by Karen Kirst
Christmas shopping had never been so difficult. When he’d been married, Gaelle had made it easy for him, giving him a list of three or four things, saying she’d be happy with anything. And she was, being a generally happy person. Anything he made or bought for her had brought smiles and kisses.
“While you were gone, Mrs. Tipford came by to finalize the plans for the Advent window tour, and she brought Liesl a little present.” Kate spread butter on a slice of bread and put it on Liesl’s plate.
“Oh, yes, Daddy. Look what she brought.” Liesl slid off her chair and ran into the parlor, returning with a worn bundle of papers. “It’s a whole catalog.” She flopped the tattered book onto the table.
“Mrs. Tipford said she found it in a cupboard in the church basement,” Kate explained. “She thought Liesl might like looking at the pictures. I think we’ve been over every page at least three times, haven’t we, sweetling?”
“I like the toys and the dishes best.” Liesl climbed into her chair once more. “And the hats and shoes. Daddy, did you know you could buy a hat with a bird on it?”
“Ah, so, is a bird hat what you want for Christmas now?” he teased.
She shook her head, eyeing him soberly. “No, Daddy. Not a hat with a bird.”
So she hadn’t abandoned the idea of a baby for Christmas. He only hoped the idea he’d come up with on the drive home from Saint Paul would please her. He’d have to consult Kate and enlist her help later.
After supper, he rose and stretched. “That chair in the parlor is mighty tempting, but I had better get into the wood shop. I have a few more Christmas orders to complete for folks around here, and they won’t finish themselves.”
Liesl pushed her chair up to the bench. “After I help Grossmutter with the dishes, can I come play in the workroom?”
“Sure, Poppet. I’d like that.” It was how they spent most winter evenings before they’d taken in houseguests, him working on a piece of furniture and Liesl playing under the table with the shavings and wood scraps. He’d missed her chattery company.
He pushed open the door to the shop, inhaling the familiar scents of cut wood and linseed oil. This was the one place that usually brought him comfort…which had been hard to come by the past few weeks. Lighting the fire in the small woodstove helped take the chill from the room, and he went to the rack to select some of the special stock he’d purchased at the sawmill in Mantorville. The plans for a hall tree lay on his workbench, and once that was finished, a whatnot needed to be stained and varnished. And there was the project that has been forming in the back of his mind for a while, but that would have to wait until other work was done.
“Daddy.” Liesl skipped into the room. “Do you have some little pieces for me? I want to build something.”
It was a common request, and Oscar slid a box out from under the bench with his boot toe. “I’ve been saving these for you.”
She pounced on the box, dumping the contents onto the floor with a clatter. Ends of boards, a bit of crown molding, a chipped spindle he’d had to abandon when a knot blew out as he was turning it on the lathe. To him they were orts, but to Liesl, they were treasures and fuel for her lively imagination.
Kate tapped on the door, bringing in a tray with coffee cups and a glass of milk. “Martin and Inge have gone upstairs to bed already. I think the trip tired out Martin more than he wanted anyone to know.”
Oscar took the tray and set it on the workbench. He had also missed the nightly routine of drinking coffee with Kate in his workroom. “He was a man on a mission. I could hardly keep up with him as we went from store to store. He’s proud of you, told every shopkeeper we talked to about how good you were at cheese making. Said your Swiss-style cheese was the best to be found outside the Alps.”
She smiled fondly. “He’s such a sweet man.” Her face sobered. “I can’t imagine him being a janitor in a factory in the middle of a big city. It will crush the life out of him.”
Oscar picked up a wood plane and drew it over the edge of a drawer, flicking the long curl of poplar under the table for Liesl. He felt so helpless in the face of the Amakers’ troubles. All they wanted was to stay on their farm, but it seemed as if everything conspired against them, and it all started with poor choices…
“If it weren’t for the loans on the cattle and land, you wouldn’t be in this fix. Every cent you have is going to service the loans, and there’s nothing to build another house with. If you didn’t have the initial loan, the bank would advance you enough to build, but a second mortgage is out of the question. What was your husband thinking? He put your whole way of life in jeopardy, and for what?”
