A Child's Christmas Wish

by Erica Vetsch

  Nothing else. Just the box.

  “I don’t know what all goes on in that little head of hers, but whatever this is, it’s important to her.”

  Kate pushed herself up from the table. “I’ve never known such an imaginative child. She can make worlds out of any old thing you give her to play with. It must be all those bedtime stories you read to her.” She pressed her hand to her lower back and rounded the table. “Would you mind if I brought my sewing into the workshop? Martin and Inge are going to turn in soon, but I would like to get on with hemming diapers. I hate to sit alone at night. If I wouldn’t be disturbing you?”

  She would, but not in the way she might think.

  He brought a chair from the parlor into the workshop and set it near the little stove. She settled in with a pile of white flannel squares, her thread and thimble.

  Cozy. As if she belonged there.

  Oscar forced himself to get to work.

  The wedding chest had turned out better than he’d hoped. The inlay work was as smooth as glass...and so it should be for all the hours he’d spent sanding and fitting the pieces together. Oscar opened the lid, inhaling the tangy, woodsy smell of the cedar lining.

  “All this needs is the hardware. I already set the hinges, but not lock.” He ran his hand over the satiny walnut.

  “It’s beautiful. I’m sure the bride will treasure it.” She had a wistful echo in her voice, and he was reminded that if the Amakers had family heirlooms, they had been lost in the fire.

  He found a pencil and his ruler and marked the exact spot the hole for the lock should be cut. Then he measured again, his father’s voice in his ear. “Measure twice and cut once.”

  Kate laughed, and he realized he’d said the words aloud. Not looking up from her sewing, she said, “My mother said that, too, but she was talking about fabric. She took in sewing to make a little extra money, and she knew if she got a pattern piece wrong, it would come out of her profits.”

  “That’s where you learned your dressmaking skills?” He selected a chisel, testing the edge for sharpness. He would need to create a mortise to drop the locking mechanism into, and he needed to be careful not to gouge too big a hole.

  “Yes.” She drew her thread quickly through the flannel, whipping the edges of the cloth into a tight hem. “Liesl was asking me if she could learn to sew. I put her off until I could check with you. I didn’t ask before I taught her some of her letters, and I didn’t want to overstep again.”

  “Isn’t she too young to sew? Only four?” He didn’t like the idea of her with a needle in her little hands.

  “I wasn’t much older than that, but I thought we might start with some lacing cards and yarn. They’re easy enough to make, just punching holes in cardboard and winding a piece of thread around the end of a length of yarn to make it tight. She can practice all kinds of stitches with the yarn.” Kate bit her thread to break it and reached for her spool and another square of flannel. “I thought it could be a Christmas gift from me to her. We don’t have much we can give, but we want to give Liesl something.”

  “You don’t have to. She isn’t expecting anything from you.” He tapped the chisel with his wooden carving mallet, taking small chips of walnut at a time.

  “I know. But we’d like to do something. And Grossvater and Grossmutter wanted me to let you know they would be paying for the baking supplies Grossmutter was using to make the Advent treats she’s taking to the celebrations.”

  He put his tools down and looked at her. “There really is no need for that.”

  She lowered her work to her lap. “Please, Oscar, let them. They know they are costing you more than you would normally spend at the mercantile, especially with all the baking supplies. If they can’t contribute, they won’t feel right going to the parties.”

  Test-fitting the lock, he noticed it sticking in one of the corners. With a rounded rasp, he filed off a bit of wood at a time, trying the lock again. He could appreciate the Amakers wanting to contribute, to pull their weight, so to speak, but...he realized, they’d been doing that and more.

  “Things sure have changed around here in the last month. I didn’t realize all the tasks I wasn’t getting done, or that I wasn’t getting done well, until you all showed up.” He dropped the lock into the mortise where it fit snugly. Now to affix the top plate. “I haven’t cooked a meal, washed a dish or swept a floor. Every piece of harness and tack has been soaped and oiled, every loose board and hinge is tight, and my horses have never been groomed so often. I’d say you all were contributing more than your share. Not to mention what you’ve done with Liesl.”

  He glanced up and saw she was pressing her hands against her stomach, breathing quickly, eyes closed. His heart leaped into a gallop, and he dropped his screwdriver with a clatter. “What is it? Is it your time?” Panic clawed up his windpipe, making it hard to breathe.

  She shook her head, eyes still closed, lips tight. After a moment she eased, taking a deep breath. “No, I just took a bad kick to the ribs. I had no idea a baby could be so strong.” She rubbed her right side. “He’s been doing that a lot lately, and I’m getting sore. I guess he’s protesting the lack of room.”

  Oscar bent to pick up the screwdriver, but he didn’t feel any relief. She was going to have a baby. He’d known it in his head, but he’d put off really thinking about it, especially after she’d gotten the all clear from Dr. Horlock. It had been easy to push the reality aside, think about it sort of obliquely, because there was so much to do in the here and now, so much else to think about, the birth was something that would happen “later.”

  But later was rushing upon them. The baby would come, and it would come while she was staying in his house.

  “Maybe I should send for the doctor in the morning, have him come check you out, just to make sure everything is all right?”

