Fire and Steel, Volume 3

by Gerald N. Lund

  “No, not yet,” he said. “Let’s be sure.” After another minute, when no more bubbles came up, he brought the baby down from his shoulder, cradled her gently in the crook of his elbow, and started walking slowly back and forth.

  “Hans,” Emilee chided. “She needs to sleep now.”

  “I know. I’ll put her down in a minute.”

  He finally put her down, tucking the baby quilt around her, and came back to bed. Sliding closer to Emilee, he took her in his arms. “Thank you, Emilee. Thank you for giving us such a beautiful daughter.”

  “You plan to spoil her rotten, don’t you?” she teased.

  “Absolutely.” He went up on one elbow and kissed her softly. “Do you mind terribly?”

  “Of course not. It makes me cry to watch you with her. Thank you for loving her as much as I do.”

  “Oh, much more than that,” he said loftily before he kissed her again.

  Hans pulled away from Emilee and lay back, still pressing his shoulder against hers. “And her name fits her, don’t you think?” he said. “Our little Alisa Maria. It’s perfect.”

  “I agree.”

  After a minute or two of silence, Emilee turned her head to see if Hans was asleep yet. He wasn’t. His eyes were open and he was staring up at the ceiling. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “About her. About what life holds for her. What will she be like? Will she be full of spunk and vinegar, like Miki, or will she be sweet and gentle, like Ilse’s Annaliese?”

  “She will be like Alisa Maria. She will be her own girl, and then her own woman.”

  “Like you,” he said.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Yes. Stubborn. Outspoken. Headstrong. Willful.”

  “Smart. Funny. Cute little nose. Enormously lovely eyes.” Then he had a thought. “If she is as smart as you, perhaps she will do what her father never did.”

  “Which is?”

  “Go to university. Get a degree. Make something of herself. Maybe she could even go to the Von Kruger Academy, to get her ready for the exams.”

  Emilee shook her head, her mouth pulling down into a frown.

  “What? You don’t want her going to the Von Kruger Academy?”

  “Of course I do, if that’s what she wants. But am I to understand from what you just said that you have given up on the idea of going to university? You said never. Did you mean that?”

  Hans sighed. He hadn’t realized that he had said never. It had just come out, but. . . .

  “Hans. Answer me. Have you given up on the idea of ever going to school? Or maybe the better question is, why have you given up on that idea?”

  “Aw, come on, Emilee. Not again. You know that I can’t do it.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because I will be twenty-four years old this February. Because I have a wife and a little girl to take care of. Because I work forty-five or fifty hours a week repairing trucks. Because it’s been five years since I took the exams. Because the University of Berlin will not renew my scholarship unless I retake them, and probably not even then.”

  “It doesn’t have to be the University of Berlin. Munich has some wonderful schools. Apply to Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, or the Technische Universität München. Wolfie said they have an outstanding program in engineering studies. They—”

  “You’ve been talking to Wolfie about me?” Hans blurted.

  “Uh . . . not about you. About university programs here in Munich.

  “I see. So did you make an appointment for me to sit for my exams next week?”

  “That’s not fair, Hans. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “I have finally accepted the fact that the university is not part of my destiny. That I will be a truck mechanic for the rest of my life. And I’m all right with that. I just wish you were.”

  Emilee took a quick breath, biting back a retort. “You can pass those exams. Sure, it will be hard. Sure, you’ll have to study for them. But you can do it. You can get books from the library.”

  Hans hooted in disgust. “Ah, yes. I can see myself now, lying beneath a truck, wrench in one hand trying to loosen the bolt on the oil pan, and a book in the other, held far enough away that it doesn’t get oil on it.”

  “Stop it!” Emilee snapped. “I know you are busy, but there are times when you don’t have customers. And you can study at night, or in the morning before the shop opens.”

  “It would take me a year, at the minimum, at that rate,” Hans said glumly.

  “So?” she shot right back. “Take a year. Take two years if need be. But if that’s what you really want, then do it.”

  “And supposing I did,” he said,with a trace of irritation, “how would we pay for it? Tuition is over a five hundred marks per term.”

  “I don’t know, Hans. Get a scholarship again. Go part time, and work part time. When I go back to work at the hospital in a couple of months, we can put my salary away. We can find a way, if that’s what you want.”

  He turned his head away. “I know that’s what you want for me. And I love you for that, Emilee, I really do. But let’s face it. A university degree is nothing but a pipe dream. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s life.”

  She sat up and turned to face him. “Do you know where that phrase comes from?”

  Hans blinked in surprise. “What phrase?”

  “Pipe dream. It comes from the hallucinations one has while smoking an opium pipe.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s a good analogy then. Getting an engineering degree from a university is not reality. It is pure fantasy.”

  “Only in your own head, Hans. Can’t you see that?”

  “The only thing that makes me sad is, if I am such a disappointment to you, will I be a disappointment to our Alisa also?”

  So fast that Hans didn’t have a chance to react, Emilee’s fist doubled up and she punched him very hard on his upper arm.

  “Ow!” he cried.

