by Karen Kirst
Kate nodded, but he could read the discouragement in her eyes, the worry that clouded them.
She had no better results at the hotel. Mr. Kindler had no job available. He was barely making ends meet as it was. If not for the stage passengers twice a week, he would have to close up and move to a bigger town. His wife could handle the housekeeping easily.
Oscar and Kate met Martin Amaker coming out of the bank. He looked as if he had aged five years, his shoulders stooping and the lines in his face deeper.
“Let’s go get some coffee at the restaurant,” Oscar suggested, stepping between Kate and the wind that whipped around the corner of the building, trying to shelter her from the brunt of the chilly breeze.
Martin shook his head. “No, no, we must not detain you here in town, and we should not spend money on things we can do without right now.”
“My treat,” Oscar insisted. “Kate needs to get off her feet, and it’s getting cold out here.” The air was heavy with the smell of snow. Kate’s cheeks were red, and she huddled inside her long, drab coat.
Oscar led them across the street to the café, a cheerful little building with blue-and-white-checked curtains at the windows. He held the door for Kate and Martin. The aromas of beef stew and hot bread filled the room.
George Frankel tipped back in his chair, his eyes watery, scrubbing at his nose with a handkerchief. “Hey, Oscar. Come join us?”
Kerchoo! He dabbed his red nose again.
His two companions—his eldest son, George, Jr., who had the heavy-lidded, red-nosed look of a head cold, and Bill Zank, from down at the feed store—scooted their chairs to make room, but Oscar shook his head. “Thank you, but we can’t stay long.”
He directed Kate to a table in the corner, a bit far from the stove, but away from the Frankel sickness. He helped her with her coat, laying it over the back of a chair, and held her seat for her. When Susan, the waitress, came by, he ordered coffee and, looking at how thin Martin was, beef stew for everyone.
“What did the banker say, Grossvater?” Kate asked. She laced her fingers, resting her hands on the tablecloth.
Martin shook his head. “He cannot loan us any more money. He said without Johann to work the farm, it wasn’t a good risk. We have no savings left, and won’t have any income until we can sell the cheeses. And there is more.” He did not look up, drawing circles on the tabletop with his finger. “Johann did not tell me this, but he mortgaged the herd to buy that bull. The note is due on the first of the year. We cannot pay both the mortgages with the little we will make from selling our cheeses in Mantorville and here. I don’t know what we are going to do. Our only assets are the cows, and they are mortgaged like the farm.” His old lips trembled. “I sent the telegram to my brother from the bank manager’s office.”
Kate sat still for a moment, absorbing this new blow.
What had Johann been thinking to incur so much debt? Oscar shook his head. The decision to buy that bull had proven to be fatal for Johann, and might put an end to his family’s ability to keep their land.
Kate leaned forward and covered Martin’s hand with hers. “We’ll think of something. I’ll keep looking for a job. If I cannot find one here in Berne, perhaps I can find one in Mantorville or Kasson, or even Rochester. And perhaps you can find work. Maybe at the lumber mill in Mantorville? You know how to work with wood, and you know leather work. Perhaps there is a saddler or shoemaker that needs help.”
Oscar frowned. Kate was in no condition to be driving to Mantorville to work, and any farther away than that and she would have to move to wherever she found a job. He didn’t like that idea at all.
The bell over the door jangled, and Pastor and Mrs. Tipford came in, cheeks red from cold, eyes bright.
“Ah, just the people we wanted to see. Mrs. Hale said you were in town.” The pastor’s voice filled the room. Mrs. Tipford came to Kate and squeezed her shoulder.
“What have you decided? Have you found work?”
“Not yet. Not here in town.” Kate pushed out the chair beside her. “We were just talking about some other possibilities.”
“The bank cannot help us.” Martin laced his fingers around his coffee cup on the tabletop. “I have wired my brother.”
Pastor Tipford dropped into a chair, and Oscar braced himself, half expecting the seat to turn to kindling under the impact.
