Chapter 5
The Storm Gathers
A fierce winter storm descends upon Limerick, rattling windows and howling winds. Angela, watching the tempest, begins to fear she has angered God by taking the Infant Jesus.
The wind began its assault on Limerick with a low growl, a sound that snaked through the narrow streets and rattled the panes of their small house like a hungry ghost. Angela, huddled closer to the hearth, her breath misting the air, watched the branches of the lone sycamore outside their window thrash wildly. It was more than just a blustery day; this was a storm truly gathering its might, a force of nature unleashed. The sky, once a pale, watery grey, had turned a bruised, angry purple, and the rain lashed against the glass with a ferocity that made Angela’s stomach clench.
She looked over at the small, crudely carved wooden box she had hidden beneath a loose floorboard in her room. Inside, nestled on a scrap of her mother’s softest shawl, lay the Infant Jesus. His arms were still outstretched, forever ready to embrace, and the little white swaddling cloth, so carefully smoothed, covered His tiny posterior. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, and yet, as the wind howled a mournful tune, a prickle of fear began to creep up Angela’s spine.
Had she been wrong? Had her impulsive act of love, her desperate need to warm His little wooden hands, angered the Almighty? The thought sent a shiver through her, colder than any draft that found its way into their home. She remembered the stern, booming voice of Father Michael from the pulpit, his words about the wrath of God when His commandments were broken. She hadn’t intended to break them, not really. She’d only wanted to help. But still, the storm… it felt like a response. A thunderous, wind-whipped response.
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