Camille made sure the house was locked up and made her way toward the school in the comfort of her Nikes. Her feet still hurt, but with the Band-Aids she’d brought with her and plush socks, they weren’t too much of a problem.
She needed a cup of coffee. Time was short this morning and she hadn’t put forth the effort to make a pot at home. Helene usually took care of that and with her gone, she and Wolfgang would need to take up the slack.
She ducked into a pastry shop in the middle of the block. The women behind the counter hustled back and forth as they helped customers.
Branwell stood at the front of the line. As if subconsciously sensing her presence, he turned and saw her enter the store. She hadn’t seen him since class on Thursday, and what he’d done to her on Wednesday morning still rankled.
She pasted a smile on her face, and waved.
He waved back and smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. He signaled for her to come forward to where he was. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee?” he said.
“You sure?” What’s this about?
“Of course.” He smiled warmly.
“Okay. That’s very kind of you.” She was wary. Why now?
“What would you like? Espresso? Latte?”
“Plain coffee will do,” Camille said.
“Two black coffees,” he voiced when it was his turn. “Would you like a pastry, Camille?”
Camille was looking over all the wonderful offerings while they were waiting for their drinks. “Oh, no. Just fantasizing. I don’t usually eat breakfast.” Stephanie would be horrified at the thought of me eating one of these sticky delights crammed with cholesterol.
“The marzipan rolls are good.”
“No, really. You go right ahead, though. I don’t mind.”
He shook his head.
The woman handed Branwell two cups of coffee in sturdy cardboard cups. Camille took one from his hands and walked over to the condiment table.
As she dumped some coffee off the top to make room for her milk, she inwardly cringed. This was so awkward. She searched for something to say.
She wanted to ask him about their walk on Wednesday, but then, didn’t want to bring up bad blood, so to speak. He was only twenty. She would treat him with respect. Like she wanted him to treat her. She should be able to handle someone his age, but there was just something about him, something very different. He made her nervous.
“You missed Friday.”
It was said matter-of-factly but she could see he was very interested in what she was about to say. Did he think she was filing harassment charges with the school? That’s what this is all about. The thought had crossed her mind.
They walked out of the shop and down the street. She took a sip, making him wait for her answer. “I had business that needed some attention.”
Now it was his turn to sip. He looked around nonchalantly. Smiled at some schoolgirls passing by. “We had a couple of handouts. I picked some up for you.”
This was a Branwell she didn’t know, and made her even more suspicious.
“Well, thank you again. That was good of you.”
Stephen suddenly appeared out of nowhere and began walking along with them, falling into step. Relief flooded and she felt tiny between the two tall men.
“Good morning, Camille. I hoped I would see you on my way to the office.”
On his way to the office? Right. His appearances were getting uncomfortably frequent. He was showering her with more attention than she wanted.
“Hi,” she replied. “Fancy meeting you here. You’re on your way to work, then? Somewhere that you can’t name?”
He laughed and gave her a wink. “You mad at me?” He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed before letting his arm drop. “Have you decided where you’d like to eat tomorrow night? I was very disappointed Saturday when you canceled.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oh, brother! Branwell was soaking this up like a sponge. She could see him mentally filing away each and every word that came from Stephen’s mouth. Delight beamed from his eyes and he could hardly keep a straight face. Camille looked around and said the name of the first restaurant she saw.
“There,” she pointed, wanting to put an end to the discussion as quickly as possible. “I’ve heard the food is really good.”
Stephen scoffed. “No way. You can go there anytime. This has to be special.”
He put his hand out to Branwell as if just noticing him.
It was so blatant, Branwell couldn’t do anything but take it.
“Branwell Rothshine-Millerman,” Stephen said, having no problem with the very long, unusual last name.
Startled, Camille looked at Stephen, trying to remember when she’d told him about Branwell.
Stephen laughed. “Come on, Camille. You don’t remember telling me about your study partner? Friday afternoon ring any bells?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Branwell responded. His put-out expression was most likely a result of the thought of Camille discussing him with friends.
Camille knew she hadn’t said anything to Stephen about Branwell, the class, or about any of the students. But then, that had been a very upsetting day.
“Branwell, this is Stephen Turner,” Camille offered. “He’s from the States also.” She refused to give him any other explanation.
They’d reached the steps of the school, and stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Günther approaching from the other direction. His hands were deep in his pockets and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. He looked devilishly handsome and her heart did a somersault before she looked away.
“We better get to class, Stephen,” she said and tried to move away from him without seeming rude. “We don’t want to be late.”
He nodded. He glanced up at the doorway.
Branwell downed his coffee.
“Allow me.” Stephen took Branwell’s empty cup from his grasp, not giving the younger man a chance to refuse. Branwell’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a trash can right over there,” Stephen explained. “I’m going right past it.”
