A Log Cabin Christmas (49 page)

“Liebchen.” Amadeus pulled Isabella onto his lap. “Oma did not fix Lilly. Awnya did.”

Isabella tilted her head, frowning, blinking, and staring at Awnya. Her chest heaved, and without saying a word, she rose from her father’s lap and slipped out of the room. Awnya’s heart fell.

Amadeus stood, and Awnya placed her arm on his. “Let her go. She needs time alone.” He nodded and sat back down in the rocker.

Minutes later, as the boys bustled with their toys, and Louissa admired the potholders Isabella had crocheted for her, Isabella stepped out of the bedroom carrying a small book in one hand and her doll in the other. With her eyes lowered, she came and stood in front of Awnya. “I’m sorry I didn’t make you anything. Here. I want you to have this.” Her hand came up, and in it was a small black Bible.

“Oh sweetie, I can’t take that.” Awyna’s eyes filled at the mere thought of the precious gift. “That’s your mother’s Bible. It’s yours.”

“I know. But Papa said a bad man stole your mama’s Bible, so you can have my mama’s. I want my new mama to have it.”

Like a broken dam, tears flooded Awnya’s cheeks.

“Don’t cry.” Isabella’s voice trembled, and fear filled her little face. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you. It’s just that when I saw the way Papa looked at you, I was afraid he was forgetting my mama, and I didn’t want him to. But—” She dropped her gaze. “You’re my mama now, so I want you to have her Bible.”

“Oh, Isabella.” Awnya put her arms around the child, singing praise to God for His goodness in her heart. She accepted the gift with reverence and amazement. “Thank you so much.” She pulled the Bible to her chest and clutched it there. “You will never know what this means to me. I won’t let your papa ever forget your mama. I promise.”

Isabella nodded and swiped the tears off her small cheeks. Awnya pulled her daughter into a hug. A love unlike any she had ever known pulsed through her.

“My turn.” Amadeus pulled his daughter into his arms.

Isabella pulled back, grabbed one of his hands, and joined it with Awnya’s. She smiled up at them and then went and joined her brothers.

With the children occupied with their gifts, Awnya slipped her arms around her husband and pulled him close.

“I love you, meine vee-not-goo-shank.”

His chest rumbled against her ear. “Vie. Nacht. Ga. Shinkt.”

“That’s what I said. Vee-not-goo-shank.”

He shook his head and laughed. She shut him up by joining her lips to his.

Love flowed through his kisses as he returned hers. Lord, thank You for my vie-not-goo-shanks. Vie-nacht-goo-shints. Oh piddle. For my Christmas gifts. My husband, my new mama, and my new children. But most of all, thank You for the gift of faith. Amen
.

Debra Ullrick is an award winning author who is happily married to her husband of thirty-seven years. For over twenty-five years, she and her husband and their only daughter lived and worked on cattle ranches in the Colorado Mountains. The last ranch Debra lived on, a famous movie star and her screenwriter husband purchased property there. She now lives in the flatlands where she’s dealing with cultural whiplash. Debra loves animals, classic cars, mud-bog racing, and monster trucks. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drawing western art, feeding wild birds, watching Jane Austen movies,
COPS
, or
Castle
.

Debra’s other titles include, The Bride Wore Coveralls, Déjà vu Bride, Dixie Hearts, A Log Cabin Christmas, The Unexpected Bride
, and come January 2012,
The Unlikely Wife
.

Debra loves hearing from her readers. You can contact her through her website at
www.DebraUllrick.com
.

by Erica Vetsch

To the Sorensen family, Kevin, Ann, Rebecca, Jonathan, and Elizabeth, who know a thing or two about serving in church and chaotic Christmas programs.

Whether therefore ye eat, or drink,
or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God
.
1
C
ORINTHIANS 10:31

Minnesota North Woods near Grand Rapids, December, 1875

Y
ou’ll just have to tell him no. I’m not interested.” Beth Sorensen wet her finger and tested the bottom of the sad iron. No pop and sizzle. Still not ready. She mentally ran down her list of Saturday chores.

“I don’t understand you, Beth.” Her grandpa laid aside his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Todd Rambek is a fine man. Why won’t you let him call on you? Or for that matter, the three others who have tried to court you. You’re going to wind up a spinster if you’re not careful.”

She laughed and crossed the puncheon floor, bending to kiss his bald head. “I’m barely twenty-one, Grandpa. Hardly on the shelf yet. You’ve always taught me to listen for God’s leading. None of the men who have asked permission to court have been the man God wants for me. Especially not Todd Rambek. He’s a blacksmith, of all things.”

“What’s wrong with being a blacksmith? It’s an honorable profession. He makes a good living, and more importantly, he’s of good character—a deacon in our church. I had such high hopes that you might look favorably on him.” He tapped together his sermon notes and tucked them into his Bible. “I do wish your parents were here to give you counsel. I’m hopeless with this sort of thing.”

