A Patchwork Christmas: Three Christmas Romances with Bonus Handcraft Patterns and Cookie Recipes by Judith Mccoy Miller & Nancy Moser & Stephanie Grace Whitson

Author:Judith Mccoy Miller & Nancy Moser & Stephanie Grace Whitson [Miller, Judith Mccoy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2015-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Jane had just stepped inside and set the egg basket on the floor when Molly called out, “Look, Mama! I’m helping make biscuits!”

And indeed she was. Her nose smudged with flour, Molly—still in Mr. Gruber’s nightshirt—stood at Anna’s worktable near the warm stove, pressing a biscuit cutter into the sheet of flattened dough spread on the table before her.

“She is so hungry,” Anna explained with a smile, as she crossed to where Mr. Gruber was standing. Taking the milk pail out of his hand, she called out to Molly, “And now Peter brings you fresh milk, just as Anna promised.”

Molly had been concentrating on her biscuit-making, but at the mention of fresh milk, she looked up. And over at Mr. Gruber.

And—

Jane hurried to get her gloves and coat off as she spoke. “Fresh milk, Molly. Isn’t it wonderful?” Feeling a knot form in her midsection, she bustled over to where Molly stood and put a hand on her shoulder. Please don’t. Don’t say anything. But Molly said something. A word that made Jane cringe.

Her eyes round with surprise, Molly blurted out, “You’re my monster!”

Mr. Gruber’s hand went to his scars, and he turned away.

“Oh … Molly,” Jane said under her breath.

“No … really, Mama.” Molly put the biscuit cutter down. Mr. Gruber was headed into his room, but Molly called out, “I dreamed about a monster. A good monster.”

Mr. Gruber stopped.

“He gave me a cracker.” Molly turned to look up at Jane. “And Katie. He gave Katie a cracker, too.” She pointed at Anna’s medicine shelf. “Out of that.”

Jane looked up. There was, indeed, a cracker tin on the shelf above the row of bottles.

Mr. Gruber turned back to face Molly. He dropped his hand from his cheek. “You were sleepwalking.” He glanced at Jane. “I thought I heard a mouse skittering about in the night. Molly was up on a chair, reaching for”—he glanced meaningfully at his mother—“the wrong tin.” He shrugged. “I gave her two crackers and carried her back to bed. That’s all.”

Molly nodded. “That’s what I said. There was a good monster, and he helped me. In my dream.” She frowned and looked at Mr. Gruber. “But it wasn’t a dream?”

He shook his head. Swallowed. “No. The monster is … real.”

Molly’s brow furrowed as she inspected the man’s face. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “No. Not in the way you mean.”

“What happened?”

“Molly—” Jane tried to stop it, but Mr. Gruber glanced her way. Shook his head.

“It’s all right.” He smiled at Molly. “The war. Do you know about the war?”

Molly nodded. “A lot of people got killed. And the slaves got free. But people still don’t let them ride on the trolley car.”

“You know a lot.”

“Papa told me about it. Sometimes, when it rained, he limped. And he had a scar, but you couldn’t see it. He showed me once. It was on his leg.” She reached down and patted her shin. “He said I almost didn’t get born because he almost didn’t come back to Mama.

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