by Erica Vetsch
When it was her turn to stir, she forced herself to say what she had been trying to get out all morning. “I wanted to thank you for taking us in. I know we’re an imposition, and I hope it isn’t for too long, but we are grateful. I don’t know what we would do if you hadn’t opened your home. And you’ve taken us to town and helped with our chores, and now with the cheese. I don’t know how we can repay you.”
He shook his head. “There was no one else, not if you wanted to stay together.”
And if there had been anyone else, he would not have volunteered?
“And besides, it’s only for a week or two, at the most.”
He must be looking forward to the time when they would be out of his house. Until then, they would be as helpful as they could without intruding more than they had to.
Oscar swirled the long spoon in the mixture. “When Liesl woke me up this morning, she was still talking about your Advent Nativity set. I’m sorry about that. She doesn’t realize how painful it must be now that you’ve lost it to the fire.”
“It’s all right. She’s too young to understand. Anyway, it doesn’t hurt to talk about it as much as it hurts to keep it all inside.” Kate removed wooden cheese hoops from the shelves and began lining them with clean cheesecloth. “I learned that right after Johann died. I missed him so much it was hard to even talk about him, but if I didn’t, it was like he never existed at all. It’s the remembering, recalling the memories and good times, that hurts and heals.”
Oscar frowned, staring into the kettle as he stirred.
“And I didn’t want to make others feel as if they couldn’t speak of him for fear of hurting me. Grossmutter and Grossvater needed to be able to talk about their grandson—the man they had raised from infancy—without worrying about me bursting into tears all the time.” She paused, wondering if he might need to hear of her experience as much as she needed to voice it. “I have learned enough about myself these past few months to know that talking about things makes me feel better. I need to let my emotions breathe instead of stuffing them down. Even if they are emotions I don’t want to have, like grief, loss, frustration, fear. The problem is finding someone to talk to about them. I don’t want to burden Grossmutter and Grossvater with more than they should carry. So I talk to myself.”
She chuckled. “Working alone in the cheese house this summer gave me lots of time to work things out, to pray, to remember. When things got overwhelming, I tried to remember the good times and focus on those. So when Liesl asked about the Nativity set, the pain of loss came up, but it’s overlaid with good memories of family and Christmas.”
He stirred, looking into the kettle and not at her. “I guess that’s where we’re different. Talking about Gaelle is...” He shook his head. “At first there was no one to talk to her about, Liesl being so little at the time, and then later...” He shrugged.
Her heart went out to him, newly widowed with a toddler and a farm.
“Was there no one to help you?”
“Gaelle’s parents wanted me to let them raise Liesl, but I couldn’t do that. They had been none too happy when their daughter married a farmer like me. Didn’t even come to the wedding. No way would I let them raise my child. They don’t have much contact with Liesl now.”
So he hadn’t shirked his responsibility and shipped Liesl off, even though it would’ve been easier on him. He was a man who did what was right, even if it was hard.
Like opening his house to strangers even though he didn’t want to.
The sound of a wagon approaching broke the moment, and she glanced out the window. Grossvater, Grossmutter and Liesl. It was too early for lunch. Why were they here? A tickle of unease feathered across her skin.
Liesl peeked around the corner, spotted her father and bounded into the room. “Daddy, guess what? We made butter, and Grossmutter said I am a good helper. Did you know if you shake cream it makes butter? That’s what we did. Grossmutter put some in a jar for me, and I shook it and rolled it and it took forever, but then there was butter. And a man came to the door, and he had a telegram for Grossvater, and then we came here.”
Oscar lifted her into his arms, brushing a kiss on her head.
Kate checked the curds. They could wait for a bit.
Grossvater followed Grossmutter inside the cheese house, his face sober, no light in his eyes. He pressed his hand to his chest, coughing. Kate hurried over to him, guiding him to the bench along the wall. Grossmutter handed him a dipper of water. When the cough had passed and he had emptied the dipper, he leaned back, a red flush to his cheeks.
“George Frankel brought this out from town since he was headed this way.” Grossvater removed the yellow paper from his pocket. “My brother says we should come live with him...”
Kate’s heart fell. The most she had hoped for was a loan to tide them over, perhaps enough to build a small house. A loan they would repay, of course, no matter how long it took. But to have to leave the farm...
Grossvater continued. “But he will not have room for us or a job for me until after the new year. He says to come in January.”
Kate took the paper, quickly reading the block letters. A reprieve of sorts, but it didn’t solve the immediate problem. What could they do in the meantime? It was seven weeks until Christmas, eight until the new year. In that time, her baby would come. Where would she be when that happened?
“My brother will send more information in a letter, but I know he will say we should sell the farm and livestock and come back to Ohio.”
Kate shook her head. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. The farm was their home, her baby’s inheritance from the father he would never know. There had to be another way. She handed the yellow page back to Grossvater.
Grossmutter went to the kettle and peered in. “This is ready. We should remove the curds.” She took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves. Her lined face was grim, but true to her nature, she would work first and worry later.
