by Karen Kirst
“What are you making?” Oscar closed the workshop door. He’d been spending a lot of time in there the past week, though he’d said he was finished with all the Christmas orders. That dollhouse must be taking him longer than he thought. He’d told Liesl that the room was off-limits for the time being, and he hooked the latch up high as insurance against her forgetting.
“Mairlanderli. Lemon cookies. Grossmutter made up this batch of dough right before she left, but she didn’t have time to roll them out and bake them. She said she would bring back more candied lemon peel from town. These are Grossvater’s favorite cookies, so she makes a lot of them this time of year. If we still had all our cookie cutters, we would have diamonds and crescents and trees. But this glass works well.” It still surprised Kate the extent of their losses in the fire. Things she had always taken for granted, things she didn’t miss until she needed them, kept cropping up in her memory.
“I expect Martin and Inge will be late? Where is the Advent celebration tonight?”
“It’s at the Hales’. Mrs. Hale will be singing a couple of selections from the Messiah. She has such a beautiful soprano. I’m sure it will be lovely.”
“And tomorrow is the Star Singing.” Liesl jumped off the chair, her braids bouncing. “I have my star all ready. Grossmutter helped me make it.” She ran to the living room and brought back a paper star the size of a dinner plate. “Grossvater bent this wire into a star shape, and Grossmutter helped me cut out a paper star and paste it on the wire.” She held the star over her head by the wire handle. “Stille Nacht! Heil’ge Nacht! Alles schläft, einsam wacht.”
Kate grinned. Grossmutter had been hard at work here. “You won’t sing ‘Silent Night’ in German tomorrow, will you?”
“No. Grossmutter says we’ll sing it in American.”
Kate’s glance connected with Oscar’s, and she almost laughed aloud. Oscar’s moustache twitched, and he coughed.
“But I like the way it sounds in German. That’s the way Grossmutter sings it when she’s cooking or cleaning.” Liesl waved her paper star. “When I grow up, I want to be like Grossmutter.”
Kate cut out the last cookie. “So do I.” She placed the cookies on the sheet. “Oscar, would you put these in the oven for me?”
He slid the tray into the hot oven, and Kate checked the clock on the wall. “Those will only take a few minutes. My trouble with baking is that I get distracted and forget something’s in the oven. Liesl, you’ll have to remind me. It’s easier if I’m making Tirggel. Those bake up in about ninety seconds, so there’s no time to forget.”
“Will you make Tirggel this year? And what is Tirggel?” Oscar folded the kitchen towel he’d used to protect his hand from getting burned.
Kate shook her head. “No. We don’t have the wooden mold you need. Tirggel is a honey and flour cookie. The dough is pressed very thin with a wooden mold that has a picture carved into it, sometimes with a Christmas theme, but sometimes, like ours, it’s a landscape scene. Grossmutter’s was a carving of her childhood home, the town and the mountains and, very tiny in the distance, the chalet where she grew up.”
“You lost it in the fire?” Oscar asked.
“Yes. Grossmutter brought it out every year to make Tirggel. She would make them early in the month, because according to her, the harder they get, the better they taste. But I liked them warm out of the oven, too.” Though she’d only been an Amaker for not quite two years, she felt as if she had adopted their family history. After all, her baby would be an Amaker and their history would be his or hers. Her father had passed away when she was fourteen, and her mother six months later, so the Amakers were the only family she had left.
The sound of horses and a wagon turning into the drive caught their attention. Rolf rose from the rug in front of the fireplace with a low woof. Oscar went to the window and drew aside the curtain. “Looks like Martin and Inge got home sooner than we thought. I’ll go help with the horses.” He shrugged into his big, black coat and grabbed his hat.
Liesl put her star back in the parlor as Kate pushed herself up from her chair and began dipping water into the coffeepot. They would be cold from their trip. Grossmutter came inside, tugging her kerchief from her hair and shaking snowflakes from her sleeves.
“Ah.” She sniffed. “You are baking the Mairlanderli. They are done, I think.”
