A Log Cabin Christmas (44 page)

“No. But I helped.”

“Well, you did a very good job of helping. My mother used to make great soup, too, but this is one of the best I’ve ever eaten.”

The little girl beamed. Then a shield of nonchalance fell over her.

“You said ‘used to’.” Amadeus’s voice pulled her attention to him.

“Yes. My mother died several years ago.”

“Und your papa?”

She put her spoon down and placed her hands in her lap. “He passed away, too.”

“I am sorry for you, Awnya.”

“Thank you.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“No. No one.”

“No one at all?” Ethan blurted.

When she looked at him, he dipped his head.

“If I do, they’re in Ireland, but my parents never mentioned anyone else.” She picked up her spoon and shoved soup into her mouth, hoping they would take the hint and move the conversation in a different direction.

“Papa, Awnya could become part of our family. You could marry her, and she could become our mother.”

Awnya gasped at Jakob’s boisterous suggestion. A vegetable chunk stuck in her throat. She coughed and hacked, trying to dislodge it.

Amadeus rushed to her side and patted her back until her airway cleared. Then he leaned close and for her ears only said, “Sounds good to me.”

Her gaze flew to his. She searched his eyes to see if he was serious; after all, they’d just met.

Sincere blue eyes smiled at her, making her wonder if it might very well be possible.

I
n the shadowed bedroom, Awnya stretched her arms under a tied, patchwork quilt. One of the taut ropes underneath the mattress pushed a chicken feather through the sheet, pricking her skin. She shoved it back through and tossed the blanket aside. “Brrr.” Cold air penetrated the flannel nightgown Louissa had lent her, the one an upset Isabella informed her was her mother’s.

Awnya slid her legs over the wooden frame and stood. She leaned over and tossed the covers into place and then shoved her bed under the frame of the one above it, the one Louissa and Isabella had shared the night before.

She rubbed her arms, hurried to the window, and pulled aside the quilt curtain. Very little light filtered into the room due to the heavy cloud cover.

Snow swirled around the window, adding inches to the drift against the porch rail. Unless things changed, Awnya wouldn’t be going home today. She let the curtain fall back into place.

She felt her navy and brown wool dress to make sure it was dry before getting dressed. At the bedroom door she paused, savoring the aroma of coffee and bacon that wafted from the room beyond.

Isabella stopped talking to her father and scowled at Awnya.

Amadeus turned toward her and stood. “Morning, Awnya.”

“Morning.” Awnya focused on the pine knots in the floor.

“Come. Join us.”

She picked up her gaze.

“Ja. I have a plate ready for you.” Louissa smiled, adding more wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

“Move over, boys, to let Awnya sit,” Amadeus said.

Ethan offered her a small smile before lowering his gaze to his plate.

Jakob’s bright face split into a wide grin. “Sit next to me.” He scooted over so fast and hard he almost knocked Ethan off the bench.

Awnya’s heart warmed at his acceptance of her. She sat down. Syrup and plates of bacon, eggs, and some crumbly looking stuff in a bowl was placed before her.

Awnya took two pieces of bacon, a scoop of scrambled eggs, and a small portion of the other stuff. What was the syrup for? She sneaked a peek at Jakob’s bowl. Syrup coated the crumbles. Ah, so that’s what it was for. She drizzled the warm liquid into her bowl and took a bite of the crisp yet chewy morsels. “This is wonderful. What is it?” she questioned Louissa.

“Verhackertes.”

“Far-hawk-tuss? What’s it made of?”

“Flour, milk, egg, und a little salt.”

“How did you get it into such tiny pieces?”

Isabella huffed and took over for her grandmother. “You fry it in lard or oil and keep chopping away at it until the pieces are little. Don’t you know anything?”

“Isabella. Your behavior is unacceptable. Apologize to Awnya.
Jetzt
!” Amadeus ordered sternly.

Isabella turned narrowed eyes at Awnya. “Sorry.”

Again, it was obvious the girl didn’t mean it. Awnya didn’t care. She only wished she knew why Isabella disliked her so.

She nodded. “Thank you for telling me how it’s made.”

