A Child's Christmas Wish

He didn’t laugh with her.

* * *

Breakfast was an ordeal. Kate had little appetite in the mornings these days, and especially not for oatmeal so sticky it clung to the roof of her mouth and tasted of damp newspaper. Grossmutter would have made a coffee cake for breakfast today, using her sourdough starter from the crock that always sat on the shelf behind the stove. Now the shelf, the crock and the stove were gone.

Their host and the maker of the meal shoveled the gooey mass into his mouth as if stoking a furnace. His daughter sat on a high chair, her little boots kicking a rung as she poked and stirred her oatmeal, taking little bites and watching the strangers at her table. Uncertain, but clearly curious.

As for Oscar Rabb... Someone had put a burr on his shirttail. He must have morning moods, because from the moment she’d offered to help with his daughter’s hair, he’d been wary and gruff, as if having them there put him out considerably and he couldn’t wait for them to leave.

Inge and Martin ate quietly, still looking exhausted and facing a difficult day. How could Kate help them through it when she felt as if she was barely hanging on herself? And yet, she must. Johann would expect it, and they needed her. And she loved them as if they were her own grandparents. Having lost her family soon after her wedding, Johann’s grandparents were all the family she had left now.

“I am finished.” She put her spoon down, her bowl still more than half full. “We had better get going soon. The cows will be waiting at the barn door.”

“Oscar,” Grossvater said. “I would like to leave Inge here, if that is all right? Kate and I can tend the cows and the cheeses. Perhaps Inge can help with the little one.” He nodded toward Liesl.

The little girl’s eyes grew rounder, and she looked to her father. “Actually...” He let his spoon clatter into his empty bowl. “I was thinking that you should all stay here. I can milk your cows for you today.”

Kate blinked. He’d been grouchy all morning, and now he was volunteering to milk ten cows all by himself? Cows that weren’t even his? He’d been reluctant from the first to have them in his house, and now he was offering to give them even more help?

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Rabb.” Kate scooted her chair back and went to stand behind her family, putting her hands on their shoulders. “But we don’t want to be any more of a burden to you than we already have been. We must see to our own chores, and we must decide where we are to go.”

Inge stood and began clearing the table. “Nonsense, Martin. We will all go. We need to see what can be salvaged of the house, if anything, and there is plenty of work to do this morning. I am old, but I am not useless.” She gave her husband a determined look, and he shook his head, smiling and patting her hand.

“I only wanted to spare you the unpleasantness for a while. If you are sure, we will all go.”

Liesl hopped off her chair and scampered toward the door, lifting a contraption of wood and straps and toting it to her father. “Me, too, Daddy?”

He took the odd item and rubbed her head with his large hand. “You, too, Poppet, but we’ll take the wagon over and use this later.”

“Can she ride in our wagon with us?” Liesl pointed to Kate.

Kate stopped buttoning her coat—still smelling of smoke—in surprise. “Me?”

Liesl nodded. “I like you. You’re pretty. Are you sure you aren’t a princess? You look like the princess in my book.” She turned to Grossmutter. “Did you know she has a baby in her tummy? Daddy’s going to get me a baby for Christmas. He said I should ask for the one thing that I want most, and he would get it for me.”

Grossmutter smiled. “Do you mean a doll baby?”

Liesl shook her head, her braids sliding on her shoulders. “No, I have a doll baby. I want a real baby. Like Miss Kate’s.” She crossed her arms, a determined look in her little brown eyes. “I like Miss Kate.”

Kate laughed, smoothing her unruly hair and glancing down at her masculine coat, ordinary farm dress and burgeoning middle. “Bless you, child. I like you, too.” Her father had his hands full with this one. Just how was he going to dissuade her from her wish of a real baby for Christmas?

Oscar’s frown took some of the pleasure out of the little girl’s compliment. “Mrs. Amaker probably wants to ride with her family. Don’t pester her.”

Which Kate took to mean he didn’t want her riding with him and his daughter. Liesl’s mouth set in a stubborn line, but she didn’t argue with her father.

So they arrived at the Amaker farm in two wagons. Kate took one look at the burned-out shell of a house, the half-toppled chimney and the wisps of smoke still drifting from the piles of ashes, and covered her mouth with trembling fingers.

It definitely did not look better in the morning light.

