by Karen Kirst
“No, you don’t. Inge and Martin and little Liesl have things well in hand. Anyway, if I let you out of that bed too soon, Oscar might have me tarred and feathered.” He coiled his stethoscope. “I think you’ll be just fine, but a little extra rest for a woman so close to her confinement is never a bad thing.”
“I wish you’d talk to Oscar. He refuses to let me do much of anything now, but if you tell him I have to stay in bed until tomorrow, he’ll probably insist I not get up at all until the baby’s born.”
Dr. Horlock chuckled as he went to the washstand and began to scrub his hands. “Expectant fathers can be like that. It seems like the bigger and tougher they are, the more they worry and fret.”
Heat charged into Kate’s cheeks. “Oscar isn’t my husband.”
The doctor stopped, his hands dripping water onto the hardwood floor. “Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry. I forgot.” He reached for the towel on the back of the washstand. “It just seemed so familiar to me, the wife calm and steady and the husband pacing a groove into the floor. I’ll have a word with him before I leave.”
“Inge won’t let you out of the house without some coffee and a pastry or two.” Kate tried to cover her embarrassment with hospitality.
“I’m counting on that.” He snapped the case shut. “Send for me if anything troubles you.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
He opened the door, and Oscar brushed past him into the room as if he’d been hovering by the door. “What’s the verdict?”
“She’s fine, but I want her to rest. In bed until tomorrow, then in a nice comfy chair or settee for a good part of each day.” Dr. Horlock spoke as he went down the stairs, his voice becoming fainter.
Oscar stood at the foot of the bed, looking down on her, and she smoothed her hair again. “Oh, mercy, I didn’t even take my hair down before I fell asleep. I must look like a back-brushed cat.” She pulled the pins out, letting her messy hair fall over her shoulders. It would be a rat’s nest if she didn’t braid it.
Oscar’s hands tightened on the footboard. “You look fine. Rest like the doctor says, and I’ll be up to check on you later. And don’t worry. I’ll head into town and tell Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Tipford we’re not hosting tonight.”
Her hands stilled in her hair. “No, please. Inge and Liesl would be so sad. They’ve been planning this for weeks. I promise to stay up here, but please, let them have their party.”
He appeared to be considering it, but he wasn’t looking at her. He kept his gaze on the flowered wallpaper over her head.
“Ask Dr. Horlock if it’s all right.” She gripped the edge of the blanket. It meant so much to her to be able to give Inge at least a little joy this Christmas. She didn’t want to be the cause of her sweet Grossmutter missing out on her celebration. And Liesl was practically bursting from her skin anticipating the arrival of guests. “I don’t want anyone to be disappointed.”
“You promise you’ll stay in bed?”
“Yes.” Though she would be the one disappointed to miss the guests and the fun. She had been looking forward to tonight, too. Not just the company, but seeing the joy on Liesl’s face, the happiness shining from Inge’s eyes.
He sighed, and his lips pressed together, as if he had come to a decision.
“Fine. I’m going to go talk to Dr. Horlock, and you’re going to go to sleep.” He scrubbed the back of his neck with his palm. “You scared about ten years off my life today.”
“I’m sorry. I will be more careful. The doctor says I’m fine, though. The baby is fine, too. Dr. Horlock said he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, and he’s sleeping right now—most of the time he’s moving around a lot, so that’s good.” She rubbed her hand against her side where even now an elbow or knee thumped. “Ah, he’s awake.” She tried a small smile, but Oscar wasn’t in a smiling mood yet.
“I’ll go see the doc. You rest.”
Kate napped off and on all afternoon, interrupted periodically by an excited Liesl climbing the stairs to tell her about the latest decoration or treat preparation.
“Miss Kate, I made a paper chain, and Grossvater made a row of paper stars. He folded the paper, and cut and cut and cut, and then, when he opened the paper, it was stars, holding hands.” She clasped her own hands under her chin, marveling. “And we hung the tree branches we got today in the window.”
