Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  “What about my mother’s Bible? Did you sell it, too?” She hated asking, but she had to know if there was the slightest chance that he still might have it.

  “Nope. Used it for kindling. That’s all it’s good for anyway.”

  Burned? The thought of her mother’s Bible being used for kindling splintered her heart into millions of tiny pieces. Unable to look at the man any longer, she turned her face into Amadeus’s chest.

  “She has heard enough. I vill take her home now.”

  “Wait.” The sheriff made sure the outlaw didn’t have any weapons on him before he opened the cell door and shoved his prisoner inside. Then the sheriff knelt in front of a safe. He stood and handed a stack of bills to Amadeus and one to Awnya.

  “What’s this?” She tilted her head.

  “The reward for Willy’s capture.”

  “I—” No more words came. All of this was too much to take at once. She needed air.

  Seeing her pale face, Amadeus tucked the money in his pocket and led her to the door. Outside in the crisp winter air, away from the jail, he motioned for her to sit on a bench.

  His heart wrenched with uncertainty and fear that the woman he loved might very well slip away from him forever now that she had the money to do so. He couldn’t let that happen. He faced her. “Awnya, I must speak what is in my heart.”

  She nodded.

  “Now that you have the reward money, I fear you vill leave Grand County und me. That thought I cannot bear.” He pulled her hands into his. “I love you, Awnya, und have for some time. Please, do not go. Stay und marry me, ja?”

  Awnya stammered, “You … you love me?”

  “Ja. I love you more than words can express.”

  She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Amadeus. I love you, too.” She pulled back. “But what about Isabella? She hates me.”

  “Nein. She does not hate you. She just misses her mutter. It vill take time, but I truly believe she vill come around.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Ja. Or I wouldn’t have said so.” He held his breath for what seemed like forever, waiting for her answer.

  Slowly she nodded. “Okay. I’ll marry you.”

  “You vill?”

  “Ja.” She giggled.

  “Now, meine liebling?” he whispered in her ears.

  “Yes, now.” She pulled back. “But first, what does liebling mean?”

  “It means darling.”

  “Oh-h-h ja, I like it.”

  Their chuckle ended when he found her lips. He wanted to take his time enjoying her, but he wanted to get married before she changed her mind. He pulled back and helped her to her feet.

  They found the parson at his house and asked if he had time to marry them. “I sure do.” He pumped Amadeus’s hand. “I’m so happy for you, Amadeus. And you, too, Awnya. It’s about time you two found someone special. I’m glad it was each other.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, let me go get the missus as a witness.”

  Within seconds, he came back into the room with his wife. Amadeus and Awnya repeated their vows after him. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  “With pleasure.” Amadeus cupped her face, and his lips found hers. He deepened his kiss, willing his lips to show Awnya just how much his heart overflowed with love for her. Awnya returned his kiss with equal passion and love.

  “Uh, umm.”

  Amadeus reluctantly raised his head at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

  “Congratulations,” both the parson and his wife said.

  “Vielen dank.”

  “Thank you.”

  He and Awnya responded at the same time then laughed.

  Everyone hugged and said their good-byes, and then Amadeus and Awnya headed for home.

  “I cannot wait to tell my family we are married. After dinner we go for a sleigh ride und tell them then, ja?”

  She hooked her arms through his and leaned into him. “That sounds so romantic.”

  “Ja.” He leaned down and kissed his wife. Wife. That word sent his heart dancing.

  The wide eyes on everyone’s faces when Awnya stepped into the house tickled her. The boys ran up to her and hugged her.

  “We’re so glad you came back,” Jakob said with tears in his eyes.

  “Ja,” Louissa added and smiled.

  “I didn’t want you to go,” Ethan whispered.

  “Thank you. I’m glad to be back.”

  Isabella glared at her.

  Awnya quickly looked away, hoping that everything would work out as Amadeus thought it would.

  After dinner Awnya watched her husband—husband… she loved that one word—hitch the horses to the sled.

  The children climbed in the back and sat on a bed of straw. Amadeus draped blankets over their legs.