“Times are hard. We’ve asked around, but there just aren’t any jobs or any places that can house all three of you at the moment,” the pastor said.
“If it was summer, Inge said we could do what she did as a girl in the Alps. We could live in the haymow, or even in a tent.” Martin sat back, his gnarled hands dropping to his lap. “We will continue to look for employment and a place to stay that won’t be an imposition on our neighbors while we wait for word from my brother. It should not be more than a day or two if he replies by telegram or a week if he replies by letter.”
Mrs. Tipford sent Oscar a loaded look, and his collar grew tight.
“There’s no rush. You can stay at my place until you hear back from your relatives.” Again Oscar found himself offering hospitality, surprising himself. He wanted them out of his house as soon as possible, didn’t he?
The pastor’s wife beamed.
Helping this family didn’t mean Oscar was ready to rejoin the world. Mrs. Tipford had been after him on her last visit to put away his mourning and perhaps even be on the lookout for a new wife, someone to mother Liesl and be a companion for him…but he had thrust that suggestion away. He loved Gaelle and always would. He had neither the need nor the desire to replace her. Mrs. Tipford was going to have to get used to disappointment if she thought she could pull him back into society and make him forget his beloved wife.
Kate looked at him from under her lashes, clearly puzzled. Oscar looked away, rationalizing the offer he had just made.
It would only be for a week, two at the most, if the brother replied by letter. A day or so if Martin’s brother replied by telegram.
Either way, in a week, things would return to normal.
* * *
You shouldn’t feel so relieved. Nothing has been settled. And yet, Kate did feel relief, a reprieve, if even for only a few days. She’d asked at the café if they needed help in the kitchen, but like most businesses in town, they were getting by but not looking to hire.
The news of the loan against their herd sat like a brick in her chest. Oh, Johann.
They returned with Oscar to the mercantile to pick up his order. Grossvater dug into his pocket for the money Pastor Tipford had given him, collected from friends and neighbors.
“Let me pay some. We are costing you money, I know.” His hands fumbled with the coins and folded bills.
“Thank you, but no. Put that away.” Oscar lifted the first box and headed to the wagon. “Keep that for later. You’ll need it.”
“But we must pay our way.” Grossvater held out the money.
Mrs. Hale was looking on, and Kate’s cheeks grew warm. “Perhaps we can talk about this later.” She leaned in to pick up another box of groceries.
“Leave that. I’ll come back for it.” Oscar’s tone was sharp, and Kate stopped.
“It’s not heavy.”
“You shouldn’t be lifting things.” He shouldered his way out the door.
Grossvater smiled and patted her shoulder. “He is a good man.” He picked up the smaller of the two remaining crates and carried it outside. Kate followed.
Oscar was a good man, a bit prickly, but not unkind.
The ride back to Oscar’s farm was silent. She huddled in her coat, and when they passed the Amaker farm, she didn’t look. Seeing the blackened square where her home had been would be too hard after the day’s disappointments. She needed to find a job, to do something to help Martin and Inge and prepare for her
baby, but it seemed everywhere she turned was yet another closed door.
God, where are You in all of this? You seem so far away.
Oscar’s house came into view, and she had to tamp down a surprising surge of resentment. He had everything here. A nice house, a sweet little girl, land, barns, safety, security. He was a strong man, someone the bank would loan money to without worry.
That’s ridiculous. You should be grateful. He’s being kind, even though you are an imposition. Pull yourself together.
And Kate remembered that he didn’t have everything. He didn’t have his wife. He must’ve loved her very much to have shut himself away from everyone as he had.
He helped her down from the wagon, something she was becoming used to, and set her on the porch steps. She looked up into his face, trying to gauge how he really felt about them staying at his home longer than he had expected. Was he just being polite, enduring them for propriety’s sake? Offering because Mrs. Tipford had all but forced him into it again?
His brown eyes gave nothing away, but his hands remained on her arms, as if to steady her. “Go inside and get warm. I’ll bring the supplies in.”
