A Log Cabin Christmas (43 page)

The past tense usage of her mother indicated the woman had passed on. What about her father? Was he dead also? Seeing how upset Awnya was, Amadeus chose not to ask. He would not risk upsetting her further.

“Where are you from?” Those green eyes were back on him, skipping his heart several beats.

“I was born in Austria. My papa was Austrian, und my mama is German. Fifteen years ago, to America we moved.”

“That explains your accent.”

“Ja. I try hard to speak the American well. My papa insisted we learn to talk like the Americans, but I do not always succeed.”

“You speak English very well. It’s just sometimes your w’s sound like v’s, and your t’s sound like d’s, and you toss in a German word here and there.” Her body suddenly shook with the advancing cold. “Brrr.”

The poor woman is freezing to death, und you stand out here like an idiot in a whiteout carrying on a conversation? What is wrong with you, Amadeus?

“Forgive me for keeping you in the cold.” Using the porch rail as a guideline, he led her to the front door of the cabin. “Let us go inside where we can get warm und get something to eat.”
And where I can much better get to know you
.

A
wnya stood to the side so she wouldn’t be in Amadeus’s way while he opened the cabin door. Snow swirled inside, onto a braided rug and the knotty-pine flooring. He stood back and motioned for Awnya to precede him.

She stepped inside under a low ceiling that sloped upward. Warm, inviting heat greeted her along with a mixture of faint animal odors, baked bread, food, and two identical small boys that resembled their father.

Amadeus hurried inside and shut the door. “Ethan. Jakob. Give the lady some room.”

Immediately, the brown-haired, blue-eyed boys took three large steps backward.

“Here. I take that.”

The weight of her rifle lifted from her shoulder. She wanted to snatch it back, but Amadeus hung it above the door right below another one. Not having it nearby made her nervous, but surely he wouldn’t do anything to her with children in the room.

That thought helped her relax a bit.

He hung her snowshoes on a nail, placed her pole below, and faced the room. “Where is your
grossmutter?”

Next to a kitchen table stood a seven-or eight-year-old girl with fawn-colored hair and sea-blue-green eyes—eyes that frowned at Awnya then swung toward Amadeus. “
Oma’s
taking a nap. She wanted me to wake her up when you got in.” Her attention swiveled back to Awnya.

“Isabella, this is Fräulein Awnya O’Crean.”

“Nice to meet you, Isabella.”

The girl said nothing, only turned questioning eyes up at her father.

“Tonight she vill stay with us.”

The girl frowned, eyeing Awnya warily. The two younger boys moved alongside their sister.

“These are my sons.” He pointed to the one on Awnya’s right. “That is Ethan.”

“Ethan.” She smiled at the child.

His little shoulders hiked, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Ma’am,” he whispered before shuffling back to his sister’s side.

The boy on her left pressed his shoulders back, raised his head high, and stepped forward.

“That is Jakob.”

Yaycob
. She loved Amadeus’s accent and how his
j’s
sounded like y’s. Like when he’d told her his last name was Yosef.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Jakob smiled, and so did Awnya when she noticed his two upper front teeth missing. Jakob returned to his sister’s side. “Welcome to our home, Fräulein O’Crean.”

Isabella jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

Jakob’s gaze flew to his sister. “What did you do that for?” He elbowed her back.

Awnya would have liked to hear the answer to that question, too.

“Das ist genug.”
Amadeus’s stern voice took Awnya back a bit.

The children stopped and whirled their gazes up at him.

“Isabella, go und wake your grossmutter. Boys, clean your mess, und wash your hands for supper.”

“Yes, Papa,” they both said before heading over to the river-rock fireplace, where they gathered wooden train cars, railroad tracks, checker pieces, and a fold-up checkerboard, placing them in buckets.

Not knowing what to do, Awnya removed her other glove, her wool hat, and her scarf. She folded them neatly and placed them on the honed-out tree bench under the window.

Amadeus moved behind her. He held the bearskin coat she and her pa had made while she removed her arms from the sleeves. He hung it on a peg near the door.

