Fire and Steel, Volume 1

by Gerald N. Lund

  “But—”

  “‘With that in mind, along with his acceptance to the academy, Hans Otto will receive a full scholarship, which will not only cover the tuition and housing but will also provide sufficient funds to cover his living expenses for the duration of his studies.’”

  Herr Holzer sat back, removing his spectacles. He was grinning like a schoolboy now. “All right, Hans Otto. You may speak now.”

  “I . . .” He sat back, unable to get the words out. And then he couldn’t hold it back. He lowered his head and began to cry.

  Holzer watched him, so filled with joy and elation that he too could barely speak. After several moments, he cleared his throat and picked up the letter again. “There is one last paragraph in my cousin’s letter, Hans Otto. Listen carefully as I read it to you. It is important that you do exactly as it says.”

  Wiping forcefully at the tears with the back of his hands, Hans nodded.

  “‘I am authorized by Countess von Kruger to have you share this information with Master Eckhardt, but details are still being worked out and so nothing is to be said to his family until a formal letter of invitation is prepared and sent directly to Herr and Frau Eckhardt. With warmest regards,’ etc., etc.”

  He lowered the paper, and Hans saw that his eyes were suddenly shining. “Ah, Hans Otto,” he managed to say in a choked voice. “It is all that I have dreamed for you. All that I could have wished for. I am so proud of you. Go forth and find your vision.”

  May 4, 1910—Graswang Village

  The whole family went to the window of the Eckhardt cottage to watch the schoolmaster climb into his buggy and drive off, giving one last wave as he did. The moment he disappeared from sight, the family erupted into a delirium of shock, awe, and joy.

  Except for Inga. She had to sit down as Young Hans was swarmed by his grandparents, his father, and his older sisters. He was hugged and pounded on the back and had his hand shaken so vigorously that she was afraid it was going to be pulled right off.

  There was no lack of astonishment on Inga’s part. Or joy either. She was as elated as the rest of the family. Her son—her Little Hans, accepted at such a school as this? Chosen by one of the noble families of Germany? It was unbelievable—too incredible for her mind to fully accept quite yet. It felt like she was in a dream.

  But in that dream there was sorrow too. With a mother’s natural intuition, she realized that all was not going to be roses and dancing around the maypole for Hans. He was about to enter a level of society with which he had absolutely no experience whatsoever. The educational opportunity was, without question, astonishing. But she sensed that he was in for another kind of education, and this one would probably come with a lot more pain. One part of her was amazed at how enlightened the count and countess were to recognize that talent could be found in all levels of society. Nevertheless, it still showed their inherent snobbery that only a quarter of the student body would be from the masses. Surely, the upper levels of German society did not constitute three-quarters of the population.

  So, how would he cope, this son of a Milchbauer? How would he do with the children of the ultra-wealthy? Would they shun him? Point at him and make fun of his clothes, his accent, and his manners—or lack of manners—behind his back? Or worse, to his face? She remembered the days when she worked the Christkindlmarkt. She knew about the super wealthy from firsthand experience. They rarely looked at her like she was a living person. If they did, there was this oozing, condescending manner in their voices and on their faces, as if they had come across a particularly cute dog and wished to pat it on its head before moving on. And how would her son, who believed he was equal—if not superior—to anyone else he knew, take all of that? “Come!” Her husband’s voice cut into her thoughts. “This calls for a celebration. Hans, hitch up the cart. We are going into Oberammergau to have the most expensive dinner that Herr Kleindienst has on the menu.”

  • • •

  It was long past midnight, but Inga still was unable to get to sleep. When Hans turned over beside her for the third time in a minute, she decided that he hadn’t made it either. “Are you awake, Schatzi?” she asked softly.

  He mumbled something unintelligible and then turned over on his side to face her. “Ja. You too?”

  “How can we sleep after something like this? I still can hardly catch my breath.”