Grossvater pulled the wagon to a stop and sat with the reins loose in his hands, resting his forearms on his thighs. “We must thank God that we were not at home when this happened, that none of us was lost in this fire.”

He wrapped the lines around the brake handle and climbed down, reaching up to help Grossmutter. Kate began to descend the other side of the wagon, but before she could step on the high wheel, Oscar was there, reaching up for her and lifting her gently to the ground. He looked sober and wary.

“You should be careful. You wouldn’t want to fall.” He stepped back. Liesl waited in his wagon, but the dog had jumped down, already nosing around the edges of the devastation.

“Come, Kate,” Grossvater said, holding out his hand. “We need to pray.”

She rounded the wagon and joined the old couple. She needed to hear Grossvater pray, to lean on the strength of his faith, because hers was feeling mighty small this morning. Tucking her hand into his work-worn, age-spotted clasp, she sucked in a deep breath and bowed her head. A smile touched her lips as Liesl’s hand slipped into hers.

“Our Father, we give You thanks for this day and that we are here to praise You. We thank You that we still have our cows and our barns and our land. Our hearts are heavy, but we are trusting in You. You are sovereign. You are good. You have a plan to bring good out of something we see as a tragedy today. We are weak, and we need Your strength.

“We give You thanks for Oscar Rabb and Liesl, and for their hospitality. We ask that You bless them and help us to be a blessing to them as they have been to us.

“Please give us the peace that is beyond our earthly understanding. Make Your will plain to us. We are trusting You to provide. Dein Wille geschehe.”

Liesl tugged on Kate’s hand and whispered loudly, “What does that mean?”

Kate bent as far as her rounded belly would allow. “It means ‘Your will be done.’ Sort of like ‘Amen.’”

“Oh, amen, then.” She grinned, then sobered. “It’s sad about your house. Are you going to live with us now?”

Oscar made a noise that wasn’t really a word but wasn’t exactly a grunt, either. Kate shook her head. “No, sweetling. We aren’t going to live with you. Your father was kind enough to offer us a place for the night until we could decide what to do.”

Inge put her arm through Martin’s. “This is our home. We will rebuild.”

Kate looked at Grossvater over the old woman’s head, noting the strain in his eyes. Where would the money to rebuild come from?

Martin patted his wife’s hand. “For now, we need to milk the cows. They are setting up their chorus.”

Down by the barn, the herd of ten Brown Swiss bovines stood near the door, and from time to time a plaintive moo sounded. At the gate on the other side of the barn, four crossbred heifer calves nosed one another, tails swishing, ready for breakfast.

“Climb aboard, Poppet.” Oscar shouldered his way into the contraption Liesl had brought to him in the house, and it arranged itself into a sort of pack. He crouched, and the little girl grasped the straps and threaded her legs into the correct places, facing backward and sitting in a little webbed seat on her father’s back. Oscar stood carefully and looked over his shoulder. “All set?”

“Yep.” Her small boots swung, and she grinned.

Kate stared.

Oscar shrugged, gently, so as not to unseat Liesl. “She’s been riding in this since she was two. I couldn’t leave her alone in the house while I worked, so I made this.”

Grossvater let the cows into the barn, and creatures of habit that they were, they each went to their own stall. Kate took her milking stool from its peg on the wall, and Grossmutter gathered the buckets they had cleaned and put away before going to church last night. While Grossvater fed the cows, Kate started at the far end with the milking.

All the cows were named after Swiss cantons and towns—Grossvater’s choice. Saint Gallens, Zug, Geneva, Lucerne, Berne... Kate knew each one well. The barn smelled of hay and cows and milk and dust. Light came in the high windows and the open door at the end, and she rested her cheek against Jura’s warm side, falling into the steady milking rhythm, hearing the milk zing into the bucket, the tone changing as the level rose. Soon, Grossvater began milking the cows on the other side of the aisle, and farther down, she heard Liesl’s voice, chatting with her father as he, too, milked cows.

Grossmutter patted Kate on the shoulder. “I will go to the cheese house and brush and turn the cheeses.”

“We won’t be long here. We’ll put the milk in the springhouse. I won’t worry about cooking another batch of cheese today.” Kate finished with Jura and picked up the heavy bucket of warm, foamy milk.

