by Karen Kirst
And didn’t he have reason to know it?
“What is it that you’re praying for now?” Though he had an idea.
“It’s a secret. For me and Jesus.”
“Is it about a baby?” He couldn’t keep the sternness out of his voice. “We’ve been over that. You might get a doll for Christmas, but you’re not getting a real, live baby.”
She blinked, and her eyes looked suspiciously bright for a moment, but she shook her head. “It’s something else.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes. It had been a long day, and if tonight was any indication, it was going to be a long month, especially if everyone in his house insisted on attending every Advent party. Tomorrow it was the Zanks’ place, and the night after the Slocums’. Though he should be relieved that Liesl had apparently abandoned the notion of getting a real baby for Christmas, now she had something else on her wish list, and she wasn’t sharing.
Still, there were three and a half weeks until Christmas. She’d probably let him know before then what it was.
“All right, Poppet. You say your prayers and get some sleep. There’s lots to do tomorrow.”
He stood and took the lamp, leaving it on the hall table with the wick turned down low. He left her bedroom door open halfway. When he came to bed, he’d blow out the flame.
When he got to the kitchen, Inge was hard at work, mixing bowl in her arm, stirring something with a wooden spoon. Martin sat at the table with Kate, several papers spread in front of them. Oscar recognized the letter from Martin’s brother, Victor.
“What if we sell the yearlings? They aren’t purebreds, so we’ll only get the beef price for them, but it would be something,” Kate said. She drew one of the pages toward her, pencil in hand. “With the rest of the cheese money and the sale of the yearling calves, we could make the mortgage payment.”
Martin nodded. “We could, but we would then have no money to build a house to live in. And no money for food and supplies for the next year until we could sell cheese again.” He dragged his hands down his face. “The money we have is like a handkerchief. And we keep trying to stretch it into a tablecloth. We can make the mortgage payment, but only if we spend every last cent, including money from selling the yearling calves, when it is not the time to be selling. We will not get top dollar for them. Not until spring when the buyer can turn them out on grass instead of having to feed them through the winter.”
Kate leaned back, tossing her pencil onto the pages. “And building the house wouldn’t be enough. We would have to furnish it with something. Beds, blankets, food, clothing. If we paid off the mortgage, we wouldn’t have enough for even the barest necessities, not for an entire year. And with the baby coming, we’ll need even more things. And I can’t get a job, not and care for the baby and make cheese all summer.”
“I think we have no choice. We will have to take my brother’s offer. We can sell the farm, pay off the entire mortgage and have some left over. Perhaps enough that we can take our own rooms somewhere in the city and not have to live in the factory.”
“Are there any other options?” Kate asked. “Is there any way we can keep our farm?”
Martin pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and rubbed his eyes.
It seemed there was little else the Amakers could do than sell out. Even if they didn’t have the mortgage to pay, replacing the house and possessions would’ve been hard. As it stood, they’d be at least able to get away with a bit of a nest egg once they sold the farm.
“Will you sell to Siddons?” Oscar didn’t fancy him for a neighbor. Not that Mr. Siddons would live on the farm. He’d install tenant farmers, sharecroppers.
“If we had more time, we could have an auction. For the land and the livestock.” Martin butted the papers together into a neat stack. “But with things the way they are, we will need to take the best offer we can get. Mr. Siddons has indicated his interest, but I have not settled on my price.”
Inge opened the oven door and pulled out a hot pan, while Oscar leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets. The smell of baked chocolate filled the kitchen, cozy and homey.
Oscar sniffed. “What’s that you’re making, Mrs. Amaker? It smells wonderful. In fact, my house has smelled like fresh bread and cookies every day since you walked through the door. There’s always something tasty in the cupboards now.”
Inge set the mixing bowls in the washtub. “It is Brünsli. Christmas brownies. For tomorrow’s Advent window visit. It is the Zanks’ turn, and we must bring a gift.”
Oscar had never been to Bill Zank’s house. He wasn’t even sure where the feed store owner lived. The prospect of another trip to town, another evening of fellowship with friends…he inhaled again the fragrant, chocolaty aroma coming from the oven.
“If we’re going out again tomorrow night, I had best get into the workshop and finish up the wedding chest. We can deliver it when we go to town.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “Liesl wanted me to remind you that the area under the sideboard is not to be disturbed.” He pointed to the walnut cupboard that sat up on legs, leaving perhaps eighteen inches of space underneath. A cardboard box lay on its side, the open top facing the kitchen.
Nothing else. Just the box.
“I don’t know what all goes on in that little head of hers, but whatever this is, it’s important to her.”
Kate pushed herself up from the table. “I’ve never known such an imaginative child. She can make worlds out of any old thing you give her to play with. It must be all those bedtime stories you read to her.” She pressed her hand to her lower back and rounded the table. “Would you mind if I brought my sewing into the workshop? Martin and Inge are going to turn in soon, but I would like to get on with hemming diapers. I hate to sit alone at night. If I wouldn’t be disturbing you?”
