by Erica Vetsch
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, in
viting 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 here, 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.
“Liesl said you usually have coffee after supper.”
She set his cup on the workbench and looked around the room. On the far wall, he’d built racks to hold his stock, various species of lumber, various thicknesses and lengths. Some were easy to distinguish, like black walnut or poplar or pine; others took closer inspection. Red oak, white oak, hickory, birch, maple. He even had some cherry shipped in from Pennsylvania. He was saving that for something really special.
“I noticed the beautiful furniture out there.” She gestured to the front room. “Did you make it?”
He nodded. “Some of it. My grandfather was a cabinetmaker and wood carver in the Old Country, and he taught my father, who taught me. I farm in the summer and make furniture in the winter.” Oscar picked up his coffee and blew across the top. It felt odd to have anyone in here besides Liesl. On winter evenings his daughter played on the floor with blocks of wood and curled planer shavings, talking and singing to herself, pretending the blocks were all sorts of fanciful things, but having Kate here was something different. It felt...intrusive? No, not exactly, but unsettling.
She studied the drawing on the bench. “This is beautiful. But where do you start?”
“I start by asking lots of questions.” He smiled. “I try to get the customer to be as specific as they can with what they want—what wood, what size, what deadline. And I try to educate them on what is possible and what isn’t. I can do many things with wood, but I can’t stop it from expanding and contracting, or splitting, or being too hard or too soft for what they want done.” He picked up a piece of pine he’d used to anchor a sheet of paper. “Like this. Pine is light, with a very open grain. When you carve it, you have to be careful, because it can chip out easily. And I don’t recommend it for a tabletop, because it’s so soft. You’ll get lots of dings and dents if you don’t treat it carefully.”
He strolled to the racks, touching the different woods. “Birch doesn’t take stain very well. It’s hard to get an even coat. And hickory is very difficult to carve because it’s so hard, but it makes a great toy box.” He stopped, realizing he’d been going on for quite a bit. Wood might be his favorite topic, but it wasn’t likely to be interesting to anyone else.
She tucked her bottom lip behind her teeth for a moment, her eyes showing her surprise at his enthusiasm. Those blue eyes, heavily fringed with dark lashes that, when turned full on him, made his heart beat a bit faster. Her hand went to her belly, pressing slightly.
Oscar remembered the wonder of feeling an unborn baby kicking and tumbling, the surge of joy and amazement at the sign of health and growth. He fought down the memory. He needed to remind himself that the Amakers’ stay was temporary and that he wanted it that way, not to dwell on things of the past that made his chest ache.
“I wanted to let you know that we would be gone most of the day tomorrow.” She picked her coffee cup up off the workbench. “I need to start another batch of cheese, and it will take all day.” Lightly fingering her collar, she looked at the drawing of the wedding chest, a sad light coming into her eyes. Had she owned a wedding chest, now destroyed by the fire? What had she kept in it?
Liesl came pelting into the room, ramming into his knees, hugging him hard and lifting her face to stare up at him. “Guess what Grossmutter told me, Daddy?”
He swung her up onto his arm, grateful for the interruption. “What, Poppet?”
“Grossmutter told me about Advent calendars. She said most everyone in Swizzerland has one, to teach little girls and boys about Christmas and waiting for things.” Liesl toyed with a button on his shirt and then raised her hands to press on his cheeks, making sure he was listening. “Some have little doors that you open to show you how many days till
Christmas, and some have little pockets with treats in them that you get every day. But Grossmutter and Miss Kate had the bestest kind.”
“What kind is that?”
“An ’Ativity calendar.”
He glanced at Kate, who was blinking, her fingertips against her lips, eyes suspiciously bright. “You know what, Poppet, maybe you can tell me while you get ready for bed, all right?” He bounced her on his arm before setting her down. “Run out and say good night to the Amakers and I’ll meet you in your room for your story and prayers.”
“Can Miss Kate come, too?”
“I think Miss Kate is tired. Maybe she can help out tomorrow getting you to bed.” And she wouldn’t want to listen to a little girl prattle on about a treasure she had lost.
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Kate smiled brightly, though Oscar could tell it was forced. “I’ve never helped put a little girl to bed before. Maybe you could teach me all about it, Liesl. Soon I’ll have my own little one to put to bed, and I could use some practice.” She held out her hand to Liesl, who took it gravely.
“I’ll show you how.”
Oscar carried the lamp, and Liesl, true to form, talked the whole way up the stairs, into her nightgown and under the covers.
“Daddy tells me a story right before bed, but sometimes he lets me tell one, and I want to tell him about the ’Ativity calendar.”
Kate sat on the side of the bed, hands in her lap. Oscar leaned against the doorframe. “Only if Miss Kate says it’s all right.” She was clearly still raw, her loss fresh.
“She’ll like my story. Grossmutter said it was the thing Miss Kate loved best.” In Liesl’s innocence, she clapped her hands. “The ’Ativity calendar came all the way from Swizzerland, and it had lots of pieces, a new one for every day, and every morning, someone got to put another one out on the sideboard in the dining room. Is that right?”