“Oh, mercy.” Kate grabbed the kitchen towel and opened the oven door. “See, Liesl. I told you I would forget.” She pulled the baking sheet from the oven and set it on a trivet on the table. The cookies were nicely browned around the edges, and as she slipped a knife under the edge and peeked, she blew out a sigh. They weren’t burned. “How was the party tonight? You’re home earlier than I expected.”
Grossmutter hung her coat on the hook by the door and came to stand by the stove. “It was very nice, but we decided that with the snow, we should not stay long. Mrs. Hale loved the cake you helped me make, Liesl.”
Liesl beamed.
Kate reached for the coffeepot once more, but Grossmutter took it from her hands. “You want to be sitting down when Oscar comes back.”
Shaking her head at the conspiracy to coddle her, she resumed her seat at the table. “I feel restless. It was nice at first, loafing, sleeping during the day, keeping my feet up and letting you all wait on me, but all day I’ve had the urge to work.” She leaned back, trying to draw a good, deep breath, something that was more and more difficult to do these days. “I find myself wanting to scrub a floor or wash the windows. Which is silly, because I don’t even like washing windows.”
Grossmutter eyed her closely. “You are nesting. That is often a sign that the baby will come soon. Are you having any pains?”
“No, not labor pains, though I am uncomfortable and ready for this baby to get here.” She piled the cookie-making paraphernalia into the mixing bowl. “It could be any time now, but I don’t think I’m due for another week or so.”
“Babies come when babies decide to come, and it doesn’t matter if they are early or late, the last week is always the hardest on the mama.” Grossmutter set the coffeepot on the stove to heat and dipped water from the warming reservoir into the dishpan. “Oh, Liesl, I brought something from town for you. Mrs. Hale gave every family a gift.” She went to her coat and removed a little bundle from the pocket. “I thought we could hang it in the doorway between the kitchen and the parlor.”
“What is it?” Liesl stood on tiptoe as Grossmutter bent down and unwrapped the package.
“It is called mistletoe. It was used in ancient times as a medicine, but now it is hung up at Christmastime, and when two people meet under the mistletoe, it is customary for them to share a kiss.” She held up the bundle of green leaves with white berries. The sprig had been tied with a red ribbon.
The kitchen door opened, and Martin walked in, followed by Oscar. Oscar’s eyes went to Kate, found her sitting in a chair and seemed satisfied.
“Look, Daddy. It’s mistletoes.” Liesl pointed. “Grossmutter says it makes people kiss.”
Martin grinned and took the mistletoe, holding it over Inge’s white hair and giving her a peck on the lips. “It looks like it works well enough.” He handed it to Liesl. “Try it out.”
She climbed onto a chair and held it up to Oscar, but it was still a foot or so from being over his head, so he lifted her up. She gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, just over his beard.
Kate sighed, and when Oscar looked at her, she put on a smile. At the moment, she felt a bit lonely, the odd person out. The baby thumped low on her side, and she smiled. Soon, she’d have someone of her very own again.
Oscar hung the mistletoe in the doorway for Inge, going so far as to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and a wink when she stood beneath it. “Hard to believe Christmas is only two days away. If I’m going to get everything done that I need to, I’d better get back into the w
orkshop. Martin, I could use some help if you would.” He turned to Liesl. “Remember, no going into the shop.”
“I know.” She pursed her lips. “But I need more wood for my ’Ativity set.” Checking the calendar on the wall where she had faithfully marked each passing day with a red X, she said, “Two more.”
“Which pieces do you still need?” Kate asked. She had been amazed at Liesl’s memory. No matter how many pieces she added, she knew each one, and they never changed.
“Joseph for tomorrow, and on Christmas, Baby Jesus.”
“I’ll bring you some new wood blocks. For now, why don’t you help with the dishes, and maybe Miss Kate will read you a story or two before bedtime.”
He took the coffee cup Grossmutter offered him, and Martin carried his cup and a plate of cookies into the workshop.
Kate looked at the calendar. Two days until Christmas, then how many until the baby came? And how many more days after that before they were on their way to Cincinnati, leaving everything they loved behind?
