It was Christmas Eve. Pa arrived back at the cabin in the wagon. His buckboard was loaded with crates and supplies. It was snowing heavily in the Appalachians that night.

Ma and the four little girls rushed outside to help Pa unload, each child carrying heavy crates, trudging through the snow crust, fighting wind and frost.

When they finished unloading, the family was winded, huddled inside the one-room log shack, around the rock-and-mud fireplace, warming themselves.

The interior of the rough-hewn cabin was bitingly cold, and still smelled of pinesap. Their father had only finished building this cabin three days ago. It was small and crudely built. But it was theirs.

Pa collapsed in front of the hearth. His beard, painted with ice. His face, rosy from the cold, like a tomato.

“Himmel, ist das kalt!” said Pa, warming his hands.

“English, Papa,” said Ma, who forbade Deustch in her household. They were Americans now, and she insisted they speak as such.

“Sorry,” Pa said. “I said, ‘Ist so colt outside, I cannot feel my Popo!’” Then he patted his rear for effect.

The children laughed.

“Papa?” said Saskia, the youngest, who was wearing all her winter clothes at once. The thick layers made her look like a giant stuffed animal. “Did you buy us Geschenke?”

“English, Saskia,” said Ma. “The English word is ‘gifts.’”

Pa’s face broke into a wide smile. “Gifts! Of course! I have one big, special Christmas gift for all my kleine Mädchen tonight!”

The children released peels of joy.

With that, Pa walked out to the wagon. The girls anxiously watched as Pa removed a wheel from the wagon using a mallet. He did this every night so nobody would steal their wagon.

This wagon was all they owned. Pa had spent their life savings on it immediately after deboarding the ship four months ago. The wagon represented their new life in this country. This wagon had been their only home, carrying all six of them from New York, southward into these tall, blue mountains.

Pa brought the heavy wheel inside. He plopped it onto the table.

“This is your Christmas gift, kleine Mädchen,” he said to his daughters.

The girls were dumbfounded.

“The wheel?” said Greta. “You’re giving us the wheel?”

Pa winked.

Within moments, Ma put the kettle on, then used hot water to clean the muddy wheel. She told her daughters to fetch some rags and help scrub.

“Was machen wir denn, Mutter?” said Anneliese, the oldest, rolling her eyes.

“English,” scolded Ma.

“Why are we doing this, Mother?” said Anneliese, the tall and elegant 13-year-old, her blond hair bundled tightly in a shawl. “This is foolish.”

“You know why,” said Ma. “Just clean the wheel.”

And so it was, four daughters pitched in and cleaned until the wheel’s forged iron band was almost sparkling.

Next, Ma and the girls began twisting the greenery around the rim and spokes. Within minutes, the wheel was transformed into the most lovely wreath you ever saw, complete with ribbons and boughs of holly.

Then, Ma secured four candles to the wreath.

Meantime, Pa suspended a rope from the cabin’s ceiling. He secured the rope to the wheel, then hoisted the whole thing into the air like a chandelier.

“Hurra!” said baby Leisl. “What is it?”

“You will see,” said Pa. “But we must light the candles first.”

Pa lowered the wheel once more until the wheel rested on the table. Whereupon, the mood grew somber, and Ma opened her leatherbound Lutherbibel.

Then, Ma recited from the pages of her book. Everyone bowed heads as Ma read aloud.

“Das Volk, das im Finstern wandelt, sieht ein großes Licht…”

“English,” said Pa.

Ma looked embarrassed as she struggled to translate words, but her English was too weak. So Anneliese and Greta translated for her.

The girls’ read in unison:

“The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwell in the land of deep darkness, on them a light has shone. For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government will be upon his shoulder; and his name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Pa lit the first candle.

Ma wiped her eye.

And now you know how Advent wreaths first came to America.