going to be all right, my dear. You can rebuild a house. We’re just thankful that no lives were lost. Now, it’s late, and it’s chilly, and there’s nothing more we can do here. Everything will look better in the morning.” She turned Mrs. Amaker toward the wagon, still whispering in her ear.
Without so much as a nod from him that it was all right. Women could be like that...tornadoes in petticoats, pushing the world around to suit themselves, and in such a nice way that men hardly protested.
But Oscar was going to protest. His home wasn’t open for visitors, even for a night. There had to be another option, something that didn’t involve strangers invading his peace.
“Come along, Kate,” Mrs. Tipford called over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out in this night air any longer.”
Kate. So that was young Mrs. Amaker’s name. Pretty name.
She reached up with both hands to tuck stray tendrils of hair off her face and her coat fell open.
Oscar felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.
She was pregnant.
He turned away, but the image was seared on his brain, and he was jerked right back to the center of his own grief. He’d lost his wife in childbirth two years ago come this Christmas. Having a woman in the family way around his house, even for one night, was going to rip open all the old wounds.
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. Pastor Tipford would have to find someone else.
A hand touched his arm. He looked down into Kate Amaker’s face. Her cheeks were gently rounded and looked so soft. How long had it been since he’d stood this close to a woman? Oscar sucked in a breath and smelled lavender mixed with wood smoke.
“Thank you.” She bit her lip for a moment, her eyes looking suspiciously moist.
His muscles tensed. He hated to see any woman cry, even Liesl. It made him feel so helpless.
“It’s kind of you to put us up. I don’t know what we would do, where else we would go.” She blinked hard, lifting her chin, her shoulders rising and falling as she breathed rapidly, staring at the glowing embers. “I...it’s just...gone.” Her pretty eyes met his once more.
And just like that, Oscar had houseguests.
Everything...gone. Kate could hardly wrap her mind around the fact. Her clothes reeked of smoke, and if she closed her eyes, she could still see the merciless flames, the showers of skyward-rushing sparks, hear the crackle and roar. It was so hard to believe.
Away from the fire, the night was black and cold, the moon barely a sliver and the stars remote. The wagon rattled up the drive toward Oscar Rabb’s house, and Kate kept her arm around Grossmutter. Neither had said a word since climbing onto the high seat. What was there to say? Words weren’t enough to describe her sense of loss.
Oscar’s house sat atop a small hill, facing south. Two-storied, white clapboard, with lots of windows. A porch stretched along the front. The overall design was more compact and less flamboyant than the house Johann had built, but the porch was similar. How many evenings had Kate and Grossmutter sat on the porch shelling peas, snapping beans, while Grossvater and Johann had sat on the steps, talking over the day’s work, planning for the future? A hard lump formed in Kate’s throat.
Oscar Rabb’s house, porch notwithstanding, looked dark and forbidding with not a single light shining from any of the windows.
Ahead of them, Oscar drove his wagon down the slope behind the house toward his barn. Kate knew Oscar hadn’t wanted to offer hospitality, that he’d been on the verge of refusing, but he had been too well-mannered. And Mrs. Tipford had practically coerced him into it. Well, they didn’t want to have to accept hospitality, either, but what else was there? Pastor Tipford had been right. Oscar’s place was the logical, if reluctantly given, choice.
Grossvater directed the horses, Schwarz und Grau—Black and Gray—after Oscar’s wagon, drawing up in front of the immense red barn with its gambrel roof and sliding doors.
A large dog leaped from the bed of Oscar’s wagon, his tail a bushy plume and his breast glowing white in the darkness. Every bone ached as Kate forced herself to stand and climb down over the wagon wheel. The dog came over, friendly and sniffing, nudging her hand with his broad head for a pat.
“Rolf, come.” Oscar snapped his fingers, and the big dog bounded to his side. “He can be a nuisance sometimes.”
Kate and Grossmutter stood out of the way as the horses were unhitched and turned out into a small pen. Oscar forked some hay over the fence and then went to his wagon. He scooped up a blanket-wrapped bundle, holding it to his shoulder. Kate spied small, stocking-clad feet peeping from under the hem of the blanket.
This must be Oscar’s daughter. Liesl, wasn’t it? Kate’s mind was so muddled she hadn’t even thought to wonder where the child had been during the fire.
“This way.” Oscar led the way up the curved path to the back of the house. “Watch your step.”
“You go ahead. I’ll follow.” Kate let Grossvater take Grossmutter’s arm and fell in behind them, lifting her skirt and the hem of Johann’s heavy coat, weary beyond words. All she wanted was a quiet, warm bed, some place to curl up and sleep...to forget what had happened for a while.
They gained the porch, and Oscar held the door open. “I’ll light a lamp.”
He laid his daughter down on a bench beside the door and rattled the matchbox on the wall. A scritch, and light flared, illuminating his face. He touched the match to the wick of a glass kerosene lamp on the table and replaced the chimney. Light hovered around the table and picked out objects around the edges of the large room.
He’d brought them into the kitchen rather than through the front door, but the room seemed to have a dual purpose, one end for cooking and eating, while the other, through open pocket doors, appeared to be the sitting room. Chairs and a settee grouped around a massive fireplace. In the kitchen, beautiful wooden furniture filled the room—a sideboard, a bench, a table and chairs, all decorated with intricate carving. Oscar Rabb must be better off than most of the farmers around Berne if he could afford such fine furnishings.
The dog’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he went to his water dish, lapping noisily and scattering droplets when he raised his head.
Upon closer inspection, the large room was...rather untidy. Not filthy, but definitely cluttered. Boots and shoes were piled by the door, and it appeared someone had taken apart some harness on the table. Straps and buckles and bits lay everywhere. At least there weren’t dirty dishes, but Kate could tell it had been a long time since the room had received a thorough scrubbing.
Battered children’s books and blocks lay on the rug in front of the settee, a rocking horse stood in one corner and what looked like a pinafore hung from his ear. A stack of newspapers stood beside a large wooden rocker. Was that where Oscar sat each night, reading while Liesl played? She categorized what she saw without really caring, observing only, too tired to do much else.
Oscar shifted his weight, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Bedrooms are upstairs. I can carry some water up for you as soon as I get Liesl settled. I imagine you want to wash some of the smoke off.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. Her coat—Johann’s coat—reeked of the fire, and she knew her hair did, too. She’d love a hot bath, but she’d settle for a cold basin of water and a bit of soap.
Their host shucked his black, wool coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. He lifted his daughter into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. Kate spied glossy, dark hair, and rounded, sleep-flushed cheeks. Long lashes, limp hands, a pale nightgown. Her heart constricted. There was something so sweet about a sleeping child, especially one held in a parent’s embrace. Her hand went to her own baby, sleeping