A Clearing in the Wild Read Free Page B

the year while we waited for presents from the Christmas hosts. Instead, we German-American children of the Bethel Colony witnessed our leader in the form of
Belsnickel
, who brought us goodies and who celebrated with tiny
Schellenbaum
bells instead of ugly chains. Still, I wondered whether even in this colony, because of our German history, joyous things came with the threat of later punishment and chains.
    As children gathered around
Belsnickel
, I held back. But then the childhood lure drew me, and I rushed in to reach for the candies and raisins along with the little ones. Peppermints are my favorite, and our leader’s wife, Louisa, had placed several inside little strips of cloth tiedwith hemp. Her youngest daughters, three-year-old Aurora and five-year-old Gloriunda, pushed on either side of me, and I helped them forward, lifting Aurora to my hip, stepping in so my five-year-old sister, Louisa, could reach more easily too. The rest squealed in delight. Their voices sounded like tinkling bells and I loved it.
    “Not so much with the little ones,” my mother said as I pranced back to her, my young charges now on their own and my hands filled with little cloth bags of sweets I handed out to William, barely three, and to mother and others too embarrassed to reach in with the children. Wool swirled around my legs. She shook her head. “Spending time with the children is easier, I tink, than acting of your age.”
    “I might be unmarried forever, you tell me, so let my childhood fingers dip into
Belsnickel’s
bag, please?”
    “
Ach
,” she said, brushing her hand at me dismissively, but she smiled and accepted the peppermint piece I gave her. “We help serve food now,” she told me, and I gave Louisa and Aurora a candy. Both scampered to our leader, who lifted them high and nuzzled their necks with his beard, a dozen other children still clamoring at his feet.
    Arm in arm, my mother and I walked to where the women uncovered tins of sausages and scrambled eggs kept heated in their tubs. Breads of all kinds and
Strudels
and moist cakes with nuts quickly covered the table. Steins of wine set like sentries along the white cloth overlooked the bounty. Our leader said these common meals following his sermons were celebrations of the Last Supper, served as though the Lord Himself were present, and it did seem as though our community was blessed this day with love in abundance and the spirit of grace.
    Dawn seeped in through the tall windows, but outside the ground lay comforted by snow that didn’t appear warm enough to melt. We’d have fine ice-skating later. I wondered what Christian would be doing. Enjoying his sisters and brothers and parents, I imagined, since he’dbeen gone so long. I sensed where he stood in the room. His presence filled a space, and I could see glimpses of him towering above many of the other men as I set tubs of
Sauerkraut
on the table.
    The band played now, and Jonathan and Willie—our leader’s oldest, my age—tapped their feet while marching notes rang out. Our leader didn’t play in the band but sometimes brought out his harmonica. Now he clapped his hands as the children gathered around him for new treats he gave each one. The Christmas celebration proved almost as glorious as when we celebrated our leader’s birthday on March 6. His wife’s birthday and year were exactly the same, but it was
his
years we all cheered over. Louisa cheered too and said on more than one occasion that her husband was nearly as blessed as our Savior. I wondered if all wives see their husbands as such. She didn’t even want us mentioning the day of her birth. My mother said she was a saint, Louisa was, and such a model of a wife and mother.
    Perhaps.
    The table now looked complete, and Louisa signaled to our leader the readiness.
    “Christian will ask the blessing,” he said. This surprised me that our leader would permit another to speak on such a spirited occasion.
    Christian stepped forward and