"Beth."
"Bet."
"Beth…"
"Be..sss…"
Every time Ahren tries to say my name, it's come out differently, but wrong. His face is flushed, the side facing the fire slightly more than it's opposite, but the laughter makes it almost impossible for me to say my own name.
"Beth… th…"
I've never considered that anyone could find it impossible to make such a simple sound, but I analyze it. "Put your tongue between your teeth and blow," I say. "Th."
Andrew's attempt comes out like a lisping whistle, and his sisters howl with laughter. Then they try it and the entire room sounds like a snake's nest.
The house is cold but it's cozy by the fire, and there's a bit of the hot chocolate left that I carried from home. Ahren's eyes catch the light as he picks up the grungy paper that I've written the alphabet on.
"And that's the… t and the h put together?"
I lean over to make sure he's pointing to the right letters, feeling the air grow a little hotter near his body. "Yes."
"Why's it "h" and not the breath sound?"
"I don't know," I answer. "That's a good question."
He has lots of questions, but he's animated tonight, pleased with himself for being able to say all of the letters all the way through - at least the ones that he can pronounce.
I'm pleased as well, though admittedly a little worried. Ahren is… well, there's no nice way to put it. He's an incredibly slow learner, at least for reading. He's been working on this every night for two weeks, and he's just now got the knack of it. Mary, on the other hand, has been pointing out his mistakes for over a week.
But Mrs. Hummel is beaming as well from her place in the rocking chair, and Ahren has no idea that he's taking far longer than I expected him to.
We're all tucked inside the house and the sun is beginning to sink, so when the door opens, I think it's Jo coming to walk me home.
But a burly man steps inside with a snow-coated beard. Ahren freezes while Mary jumps out of his lap, crying, "Vater!"
So many Hummel children stampede toward the doorway that I worry if one falls, she'll be trampled. Ahren rolls up the paper and stashes it behind the small pile of wood drying out by the fire.
"Lassen Sie mich meinen Mantel wegnehmen. Was ist in jenen Taschen?"
I don't know what the man is saying, but he opens his coat and the children all peel it off, eagerly going through the pockets and pulling out peppermint sticks with cries of delight.
"Süßigkeiten!"
Mrs. Hummel hands the baby to Lotchen before she retrieves the fallen coat, smoothing it out. She says something to her husband with a smile, but it's not at all like Marmee would act if Father came home.
Ahren frowns as he says, "Come. I'll walk you home."
He edges along the wall and slips out the back door. I glance back at the children all too busy clamoring for Mr. Hummel's attention to notice my leaving but follow quietly. Andrew forgets his gloves and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
I want to ask him why he's not happy, but I can't think of how. After a few months of watching my breath freeze and float away, I pant. "Your father seems nice."
"He is," Ahren says. He swallows, taking a few more steps before he says, "But his work was not supposed to finish until next month."
"Perhaps he finished early," I volunteer.
Ahren frowns. "Perhaps."
I remember too late that I forgot the thermos. I suppose we can do without it, but that means I can't bring anything hot to drink with me tomorrow.
We reach the wall where the dog chased us, and Ahren hoists himself to the top, reaching down to pull me over. There's a pile of logs lining the far side, and they shift under my boot as I stand on them. Ahren reaches to catch my waist, then holds my hand until I reach the bottom.
"Whose wood is this?" I ask. "I never see it grow smaller."
"I tink it - I tshink -" Ahren shakes his head, giving up on pronouncing the word. "Dey cut up a fallen tree."
My boots sink into the snow as I jump off the icy log and sink several inches. Ahren steadies me, then drops our hand. But he doesn't let go.
His eyes flicker to my hand, then to my face. I flush, but twist my body one way, and my hand the other, facing forward to walk and nestling our palms together. He doesn't drop it. His fingers are cold, and I never realized how rough his skin is until it scrapes mine.
But I'm not cold. I wish I wasn't blushing, and I almost wish I could keep the smile from breaking through, but it hovers despite all attempts to keep it at bay.
Ahren holds it until we hear the hooves and wheels of a carriage. He drops my hand, stuffing his own back into his pockets and now it's his face that is turning red.
"I'm sorry," he says.
He's sorry? I blink, but he turns his face completely away from me and the carriage as it passes.
Did he not like holding my hand? Maybe it's too bony, or cold or…
Too afraid to ask, my mind supplies several equally unsatisfactory answers, and Ahren doesn't give any at all. But if he doesn't want to hold my hand anymore, I suppose he has a good reason.
He walks me to the door, politely refusing the invitation in and glancing toward Laurie's house like he's afraid someone might see him. But it's Amy that comes around the corner.
She's holding her palm, and it only takes a glance at her puffy face to see that she's been crying.
"Amy, what's the matter? Did you hurt it?"
I scoop her mittened hand away, jolting at the straight lines crossing her palms. Ahren flinches even before I do but he stays quiet.
"Teacher struck me!" She whimpers.
"Amy. Why?"
"Meg gave me the rag money, and I bought limes for everyone. They're forbidden but everyone brings them, and I couldn't pay anyone back."
And he struck her. For bringing fruit to school.
Ahren swallows, kneeling in the snow to scoop up a handful. He forms it into a ball and presses it lightly in Amy's palm. "De snow helps," he says.
He's no Laurie, or even Mr. Brook putting snow on Meg's ankle, but Amy's startled out of her tears. I worry she might not like a ragged boy aiding her, but she smiles.
"Thank you," she says. "I hadn't thought of that."
The smile lasts only a moment before she's blinking away tears. "I'm so mortified, Beth. He made me stand in front of the entire class with a slate. I'll never be able to hold my head up again."
I hold her for a few minutes, cooing into her ear until she's ready to go back inside. He must have hit her terribly hard for it still to hurt this evening. She begins to shiver, and I coax her toward the house.
Ahren backs away, waving bye.
"I'll come tomorrow," I say. "If you have time for another lesson."
Ahren hesitates, but nods. "I'll see you den."
He smiles at me, backing out of the gate. Then I'm shutting the door, helping Amy out of her coat, and telling myself not to be silly about boys.
