A Child's Christmas Wish. Erica Vetsch

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СКАЧАТЬ waist. Wrinkling her nose, she shed her dress and decided to sleep in her chemise and petticoat. She hurried to spread her clothing out over the footboard of the bed, hoping they would air overnight.

      After all, they were the only clothing items she owned now.

      Sliding under the covers, she curled up, wrapping her arms around her unborn baby. Loneliness swept over her, loss and sorrow crashing into her chest. She reached for the second pillow, burying her face in the feathery softness, letting the tears she’d been holding back flow.

      The baby rolled and kicked, bumping against her hand, warm and safe in her belly. Which was just as well, since she had no home for him or her at the moment.

      * * *

      Oscar closed the damper on the stove, checking that the fire was well-banked and letting Rolf out for one last run before he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The clock on the mantel said it was already tomorrow, and he needed to be up early. Familiar with his house in the dark, he didn’t bother with a lamp.

      His boots sounded loud on the stairs, and he wished he had remembered to take them off in the kitchen. Liesl, once asleep, could slumber through a brass band marching through her bedroom, but his houseguests probably didn’t sleep that soundly.

      Light snoring came from the old couple’s room. He was glad someone was getting some rest. They were in the room his wife had reserved for her parents when they came down to visit from Saint Paul. Those infrequent visits had always made Oscar uncomfortable. His in-laws had wanted their daughter to marry someone from town, a doctor or banker or lawyer, someone who could provide an easy life for her in the city in which she was born. But she had married him instead, a farmer and woodworker. It had been on one of his trips to the city to deliver his hand-carved furniture that he’d met Gaelle. One look and he’d been a goner. Three happy years of marriage, one daughter and a baby on the way...and now nearly two years of emptiness...except for Liesl. If he hadn’t had that little girl to look after, he didn’t know what he would’ve done.

      He shook his head, letting go of the banister to start toward his own room. A sound to his right made him pause. The muffled sound of a woman crying. It seeped under the door and into his chest.

      The widow.

      Helplessness wrapped around him, and his own grief, never far below the surface, rose up to engulf him. He shifted his weight and a floorboard creaked.

      The crying stopped, and he walked down the hall, feeling guilty at intruding upon her sorrow. Grief was a private thing, and it must be wrestled one-on-one. He knew from experience. Well-meaning outsiders weren’t welcome.

      He peeked into Liesl’s room one last time to make sure she was still under the covers. His daughter often slept like a windmill, throwing aside blankets and pillows and apt to be sideways in the bed before dawn. A sound sleeper, but an active one.

      For once, her head lay on the pillow, the blankets tucked to her chin where he’d placed them upon their return to the farmhouse. Her journey out into the night air didn’t seem to have done her any harm. Of course, she’d been well wrapped up and had Rolf curled up beside her, sharing his warmth. The dog followed him into the room and flopped onto the rug beside her bed, his tail softly thumping the floor. Oscar smiled and smoothed Liesl’s nut-brown hair, his hand engulfing her little head. She looked just like her mother and chattered like a chickadee from dawn till dusk. He’d do just about anything for her.

      He shut her door and entered his own room. The weak moon had long set, and faint starlight was the only illumination, but there wasn’t much to worry about knocking into in here. A single bed, washstand, and armoire, all made by him, were the only furnishings.

      He eased his suspenders off his shoulders, loosening his shirt where it had been pinned by his braces. Letting the suspenders fall against his thighs, he poured water into his washbasin. Washing quickly, Oscar got ready for bed.

      Once in bed, he couldn’t sleep. Stacking his hands under his head, he looked up at the ceiling and thought about the Amakers. He’d known Johann for years. They’d gone to school together, loaned one another horses and equipment when in need, been members of the same congregation, but they weren’t close friends. Oscar wasn’t particularly social, and since his wife’s death, he’d stayed to himself even more.

      Still, it bothered him that Johann’s widow was crying down the hall, alone and grieving.

      And pregnant.

      Every time he thought about that, it was like a fist to his gut. He didn’t want to be responsible, even in a small way, for an expectant mother. Too much could go wrong. He’d have to find another place for the Amakers soon. Maybe even tomorrow. By tomorrow afternoon, he was sure a collection would’ve been taken up, and maybe they could rent a place in town until a new house could be built.

      He rolled to his side and willed his eyes to shut and his mind to stop thinking about the woman across the hall.

      It seemed he’d only been asleep for a minute when something patted his face. He squinted through his lashes, pretending to still be asleep as the light of a new dawn peeped through the window. Liesl stood beside his bed, her hair tousled, cheeks still flushed from sleep.

      “Daddy, the sun is waking up.”

      She said the same thing every morning. She’d always been an early riser, and he’d been forced to teach her that she couldn’t get out of her bed until the sun was up. So she waited, every morning, and at the first sign of dawn, she was in here urging him to get up and start his day. He lay still, eyes closed, playing the game.

      “Da-a-a-dddyyy!” She patted his whiskers again. “You’re playing ‘possum.’”

      He grinned, reached for her with a growl and grabbed her, wrapping a knitted afghan around her. “Brr, it’s too chilly to be standing there in your nightdress. Is it time to milk the chickens?” He rubbed his beard against her neck, careful not to scratch too hard.

      She giggled and squirmed, kneeing him in the belly as she twisted in his grasp. “Silly Daddy, you don’t milk chickens.” Liesl took his face between her little hands, something she did when she wanted him to pay particular attention to her. “Daddy, I had a dream last night.”

      Which was nothing new. Liesl was an imaginative child who had dreams, both night and daydreams, that were vivid in color and detail.

      “What did you dream this time, punkin? That you were a princess?”

      Her brown eyes grew round. “How did you know?”

      He gave her a squeeze, tucking her head under his chin for a moment. “It might be because we read the princess story again before bedtime last night.”

      Liesl giggled and shoved herself upright. Her hair wisped around her face, and she smeared it back with both hands. “I did dream I was a princess, and you were there, and we had a picnic, and I had a pink dress, and there were beautiful white horses and sunshine and cake.”

      “So, it’s a pink dress now, is it? Yesterday it was blue. I thought blue was your favorite color.” He sat up and wrapped the blanket around her again, scooting up to rest his back against the headboard.

      “I like all the colors, but today I like pink best.” She fingered the stitches edging the blanket. “Pink, with blue flowers? For Christmas?”

      He laughed. “Pink СКАЧАТЬ