And his eyes

Pain subsiding, breathing out, she opened her eyes and looked into his. They were dark with concern, stormy with his fear for her, and for the baby. His jaw set.
"No, Joseph. I am OK. They are  ~ not close."
Turning his hand, and holding it to her belly, "There! See, he kicks and plays. See, we are fine."
A solid smack hit squarely on Joseph's hand, making them both laugh.
As she readjusted her seating, Joseph gripped the lead and lengthened his stride. "Not long now. We will be there before the nightfall. Then a room and a bed .... "

She saw beyond the smile he gave with his mouth to the storm in his eyes. Oh, he has more to carry than I. She remembered their story in flashes :
The first time she saw him, setting down a load of wood, to lift a child from the dust where she had fallen, his voice tender, his eyes soft.
The first time she caught his eyes. She had looked up from the well into his eyes. The world had stopped. Her breath had stopped.
The look her gave to her across the room when her father had given his consent.
But then ~ the look he gave her when she had to tell him she was with child. Rage, then shock, then grief. His eyes turned to stone, then he turned his eyes away and stumbled from the room. She thought the world would end.  I thought an angel would have come to him too. Why did you not tell him when you told me? 'May it be to me as you have spoken...'  No ... no, I meant that. But I did not think...I knew in that one moment that I --  all I had was You.
And then! THEN!! Then his eyes ~ the joy, the hope, the fear, "My Mary! I...I had a dream....please forgive me, please!" his eyes raining into her lap. " I could not believe you...but, I have finished the house."
Taking Joseph's hand she placed it on the child. Jesus had kicked then for the first time.
His eyes and hers mirroring awe, the awe they shared alone.

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