by Erica Vetsch
At the second store, he hadn’t missed how Kate had run her hand over a bolt of soft, white flannel, a wistful look in her eyes. It had hit him like a blow to the chest. She had probably spent months making things for her coming baby, only to have them all burned to ashes in the house fire. To his knowledge, she didn’t have so much as a diaper pin left.
Which made the cheese money all that much more important.
And he didn’t have anything in a bureau or trunk at his house to give to her. When Gaelle and the baby had died, he’d packed up all the baby things and sent them over to George Frankel’s house. The Frankels could always use baby clothes and such, and Oscar had known he would never need such things again. He’d kept Gaelle’s clothes, but he’d gotten the baby things out of the house quickly.
He climbed up into the wagon and gathered the reins, chirruping to the horses. Kate grabbed the seat and her belly as the wagon lurched, headed up from the riverbank sawmill to the top of the hill and the level prairie.
She looked tired, her shoulders drooping a bit. When they got home, he’d insist she sit for a while. Gaelle, near the end of her pregnancies, had suffered from swollen ankles and a tired back. Oscar peeked toward Kate’s feet, but her long skirt covered her shoes.
That skirt. Gaelle’s. It had been her favorite maternity dress. Not because she was fond of the color, but because she said it was comfortable and easy to put on.
Seeing Kate in it when he drove up to the house this morning to pick her up had brought back so many memories. Surprisingly, though thoughts of Gaelle still brought a pang, they hadn’t hurt like he’d been expecting. Which troubled him. It was supposed to hurt, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be battling his resentment and grief, wasn’t he?
“Oscar,” she said, turning to him. “Before we get to your home, there’s something I need to ask you.”
He slowed the horses to a walk and gave her his attention, caught by the gravity of her tone.
“You asked me not to speak about Christmas to Liesl, and to ask Grossmutter to do the same.” She twisted her hands in the red, yarn fringe of the shawl. “I’d like to ask you to reconsider that request.” When she put her hand on his arm, she looked up at him with those blue eyes, filled with concern. “I don’t think you can understand how important Christmas is to Inge. She looks forward to this season all year. The town has several events, and she helps Mrs. Tipford and the other ladies plan them all. The Star Singing, the Advent tour, the church program and gift giving. She bakes once-a-year treats and decorates and anticipates.”
Oscar listened. Gaelle had been like that, too. It was one of the reasons Oscar had abandoned all the trappings of the Christmas season after her death. It reminded him too much of all the good times.
Kate bit her lower lip and then continued. “This might very well be the last Christmas we have in Minnesota.” Her voice faltered a bit. “I know I should be grateful that Martin’s brother is willing to take us in, but none of us wants to go, to leave this place we’ve worked so hard to build, the place we have our roots. From what Martin has said, his brother isn’t a pleasant man, and the work Martin will do in the tannery isn’t pleasant, either. I’d like to do everything I can to make this Christmas special for Martin and Inge. It isn’t easy for anyone to uproot their lives and start over somewhere else, but it’s especially hard when you’re elderly. I understand your concerns about Liesl, but I’m concerned about my family, too. Surely giving them a good Christmas won’t hurt Liesl too much.”
He rubbed his hand down his face, feeling like an ogre. Or that fellow in the Dickens story, Scrooge? He’d used Liesl as an excuse, yes, but in reality, he hadn’t wanted to think about Christmas because it was too painful for himself.
Perhaps he could let them have their fun and just stay out of it. Yes, that’s what he would do. They could celebrate however they wanted, and he’d hold himself out of the jollity.
Slapping the lines, he urged the horses on. “It’s fine. Do what you like. Give yourselves whatever you can as far as a nice Christmas is concerned.” He almost said he wouldn’t mind, but that wouldn’t have been true.
