“Yes—patient. That’s the key word here.”
There was a moment of silence.
“How was class today?” she asked, not wanting him to end the call and say good-bye. “Did I miss anything important?” Did you miss me, like I missed you?
“It was a good day, all in all. We didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you to catch up next week.”
Over Günther’s voice, Camille heard the small meow of a cat.
“We did a mock luncheon date,” he said, “with several different scenarios. You know, in case something you’ve ordered is not to your liking and you have to send it back to the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry I missed that. It sounds like fun. Who’s that I hear there with you?”
“With me?”
That stumped him for a moment.
“Oh.” He chuckled. “That’s Flocki. She’s hopping into my lap as we speak.”
Camille laughed. “I’ll bet she’s black and white.”
“She is. How did you know?”
“By the sound of her voice,” she teased.
Günther’s deep, rich laugher rewarded Camille and she couldn’t stop her smile from widening. It felt so good to be happy, truly happy from the core of her being. A breeze floated over her and she pulled the covers and comforter up to her neck. She felt warm and snuggly.
“By the way,” Camille continued. “How is Johann? What’s happening with him?”
Günther sighed, a long, frustrated sound. He told her about a meeting he and his brother had with a social worker. And about the extra time they had been granted to locate Bernhard Wernfried.
“We do have a problem there,” Günther continued, “because Ms. Roth is trying to line up a place in case Bernhard relinquishes his custody. That could land him just about anywhere—Austria, Switzerland, Germany. But thankfully there aren’t any homes available now.”
“Heard anything from Bernhard?” she asked.
“Only one call to my answering machine. He may have tried to call my brother, but we are not sure, because the caller didn’t say anything or leave a name.”
“Is it possible he might try to take Johann out of Vienna again?” Camille asked.
“Anything’s possible. We’ve warned everyone with instructions to keep a very close eye on him. He’s not to be alone, at least until we find Bernhard and get him into rehab.”
“What will happen now?”
“If we can’t find him, Ms. Roth will move Johann to the state institution in Germany to await finding his uncle, or a foster home. If Bernhard never surfaces, he’ll be put into the foster care system until he is eighteen. On the other hand, if we can find Bernhard, we hope to persuade him to sign papers giving me guardianship over the boy.”
“Günther, that’s wonderful. I didn’t know you wanted to take him in and care for him.”
There was a moment of silence.
“I do. Very much.”
Günther’s voice was full of emotion. “Johann is very special to me. And he’s also very gifted. I don’t want him to go the way so many disadvantaged children do. I want to help him be all that God meant for him to be. I’ve tried for custody before but since Johann has a living relative—”
When a crack of thunder exploded above Camille’s roof, she gasped in surprise. “Did you hear that?”
“How could I not? It sounded like it was right there in your room.”
“I can’t believe this storm. It’s like it came out of nowhere today.”
“It’s actually the season for them. This is moderate. They can get really nasty.
How about you? What did you do while you were playing hooky?”
“I took down Sasha’s bizarre tower and hung around waiting to hear from Helene. I walked to the market in the rain and picked up something for dinner. Oh. I almost forgot. I actually had a visitor. Remember Stephen Turner, the man I introduced you to at the bottom of the steps on Wednesday evening? The one I met on the flight here. He came by. He wanted to see how I was doing.”
“That was thoughtful of him,” Günther replied. “He knew the address where you are staying?”
Mortified, she continued. “Actually, yes. I’m embarrassed to admit it but when we landed in Vienna, I had a snafu with my bankcard. I didn’t have any cash with me. The brainless advice of my travel agent was that I shouldn’t bring any with me, that I should just withdraw when I landed. Then I couldn’t get any after the ATM ate my card. Wolfgang and Helene thought I was coming in the following night so they weren’t there to pick me up. Stephen was kind enough to offer me a ride. I had no other option but to take him up on it.”
Another long moment.
“All’s well that ends well.”
“I guess so.” Were these escapades only last week? It seemed like a year had passed.
Camille could feel the conversation winding down. She wished she could think of something more to say, something to ask him about, but maybe he had other things to do and she’d taken enough of his time already. Since he’d called her, she waited for him to make the move to say good-bye.
“Well, it’s late,” he said.
Camille looked at her bedside clock. They’d talked for half an hour. Keyed up, she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep for a long time. “Yes. Thanks for calling.”
“You’re welcome. Remember to call if you find out anything more about Sasha.”
They said good-bye and Camille hung up the phone, clicked off her light, and laid back into her covers. Her mind went over their discussion from start to finish. What a small thing. A simple conversation. And yet, so much more.
Did Günther mean something to her? Something more than a friend or teacher? It had been so long since she’d thought about anyone in a romantic way. However, when the feeling was there, there was no mistaking it.
Camille rolled to her side and tried to get comfortable. Having no luck, she shifted again and rolled to her back. Since coming to Vienna she’d been becoming increasingly conscious of something important taking place inside her inner self. She’d tried to avoid thinking about it, hoped the feeling would go away. She’d never have thought this about herself before this trip and yet seeing the struggles and hardships of people in their everyday lives was telling.
