“Papa, will you ever forgive God for letting mama die?”
The toymaker did not lift his gray head but continued to sand on the nutcracker.
‘Papa, it isn’t fair to me. When you hate God, you don’t have time to love me.” Gretchen extended her tiny, pale hand to her father’s tattered sleeve.
“Leave me alone.” He pulled away. “If these toys are not finished by Christmas, the duke will not pay me, and then what will we do?”
Augustave’s wife Henrietta died while he was away in the king’s navy. A new attack from the Swedes delayed his return, leaving his wife and daughter on the brink of starvation. Henrietta went to Menchlaus’ tavern to beg for food. Menchlaus demanded too high a price so she walked away with her honor intact, but still no food for Gretchen. On the day of Augustave’s return, Henrietta died, her body draped over her daughter to protect her from the cold. Gretchen lived but her father faced a decision, go back to the sea to the life he lived or remain home to raise his daughter. With resignation Augustave bade farewell to the navy and opened a toyshop in his parlor. He had a talent for carving, but no love for it.
Gretchen smiled. “Yes, the duke loves your toys. All the children of our village love your toys. What child would not want a wooden horse waiting for them on Christmas morning?”
“Will you please stop your incessant babbling? You will cause me to cut myself, and I won’t be able to finish the nutcrackers? Where will we be then, eh?”
Gretchen walked away to the kitchen where she began to make cookies. Soon the house was filled with the aromas of ginger and cinnamon. After the cookies came out of the oven, she let them cool and covered them in icing. Placing them on a platter, Gretchen went to the front door and opened it.
“Shut that door!” her father yelled. “It’s the dead of winter!”
Saying not a word, Gretchen stepped out into the night air and disappeared. Finally the last nutcracker was finished and ready to present to the duke on Christmas Eve. Augustave looked around for Gretchen, but she was not there. Then he remembered. Gretchen walked out the door with a platter of cookies. He ran to the door and flung it open.
“Gretchen! Where are you?”
She was nowhere to be seen. Augustave followed the footprints in the snow as well as he could. Every once in a while he saw one of the cookies on the ground. They led to the church at the end of the lane. Inside the door was Gretchen, sitting patiently for him to arrive.
“Thank God you are safe!” He grabbed her up in his arms. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you!”
“Does this mean you forgive God now?” she whispered in his ear.
(Author’s note: this is an adaptation of an old folk story The Red Sail.)