She took it down the barn to where clean, empty milk cans sat on the handcart Grossvater used to take milk down to the springhouse. The cows were giving less milk now. In high summer, each cow gave several gallons of milk every day, and Kate made a new batch of cheese every couple of days throughout the summer. But now they gave less than half the summer amount, and she could store the milk for a few days before making a batch of cheese.

“Let me do that. You shouldn’t be toting such heavy things.” Oscar took the bucket, lifting it easily and pouring it into the open can.

Liesl twisted over his shoulder and waved. “Daddy, can I get down?”

“Not just yet, Poppet. Wait until we’re done in the barn.”

“Mr. Rabb, I appreciate your help, but I’m not helpless.” Kate took the bucket to go to the next cow.

“No, you’re not helpless, but you are in a delicate way.” His face reddened a bit, and Kate’s warmed.

“The work must be done.” Not that she had always been the milkmaid. Making cheese was one thing, but barn work another. Johann hadn’t liked her in the barn doing what he considered a man’s chores. He had always been the herdsman, but after his death, Kate had needed to do more work about the farm. Grossvater couldn’t do it alone.

She’d been feeling overwhelmed with the farm work already. In a couple of months, after the baby was born, how would she be able to get everything done? At least the baby was coming in the winter, when farm work slowed down, but Martin and Inge weren’t getting any younger, and there would be another mouth to feed. Would they be able to keep up with all that the farm required? And how could they get the money together to rebuild the house? Everything was so costly, and their savings were meager. Last spring, Johann had spent a fair amount of their savings buying a Brown Swiss bull to improve his herd.

It was that bull that had caused the accident that had cost Johann his life.

Now the bull was gone and so was the money.

Kate’s shoulders bowed under the burden, and she tried hard to hold on to Grossvater’s faith-filled prayer.

God, help me find a way.

* * *

Oscar let Liesl climb out of the carrier. “Stay where I can see you, and don’t go near where the fire was.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She went to the gate where the calves had their heads down munching the hay Martin Amaker had forked over the fence. Rolf, her shadow, went with her, tail wagging gently, eyes alert.

A wagon rolled into the yard, and Per Schmidt climbed down from the high seat. “Guten Morgen.” He surveyed the charred remains of the house, sweeping his hat off his head when the Amaker ladies came out of the barn toward him.

“Morning.” Oscar began a slow circuit of the burned-out area, but he could see nothing in the ashes to salvage. Bits of bent metal, puddles of melted glass, bricks fallen from the chimney, but nothing worth saving.

“Dere is not much left.” Per followed him. “Vat are dey going to do? Do dey haff family to help?”

He didn’t know. Oscar glanced over to check on Liesl and found that Kate had helped her climb the gate to look over at the calves. Kate stood behind the little girl, holding her safely, their heads together.

Which reminded him of how easily she’d brushed and braided Liesl’s hair this morning—a task he usually struggled with—and how seeing the two of them together like that had been a kick to his middle. He’d been surprised at how quickly Liesl had warmed to having strangers in the house and to Kate in particular.

And now Liesl wanted a baby for a Christmas present. He wasn’t really worried about this, because she changed her mind every day. Tomorrow she would want a doll pram or a kitten or new hair ribbons.

“I saw Prediger Tipford coming down the road. He vill be here soon.”

Oscar hoped so. Surely by now Pastor Tipford had come up with a plan for the Amakers, a better place for them to stay until they could rebuild.

Martin Amaker came out of the barn slowly pulling the milk cart. Oscar nodded to Per and went down the path.

“Let me help.” He took the handle of the cart. “To the springhouse?”

“Yes. Thank you, son. Milking is heavy work, is it not?” Martin tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. “Though I must confess, everything seems heavier today.”

Oscar made short work of storing the milk. The springhouse, built over a diverted part of Millikan Creek, was damp and cold. A row of milk cans stood along the back wall, and Oscar added the two from the cart.

He tried to imagine Martin and Kate doing the heavy work of the farm all alone for the past six months. Guilt hit him. Johann had been gone for half a year now, and what had Oscar done to help his neighbors? Nothing. But he had his own farm to look after, and a child, and a house. He was nearly overwhelmed at times himself.

At least he could salve his conscience that he had offered them hospitality last night. A paltry bit of comfort, but it was something.

