A Child's Christmas Wish

by Erica Vetsch

  “Kate, I’m sorry—”

  She held up her hand to stay his apology. “I loved my husband’s enthusiasm, his big dreams and ideas, his fearlessness. He wanted more for his children than he had, and he wasn’t afraid to work hard, to take some risks and to trust that God would honor his efforts. I don’t expect you to understand, someone who hides away from life, afraid he will be hurt again if he lets anyone get too close.” Her blue eyes snapped fire, something he hadn’t seen from her before. “Don’t worry. We’ll soon be out of your house and your life, and you can go back to hiding and playing everything safe.”

  “Daddy?”

  Kate jumped as if she’d forgotten the child was in the room, and she bit her lower lip.

  Liesl edged out from under the table, planer curls tucked behind her ears, and startled questions in her eyes. She looked from him to Kate and back again, seeking reassurance.

  He reached for her, cuddling her close, feeling horrible that he’d hurt Kate’s feelings and scared his daughter in the bargain. Why hadn’t he kept his thoughts to himself? He’d spoken out of frustration for the plight of the Amakers, wanting to find someone to blame for their hardships, but he’d managed to trample Kate’s feelings in the process.

  She studied her gripped hands for a moment and then raised her chin. “I’ll say good night.” Her voice was muted, as if she struggled to force the words out. “See you in the morning, Liesl.”

  And she was gone. Her footsteps sounded on the stairs, and his heart jerked to Christmas, two years ago, but he shoved the memory aside. That was in the past. Kate wasn’t Gaelle. History wouldn’t repeat itself.

  “Daddy? Are you mad at Miss Kate?”

  “No, Poppet. I’m not mad at Miss Kate.” He was mad at himself. Brushing a kiss across her hair, he hugged her tight.

  “Is Miss Kate mad at you?”

  Probably. And she had every right to be. He’d blamed a dead man, her husband, someone who couldn’t defend himself. Someone she undoubtedly had loved as much as he loved his dead wife. He should’ve kept his thoughts to himself. Still, perhaps it was for the best, putting some distance between them. He’d felt much too comfortable in her presence, to the point that on the trip he had found himself missing her.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Sometimes we say things we don’t mean to and hurt someone’s feelings. It will be better in the morning.” He hoped. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

  “With a bedtime story? I missed the bedtime stories when you were gone.”

  “Sure, Poppet. We’ll have a bedtime story.” And then he would return to his workshop and start the project he’d been thinking about for almost a month, only now he wondered how it would be received.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate opened her bedroom door and nearly collided with Oscar, the one person she didn’t want to see this morning. Her outburst the previous evening had cost her sleep last night and made her cringe now.

  “Good morning, Kate.” He looked as if he hadn’t slept too well, either. Was he going to apologize? Should she make the first overture?

  From an outsider’s perspective, it might have seemed as if Johann had been foolhardy in his plans, but she knew the truth. If he hadn’t died, his dreams would be coming to fruition. Even now, if they could only find a way to keep the farm, some of his efforts were maturing. Ten Brown Swiss cows were in calf with purebred Brown Swiss offspring that would be worth a fair bit when they arrived. Johann would’ve been more than able to pay off the mortgage on the herd and the farm, and they would’ve had the cheese money to pay for their expenses for the coming year.

  But Oscar couldn’t know any of that. And she’d snapped at him like a cornered shrew last night. She would definitely need to apologize.

  Before she could, he said, “I don’t want you on the stairs by yourself from now on. Wait until I can accompany you. It’s too risky. You might fall.” He took her elbow and led her to the top of the stairs. “It’s narrow, so let me go down first, and keep your hand on my shoulder.”

  “Really, Oscar, I’m not an invalid. I can walk down a flight of stairs without help.” Here she’d been ready to apologize, and he was bossing her around and treating her like a soap bubble about to burst. He didn’t have to remind her she was clumsy and fat. She’d awakened this morning with swollen hands and ankles, and had to let out the waistband on the borrowed dress yet again, which made his criticism sting all the more.