Kate handed her a strainer and took one herself, dipping into the kettle. They couldn’t afford to waste time or their limited resources, but while her hands did the familiar tasks, her mind raced, circled, knotted and spun.
Grossvater put the telegram into his pocket and with slow movements began setting the lined cheese molds onto the slanted, grooved drain board. He had to stop to cough into his handkerchief, his face reddening and eyes watering.
Oscar took over for him moving the molds. “Why don’t you sit for a while? I can do this.”
“What are you doing?” Liesl asked. “Can I help?” She nudged Kate’s elbow.
“We’re packing each of the molds, then folding the cheesecloth over and putting a lid on top.” Kate scooped a handful of curds into a wooden mold and showed the little girl how to cover it. “You can put lids on all of these.” The lid fit inside the mold perfectly. “When we get them all full, we’ll press them to squeeze all the liquid out.”
They worked quickly, and soon, sixteen cheeses were ready to press. “Liesl, can you bring me a brick?” Kate pointed to the stack in the corner. “Careful, and don’t drop it on your toe.”
Liesl hefted one of the blocks with an “Oomph.” She wrapped her arms around it and staggered over.
Grossmutter made sure the tub on the floor at the end of the draining table was in place to catch the whey.
“What do you do with that?” Liesl pointed to the thin, yellow liquid dripping into the tub.
“We mix it with bran and feed it to the calves, Schätzchen.” Grossmutter dipped a metal bucket into the kettle, pouring the whey into one of the cans the milk had been stored in. “And Mr. Frankel comes to get some for his pigs when we have a lot.”
“You have a lot now.” Liesl nodded to emphasize her pronouncement. “What does Schätzchen mean again?”
“It means ‘sweetheart.’” Grossmutter filled th
e can to the top and pressed the lid on tight.
“Schätzchen. I like it.” Liesl beamed.
Grossvater stood, bracing against the wall for a moment to steady himself. “Why don’t you and I go feed the calves? They are a bit old for bran and whey now, but they will still like it.” He took a bucketful from Grossmutter. “It will be a treat for them.”
Kate marked the time on her clipboard for when they had started pressing the cheese, her mind not really focusing on the numbers.
Grossmutter sighed, wiping the now empty kettle with a vinegar-soaked cloth. “What are we going to do? Martin does not wish to work for his brother, or to lose the farm. If it was not winter coming, I would say we should move in here, to the Käsehaus. We could sleep on straw pallets on the floor, like I did when we went to the high pastures as a girl. But with the baby coming and now Martin has a cough...”
Oscar leaned on the workbench, arms crossed. “You can’t stay here. There isn’t even glass in the windows.”
Kate brushed her hair back from her temples with both hands, squeezing, wanting to force the desperation out of her head. They couldn’t winter in the cheese house.
“We’ll have to go to town. Mrs. Tipford has found places for us to stay,” Kate said.
“But not together.” Grossmutter shook her head. “We would have to be separated. And the baby will come, and we will not be there.”
Kate’s throat grew thick at the despair in Grossmutter’s voice. She wasn’t ungrateful for the people who had offered to house them in town, but it made her anxious to think about staying somewhere without her family, of having her baby in a stranger’s house.
She looked at Oscar, but he said nothing.
Though disappointment weighed on her shoulders, she couldn’t be angry with him. After all, he wasn’t obligated to solve the Amakers’ problems.
Chapter Six
Oscar went outside the cheese house, his boots hitting the dirt hard. God, I’ve done my part. I let them stay overnight, and I extended the stay until they heard from back east. They have other places to go. Pastor and Mrs. Tipford have it set up. They would be better off in town, wouldn’t they?
Because he couldn’t have them at his house any longer. Methodically he laid out his reasons, making his argument plain.
Liesl would grow too attached to them. When they left after Christmas, she would be heartbroken.
Having them in the house brought back too many memories. Memories of the good times with Gaelle when they had been a complete family, and there had been love and laughter. It hurt too much having them there, reminding him, digging up the old feelings he worked very hard to keep buried.
And then there was Kate. His biggest concern was that if Kate stayed in his house for another two months, she would be here when her baby arrived.
He couldn’t let that happen. What if something went wrong, like it had for Gaelle? He couldn’t be responsible for another expectant mother. Berne didn’t even have a doctor. If something went awry, they would have to send down to Mantorville for a physician.
The accusation had rung in his ears when Gaelle’s parents had descended on the farm for the funeral. It was his fault for taking their daughter away from the civilized city where she’d been brought up. Away from adequate medical care. By the time the midwife had sent for a doctor, and he traveled through the snow to the farm, it had been too late.
Oscar didn’t want to ever live through something like that again, not even just providing a place for his neighbors to stay temporarily. No. They had to go. And sooner rather than later.
Liesl came bounding up the path, Rolf on her heels, barking happily. Her cheeks and nose were pink, and her mittens dangled from the string threaded through the sleeves of her plaid coat. “Daddy, Grossvater says tomorrow is Sunday, and they are going to church. Can we go to church? He says there is singing, and talking about Jesus.”