  She picked up her sewing again, as if the most terrifying and life-altering thing that could befall a person wasn’t going to happen to her within the month. “That would be a waste of his time.”

  He tightened the screws on the faceplate and felt as if he were tightening the screws on his heart.

  * * *

  Kate looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall, grateful that the sixteenth of December had finally arrived. They wouldn’t have to go out tonight. After more than two weeks of evening visits to the community, she was more than ready to stay home.

  Not that tonight would be any more restful. This evening, the Amakers and Rabbs would host the Advent celebration.

  The house smelled like a bakery. Grossmutter had been hard at work since sunup, making Chrabeli, the delicate little claw-shaped cookies that were Kate’s favorites. She had plates of Brünsli, Zimtsterne and Zopf covering the table, each under a tea towel. And as the time for visitors drew near, Kinderpunsch would simmer on the stove, filling the house with fruity sweetness and tantalizing spices.

  Liesl came through from the workshop where Oscar was putting the finishing touches on a rocking chair to be picked up by the Slocums tonight, and tripped across the room, a block of wood in her hands. She knelt by the sideboard and set it in among the others.

  It had taken Kate three days to realize what Liesl was playing with the box and scraps. Every day, she added a new block of wood, chatting to herself, arranging the pieces to suit the picture in her mind.

  It was Liesl’s version of the Advent Nativity she had heard Grossmutter talk so much about. The box was the crèche, the wood blocks the sheep, shepherds, donkeys and camels. Sixteen pieces as of today, nine more to come.

  “Which one is that?” Kate asked.

  “It’s a wise man.” The child set the block up on end. She angled it, moved it a couple of inches, then pushed it back. “There. How many wise men were there?”

  “Our Nativity had three wise men, though Scripture doesn’t really
say how many there were. I suppose tradition says there were three because there were three gifts that they brought to Jesus.” Kate closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the beautiful carving, the satiny finish of the family pieces. Her favorite wise man had been made of walnut. He wore a crown with tiny carved jewels, and the curls of his beard had looked so real.

  “Sweetling, would you like to move your set up on top of the sideboard instead of underneath? We can clear off the top to make room.”

  “Yes.” Liesl hopped up. “And then we need to decorate our window, right? Daddy said he would bring in the branches, and Grossmutter said we could make some paper chains and popcorn strings, too.”

  Kate began moving items off the sideboard to make room. “How about we put a tablecloth on here, though, to keep from scratching the wood?” She opened the top drawer and removed a pale green cloth. “You can pretend this is the grass.”

  “Don’t we need the white one, to pretend it’s snow?” Liesl clutched several “sheep” blocks.

  “Depends. Jesus wasn’t born in Minnesota. He was born in Israel. It’s mostly warm there, and there was grass growing for all the sheep to eat. But it’s up to you. We can use white if you want.”

  The child considered this for a moment, her lips pushing out as she thought. “Green. Then there will be grass for my sheep, too.”

  “Kate, can you come here for a minute?” Oscar called.

  She pushed a chair up to the sideboard for Liesl to stand on to arrange her pieces and hurried into the workshop. “Yes?”

  “Tell me what you think.” He dusted the shiny back of the rocking chair with a bit of old flannel. “Think Mrs. Slocum will like it?”

  “Oh, Oscar, it’s beautiful.” She touched the satiny wood, setting the chair into motion. “What kind of wood is this?”

  “It’s quarter-sawn red oak. See these marks?” He pointed to the headpiece. “Those are called sun rays or sunbursts. You only see those in quarter-sawn wood.” Turning the chair slightly, he waved his hand. “Give it a try.”

  Kate lowered herself into the chair, bracing on the arms to ease herself down. The chair embraced her, and she settled in, pushing with her toes to rock gently. “It’s perfect.” The arms curved at just the right angle, the back fit snugly into the bend of her spine. “Mrs. Slocum is going to love it. She won’t want to get up and tend to any chores.”

  His smile warmed her. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d asked her to come in and inspect every new piece of furniture, as if he couldn’t wait to share his creations with her. “I hope so. It took a long time to steam and bend all the wood for this one.”

  “What do you have left to finish before Christmas?” She rocked, feeling the ache in her back a little less than when she was on her feet.

  “Just a jewelry box and a checkerboard.” He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “And I was thinking of making a dollhouse for Liesl. Would you be able to make some little curtains and rugs and things if I did? She’s so fascinated playing with those wood blocks, pretending they’re a Nativity scene, I thought she might like a dollhouse for Christmas.”

  Kate laced her fingers under her chin. “Oh, she would love that. And I would love to help you with it.”

  “I drew up some plans last night.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “I thought I’d make it sort of like our house now. Well, half of it. With a kitchen and parlor downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. Simple, you know?”

  She opened the paper, her mind already envisioning the little house and the pieces she could make for it. “She’ll be thrilled. She’s such a little homemaker already. And so imaginative.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s going to be pretty hard for her when you all leave. I thought this might fill some of the hours.”