  “I’m not taking the risk while you’re here.” He went down two stairs, turned back and picked up her hand and put it on his shoulder.

  Heat seeped through his shirt, and the muscles moved under her hand as he turned away. But he didn’t release her hand, clamping it with his own to keep her from disobeying him. Slowly, with deliberate steps, he went down the stairs, and she had little choice but to follow. When they reached the bottom, he let go of her hand, but he stayed close, head bent.

  “I want you to promise me you won’t use the stairs unless I’m with you.”

  “But, Oscar, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Promise me. I ask very little of you. You can do this one thing for me.”

  Her breath snagged in her throat as she looked into his eyes, so intense, so close. He was right. He didn’t ask much of her.

  “Fine. I think you’re being ridiculous, but I’ll humor you.”

  “Thank you.” His tone was dry, but he stepped back. “Oh, and I don’t want you going outside by yourself, either. The temperature warmed up for a while last night, and it rained on top of the snow, then froze again. It’s too dangerous.”

  She could see the wisdom in what he said, and she had no real desire to go outside, but she was out of sorts, from their spat last night, from her lack of sleep and from the grinding burden of the decisions that needed to be made regarding the Amakers’ future. She swept past him...at least as sweeping as a woman in her condition could be, and went to the stove to stir up the fire for breakfast.

  Liesl called from upstairs. “Daddy, I’m ready for my shoes.”

  Moments later Oscar brought her down on his arm, dressed and ready for the day, except for her hair. She wore one of the dresses Kate had sewn for her, pretty yellow fabric with some smocking that Inge had done across the front. She looked so sweet and fresh Kate wanted to hug her, but as she came close, the little girl’s brow puckered, and she stuck her finger into the corner of her mouth, looking at Kate from under her lashes.

  Her wariness made Kate feel terrible. This had to be about her sharp words with Oscar last night. “Good morning, Liesl. Would you like me to fix your hair for you?” She spoke gently, smiling. “You look nice this morning. The fabric you chose is perfect for that dress.”

  Liesl smoothed her skirt, eyes still troubled.

  “Sweetling, I am very sorry for what happened last night. I spoke too sharply, and that wasn’t kind.” Chagrin prickled her skin, and she avoided Oscar’s eyes, focusing on Liesl. “I am sorry for upsetting you. I am not angry with your daddy, and I’m certainly not angry with you.”

  This time her gaze did flick to Oscar, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. Had their squabble upset him, too?

  Liesl nodded, studying her. She must’ve been reassured, because she squirmed to get down and brought her hairbrush and the leather ties to Kate.

  “Hop up on your chair. Would you like to try something a bit different today?” She took the brush, grateful to have something else to focus on. She drew the brush through the silky brown strands, parting it down the middle.

  “Different how?”

  “Well, I thought I might fix your hair like I used to wear mine when I was a little girl in school.”

  “I’m going to go to school someday, Mrs. Tipford says. What happens at school?” Liesl wrinkled her nose. “Is it like Sunday school?” />
  “Sort of like Sunday school. I’m glad you liked going to Sunday school, singing and learning Bible stories.” She’d talked of little else each of the three times she’d gone in the last month. Kate divided Liesl’s hair and fashioned a smooth braid behind each ear. “School is a wonderful place. You learn your letters and numbers and how to read and write and cipher. And you learn about history and geography and literature. You’ll make lots of friends, children your age.” Something that was sorely lacking in Liesl’s life at the moment. “And there’s recess where you play games and run outside. And there are lots of books, and a globe, and chalkboards.”

  “That’s a few years from now.” Oscar filled the coffeepot. “She’s too young for all that.”

  “I’m learning my letters already, Daddy. Miss Kate is teaching me. In the flour.”

  “In the flour?” His brows came down. “She’s teaching you letters already?”

  Kate finished tying the second braid and removed two hairpins from her own hair, tightening and moving others to compensate. Then she crossed Liesl’s braids over the top of her head and pinned them. “There you go, sweetling. What do you think?”