  His hands spread across her waist as he hoisted her up into the wagon and tucked a blanket around her legs. Louissa didn’t come—she didn’t want to get out in the night air—so they had taken her aside and told her. Awnya smiled thinking how happy Louissa was for them. When Louissa asked Awnya to call her mama, Awnya held back her tears—tears of joy that she had a new mother, and tears of sadness that her ma wasn’t here to see her happily married.

  Under the full moon, they headed out for a sleigh ride. Bells jingled along with the jostling tack. Snow crunched under the sled runners, and snow powder dusted Awnya’s face as she sang Christmas carols with Amadeus’s family. Her family now. She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “Silent Night” drifted through the darkness in German from the children and Amadeus. “Stille nacht, heilige nacht…”

  Awnya listened to Amadeus’s deep voice and strong German accent. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. Not from the cold, but from the reverence inwhich he sang and from the mere presence of the man next to her.

  The song ended when they crested the hill.

  “Whoa, boys.” Amadeus pulled on the reins. He smiled at her then shifted in the wagon seat, facing his children, still smiling.

  “What you smiling about, Papa?” Isabella asked.

  “I am happy, liebchen, und I have wonderful news.” He reached for Awnya’s hand. “Today, Awnya und I got married.”

  The boys tossed their blankets aside. Jakob threw his arms around Awnya’s neck. “Can I call you mama, now?”

  Ethan shoved Jakob aside and hugged her, too. “Can we, please?”

  “No!” Isabella shouted.

  All four swung their attention toward her.

  The girl’s head swayed back and forth, and tears splattered onto her cheeks.

  Seeing Isabella cry crushed Awnya’s heart. She had no clue what to say or do. Prayer would be good, but her faith in the face of impossible was still so weak. Then she remembered Amadeus’s words, so she silently prayed. Lord, I do believe, but help my unbelief. I love this little girl. Please work this awkward situation out.

  The ride back to the cabin was quiet. Amadeus squeezed Awnya’s hand often.

  “Do not fret, liebling. God vill work it out.”

  Back at the cabin, for the rest of the evening Isabella sulked. The family tried to draw her in, but she refused. When they took communion together, which Awnya learned was a custom they did every Christmas Eve to celebrate not only Christ’s birth but also his resurrection, even then Isabella refrained from partaking, saying her heart wasn’t right. Awnya was glad when Amadeus announced it was time for everyone to head to bed. She and Amadeus were the last ones up.

  Her husband pulled her into his arms and whispered against her lips, “I love you, liebling.”

  “I love you, too.”

  His lips captured hers. He kissed her until her knees gave way, but Amadeus caught her. With his lips still on hers, he swept her into his strong arms and carried her to his … their … bedroom.

  The next morning Awnya awoke to her husband, leaning on his elbow, staring down at her.

  “Good morning, meine liebling.”

&n
bsp; “Good morning, geliebte.”

  “Sweetheart,” he whispered, pleasure sparkling through his eyes that she had learned a new German word.

  “Ja.” She winked.

  He pulled her to him and kissed her softly.

  Noise from the kitchen snagged Awnya’s attention. “We’d better get up.”

  He sighed. “Ja.”

  Breakfast consisted of bacon, fried potatoes, and blinna. When she bit into the blinna, it reminded her of the crepes her mother used to make. Joy mixed with a generous dose of grief washed over her, making her heart wish for those long ago days spent with her mother.

  The feeling stayed with her through the morning even when they all went and sat near the fireplace, facing the Christmas tree.

  Amadeus handed the boys their presents first.

  Jakob and Ethan untied the string around their flour sacks and yanked out the hand-carved farm animals. Their eyes widened. “Papa, these are wunderbar!” They took turns hugging their father. “Thank you.”

  Awnya smiled. She loved being a part of this.

  Amadeus scooted a package toward Isabella. She raised the cloth halfheartedly and stared at the empty doll cradle Amadeus had made. Her eyes held confusion and sadness.

