Adelsverein

by Celia Hayes

  “Exactly.” Anna pushed her toe against the flagstones beneath, sending her end of the swing to gently sway back and fourth. “I gave no consideration to how it would sound—in front of Papa, and everyone. I expect Auntie Magda is giving us a chance, giving you a chance to think. And to speak honestly, without embarrassing either of us any further.”

  “It is an idea deserving of consideration,” Peter ventured thoughtfully and sat silent for some moments.

  “Had you thought on marriage?” Anna asked, carefully. “At all? With . . . with anyone? Such a station is not something you are disinclined towards? Or are you intent on another party?”

  Peter thought back to that night by the campfire, when he and Hansi had talked long under the stars, and Hansi had let it be known that he might approve of Peter courting his formidable daughter. When they returned from Kansas, Peter had fairly held his breath every time he had encountered Miss Anna. Few enough occasions they were, too—but if there were a change in her manner towards him, he was damned if he could see it.

  “I’d thought on it, in a general way, of course,” he answered, “As something that might happen . . . oh, around the time that I could support a wife and a family. I was not set on anyone in particular, Miss Anna. But it was occasionally suggested to me that you and I might eventually develop an understanding. Your cousin Dolph was very often humorous about the possibility.”

  Anna said a very rude word; Peter laughed outright. Curiously, the idea of a pet hawk had a certain appeal. It tickled him, like a smooth drink of whiskey, the fumes of it rising into his brain. “We would always have something to talk about,” he pointed out. The more he considered, the more the whole notion appealed. Anna was pretty, clever, strong-willed, and the apple of her father’s eye. He liked her family, respected her father, and when he looked at the matter honestly, he liked her. Rather more than liked her; there was an edge to her that made most other girls her age seem tame and spiritless. And that brought to mind an agreeable side effect. Marrying her would, without a doubt, remove him from any chance of falling prey to his sister-in-law’s marital schemes.

  “Miss Anna,” he said at last, “you know, I think I like the idea. I like it fine. More than fine.” He smiled. “Let’s get married.”

  “Really?” she breathed, looking sideways at him, still blushing as pink as one of Ma’am Becker’s roses growing at the bottom of the garden. “Do you want to indeed, Mr. Vining?”

  “I do,” Peter answered stoutly. He took her fingers in his good hand, raising them to his lips. “It’s a grand idea. I may as well do it proper. Miss Richter, will you do me the very significant honor of consenting to become my wife, and going with your father’s cattle herd all the way to Kansas the day after tomorrow?”

  “Why, Mr. Vining!” Her eyes sparkled with demure laughter. “This is so unexpected, I hardly know what is proper to say. But of course, I accept your very honorable proposal. Of marriage and cattle-herding, both.” They both chuckled at that, and sat for a moment in the gently swaying swing, taking in the enormity of this commitment. Now that it was done, the better Peter thought of it, and obscurely wondered why he hadn’t earlier ventured to take the bull by the horns, as it were. “We shall have to go and tell Papa,” Anna said at last. “He and Auntie Magda must be on tenterhooks, wanting to know what we have decided. Poor Auntie Magda will have to set up a wedding party for us on practically no notice at all.”

  “Wouldn’t you miss not having a splendid turnout with all the trimmings?” Peter asked, diverted. He was recollecting all the grand to-do about his brother Horace’s wedding. Their mother and Miss Amelia’s mother had planned for simply months.

  “Oh, no,” Anna shook her sleek brown head. “Too much of a fuss. And an expense. I never thought to be married at all, you see.” That sentiment came as a shock to Peter, but he said nothing. “Whatever Auntie Magda may contrive in the next day will be enough for me. Enough for us, I mean.” She reached for Peter’s other hand, the wooden one, and curled her fingers around his. She looked very young at that moment, so terribly serious, and her voice sounded quite small.

  He looked closely at her. “I promise, Miss Anna—to try and make you as happy as any woman could be.”

  “You will,” she answered simply and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Again he thought of a hawk, settling as tamely as a pet parakeet. “Make me happy, I mean. You are everything I would have chosen in a husband.”

  Chapter Sixteen: The Road of Silver and Gold

  “I always thought it was so wonderfully romantic.” Lottie sighed wistfully as she and Magda sat in the parlor of the mansion that Lottie’s husband had built on Turner Street, so many years later. “To marry so impetuously and to spend your honeymoon trailing the herd north! Almost as romantic as eloping, even if Auntie Elizabeth kept croaking about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure! Most folk did not even think that Cousin Anna and Cousin Peter even liked each other, so they were at least spared the usual sort of venomous gossip.”

