(AN: Here is the big, earth-shattering chapter that was promised [later than I had intended: sorry about that].)

(Before we begin, a few things to say. People disagree on what "the stable" was, or if they stayed in a stable at all. The cave from the Protoevangelion of James is gaining popularity, while others say that it wasn't a cave at all, but the lower level of the han [or house/inn] of one of Joseph's relatives; the lower level being where the animals were kept, and therefore likely a place where one would find a manger or feeding trough. I decided to have my cake and eat it too by having, in a way, both stories be true. Furthermore, there is no record of a midwife in the canonical Gospels: that comes from the Protoevangelion of James, with some minor alterations on my part, as I felt that, noble, faithful, and diligent man though he was, Joseph wouldn't know the first thing about doing the duties of a midwife.)

The Anointed

The journey had ended, but things were by no means easier. Joseph was out on the streets for the rest of that day, asking around for work and any information on renting a house; only briefly at night would he return to Benjamin's han and sleep by himself, aside from Miriam. Benjamin found this arrangement odd: to his mind, the father of the child could be none other than Joseph, so why didn't he sleep close to his betrothed, as a man and his wife would normally do? As for Miriam, Benjamin wasn't any more courteous to her. Despite her condition, he expected that she help his wife Rebekah with her household preparations. The han was filled with guests and Rebekah was over-burdened by making food for all of them. Despite her condition, and Joseph's protests when he heard what his uncle was doing, Miriam agreed to this. She was equally as industrious in her work as Joseph; yet again, a reminder of how they had been most suitable for each other.

Unlike her husband, Rebekah was more sympathetic towards Miriam's condition; having had a few children of her own. Though she looked very similar to her husband - short, gray, and stocky - her face was not so stern and disapproving. However, as courteous as she was, she was flushed red from being on her feet practically non-stop. Despite this, she gave Miriam such tasks which she knew could be done by the young woman in her condition. Her day ended later than that of Joseph, for she had to help Rebekah put out the lamps and clean up after everyone had eaten.

They had arrived in Bethlehem about noon of Yom Revi'i, after four days journey through the mountains, deserts, rivers, cities, and hill country. The third day of their tenure in Bethlehem, Yom Shishi, the day before the Sabbath, had dawned. The streets of Bethlehem, like the day they had arrived, were not lying still. Miriam awoke wearily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes; she was so weary from the sleepless night, she barely realized the star glowing directly above her in the morning sky. She shifted herself onto her feet as best she could and went about looking for Rebekah to help with the morning meal. Joseph would need the food for his day today. No sooner had he left but she continued on with her work, as she had been doing these past three days.

About two hours after noon, Rebekah noticed that Miriam did not answer her after she had called her name. Three times she called for her, but there was no response, whether by voice or by presence. Frustrated, she sought the han for the young woman. After a little searching, she found Miriam in one of the storage rooms. She was squatting upon the ground, with one hand upon a large clay jar and another clutching the under-side of her stomach. She did not speak or cry out, but winced, groaned, and breathed heavily.

"There you are," Rebekah said. "Why didn't you answer me?" She then recognized what she was seeing.

"Find...Joseph..." Miriam groaned.

In the end, Rebekah sent one of her sons to go and fetch Joseph. It took some thirty minutes to find him and another for the two to make their way back to the han. Unfortunately, the young man had no answer for any of Joseph's questions: he hadn't been in the room to see how Miriam fared and therefore could not answer him. When they came back to the door of the han, the young man knocked on the door; once again Benjamin shouted that he had no room until he heard the voice of his son saying that he had Joseph with him. The bolt was removed and Joseph and the youth were ushered into the courtyard.

"This is your doing," Benjamin said to Joseph.

"What do you mean?" Joseph asked. "What's happened? Where is Miriam?"

Benjamin pointed with his hand to the side of the courtyard where they had rested before. Immediately Joseph made his way there, pushing through the animals until he came to the donkey. Behind the ass, he found Miriam kneeling upon the rug on the ground, leaning against the wall of the courtyard; her eyes were shut tightly closed and her lips were curled as if in great pain.