The door swung open before she reached it, and a little tornado rushed out. “Daddy!” Liesl threw her arms around her father’s legs. “I missed you.”
Oscar swung her up into his arms, and she patted his cheeks. “You’re cold. Come see what we made, me and Grossmutter. That means ‘grandmother,’ and Miss Kate said I could call her that.”
“You shouldn’t be out here without a coat. It’s too chilly. And you should call her Mrs. Amaker.” He set her down and nudged her toward the door. “I’ll be there soon. I need to unload the groceries and get the team put away.”
Rolf rounded the house, coming up the path from the barn, his black tail with its white tip plumed high, his tongue lolling. He bounded up to the porch, nudging his head under Kate’s hand, begging for a few pats. She stroked his silky, broad head, running her finger along the white stripe between his eyes. He leaned into her.
“You’re just a mush, aren’t you?”
He didn’t disagree.
Oscar and Grossvater carried the supplies into the house, and when he stepped across the threshold, Oscar stopped, breathing in deeply.
Grossmutter and Liesl had been busy. The house smelled of yeasty bread and warm fruit. Grossmutter turned from the oven, her towel-wrapped hands holding a pie tin. “I made Apfeltorte, and the Kind helped me make bread.” She set the hot apple pie—made in the Swiss tradition with no crust—on a trivet. Behind her, on a table near the stove, three bread pans filled with rising dough waited to go into the hot oven.
Liesl climbed into a chair and knelt, leaning on her arms to sniff the pie.
“Take care, sweetling. That’s very hot.” Kate shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a peg by the door. “Doesn’t it smell good? Grossmutter makes the best pie I’ve ever eaten. Do you like this kind of pie?” She brushed wisps of hair off Liesl’s face.
“I don’t know. I never had any. Daddy doesn’t make pie.”
Poor little mite. Her father had isolated himself and, in doing so, had isolated her. Kate bent and kissed the little girl’s head. “You’re in for a treat, then.”
Oscar set the last box on the table. “As long as we have the team hitched up, Martin and I are going over to your farm to do the milking and chores. We’ll be back in a bit. Is it all right if I leave Liesl here with you?”
“Of course.” Kate shook her head, surprised that he would even ask.
“You’ll be back soon, Daddy? Because I get to help make supper, and I want you to like it.” Liesl scampered off her chair and tugged on Oscar’s hand.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “You’ll be a good girl?”
“The best.”
He looked at Kate. “I don’t want to impose. She’s my responsibility, and I’ll take her if you need to lie down and rest.”
“I’m fine. I enjoy her company.”
He nodded and went back out.
Liesl chattered away, helping Kate and Grossmutter unpack the provisions, showing them where things went. “There’s potatoes in the cellar. That’s where we got the apples for the pie. Daddy has apple trees down by the creek. He says Mama planted them when they were baby trees… What’s a baby tree called?”
“A sapling?” Kate put a sack of coffee beans into the cupboard.
“Yes, that’s it. They were saplings. And this is the first year we got apples, and I got to help. Daddy lifted me up to pick some, and he let me put them into the bin in the cellar, but he said I had to be real careful, because apples can get bruises. Daddy said one bad apple would make the whole bin get rotten.”
While Kate and Grossmutter made supper—chicken and dumplings—Liesl treated them to more of “Daddy says.”
When the men returned, they gathered around the table. Kate sat beside Oscar and across from Liesl. The little girl bowed her head and held her hand out to her father. Oscar took it and held his other hand out to Kate.
Slowly, she placed her hand in his large one, and his fingers curled around hers, warm and strong. It had been months since she had held hands with a man. She placed her other fingers into Grossmutter’s, and bowed her head, trying to concentrate on the blessing rather than on the comfort she drew from Oscar’s touch.
