by Erica Vetsch
He shut her door and entered his own room. The weak moon had long set, and faint starlight was the only illumination, but there wasn’t much to worry about knocking into in here. A single bed, washstand, and armoire, all made by him, were the only furnishings.
He eased his suspenders off his shoulders, loosening his shirt where it had been pinned by his braces. Letting the suspenders fall against his thighs, he poured water into his washbasin. Washing quickly, Oscar got ready for bed.
Once in bed, he couldn’t sleep. Stacking his hands under his head, he looked up at the ceiling and thought about the Amakers. He’d known Johann for years. They’d gone to school together, loaned one another horses and equipment when in need, been members of the same congregation, but they weren’t close friends. Oscar wasn’t particularly social, and since his wife’s death, he’d stayed to himself even more.
Still, it bothered him that Johann’s widow was crying down the hall, alone and grieving.
And pregnant.
Every time he thought about that, it was like a fist to his gut. He didn’t want to be responsible, even in a small way, for an expectant mother. Too much could go wrong. He’d have to find another place for the Amakers soon. Maybe even tomorrow. By tomorrow afternoon, he was sure a collection would’ve been taken up, and maybe they could rent a place in town until a new house could be built.
He rolled to his side and willed his eyes to shut and his mind to stop thinking about the woman across the hall.
It seemed he’d only been asleep for a minute when something patted his face. He squinted through his lashes, pretending to still be asleep as the light of a new dawn peeped through the window. Liesl stood beside his bed, her hair tousled, cheeks still flushed from sleep.
“Daddy, the sun is waking up.”
She said the same thing every morning. She’d always been an early riser, and he’d been forced to teach her that she couldn’t get out of her bed until the sun was up. So she waited, every morning, and at the first sign of dawn, she was in here urging him to get up and start his day. He lay still, eyes closed, playing the game.
“Da-a-a-dddyyy!” She patted his whiskers again. “You’re playing ‘possum.’”
He grinned, reached for her with a growl and grabbed her, wrapping a knitted afghan around her. “Brr, it’s too chilly to be standing there in your nightdress. Is it time to milk the chickens?” He rubbed his beard against her neck, careful not to scratch too hard.
She giggled and squirmed, kneeing him in the belly as she twisted in his grasp. “Silly Daddy, you don’t milk chickens.” Liesl took his face between her little hands, something she did when she wanted him to pay particular attention to her. “Daddy, I had a dream last night.”
Which was nothing new. Liesl was an imaginative child who had dreams, both night and daydreams, that were vivid in color and detail.
“What did you dream this time, punkin? That you were a princess?”
Her brown eyes grew round. “How did you know?”
He gave her a squeeze, tucking her head under his chin for a moment. “It might be because we read the princess story again before bedtime last night.”
Liesl giggled and shoved herself upright. Her hair wisped around her face, and she smeared it back with both hands. “I did dream I was a princess, and you were there, and we had a picnic, and I had a pink dress, and there were beautiful white horses and sunshine and cake.”
“So, it’s a pink dress now, is it? Yesterday it was blue. I thought blue was your favorite color.” He sat up and wrapped the blanket around her again, scooting up to rest his back against the headboard.
“I like all the colors, but today I like pink best.” She fingered the stitches edging the blanket. “Pink, with blue flowers? For Christmas?”
He laughed. “Pink with blue flowers. Got it.” Somewhere along the way, she’d latched on to the idea of presents for Christmas. He must’ve mentioned it to her once. That’s all it took with Liesl. Say something that interested her, and she grabbed it with both hands and ran with it. But he’d told her she could only expect one thing for Christmas, so she must be very sure what she decided upon. As a result, the wish changed every day.
He chucked her under the chin. “There’s something I need to tell you. We have visitors.”
Her little brows arched. “Where?” She looked around the room as if expecting them to pop out from behind the door.
Laughing, he dropped a kiss on her head. “They’re sleeping down the hall. Last night their house caught on fire, and they didn’t have anywhere else to sleep, so they came home with us.”