Kate’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled, worry lines smoothing on her brow. “And I thought, if you like, I might be able to make something for Liesl. She showed me the princess dress in her storybook, and if you wanted, I could sew one for her as a Christmas gift. That might get her mind off a baby for Christmas.” She smiled softly. “I love to sew, and it would be no trouble.”
That baby for Christmas notion. Oscar sighed. Every night that request headed Liesl’s prayer list. “It would be a load off my mind if you could get her fastened onto some other Christmas gift, that’s for sure. Maybe you two can go to town and look at fabric? And not just for a Christmas present. If you’d be willing, I could pay you to make up a new set of dresses for Liesl for the next couple of years or so. She grows so fast, and I feel like I’m always looking for a seamstress to make new clothes for her.”
“I’d like that. And you wouldn’t have to pay me. It would be a way we could give back to you for your hospitality.”
Kate’s smile was a fine reward in itself. And he had a few thoughts on how to compensate her for her time if she wouldn’t accept money.
They pulled into the yard, and Oscar stopped the horses in front of the house. There was hardly room, what with all the buggies and traps parked out front. He recognized the flashy chestnut of the Tipford’s, so the pastor and/or his wife were here, but who were all these other folks?
He leaped down and reached up for Kate. “Looks like a party. Do you know what’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I’ll go see.” She reached into the straw where she’d put the medicines she’d gotten for Martin, and Oscar led the team around the back of the house to his workshop door to unload the lumber. Rolf gamboled around, bushy tail wagging, tongue lolling.
Martin met him inside the workshop door, rheumy-eyed, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief. “You might want to stay out here.” He coughed. “Hen party going on in the house.”
Oscar slid a couple of boards toward himself and grasped them under his arm. “What’s it all about?”
“I don’t know. I got out of the way first thing, me and the dog. Mrs. Tipford showed up with a basket of clothes for Inge and me that have come from the church people who wanted to help.” Martin plucked at the new, blue wool shirt he wore. “It’s nice, yes? Then the other ladies came, and the kettle was heated and I left. It is the wise thing for a man to do when the women get together.” He shrugged, good-natured about it. “I went down to the barn and swept out the feed and tack rooms, and I fixed the broken hinge on that end stall door.”
Something Oscar had been meaning to get to for weeks. He’d noticed over the past few days how handy Martin was to have around, fixing little things, tidying up, always doing something. “Thanks.” He slid the boards into the rack and went back for more. Martin met him in the doorway, a four-by-four under each arm.
“Where do you want these?” Martin turned his head, coughing in a tight bark, wincing at the small explosions.
“Walnut goes in the middle rack, soft maple in the upper, but I can get it. Why don’t you take a rest?” The old man looked like a stiff wind would topple him.
Martin shook his head. “It is good to stay busy. I am not fast, but I am steady.” He eased past Oscar and into the workroom.
In no time they had the wagon empty of wood. Oscar rolled a cheese toward himself. “Let’s put these down in my cellar. Save a trip back to your place.”
As they stacked the rounds on an empty shelf, Oscar told Martin what had happened at Watterson’s. Martin’s shoulders sagged.
“I should have gone to town myself. Kate has no experience with men like him.” Regret lined his face. “Last year Johann sold all the cheeses. He had a way of dealing with men like Watterson
, getting us a good price for our product.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “I miss my grandson very much.”
Oscar nodded, feeling a kinship with the old man. If Johann was here, so much would be different for all the Amakers...and for himself.
“I had a few words with Watterson before I left.” Not that it would do much good. Still, someone had needed to stand up for Kate. “You don’t want to do business with him if you can help it. Anyway, I told Kate I would take some of your extra cheese to Saint Paul with me at the end of the month and sell them there. I have to deliver some furniture pieces to a store there, and I am sure the grocers in the city would buy some of your inventory.”
Martin raised his head, a hopeful light in his eyes. “We might get a good price if you’re already going up there. It was always too far to justify the expense of a trip, but if you’re going, anyway...” His step had a bit more purpose as he went up the cellar stairs.