He regretted the question the minute she sucked in a sharp breath. She set her coffee cup on the tray, her lips tight. “Johann was forward thinking. A visionary. He had big dreams and plans, and he wasn’t afraid to take risks. He mortgaged the farm to build a house big enough for his grandparents, his wife and his future children. And he mortgaged his herd to buy better bloodlines, because he dreamed of enlarging our cheese-making business and breeding better cattle.” She blinked, her hand going to her unborn child. “Everything he did was to make a better future for us. There was no way he could anticipate that his life would be cut off too soon.”
“Kate, I’m sorry—”
She held up her hand to stay his apology. “I loved my husband’s enthusiasm, his big dreams and ideas, his fearlessness. He wanted more for his children than he had, and he wasn’t afraid to work hard, to take some risks and to trust that God would honor his efforts. I don’t expect you to understand, someone who hides away from life, afraid he will be hurt again if he lets anyone get too close.” Her blue eyes snapped fire, something he hadn’t seen from her before. “Don’t worry. We’ll soon be out of your house and your life, and you can go back to hiding and playing everything safe.”
“Daddy?”
Kate jumped as if she’d forgotten the child was in the room, and she bit her lower lip.
Liesl edged out from under the table, planer curls tucked behind her ears, and startled questions in her eyes. She looked from him to Kate and back again, seeking reassurance.
He reached for her, cuddling her close, feeling horrible that he’d hurt Kate’s feelings and scared his daughter in the bargain. Why hadn’t he kept his thoughts to himself? He’d spoken out of frustration for the plight of the Amakers, wanting to find someone to blame for their hardships, but he’d managed to trample Kate’s feelings in the process.
She studied her gripped hands for a moment and then raised her chin. “I’ll say good night.” Her voice was muted, as if she struggled to force the words out. “See you in the morning, Liesl.”
And she was gone. Her footsteps sounded on the stairs, and his heart jerked to Christmas, two years ago, but he shoved the memory aside. That was in the past. Kate wasn’t Gaelle. History wouldn’t repeat itself.
“Daddy? Are you mad at Miss Kate?”
“No, Poppet. I’m not mad at Miss Kate.” He was mad at himself. Brushing a kiss across her hair, he hugged her tight.
“Is Miss Kate mad at you?”
Probably. And she had every right to be. He’d blamed a dead man, her husband, someone who couldn’t defend himself. Someone she undoubtedly had loved as much as he loved his dead wife. He should’ve kept his thoughts to himself. Still, perhaps it was for the best, putting some distance between them. He’d felt much too comfortable in her presence, to the point that on the trip he had found himself missing her.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about. Sometimes we say things we don’t mean to and hurt someone’s feelings. It will be better in the morning.” He hoped. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
“With a bedtime story? I missed the bedtime stories when you were gone.”
“Sure, Poppet. We’ll have a bedtime story.” And then he would return to his work
shop and start the project he’d been thinking about for almost a month, only now he wondered how it would be received.
CHAPTER TEN
Kate opened her bedroom door and nearly collided with Oscar, the one person she didn’t want to see this morning. Her outburst the previous evening had cost her sleep last night and made her cringe now.
“Good morning, Kate.” He looked as if he hadn’t slept too well, either. Was he going to apologize? Should she make the first overture?
From an outsider’s perspective, it might have seemed as if Johann had been foolhardy in his plans, but she knew the truth. If he hadn’t died, his dreams would be coming to fruition. Even now, if they could only find a way to keep the farm, some of his efforts were maturing. Ten Brown Swiss cows were in calf with purebred Brown Swiss offspring that would be worth a fair bit when they arrived. Johann would’ve been more than able to pay off the mortgage on the herd and the farm, and they would’ve had the cheese money to pay for their expenses for the coming year.