“Welcome.”

She knew Isabella didn’t mean that either.

“Now finish your breakfast,” Amadeus said to his daughter.

“Yes, Papa.”

When everyone finished eating, Amadeus dressed for outside while Louissa and Isabella worked at clearing the table.

Awnya rose to help, but Louissa stopped her. “Nein. We get this. You are guest.”

“An uninvited guest,” Isabella murmured near her.

Awnya sneaked a glance at Amadeus to see if he’d heard his daughter’s comment. He continued to dress for outdoors, so he must not have, which was fine with Awnya, as she could well forgo the insincere apologies.

Unsure what she would do now, Awnya tugged at her lower lip, pondering her choices. One thing she didn’t want to do was stand around and watch Isabella glower at her. She’d rather face a raging blizzard than put up with the girl’s insolence.

In that instant, the decision was made. In record time, she readied herself for outdoors, grabbed her pole, and reached for the door handle.

Amadeus turned, shocked at what he saw. “What you doing?”

“Going outside to help with chores.” Her eyes held hope. He did not blame her. Isabella’s disrespect had not gotten past him. But he had no idea how to handle his daughter. A talk would be good to find out why she was being rude to their guest.

He nodded and opened the door. Cold and snow blasted his face. “You certain, Awnya?”

She stepped past him onto the snow-covered porch.

“Ja. I guess so.” He chuckled.

Around the house and down the stairs, he shoveled a path for them to walk. While still not good, the visibility was much better than yesterday. He would not need to put up a rope to guide them.

At the bottom of the stairs he asked, “You got animals to feed, Awnya?”

“No. None.”

He sighed with relief. He could not bear the thought of any animal going without food. But that also meant the woman was more destitute than he’d thought. She needed someone to take care of her. And he wanted to be that someone.

His attention darted behind her. “Ah, there you are. I wondered where you were.”

Awnya turned. She gasped and leaped backward.

Amadeus chuckled and ran his hand over the deer’s neck. “Sorry she startled you. She is come for grain.”

He left to get the doe’s feed, and when he came back, he shook his head and grinned.

“Aren’t you the sweetest little thing ever?” Awnya cooed, scratching his pet behind the ears. “And to think I almost shot you. I’m so glad I didn’t.”

“I bet she is, too, ja?”

Awnya looked up and chortled. He joined her.

They trekked through the snow to the shelter underneath his cabin. He motioned for her to go first. Then he ducked inside, keeping his head low so his hat would not scrape the ceiling.

“I’m surprised the cows come in here. The ceiling’s so low. How tall is it?”

“Six und a half feet.”

“Why’d you make it so low when you’re so tall?”

“Heat rises to the top, und a low ceiling makes less space to heat.”

“When you built the cabin above, why didn’t you make it low like this one then?”

“Several reasons.” He counted them off. “With the roof sloped it helps to keep snow from accumulating und the roof from caving in. I did not wish to duck all the time. Plus the boys needed a room, und the loft provides that. I knew the heat from the animals would rise und help heat the cabin.”

“I see.” Awnya stepped farther inside and looked down. “Is there a wood floor under all this dirt?”

“Nein. No time. Winter come too soon.”

One of the cows butted him, knocking him into Awnya. She stumbled, but he shot his arm out and caught her. Touching her made his heart race. The yearning to hold her came strong, but the restless cows needed to be fed and milked.

Amadeus forced thoughts of holding Awnya from him. He secured the cows while she pulled the rope on the grain chute, filled the buckets, and fed each cow grain while he milked.

“What do you do with all this milk?” She grabbed a stool and a bucket and started to milk the cow next to him. He hated seeing her work, but she had insisted on helping.

“Most of it I sell. I transport it to the relay stage stop, und they haul it to the train depot. But today, the snow is too deep. The horses vill not make it. So Mama vill skim the cream und make butter. The rest, I vill store.”

They finished the milking, and against his wishes, Awnya helped carry the buckets to the house.

“Hi, Papa.” His children greeted him from around the kitchen table, where they were playing jackstraws.

“Who is winning?”