  “Isabella? Open your other gift, liebchen.” An understanding tone filled his voice.

  She nodded and sullenly tugged the string off her package and then removed the cloth. She blinked. Reverently, she picked up the doll her mother had made—the very one Awnya had spent evenings repairing with Amadeus in his workshop. With each stitch Awnya had fought back tears, knowing exactly how devastated and heartbroken Isabella felt losing her mother. With awe in her eyes, Isabella faced her grandmother. “Oh, Oma. You fixed Lilly. And you made her clothes, too. I love her. Thank you. Vielen dank.” She tucked the doll to her chest and rocked it. Tears slipped over her eyelids.

  Awnya turned her head away and discretely brushed the tears from her eyes. All her hard work had been worth it just to see the joy on Isabella’s face.

  “Liebchen.” Amadeus pulled Isabella onto his lap. “Oma did not fix Lilly. Awnya did.”

  Isabella tilted her head, frowning, blinking, and staring at Awnya. Her chest heaved, and without saying a word, she rose from her father’s lap and slipped out of the room. Awnya’s heart fell.

  Amadeus stood, and Awnya placed her arm on his. “Let her go. She needs time alone.” He nodded and sat back down in the rocker.

  Minutes later, as the boys bustled with their toys, and Louissa admired the potholders Isabella had crocheted for her, Isabella stepped out of the bedroom carrying a small book in one hand and her doll in the other. With her eyes lowered, she came and stood in front of Awnya. “I’m sorry I didn’t make you anything. Here. I want you to have this.” Her hand came up, and in it was a small black Bible.

  “Oh sweetie, I can’t take that.” Awyna’s eyes filled at the mere thought of the precious gift. “That’s your mother’s Bible. It’s yours.”

  “I know. But Papa said a bad man stole your mama’s Bible, so you can have my mama’s. I want my new mama to have it.”

  Like a broken dam, tears flooded Awnya’s cheeks.

  “Don’t cry.” Isabella’s voice trembled, and fear filled her little face. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you. It’s just that when I saw the way Papa looked at you, I was afraid he was forgetting my mama, and I didn’t want him to. But—” She dropped her gaze. “You’re my mama now, so I want you to have her Bible.”

  “Oh, Isabella.” Awnya put her arms around the child, singing praise to God for His goodness in her heart. She accepted the gift with reverence and amazement. “Thank you so much.” She pulled the Bible to her chest and clutched it there. “You will never know what this means to me. I won’t let your papa ever forget your mama. I promise.”

  Isabella nodded and swiped the tears off her small cheeks. Awnya pulled her daughter into a hug. A love unlike any she had ever known pulsed through her.

  “My turn.” Amadeus pulled his daughter into his arms.

  Isabella pulled back, grabbed one of his hands, and joined it with Awnya’s. She smiled up at them and then went and joined her brothers.

  With the children occupied with their gifts, Awnya slipped her arms around her husband and pulled him close.

  “I love you, meine vee-not-goo-shank.”

  His chest rumbled against her ear. “Vie. Nacht. Ga. Shinkt.”

  “That’s what I said. Vee-not-goo-shank.”

  He shook his head and laughed. She shut him up by joining her lips to his.

  Love flowed through his kisses as he returned hers. Lord, thank You for my vie-not-goo-shanks. Vie-nacht-goo-shints. Oh piddle. For my Christmas gifts. My husband, my new mama, and my new children. But most of all, thank You for the gift of faith. Amen.

  Debra Ullrick is an award winning author who is happily married to her husband of thirty-seven years. For over twenty-five years, she and her husband and their only daughter lived and worked on cattle ranches in the Colorado Mountains. The last ranch Debra lived on, a famous movie star and her screenwriter husband purchased property there. She now lives in the flatlands where she’s dealing with cultural whiplash. Debra loves animals, classic cars, mud-bog racing, and monster trucks. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drawing western art, feeding wild birds, watching Jane Austen movies, COPS, or Castle.

  Debra’s other titles include, The Bride Wore Coveralls, Déjà vu Bride, Dixie Hearts, A Log Cabin Christmas, The Unexpected Bride, and come January 2012, The Unlikely Wife.

