by Erica Vetsch
“See.” Oscar handed Inge a couple of the heaviest quilts. “Warm these by the stove. I’ll put the rest in the wagon.”
Kate helped Liesl into her red and black plaid coat and tugged on her little mittens. “You need to keep your hat on, missy.” She stretched the knitted cap over the pinned-up braids and tied the bobbles beneath Liesl’s chin. “Do you have your star?”
“I’ll get it.” She scampered into the parlor.
“I don’t know who is more excited, her or me.” Kate reached for her burgundy cloak, but Oscar, coming back into the kitchen, took it from her hands and draped it over her shoulders, tying the strings under her chin.
“Are those bricks ready?” Oscar asked.
“Yes. I wrapped them in towels to keep them hot.” Martin hefted the laundry basket. “I’ll go put them into the wagon.”
Inge took one last turn around the house, making sure every candle and lamp was extinguished, and that the fire in the stove was well-banked with every door closed and the damper drawn down. They still had no idea how the fire had started at their house, but since that night, she took every precaution.
Oscar insisted on carrying Kate to the wagon and settling her into the deep bed of hay on the pile of blankets. Martin put a hot brick at her feet, and Inge covered her with one of the quilts she’d warmed in front of the stove.
“I feel like the princess in your storybook, Liesl.”
Liesl climbed in and snuggled under the blanket with her, careful not to mar her paper star. Martin helped Inge into the back and took the seat up front with Oscar. With a clash of bells, the horses started.
Hundreds of stars shone overhead, and the sled runners squeaked on the snow. Over all, the cheerful jingle of the sleigh bells competed with the clop of the horses’ hooves.
Kate wanted to treasure this moment in time, so she could remember it in the coming days and weeks when things were hard. She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the thought that, in less than a month, they would be leaving this place, these people.
And she knew that leaving the people would be even harder than leaving the place. Wrapping her arm tighter around Liesl, she bit her lip to stay her tears.
They crossed the bridge into Berne, and Liesl could sit still no longer. She crawled across Kate’s legs toward the front of the wagon to stand behind her father. Lights shone from many windows, making blocks of golden orange on the snow and deepening the shadows to blue and purple.
“We’re meeting in the churchyard, and the children will march around ‘The Circle.’” Martin’s breath plumed as he gave Oscar the instructions. “Then we meet back at the church for the service.”
Kate shifted on the straw as her back complained. The ride had been fairly smooth, but in spite of the blankets and straw, it was difficult to find a comfortable position.
Wagons lined the side streets, but several men were directing folks to stay away from the parade route, to keep it clear. Oscar bent to talk to Bill Zank, who stood in the middle of Buchanan Street with his lantern.
“Sure, go ahead, then drive over by the church to tie up.”
Oscar turned onto Jackson Street and stopped in front of Hale’s Mercantile. He jumped down onto the snow and came around the back of the wagon.
“I’ll drop you ladies off here.” He pulled the cottar pins out of the tailgate and lowered it. “Liesl, you wait there. All the children are meeting Mrs. Tipford at the church to line up.”
Gently, he helped Inge to the ground and offered her his arm for the few steps to the front porch of the store. Lamps burned on every porch post, and a crowd of townsfolk milled, waiting and talking. Oscar returned to the wagon and reached in for Kate.
“I can walk easily enough,” she reminded him as he lifted her into his arms. He smelled of sawdust and winter air, and he held her firmly, his arms strong bands behind her shoulders and beneath her knees.
“I know, but then you’d deprive me of the chance to show off.” He grinned, his face close to hers, and she remembered the wonder and thrill of his kiss.
“Right here,” Mrs. Hale called from the porch. “I have a place all ready for her.” People stepped aside, and Mrs. Hale stood beside a blanket-covered chair. She flitted and fluttered, twitching the blanket, moving the chair until it sat just so. “My dear, I was perfectly astonished when I saw you. I thought you’d surely stay home tonight.”
Oscar bent and set Kate into the chair, holding her gaze. “Martin and I will be back soon.”
“Thank you.” She adjusted her cloak and skirts. “And thank you, Mrs. Hale. I’ll be most comfortable.”
“You’re a brave woman. I don’t think I put my nose out the door for two months before each of my children was born.”
Inge carried one of the quilts and draped it around Kate’s shoulders. “It can get cold, sitting.”
Liesl waved from the back of the wagon as Oscar pulled away. Kate’s heart swelled with love for the little girl, so exuberant and vivacious. How was she going to bear to leave her behind when the time came?
Neighbors and townsfolk greeted her and Inge. There were more people this year for the parade, it seemed.
“Oh, yes, the township has almost a thousand people living here now.” Mrs. Hale rewrapped her scarf. “Did Martin get his letters? I can’t remember the last time someone got three letters all at once, and from as far away as Saint Paul and Cincinnati. I half expected to see him at the post office with replies, especially to Mr. Siddons’s letter.”
Kate caught Inge’s eye. Martin hadn’t mentioned letters to her. Inge gave a tiny shake of her head. Inge put her hand on Kate’s shoulder, squeezing. They would discuss this later, out of earshot of the eager Mrs. Hale.