Pastor Tipford and his wife drove into the farmyard as Oscar returned the cart to the barn. Kate helped Liesl down from the fence, holding her hand as they walked up the slight slope to greet the newcomers.

Her other hand rested on the swell of her unborn child, and Oscar swallowed. Losing his wife in childbed had been a double blow. God had taken Gaelle and their second daughter on Christmas Eve almost two years ago. Even now, the grief could steal his breath.

“Ah, Oscar, I trust you got the Amakers settled last night, and you were all able to get some rest?” Pastor Tipford’s voice filled the farmyard. He always spoke as if he were talking to someone in the back pew.

Mrs. Amaker nodded. “He was most kind.”

The preacher’s wife smiled at him. “Of course he was.”

Oscar shoved his hands into his pockets. He wished they’d get on with the discussion. His own chores were waiting.

“Martin, Inge, we were able to spread the word of your situation last night when we returned to town, and a small collection was gathered.” Pastor Tipford handed Martin a small sack. “Everyone wishes it were more.” He shuffled his large feet.

Oscar frowned. He hadn’t been asked to contribute yet. Not that he had much hard cash. Most of his money was tied up in the farm, the implements and the livestock. With the harvest, he had enough to pay his account at Hale’s Mercantile and purchase basic supplies for the winter. He wouldn’t have any more cash coming in until he could finish and sell the furniture he made during the winter months. Several orders had come in, but they weren’t even started yet. But still, he would give a little something to the Amaker collection.

Martin Amaker took the purse from Pastor Tipford, his eyes suspiciously bright. Inge’s lips trembled, and Kate stood with her hand cupping Liesl’s head. “How can we thank everyone?” she asked.

“Don’t you worry, child,” Mrs. Tipford said. “Pastor has already thanked folks for you. Now, we need to get down to brass tacks. What are your plans?”

Martin shook his head. “We have had little time to discuss anything.”

“Well, the Bakers have said that Kate can come stay with them, and the Freidmans have a guest room for the two of you.”

Kate’s eyebrows rose. “Be separated? And away from the farm?”

Oscar frowned. The Bakers lived in town, but the Freidmans lived on a farm at least five miles north of Berne. He didn’t like the notion of the old couple that far from Kate, nor of Kate being on her own. And what about their livestock? Who would take care of the milking cows and calves?

“Child, no one we asked had room for all of you.” Mrs. Tipford shook her head. “I wish the parsonage had an extra bedroom or two, but it’s so small we almost have to go outside to change our minds.” She laughed at her little joke. “As for the farm, Gregor Freidman has said he will drive Martin out to do the chores twice a day. He’s retired now, so he has the time.”

From what Oscar remembered about Gregor Freidman, he was even older than Martin Amaker and twice as frail. If they got an early snowfall, all too likely here in Minnesota, two old men shouldn’t be on the road between here and town. It would be a twenty-mile round trip from one farm to the other.

Pastor Tipford rubbed his hands together. “Anyway, it is only for a few weeks, until you get another house built. Lots of folks will be willing to help with the work. It will be a community effort. I can drive you down to Mantorville to the sawmill to order the lumber today. They could probably have a couple wagonloads delivered tomorrow afternoon.”

Martin and Inge shared a look, and Kate bit her lip.

“That’s very kind of you, Pastor.” Martin straightened his age-bent back. “But we...” He stopped, staring at the horizon for a moment. “We are not in a position to rebuild right now.”

Rolf came to lean against Oscar’s leg, and he reached down to pat the dog’s head. He could sympathize with Martin. If he had lost his house, he wouldn’t have had enough laid by to rebuild. Of course, he could get a loan at the bank to pay for lumber and hardware. He hated to buy on time, but sometimes you had to.

“Not rebuild?” Pastor’s voice boomed.

Martin’s voice seemed thin and frail. “Not right now.”

They must be even harder up than Oscar thought. And now they were going to be separated from each other, living with different families in town?

Liesl reached up and took Kate’s hand, her face scrunched, looking from one adult to another, not understanding what was happening. She was a sensitive little thing, quick to perceive moods, even ones she didn’t understand.