Inge entered the room with a bowl of popped corn and the sewing kit. “I thought you two could string the popcorn up here together. Something nice and quiet. I hate that you are being left out of the fun.”
So Liesl climbed up beside Kate, and Inge put the bowl of popcorn into her lap. Kate took the sewing box and threaded a needle with a length of white cotton. “You can pick out just the right pieces for me, and I’ll poke them onto the thread.”
When they had a string long enough, Kate coiled it into the bowl. “There, you can take that downstairs. It will look lovely.”
“Miss Kate,” Liesl said, sliding off the bed and reaching back for the bowl. “What do you want for Christmas?”
Pausing from replacing her sewing needle in its case, Kate looked up. “Me?” She’d been too busy to think about what she might want for Christmas. If she had her heart’s desire, it would be to stay here in Minnesota, to be able to keep her farm. “I think what I would love best for Christmas is to see everyone in this house happy. For us to make some lovely memories to carry with us forever.” She wound her thread and tucked it into the sewing basket. “What about you? Have you decided on just what you would like?” If she was still set on getting a baby, would the dollhouse Oscar was building be a disappointment? Or the apron Inge had sewn? Or the pink dress Kate had been working on in secret?
The little girl hugged the bowl against her middle, her hands barely reaching around the circumference. “Daddy says I can’t have a baby. He says that’s not how families work.” She sighed, shaking her head. “He says just because we pray for something, doesn’t mean we will get it. Sometimes Jesus has to say no.”
Tears pricked Kate’s eyes. Thus far, Jesus had said no to her wish to stay in Minnesota. It was so hard to trust that He knew best, that He only had what was best for her in mind. But she knew He was faithful. His Word promised that His love never changed, and He had never broken a promise.
She wished that what she knew and what she felt were reconciled more often. Though reminding herself of the truth often went a long way toward aligning her feelings.
Oscar carried her supper tray up to her that evening.
Kate scooched herself up against the pillows, thoroughly tired of being in bed. The oftener Liesl had bounced up the stairs to tell her of some new development for the party, the harder it had become to stay in her room. Everyone would be having such a lovely time, and she’d be all alone. Inside, she wanted to fuss about Oscar’s and Dr. Horlock’s restrictions. She felt fine, and she should be able to be downstairs with friends and family celebrating the season.
But when party time rolled around, she wasn’t forgotten. Sounds of wagons and horses, laughter and singing came from the farmyard and porch, and the front door opened again and again. Somewhere Rolf barked, greeting each new arrival, and the smells of cinnamon and bread and Kinderpunsch drifted up the staircase.
And then footfalls on the steps. Mrs. Tipford tapped on the doorframe. “Kate, dear?”
“Come in.” Kate smiled, so grateful for company. “Season’s greetings.”
“And to you. What’s this I hear about you falling today?” The tiny woman tugged off her gloves, her cheeks and nose red with cold. She hadn’t even waited to remove her wraps downstairs. “Are you all right?” Her brows nearly met over her nose, and she sat on the bedside, taking one of Kate’s hands in hers, studying Kate’s face.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It wasn’t much of a spill, and I landed in the snow.” Kate shrugged.
“It’s a lot of fuss over nothing. You’d think I’d taken a fall off the henhouse roof the way Oscar reacted. He even went for the doctor. It’s rather embarrassing.”
“Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Tipford put her hand to her chest. “Of course he was concerned. After what happened to Gaelle.” She shook her head, lowering her chin. “Surely he’s told you.”
“Oscar rarely speaks of her. I know she died, and a child, also.”
“It was so sad. She was expecting, and a few weeks before she was due, she fell on the stairs. The fall caused her to go into labor early, and in spite of everything the doctor could do, she lost the baby. And later that night, she passed away, too.” Mrs. Tipford touched her little finger to the corner of her eye to catch a tear. “It was so very sad, and Oscar was beside himself with grief. He blamed himself. He was outside in the barn when she fell, and she couldn’t get up, and Liesl was so young… It was quite a while before he found her.” She sat quietly for a moment, then shook herself, as if scattering the bad thoughts. “It’s no wonder he was concerned for you.”