Oscar and Martin arrived, and Inge threaded her arm through her husband’s. Oscar came to stand beside Kate. “All right?”
“Yes.” She shifted on the chair, pressing her hand against her middle. “Did Liesl find the right place?”
“She’s practically floating across the snow. I left her to Mrs. Tipford’s tender mercies.” Oscar stood behind Kate’s chair, his hands on her shoulders.
“Are you trying to make sure I stay where you put me?” She turned her head and smiled up at him.
“Something like that.”
“Here they come!” a man up the street yelled.
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.” Children’s voices, high and pure, rose into the night, and the watchers grew quiet. Slowly, in pairs, with stars raised high, the children marched behind two of the older boys who carried lanterns on poles to light the way.
Kate found Liesl in the front, face bathed in light from the lantern, the white fur from her hood hiding her hat, her mittens gripping the handle of her star. She tilted her head slightly as they drew up opposite the store until she spied the people she was looking for. Breaking protocol, she waved to them, her smile a little sunbeam of pure joy.
“God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.” The children, nearly thirty in all, marched down the street, turning from Jackson onto Clay. Their voices carried through the clear night air, and as they marched, the onlookers joined in with the tune. Even a block over on Mill Street, Kate could hear when the song changed to “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”
Kate shifted in her chair again. “Oscar, can you help me stand?”
He was at her side instantly. “What do you need?”
“Just to get to my feet. I think it would be easier. I’ve had a bit of a backache today, and this chair isn’t helping.”
He put out his arms for her to hold on to, and she slid to the edge of the seat and stood. “Maybe we need to head home.”
“No, this is better. All bent over like that, it’s hard to get enough air in my lungs sometimes.” She smiled. “Should we start toward the church?
If we go now, we’ll be able to see them come around the corner.”
Others had the same idea, and Oscar held Kate back until the porch steps were clear. The church was across the street from the north end of the mercantile, perhaps forty yards away.
“This time, I will walk.”
“If you do, you’ll have to put up with my arm around your waist.”
“What waist?” She laughed. “But I will be grateful for your assistance.”
His support along her lower back pushed away some of the ache. The board sidewalk extended to the street corner, and someone had cleared it of snow, so the early going wasn’t too bad. When they crossed the street, Oscar slowed their pace to a crawl, and Kate concentrated on walking carefully across the packed and rutted snow.
To their right, the children turned back onto Buchanan, the lanterns swinging on the poles.
“She’s having the time of her life.” Oscar helped Kate onto the church steps. “I wonder if she will sleep at all tonight.”
“Eventually, but the anticipation is good. It’s good to have something for which to look forward.” She paused, wincing. “My back is going to be glad when this baby is born. It’s been achy off and on all day.”
“Let’s get you inside to a seat before the kids get here.”
As they entered the small vestibule, they nearly collided with Martin. He had been backed up to the door by a tall, gray-haired man, and when Kate leaned to the side, she saw it was Mr. Siddons. What was he doing here on Christmas Eve?
“I’m telling you, Amaker. It’s a fair price. I want the deal done by New Year’s. I’ve got a crew of men coming over from Mankato, and they’re going to see about moving that barn off the property to a place near West Concord. Just take the deal.” Mr. Siddons was crowding Martin, looming over him.
Oscar put himself between Kate and the men and said, “Is there a problem here?”
His voice was low, but the strength in it sent a thrill through Kate.
“No problem,” Mr. Siddons snapped. “Except that this old fool doesn’t know a good offer when he hears one.”
“Gentlemen, I would suggest we continue this discussion at a more appropriate time.”
Mr. Siddons glared, but he stepped aside so the churchgoers could continue to file in. “I suggest you talk to Kleiner over at the bank, because I bought the note on your farm yesterday. Either you make the mortgage payment on the second of January, or I take the farm. If you’re going to sell, you should sell now before I just take the property when you can’t pay the mortgage. I’ll get it sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner.”
Kate gripped Oscar’s arm. Mr. Siddons now held the note on their farm?
Oscar’s hand came down over hers, and he squeezed. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out. For now, forget about it.” He guided her past Siddons, indicating that Martin should go into the church ahead of them. As he drew abreast of Mr. Siddons, he said, “Come out to the farm on the second, and we’ll settle the matter then. Until then, leave the Amakers alone.”
Inge waited in a pew on the left-hand side, and Kate followed Martin in and sat down. She removed her mittens and scarf and untied her cloak. Oscar sat beside her, shedding his own outer garments, his face stern. The encounter in the vestibule had unsettled her, and she was glad Oscar had been there to take charge.
“Grossvater? What are we going to do?”
He patted her hand and shook his head. “You are not to worry about it. I am not going to worry, either. I promised Oscar that I would enjoy Christmas, and I want you to promise me that you will, too. Remember that not even a sparrow falls but that our Heavenly Father knows. And you’re more valuable to Him than a sparrow.”
Kate nodded, but it was hard to quell the disquiet in her heart.
