Page 8 of A Star in the West

It had been a rather obvious ploy to convince her that the two of them might make a suitable pairing, but she hadn’t debated his points. In fact, she’d even brought up DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man in support of his argument. A fact that brought him significant encouragement. Yet with the symposium scheduled to conclude at the end of next week, he needed more than encouragement. The early data he’d collected seemed to support his theory that a courtship with Stella was possible, but he lacked evidentiary confirmation.

Applause broke out around him, tearing Frank from his thoughts and bringing him back into the realm of time. Time! He checked his watch again, horrified to see it was now twenty past the hour. He lurched to his feet so quickly, he cracked his knee on the chair desk. Giving his throbbing appendage a quick rub, he limped toward the exit, scattering pardons around him like seed among chickens as he forced his way upstream through the crowd of students flocking to the front of the room to speak to Professor Muir.

Once in the hall, Frank stretched his stride as far as it would extend and ignored the odd looks aimed in his direction. He was aware of the ridiculous manner in which his hips wiggled as he maximized his walking velocity. Snickering echoed in his wake, but he paid it no mind. Getting to Stella in a timely manner took precedence, and as long as he wasn’t running in the halls, he was breaking no rules.

He took the steps a little faster and would have broken into a jog when he hit the lawn if he hadn’t spotted Mrs. Georgia Burleson, the wife of Baylor University’s president, exiting the women’s dormitory next door. She raised an eyebrow in his direction that reined in his would-be canter before it could begin.

“Ma’am.” Frank smiled and tipped his hat to her, forcing his feet to the stodgy pace expected of a university professor.

She smiled and nodded her approval. “Mr. Stentz.”

He kept to his torturously slow pace until he passed a pair of trees at an angle sufficiently positioned to conceal his undignified flight. Launching into a run, he raced along the path up to Fifth Street, turned left, and hurried toward town.

After dashing down three blocks, Frank grew winded and was forced to slow. Probably a good thing. A gentleman was less likely to impress a lady if he showed up sweaty and panting. Thankfully, the cool December air kept his perspiration to a minimum, and by the time he crossed the railroad tracks and entered the churchyard, his breathing had returned to normal.

Until he rounded the corner and spied Stella smiling up at a tall, muscular fellow carting lumber on his shoulder with the same ease one would carry toothpicks. One of those burly types who were naturally athletic, coordinated, and capable of fixing or building things without understanding one iota of the science behind what they did.

Frank’s stomach churned, but he strode forward anyway. He might not compare favorably as a physical specimen in this man’s shadow, but Stella had invited him, and he’d not let old insecurities deter him. He had his own strengths to recommend him, ones that Stella seemed to appreciate.

As fate would have it, Mr. Muscles noticed him first. Frank braced himself for disapproval or even condescension, but he was greeted with neither. The man welcomed him with a big grin, as if he’d been eagerly waiting Frank’s arrival.

“Professor!” Boards clattered to the ground as the fellow dropped his load, wiped off his hand, and jogged forward to greet him. “It’s an honor to have you helping us today, sir.”

Frank shook the man’s hand and grinned in return, his genuine enthusiasm contagious. “Call me Frank.”

“Norman.” The carpenter tilted his head toward the framed crèche that would serve as the backdrop for the nativity production scheduled for next weekend. “Stella’s been telling us all about you. She even hinted that you and your cronies might be willing to step into the role of the three wise men this year. We’re bound to draw twice the usual crowd with you fellas involved. I’d wager half of the Baylor student body would show up just to see a trio of esteemed Harvard professors dressed in costume. Folks from the community will surely want to take a gander, too.”

Stella quickened her step to join them, her worried expression making something pinch in his chest. “I merely mentioned the possibility, Frank. No promises have been made. I intended to speak to you about it while we worked.” She shot Norman a chiding look before turning back to Frank and placing a hand on his arm. “You’re under absolutely no obligation to participate. The only reason I even considered asking you was because the paper ran an article the day before you arrived, announcing that three wise men from the east were coming to visit. I thought to build on that bit of notoriety to draw more community interest to the nativity production. Perhaps convince some to attend who wouldn’t usually come to a religious event.”

Her lovely brown eyes gazed at him as if he had the power to grant her dearest wish. And the touch of her hand on his arm had his pulse rate increasing in exponential fashion. “We’ll be happy to do it.”

The smile that broke across her face made his chest expand like an aeronaut’s balloon. He had no idea how he would convince Muir to go along, but he’d apply whatever force was required to overcome the stuffy fellow’s inertia. Frank had a chance to be Stella’s hero, and he’d not squander it.

“Great!” Norman slapped him on the back and nearly sent him stumbling off his axis. “My wife and I get to play Mary and Joseph this year. The honor goes to the couple with the youngest babe in the congregation. We missed the cut two years ago when our first was born in June, but Millie had the good sense to arrive in September.” He chuckled as he moved back toward the crèche and pulled a hammer from a nearby toolbox. “You don’t have to worry about memorizin’ lines or anything. The parson reads the script, and all you gotta do is follow what he says. Easy as fallin’ off a log.”

“That’s reassuring. I have no prior experience as a thespian.”

Norman picked up a board, laid it flush against the frame, and reached into his leather apron for a nail. “Just follow Stella.” He looked away from the board he held and sent Frank a wink. “I can tell you got a knack for that.”

“Norman!” Stella’s cheeks flamed red as the carpenter chuckled. She turned her back on him and took a few steps away to separate herself from the source of her embarrassment.

Frank followed, then smiled at the irony. “The man’s not wrong.”

“I’m sorry. Norman likes to tease. Pay him no mind.” Her hands fluttered in front of her like a pair of doves that didn’t know where to land. “I play the role of the star in the play, you see. That’s all he meant. I dress in black, cover my face with a mourning veil, and carry a long rod with a painted tin star attached to the top. The magi follow me to find the baby Jesus.”

Frank captured one of her fluttering hands and nestled it between his. “Why do you veil your face?”

She stilled. Whether it was his touch or his question that had evoked the reaction, he couldn’t determine, but he liked the feel of her fingers lying within his palm too much to release them just to test a theory.

“I’m supposed to be invisible,” she finally said, her voice low. “It is the star that is supposed to garner attention, not me. I prefer it that way, actually. That’s why I volunteer for the role every year.”

“Ah. I guess I can understand the veil, then. Your lovely face would certainly distract me.”

She dropped her chin and tugged her hand free of his hold. “Don’t lie to me, Frank. I know my face is far from beautiful.”

“I speak the truth, Stella.” He crooked a finger under her chin and gently tipped her face up for his inspection. “Your eyes shimmer with intelligence and kindness, your lips are evenly distributed across both cheeks when you smile, and your nose is perfectly centered in the oval of your face. You’ve been blessed with beautiful symmetry.”

She blinked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You find my face . . . symmetrical?”