Camille still held her half-full cup between her palms. What was Stephen up to, anyway? She’d never before witnessed him acting so peculiar. Günther avoided them completely and took the steps two at a time. There was no doubt that he’d seen her here with Stephen and Branwell, but chose not to stop and talk.
She wasn’t surprised. She desperately wanted to make things right with him again. Regain the easy camaraderie they’d shared before yesterday afternoon when she’d blundered into his private affairs. Even if Günther was married, she didn’t want to lose his friendship.
Three days passed quickly. Oddly enough, Günther had not returned to the classroom since Camille last saw him entering the building, and his fill-in, Stena von Linné, was enjoying her newfound position of authority.
On the first day, she’d informed them that Herr Christove had a pressing matter he had to attend to and would not be in class for a few days. He was sorry if this presented a problem for any of them, but she assured the class that he was monitoring their lessons closely and would be going over all their work personally.
Camille’s enchanted balloon burst. Günther’s absence was her doing. She wasn’t sure why, but feel it she did. She’d caught passing glimpses of him in the hallways, but he was always too far away to get his attention. If he wanted to talk to her, he had her number.
With Stena in charge, Branwell took on a completely new persona. He was her right-hand assistant and between the two of them, they were making Camille’s classroom experience nerve-racking to the point she considered dropping out. One or the other was always calling on her for the answers to the most difficult questions, embarrassing her time and time again.
She decided she would check with the office today about canceling her two-month enrollment for a refund or credit for another year. She hated to give in. To let them win. But what did it really matter. Her heart was begging
her to do so.
After class, Camille went upstairs to the administration office to make an appointment to see the placement counselor the following day.
Florian turned his ignition key to Off and pulled his motorbike onto the kickstand. Straddling the seat, he slipped off his gloves and placed them on the dash. He slowly went about unbuckling his helmet.
It had been a quiet Wednesday evening in the rectory and he’d felt the growing need for speed. He needed a diversion, something to take his mind off the looming approach of Friday, when Elizabeth Roth came back with all the necessary papers to take Johann from the Weissmans and enroll him in the institutional home in Germany. She’d been busy and granted them a few extra days. All because he and Günther had failed miserably in finding the child a permanent home.
After riding for an hour through the winding roads of the hillsides, he’d come back into the city and now found himself parked in front of Wolfgang and Helene’s home. The temporary home of the American, Camille.
He couldn’t get the idea out of his head. It had taken form on Sunday evening and grown until he was forced to come here and see if it held any merit. He got off his bike and carried his helmet under his arm as he approached the door. Lord, this is up to You.
He rang the bell.
Camille answered a moment later. She was wearing a light gray sweater and jeans, and had her phone in her hand.
“Good evening, Camille. Is either Wolfgang or Helene home?”
Her expression was one of surprise. “Father Florian, hello. Please come in. Wolfgang is working in his study. I’ll get him.”
Florian stepped inside the house and Camille closed the door. On her way to Wolfgang’s office, she clicked off the television, where she must have been watching a show.
“Pfarrer Christove. Come in. Sit down,” Wolfgang called out as he hurried into the living room.
Florian sat on the sofa opposite Wolfgang, putting his helmet at his feet. Camille hovered by the kitchen, watching. He turned to her. “Please join us.”
She looked a bit uneasy. “You sure? Don’t you want to talk in private?”
He laughed. “No, no. This is social.”
“Well, in Helene’s absence, may I offer you anything? Tea? Water?”
He shook his head.
“Homemade peach pie with vanilla ice cream?”
His taste buds sprang to life.
Camille laughed lightly, making her hair swing around her shoulders. “I made it today after school,” she said. “Wolfgang needed something to cheer him up. I’ll admit now that I had to use frozen peach slices, but still it’s good. I’ll cut you a slice.”
“Small, please.”
She glanced at Wolfgang.
“How can I resist? I had a piece after dinner but I’ll throw caution to the wind and have another.”
“Okay, three peach pies à la mode, coming right up.”
Florian could hardly repress his smile. Camille had looked like she had been called into the principal’s office when he’d first addressed her. Now in her element, she fairly flew around the kitchen getting the dessert ready. A bit nervously, she served him his pie, warmed, with a healthy scoop of ice cream on top. She sat on the sofa next to him.
Wolfgang and Camille watched as he took a bite. “Ummm.” He chewed and swallowed. “The angels couldn’t have done a better job. This is delectable. Thank you.”
Camille took her first bite. She hadn’t had a piece after dinner, wanting to save hers until later. It was good. It was her mom’s very simple recipe that she knew by heart.
“So,” Wolfgang and Florian started at the same time. They chuckled and sat back. Wolfgang gestured for Florian to proceed.
“I needed a port in the storm,” Florian began, resting his fork on his plate, “that’s why I came here. I’m still struggling with this problem with what to do with Johann Wernfried. The time allotted by the Child Protection Büro is about to run out. On Friday, in fact. They are going to end up taking Johann since I haven’t been able to find his Uncle Bernhard, or a place that would be willing to take him in permanently.”