She collided with his legs, looking up, expectant eagerness making her eyes sparkle. A fist closed around his windpipe. He hadn’t been to church for almost two years, since Gaelle died. At first, he’d wrestled with God, blaming the Almighty for taking his wife and child. And he hadn’t wanted to face the community, the people who wanted to help, to ask questions, to see how he was feeling. How did they think he was feeling? So he just hadn’t gone. And after a while, it had become easier and easier to stay home.
Pastor and Mrs. Tipford hadn’t been satisfied to let him go, though. They visited regularly, always encouraged him to come back, and he had known he would need to, someday. Gaelle would want Liesl brought up in the church.
But he wasn’t ready. He taught Liesl about God at home.
“Please, Daddy?” She used her forearm to brush wisps of hair off her face. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
And by “always,” she meant for the last few minutes, since she’d never voiced a desire to go to church before. Oscar touched her cheek.
“We’d love it if you would come.”
He turned to see Kate, standing in the cold sunshine, one hand on her middle, the other braced against her back. Her blue eyes caught the light, standing out like forget-me-nots under shade trees.
“See, Daddy, Kate wants us to come, too.”
And the next morning, against his better judgment, Oscar found himself following the Amakers into church, Liesl perched on his arm. Her eyes were wide as she tried to see everything at once.
“What’s that?” Her loud whisper caught the attention of those around them, and several people looked to where she pointed. The eastern sunshine poured through the stained-glass windows, making blocks of color on the pews.
“What’s that?” Liesl pointed to a woman’s broad-brimmed hat trimmed with ribbons and flowers. Oscar gently lowered her finger.
“What’s that?” His daughter stared at the organ in the corner.
“Shh.” He put his lips against her ear. “You must be quiet now. We’ll talk later.”
Oscar wondered if she would burst with all she wanted to say, all the questions she wanted to ask. She’d never had to be quiet before. The Amakers entered a pew on the left-hand side about halfway back, Martin, followed by Inge, and then Kate.
He would’ve preferred to sit in the back, and when he was almost ready to slide into the last pew, Kate turned around, her eyes meeting his, her brows raised slightly. Sighing, he took Liesl up to sit with them.
The smiles on both Kate’s and Liesl’s faces were his reward. His daughter sat on the pew beside Kate, her feet swinging slightly, eagerly looking at the people, the windows, the wall sconces, the pulpit, the high ceiling and pendant lamps.
When Pastor Tipford looked over his congregation, he stopped on Oscar, his smile broadening. Oscar’s collar grew tighter.
Mr. Hale rose with his hymnbook, and Mrs. Hale began playing on the organ. She might be nosy and pushy for a shopkeeper, but she could certainly play the organ. Music filled the room. The congregation rose, and Liesl stood on the pew between Oscar and Kate. As they held the corners of the hymnal, she reached up and grasped it, too. Kate smiled softly, catching Oscar’s eye.
He looked away. This was wrong. It should be Gaelle here with him, singing the hymns in her soft soprano, Liesl between them, and he should be holding their second daughter, who would be almost two now, on his arm. He shouldn’t be feeling so...connected to this woman who stood beside him now.
After the song, Pastor Tipford returned to the pulpit and opened his Bible. “I’d like to continue our series in the book of Philippians. Our text today is from chapter four, verse seven.” His voice filled the room. “‘And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.’” Looking up, his gaze moved from one face to the next.
Peace. When was the last time Oscar had felt peace?
Liesl fi
dgeted, and Kate reached into a bag she had brought from his home and pulled out a couple of Liesl’s books. He hadn’t even thought about how to keep his daughter occupied in church. The four-year-old beamed up at Kate and chose the book about the princess, her favorite.
Kate put her arm around the little girl and drew her up close to her side, tracing little circles on her arm in a repetitive motion that soon had Liesl’s eyelids drooping. Oscar reached out for the book before it hit the floor. Kate eased Liesl down until her head rested on Kate’s limited lap. She stroked the child’s hair gently, and her eyes had a soft light in them that stirred something in Oscar.
How much his daughter had missed through not having a mother. Oscar did his best, but there was a gentleness, a softness, that only a woman could provide.
He forced himself to look away, to try to concentrate on the preacher’s sermon, but he kept glancing back at Kate and his daughter.
The service couldn’t be over soon enough for him. He needed to get outside. No doubt his distraction was because he wasn’t accustomed to being around so many people all at once. But when they were dismissed, he found himself hemmed in. He’d taken the still-sleeping Liesl into his arms, and her head rested on his shoulder. Kate helped him work her hands into the sleeves of her plaid coat before donning her own.
“Oscar Rabb, so nice to see you here today.” Mrs. Tipford reached through the crowd to grab his elbow before he could escape. “Now, don’t go sneaking off. You look like you want to dash out that door, but there are so many people who have missed you and want to say hello.” Neighbors and townsfolk swarmed around, talking, laughing, asking about each other’s week.
The Amakers were surrounded, too. There was Mrs. Baker, the one who had said she had a room for Kate. And the Freidmans, from north of town, who had offered to take in Martin and Inge. The folks who would take the Amakers off his hands until they could make arrangements to travel back east.
