Erica Vetsch - A Child's Christmas Wish

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.

“What are you doing?” Oscar filled the doorway.

“Daddy. I’m cleaning. Aren’t I doing a good job?” Liesl held up the rag, her face alight. “Kate and Grossmutter are cleaning, too.”

Kate looked up from her hands and knees where she was scrubbing the floor around the stove, and Grossmutter put a row of glasses back in the cupboard, having just wiped down the shelves.

“You are doing a beautiful job.” He nodded to his daughter, but he didn’t take his eyes off Kate as he came in and put his hand under her elbow, helping her to stand. “Could you come outside for a moment?”

His eyes were stern, his expression fierce. Though his grip on her arm was firm, it wasn’t tight as he directed her to the porch.

“Where are you going, Daddy?”

“We’ll be back soon, Poppet. Just keep on with what you’re doing.” He closed the door behind him.

Kate clasped her elbows, turning to face the sunshine. Overhead, a V of Canada geese honked and flapped, heading for warmer temperatures.

“What are you doing?” Oscar asked. “Scrubbing my floors?”

She looked up at him. He stood with one hand braced on a porch post, the other on the railing, looking out over his fields dormant now that the harvest was over. He wore a patched flannel shirt, the plaid faded from many washings, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with brown hair. Everything about him exuded masculinity and strength. And his jaw had a hint of stubbornness.

He also clearly had a bee in his bonnet about expectant mothers doing basic chores. What was she supposed to do? Wrap herself in a quilt and huddle in a rocking chair until her time came?

“You don’t have to scrub my house. I know I’m no housekeeper, but my house isn’t exactly a pigsty.” He frowned, and she realized he wasn’t upset about her working while in what he called “a delicate condition.” Rather, they had offended him.

“Of course your home isn’t a pigsty.” She went to stand beside him. “I’m so sorry if we’ve overstepped. Grossmutter and I are keeping busy and, in a small way, trying to repay you for some of your kind hospitality.”

Some of the tightness went out of his shoulders. “I’m not looking to get repaid. Anyway, you shouldn’t be scrubbing floors. You should be sitting at that table with your family figuring out what you’re going to do next, where you’re going to go.”

Because the sooner they were out of his house, the better. He hadn’t wanted them to begin with, and he wanted them gone at the earliest possible moment. Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard, unwilling to cry.