Inside a log house sitting on a hillside a little girl was dreaming of a pair of red shoes. Outside, the wind was howling, blowing snow onto the front porch, and filling the ruts in the road that ran before the house. Downstairs, her mother fretted. Her father had left the house to travel to the nearest village in search of presents for his family. He had loaded his wagon with logs for people’s fireplaces and a fair amount of kindling which he hoped to sell before the first heavy snow. It was getting dark as he headed home, but with the wagon empty save for a few small purchases, he could drive the horses at a faster pace. He was a league from home when the snow started to fall.
Upon his arrival home, he unhitched the horses, shooing them
into the stable while he pushed the wagon into its shed. After brushing off the
snow from the wagon, he went to the stable to tend to the horses. Outside the
snow continued to fall at a faster rate. Once done with settling the horses into
their stalls for the night, fitting their blankets and providing them with food
and water, he headed toward the only light visible to him.
His wife met him in the kitchen, helping him brush off the
snow and encouraging him to rest by the fire while she served up a bowl of stew
and a small boule. Awakened by the creaking of a hinge, the little girl who
slept in the loft above the kitchen made her way down the narrow winding
stairs. She rushed across the wooden floor and flung herself toward her father.
He picked her up and settled her upon his knees. “Papa,” she squealed, “what
did you bring me?”
“Dumpling, shouldn’t you be in bed?” he replied. She pouted
in response. “I did bring you something, but I’m afraid that I left it in the
wagon out in the shed. You’ll just have to wait for morning.”
“Go on, now, back to bed,” her mother chided as she set down
the bowl of stew for father’s supper. The little girl pouted briefly before
kissing her father on his cheek, jumping down off his lap, and climbing back up
the stairs to her loft bed.
By morning, the wind had died down and the snow had
blanketed the rutted road. A breakfast of porridge and warm milk awaited Dumpling
when she arrived in the kitchen. Her father had already left for the stables to
tend to the horses. She sat quietly eating her porridge while her mother
cleaned up the dishes from earlier. Occasionally she would glance toward the
door whenever she thought her father might be returning with the packages from
the village. Outside, her father went from the stable to the shed to retrieve
the sack from the wagon. He hung it on a peg while he loaded up the wagon with
more wood for his next trip into town. Feeling the cold, he trudged back to the
house to warm himself up, forgetting the sack much to his daughter’s
disappointment. “I’ll bring it in soon enough, Dumpling,” he promised as he
headed out the door again.
After her father left for the day, Dumpling helped her
mother clean the breakfast dishes, drying each piece carefully and placing them
on the table in neat stacks. After she finished, her mother sent her to the front
parlor. While the mother tidied up the parent’s loft, Dumpling sat in a large
upholstered chair to read one of her story books. She waited for the sound of
her mother’s sewing machine before tucking away the book and skipping across
the room.
In one corner of the room, on a small round tea table, sat a
large snow globe with a wooden base. Sitting beside the base of the snow globe
was a large brass key. Dumpling inserted the key into a hole in the base of the
snow globe She wound the key until it stopped, then turned around to face the
room and waited for the music to start playing. She slowly started to dance
around the parlor twirling and leaping about in time with the music. She
continued to practice her dance until she grew tired and hungry. She grabbed a
small piece of bread from the kitchen and sat down again to finish her storybook.
When she heard her mother coming down the stairs, she quickly ran to the
kitchen to brush the crumbs into the fireplace.
Her mother grabbed two bowls and ladled some soup from the
pot. Dumpling smiled while she inhaled the steam rising from the bowl. She
could smell the carrots and onions and knew that somewhere among them were the
sweet roots that her mother called parsnips. She took her time eating, happy to
find mostly parsnips in her soup. After finishing, she helped her mother with
the dishes as she always did. As the sun began to set a second snowfall began.
Her father arrived soon after, shaking the snow from his coat and hanging a
sack on the coat pegs before kneeling down to greet his daughter. Dumpling
hugged her father and kissed him on the cheek. “What’s for supper, Dumpling?”
“What did you bring us?” she replied.
“Well, let me see,” he stood up and took the bag off the
peg. He opened the bag and peered inside it feigning surprise as he pulled out
a rabbit. Handing it to his wife, “I believe that is tomorrow’s supper.”
Reaching inside the bag again, he pulled out a large white feather. “I wonder
what this could be from,” he said winking at his wife.
“It is a goose?” Dumpling guessed. “Please let it be a
goose.”
Reaching into the bag, her father pretended to be searching
for something. “It has a long neck, much too long for a chicken.” He pulled the
bird out of the bag. “Would you look at that! It is a goose,” he exclaimed.
Dumpling clapped with glee at having guessed correctly. “Is
there anything else?” she leaned in toward her father. “Maybe something for
just me?”
“Maybe,” he replied, “after supper. Dumpling pouted briefly,
then offered to help, but her parents sent her into the sitting room to read a
book or play with one of her dolls. While she sorted through the contents of
the chest of her playthings, her parents went about preparing both the rabbit
and the goose for the upcoming meals. Worried that someone might forget her
favorite vegetable, she made a foray into the kitchen to gather a large bundle
of parsnips for the rabbit stew. After dropping the bundle on the table, she
skipped happily back to the sitting room to play.
After dinner, Dumpling’s mother announced, “I have something
for you upstairs. We’ll go get it after we finish cleaning up here. Your father
will help so you won’t have to wait long to get your present.” Dumpling
swallowed the last piece of parsnip on her plate and proceeded to lick it as
clean as possible. Her fathered smiled at her as she handed him the plate. Dumpling
helped her mother clean the dishes while her father scaped the leftovers into
the soup pot. When they finished all the work, her mother escorted her up the
stairs to her parent’s loft. “I know how much you love to dance. I made you a
dress for dancing in.”
“Oh, mama, it’s perfect,” Dumpling hugged her mother. “May I
put it on now?”
“Of course, otherwise I would have just brought it down for
you.”
After donning the dress, Dumpling and her mother went
downstairs to show her father. “Look, papa, it’s a red dress just like the
ballerina wears.” Her father smiled and nodded, then showed her what he was
hiding behind his back. “Red shoes! Oh, papa, they are just what I wanted.” She
took the shoes from her father and put them on. Walking over to the snow globe
she raised a leg into the air. “See,” she said, “don’t I look just like her?”
Putting her leg down, she picked up the key and wound the music box. “I have a
present for you,” she turned to face them as they took seats in the sitting room.
As the notes from the Waltz of the Flowers filled the room, she began the dance
she had been practicing all month.