Returning to the stove, she threw another log into the firebox and tested the iron once more. Perfect. The smell of hot cotton pricked her nose as she went to work on the wrinkles in Grandpa’s best shirt. She wished Mama were there, too. She’d understand. After all, it was Mama who had most often said what a wonderful preacher’s wife Beth would make someday.

She shook her head. A blacksmith? No, she couldn’t abandon the calling she had been born to, not even for a man as handsome as Todd Rambek—deacon or not. Grandpa was a preacher, her father had been a preacher, and if she had been born a boy, she would’ve gone into the pastorate as well—the next generation of Sorensens to serve in a little log church somewhere in the American wilderness. It was a family tradition, a calling. She didn’t know when God would bring a single preacher into her life, but He moved in mysterious ways, and she was confident He could accomplish the task.

“Did you shovel a path over to the church?” Last night’s storm had decorated the Minnesota woods with a fresh half foot of snow. “I should get over there to freshen things up before church tomorrow.”

Grandpa opened a newspaper and adjusted his glasses. “I didn’t have to shovel. Todd took care of it first thing this morning. He’s thoughtful that way.” He eyed her over the top of the
Grand Rapids Gazette
.

“Nice of him.” She kept her voice neutral. “Did you decide on the opening hymn?”

He flipped open the cover of his worn Bible and consulted his notes. “‘O, Sacred Head Now Wounded.’ If you could, play ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’ for the offertory, and we’ll finish with ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful.’ That should get folks into the holiday spirit.”

“So should practice for the Christmas Eve service. I’m excited about how we’ve switched things around. I think the adults will enjoy putting on a pageant for the children for once. We certainly had a lot of volunteers when you announced the idea last week.”

“I think you’ve taken on too much. You’d best consider delegating some of the responsibilities. You can hardly direct the choir, the play, and the gift giving, and see to all the food by yourself.”

Beth shook out the shirt and held it up to the morning light streaming through the small window set in the heavy log wall, examining the sleeves and collar for any stray wrinkles. “Perfect. I’ve already brushed and sponged your suit. Will you need me to polish your shoes?”

Grandpa shifted and crossed his legs. “I’m capable of polishing my shoes all by myself. You fuss too much. I don’t think the church roof will fall in if I have a scuff or two on my boots or a wrinkled cuff or collar every once in a while.”

She wagged her finger at him. “Nonsense. You must look the part. You’re very handsome when I get you all spiffed up, and you must command the respect due your office of pastor. We can’t have you looking less than your ministerial best when it’s time to preach God’s Word.” With quick, efficient motions, she folded the ironing blanket and placed it in the cupboard under the washtub.

Cutlery and plates clinked as she set the table for lunch. “I’ve got stew simmering, and as soon as I get back from the church, I’ll make some biscuits. How does that sound?”

“Like you work too hard. I can make the biscuits, or we can do without. I wish you’d slow down. You don’t have to tackle everything in a day. Between your household responsibilities and all the things you take care of at the church, you’ve no time to relax and enjoy life. You’ve no time for gentlemen like Todd Rambek.”

She lifted her coat and bonnet from their peg by the door. Clamping the edge of her red bonnet between her teeth, she shrugged into the sleeves of her dark-green coat. Once she had the wooden buttons done up, she settled her bonnet on her head. Checking her reflection in the looking glass, she smoothed dark-brown hair off her temples and tied the bow under her chin. Neat and tidy. She gave her reflection a cheeky wink. “That’s right. I don’t have time for men like Todd Rambek. Now, I’m off to the church. I’ll be back before lunch. Don’t worry about me. I’m quite content to ‘Do with my might what my hands find to do’ and wait for the
right
man to come along. He’s out there, and I’ll know him when I see him.”

Just before she closed the door, Grandpa muttered, “Be careful you don’t miss what’s under your nose because you’re too busy staring at the horizon.”

Todd Rambek pumped the bellows and shoved the tongs into the white-hot coals of the forge. A bead of sweat trickled down his nose, and he swiped at it with his shirtsleeve. A little more hammering and shaping, and this peavey would be done. He had been blessed to pick up extra work from the nearest logging camp, repairing and making peaveys and cant hooks.

The camp blacksmith had gotten kicked by a horse and broken his leg, but he should be back on the job just after Christmas. Until then, Todd had all he could handle keeping their horses shod and tools in good repair as well as meeting the needs of the settlement. The money wasn’t bad either, especially since he was hoping to have need of a bigger cabin in the near future.

His hired man, Billy Mather, brought in another bucket of water. “Do you want me to haul these tools out to the camp tonight, or will they come and get them?” He tugged off his cap, leaving his hair a spiky mess.