  Liesl felt the braids, her eyes going wide. “Like a grown-up lady,” she whispered.

  “Well, not exactly, but close. I always wore my hair that way. It kept the little boys from dipping the ends of my braids in the inkwell.” She smiled at the memory. That seemed a long time ago.

  “What’s this about you teaching Liesl her letters? She’s too young for that.” Oscar folded his arms across his chest. “She’s only four.”

  “Liesl, honey, run upstairs and put your hairbrush away. But be quiet. I think Grossmutter and Grossvater are still sleeping.” Kate handed the brush to the little girl and waited for her to climb the stairs. “Oscar, she’s not too little to learn her letters and numbers. She’s very bright, and you’ve read so much to her, she’s catching on very quickly. Learning now can only help her later. I learned to read before my fifth birthday. Lots of children do.”

  “What’s this about flour? Teaching her with flour? Or do you mean flower, like the plant?” He drew his hand down his beard, brows bunched.

  She shrugged. “My family was not well off, and paper was dear, as were slate pencils. My mother used to dust the table with flour when she kneaded bread, and when she was done, she taught me to trace my letters and numbers in the flour left over. Easy and not expensive. Liesl loves it, and she’s doing really well.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not ready to think about her going to school or learning to read.”

  “Ready or not, it’s going to happen. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. I never dreamed you wouldn’t approve.” It seemed ever since he’d gotten home from his trip, she’d put one foot wrong after another.

  Spinning a chair around, he straddled it, parking his chin on his wrists. “It’s not that I don’t approve. It just surprised me. Seems like only yesterday she was a bald little mite in a bassinet, and now she’s outgrowing her dresses and thinking about how her hair looks and learning to read.”

  “I think that’s a common feeling among fathers. That their little girls grow up too quickly.” Kate stoked the fire and opened the breadbox to remove the leftover Zopf. It would make excellent egg-battered toast. “My mother used to say that when a father looks at his newborn son, he sees all the things they will do together as men—the hunting, fishing, building and the like. But when he looks at his newborn daughter, he can only see his little girl who should remain a little girl forever.”

  Liesl clattered down the stairs, and Kate winced at the noise. At the bottom of the steps, Liesl stopped, hunching her shoulders and scrunching her face. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  Kate glanced at the clock. Past seven-thirty. That was a fairly good lie-in for Martin and Inge. It shouldn’t matter too much.

  Oscar stood, adjusting his suspenders on his broad shoulders. “I should get down to the barn. Then I’m spending the day in the workshop.”

  “Breakfast will be ready when you come back.” Kate paused as she set the skillet on the stovetop. How many times had she said that to Johann as he headed out for morning chores?

  Liesl scooted her chair over to the calendar as he shrugged into his coat. “Look, Daddy. It’s here.”

  “What’s here, Poppet?” He wrapped his muffler around his neck and dug into his pocket for his gloves.

  “It’s the Christmas month.” She pointed to all the red Xs on the November calendar and tore off the page. “Miss Kate, does that mean we get to go visiting tonight?”

  December 1. The first night of the Advent season, and the first visit to one of the Advent houses. “It is. The parsonage is hosting tonight. Mrs. Tipford asked for the first night so she would have plenty of time between her Advent window evening and planning the Star Singing and Christmas Eve service.”

  Oscar frowned while Liesl beamed. “And we will sing and have treats and see people.” She clapped her hands.

  “That’s right, sweetling, but for now, how about if you set the table? I hear Martin and Inge stirring upstairs. We’ll surprise them with having breakfast all ready when they get down here, all right?”

  By midmorning, Kate wanted to take a nap. She was so tired, and her back ached. But there were so many things to do. The house smelled wonderful, though.

  “What are these called?” Liesl asked.

  “Zimtsterne. It means ‘cinnamon stars.’” Kate rolled out the dough and gave Liesl the tin cookie cutter that Grossvater had fashioned. “You cut out the stars. While these are baking, Grossmutter will make the icing.”