In comparison, her life back home was trivial. Superficial. She hated to admit it, but it was fact.
“It’s true,” she said into the darkness of her room, as if trying to convince herself of the certainty in her conviction. The realization made her cringe.
She was off track. She’d put herself first, only taking second seating to Kristin and her business. Her mother and Stephanie. Her close family unit was the only thing in her life that was important to her. Besides them, her biggest decision was what model car she wanted to buy this year and which rooms in her home to refurnish next.
Shame filled her. Was she really so shallow?
She thought about Günther wanting to adopt Johann, forgoing his own dreams and desires for someone else’s welfare. And Wolfgang and Helene, barely scraping by, taking in students to supplement their income so she could stay home with their kids. Work at a soup kitchen. Volunteer.
For two hours, Camille struggled with her thoughts, feelings, and convictions. They were all jumbled up in her mind. Exhausted, she finally cried out into the darkness of her room, “Please, Lord, let me go to sleep. I can’t figure it out tonight.”
Günther relaxed on his bed, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and The Liturgy of the Hours, opened to the Friday night prayer. Lying on his side, he held his head propped in his hand. Flocki purred contentedly, a little round, furry doughnut by his stomach.
At the sound of a knock at his door, he looked at the clock on his bedside table.
Ten fifteen. Was Aggie feeling poorly again? Florian? Perhaps it was Bernhard. That was an exciting thought.
Günther carefully extricated himself from the side of his purring cat. When he opened
the door, surprise filled him. Günther recognized Stephen Turner immediately, the soft glow from the porch lamp illuminating his tall figure. A gust of wind blew a smattering of rain into Günther’s face. Stephen held his wool coat firmly around his throat as he hunched his shoulders against the storm. Günther was glad Camille had refreshed his memory on his name during their phone conversation.
“Herr Christove,” Stephen Turner said matter-of-factly over the howl of the wind.
“Herr Turner.”
Turner shifted his weight but never took his eyes off Günther’s face. “I’m sorry to barge in on you at this late hour, but it is important that I do. I wonder if I could speak with you for a few moments.” His mouth was a hard-set line.
Günther was mystified why Stephen Turner would be initiating a conversation with him. He could only speculate that it must have something to do with Camille. He held the door open. Once in, Günther moved quickly to his sofa, picked up yesterday’s newspaper, and tossed it into a pile of others in the corner. With a sweep of his arm, he cleared a spot for his visitor to sit down.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
Günther sat in his chair across from the man. “What brings you out on such a tempestuous night? It must be important.”
“I’ll get right to the point. I’m investigating a couple of students in your class, Herr Christove. I’ve been watching them for a few months.” He reached into his coat pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open to show Günther his CIA badge. “My agency is working in tandem with your government on this matter.”
Günther was shocked. “Camille Ashland?” A spy?
Turner smiled and a light brightened his eyes. “No, not Camille. But at this point I’m not at liberty to say who they are.” He stretched out his legs and leaned back into the sofa cushions. “We’ve had reports of security leaks on an international level. We’ve followed leads to the school, and even to your class. You have been thoroughly investigated.”
Günther’s eyes narrowed.
“And cleared.”
After hearing his life had been scrutinized under a magnifying glass, Günther didn’t feel quite as accommodating to his guest.
“I can see what I’ve said has put you off. I’m sorry. I hope you understand that it couldn’t be avoided.”
Flocki came from the kitchen area and mewed at Günther for some food. When her request went unanswered, she meandered over to him and rubbed against his legs.
“And what are you expecting from me? To talk to you about my friends? My students? Give you private information?”
“Dissidents, Herr Christove.”
“Alleged dissidents, Herr Turner.”
They sized up each other.
With a sudden flex of muscle, Flocki bounded up the back of the sofa and began sharpening her claws directly behind Stephen’s head.
“No, I’m not asking you for that,” he replied, ignoring the cat. “Can you tell me though if you’ve noticed anything peculiar about any of your students? Any unusual behavior or patterns?”
Günther mentally scanned down his list of students. Branwell always displayed unusual behavior, but that was just him, poor kid. Possibly the self-proclaimed freedom fighter, Maria Glibrov, from the Republic of Macedonia. She looked like she fit the mold of a mole. Or Mark Marslino, importer living in Rome. He’d have access and means in passing information if he so desired. Now that he thought about it, many of his students seemed suspect.
“I really can’t say. At this point I think it wise for me to think and not speak.”
“I appreciate your candor, Herr Christove. I’m sure after tonight you will have a lot to consider.”
Turner stood and Günther followed suit. He handed a card to Günther.
“Here is a number where I can be reached at any hour. It’s secure. You can leave a message and I will get it. I’m sure you understand that what I’ve told you tonight is highly confidential and not to be shared with anyone. I can’t stress that enough.”