“Your feet must be cold.” He reached under the bench, grabbed two pairs of hand-stitched, fur-lined slippers, and handed her the smaller leather pair.

“Sit, und put on these, ja?”

“Thank you.” She sat down and found the smoothed-out surface surprisingly comfortable. Before she had a chance to finish unlacing her boots, Amadeus had his off and his slippers on. She finished removing her wet boots and slid her feet into the warm, furry footwear.

“I need to add logs to the stove und fireplace. You make yourself at home, ja?”

“Thank you.” She stood.

Amadeus gave a quick nod, loaded his arms with logs from a nearby woodbox, and strode over to the fireplace at the far end of the large room. His shadow loomed large against the log walls.

Orange and yellow hues from a kerosene lantern sitting on a corner cabinet, along with coals from the fire, shed some light into the dusky room. While he tossed logs onto the grate, she stepped farther into the room and took in her surroundings.

A buckshot rifle, identical to the one her pa had, hung high above the fireplace mantel. A wave of sadness washed over her. She never found her pa’s gun. It had been nowhere near his body. She wondered where it had gone. Something about her pa’s death had never set right with her, but she wouldn’t dwell on that right now. It hurt too much.

She switched her focus to the open fireplace and the three slatted, straight-back rocking chairs in front of it. How she’d love to sit in one and rest a bit. Her muscles ached from traveling so far in the thick snow. Even sitting on the round top of the steamer trunk against the wall sounded good at this point.

She lifted her gaze. The room appeared distant and moved like clouds pulled by the wind. Having very little to eat for several days was taking its toll on her. Before the light-headedness sent her to the floor, she needed to find a place to sit. She didn’t want to get in Amadeus’s or the boys’ way. Surely it would be all right to sit at the kitchen table in one of the knotty-pine chairs or on one of the benches. They looked mighty tempting. Mighty tempting indeed. Amadeus had told her to make herself at home. The decision was made.

Blinking back the fog, she made her way to the closest kitchen chair and lowered herself onto its hard surface. Flames from the two lanterns on the table danced and twirled in her vision, making her dizzier. She pulled her attention from them, and within minutes her vision cleared.

Heat from the nearby Glenwood cookstove worked its way into her bones, warming her and making her eyelids heavy, but she would not allow herself to be rude and fall asleep. She blinked twice, forcing her eyes to stay open, mentally making notes to keep herself awake. To the right of the stove stood a breadboard counter with drawers, cabinets, a pull-out flour bin, and gray-and-brown crocks that must hold baking powder, sugar, molasses, honey, spices, coffee, and tea.

Her attention swayed as sleep dropped over her once again. She shook herself and forced her mind to continue the litany of kitchen items. Next to the breadboard counter stood a shelf with two blue, speckled dishpans. Hanging on the wall above it were towels, a knit dishcloth, and a bucket. Next to that stood an open-face cabinet filled with dishes.

The boys headed toward her. One of the twins dropped his head and scurried past. From his earlier shy behavior that had to be Ethan. The other flashed her a wide smile with two front teeth missing. That boy had to be Jakob.

She shifted in her chair. Balancing their toy buckets, they climbed the built-in ladder between the two bedrooms up to a loft. The only things she could see there were a single mattress, a trunk, and a few clothes on the wall.

Butted up against the farthest bedroom wall were shelves loaded with bottles of tonics, jugs, lanterns, jars of canned fruits, vegetables, fish, and chicken.

She’d never seen so much food and supplies in one place before. Her stomach growled just thinking about all that fare.

“You warm now, fräulein?” Amadeus asked beside her.

She looked up at him and nodded. “Yes. I am. Thank you. The heat feels nice.”

“Das ist gut.” He smiled.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I forget sometimes. I say, that is good.”

“Oh. Okay.” She smiled her understanding.

With a half nod, he moved to the cookstove and raised the iron lid. After stirring the ashes, he added logs.

When he finished, he turned and peered over her head. “Did you sleep well, Mama?”