  “I know, I know. It is like a Grimms’ fairy tale. The son of poor dairy farmers is to become a prince of learning in the most exclusive school in all of Bavaria? It is hard to take in.”

  She didn’t remember Herr Holzer saying that it was the most exclusive school, just an exclusive school, but she let it pass. “Hans?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will he make it?”

  He hooted in derision. “Of course he will make it. You know how his mind works. It is a gift.”

  “I didn’t mean academically, Hans. I have no worries there. It is with . . . Well, how will he do with the others?”

  “Others? What others?”

  “The students from the upper crust. You know how conceited they can be.”

  To her surprise, he didn’t dismiss her concerns out of hand. He rolled onto his back and put his hands under his head. “It is a good question, and I worry about it too.”

  “So what do we do?”

  He grunted something and then came up on one elbow. “Let me ask you this, Inga. Of all our family—you, me, Grossvater and Grossmutter, Ilse, Heidi, Anna—who has the highest opinion of himself and the greatest amount of self-confidence?”

  “Hans Otto,” she said with a laugh. “Far and away.”

  “And of all the children in Graswang and Oberammergau combined?”

  “Undoubtedly, Young Hans.”

  “And maybe even in all of Germany, if not the whole European continent?” He was tickling her now as he threw the questions at her, and she was squealing with laughter. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

  He sobered. “So when those aristocratic brats turn their noses up at him, what will he do?”

  She sobered as she realized that what he was saying was true. Not just true, it was profoundly true. “He will look at them with those wide blue eyes of his and scowl at them in utter contempt and wonder how anyone could be so stupid as to not see how truly grand he is.”

  He brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek. “Jawohl, Schatzi. That is exactly what he will do.”

  She felt a sudden lump in her throat. “And before he graduates, they shall come to know for themselves that he is not inferior to them. Not in any way.” She tipped her head back and lifted up high enough to kiss her husband softly on the lips. “You are right. I must stop worrying about him. Danke schön, dear husband. Thank you for reminding me of how strong he is.”

  “And thank you,” he said, kissing her back. “Thank you for giving us such a son as this.”

  _______________

  Chapter Notes

  The items that Hans reads from his notebook are all actual events (see The People’s Chronology, 676).

  Munich’s Latest News was a leading newspaper in South Germany up until 1945, when it changed its name to the Süddeutsche Zeitung, “South German Newspaper,” and operated under the permission of the Allied Occupational Forces. It is still published today and is Germany’s largest subscription newspaper.

  The von Kruger family and the Von Kruger Academy are creations of the author.

  May 22, 1913—Graswang Village, Bavaria, Germany

  If someone had asked Inga Eckhardt, or even her husband, Hans, whether they planned to go to Munich anytime in the near future to visit their son at the Von Kruger Academy, they would have looked at the person as if he were mad. Or laughed in open derision.

  It wasn’t just the cost of two train tickets. Nor was it the challenge of leaving twenty-one cows for others to milk—they now had three married daughters and their husbands helping with the dairy. Nor did the idea of traveling to the big city bother either of them. Inga’s next
younger sister’s family lived in Munich now, and they went up about once a year to visit them. Last year, when her sister was very ill, Inga had traveled to Munich alone to stay with her for a couple of weeks.

  But not once on those visits had they gone to the academy to see Young Hans. There was one primary reason for that: though he had never come right out and said it, Young Hans had made it clear that he would rather come home and see them at Christmas and in the summer than have them come to the academy for a visit.

  Though it hurt Inga, it wasn’t really a surprise to her. Nor did she want to change it. She had as much anxiety about walking on the campus and accidentally bumping into the von Krugers or some other catastrophically rich family as her son had about his friends meeting his parents and seeing just how humble his circumstances really were. Hans and Inga had told their son they would attend his graduation the following year, but that would be it.

  Until the invitation arrived.