Kate bit the inside of her bottom lip, her heart aching for Oscar. Here she’d been chafing over what she considered his bossiness, when he’d only been trying to protect her from the same tragedy that had befallen his wife.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Tipford said, too brightly. “Everything looks lovely downstairs, and I don’t know who is more pleased, Inge or Liesl.”
“I’ll get to see it all tomorrow. The doctor said I only have to stay in bed today and tonight. Tomorrow, I can go downstairs, though I suspect I’ll only be allowed to sit in the rocker or rest on the settee.” And she’d do it, too, so as not to cause Oscar more worry. He’d been through enough. Kate considered all the times she’d brushed aside his concerns, or thought she was just humoring him…like going into Mantorville to be checked out by the doctor, or promising not to use the stairs without his assistance, or not walking outside alone…and all the while, he’d been trying not to relive the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
* * *
Oscar stood on the porch, watching the last sleigh leave the yard. Light spilled from his front parlor window out onto the snow until Martin lowered the sash and drew the drapes. Inge must’ve passed a hundred cookies through the open window to their guests over the last hour.
He had wondered how many of their friends and neighbors would make the trip clear out to the farm, but the townsfolk had surprised him. They’d arrived with lanterns and treats and holiday cheer. The men and children had joined together to make a huge snowman in the yard. The snow sculpture now wore one of his old hats and a scarf, and cast a long shadow in the clear, moonlit night.
Stamping the snow off his boots, he returned inside. Warmth hit him in the face—the warmth of the stove as Inge lifted one of the lids to stir the coals, warmth from the fireplace in the parlor and warmth of…well, almost of family. He’d entertained in his house for the first time in more than two years. Never one to seek out group events, the ease with which the evening had passed surprised him.
Though there was one thing he’d noticed all night.
He missed Kate. Several times he’d mounted the stairs to check on her, only to hear laughter and chatting as various women took turns keeping her company. Oscar hadn’t intruded, but it had reassured him to hear her voice.
When she’d fallen that afternoon, everything had stopped. His mind. His heart. His ability to breathe. He wasn’t even sure what he did or said, he was so frantic to get her to safety, to get the doctor to her.
And though Horlock said she would be fine, Oscar still wasn’t at ease. Until that baby was safely delivered and deemed healthy, and Kate was back on her feet, he wouldn’t be able to relax. Just thinking of everything that could go wrong made his muscles clench and his stomach resemble a ball of knotted twine.
But he’d missed being with her tonight. Over the past few days, every evening after Liesl went to sleep, they’d gone into the workshop to craft the dollhouse. Kate liked to talk while she worked, reminding him of Liesl, who was never quiet for long. But unlike Liesl, who could chatter on without input from him for long stretches, Kate asked him questions and for his opinion.
She was surprisingly well-read and up on state and national politics. And she seemed to remember in great detail everything Liesl had said or done during the day, and to relate it to him so vividly that he felt as if he had been there, too.
Martin sat in a chair before the fire, Liesl on his lap, her head on his shoulder. He was telling her a story. “And we would walk through the middle of town, holding up the stars we had made, singing all the Christmas songs we knew. The march always started at the low end of town and we worked our way up the hillside all the way to the church door. Then everyone went inside for the Christmas Eve service. I remember being so excited I could hardly sit still, because Christmas Day was only one more sleep away.”
“Mrs. Tipford says we are going to have Star Singing this year, and I can make a star and sing and march through town with the other kids.” Liesl’s eyelids drooped.
The old man hugged her. “I look forward to hearing you sing. It will remind me of when I was a boy in Switzerland with all my brothers and sisters.”
“Did you have lots?”
“It seemed like it once, but now there is only my brother Victor.”