"What is it?" Joseph asked. "What's wrong?"

"He presses to come forth," Miriam sighed.

The color in Joseph's face vanished almost as soon as he heard this. Immediately he ran back across the courtyard, seized Benjamin by the scruff of his tunic, and dragged him over to the donkey.

"Let me go!" Benjamin protested.

"Why have you done this?" Joseph demanded. "To leave a woman in her hour of travail alone in your courtyard with no one to attend her!"

"What am I supposed to do?" Benjamin retorted. "I'm not a midwife! You're the one who did this to her, you figure it out!"

"What about Rebekah?" Joseph asked.

"She's busy cooking, she can't be spared."

"What about your sister-in-law Leah?"

"She's been dead for three years." Benjamin shook Joseph's hands off of his garb, rubbing his neck. "Now then, you'll have to take her away from here."

"What?!" Joseph exclaimed.

"I can't have a woman give birth in my courtyard!" Benjamin retorted. "Not with all the guests in my house!"

"Then where am I supposed to go?" Joseph asked. "What am I supposed to do?" Behind him, Miriam let out a loud and pained groan.

"Take your betrothed someplace else," Benjamin waved off.

"Where?!" Joseph pleaded.

"The spare stable, I suppose?" Benjamin replied. "It's in the hills nearby. You won't have to go far, but the guests won't be bothered by her cries."

Joseph did not waste a single moment. Immediately he went to Miriam and, taking her by the hand, helped her onto her feet. She would not be placed on the donkey again, not as she was near to her hour. They then walked slowly back out of the han, with Joseph steadying Miriam with one hand and holding his staff in the other, gently leading her out towards the hills. The ground became rockier as they left the bare town streets and entered the grassy hills. Joseph lifted up his eyes, looking this way and that, but did not seem to find what he was looking for. Immediately he closed his eyes and inclined his head upward.

"God of our fathers," he prayed. "Send help, I pray."

No sooner had he opened his eyes but he saw a star shining in the afternoon sky. As his eyes moved from the sky to the ground, he noticed a cave in the side of the hill. Immediately, he led Miriam towards the cave. It was bare and dry inside, with some straw upon the ground and a large stone manger on one end. Joseph let Miriam sit down upon the bare earth, suddenly aware of two pertinent facts; the first of which was that he had forgotten the rug from the courtyard of Benjamin's han. The second fact, most important and clearly more pressing, was that he was exactly what Miriam did not need at the moment; a carpenter could no more fill the office of a midwife as a potter could that of a soldier upon the battlefield. But as he looked down at Miriam, he could see her brown eyes filled with fear.

"Here we are," Joseph stammered. "Tell me, wh-what do you need?"

"Gah!" Miriam groaned, squinting her eyes furiously. At length she gasped for breath and looked Joseph in his brown eyes. "Find a midwife."

Joseph nodded furiously; this he could do. He made his way back out of the cave and made his way towards the town. From behind he could hear Miriam's cries of agony. The normally stoic and collected Joseph was panicking, looking this way and that. His feet felt as heavy as cedar logs, and time seemed to slow down for him. He saw about him some children drinking from a well, several men eating on their middle of the day break from work, and a shepherd leading his flock off in the distance. But it seemed that there was nothing at all for his aid.

"Please, God of our fathers," Joseph begged. "Don't abandon Your servants in their time of need!"

Even now as he looked, he noticed a rather tall woman of middle age walking down from the hills. His heart leaped inside him, perhaps she could help him in some way.

"Woman!" he called out. She turned toward him.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" the woman asked.

"I am looking for a Hebrew midwife," Joseph gasped, realizing that he himself was out of breath.

"I am a Rachel bat-Judah," the woman replied. "And you, man; are you a son of Israel?"

"Yes," Joseph nodded. "I-I can pay you for your time, if you are a midwife."

"I have helped many women in Bethlehem give birth," Rachel said. "Take me to the woman and I will see to her."