The church was well-lit, with the reflectors behind the wall lamps spreading illumination to every corner and the pendant lamps shining on their long chains. The coal stove glowed cherry-red, and Pastor Tipford stood at the front with his hands clasped before him, rocking on his toes, a broad smile on his face.
The children lined up at the back door, their shoes scuffling on the hardwood, whispering and giggling and milling about as they all found their places. Mrs. Tipford entered, walking backward so she could see her little charges. Two-by-two they came up the aisle, holding their stars high, singing “The First Noel” in high, clear voices. Liesl lined up on the front row as they turned to face the congregation. Mrs. Hale pumped away on the little organ.
Kate looked from one face to the next, returning often to Liesl’s, and a lump grew in her throat. This was her church. This was her place. These were the people who helped make her who and what she was.
How could she leave them? Leave all that was dear and familiar? How could she bear to say goodbye?
Liesl’s head bobbed she sang with such gusto, her hair pinned up in braids crossed over her crown, her cheeks red from walking in the cold, her white pinafore snowy. When Kate was gone, hundreds of miles to the east, Liesl would grow up, go to school, learn and change and expand her horizons.
And Kate would miss all of it.
And Liesl wouldn’t be the only one Kate missed as if a piece of her heart had been left behind.
Her leg brushed Oscar’s as she tried to find a comfortable position on the hard pew, and his nearness sent awareness ricocheting through her. When she left Minnesota, she would also be leaving Oscar.
Oscar, who started out remote and cool to the idea of opening his home, but who had turned out to be kindness itself. He’d allowed every corner of his life to be invaded, and though he had tried to shield himself and his daughter from involvement, he’d become entangled in the Amakers’ affairs from the very beginning.
She wore clothes he had given her, ate food at his table, sat by his fireside for warmth. She got to love and cherish his daughter, conspire with him to create a Christmas gift for her, watch him craft things out of wood and his imagination. She had worked alongside him, watched him, and somewhere along the way, she had fallen in love with him.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on that thought.
She loved Oscar Rabb.
How could that be, when she loved Johann so very much? Her love for Johann had been a whirlwind. He’d caught her up in his excitement, pursued her with ardor, won her easily with his charm and vision and big ideas. They had met, courted and been married within the space of three months.
And Oscar was his complete opposite. Steady, thoughtful, guarded, careful. He made her heart feel sheltered and cherished, though he’d never displayed any romantic feelings for her. The kiss under the mistletoe didn’t count, did it? Since he’d practically been forced into kissing her by his daughter.
Though he could’ve kissed her on the cheek instead of the lips.
She opened her eyes and realized that Oscar was looking at her with a frown. “Are you all right?” he whispered as the children filed off the platform to find their parents and Mr. Tipford took his place in the pulpit.
His eyes were close to hers, the same color as Liesl’s, the rich brown of the walnut he used in his furniture making. Her breath caught somewhere high in her lungs.
She couldn’t speak, so only nodded, and though she felt she could stare into his eyes forever, she forced herself to face forward. Paying attention to the sermon was beyond her ability at the moment, but she must at least appear to be listening.
Of course, she could never let on to him that she loved him. He would neither want nor accept her love. His heart still firmly belonged to Gaelle. He’d been in mourning for two years, and from what she could tell, he’d never contemplated taking another wife, even though that would’ve eased his burdens considerably.
Oscar turned and picked Liesl up when she returned to their pew, setting her in his lap so she could lean back against his chest
. He put his arms around her and brushed his beard on the top of her head.
Kate shifted again, pressing her palms into the hard seat and squirming. Inge leaned forward and studied her, questions in her eyes. Kate shook her head, giving Inge a rueful smile, apologizing without words for being so fidgety.
The service finally ended, and they were on their way out of the church when Kate stopped on the steps, the pain in her back growing sharp, taking her breath. She winced, gripping the handrail and bending slightly at the waist.
“What’s wrong? Did the baby kick you again?” Oscar handed Liesl over to Martin and took Kate’s arm.
“No, it’s just this backache.” The pain eased some and she straightened. “It’s been coming and going all afternoon.”
Mrs. Frankel, coming through the church door with her baby in her arms, said, “All afternoon? Sounds like you might be starting your labor.”
“Oh, no, it’s just a backache.” Kate closed her cloak collar against the cold night air. “I’m sure I would know if I was in labor. It doesn’t feel anything like the doctor told me to expect.”
“Honey, I’ve been through this a dozen times. Doctors are well and good, but they’re men, and they don’t know bees from a bull’s foot about being in labor. The pains can come a lot of ways, and a backache is one of them. I’d advise you to get home right smart. And if you want, as soon as I get the children bedded down, I’ll come over.”
Patsy Frankel had a comforting brusqueness about her that calmed Kate. She was sure the older woman was wrong, but at the moment, getting back to the house and into bed sounded like a wonderful idea.
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
Oscar stood still as if stuck to the porch boards. “You’re saying her time’s come?” His voice sounded hollow and dry.
“Most likely.” Patsy checked to see that her little one was covered with the blanket. “George, round up the kids. It’s time to go.” She patted Kate’s arm. “Don’t you worry. First babies take an age. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
