A Child's Christmas Wish. Erica Vetsch

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.