Kris (12 page)

Noel retaliated by stealing the sucker out of Jonas' mouth and shoving him off the bench he was sitting on. Jonas hit the floor with a thump as Noel bit into the stolen candy. Markus shook his head in amazement and ridicule and then returned his eyes once more to the newfound swing in Sarah's sashay.

Sarah quickly tired of their foolish behavior and approached me as I once again gazed outside through the window, watching Josef and Noah in their continuing discussion. Sarah set her breadbasket beside me and strained her neck to get a glimpse of what I was looking at so intently. She smelled of lilac water and honey, and her hair brushed against me as she leaned to get a better look through the window.

“Do you know that man?” I asked her.

“Yes, that's Mr. Keplin. He's the groundskeeper for the chapel a few towns away.”

“Have you met his family?” I asked.

“No. But, I've heard him talk about his daughters.”

I looked at Sarah with great interest to find what more she might tell me about Noah and his family, but she disappointed me by brushing off the subject with a sly comment.

“They're far too young for you, Kris, still just children.”

Her teasing comments were interrupted by Josef's loud voice, which called to me from outside. “Kris!”

I hesitated for a moment and then forced myself to walk outside, terrified to see what Josef wanted of me. Sarah followed at a distance, curious to see why Josef had called.

“Kris?” she said to me softly, but I ignored her and went out into the yard. As I approached the men, Noah watched me intently, still picking at his teeth with the piece of wood that he held between his fat fingers.

“Kris, come here,” Josef said. “There is something Mr. Keplin and I want to talk to you about.”

My fear now completely triggered, I stopped several feet from them and kept my eyes focused on the ground.

“Come here,” Josef repeated.

As I got closer to them, Josef held out the wooden duck Noah had brought with him. I could quickly see that mishandling had damaged it.

“Mr. Keplin says this toy was left last Christmas for his daughter, Kendra,” Josef said.

I looked at each of the men and at the toy and then back to the ground, unsure how they wanted me to respond.

“Kendra?” I asked finally in a desperate attempt to make the name sound unfamiliar to me.

“Yes,” Noah said. “She and her sister loved that toy to death.”

Noah tried to reassemble the toy to show me how it had been damaged. “I told those two to stop arguing over it and to take care so as not to damage it. But they wouldn't listen to this old man, and finally the toy was broken.”

“I'm sorry,” I said to him.

“I asked throughout town if anyone knew what to do with it, and how it might be repaired,” he said. “But, they were stumped when I showed them which parts had once moved.”

“They wounded it,” I said unconsciously.

“Wounded?” Noah exclaimed, laughing. “Yes it does. It looks to have been wounded. Well, that's a good one. Wounded! Ha! Clever boy you have here, Josef.”

Noah flipped the toy back and forth in his hands.

“Well, what do you think? You're the toy expert. Least that's what Josef tells me. What do you know about a toy like this?” Noah asked.

I remained quiet as I looked at the men, not knowing what they wanted me to say, and afraid to reveal too much to them, too soon.

“Well?” Josef asked.

“Wa-What?” I stammered.

“Think you can fix it for him? Apparently, it is his daughter's favorite toy.”

“Ahhh, yes. I see. Yes, I can fix it.”

“Well go take care of it before he has to go home,” Josef said as Noah handed me the duck. “Hurry on!”

I hastened back toward the workshop to see how I might repair the broken toy.

“Thanks, ma' boy. My daughters will love you for this!” Noah shouted after me.

I stopped and turned to Noah, meaning to say, “Thank you, Sir,” but I heard Josef question him.

“So, you said you do not know who left Kendra or the toy at the church?”

“Nope,” Noah said. “I saw him the first time, but he was at some distance, and a scarf covered his face.”

“How do you plan to find him?” Josef asked.

“Don't think I want to,” Noah grunted. “Better off not knowing some things.”

Josef looked over and saw me watching them. “Get on!” he said. “You have work to do. Now hurry. But make it right! You'll know what you need to do.”

I raced into the carpentry with the broken duck. Its wings had been chipped and cracked, and it no longer was free to fly. Time and rough circumstance had taken their toll upon this gentle winged creature, but it had been loved as well. It had been treasured, held closely. And now that it was injured, it had winged its way back to me so I could heal its broken parts, and return it to the place where it had nested, to bring joy and play again.

I rummaged through the pieces of wood I had practiced on while first building the toys and found an earlier version of the wings I had set aside in dissatisfaction due to their crude form. The earlier design was slightly simpler but sturdier, and these would surely work as surrogate parts with some gentle shaping and a loving touch.

Sarah watched me as I set about to repair the toy duck, but I ignored her as I worked and focused on finishing off the replacement wings and reconnecting the pieces so the toy would be whole once again.

Jonas, Noel, and Markus continued with their assignments at the back of the carpentry, oblivious to the enormity of what I was living through.

After some time, Sarah interrupted my silent work.

“Kris?” she asked.

I continued to ignore her to discourage her from pursuing idle talk.

“Kris,” she said more emphatically.

“What?” I asked her sharply.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” She pressed. “What was that all about?”

I was so obsessed with my work that I was annoyed by her interruptions. Couldn't she see I was busy? This was important.

“Don't worry about it. It's nothing. He just wants me to fix a broken toy.”

“I heard. But why are you acting like that?

“What? Like what—what are you talking about?”

“Why didn't you tell him it was your toy?” she whispered to me pointedly.

By the time I realized what she was asking me, my fear of her discovery, ruining everything, made me rude.