“A fire in a house?” Worry clouded her brown eyes. “What house?”
Pressing his forehead to hers, he wished he didn’t have to expose her to such harsh realities as house fires. “They are the Amakers, who live next door.”
“With the brown cows?” she asked.
“Yes, with the brown cows.” The Amaker pastures bordered Oscar’s land, and from the top of the hill, he and Liesl could look down and see the herd of Brown Swiss as they wended their way to the milking barn each evening. Speaking of which, he needed to get up and wake his guests as Kate had asked last night. There were chores to do, cows to milk and decisions to be made.
“Scamper back to your bed, Poppet, and I’ll be in to help you get dressed in a minute.”
“I can do it myself, Daddy.” She gave him a look that reminded him of her mother. Bossy, but sweet about it.
“I know, but I like to help.” And she still needed him, even if she didn’t think so, if only to fasten her dress up the back and button her little high-topped shoes.
He dressed quickly, ran his fingers through his unruly hair and went to Liesl’s room. She sat in the middle of her bed, leafing through one of the storybooks they read each night. She stopped on the picture of the princess. “See, pink.”
“I see.” He gathered her clothing. It was time to do laundry...again. It seemed he barely had the last washing put away before it was time to get out the tubs again. He would be the first to admit he wasn’t much of a housekeeper. The farm took so much of his time, the housework usually got a lick and a promise until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Well, it’s going to be a green dress today because that’s what’s clean.”
“I can do it, Daddy.” Liesl was growing more independent by the day, always wanting to be a bigger girl than she was. Oscar would do anything to hold back time, because he had firsthand knowledge of how fleeting it was, but that was something you couldn’t explain to a four-year-old.
He handed her the items one by one and she put them on. When it was time for her stockings, he got them started around her toes and heel and she pulled them up. Then the dress. She turned and showed him her back to do up the buttons. He laid her long, straight hair over her shoulder and fitted buttons to holes. Then her pinafore over the top, with a bow in the back.
“Time to do hair.” Oscar reached for her hairbrush on the bedside table.
“I don’t like doing hair. It tugs.” Liesl handed him the hairbrush, a scowl on her face.
“Can I help?”
The question had both Oscar and Liesl turning to the door.
Kate Amaker, dressed and ready for the day.
Oscar sucked in a breath, his heart knocking against his ribs, staring at her rounded middle that the voluminous coat had covered last night. He was no judge, but was she ready to deliver soon?
Liesl looked their guest over, and Oscar waited. The little girl could be quite definite in her likes and dislikes.
Evidently, Mrs. Amaker fell into the “likes” category, for Liesl smiled and handed her the hairbrush.
“What happened to your tummy?” She pointed at Mrs. Amaker’s middle.
A flush crept up her cheeks, and Oscar cleared his throat. “Liesl, that’s not polit
e.”
His daughter looked up at him with puzzled brown eyes. “Why, Daddy?”
“It’s all right.” Mrs. Amaker smiled, her face kind. “I’m going to have a baby. He’s growing in my tummy right now, and when the time is right, he’ll be born.”
Liesl’s face lit up. “A baby. In your tummy? When will the time be right? Today?”
Mrs. Amaker laughed. “No, sweetling. Not for a couple of months. Around Christmas.”
Oscar’s gut clenched. He’d lost his wife and second child around Christmas.
Liesl had a different reaction. She clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes. “That’s it, Daddy. That’s what I wish for this Christmas. A baby. Can I have a baby for Christmas?”
Chapter Three
Kate took the hairbrush from Oscar and sat on the side of the bed, not meeting his eyes. The poor man looked stricken. She should change the subject. “You have lovely hair.” She smiled at Liesl. “I love to brush and braid hair. Is it all right if I help you?”
Liesl, eyes round, nodded and turned, backing up until she rested against Kate’s knees. Oscar stood, jamming his hands into his pants’ pockets, looming, a frown on his bearded face. Kate wondered if she’d overstepped by offering to brush and braid Liesl’s hair, but it was too late to recall her offer.