“Ja.”

Awnya spun in her chair.

A short woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun, wearing a navy wool dress with an apron, ducked under the line of laundry and headed toward them. Isabella followed, her face scrunched as if she’d just eaten a sour apple.

Awnya stood on weak legs.

“Mama, this is, Fräulein Awnya O’Crean. Awnya, this is Louissa, my mama.”

“Nice to meet you, Awnya. Such a beautiful name. Und such beautiful red hair.”

“I think it’s ugly. It looks like marmalade jam,” Isabella’s whisper reached Awnya’s ears, but she pretended she hadn’t heard it. Her father didn’t though.

“Isabella. What is wrong with you?” He glanced at Awnya. “Again, I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness.” He looked back to Isabella. “Apologize to our guest.”

Isabella’s gaze lowered. “Sorry.”

Even though she knew the girl didn’t mean it, it didn’t matter. Awnya would forgive her anyway. “It’s okay. I’ve always thought my hair looked like marmalade, too. I wish I had pretty hair like yours.”

Isabella jolted her gaze to Awnya’s. She twirled a strand of her own hair around her finger.

Awnya followed the movement around and around and around. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so good. The room appeared dimmer than it had a few minutes before, and even the glow from the kerosene lanterns had dimmed. She reached behind her and felt for the chair she’d been occupying but couldn’t find it. White dots pranced in the dark shadows around her. “I think I’m going to …”

“Isabella, get water.” Amadeus carried Awnya’s limp body into his mama’s bedroom and laid her on the feather mattress.

“Did I cause her to faint, Papa?” His daughter’s eyes, filled with fear, shifted between Awnya and himself.

“Nein, nein,
liebchen
. Lack of food has made her weak. Go und get water now, please.”

“Yes, Papa.” She fled the room and within seconds returned with a glass of water.

“Will she be all right?”

“Ja.” He took the water from Isabella, raised Awnya’s head, and laid the glass against her lips. “Come, Awnya, you must drink.” He let the water run into her mouth.

She stirred as the liquid trailed down her chin. Her eyes opened. “What—what happened?”

“You fainted.”

“Oh dear,” she whispered.

Seeing Awnya faint had resurrected a heartbreaking memory, one Amadeus wanted to forget. The image of his wife slumping to the floor and never regaining consciousness crashed in on him. He forced the image from his mind, knowing there was nothing that could be done for Georgina, but for Awnya there was.

Though he had just met her, she stirred something inside him he had not felt since Georgina’s death. His arms ached to hold Awnya, to explore his feelings toward her. But now was not that time. “Isabella, ask your grossmutter to bring Awnya food please.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Awnya sat up, but not without bouts of swaying, which she tried to hide. “Please don’t. I’m fine.”

He hiked one brow then turned to his daughter. “Tell Oma we are ready to eat. Und help her set the table.”

Isabella nodded and left the room.

He faced Awnya. “I vill help you to the kitchen.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I’m fine. Really.”

Not believing it for a moment, he stood, draped his arm securely around her shoulders, and led her to the kitchen table.

She felt good tucked under his arm. A perfect fit.

He missed having someone to talk with. To wake up to. To share his life with. Yes, he had his children and mother, but it was not the same. He wanted a companion. A wife. With Christmas only twelve days away, he silently prayed,
Lord, for Christmas, the only gift I want is Awnya
.

Awnya bowed her head while Amadeus said grace. When his prayer ended, Louissa filled their bowls and passed them around. Braided bread came next. Each person tore off a chunk. When everyone had their food, they began to eat.

When she took her first bite, chicken, carrots, celery, onions, and little clumps of dough similar to heavy dumplings melted in her mouth. “This is delicious, Mrs. Josef. What kind of soup is this?”

“Please, call me Louissa. It’s chicken rivel soup.”

“Rivel? Is that what the little dough balls are?”

“Ja. It was my Oma’s recipe. Meine mutter teach me to make it, und I teach Isabella.”

Awnya looked at Isabella. “You made the soup?”