Chapter Seventeen
Camille turned in surprise, taking in the mysterious room. It was large, vacant, and filled with glistening silver light. The walls and windows shimmered brilliantly as if made from an opulent mother of pearl or water and yet, she could see nothing of the place outside. She realized she was able to see, or rather experience, the entire circumference of the space without turning an inch.
Happiness flooded. She felt magnificent and not frightened in the least. Where was she? Where was everyone else? Without a sound, the walls slowly began to move, revolving around her, the center of the room the exact point where she stood. Their momentum increased to the speed matching a merry-go-round, and faster still, until it was like being in the eye of a tornado without the intensity of the wind. She lifted. Swept up toward the tiny apex at the top of the funnel.
She soared like an eagle, a rushing sound traveling along with her, her hair flying free.
For one brief moment, Camille glanced down and was shocked to see the place was no longer bright with light but had grown darker, and was darkening still. She was either the source of the light, or the light itself, for it was traveling with her.
Beyond the white room, she looked at the street from a height matching that of the Empire State Building. Chocolate Blossoms! She could see inside her store, crowded with people. They gathered around her discarded shell of a body, industriously trying to revive her. Her heart swelled with love for all of them. “Godspeed, my loves,” she whispered. “Godspeed.”
What was happening? Did she die again in her sleep? If so, why had she seen her friends in the store? Was she now on her journey to the place of her particular judgment?
Things she hadn’t thought about in years, her catechism she’d learned in her youth and thought she’d forgotten, were all still inside her, not gone at all, just set aside, waiting to be thought about, lived, made incarnate.
Without any problem, she landed softly on her feet in an open meadow. The place was verdant with loveliness and light. Was there no one here to meet her? The meadow looked deserted. How would she know where to go, what to do?
Over the sound of softly flowing water, tiny birds, in a multitude of colors, swooped over her head in the glittering sky. It was as if a rainbow of canaries had been splashed across a painter’s canvas in one fluid movement. Camille laughed at their playful display.
“Camille.” Her name was called softly from somewhere over the rise. Beyond the hummock, someone was waiting.
A stark light flashed past her eyes. It was nothing like the beautiful, soft light that had enveloped her before. She glanced around. Tried to see where it had come from.
Kaboom!
Thunder exploded, jolting Camille up in her bed. It was a moment before she got her wits about her. With trembling hands, she reached for the light switch and clicked it on only to have the darkness remain.
The matches!
Where were the matches?
In darkness and panic, she knocked them from her bedside table, clattering to the floor. She leaned over and grasped about madly in the blackness until her fingers touched the box.
She fumbled. Fought to steady her hands. Lightning flashed again and she waited until the thunder passed.
It took her two tries, but finally she had the candle burning. The small glow was some comfort as she struggled to slow her breathing. If she didn’t get it under control, she would hyperventilate and pass out. Pain gripped her chest, radiating out, squeezing taut and sending her heart on another high-speed gallop.
She didn’t need to put her fingertip on her pulse-monitoring watch. She could feel every twisted beat of her tortured heart as it ricocheted around her chest like the silver orb in a pinball machine.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” she chanted over and over. Tiny beads of moisture slipped down her neck to pool between her breasts. As she calmed, her voice gradually grew slower, softer, but she didn’t stop. “You’
re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay,” she whispered.
“Pfarrer Florian?” A knock at the door brought Florian out of his papers where he worked on his message for this week’s bulletin. “Florian, are you still up?” It was Pfarrer Schimke’s soft voice from the other side of the old oak door.
It was a quarter past midnight, and Florian’s eyes burned with fatigue. The rain had pummeled the window for hours as time slipped by. He set his pen down atop his papers and crossed the room to the door.
“Ja, guten Abend,” he said, opening the door so his pastor could join him. The man wore a thick woolen sweater over his clericals, his protection against the damp halls of the rectory.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, I know it’s incredibly late. I noticed the light shining under your door.”
Florian gestured for him to come in and sit down. Both men took a seat on the sofa.
“I have good news.” Pfarrer Schimke, fifty-eight, was ten years his senior. Always clean and neat, he insisted everything in his parish be the same.
“Good news?” Florian rubbed his eyes to clear them.
Pfarrer Schimke settled back into the soft cushions, getting comfortable. “Yes. I had a call from the chancery today. I talked with Bishop Vonnegut personally.”
Not often did priests or even pastors get a call from their busy bishop. The grounds must be significant. “And, how is Bishop Vonnegut?”
“Doing better. Almost fully recovered from his surgery. He sends his greetings. He says he’s very anxious to get back on his feet and back on track with his parish visits throughout the archdiocese.”
Florian knew this couldn’t be the news his pastor had felt compelled to relay to him at this late hour. Always gracious, his pastor never failed to take a moment or two for polite conversation before jumping into the heart of the matter.
“And…I’m very pleased to tell you that he says he has a parish opening up for you. St. Anthony’s. He’ll be mailing out your letter of appointment in the next few weeks. He wanted me to tell you first so you could warm up to the idea.”
Three and a Half Minutes Page 13