But Oscar couldn’t know any of that. And she’d snapped at him like a cornered shrew last night. She would definitely need to apologize.
Before she could, he said, “I don’t want you on the stairs by yourself from now on. Wait until I can accompany you. It’s too risky. You might fall.” He took her elbow and led her to the top of the stairs. “It’s narrow, so let me go down first, and keep your hand on my shoulder.”
“Really, Oscar, I’m not an invalid. I can walk down a flight of stairs without help.” Here she’d been ready to apologize, and he was bossing her around and treating her like a soap bubble about to burst. He didn’t have to remind her she was clumsy and fat. She’d awakened this morning with swollen hands and ankles, and had to let out the waistband on the borrowed dress yet again, which made his criticism sting all the more.
“I’m not taking the risk while you’re here.” He went down two stairs, turned back and picked up her hand and put it on his shoulder.
Heat seeped through his shirt, and the muscles moved under her hand as he turned away. But he didn’t release her hand, clamping it with his own to keep her from disobeying him. Slowly, with deliberate steps, he went down the stairs, and she had little choice but to follow. When they reached the bottom, he let go of her hand, but he stayed close, head bent.
“I want you to promise me you won’t use the stairs unless I’m with you.”
“But, Oscar, that’s ridiculous.”
“Promise me. I ask very little of you. You can do this one thing for me.”
Her breath snagged in her throat as she looked into his eyes, so intense, so close. He was right. He didn’t ask much of her.
“Fine. I think you’re being ridiculous, but I’ll humor you.”
“Thank you.” His tone was dry, but he stepped back. “Oh, and I don’t want you going outside by yourself, either. The temperature warmed up for a while last night, and it rained on top of the snow, then froze again. It’s too dangerous.”
She could see the wisdom in what he said, and she had no real desire to go outside, but she was out of sorts, from their spat last night, from her lack of sleep and from the grinding burden of the decisions that needed to be made regarding the Amakers’ future. She swept past him…at least as sweeping as a woman in her condition could be, and went to the stove to stir up the fire for breakfast.
Liesl called from upstairs. “Daddy, I’m ready for my shoes.”
Moments later Oscar brought her down on his arm, dressed and ready for the day, except for her hair. She wore one of the dresses Kate had sewn for her, pretty yellow fabric with some smocking that Inge had done across the front. She looked so sweet and fresh Kate wanted to hug her, but as she came close, the little girl’s brow puckered, and she stuck her finger into the corner of her mouth, looking at Kate from under her lashes.
Her wariness made Kate feel terrible. This had to be about her sharp words with Oscar last night. “Good morning, Liesl. Would you like me to fix your hair for you?” She spoke gently, smiling. “You look nice this morning. The fabric you chose is perfect for that dress.”
Liesl smoothed her skirt, eyes still troubled.
“Sweetling, I am very sorry for what happened last night. I spoke too sharply, and that wasn’t kind.” Chagrin prickled her skin, and she avoided Oscar’s eyes, focusing on Liesl. “I am sorry for upsetting you. I am not angry with your daddy, and I’m certainly not angry with you.”
This time her gaze did flick to Oscar, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. Had their squabble upset him, too?
Liesl nodded, studying her. She must’ve been reassured, because she squirmed to get down and brought her hairbrush and the leather ties to Kate.
“Hop up on your chair. Would you like to try something a bit different today?” She took the brush, grateful to have something else to focus on. She drew the brush through the silky brown strands, parting it down the middle.
“Different how?”
“Well, I thought I might fix your hair like I used to wear mine when I was a little girl in school.”
“I’m going to go to school someday, Mrs. Tipford says. What happens at school?” Liesl wrinkled her nose. “Is it like Sunday school?”