Kate’s other hand rested on the gentle mound of her unborn baby, and her face was as pale as the milk he’d just put in the springhouse. Oscar had the ridiculous urge to go to her, to put his arms around her and offer her some of his strength. He shook his head. Their problems weren’t really his concern, were they? He had enough trouble of his own, which he took care of on his own.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now. You are welcome to stay at my place until you can make other arrangements.” Oscar almost bit his tongue, so surprised was he. Where had that come from? He’d just issued an invitation of indefinite duration? And not just to an old couple, but to an expectant widow?

“I’m sure it would only be for a couple of weeks at the most, right? Just until you sort things out.”

Had he lost his mind?

And yet, he didn’t find himself wanting to renege.

What was wrong with him?

Chapter Four

When they returned to Oscar’s house, Grossvater went with him to the barn, but Oscar shook his head at Kate’s offer to help. “I don’t need you to muck out stalls. If you stay in the house and mind Liesl, that will be enough.”

He squatted beside his daughter. “You can show the ladies around the house, right?”

Liesl nodded, uncertainty wrinkling her brow. No doubt she went to the barn with him every morning.

“We’ll be back soon.” He brushed his knuckle down her cheek.

Kate watched the two men walking side by side down the slope to the barn, one white-haired and lean, the other strong and tall. How many times had she watched Johann and Grossvater like this, heading out for a day of farming together?

“What should we do now?” Liesl took Kate’s hand.

“What do you usually do in the mornings?” Kate asked.

“Go to the barn with Daddy.” Liesl shrugged. “That’s a funny coat.”

Kate smiled at the quick swap of topics. “It is, isn’t it? That’s because it belonged to my husband. It’s kind of big, but when I wear it, it helps me remember him.” She headed for the kitchen door, her stomach rumbling. “All that work made me hungry. How about we get a snack?”

Grossmutter was already in the kitchen, surveying the room, hands on hips. Kate knew that look.

“Liesl,” Kate said, bending to the little girl. “I don’t think we properly introduced you two. This is my Grossmutter. That means ‘grandmother.’ I am sure she won’t mind if you call her that, since it seems like we will be staying with you for a few more days.”

Grossmutter smiled, her lined face gentle as she put a work-worn hand on Liesl’s head. “Schätzchen.”

Liesl looked to Kate.

“That means ‘sweetheart.’”

The child beamed. “She’s nice. And so are you.”

“I think we should have our snack, and then we can see about helping out around here. We might not be welcome in the barn, but we can make a difference in the house.” Kate went to the cupboard. She felt the need to keep busy, to keep her thoughts at bay for a while. And to somehow repay a bit of Oscar Rabb’s kindness.

She sliced a rather misshapen loaf of bread and spread it with butter.

“There’s honey in the pot on the shelf.” Liesl pointed. “I like honey on my bread.”

So they had honey, too. Afterward, Grossmutter found a broom, and Kate wiped Liesl’s chin and hands with a damp cloth.

“You and I can do the dishes, and you can tell me where everything goes.” Kate drew a chair up to the counter for the child and filled the washtub with warm water from the stove reservoir. Shaving a few soap chips off the cake beside the pump, she stirred them until suds formed and placed the breakfast dishes and snack plates into the water.

Liesl talked the entire time they washed and wiped dishes. “Daddy doesn’t like doing dishes, so he waits until night time to clear up. He says he’d rather do a lot at once than have to do them a lot of times during the day.”

Kate smiled, handing her a tin cup to dry. She wasn’t overly fond of dishes herself.

“Daddy lets me help, but I can only dry the cups and spoons and forks. He does the plates himself. When I’m big enough, I’ll do all the dishes all by myself. Daddy says he will be glad when that day comes.”

Grossmutter opened the kitchen door and swept the dirt outside and off the porch. When she came in, she began sorting the boots and shoes beside the door into neat rows.

By the time the men had finished the barn chores and returned to the house, Kate had washed the kitchen windows with vinegar and water, scrubbing them with crumpled newspaper that Liesl had found for her, and Grossmutter had taken her broom to the cobwebs in the corners and along the crown moldings. Liesl had been given a damp cloth and the task of wiping down all the kitchen chairs, which had been moved into a row at the far end of the room. Kate had tied an empty flour sack around the little girl’s waist to spare her pinafore. She looked adorable, concentrating on each rung and chair leg, chattering the whole while, surprisingly at ease with the women when it was clear she spent almost all her time with just her father.