Oscar followed him up, pondering the notion that what a person really needed to keep going was hope more than anything. Hope that things would be better down the road, hope that someone cared, that there was a way forward.
After unhitching and turning out the horses, Martin picked up a broom, brushing aside Oscar’s protests. “I will sweep out the wagon. Then I will come to the house.”
Oscar nodded and headed to the pump to wash up. He respected that Martin wanted to work, needed to be doing something, but Oscar would need to find light jobs, preferably indoors, until the old man was feeling better. He opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. The pocket doors into the parlor were wide open.
His sitting room was crammed with females. Skirts and bonnets and chatter and scent. The smallest of the lot spied him and shot off the footstool, crashing into his knees. He swung her up, and she squeezed his neck. “Daddy, look. We’re having a tea party.” Liesl squirmed with glee. “Grossmutter... I mean... Mrs. Amaker let me wear my bestest dress, and I got to drink cammic tea, and eat cookies, and I’ve been really good. I got to help hand out the teaspoons.” Her brown eyes sparkled, and her smile was contagious. He had no idea what cammic tea was, but she looked like she was having fun. He hadn’t known what a social creature his little girl was.
Kate turned from the stove, carrying a tray, and Oscar lowered Liesl to the ground and took it from her. Here she was supposed to be resting, putting her feet up, and she was carrying heavy trays and waiting on people.
“Thank you. I just brewed another pot. Would you like some tea, or would you prefer coffee?”
He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I would prefer that you sit down and let someone wait on you. You have to be tired from your trip to town. I can make my own coffee.”
Her lashes flicked upward, their looks colliding, and he read the surprise in her eyes. It made him feel good to catch her off guard with a little care. She spent so much time looking after everyone else, it was high time someone put her first. He set the tray on the table in front of the fireplace, and Mrs. Tipford nodded.
“Hello, Oscar. Thank you for letting us use your parlor for our meeting.” She gave him a bright smile, most likely well aware that he’d had no say in their being in his house. “I’ll pour. Now, Inge, you have the lists of food for after the Star Singing? We’ll combine the Star Singing with the Christmas Eve service, and we’ll have the treats at the church afterward. That seems to work best. And, Gussie, you’ll have the usual school program?”
Gussie Slocum, the schoolteacher, nodded, taking notes on a tablet.
Oscar realized he’d stumbled smack into the Berne Christmas Committee’s plotting session. Oh, no. He refused to get sucked into this. They could plot and plan to their hearts’ content, as long as they left him out of it. He quietly took his leave, heading into the kitchen and sliding the pocket doors nearly shut behind himself. Martin had it correct. When women gathered, it was wise for men to scamper.
Liesl followed him, squirming through the narrow space between the doors. “Daddy, Grossmutter... I mean, Mrs. Amaker...says I can be in the Sunday school Christmas program, and that all the children get to be in the Star Singing, and that when December finally comes, we will go visiting every night. And she will teach me to make Christmas treats.” She climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs, kneeling and propping her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. “And we can make decorations, and learn new songs, and we will read about Baby Jesus.” She drummed her toes on the seat.
Oscar listened, but didn’t pay much attention, used to her prattling. He slid the coffeepot to the front of the stove and reached into the cupboard for the coffee beans. But the little sack wasn’t there. Rows of canned fruit and vegetables stood neatly on the shelves.
“The church ladies brought those, some from each of them. Mrs. Tipford said it was to help you feed the Amakers. Grossmutter...” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and he knew she was “mistaking” the name on purpose, but he let it slide. “She took everything out of the cupboard and put it all back in different places. The coffee is in here.” Liesl scooted off the chair and went to the corner hutch. She tugged open the top bin. “See, it’s close to the grinder, too.” She pointed to the coffee grinder on the wall. “It’s more...’fishent, Grossmutter says.”