She would, but not in the way she might think.
He brought a chair from the parlor into the workshop and set it near the little stove. She settled in with a pile of white flannel squares, her thread and thimble.
Cozy. As if she belonged there.
Oscar forced himself to get to work.
The wedding chest had turned out better than he’d hoped. The inlay work was as smooth as glass…and so it should be for all the hours he’d spent sanding and fitting the pieces together. Oscar opened the lid, inhaling the tangy, woodsy smell of the cedar lining.
“All this needs is the hardware. I already set the hinges, but not lock.” He ran his hand over the satiny walnut.
“It’s beautiful. I’m sure the bride will treasure it.” She had a wistful echo in her voice, and he was reminded that if the Amakers had family heirlooms, they had been lost in the fire.
He found a pencil and his ruler and marked the exact spot the hole for the lock should be cut. Then he measured again, his father’s voice in his ear. “Measure twice and cut once.”
Kate laughed, and he realized he’d said the words aloud. Not looking up from her sewing, she said, “My mother said that, too, but she was talking about fabric. She took in sewing to make a little extra money, and she knew if she got a pattern piece wrong, it would come out of her profits.”
“That’s where you learned your dressmaking skills?” He selected a chisel, testing the edge for sharpness. He would need to create a mortise to drop the locking mechanism into, and he needed to be careful not to gouge too big a hole.
“Yes.” She drew her thread quickly through the flannel, whipping the edges of the cloth into a tight hem. “Liesl was asking me if she could learn to sew. I put her off until I could check with you. I didn’t ask before I taught her some of her letters, and I didn’t want to overstep again.”
“Isn’t she too young to sew? Only four?” He didn’t like the idea of her with a needle in her little hands.
“I wasn’t much older than that, but I
thought we might start with some lacing cards and yarn. They’re easy enough to make, just punching holes in cardboard and winding a piece of thread around the end of a length of yarn to make it tight. She can practice all kinds of stitches with the yarn.” Kate bit her thread to break it and reached for her spool and another square of flannel. “I thought it could be a Christmas gift from me to her. We don’t have much we can give, but we want to give Liesl something.”
“You don’t have to. She isn’t expecting anything from you.” He tapped the chisel with his wooden carving mallet, taking small chips of walnut at a time.
“I know. But we’d like to do something. And Grossvater and Grossmutter wanted me to let you know they would be paying for the baking supplies Grossmutter was using to make the Advent treats she’s taking to the celebrations.”
He put his tools down and looked at her. “There really is no need for that.”
She lowered her work to her lap. “Please, Oscar, let them. They know they are costing you more than you would normally spend at the mercantile, especially with all the baking supplies. If they can’t contribute, they won’t feel right going to the parties.”
Test-fitting the lock, he noticed it sticking in one of the corners. With a rounded rasp, he filed off a bit of wood at a time, trying the lock again. He could appreciate the Amakers wanting to contribute, to pull their weight, so to speak, but…he realized, they’d been doing that and more.
“Things sure have changed around here in the last month. I didn’t realize all the tasks I wasn’t getting done, or that I wasn’t getting done well, until you all showed up.” He dropped the lock into the mortise where it fit snugly. Now to affix the top plate. “I haven’t cooked a meal, washed a dish or swept a floor. Every piece of harness and tack has been soaped and oiled, every loose board and hinge is tight, and my horses have never been groomed so often. I’d say you all were contributing more than your share. Not to mention what you’ve done with Liesl.”
He glanced up and saw she was pressing her hands against her stomach, breathing quickly, eyes closed. His heart leaped into a gallop, and he dropped his screwdriver with a clatter. “What is it? Is it your time?” Panic clawed up his windpipe, making it hard to breathe.
She shook her head, eyes still closed, lips tight. After a moment she eased, taking a deep breath. “No, I just took a bad kick to the ribs. I had no idea a baby could be so strong.” She rubbed her right side. “He’s been doing that a lot lately, and I’m getting sore. I guess he’s protesting the lack of room.”
Oscar bent to pick up the screwdriver, but he didn’t feel any relief. She was going to have a baby. He’d known it in his head, but he’d put off really thinking about it, especially after she’d gotten the all clear from Dr. Horlock. It had been easy to push the reality aside, think about it sort of obliquely, because there was so much to do in the here and now, so much else to think about, the birth was something that would happen “later.”
But later was rushing upon them. The baby would come, and it would come while she was staying in his house.
“Maybe I should send for the doctor in the morning, have him come check you out, just to make sure everything is all right?”
She picked up her sewing again, as if the most terrifying and life-altering thing that could befall a person wasn’t going to happen to her within the month. “That would be a waste of his time.”
He tightened the screws on the faceplate and felt as if he were tightening the screws on his heart.
* * *
Kate looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall, grateful that the sixteenth of December had finally arrived. They wouldn’t have to go out tonight. After more than two weeks of evening visits to the community, she was more than ready to stay home.