Joseph led her to the cave. It suddenly dawned on him just how far he had actually gone when time seemed to stop for him, for it took him longer to make his way back than he had initially assumed. When he came to the mouth of the cave, he permitted Rachel to enter in first and kneel down beside Miriam.

"Miriam," Joseph said to her. "This woman is a midwife. She will help you."

"Thank you," Miriam gasped.

Rachel then turned to Joseph. "I will take care of your wife, man. It is not proper for you to watch us."

"She is my betrothed," Joseph clarified.

"Is she not your wife?" asked Rachel.

"I was promised to be married to her," Joseph replied. "But..." He hesitated.

"But what?" Rachel asked.

"The child she conceived is of the Ruach HaKodesh," Joseph answered.

Rachel rolled her eyes, apparently not buying what she had heard. "Listen, man, go to my house on the northern side of town and fetch me a birthing stool. Be quick about it, your betrothed will soon be delivered."

Joseph nodded. He had made a few before and knew what to look for. Immediately he left while Rachel attended to Miriam, removing first the veil from off the young woman's head. Miriam breathed a momentary sigh of relief; one of her prayers had been answered and she would not have to complain for missing the presence of her mother Hannah when her hour came. Furthermore, though this woman was not known to her, there was something soothing about her voice that put Miriam at ease.

"Listen to me very carefully, girl," Rachel said. "Breathe deeply and slowly. Everything's going to be alright. Do you understand me? Now, tell me, when did the pain come upon you?"

"An hour ago..." Miriam sighed.

Rachel touched the under-side of Miriam's stomach on either side. "The babe is low enough. You will be delivered before nightfall. Now tell me, have your waters broken?" Miriam shook her head. Rachel seemed taken aback by this news: seven and twenty years of serving her office as midwife and she had never before delivered a woman whose waters hadn't broken first. She then reached down with her hand beneath Miriam's skirt and suddenly her eyes widened.

"Your maidenhead is intact," Rachel said, speaking almost as if in a trance. "But, you're with child and about to be delivered." Miriam cried out as a powerful force squeezed her abdomen; that cry was enough to snap Rachel out of her amazement and return her maternal instincts into action.

"This is going to hurt a great deal," said the midwife. She reached into her skirt and removed a small knife, shaking her head; none of this made sense, that a thing outside of the natural order had happened. Nonetheless, she had to do something so that the young woman could properly give birth. There was one swift motion, Miriam cried out in pain, and Rachel set aside the knife for the cutting of the cord.

"There, that's done," Rachel assured the poor girl. "Now, remember, listen to my voice and breathe deeply."

Miriam did as she was told, breathing deeply and trying not to focus on the pain. Her face was covered in sweat. There was pain down below and a squeezing, tightening discomfort in the middle. The shape of the midwife cut off some of the light from the entrance of the cave. As the pain grew and the tightening in her abdomen intensified, suddenly there came to her a thought in her head; something that spoke to her in her own voice. But the words it said made her afraid.

Look at yourself; writhing upon the ground in agony, bleeding, disgraced. You know not if you will even live to see your child grow to manhood and come into His own. Is this the favor which the God of your fathers has blessed you with? There is no honor in this, no glory, nothing praise-worthy. Curse the One who brought you to such a low and contemptible state for His own ends; the pain will pass then, I promise you.

No, Miriam retorted in her mind. I have pledged myself to the service of HaShem. I cannot go back now. Even if I do not live to see His Messiah, I am the maid-servant of HaShem.

Another long and painful hour passed. Joseph returned at the mouth of the cave, bearing the stool in his hands. Rachel told him to place it down at the entrance, then to fetch oil, cloth, and water from the well and bring it to her. He nodded and left again, while Rachel brought the birthing stool over to her side of the cave. After setting it on a patch of relatively flat ground, she took Miriam's arms in her own and lifted her onto the stool.