“Are you a princess?” Liesl asked, breathless.
Kate laughed. “No, darlin’, but bless you for asking.” She wanted to hug the little sprite. “You’re Liesl, right? My name is Kate.”
Drawing the brush through Liesl’s hair, Kate remembered her mama doing the same thing for her. “Do you have ribbons for your braids, or do you use thread? My mama used to use thread for every day, and ribbons on Sunday for church.” Liesl’s hair fell almost to her waist, thick and glossy brown. It would be easy to braid.
“Daddy uses these.” She held up two strips of soft leather. “He calls it whang leather. He made it from a deer.”
Leather to tie up a little girl’s hair. Still, it probably worked well. She parted Liesl’s hair and quickly fashioned two braids, wrapping the leather around the ends and tying it. “There you go. You look sweet.”
“Thank you. Daddy says I am pretty like my mama, but it’s how I act that is important.”
“Your daddy is right.” She caught “Daddy’s” eye and smiled.
“Can we go eat breakfast now?” Liesl hopped on her toes.
“Absolutely. Right after we turn down your covers to air the bed. Shall we do it together?” Kate pushed herself up awkwardly, and before she got upright, Oscar was there at her elbow, helping her. His hand was warm on her arm, and she was grateful for his assistance. “Thank you. It’s getting harder to maneuver these days.”
He stepped back, his eyes wary, and she laughed. “Don’t look so worried. I told Liesl the truth. I have a couple of months yet. Until Christmas.”
He didn’t laugh with her.
* * *
Breakfast was an ordeal. Kate had little appetite in the mornings these days, and especially not for oatmeal so sticky it clung to the roof of her mouth and tasted of damp newspaper. Grossmutter would have made a coffee cake for breakfast today, using her sourdough starter from the crock that always sat on the shelf behind the stove. Now the shelf, the crock and the stove were gone.
Their host and the maker of the meal shoveled the gooey mass into his mouth as if stoking a furnace. His daughter sat on a high chair, her little boots kicking a rung as she poked and stirred her oatmeal, taking little bites and watching the strangers at her table. Uncertain, but clearly curious.
As for Oscar Rabb... Someone had put a burr on his shirttail. He must have morning moods, because from the moment she’d offered to help with his daughter’s hair, he’d been wary and gruff, as if having them there put him out considerably and he couldn’t wait for them to leave.
Inge and Martin ate quietly, still looking exhausted and facing a difficult day. How could Kate help them through it when she felt as if she was barely hanging on herself? And yet, she must. Johann would expect it, and they needed her. And she loved them as if they were her own grandparents. Having lost her family soon after her wedding, Johann’s grandparents were all the family she had left now.
“I am finished.” She put her spoon down, her bowl still more than half full. “We had better get going soon. The cows will be waiting at the barn door.”
“Oscar,” Grossvater said. “I would like to leave Inge here, if that is all right? Kate and I can tend the cows and the cheeses. Perhaps Inge can help with the little one.” He nodded toward Liesl.
The little girl’s eyes grew rounder, and she looked to her father. “Actually...” He let his spoon clatter into his empty bowl. “I was thinking that you should all stay here. I can milk your cows for you today.”
Kate blinked. He’d been grouchy all morning, and now he was volunteering to milk ten cows all by himself? Cows that weren’t even his? He’d been reluctant from the first to have them in his house, and now he was offering to give them even more help?
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Rabb.” Kate scooted her chair back and went to stand behind her family, putting her hands on their shoulders. “But we don’t want to be any more of a burden to you than we already have been. We must see to our own chores, and we must decide where we are to go.”
Inge stood and began clearing the table. “Nonsense, Martin. We will all go. We need to see what can be salvaged of the house, if anything, and there is plenty of work to do this morning. I am old, but I am not useless.” She gave her husband a determined look, and he shook his head, smiling and patting her hand.