“I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” Liesl yawned. “I wish I did. I would be the big sister, and I would have someone to play with every day.”
Oscar barely refrained from wincing as a shaft of regret shot through him. If everything had gone according to his plans, Liesl would have an almost two-year-old sister by this time, and who knew? Maybe another sibling on the way.
“Time for bed, Poppet. You’ve had a big day.” Oscar lifted his daughter into his arms. “Thanks, Martin.”
Martin levered himself up, working a kink out of his back. “She is a treasure. Good night, little one.” He caressed Liesl’s head with his work-worn hand.
Inge wiped the kitchen table with slow strokes. She must be exhausted, too. The house had been cleaned and decorated, food prepared and every guest welcomed eagerly. “Will you want coffee?”
“If I do, I can make it. You should rest.” Oscar paused in the stairway door. “Thank you for making the party so nice tonight. Everyone I spoke to seemed to be enjoying themselves.”
Even him. If anyone had asked him six weeks ago if he would ever host a party at his house, and if he did, would he have a good time, he would’ve answered both those questions with a resounding “no.”
At the top of the stairs, he whispered to Liesl, “Do you want to see if Miss Kate is still awake so you can say good night to her?”
She nodded against his shoulder.
Tapping on Kate’s half-open door, he considered again how things had changed. Where at first he was resentful at the intrusion into his home, defensive and uneasy about having strangers at his table, digging in his cupboards, sleeping under his roof, now it seemed natural.
And he would miss them when they were gone.
“Come in?”
He peeked around the door. She sat up against the pillows, a scrap of cloth in her hands, her needle poking in and out. When she looked up, the blue of her eyes was like a blow to the chest. Would he ever get used to that? Her hair lay in a thick braid over her shoulder, and she had the red shawl wrapped around herself.
When she spied Liesl, she tucked her sewing away into the basket. “Aw, are you tuckered out, sweetling?”
Liesl leaned away from him, and he set her onto the bed where she crawled up to snuggle against Kate’s side. Kate held her close. “Thank you for helping Grossmutter with the party. I knew I could count on you to take my place. Tomorrow, after you’ve had a nice sleep, you can tell me all about it, all right?”
“Can you come downstairs tomo
rrow?” Liesl yawned again.
Kate glanced up at Oscar. “Yes, but I have to take things easy. The doctor says that would be best for the baby and me. You go get your rest now, and have sweet dreams.” She didn’t seem as reluctant to follow the doctor’s orders as she had been earlier in the day. Did that mean something had happened as a result of her fall? Or did she finally realize what could have happened? The look she gave him was soft and kind without a trace of the frustration she’d shown before.
Oscar bent to pick Liesl up once more. “You should get your rest now, too. Is there anything you need before bedtime?”
“No, I’m working on a few little sewing projects.” She inclined her head toward Liesl, which he took to mean she was working on the dollhouse project.
“I’ll say good night, then. Leave your door open a bit, and I’ll do the same down the hall. That way I’ll hear you if you need anything in the night.” He’d toyed with the idea of putting an old cowbell on the table beside her bed so she could ring it if she went into labor at night, but he had hesitated, not knowing how she would take that. But now he promised to bring a bell up from the barn tomorrow.
He wished the baby was safely here. He wouldn’t sleep well until it was over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’m sure sitting at the kitchen table won’t tax my strength any more than sitting in the rocker in the parlor.” Kate pressed a drinking glass top into a sheet of cookie dough, cutting out a perfect circle. Oscar stood in the workshop doorway, frowning at her. “All the interesting things are going on here in the kitchen, and I want to be a part of them.”
Liesl stood on a chair beside the sideboard, playing with her Advent Nativity blocks. The collection had grown to twenty-three pieces now. With only two more days until Christmas, the sideboard was full of wooden pieces. The child continued to amaze Kate with her imagination. Was that because she was an only child, and there was no one else to come up with ideas for what to play?