  Who was going to fill the hours for Kate? She was going to miss the little girl dreadfully. Just then the baby gave a thump, thump, thump. Smiling, Kate rubbed the place. I suppose you will fill up my time, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss sweet little Liesl.

  “Since the chair has your stamp of approval, I guess it’s time for me to head out and get some pine for that Advent window.”

  “Can Liesl and I come with you? We’d love to help.” She found she wanted to pack in as much time with them both as possible.

  He frowned. “I don’t want you to fall out there.”

  “It’s not icy. And the snow would be a soft place to land. I promise to hold on to your arm the whole way there.” And that wouldn’t be any hardship at all. His brawny arms were one of the things that made her feel the safest. As if, should he put his arms around her, she would be impervious to any harm or hurt.

  She studied her hands as warmth spread up her cheeks. Here she was, only days away from the birth of her first child, imagining what it would be like to be held safely in the arms of Oscar Rabb. Was this disloyal to Johann? Or unseemly?

  Without a doubt, she had loved her husband. When they were married, she’d never thought about another man like this, never wanted to. But Johann was dead. She missed him, and she knew she always would. But she was alive.

  “If you promise to take it slow, you can come with me.”

  She looked up, wondering what Oscar would think if he knew her thoughts. He’d probably be shocked and hustling to find somewhere else, anywhere else, to house the Amakers until they had to leave for Cincinnati.

  So she must never let on that she had a...tenderness...for him. Anyway, it was probably just that he was so steady and kind. Not like she was in love with him or anything. Grossmutter had warned her that pregnant women sometimes got emotional, thought silly thoughts. That’s all this was, a passing attraction. She and Oscar were friends. Just friends. And friends enjoyed each other’s company.

  “I’ll get my cloak.”

  He was at her elbow, helping her up, and she wished for a moment that she didn’t resemble a grain silo in roundness and proportions. She blew out a breath. “I once saw a picture of a walrus on the beach. That’s what I feel like these days.”

  Shaking his head, he put his hand to the small of her back to guide her to the door. “Why do women always think they look their worst when the opposite is true? If you ask me, there’s nothing prettier than a woman being just as God made her to be. You’re doing some important work there, housing Junior until he decides to make his appearance. Nothing unsightly about it.”

  She felt every finger of his touch, and his opinion was like balm on her chafed heart. His words would be mulled over in the coming days, she had a feeling.

  Bundled up, she and Liesl waited on the front porch for the sleigh. Last week when the snow had gotten deep, Oscar had taken the wagon box off the wheels and put it on sled runners. And at Inge’s request, he’d attached a string of bells to the horses’ harness. Now the bells chimed out merrily as he drew up to the house.

  Liesl hurried off the porch, and Oscar swung her up high, depositing her gently into the straw piled in the back of the wagon. Rolf barked and leaped aboard, tail wagging like a white-tipped black flag. Kate waited for Oscar to come to her, mindful of his strictures on this little jaunt.

  “Is it too cold for you girls?” He put his arm around her waist and took her hand in his other one.

  “No. We’re tough Minnesota women, aren’t we, Liesl?” Kate bragged. “We don’t get cold.”

  Oscar’s brows rose. “Really?”

  Liesl giggled and fended off a lick from Rolf. Soon they were on their way to a grove of pines along Milliken Creek where it ran through the pasture on the Amaker farm.

  “In the summer, when it gets really hot, the cattle come down here and stand in the water to cool off,” Kate remembered. “With all this snow, it’s hard to recall the hot days of summer.”

  “But in the summer, it seems to me I can recall every
snowflake of a blizzard.” Oscar slapped the lines. “Probably because we’re tough Minnesotans, eh? We like to brag and complain about the ferocity of our winters, no matter the season.”

  They reached the pine grove, and Oscar led them into the trees, a handsaw over his shoulder and Kate’s arm tucked into the crook of his elbow. “How much will you need?”

  “Enough to hang in the window and decorate the sill. And maybe some to form a wreath for the front door. Liesl, would you like a wreath on the door?” Kate called ahead to the little girl, who was lifting her feet high and trying to navigate the drifts. Rolf ran and leaped and rolled in the snow, clearly joyous at being out with them.

  “Yes! Grossmutter would like that, wouldn’t she?” Liesl called back over her shoulder.

  Oscar wasted no time. He soon had an armful of fragrant branches. Long-needled white pine and the shorter, stubbier blue spruce. “You wait here while I load this in the wagon. I’ll be back for you.”

  He disappeared through the trees, and Kate bent and picked up a handful of snow. She put her fingers to her lips and motioned for Liesl to do the same. “We’ll ambush him when he comes back, right?” she whispered to the little girl.

  With a giggle, Liesl packed her own snowball and crouched behind a pine tree, eyes alight.

  The moment Oscar came into the small clearing, Liesl jumped out and let fly, her snowball arcing and falling well short. Kate’s was more accurate, and her missile exploded against his dark coat front.

  “Gotcha!”

  He froze, eyes wide, then a grin spread across his face. “So, you want to have a snowball fight, do you?” He leaned down and gathered a handful of snow, not packing it.

  Kate laughed, edging backward. “No, I just realized that I don’t, really.”