  Grossvater shouldered his way through the kitchen door, the screen banging behind him. He carried an armful of wood. “Will you need more?”

  Kate checked the kettle and the coffeepot, both full of nearly boiling water, and the reservoir on the back of the stove, full to the brim. “That should do for a while. Could you gather all the laundry from upstairs? Oscar has—” she almost said “forbidden” but that seemed harsh “—requested that I not use the stairs alone. He’s worried that I will fall.” She waited for someone to scoff, to say he was being overprotective, smothering her like this.

  “He’s a good man.” Grossmutter lifted the washtub off its peg in the little pantry and set it on the end of the table away from the cookies.

  Liesl cut the star-shaped cookies out of the dough, her spread fingers echoing their shape. “Daddy is the best daddy in the whole world.”

  “Is somebody talking about me?” Oscar emerged from the workshop, wiping his hands on a towel. “And what smells so good?”

  “I’m making cookies, Daddy.”

  He came over and dropped a kiss on her crisscrossed braids. “And when they’re done, I can eat them all?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Nope. These are for the party tonight. For Mrs. Tipford. Grossmutter says the recipe has been in her family for a long, long, long, long time. And they will have frosting, and we can put them in a pretty box to take to town.” She put the last cutout on the baking sheet. “I’m done.”

  Kate lifted the handle on the full water bucket in the sink, but Oscar was beside her, taking it from her hand. “Don’t lift that. It’s too heavy for you. I’ll get it.”

  “Thank you. We’re determined to wash every bit of laundry in the house today.”

  Grossvater came down from upstairs, his arms full of bedlinens. He dumped the sheets and pillowcases on the already-full laundry basket on the floor. “That is everything I could find.”

  Kate pressed her hands to her lower back. “That will be more than enough to be going on with, I think. We’ll be hard-pressed to get it done before we head into town.”

  Oscar frowned. “Maybe you should stay home tonight and rest. You look worn out now.”

  She sent him a grimace. “Just w
hat every woman wants to hear. I’m fine, and that laundry isn’t going to do itself.” She edged past him, noting that he smelled of varnish and sawdust, a masculine mix if there ever was one. “I wouldn’t dream of staying home tonight. It’s the first day of December.”

  “We’re all going, aren’t we, Daddy?” Liesl slid off her chair and came to stand beside him, looking up.

  He lifted her in his arms, and she took his face between her little hands, dusting his beard with flour, making Kate smile. “Daddy, it’s the most biggest day I ever had.”

  “Well, I can’t disappoint you on the ‘most biggest day,’ can I? But Miss Kate is going to have to rest before we go, so how about you and I help her with the laundry so she’ll have time to maybe get in a nap or at least put her feet up before it’s time to go?”

  Kate paused. “What about your woodworking?” She knew he had pressing orders to complete.

  “I need to wait for some finish to dry. Can’t work on anything else because I don’t want sawdust to settle on the wet varnish. There’s more than enough time to help with laundry.” He took her by the elbow and led her into the parlor. “Just sit a spell and relax. You do too much around here as it is.”

  Kate let herself be seated in the chair he often used at night, sinking into the soft upholstery. “What about the baking?”

  “Stop trying to control everything. Let somebody help you once in a while.” He winked at her, and a bloom of...fondness?...burst into her chest.

  Settling back, she let herself relax, watching his form as he went back into the kitchen. It was nice to be cosseted. She should probably take advantage of it, since in the coming weeks it would most likely be in short supply.

  * * *

  Oscar drew the wagon as close as he could to the manse. Wagons, horses, buggies and the like surrounded the house, and he was forced to pull up several houses down the street. People milled in the clear night air, and light streamed from every window at the parsonage.

  He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to celebrate the season. He didn’t want to remember...and yet, forgetting felt wrong. He needed to hold on to the memories, the feelings, everything. Forgetting meant betraying everything that went before.