  When Fritz Heinkel, their postman, brought the squarish, very fancy, very elegant-looking envelope, he didn’t leave it in the Eckhardts’ mailbox at the end of the lane. He brought it all the way up to the house. It was raining steadily, which made it all the more surprising that he would bring whatever he had all the way to the door. Their mailbox was sufficiently large to handle all but the biggest packages.

  Inga, who was sitting at the table preparing some schnitzel for their supper, saw him first. When he walked right by their mailbox, she immediately got up and went to the back door. “Hans, you’d better get in here,” she called. “The postman is bringing something to us.”

  “What?”

  “He has something for us,” she hissed.

  Wiping his hands on his trouser legs, he gave her a strange look. “He’s bringing it to the house?”

  “Ja,” she shot back, “and if you don’t hurry, I’ll have to let him in. And then he’ll stay to find out what it is so he can tell the whole village about it.”

  That spurred him into action, and he hurried around the house. As Inga sat down again at the table, Hans appeared in front of the house and intercepted the postman just as he started up the stone walk to their door.

  “Guten Tag, Fritzie,” Hans called, smiling broadly. “What brings you to our door on this rainy spring morning?”

  Surprised, and clearly disappointed, Heinkel reluctantly pulled up. Inga didn’t hear his answer because Hans put his arm around the man’s shoulder and turned him around so they were facing away from her. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell he was vexed at being so rudely turned aside. He reached in his bag and drew out a large, white envelope and handed it to Hans, who immediately stuck it under his jacket. He thanked Fritzie profusely but gave him a gentle push back toward the road. It was bad enough to turn him away on a good day, but when it was raining? She could tell by the way he walked that he was highly offended.

  She didn’t care. If the mystery envelope was important enough for Heinkel to bring to the house, Inga knew that news of it would be all over the village by nightfall. It still would be, but at least the postman wouldn’t be able to tell the villagers what was in the mail. If it had a return address on the outside, that would be shared, of course. After all, wasn’t that one of the unwritten functions of a postman?

  “Who is it from?” Inga asked as her husband came into the house and removed his raincoat, holding the envelope out so it didn’t get wet.

  He stopped, a look of grave concern on his face. Then he looked at the envelope. “It is from the Von Kruger Academy in Munich.”

  She dropped the knife and jumped up. “What?”

  Hans was shaking his head. “Why would they send us a letter? What has Hans Otto done that would make them write to us?” Knowing his son as he did, he wasn’t worried about him pulling off some silly schoolboy prank that would get him expelled. He was picturing something more like blowing up the chemistry lab or maybe tearing apart some expensive piece of equipment. He shoved the envelope at her. “I don’t have my glasses. You read it.”

  Inga wiped the knife on her apron and then slit the envelope open and removed what was inside. It was not a letter but a square piece of expensive card stock, folded in half. She lifted the flap. A smaller, folded piece of paper fluttered out and fell on the table. She barely saw it. Her eyes were not as bad as Hans’s, but she still had to hold the card out at arm’s length to read it. Then she softly gasped. “Oh, my!”

  “What? What is it? What has he done?” Her husband fell into the chair across from her.

  Sensing his alarm, she tried to keep her expression serious, but she couldn’t. A huge smile broke across her face. “It’s not a letter, Hans. It’s an invitation.” In reverential awe, she sat down across from him and began to read, speaking very slowly.

  The Von Kruger Academy

  cordially invites

  Herr Hans & Frau Inga Eckhardt

  to the Annual Campus Open House

  and Commencement Exercises

  ________________

  Schedule Of Events

  Friday, June 13, 1913

  Awarding of Academic Honors

  Kruger Hall

  6:00 to 7:00 p.m.

  Reception and Tea

  Hosted by Count and Countess von Kruger

  Memorial Gardens (weather permitting)

  7:00 to 9:00 p.m.

  Saturday, June 14, 1913

  Grand Processional

  9:00 a.m.

  Assembly at Biesinger Chapel

  Commencement Exercises

  9:30 a.m.

  Stargardt Auditorium

  Banquet and Grand Ball with Promenade

  Ballroom, Weissmuller Sports Arena

  8:00 p.m.