CHAPTER FIVE
Oscar couldn’t remember when he’d had a better meal. Inge Amaker was a wonderful cook. He ran his hands down his stomach, leaning back from the table. When he’d come into the house with the groceries, he’d stopped cold, inhaling the smell of hot pie and rising bread.
It had been a very long time since he’d returned home to a warm, inviting house, a hot meal and someone waiting for him. Liesl had been well looked after in his absence, and he was reminded of all she was missing by not having a woman in her life to teach her and mother her and show her all the things a young lady should know.
And yet, part of him resented the intrusion on their peace, on the special bond that he had with her. She was calling the elder Amakers Grossmutter and Grossvater, as if they were family, and she had certainly taken a shine to Kate. What would happen in a week or so when the Amakers found a more permanent solution to their problems and left? Would Liesl be devastated? She hadn’t known what she was missing before they came. Would she be satisfied with just her father for company after experiencing something different?
“I can’t read any stories yet, Daddy. I have to help with the dishes.” His little girl hopped off her chair and began gathering the cutlery, bustling importantly. “Grossmutter does the dishes after every meal.” She relayed this information as if she couldn’t believe it.
He smiled and gave her his spoon and fork before rising. He had a few chores to see to himself before he could disappear into his workshop. Three trips to the woodpile saw both wood boxes filled, the one for the stove and the one for the fireplace. The wind had shifted during the day from southwest to northwest, and with it had come both colder temperatures and a few fitful flakes of snow. Oscar inhaled, catching the scent of a storm on the breeze, and added a few more logs to his armload. He walked down to the barn to make sure everything was secure for the night, and dropped a length of wood into the outside stock tank, just in case it froze overnight. The log would bob up, relieving the pressure, and the expanding ice wouldn’t break the tank.
When he returned to the house, Kate was drying the last dish, and Liesl was showing Grossmutter her row of books in the glass-fronted bookcase. She looked up when he closed the door. “Daddy, Grossmutter likes stories, too.” She smiled, holding the old woman’s hand. “And she likes Christmas. She said she would tell me stories about Christmas when she was a little girl in Swizzerland.” He smiled at her mispronunciation as did Inge. “Swizzerland is a long, long, long, long way from he
re, and they have mountains, like in the picture.” She pointed to the painting over the fireplace, a wedding gift from one of Gaelle’s relatives. Lake Lucerne, with a white boat in the foreground and towering, snow-capped mountains in the background.
Oscar nodded, though his muscles tensed. He didn’t want to hear about Christmas. The holiday brought him no joy. He wished he’d never mentioned it to Liesl in the first place. “Do you want to stay out here, or do you want to go work with me?” It had never been an option for her before.
“I want to stay with Grossmutter and hear about Christmas…” She put the end of her braid under her nose like a little moustache. “But I want you to stay and hear, too.”
Those big brown eyes beseeched him. “I can’t. I have orders waiting.” It pinched a bit that she didn’t automatically choose to be with him. But he couldn’t stay out here and entertain guests. He had work to do.
He carried a lamp into the workshop, an addition he’d built onto the back of the house. It smelled of wood and linseed oil, and he ran his hand over the smooth workbench, taking satisfaction in the neatly arranged tools and clean surfaces. The rest of the house might show a bit of neglect and dust, but in here, neatness reigned.
Oscar picked up a tablet and plucked a pencil from a can, checking to see that the point was sharp. He lit the wall sconces, glad of the reflectors behind the lamps to scatter light to every corner of the room, and began sketching a wedding chest. Commissions for orders had come in during the fall, and this one needed to be finished soon as it was a wedding present for the daughter of one of the sawmill owners down in Mantorville.
Black walnut, cedar lined, with white oak inlay on the top, the chest would be an instant heirloom if he made it well. He concentrated on getting the proportions correct. The inlay design the customer had requested would be tricky. Floral scrolls, two birds with a ribbon in their beaks, a heart.
A slight tap on the door had him raising his head. Kate stood there with two steaming cups in her hands. She nudged the door open farther with her foot.