* * *
“I’m glad of your help.” Oscar sipped the hot coffee. “I should’ve asked for it sooner. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to finish a project I took on, and just tonight, I learned of something else I’d like to make before Christmas morning.”
Martin inclined his head to the cloth draping Liesl’s gift, his brows lifted. At Oscar’s nod, he raised one corner of the sheet. The dollhouse was complete and had been for more than a week. The furnishings had taken the longest, a little stove, table and chairs, a bed and dresser, a bench. Everything was simple and tailored for a four-year-old. As she grew older he could make more intricate furnishings.
Oscar picked up a little pillow from the small bed. “Kate made the mattress and little blankets, and the curtains and cushions and such.”
“Liesl is going to love it.” Martin examined one of the rugs, crocheted by Kate into a multicolored oval.
“I hope so. Kate made a little family for it, too.” Oscar pointed to the kitchen where a man, a woman and a little girl sat. They were made of cloth and filled with sawdust, with yarn hair and ink eyes and mouths. The little girl wore a dress made out of a scrap of material left over from one of Liesl’s new dresses. “I think Liesl will be happy with it.”
Martin chuckled. “This reminds me of something my mother used to say back in Switzerland. We had a small cabin and there were many Amaker children. Sometimes my father would bemoan the fact that we didn’t have a bigger house. But my mother always said, ‘A small house can hold as much happiness as a big one.’ I never forgot that.” He scratched his beard, his eyes far away. “I told Johann that when he wanted to build the bigger house. Always moving, always dreaming, always planning something new. That was Johann.” Martin seemed to come back from wherever his mind had wandered. “What is it that I can help you with?”
Oscar showed him the project he’d been working on for the past month and more, hoping Martin’s reception of the idea would indicate what Kate might think of it on Christmas morning.
The older man nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose and bending to study the detail. “It is beautiful. Unique, but also like the original.”
“Do you think she’ll like it? It isn’t very practical.” With all the things the Amakers needed, spending so much time on something that wasn’t necessary might seem foolish.
“Sometimes we need things that are beautiful to look at and serve no other purpose than the pleasure they give us. They make us feel better.” Martin ran his hand over a satiny curve of wood.
His pronouncement quelled some of Oscar’s doubts and increased his anticipation of Christmas morning. “There’s something else that I need your help with, too. Kate told me that your wife made a kind of cookie that needs a wooden mold. The one she lost in the fire was a picture of her home in the Old Country? I thought maybe I could try my hand at carving one, if you would sketch out what the mold looks like and the picture.”
Martin looked away, his back going stiff.
Oscar closed his eyes, tipping his head back. “I’m sorry, Martin. We don’t have to make one.” It was obviously upsetting to the old man.
Turning back, Martin shook his head, digging out his handkerchief and dabbing at his eyes. “No, son, it is just that you are so thoughtful. Inge has felt the loss of that Tirggel mold. It belonged to her mother. That you would make her a new one…” He blew his nose. “I am a sentimental old man these days. Anything will make me cry. I will help you. And Inge will love your gift.”
“I thought you might like to be the one to give it to her.” Oscar reached into the rack and chose a nice, straight-grained piece of white hard maple. It wouldn’t be the easiest to carve, but hard maple didn’t have a lot of oils or resins in it that might make food taste odd. And it would last a very long time.
“Perhaps it can be a gift from both of us.” Martin picked up a pencil, and Oscar pointed him to the small stack of blank paper he kept for designing projects.
While Martin sketched and Oscar picked out the gouges and mallets he would need, Martin talked. “When I was in town, I received three letters. The postmaster brought them to me at Mrs. Hale’s.” He frowned. “I am not much of an artist. I will need to tell you what I have drawn, because I don’t think you will know from how it looks.”
“We can figure it out.”
