into now? She crossed the room to look out the window. The sun already hung low in the west, painting the
scattered clouds in shades of vermilion and cerise. The snow on the ground caught matching tints. Surely Pastor Solberg wouldn’t keep Andrew into dusk?
Astrid dumped the first armload into the woodbox and hustled out for the second before her mother could ask her anything else.
Ingeborg picked up her rolling pin again and gave the sour-cream cookie dough another two passes. What could be going on with Andrew? Cutting the cookies, she tried to figure out ways to help her younger son deal with his too quick responses with his fists. Could Haakan talk with him again? She shook her head. Haakan thought Andrew’s method of championing the underdog quite remarkable, to the point of giving him lessons in fisticuffs. Should she talk with Pastor Solberg—again? Somehow it didn’t seem fair that Andrew be set to chopping wood when the altercation was really someone else’s fault.
She sighed and picked up the thread of an ongoing conversation with her Lord.
“It really isn’t fair, you know. But I understand he has to learn better ways, and I do try to help him see that.” She made a mouth shrug. “And yes, I suppose the woodpile gives him time to think on other ways.” She stopped cutting cookies to lift them to the cookie sheet with a pancake turner. “But then, if I know Andrew, he uses that time to figure a way to get even with that Toby Valders.”
“Who you talking to, Mor?” Astrid paused in the doorway, the pieces of split wood weighing her down. “I know, you and God, huh?” At her mother’s nod, she added, “About Andrew again, ja?”
Ingeborg could feel the corners of her mouth tilt up. The look on her daughter’s face would make any mother laugh. When and where did Astrid learn to cock her head and raise an eyebrow just so?
“Have a cookie.”
Astrid dumped her load in a woodbox that looked close to becoming kindling itself.
“You don’t have to worry—”
“I don’t worry!” Ingeborg interrupted her daughter to receive another roll of the eyes and slight headshake. “Excuse me.”
“Like I was saying”—Astrid’s grin held a wealth of secrets—“Andrew isn’t at school, but you can’t ask me where he is ‘cause then I’d have to break a promise, and you don’t ever want me to break a promise ‘cause you said a promise is a sacred thing, and I—”
Ingeborg held both hands in the air, a sure sign of surrender.
“Enough.”
Astrid picked up two cookies still warm from the oven. “These sure are good. You make the best cookies anywhere.” Her grin pleaded with her mother to not ask more questions. “After all, it is almost Christmas.”
“Oh.” Ingeborg felt a grin tickle her cheeks. “Guess I never thought about that.” At Astrid’s slow shake of her head, Ingeborg clarified. “For me, I mean.”
“Now, you know I didn’t say nothing.”
“Anything.”
Raised eyebrows and rolled eyes. “Anything.”
I wonder what he is making for me? Ingeborg knew she was nearly as bad as the children when it came to delight over presents. Why, the year Haakan surprised her with a Singer sewing machine . . . such finagling he’d had to go through to keep her from buying one herself.
“What are you smiling about?” Astrid snatched another cookie.
“Just thinking back to other Christmases.”
“I sure do miss Thorliff. He would have written a new Christmas play if he was here.” She sank down on a chair and propped her elbows on the table. “Just ain’t the same without him here.”
“Isn’t.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you used ain’t, and that is not proper.”
More eye rolling. “Sorry. How come we have to say everything right?
Other kids don’t. Lots of the grown-ups don’t neither.”
“Either.”
This time a sigh. “They don’t.”
“I know, but Tante Kaaren worked really hard to make sure we all
learned to talk English
scattered clouds in shades of vermilion and cerise. The snow on the ground caught matching tints. Surely Pastor Solberg wouldn’t keep Andrew into dusk?
Astrid dumped the first armload into the woodbox and hustled out for the second before her mother could ask her anything else.
Ingeborg picked up her rolling pin again and gave the sour-cream cookie dough another two passes. What could be going on with Andrew? Cutting the cookies, she tried to figure out ways to help her younger son deal with his too quick responses with his fists. Could Haakan talk with him again? She shook her head. Haakan thought Andrew’s method of championing the underdog quite remarkable, to the point of giving him lessons in fisticuffs. Should she talk with Pastor Solberg—again? Somehow it didn’t seem fair that Andrew be set to chopping wood when the altercation was really someone else’s fault.
She sighed and picked up the thread of an ongoing conversation with her Lord.
“It really isn’t fair, you know. But I understand he has to learn better ways, and I do try to help him see that.” She made a mouth shrug. “And yes, I suppose the woodpile gives him time to think on other ways.” She stopped cutting cookies to lift them to the cookie sheet with a pancake turner. “But then, if I know Andrew, he uses that time to figure a way to get even with that Toby Valders.”
“Who you talking to, Mor?” Astrid paused in the doorway, the pieces of split wood weighing her down. “I know, you and God, huh?” At her mother’s nod, she added, “About Andrew again, ja?”
Ingeborg could feel the corners of her mouth tilt up. The look on her daughter’s face would make any mother laugh. When and where did Astrid learn to cock her head and raise an eyebrow just so?
“Have a cookie.”
Astrid dumped her load in a woodbox that looked close to becoming kindling itself.
“You don’t have to worry—”
“I don’t worry!” Ingeborg interrupted her daughter to receive another roll of the eyes and slight headshake. “Excuse me.”
“Like I was saying”—Astrid’s grin held a wealth of secrets—“Andrew isn’t at school, but you can’t ask me where he is ‘cause then I’d have to break a promise, and you don’t ever want me to break a promise ‘cause you said a promise is a sacred thing, and I—”
Ingeborg held both hands in the air, a sure sign of surrender.
“Enough.”
Astrid picked up two cookies still warm from the oven. “These sure are good. You make the best cookies anywhere.” Her grin pleaded with her mother to not ask more questions. “After all, it is almost Christmas.”
“Oh.” Ingeborg felt a grin tickle her cheeks. “Guess I never thought about that.” At Astrid’s slow shake of her head, Ingeborg clarified. “For me, I mean.”
“Now, you know I didn’t say nothing.”
“Anything.”
Raised eyebrows and rolled eyes. “Anything.”
I wonder what he is making for me? Ingeborg knew she was nearly as bad as the children when it came to delight over presents. Why, the year Haakan surprised her with a Singer sewing machine . . . such finagling he’d had to go through to keep her from buying one herself.
“What are you smiling about?” Astrid snatched another cookie.
“Just thinking back to other Christmases.”
“I sure do miss Thorliff. He would have written a new Christmas play if he was here.” She sank down on a chair and propped her elbows on the table. “Just ain’t the same without him here.”
“Isn’t.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you used ain’t, and that is not proper.”
More eye rolling. “Sorry. How come we have to say everything right?
Other kids don’t. Lots of the grown-ups don’t neither.”
“Either.”
This time a sigh. “They don’t.”
“I know, but Tante Kaaren worked really hard to make sure we all
learned to talk English
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