He contemplated his pie as if answers could be found there. “I just needed someone to talk to tonight.”
Wolfgang straightened. “I totally understand. I’m glad you came. Let me tell you that among other things this week, I have been poring over our financial accounts. Unfortunately, with Sasha and the unknown state of her condition, we just can’t commit to this blessing at this time. I’m so sorry. Any other time or circumstance, we would.”
Camille watched the conversation as it went easily back and forth.
“Helene and I both wish we could. Johann is a good boy and gets along fine with our three. But we exist on a pretty tight budget as it is.” He turned and looked at Camille. “That’s why we remodeled the upstairs seven years ago into an apartment. With the income from the student renters that the school sends our way, we are able to get by and put a tiny amount away for the children’s college educations. Now with unknown medical bills coming up, that makes it even more impossible.”
Camille listened intently. She hadn’t known the Eberstarks were considering adopting Johann. This was news to her. Father Florian was clearly torn at the thought of Johann being placed back into the system, with his final destination unknown.
The Eberstarks’ home would be a splendid place for Johann. Helene and Wolfgang were wonderful parents. He would even have a brother and two sisters for support. And he would also stay close to Günther, who was doing so much to help him, and loved him. They were meant to be together.
How devastating to find people willing to sacrifice so much to help, and yet not be able to make it work financially. Wolfgang actually thought of it as a blessing.
Suddenly, her heart began to beat faster. The conversation faded out as she thought about Saturday. Hadn’t she just told Father Florian she wanted to make a difference in this world? Well, didn’t I? Was that just something to ease her troubled conscience, or had she meant it? Truly meant it.
“Excuse me…”
The men stopped talking and looked at her.
Where had that come from?
“Yes?” Father Florian said, his face radiant with expectation.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I can help,” Camille whispered slowly. Something inside her shrieked at her to stop. Be quiet. Forget what she was thinking. Her stomach churned and twisted, threatening to make her run to the bathroom and throw up. What are you doing? Think this through. It’s a lifelong responsibility. It will cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Let someone else do it. It’s not your responsibility!
To contemplate taking on a commitment of this magnitude was one thing. To step up to bat, actually walk the walk and talk the talk, completely another. Her heart was willing, but her mind was trying its best to dissuade her with reason after reason why she shouldn’t. But she wouldn’t listen.
She bolted to her feet.
“Camille?” It was Father Florian.
Walking around the sofa, she rested her hands on the back, looking at the two. “I want to help. With Johann. I’ve thought about it and have come to a decision. I certainly have the means. I think this is why God brought me to Austria.”
It was Wolfgang’s turn to stare at her as if she had just done a backflip and landed in the splits. His expression was one of shock and disbelief.
“Forgive me, please, if what I say sounds rude or snobbish. That is not my intention at all. But the fact is, I’m a wealthy woman. It wasn’t always like that. When Bret died, my daughter and I nearly had to go on welfare. And then, the first two years at Chocolate Blossoms were a struggle. It was very tough, touch and go. But now I’m established and make more than enough income to live on comfortably, put my one daughter through college, and support Johann here at the Eberstarks’, if they are willing to take him in.”
She glanced at Wolfgang. “It could be a joint endeavor.”
Both men looked stunned. �
��Are you serious?” Wolfgang’s face was all the encouragement she needed.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Camille,” Father Florian began. “Think about what this means. Johann is only seven years old. That could mean eleven years of financial support. Not an insignificant amount.”
Camille was picking up steam. Once she’d jumped in and made up her mind, shushed the voices trying to dissuade her, she was definitely warming to the idea. “What could be a better way to spend my money? Johann needs you all.” She said “all” because she was thinking of Günther too.
The men looked at each other.
Camille couldn’t contain her happiness. “Will Helene agree to this?”
“No question. I’m sure she will be very excited,” Wolfgang said.
Father Florian stood. He reached out, taking Camille’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you. This means more to me than you could ever know.”
She looked into his blue eyes, reminding her so much of Günther. “Trust me, Father Florian, I think I do. But now we must find Bernhard, right?”
Günther paced around his apartment. This had been a very frustrating three days. He’d taken time off from class to try to find some clues into the real spies so he could clear his brother’s name, or any of his students, if Turner dared to draw them in. He’d spent time in the dean’s office going through files. He used the ruse that he needed to research some personal items. He’d been there many years so the school was lenient with him.
He’d turned up empty handed.
Three days and he was no closer to finding the two mysteriously clad figures from last Saturday night, or what they’d been up to. He had no other choice than to call Stephen Turner.
On the second ring, Stephen picked up the phone. “Turner.”
“Günther Christove here.”
There was a moment of silence. “Günther, hello. I can’t say that I’m surprised to get your call,” Stephen commented. “What brings you my way?”
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