Which he took to mean “efficient.” Her vocabulary was certainly expanding with the presence of guests in his home. He quickly ground some beans, wincing at the noise, and got the coffee brewing.
Martin came through from the workshop, wiping his hands on a towel, his cheeks red from the cold. A hot cup of coffee would do the old man some good. Oscar glanced at the clock. It was nearly time to head over to the Amaker farm to tend the chores, and he wanted to have a word with Martin beforehand.
Liesl beamed and patted the chair next to her. “You can sit here. Daddy, guess what we did today? Before the ladies came, me and Grossvat—Mr. Amaker fixed that bridle you said was broken. I got to hand him the tools, and he poked a new hole in the strap...” She went on for several minutes, detailing the repair with surprising accuracy, while Oscar nodded his thanks to Martin. Yet another chore he’d meant to get to that was now done.
The ladies’ meeting broke up. The pocket doors opened, and several of them streamed through. In their bright dresses, chattering away, they reminded him of a flock of birds. They put on bonnets, tugged on gloves, gathered belongings, talking all the while.
As he dug a pair of thick-walled enamel cups from the cupboard—thankfully, the dishes were in the same place they’d always been—he noted that Kate had remained seated in his big armchair, and someone had pushed the footstool in front of her. She was talking to one of the older ladies, holding her cup of tea on her rounded belly, clearly enjoying the company.
What was it about women that seemed to get them so happy and full of energy just by being together? Being around too many people for too long made him edgy and tired, but Gaelle had thrived on company. He poured the coffee, handing a steaming cup to Martin and taking up his own.
“Oscar.” Mrs. Tipford bustled over, tying her bonnet strings. “Thank you again for opening your home. Liesl may have told you, but if not, I wanted to let you know that the church ladies all raided their larders and sent along some canned goods and supplies to help the Amakers. And I brought some donated clothing for Inge and Martin.” She put her hand on his arm. “Kate tells me that you are responsible for her clothing. That’s so considerate of you.”
Oscar jerked his chin, letting her know he heard her.
“Anyway,” she said brightly. “We’ve got things well in hand now for all the festivities. Hard to believe it’s only a few weeks until Christmas.”
He set down his cup and headed outside to help the ladies into their wagons and buggies. They all thanked him, telling him how glad they were to see him at church that week, how they missed his wife at their gatherings. He nodded, reminded over and over why
he had avoided town and church and people for so long. He felt smothered, and when the last visitor pulled out of the drive, he sighed with relief.
Returning to the house, he let Rolf inside. The dog went first to Liesl, nosing her, licking her face, checking on her, then to his water dish, lapping happily before trotting into the living room and nudging Kate’s hand. She had clearly become a favorite of Rolf’s.
Inge began picking up teacups and spoons, piling things onto the tray. Liesl hopped off her chair and joined her, bustling about, mimicking the older woman in a way that made Oscar smile but also ache a bit. Another reminder of how much she’d missed by not having Gaelle in her life.
Kate, he was thankful to see, remained in the chair, her head tucked into the wing, eyes closed. Rolf flopped onto the rug beside her.
He turned to Martin. “I was thinking, to make things easier on both of us, it might be a good idea to bring your cattle over here to my place. I’ve room in my byre if the weather is bad. Otherwise, they can stay in the pastures here, and it would save all the trips next door. Most of your cattle are coming into their dry season, so they wouldn’t be much work, and since I only have the one milk cow, and she’s a Jersey, they’ll be easy enough to tell apart. I can haul feed from your place by the wagonload before the snow flies.”
Martin frowned into his cup, but before he could speak, he tucked his mouth into the crook of his elbow and coughed. The spasm lasted for a while, and when he was done, his face was red, and he held his chest. “It is a lot of trouble for you to make so many trips to help with the chores.”
“It’s not that. I don’t mind, but it would put my mind to rest if you were able to stay indoors until your cough is better, and it would save me a heap of time if all the livestock was in the same place.”