“The Push said they’d send someone, but first thing on Monday, he wants me out there to work on the water wagon and to fit a pair of ice shoes to their best team. Can you hold down the fort here if I have to stay overnight?”

“Easy. Who is the Push this year? It isn’t McGowan, is it?”

“No, a new man. Caffrey, I think? To hear the loggers complain, he must be the slave-driving-est foreman they’ve ever worked under, but I hear they’re looking to fell more than a million board feet before the spring log drive. Their blacksmith going down hampered them some. They offered me good money to move out there until he was healed up, but …” He shrugged and pumped the bellows again.

A grin spread across Billy’s open, likeable face. “But … lemme guess. You didn’t want to leave our little settlement without a blacksmith?”

“I have a lot of work to do here, and not just in the shop. I have otherresponsibilities, too. They just made me a deacon at the church. Wouldn’t look right to abandon my post so quickly, would it?”

“Could it be you didn’t want to leave a special someone?”

Wielding the long-handled tongs, Todd yanked the peavey spike from the flames. He hefted his favorite hammer, so familiar it was almost an extension of his arm. Laying the spike on the horn of the anvil, he pounded the glowing metal and sent a shower of sparks toward the floor. Billy didn’t miss much that happened in this hamlet. A few more whacks, and Todd stuck the hook back into the coals.

“So, am I right?” Billy swept his hat across a stump and examined it before taking a seat—a wise move, for any surface in the shop might have a hot coal or piece of cooling metal on it. Todd kept a sign over the forge that read S
PIT
B
EFORE
You S
IT
to warn customers.

“Right about what?” Todd wiped his hand down his leather apron.

“Don’t play games. I’m talking about Beth Sorensen. You like her. I think you more than like her.”

He did, and he had for a long time, but he wasn’t ready to spill his longings to anyone, much less Billy Mather, good friend though he might be. Todd had finally reached a financial position to consider marriage. He’d gone to the preacher to ask if he might call on his granddaughter, and waiting for the reply had driven him to distraction for most of the day. Even as cold as it was, he’d kept the door propped open so he could see the path to the preacher’s log cabin. He pumped the bellows again. “Don’t you have some chores to do?”

“Sure, but what happened when you called on Pastor Sorensen? You asked him if you could court Beth, right?”

Todd whipped around. “You know about that?” His tongs clattered off the front edge of the forge, and he sprang backward to avoid getting burned.

“I do now. You just confirmed my suspicions.” Billy grinned. “I saw you talking to him up by the church this morning when you were shoveling snow, and I figured you might be asking permission to call. So, what’s the verdict? Is she willing?”

A groan started somewhere around Todd’s toes and worked its way up. He throttled it before it squeezed through his teeth. “He said he’d ask her and get back to me, but he didn’t say when that would be.”

“Did he sound like he thought it was a good idea?”

Todd shrugged. “He said he’d ask but not to get my hopes up.” Which was ridiculous, since if his hopes weren’t up, he wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

“That doesn’t sound positive. What if she says no? Will you try to get her to change her mind?”

“You’re worse than an old woman wanting to gab when there’s work to do. Suppose you take those buckets of ashes out and spread them on the pathways to and from the church? Melt some of that snow and ice and make it safe for the old ladies.” Todd didn’t worry that Billy would be offended. Nothing seemed to offend him.

Billy craned his neck to peer through the open doorway. “Wouldn’t you rather do it yourself? Beth’s coming over to the church from the parsonage right now.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the log wall by the workbench. “It’d give you a chance to say hello and maybe test those courting waters.” The grin spread across his face irked Todd for a moment.

Sweat slicked his palms, sweat that had nothing to do with the forge or hard work. His heart popped in his ears like gunpowder under a hammer. “Maybe I will. Anything to get me out of here and your old-woman nagging.” He flung off his leather apron, snatched up the buckets of ashes from beside the door, and strode out into the cold, not bothering to put on his coat.

Beth spied the giant of a man approaching and wanted to sink into a snowdrift until he passed by. He dangled two buckets from his hands, and in spite of the cold, he wore no coat, only a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Todd Rambek. Why did she have to run into him before Grandpa had a chance to talk to him? She cast about for some place to … not exactly hide, but rather to avoid him. Knee-high piles of snow blocked her escape. Like it or not, she was going to have to speak to him.

He drew nearer, his stride eating up the ground. At almost six and a half feet tall, he dwarfed Beth by more than a foot. Hours bending over a forge, molding metal to his will, and wrestling recalcitrant horses into submission for shoeing had given him a physique not too far off the tales of Paul Bunyan.

She shook her head at that fantasy, clasped her hands at her waist, and composed her countenance. “Good day, Mr. Rambek.” Better to speak to him first.

“Miss Sorensen.” His rich, deep voice sent a tickly sensation through her middle. She looked up—way up—into his equally rich dark-brown eyes. “On your way to the church?”