Not that tonight would be any more restful. This evening, the Amakers and Rabbs would host the Advent celebration.
The house smelled like a bakery. Grossmutter had been hard at work since sunup, making Chrabeli, the delicate little claw-shaped cookies that were Kate’s favorites. She had plates of Brünsli, Zimtsterne and Zopf covering the table, each under a tea towel. And as the time for visitors drew near, Kinderpunsch would simmer on the stove, filling the house with fruity sweetness and tantalizing spices.
Liesl came through from the workshop where Oscar was putting the finishing touches on a rocking chair to be picked up by the Slocums tonight, and tripped across the room, a block of wood in her hands. She knelt by the sideboard and set it in among the others.
It had taken Kate three days to realize what Liesl was playing with the box and scraps. Every day, she added a new block of wood, chatting to herself, arranging the pieces to suit the picture in her mind.
It was Liesl’s version of the Advent Nativity she had heard Grossmutter talk so much about. The box was the crèche, the wood blocks the sheep, shepherds, donkeys and camels. Sixteen pieces as of today, nine more to come.
“Which one is that?” Kate asked.
“It’s a wise man.” The child set the block up on end. She angled it, moved it a couple of inches, then pushed it back. “There. How many wise men were there?”
“Our Nativity had three wise men, though Scripture doesn’t really say how many there were. I suppose tradition says there were three because there were three gifts that they brought to Jesus.” Kate closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the beautiful carving, the satiny finish of the family pieces. Her favorite wise man had been made of walnut. He wore a crown with tiny carved jewels, and the curls of his beard had looked so real.
“Sweetling, would you like to move your set up on top of the sideboard instead of underneath? We can clear off the top to make room.”
“Yes.” Liesl hopped up. “And then we need to decorate our window, right? Daddy said he would bring in the branches, and Grossmutter said we could make some paper chains and popcorn strings, too.”
Kate began moving items off the sideboard to make room. “How about we put a tablecloth on here, though, to keep from scratching the wood?” She opened the top drawer and removed a pale green cloth. “You can pretend this is the grass.”
“Don’t we need the white one, to pretend it’s snow?” Liesl clutched several “sheep” blocks.
“Depends. Jesus wasn’t born in Minnesota. He was born in Israel. It’s mostly warm there, and there was grass growing for all the sheep to eat. But it’s up to you. We can use white if you want.”
The child considered this for a moment, her lips pushing out as she thought. “Green. Then there will be grass for my sheep, too.”
“Kate, can you come here for a minute?” Oscar called.
She pushed a chair up to the sideboard for Liesl to stand on to arrange her pieces and hurried into the workshop. “Yes?”
“Tell me what you think.” He dusted the shiny back of the rocking chair with a bit of old flannel. “Think Mrs. Slocum will like it?”
“Oh, Oscar, it’s beautiful.” She touched the satiny wood, setting the chair into motion. “What kind of wood is this?”
“It’s quarter-sawn red oak. See these marks?” He pointed to the headpiece. “Those are called sun rays or sunbursts. You only see those in quarter-sawn wood.” Turning the chair slightly, he waved his hand. “Give it a try.”
Kate lowered herself into the chair, bracing on the arms to ease herself down. The chair embraced her, and she settled in, pushing with her toes to rock gently. “It’s perfect.” The arms curved at just the right angle, the back fit snugly into the bend of her spine. “Mrs. Slocum is going to love it. She won’t want to get up and tend to any chores.”
His smile warmed her. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d asked her to come in and inspect every new piece of furniture, as if he couldn’t wait to share his creations with her. “I hope so. It took a long time to steam and bend all the wood for this one.”
“What do
you have left to finish before Christmas?” She rocked, feeling the ache in her back a little less than when she was on her feet.
“Just a jewelry box and a checkerboard.” He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “And I was thinking of making a dollhouse for Liesl. Would you be able to make some little curtains and rugs and things if I did? She’s so fascinated playing with those wood blocks, pretending they’re a Nativity scene, I thought she might like a dollhouse for Christmas.”
Kate laced her fingers under her chin. “Oh, she would love that. And I would love to help you with it.”
“I drew up some plans last night.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “I thought I’d make it sort of like our house now. Well, half of it. With a kitchen and parlor downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. Simple, you know?”
She opened the paper, her mind already envisioning the little house and the pieces she could make for it. “She’ll be thrilled. She’s such a little homemaker already. And so imaginative.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s going to be pretty hard for her when you all leave. I thought this might fill some of the hours.”
Who was going to fill the hours for Kate? She was going to miss the little girl dreadfully. Just then the baby gave a thump, thump, thump. Smiling, Kate rubbed the place. I suppose you will fill up my time, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss sweet little Liesl.
“Since the chair has your stamp of approval, I guess it’s time for me to head out and get some pine for that Advent window.”
“Can Liesl and I come with you? We’d love to help.” She found she wanted to pack in as much time with them both as possible.