  She lay back down, her back to him now. He put a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away. “Do you remember that day in the solarium?” she finally asked in a trembling voice. “When I slapped your face? Do you remember why?”

  “Because I was being a jerk.”

  “No, because you were wallowing in self-pity like a hog in a pigsty. And that’s what you’re doing now. And it makes me angry when you’re that way.”

  “Just because I accept reality doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he snapped right back. “Of course I’d love to go to university. But it isn’t going to happen.”

  “Not with that attitude.” Emilee pulled the covers up around her neck and turned away from him.

  “Look, I understand what you’re trying to do, but it makes me feel like you’re ashamed of me. Why are you always hounding me about it? I am not ashamed to be a truck mechanic for the rest of my life. You can believe that or not.”

  She slipped out from beneath the covers and stood up, went to their small wardrobe, and found her robe.

  “What are you doing? Don’t go, Emilee. I’m just trying to be honest with you.”

  “Hounding you? You were the one who brought up the idea of the university just now, Hans, not me. Your voice was filled with so much longing when you talked about Alisa going to school that it surprised me when you added that you were never going to do it. I’m sorry for my reaction. I’m sorry that you think I am ashamed of you. Next time, I’ll try to be more sensitive to your feelings. Hold your hand. Pat your little cheek. Maybe share a few tears together.”

  Hans was reeling. How had they gone from teasing each other to tearing at each other in the blink of an eye? He said nothing for almost a full minute, trying out all kinds of zippy comebacks in his head. “A kiss might help,” he finally said, keeping his voice light.

  Without a word, Emilee wrap
ped her robe around her, found her slippers, and left the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. Just before the door shut, she called back over her shoulder. “Don’t come out, Hans. It’s a little late for apologies.”

  November 21, 1919, 7:18 a.m.

  When Emilee came into the kitchen, Hans was at the table drinking a cup of coffee. He looked up. “What time did you come to bed?” he asked warily.

  “After you were asleep.”

  “Emilee, I—”

  Her look cut him off. “If this conversation is going to pick up where it left off last night, then I’ll go back to bed.”

  “It’s not,” he said hastily. “I’m so sorry, but—”

  She whirled around and started back for the bedroom.

  “Emilee, stop!” he cried. “I’m trying to apologize to you.”

  She turned around but didn’t come back even one step. “It’s not an apology when you say, ‘I’m sorry, but. . . . ’”

  “Okay. I see that. I’m sorry, period. End of discussion. Now will you come and sit with me?”

  After a long moment she did so, but she sat across from him rather than at her usual seat beside him.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Not when I’m nursing a baby.”

  “Oh. Sorry, I forgot.” He stared into his cup. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

  She didn’t answer for several seconds, and then she leaned back in her chair, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Hans, I want to say something. I’m not asking for a response. In fact, I don’t want to discuss it. But I need to say it.”

  “All right.” He pushed his cup aside. “Go ahead.”

  “I am sorry if I have in any way given you the feeling that I am not proud of what you are and what you are doing with your life. So let me state my feelings as clearly as I can. As a woman, what I wanted in a husband was a man who loved me deeply—”

  “Which I do.”

  Her eyes softened momentarily. “I know that. And who would be a good father to our children and a good provider for my family. And you are those things, too. I wasn’t looking for wealth, or status, or. . . . I could have married a doctor once if I had wanted that.”

  Hans jerked forward. Emilee smiled faintly. “He proposed to me a few months before you and I met, but I chose not to marry him because. . . . Well, because.”

  The shock on his face made her smile. “I meant to tell you that before, but didn’t.” Emilee rushed on, not wanting to get sidetracked. “If you choose to be a mechanic for the rest of your life, I will be proud of what you are. If you decide to go back into the army—”

  “Heaven forbid!”

  “—I would go with you and stand by your side.”

  “I know you would. And that means a lot to me.”

  Emilee nodded briefly and then continued. “So, unless you bring up the subject of the university sometime in the future, we shall not speak of it again. Not ever. I am sorry that in my eagerness to encourage you to do what I thought would make you happy, I made you feel that I am somehow disappointed in you.” Her voice was very low and filled with pain. “Last night as you were sleeping, I watched you. And I had all kinds of images come into my head.”

  “Images? Of me, you mean?”

  “Yes. I saw you in the trenches in France. I saw you sitting beside Franck when he was shot by that sniper. I saw you darting back and forth as artillery shells from your own guns were raining down all around you. I saw you having the bandages removed from your eyes, the look of pure joy on your face when you realized you could see. I saw you putting rubbing alcohol into a gas tank, driving a truck through a barrier made of apple boxes. I saw a woman in the park being held up by a half-starved soldier, and a half-starved soldier giving her money back to her.”

  Tears filled Emilee’s eyes. “I pictured you in your hotel room being kicked and punched by a gang of very awful men. And I tried to picture you battling with a dog over scraps of garbage.” There was the glint of a smile. “But I had trouble actually picturing that.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and went on. “I saw you give money to a family in that horrible tenement house and feel bad because you had no more to give them. I saw you and Miki rolling on the grass together, or her giving you one of her ‘favorite uncle’ kisses. I saw how tender you are with your mother. And I could picture the awe on the faces of your sisters when you renounced your inheritance and gave the farm to them.”