“Sort of like Sunday school. I’m glad you liked going to Sunday school, singing and learning Bible stories.” She’d talked of little else each of the three times she’d gone in the last month. Kate divided Liesl’s hair and fashioned a smooth braid behind each ear. “School is a wonderful place. You learn your letters and numbers and how to read and write and cipher. And you learn about history and geography and literature. You’ll make lots of friends, children your age.” Something that was sorely lacking in Liesl’s life at the moment. “And there’s recess where you play games and run outside. And there are lots of books, and a globe, and chalkboards.”
“That’s a few years from now.” Oscar filled the coffeepot. “She’s too young for all that.”
“I’m learning my letters already, Daddy. Miss Kate is teaching me. In the flour.”
“In the flour?” His brows came down. “She’s teaching you letters already?”
Kate finished tying the second braid and removed two hairpins from her own hair, tightening and moving others to compensate. Then she crossed Liesl’s braids over the top of her head and pinned them. “There you go, sweetling. What do you think?”
Liesl felt the braids, her eyes going wide. “Like a grown-up lady,” she whispered.
“Well, not exactly, but close. I always wore my hair that way. It kept the little boys from dipping the ends of my braids in the inkwell.” She smiled at the memory. That seemed a long time ago.
“What’s this about you teaching Liesl her letters? She’s too young for that.” Oscar folded his arms across his chest. “She’s only four.”
“Liesl, honey, run upstairs and put your hairbrush away. But be quiet. I think Grossmutter and Grossvater are still sleeping.” Kate handed the brush to the little girl and waited for her to climb the stairs. “Oscar, she’s not too little to learn her letters and numbers. She’s very bright, and you’ve read so much to her, she’s catching on very quickly. Learning now can only help her later. I learned to read before my fifth birthday. Lots of children do.”
“What’s this about flour? Teaching her with flour? Or do you mean flower, like the plant?” He drew his hand down his beard, brows bunched.
She shrugged. “My family was not well off, and paper was dear, as were slate pencils. My mother used to dust the table with flour when she kneaded bread, and when she was done, she taught me to trace my letters and numbers in the flour left over. Easy and not expensive. Liesl loves it, and she’s doing really well.”
He shook his head. “I’m not ready to think about her going to school or learning to read.”
“Ready or not, it’s going
to happen. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. I never dreamed you wouldn’t approve.” It seemed ever since he’d gotten home from his trip, she’d put one foot wrong after another.
Spinning a chair around, he straddled it, parking his chin on his wrists. “It’s not that I don’t approve. It just surprised me. Seems like only yesterday she was a bald little mite in a bassinet, and now she’s outgrowing her dresses and thinking about how her hair looks and learning to read.”
“I think that’s a common feeling among fathers. That their little girls grow up too quickly.” Kate stoked the fire and opened the breadbox to remove the leftover Zopf. It would make excellent egg-battered toast. “My mother used to say that when a father looks at his newborn son, he sees all the things they will do together as men—the hunting, fishing, building and the like. But when he looks at his newborn daughter, he can only see his little girl who should remain a little girl forever.”
Liesl clattered down the stairs, and Kate winced at the noise. At the bottom of the steps, Liesl stopped, hunching her shoulders and scrunching her face. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
Kate glanced at the clock. Past seven-thirty. That was a fairly good lie-in for Martin and Inge. It shouldn’t matter too much.
Oscar stood, adjusting his suspenders on his broad shoulders. “I should get down to the barn. Then I’m spending the day in the workshop.”
“Breakfast will be ready when you come back.” Kate paused as she set the skillet on the stovetop. How many times had she said that to Johann as he headed out for morning chores?
Liesl scooted her chair over to the calendar as he shrugged into his coat. “Look, Daddy. It’s here.”
“What’s here, Poppet?” He wrapped his muffler around his neck and dug into his pocket for his gloves.
“It’s the Christmas month.” She pointed to all the red Xs on the November calendar and tore off the page. “Miss Kate, does that mean we get to go visiting tonight?”