  Semiformal dress suggested but not required

  By that point, Inga’s hand was to her mouth. “Oh, my,” she whispered again. Half dazed, she set the invitation down and picked up the smaller paper. Unfolding it, she read that to Hans as well.

  “‘Dear Herr and Frau Eckhardt,

  “‘Just a brief note of explanation. This letter may come somewhat as a surprise to you, since your son, Hans Otto Eckhardt, will not be graduating from the Academy for another year. However, it is a long tradition of the Academy to invite the parents of all students who are receiving academic honors to participate with us in all of the activities noted on the invitation.

  “‘Your son will be receiving an award as the outstanding student in the Department of Science and Engineering. We sincerely hope that you can be in attendance to see him receive that honor. Kindly RSVP to the address on the envelope to my attention by June 1st. If you need any help in arranging housing or transportation, please so indicate at that time. We will be happy to assist you in any way possible.

  “‘We look forward to meeting you in person. We express our gratitude to you for allowing your son to attend our academy. Please bring this invitation with you and present it at the gate and you will be directed from there by our highly competent staff.

  “‘With warmest good wishes,

  “‘Frau Dagmar Schramm

  “‘Secretary, Graduation Activities’”

  Very slowly, Inga laid the letter beside the invitation and smoothed it out. Hans came around and sat down across from her. He looked as dazed as she felt. “Outstanding student in Science and Engineering? Our son?”

  “Can you believe it?” She wanted to cry and laugh and shout out loud. She was so proud.

  Hans picked up the invitation and held it at arm’s length. “What does semiformal dress mean?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask Herr Holzer. He’ll know.”

  He was watching her closely. “But it says that formal dress is not required.”

  “Of course it is,” she exclaimed. “If we go, we will not be the only people there dressed like peasants.”

  “If we go? Surely you want to be there when our son receives such an honor as this.”

  She was rereading the
invitation and didn’t look up.

  “When is Paula’s baby due?” her husband asked.

  “The week after this.” Finally, her head came up. “But you said you didn’t want me to go help her this time—that we couldn’t afford to hire someone to help with the milking this year.”

  He shot her a sly smile. “I don’t remember saying any of that.”

  She hooted. “You were very firm about it.”

  “We’re going,” he said firmly. “Hans Otto will be devastated if we don’t. And Paula will be delighted if we do.”

  “You shall have to get your suit cleaned.”

  “Ja, Mama.”

  She slowly got to her feet and turned to face him. “All right, we shall go. On one condition.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I get a new dress.”

  Laughing, he took her in his arms. “If I am paying for it, do I get a say in what you buy?”

  “Of course not,” she teased. “Do you think I am a fool?”

  June 12, 1913—#16 Herrenstrasse, Menzing,

  Munich, Germany

  Wolfgang Groll, Inga’s brother-in-law, was a junior civil servant in the Bavarian Ministry of Public Works, which was housed in Munich. His wife, Paula Bauer Groll, was Inga’s next younger sister and was three years younger than Inga. Like Inga, Paula had left the pig farm in Unterammergau in her early teens to be indentured to a merchant in Oberammergau. She had also followed the example of her older sister and accepted a marriage proposal from a man who would help her escape the overcrowded Bauer household with its numerous children and surrounding pigsties.

  Wolfgang had been the youngest son of the more successful of the two greengrocers in the village. He had started calling on Paula when she was still sixteen. They had married when he was twenty-two and she was seventeen. Paula and her husband had experienced some disappointments when it came to having children, just as Hans and Inga had. Paula had given birth to a girl a year after their marriage and a boy two years after that. Then everything shut down for many years. After they had seen several doctors and offered many prayers, their delightful little Gretl came along when Hans Otto was ten. Then several months ago, Inga had received a letter from her sister announcing that, much to her shock, she was once again with child. They were praying for a boy, whom they planned to name Bruno, after Wolfgang’s father.