“Why? Because it isn't!” I said to her.

“Why are you trying to cover it up, Kris? Didn't you hear that his daughters loved it? He probably would have paid you to make more of them.”

“Well that's just great. But I didn't make this toy,” I said again.

“I remember seeing you work on it, Kris. You held it up to me and made its wings move.”

“Do you think I am the only person on earth who makes toys?”

“Like that one? Yes,” she said.

“I don't even know that man. Why would he have one of my toys?”

“I don't know, Kris. I'm sorry. I guess I was wrong.”

I returned my attention to the toy and tried to block out Sarah's accusations. Sarah wandered over to another window and gazed outside for a few moments, seemingly at the barn. I thought she had relented, moving on to other thoughts, but then she asked, “Why do you think Josef keeps that old horse?”

I knew she realized I was troubled by the events that had just unfolded, and would not yield to her curiosity. She was trying to put together the pieces, and then I would lose everything, even her warm if distant attentions.

“He doesn't,” I said to her curtly.

“She seems awfully old to be lugging that sleigh around by herself. Poor girl could keel over any time. Especially if she's out trudging all that distance across the snow.”

“Sarah. Please stop.”

“Are you making toys for the chapel orphanage or something?”

“Sarah, stop!”

“I just think it's nice,” she said.

“Stop talking! Would you please just stop talking and leave me alone!”

I returned to my work, but I could tell I had hurt Sarah deeply. She quietly backed out of the room without notice, and when I looked up again, she was gone.

I glanced over at Markus, Noel, and Jonas, who were staring at me in shock. When they saw me returning their stares, they jumped back to their tasks at hand, looking all the more bewildered.

Some weeks later, I was out collecting firewood to stoke the morning fire in the carpentry. We had more than enough beside the furnace but Josef made me begin each morning replacing what we had used the day before. Chopping wood on a cold morning can be miserable, and all I wanted was to crawl back under warm covers. When I at last returned to my cot, I found a neatly wrapped, sizable gift resting on it against my pillow. This surprised me considerably. I ran my fingers over its
decorative covering. I decided, finally, Gabriella must have left it, since she was the one who usually brought me special treats and items she felt would be of use to me.

I opened the wrapping, touched by its attractiveness, evidence that someone had spent considerable time decorating the gift in such an elaborate way. As the wrappings were peeled back, I saw thickly padded, deep red fabric neatly folded. I removed it from the package and held it aloft to discover it was a fine-looking big, red winter coat.

Red. I had never seen anything similar to it. I knew that women would dye their yarns different colors and that socks or scarves or hats of each village had a pattern of colors that would delineate their origins. I didn't know how red was created. Some kind of berry, I imagined, or a specific type of tree root that would soak for days. Either way, she must have used a tremendous amount of it to die the entire coat.

But why red? The boys were certain to laugh at me. To be sure, the color was strange. But I didn't care. I thought the coat magnificent.

How wonderful it was. Gabriella truly must have labored over it. How incredible it felt to receive such a fine gift, so thoughtfully and lovingly presented!

Gabriella had commented many times about the old and dilapidated coat I had worn since I first came to them. What special feelings it brought that she would attend to me so.

I hung the coat on a large hook near my cot and ventured over to my workbench.

The toys I worked on had become more detailed and inventive over time. And before me now I studied the moving parts of a toy wolf, which I held inches from my face so I might inspect every edge and fine feature.

Sarah entered the carpentry, carrying her usual delivery of freshly baked goods. We hadn't spoken in weeks, not since my rude outburst. I was embarrassed and didn't know how to heal the divide without addressing her earlier dangerous questions.

Sarah placed her basket on the counter, not looking at me. Turning to leave, she adjusted the cloth covering the bread in the basket, making sure there were no openings to let out the heat. Then I saw her fingers. They were stained dark red, and I knew it must be from the dye. It was she who had made the coat. It was she who had spent hours cutting and sewing. It was she who had lovingly wrapped the wondrous gift and laid it against my pillow.

A surge of awareness stole my breath. She had already forgiven me. In that moment I fell in love with her.

I had longed for her and thought about her, but this was different. She had forgotten herself and instead focused on her uncanny understanding of me. Without words or explanations, she knew me. She was the angel I had imagined that stormy night a lifetime ago when I had first laid eyes on her.

When she noticed I was studying her, she quickly hid her hands behind her back then stood awkwardly, waiting for me to do or say something.

I did not know how to close the gap. Words did not come easily to me. I looked down at the toy in my hands, considering all the ways I might apologize, all the ways I might say thank you for her precious gift. I sat there trying to appear occupied with the toy wolf while stumbling through my thoughts. It was Sarah who first spoke.

“I just came by to deliver bread,” she said defensively.

She lifted the basket of fresh bread and walked out the same way she entered. After about five steps, she realized she had mistakenly picked up the basket and turned back around. A little shaken and trying to hide her mistake, Sarah walked back to where she had first put down the basket and began taking out loaves of bread and stacking them into some kind of pyramid, as if this is what she had intended to do the entire time. Unfortunately for her the bread structure tumbled with each new loaf she placed on top. I could tell it was frustrating her, but I was fascinated by the absurdity of what she was doing. Finally, on the verge of tears, she grabbed all of the loaves with the cloth they were initially wrapped in and stuffed them haphazardly back into the basket. Left that way they were certainly going to go cold quickly. I could tell. And I started to point that out to her when she rounded on me, planted her foot firmly on the ground and announced vehemently to the empty carpentry, “I won't bother you. I promise.”