Isabella successfully removed one of the long thin sticks he had whittled. “I am.” She raised her chin.

He had to ask.

He and Awnya removed their outer garments then stood in front of the blazing fireplace. Awnya extended her hands toward the flames. Shadows of yellow and red danced across her beautiful face—a face he would not mind seeing every day.

Awnya tilted her head, and her lips slowly curved. This time, she had caught
him
staring at her. But instead of looking away, he allowed his gaze to roam over her face, over the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and down to her rosebud lips.

“I make hot cocoa. Here.” His mother’s voice behind him pulled his attention from Awnya. She handed them each a cup.

“Thank you,” they responded at the same time.

“Welcome.” Louissa chuckled. “Sit, und get warm.”

He moved the rockers closer to the fire. “Mama, vill you not join us?”

“Nein. I make butter.”

“Oh. Let me help you with that.” Awnya shifted to rise, but his mother laid her hand on Awnya’s shoulder.

“Nein. You sit. It will give me something to do, und I use that time to
beten
.”

“To what?”

“Pray,” Amadeus answered for her.

“Oh, I see.”

Mama headed to the kitchen.

Awnya faced the fire and took a sip of her drink. “Ummm. Your mother makes great hot chocolate.”

“Ja. She does.”

In comfortable silence, they drank their cocoa.

Awnya raised her legs and pointed her toes toward the flames. Her woolen stockings looked like a moth had eaten them.

“Awnya, why did you not say something?”

She whirled her face toward him. “Say something about what?”

“Your stockings.”

“My stockings?” She looked at her feet. Her eyes widened, and she quickly planted them back on the floor and tucked them under her skirt hem. Red flooded her cheeks. He felt bad, embarrassing her by mentioning something so delicate, but the situation needed attention.

“Had I known your socks were like that, inside I would have insisted you stay. I am sorry.”

“Sorry for what? There’s no way you could have known I ran out of thread. Besides, I’m used to it.” She stopped suddenly. Her gaze shot to his then back to the flames. “Can we not talk about this, please?”

He would not discuss it further, but he would definitely do something about it. In his wife’s trunk were many pairs of stockings. Later, he would have his mother give them to her.

“Papa, we’re bored. Can we make ornaments?” Isabella asked from beside him.

“Ja. Good idea, liebchen.” He faced Awnya. “You wish to join us?”

“Papa! I don’t want her to join us.” Isabella planted her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

Once again he made his daughter apologize. He needed to talk to her about her attitude, and soon, but not now. They had ornaments to make.

“Oma, you want to help make ornaments?” Isabella skipped over to his mama’s side.

“Nein, meine
schatz.”
She patted Isabella’s cheek with her wrinkled, age-spotted hand. “I am tired und need a nap. But you go ahead, ja?”

Isabella’s smile dropped, as did her hands to her side. “Okay.” She looked at the floor.

His heart ached for his daughter. Mama tried to do what Georgina used to, but lately she seemed to tire faster. Isabella needed a young mother. He glanced at Awnya and once again told God the only present he wanted was her.

Awnya hadn’t made a single ornament since her mother’s death. No need to. There had been no Christmas tree to put it on. Pa wouldn’t hear of it, nor would he let her decorate their home. He apologized often, saying it hurt too much because her ma loved Christmas and had always made a big to-do about it. Awnya missed celebrating Christmas. So right or wrong, she would not allow one disgruntled little girl to stop her.

“Awnya. You have ideas for ornament making?” Amadeus asked. “Oh yes. Lots of them.”

“Good, good.”

Awnya turned to Isabella and the boys. “I could make both gingerbread and salt dough that you could shape into something Christmassy. Then I’ll bake them.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Isabella snipped.

“I do,” both boys said. Shy Ethan jumping in made Awnya’s heart happy.

“All right. If you will help me get the ingredients, then I’ll make the dough.” She looked over at Amadeus for his approval. He gave a quick nod. She smiled, feeling like a kid again.

After the ingredients were gathered and hands were washed, Awnya made the dough and rolled it out. Isabella sat at the table with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and her lips pinched.