  Hans’s eyes widened. “How did you know about that?” But he immediately knew. “Mama, right?”

  Emilee nodded. “As all of those images came and went, I wept to think that I had somehow made you feel that you did not measure up to my expectations, that you are not worthy of me. How could I ever feel that way? My father was a factory worker. My older brother is an apprentice butcher. It’s not like I’m one of your hooty-snooty girls from the Von Kruger Academy. So I am sorry, Hans. So terribly sorry. Please forgive me.”

  “No!” he said quietly.

  “No?”

  “Apology not accepted. If you ever stop calling me to account when I’m acting like a Dummkopf, then how will I ever become anything but a fool?”

  For what seemed like forever, Emilee just looked at him. Then finally she nodded and got to her feet. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  Hans got up, went to her, and encircled her in his arms, burying his face in her hair. “Yes. I would like that very much.” Then, as he let her go, he got a little-boy look on his face. “After breakfast, can I hold Alisa for a little bit before I go down to the shop? Please, Mama.”

  Laughing, Emilee went up and kissed him softly. “Only if you wash your hands first,” she said.

  As he started for the sink, she called after him. “Hans?”

  He looked over his shoulder as he began to wash his hands. “Yes, Schatzi?”

  “I was thinking. What if we invited Adolf to have supper with us again sometime?”

  His head reared back. “Really?”

  “Yes. I don’t think he eats well. He’s so thin.”

  He studied her for a moment and then said, “I think you are concerned about something other than his weight, am I right?”

  Emilee flushed a little. “I. . . . When I watch you talk with him, I can tell that some of his ideas excite you.”

  “Yes, they do. We both agree that this is a critical time for the Fatherland, and I like his thinking about long-term solutions to our problems.

  “Then invite him to have dinner with us. Like maybe on Sunday. I’d like to hear him too. What did you decide about joining the German Workers’ Party?”

  “He really wants me to, so I guess I will.”

  “Gut.”

  “Okay.” Hans held up his hands so she could see they were clean. “Now can I go get Alisa?”

  November 23, 1919, 2:10 p.m.—Eckhardt residence

  “Danke, Frau Eckhardt,” Hitler said as they settled into their chairs in the sitting room. “Once again—”

  Emilee cut in. “You are most welcome, HERR Hitler.” She emphasized the title heavily, giving him a chiding look.

  Adolf laughed. “Sorry. I forgot. Danke, Emilee. Once again the food was superb and the company most pleasant.”

  “That’s better,” Emilee said with a smile. “It is a pleasure to have you in our home, Adolf. We are glad you would come.”

  “As am I. Sundays are pretty slow days on the base. A lot of men sitting around in the barracks playing cards and drinking beer, foul-mouthed and making lots of noise. I was happy for an excuse to get away.”

  “Can you stay for a while?” Hans asked. “I’d like to hear what’s going on with the party.”

  “Of course. But first, I should like to know more about your family, Emilee. I know that Hans is the son of a successful milchbauer, but what of you? Were you born a
nd raised in Pasewalk?”

  “No, no. I was born and mostly raised in Königsberg.”

  “Of course. Thus the East Prussian accent.”

  Hans laughed, remembering when he had first said that to Emilee. “She doesn’t have an accent,” he noted. “It’s all the rest of us who do.”

  Adolf chuckled.

  Emilee went on, describing briefly how her father had worked at the port in the city and then became a factory worker at a steel mill. Then she explained how her godfather, who was a prominent doctor in Pasewalk, offered to pay for her schooling to be a nurse. “That was in 1914, just as the war clouds were gathering. So I went through an accelerated nursing program, and by the time I graduated, my godfather was the administrator of the military hospital in Pasewalk and was able to secure my employment.”

  “Ah, yes, and that is how you met Hans.”

  “Exactly.” She continued and told him about her family, how her mother was a widow now, and that she had three brothers, one of whom had died in the war, or so they assumed. They had not heard from him now in almost three years.

  Adolf nodded soberly. “A story all too often repeated in homes all over the Fatherland.”

  Emilee, who really wasn’t comfortable talking about herself, changed the subject. “And what of you? Your accent is definitely Bavarian, but Hans tells me you were born in Austria.”

  “Just barely, in Braunau am Inn. A mile or two farther west and I would have been a Bavarian. And now I consider Germany my ­adopted country and Bavaria my adopted home. And one of my grand hopes in life is to see the day when there is no Austrian/German border, only one great, unified Germanic nation.”

  “Oh? That would be nice. Tell me about your family.”

  “Well, pretty common story, I would say. My father was a minor civil servant, a customs officer. That’s why we lived on the border with Germany. I was the third son of his third marriage. Actually, my mother was my father’s second cousin, and he had to get an episcopal dispensation before he could marry her. Braunau am Inn was not our ancestral home. My people come from the Waldviertel, a district in southern Austria near the borders of Bohemia and Moravia. This was a region of simple folk, where marriage between cousins and having illegitimate children was commonplace.”