Erica Vetsch - A Child's Christmas Wish

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, inviting 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.

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