And she would need to serve supper to some guests in their rooms—more work for her.

“If I may suggest, Mistress,” the man at the door spoke again, breaking Leah’s busy thoughts.  “The stable will suffice.   Few guests come and go there. And you would not need to move your board.”

Leah looked at him in disbelief.  “How can one give birth in a stable, Sir?”

The man smiled grimly, and for the first time, Leah saw a hint of sorrow in his expression.  He must have felt miserable, for not being able to find better lodging for his family.

But he quickly regained his composure.

“It is a humble place, Mistress,” he said, “but I can make it a safe place for my wife and child.  And my name is Joseph.”

Before Leah could respond, Salome ran off, calling, “I will clean the stable now!”

Leah sighed.  “Oh, very well,” she said weakly.

The man—Joseph—nodded gratefully.  But it was the woman who spoke. 

“Thank you for your kindness, Mistress,” she said, as if Leah had given them a lavish chamber to stay. 

Leah felt ashamed.  

She thought of her own room, which she shared with her four children.  It was already cramped.  Certainly no one would expect her to invite strangers to share it, no matter their noble bearing or their needs?

Leah shook her head to stop the futile thoughts.  “Please follow me, Master Joseph, and Mistress.  You can wait inside while we clean up the stable.”

…

The stable was small, housing only their donkey and two goats, along with some horses and donkeys belonging to their guests.

Leah instructed her children to help Joseph clean the stable.  She herself went back and forth between the inn and the stable, dividing her time between helping with the cleaning, preparing supper, checking if her father-in-law needed any help, and tending to her youngest child.

In one corner of the stable, Leah laid out a mat, stacked it with straw, and covered it with a cloth.

She also set out plenty of clean cloths and buckets of water, one of which she placed near the fire that Joseph had kindled just outside the stable.

Joseph and Nathan, Leah’s ten-year-old son, cleaned the manger together, scrubbing it thoroughly.

Salome carefully lined the manger with several layers of cloth. “The baby can lie here,” the girl said brightly to the expectant mother.

Again Leah felt a pang of shame and guilt.  But the expectant mother smiled warmly and thanked Salome.

By evening, they had cleaned the stable as best they could, but the stench of manure, damp straw, and unwashed animals lingered.   The smell refused to fade, despite their efforts.

Leah pressed her hands to her face.  How had she been reduced to this?  A bitter mistress of a struggling inn, unable to find enough generosity in her heart to share her own room with a woman about to give birth?

Weighed down by shame, she left the stable without a word, retreating to the inn to serve supper to her guests. Later, she prepared two plates of food and asked Salome to bring them to the couple in the stable.

After the guests’ supper was over, before she sat down to her own, Leah returned to the stable once more.

This time, she brought bread and a little wine, hoping they would sustain the couple through the night.  She also carried some oil lamps to light the stable during the delivery.

The woman reclined on the stray mat, her face alight with joyful hope.  She did not seem to be in any pain.  Joseph sat beside her, watchful yet serene.

Before Leah left, she told them, “Call me when it is time to give birth.  I have had four children; I may be of help to you.”

They both smiled and thanked her, and Joseph said he would call her when it was time.

…

It was not Joseph who called her that night, but Nathan.

“Mother,” he said eagerly.  “The baby has been born!”

“Already?  But who helped them?  And how do you know this?”

“Salome and I went to the stable after you fell asleep.  We were curious.” 

Leah rose and stepped outside.

The night was cool and clear, and as she glanced up, she saw a single star above, brighter and larger than any she had seen before.

Had it always been there? She could not recall, but then again, she rarely had time to gaze at the stars.

A stranger sight awaited her at the stable.  Sheep and lambs crowded around the entrance, their soft bleats filling the air.  Where had they come from?

She made her way through the animals, and the scene that met her stopped her in her tracks.

In the corner of the stable stood a manger.  Her manger and her stable they had been, but no longer.

In the manger lay a newborn baby, wrapped in bright white cloths.  The mother knelt beside it, her hand resting lightly on the child.  The father sat close, his arm wrapped around her, his gaze moving gently between mother and child.

Shepherds gathered around, kneeling like men before their king, their faces alight with awe.  The sheep pressed closer, as if they, too, wondered at what unfolded before them.

Leah saw Salome and Nathan kneeling among the shepherds.  She went to them and knelt beside her children.  They embraced her.

The smell of animals lingered, but Leah did not find them so disagreeable anymore.  The noble family before her seemed untroubled by it—why should she be?

She heard murmurs among the shepherds.

“Exactly like what the angels said,” one whispered.

“A baby wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger,” said another.

“Today in the town of David, a Saviour has been born to you… he is Christ the Lord…” continued the murmur.

“Hush,” said the first.  “Quiet now, the baby is sleeping.”

The new father and mother exchanged tender looks, their hands finding each other. 

Somehow Leah knew the tenderness between them was not mere infatuation of new couples.

Joseph noticed her then and he stepped forward.

“Mistress Leah,” he said.  “I did not have chance to call you, for it happened very quickly.  But Salome and Nathan had been a great help.  I am grateful to your family.”

Leah nodded.  “The Lord has blessed you, Master Joseph.”

“The Lord has visited His people, Mistress,” he replied.

She was not sure what he meant, but she felt no bitterness rise within her this time.

She nodded and managed a faint smile.

…

The next day, Leah convinced a group of her guests—relatives travelling together—to share rooms, freeing up a guest room for the new family.

A week later, the mother—Mary, her name was, but in Leah’s mind she remained the mother—and the baby were ready to leave.

Leah asked them to stay for a few more days.  “Please stay longer,” she said. 

Then, with flushed cheeks, she said, “I should have given you a proper room from the start.”

But Mary said, “Mistress Leah, you have given us a place to stay.  The stable was all you could give at the time, and you gave it to us.  We are grateful.”

Before they left, Leah asked Joseph why he had chosen to return to her inn, among many others.  “The Golden Fig has a large storage room,” she said.

Joseph regarded her.  “I saw your kindness, Mistress—kindness which you yourself may have forgotten.”

Not knowing what to say in the face of such wisdom and generosity, Leah nodded and smiled.  She had found it easier to smile in the past week.

…

Note: This story is obviously a work of fiction, written within the framework of the events recorded in the Gospel according to St Luke (the star is a nod to St Matthew). There is no intention whatsoever to “add to” the Gospel. The story was inspired by the Advent reflections focused on the Innkeeper and on Joseph in the Nativity Narrative series shared on the website of the Archdiocese of Singapore.