  Debra loves hearing from her readers. You can contact her through her website at www.DebraUllrick.com.

  Christmas Service

  by Erica Vetsch

  Dedication

  To the Sorensen family, Kevin, Ann, Rebecca, Jonathan, and Elizabeth, who know a thing or two about serving in church and chaotic Christmas programs.

  Whether therefore ye eat, or drink,

  or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.

  1 CORINTHIANS 10:31

  Chapter 1

  Minnesota North Woods near Grand Rapids, December, 1875

  You’ll just have to tell him no. I’m not interested.” Beth Sorensen wet her finger and tested the bottom of the sad iron. No pop and sizzle. Still not ready. She mentally ran down her list of Saturday chores.

  “I don’t understand you, Beth.” Her grandpa laid aside his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Todd Rambek is a fine man. Why won’t you let him call on you? Or for that matter, the three others who have tried to court you. You’re going to wind up a spinster if you’re not careful.”

  She laughed and crossed the puncheon floor, bending to kiss his bald head. “I’m barely twenty-one, Grandpa. Hardly on the shelf yet. You’ve always taught me to listen for God’s leading. None of the men who have asked permission to court have been the man God wants for me. Especially not Todd Rambek. He’s a blacksmith, of all things.”

  “What’s wrong with being a blacksmith? It’s an honorable profession. He makes a good living, and more importantly, he’s of good character—a deacon in our church. I had such high hopes that you might look favorably on him.” He tapped together his sermon notes and tucked them into his Bible. “I do wish your parents were here to give you counsel. I’m hopeless with this sort of thing.”

  Returning to the stove, she threw another log into the firebox and tested the iron once more. Perfect. The smell of hot cotton pricked her nose as she went to work on the wrinkles in Grandpa’s best shirt. She wished Mama were there, too. She’d understand. After all, it was Mama who had most often said what a wonderful preacher’s wife Beth would make someday.

  She shook her head. A blacksmith? No, she couldn’t abandon the calling she had been born to, not even for a man as handsome as Todd Rambek—deacon or not. Grandpa was a preacher, her father had been a preacher, and if she had been born a boy, she would’ve gone into the pastorate as well—the next generation of Sorensens to serve in
a little log church somewhere in the American wilderness. It was a family tradition, a calling. She didn’t know when God would bring a single preacher into her life, but He moved in mysterious ways, and she was confident He could accomplish the task.

  “Did you shovel a path over to the church?” Last night’s storm had decorated the Minnesota woods with a fresh half foot of snow. “I should get over there to freshen things up before church tomorrow.”

  Grandpa opened a newspaper and adjusted his glasses. “I didn’t have to shovel. Todd took care of it first thing this morning. He’s thoughtful that way.” He eyed her over the top of the Grand Rapids Gazette.

  “Nice of him.” She kept her voice neutral. “Did you decide on the opening hymn?”

  He flipped open the cover of his worn Bible and consulted his notes. “‘O, Sacred Head Now Wounded.’ If you could, play ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’ for the offertory, and we’ll finish with ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful.’ That should get folks into the holiday spirit.”

  “So should practice for the Christmas Eve service. I’m excited about how we’ve switched things around. I think the adults will enjoy putting on a pageant for the children for once. We certainly had a lot of volunteers when you announced the idea last week.”

  “I think you’ve taken on too much. You’d best consider delegating some of the responsibilities. You can hardly direct the choir, the play, and the gift giving, and see to all the food by yourself.”

  Beth shook out the shirt and held it up to the morning light streaming through the small window set in the heavy log wall, examining the sleeves and collar for any stray wrinkles. “Perfect. I’ve already brushed and sponged your suit. Will you need me to polish your shoes?”

  Grandpa shifted and crossed his legs. “I’m capable of polishing my shoes all by myself. You fuss too much. I don’t think the church roof will fall in if I have a scuff or two on my boots or a wrinkled cuff or collar every once in a while.”