“I have not spoken of the letters to Inge or Kate. I wanted to talk with you about them and get your advice. The first letter was from Mr. Siddons. He has named a price for my farm and livestock.” Martin drew a jagged line of what Oscar supposed were mountains on the paper, not looking up. “It was a very fair offer. More than I would have expected. Enough to pay off the debt on the farm, and enough to get us to Cincinnati with enough left over to perhaps rent a place of our own.”
Oscar’s heart grew heavy at the sadness in his voice. And the thought of losing his neighbor just as he was getting to know him. He regretted the years he’d spent keeping everyone away. Why was it that he only realized what he had when it was too late to do much about it?
“The second letter was from my brother. It seems he has needed to hire a janitor to replace the one that left. He cannot wait until we get there to have the factory clean, so that job is no longer available. But he has said I can fill the role of night watchman, patrolling the factory grounds from dusk to dawn. The pay is less, and the apartment will not be available now. But it is a job. With the money from the farm, we would manage to get by.” He drew little boxes, which Oscar took to be the village, including one smaller one on the mountainside. In the front, he drew in a lake. “He has said that Inge can make a little money on the side by doing some cooking and cleaning at his house. He has a cook that lives in his house, but he must give her one day off a week, so Inge could cook for him on that day.”
Oscar couldn’t imagine Martin, bundled to the eyes, carrying a lantern, walking around a factory, testing locks. What kind of brother did he have that would be so cavalier about his family in need? And to have his elderly sister-in-law doing household chores for him when he was obviously in a position to hire staff? Oscar clamped down on what he wanted to say. “How big should this mold be?”
Martin indicated with his hand a rectangle about four inches by six. Oscar marked the lines with a pencil and straight edge and began sawing.
“The third letter…” Martin paused and drew the envelopes out of his pocket, sorting one out and opening it. “It was from a mercantile in Saint Paul where we sold some of our cheeses. The owner says his customers like the cheese very much, and that he would like to purchase all we can produce next year. He wishes to become the sole distributor of Amaker cheeses in the state. He is offering a very good price, one that, if I was able to keep the farm, I would agree to without hesitation. Johann dreamed of something like this someday. I wish he
was alive to see it.”
Oscar nodded. “I know how you feel. I had that same thought about tomorrow’s Star Singing in town. Liesl is so excited, and I wish Gaelle could be here to enjoy it all.” He waited for the familiar crush of regret and grief. But while the regret was there, the grief wasn’t as sweeping and all-consuming as it had been.
“Time is strange. Time heals, there is no doubt about that.” Martin laid his pencil down. “And yet, time is cruel, too. If so much time had not passed in my life, if I was a younger man, the bank would extend my loan and I could keep my farm. But I am not a young man, and I never will be again. I worry about leaving Inge and Kate alone with no one to provide for them.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “I know that God loves my family even more than I do, and that He is not surprised by all that has happened to us. I know He will care for us…but it is hard not to worry.”
“Or hard not to want to blame God. Knowing that God is all-powerful, knowing that He could prevent bad things from happening to us… Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile that with the truth that God loves us and that His plans for us are for our good.” Oscar picked up the sketch and began transferring the lines onto the wood. “I’ve been trying to teach Liesl that just because we want something or because we pray very hard for something, it doesn’t mean that we will get it. Sometimes God has to say no.”
“God does say ‘no’ sometimes. And He says ‘yes’ sometimes. But for me, the most difficult one is when He says ‘wait.’ I am not good at waiting.” Martin gave a rueful smile. “I think the hardest part about waiting for God to answer my prayers is because I don’t know if I am waiting for a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ or for more ‘wait.’”
“What are you going to do about your letters?”
With a shrug, Martin folded the pages and returned them to his pocket. “I am going to pray. One thing I do know. My faith grows best when it is tested.”
“Martin, would you wait to answer them? Until after Christmas? Those things can wait for a few days, can’t they? Put them aside for now and, as you say, pray about them. Enjoy the season here, and after Christmas, you can decide what is best to do.” The burden the Amakers had been carrying for so long…surely they could lay it down for a few days. “Maybe not even tell Inge and Kate about them until you have to? That way they can enjoy Christmas without more worry, too?”