"Listen to me," Rachel said to Miriam. "You're going to be fine. Just keep breathing, alright? The girls I attend, they're always nervous about their firstborn." Miriam nodded, in too much agony to speak. "Once your betrothed gets back, we'll see to this bleeding." Miriam gasped.

"It's nothing, girl," Rachel assured her. "Most women shed a little blood when they deliver their child. There's nothing to be concerned about." She placed a comforting hand on Miriam's shoulder; the poor girl seized her arm and squeezed hard upon it, groaning and panting with the strain.

"I'm here, alright?" Rachel continued. "I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me?"

Miriam nodded, then sighed for a brief moment as she caught her breath. "Please...pray for me..."

It took Joseph more time to find what he needed now than before. For the stool, he had only to find the house of Rachel bat-Judah the midwife. But for these supplies, he had to compete with everyone in Bethlehem, to say nothing of the visitors come down here for the census. He was able to purchase some cloth, but the oil was harder to come by; there was none to spare in Benjamin's han, and most of the stores around him were out. He ended up finding some, but paid almost double the usual amount. With these, he then went to the town well that he had espied on his search for a midwife. Unfortunately, it was also crowded and he had to wait a while before he had the opportunity to draw water for himself. With the cloth upon his shoulders, the oil in one hand and the bucket cradled against his chest, Joseph at last returned to the cave and gave the things to Rachel; an hour and a half had passed since he last left.

She thanked him for the things then told him to wait outside, out of view, and not to enter until she came out of the cave. With nothing more to do, Joseph paced on the hillside a stone's throw away from the cave, keeping sure that he wasn't able to see what was going on inside it. Another thirty minutes went by, and still nothing. All he could hear were Miriam's anguished cries; he wanted to do something for her, but knew that he could do nothing. So he waited and paced back and forth, rubbing his arms against the cool evening air and praying that the God of his fathers look upon his betrothed with kindness. Little did he know that he was not alone here.

In the cave, Rachel had prayed for Miriam and her delivery when she had asked for it. Between the agonizing pain and her attempts to breathe, Miriam also prayed. Some eighty-six miles to the northwest, Zechariah and Elisabeth remembered Miriam; the old woman in particular guessed that the young girl's time of travail must certainly be at hand. After they prayed the evening shema, Zechariah and Elisabeth prayed for Miriam and her child. Farther in the north, in the town of Nazareth, Joachim and Hannah made their own preparations to depart; being of the tribe of Judah themselves, they would have to make the journey south, if only for a couple of days, and would be leaving on Yom Rishon, the day after the Sabbath tomorrow. They wondered if they would, per chance, run into Miriam and Joseph down there; remembering the hard time they had endured at the hand of their neighbors, and how difficult it must be for a poor young woman in her hour of need in a strange town, they prayed as well. Seven righteous souls in Israel praying for the one who carried the Anointed One.

But they were not alone either. In Jerusalem, Aram, Jabesh, Deborah, Sarah, and their children prayed for the King to come. In the Temple, an old man and an old woman, one of the priests of the Temple and a prophetess of no less noble stock than Deborah or Huldah of old, pleaded with the God of their fathers that they might live to see the Messiah. All of Israel prayed for the Anointed One, imagining in their hearts another David who would drive out the Romans and establish a reign of a thousand years of peace and righteousness in the world. Beyond this, in the wide and barren deserts of the east, a caravan settled down for the night. They had come far on a long journey from Persepolis, but hadn't reached the oasis that night. While their guards kept watch over the night, the aged magicians looked to the heavens and prayed that the Highest would safeguard their journey and allow their eyes to see the Messiah.

