The Boy who Sang for the Angels. James Cantelon

      Chapter One

      Once upon a time in a village far away there was a shepherd boy who sang for the angels. All of heaven would hush when Jerzy sang. Here is his story.

      In the little village of Weige in Eastern Europe there was a childless couple named Martin and Hilda Geist. Martin was a carpenter, and his wife, Hilda, earned a modest income cleaning homes for people in the village. Both in their forties, they had given up any hope of having a child. But Hilda, who had a warm mother’s heart, was often called on to care for little children when their parents were ill or for some reason had to be away from home. She was like a grandmother to these children. And they loved her as if she were their own.

      Martin and Hilda lived in a small but cozy three-room cottage just a couple of blocks away from the cathedral that dominated the village. It was warm and inviting, and anyone who visited always felt at home. People used to love sitting by their fireplace, drinking the warm cups of chocolate that Hilda prepared. The atmosphere was especially attractive at Christmastime. There was always a little Christmas tree cut from the forest outside the village by Martin’s own hand and decorated with beautiful decorations created by Hilda.

      One very snowy Christmas Eve, as Martin and Hilda were sitting by the fire drinking hot chocolate, they suddenly heard a muffled thump at the door. It sounded very much like someone throwing snowballs in fun, which would not have been a surprise, because children were always showing up at the Geitz household. Ignoring the sound they continued in their

      quiet conversation. But then it sounded as though some small thing was whimpering at the door. For a moment Hilda thought it was a puppy. So she got up, went to the door and opened it, and to her astonishment there at her feet was a small basket with a baby in it. With a little scream of surprise she picked the basket up and exclaimed, “Martin! There’s a baby in this basket! Look!”

      Sure enough, as Martin gently unfolded the blanket a small baby’s face looked up at him. “I think it’s a girl! So sweet! Where do you suppose she comes from?”

      Hilda, so astonished that she could barely speak, stuttered, “I have no idea! We know everyone in town, and I’m not aware of any woman who was about to give birth at this time!”

      At that moment the baby started to cry, and Hilda, as naturally as she would’ve done for her own child, immediately ran into the kitchen to get some milk. Within minutes she was feeding the baby, cuddling her gently in her arms. It was clear to Martin, as clear as the sky above, that Hilda had found a daughter.

      The next morning, Christmas morning, while Hilda cared for the baby, Martin walked the snowy streets of the village inquiring of everyone if they had seen or heard someone carrying a basket the night before. In no time the whole village was abuzz with talk of Martin and Hilda’s new baby. Even the bishop got involved and to everyone’s amazement declared that he had no knowledge of any young mother within 20 miles of the village who had been about to give birth.

      As the moral authority the bishop had the right to assign the child to any family he chose, but he was a kind and gentle man and felt that this baby was God’s gift to Martin and Hilda. “My heart has always gone out to them,” he said. “If there is any couple in the village who deserves a child, it is they.”

      So, as natural as breathing, this little orphan child became Martin and Hilda’s daughter.

      Everyone in the village felt that in some way this little baby was a gift to all of them, and there was a special atmosphere that Christmas. The carols were sung with greater depth of feeling in the cathedral, and gifts were given and received with greater generosity and gratitude. This mysterious little baby had brought a measure of meaning that none of the villagers had ever felt before at Christmas.

      The question everyone asked of course was, “What are you going to name this child?” It was Hilda who came up with the name Miriam. She thought it appropriate that this little girl should bear the name of the mother of the Christ child. It was a sweet and holy name, a name of great significance to all the people in the village and throughout the entire nation. It was a name that had stood the test of time. So Martin and Hilda’s little girl, bringing them endless joy, grew up in an atmosphere of overwhelming love. And her name was Miriam. Miriam Geist.