“I only wanted to spare you the unpleasantness for a while. If you are sure, we will all go.”
Liesl hopped off her chair and scampered toward the door, lifting a contraption of wood and straps and toting it to her father. “Me, too, Daddy?”
He took the odd item and rubbed her head with his large hand. “You, too, Poppet, but we’ll take the wagon over and use this later.”
“Can she ride in our wagon with us?” Liesl pointed to Kate.
Kate stopped buttoning her coat—still smelling of smoke—in surprise. “Me?”
Liesl nodded. “I like you. You’re pretty. Are you sure you aren’t a princess? You look like the princess in my book.” She turned to Grossmutter. “Did you know she has a baby in her tummy? Daddy’s going to get me a baby for Christmas. He said I should ask for the one thing that I want most, and he would get it for me.”
Grossmutter smiled. “Do you mean a doll baby?”
Liesl shook her head, her braids sliding on her shoulders. “No, I have a doll baby. I want a real baby. Like Miss Kate’s.” She crossed her arms, a determined look in her little brown eyes. “I like Miss Kate.”
Kate laughed, smoothing her unruly hair and glancing down at her masculine coat, ordinary farm dress and burgeoning middle. “Bless you, child. I like you, too.” Her father had his hands full with this one. Just how was he going to dissuade her from her wish of a real baby for Christmas?
Oscar’s frown took some of the pleasure out of the little girl’s compliment. “Mrs. Amaker probably wants to ride with her family. Don’t pester her.”
Which Kate took to mean he didn’t want her riding with him and his daughter. Liesl’s mouth set in a stubborn line, but she didn’t argue with her father.
So they arrived at the Amaker farm in two wagons. Kate took one look at the burned-out shell of a house, the half-toppled chimney and the wisps of smoke still drifting from the piles of ashes, and covered her mouth with trembling fingers.
It definitely did not look better in the morning light.
Grossvater pulled the wagon to a stop and sat with the reins loose in his hands, resting his forearms on his thighs. “We must thank God that we were not at home when this happened,
that none of us was lost in this fire.”
He wrapped the lines around the brake handle and climbed down, reaching up to help Grossmutter. Kate began to descend the other side of the wagon, but before she could step on the high wheel, Oscar was there, reaching up for her and lifting her gently to the ground. He looked sober and wary.
“You should be careful. You wouldn’t want to fall.” He stepped back. Liesl waited in his wagon, but the dog had jumped down, already nosing around the edges of the devastation.
“Come, Kate,” Grossvater said, holding out his hand. “We need to pray.”
She rounded the wagon and joined the old couple. She needed to hear Grossvater pray, to lean on the strength of his faith, because hers was feeling mighty small this morning. Tucking her hand into his work-worn, age-spotted clasp, she sucked in a deep breath and bowed her head. A smile touched her lips as Liesl’s hand slipped into hers.
“Our Father, we give You thanks for this day and that we are here to praise You. We thank You that we still have our cows and our barns and our land. Our hearts are heavy, but we are trusting in You. You are sovereign. You are good. You have a plan to bring good out of something we see as a tragedy today. We are weak, and we need Your strength.
“We give You thanks for Oscar Rabb and Liesl, and for their hospitality. We ask that You bless them and help us to be a blessing to them as they have been to us.
“Please give us the peace that is beyond our earthly understanding. Make Your will plain to us. We are trusting You to provide. Dein Wille geschehe.”
Liesl tugged on Kate’s hand and whispered loudly, “What does that mean?”
Kate bent as far as her rounded belly would allow. “It means ‘Your will be done.’ Sort of like ‘Amen.’”
“Oh, amen, then.” She grinned, then sobered. “It’s sad about your house. Are you going to live with us now?”
Oscar made a noise that wasn’t really a word but wasn’t exactly a grunt, either. Kate shook her head. “No, sweetling. We aren’t going to live with you. Your father was kind enough to offer us a place for the night until we could decide what to do.”