The sun sank into the west; the shofar was blown, signaling the coming of the Sabbath. Those in the streets returned inside, and those at work dropped what they were doing and ceased to labor. Darkness fell upon the streets of Bethlehem, as the hours of twilight descended upon the land of Judah. Only a handful of people continued to perform their duties this late in the day; shepherds in the hill country were not allowed to bring their sheep into the city during the Sabbath, as not only would this be an act of labor but the odor and stigma of shepherds would profane the blessed Sabbath (at least, this was held in the common knowledge). In the cave, Rachel remained with Miriam for the long, laborious hours; the bloody ordeal was almost over and now she told Miriam to clench her teeth and bare down. No one in Bethlehem heard a sound or saw a thing, for it seemed that a great storm had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. A dark cloud descended from the night-sky and hovered over the cave; those who were without heard from that cloud the sound of thunder, the rumblings as of an earthquake, and the rush of a mighty wind.

No sooner had the cloud appeared and the thunder sounded but they vanished, leaving only a somewhat cloudy night sky. A single star, brighter than all the other stars of the evening, shone down in the sky directly above the cave. Joseph had fallen asleep from the exhaustion of the day's worries and Miriam's time; even the sound of her agonized cries could not keep the weariness from his eyes. Only the rumblings and the wind aroused him from his sleep. He rose up from the mouth of the cave and looked up and around him; he saw the cloud, but he heard no noise of thunder. Instead, it seemed, that he could hear what sounded like voices chanting in the distance; an echo on the very edge of hearing. Suddenly there was a new sound that drowned out the echo, a sound much louder, more piercing, and much closer indeed.

The sound of a newborn baby crying out.

Joseph's heart skipped a beat as he rose to his feet and thanked the God of his fathers. He turned towards the mouth of the cave and saw Rachel slowly walking out of the cave; her hands were covered in blood, and her face was astonished. She seemed to be in a trance; her lips moving soundlessly and her eyes glassy as they looked at her hands but seemed to also look through them. Joseph ran up to her, his heart racing and his veins filled with energy, and stood by her, his hands almost touching her shoulders.

"What happened?" he asked. "Is Miriam alright? Is the child well? Tell me, woman!"

Rachel seemed to be snapped out of her stupor and turned to Joseph.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, that's right!" she said. "Mazel tov, man; a son has been born this night."

"Hallelujah!" Joseph exclaimed. "And Miriam, how is she?"

"She is well," Rachel replied. "She is very exhausted, and she is still in her blood, so she is unclean. I will let the village rabbi know of this birth, and tell him to expect you in eight days, for the circumcision. He will tell you what else you must do."

"Thank you, good woman," Joseph said. "HaShem bless you for all that you have done for us. I will pay double whatever you ask!"

Rachel only partially acknowledged this. Instead, she was still looking at her blooded hands, and muttering over and over to herself:

"A maid giving birth to a male child. What kind of miracle is this!"

Joseph, meanwhile, made his way into the cave. As soon as he stepped in, he covered his mouth as the sickening smell of animal manure, wet straw, and blood met his nostrils. Looking down, he noticed Miriam sitting on the birthing stool, the front bottom of her robes stained with blood. In her arms was a little baby nestled against her breast; Miriam, meanwhile, was kissing the baby's forehead, streams of tears running down her eyes. The fat hand with its tiny fingers gripped her robe tightly, eager to be close to the warmth of her body and away from the cold of the night air; she let out a sound that was half between a laugh and a sigh and kissed His head again.

"Miriam," Joseph whispered. She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. He suddenly realized that his eyes were filled with tears as well.

"Beloved," Miriam sighed.

"Is this...is this Him?" Joseph asked, his voice full of emotion.

Miriam nodded silently, and looked down at the little baby clinging to her.

"Joshua."

(AN: And now He is born!)

(Full disclosure: I was in tears while writing this chapter, especially with the added music of Joy Williams' "Here With Us" and the Boston Camerata rendition of "Gaudete". How Joseph finds Miriam in the cave came from a dream I had, which I will not go into detail over: all the good, wholesome stuff made it into the story. Although I hope that, like with the "Most Suitable" chapter, I wasn't too graphic in the depiction for you [no, it wasn't a Cesarean section]. The part about the temptation was a complete invention of my own: the evil one is presenting the modernist argument against child-bearing as if to cause Miriam to curse God in her moment of pain, and her victory over that temptation I hope makes it better for you.)