  “They would not have dared say anything of the sort to any of our faces.” Magda looked into the fire, with the austere assurance of a Roman matron or a Vestal priestess. “For your Onkel Hansi, he gave his approval most cheerfully and Pastor Altmueller agreed—although with some reluctance—to perform the marriage. I think he consented only on the account of our long friendship. Anna herself swore faithfully that she was under no duress and she had no other reason for hasty vows other than the necessity of departing according to schedule.”

  “It still seemed very romantic,” Lottie said again. “But I suppose it did deprive Auntie Liesel of those excitements attendant to marrying off a daughter.”

  “We never fussed as much, in my day,” Magda said, still austere. “We did things very plainly. And Anna had them as plain as I ever did; or more! She did not even wear Liesel’s white silk dress, or carry flowers…”

  * * *

  Magda looked in astonishment and horror at her niece and Peter Vining when they returned from the garden, swinging their hands like a pair of truant schoolchildren.

  Anna spoke first, while Peter appeared as fatuously pleased as if it had all been his idea to start with. “Yes, Papa, Auntie—we have decided to be married.”

  “Splendid, splendid!” Hansi boomed from where he lay on the chaise. “You’ll never regret it, not for a moment. Let me shake your hand, lad! You’ll be happy, especially if she is as merry a wife to you as her mother is to me!”

  “Papa!” Anna remonstrated, a pink blush rising in her cheeks.

  “Oh my!” Magda looked from one to another of them. “Tomorrow? There is barely time to invite everyone, let alone prepare for a celebration! I suppose I should send Sam to fetch Herr Pastor Altmueller. Will he consent to perform the marriage, since there is not time enough to post the bans?”

  “I’m sure he would,” Hansi answered, still hearty in spite of the discomfort of his broken leg and a considerable draught of laudanum. “And ask Charley Nimitz about lending his cook and another basket of crockery to us for the day! What good to own a hotel, with a fine kitchen, if you cannot help out old friends? We’ll have a fine party for you, my little nun—don’t you fret.”

  “I’m not fretting, Papa,” Anna replied. She knelt in a soft rustle of skirts so that Hansi could kiss her forehead. “I am just thinking about what I should pack and take with me on the journey. I have only a day to prepare, and the herd is much more important than some silly wedding party.”

  “Anna!” Magda protested, while Peter said, “Miss Anna, can you drive a two-horse team?”

  “I can learn,” Anna answered, unruffled. “Why do you ask?”

  Peter laughed; he sounded fond and delighted. “Because William Arhelger is nearly finished with our new cook wagon. The ambulance we used last year was too light to carry all the goods necessary, so I had thought to sell it back to him; but with a little work, it can serve as a wagon for you to travel in. Very comfortable, a little private caravan on
wheels.” He helped Anna rise from the floor and Magda thought for the very first time that Anna’s mad notion to marry might actually work.

  “I should like that.” Anna looked thoughtful. “Can you arrange it in time?”

  “I will go to his shop and see to it right this instant,” Peter answered. There was a breathless moment when they looked at each other, excitement kindling like summer lightning, flashing pale in the nighttime clouds.

  “You should call me by my name,” Anna said after a moment, “since we are to be wed.”

  “Of course, Miss—Anna.” Peter still sounded rather dazed. “And you should call me by my own name, as well, since we need not maintain such formality as all that, after tomorrow.”

  “I will send Sam for Pastor Altmueller,” Magda interjected.

  Young Sam was sitting behind the counter, kicking his heels against the legs of a tall stool. He’d been so happily engrossed in his book that he came up from it with a sigh as he marked his place with a thumb. “Pastor A.? Is something the matter, Mama?” he asked.

  “No,” Magda answered, “only that Anna and Cousin Peter wish to marry before departing with the herd.”

  Sam’s eyes widened artlessly. “Poor Cousin Peter—I did not think she cared two pins about him.”

  “Go, Sam,” Magda commanded before Sam could venture any more tactless sympathy for his cousin within Anna’s hearing. “And run—we have not much time. As soon as you return, I must go down to the Nimitz’s, so do not take your time talking with Pastor Altmueller about books!”

  As her son departed with his hands in his pockets, whistling merrily and tunelessly, she looked towards the chaise where Hansi had become suddenly very quiet. He lay with his head back, snoring gently. “At last, some good from that dose. I had begun to doubt it had any efficacy at all. What about a wedding ring, Annchen? It is the custom.”

  “We’ll take one out of stock,” Anna answered, all practicality.

  “And put it on my account,” Peter answered grandly. “I’m sure I can afford it.”

  Anna tucked a blanket around her father’s shoulders. “Dearest Papa, I hope he wakes up in time. It will be so undignified, having a wedding with him snoring away in the corner.”

  Magda took down a small ring of keys from the hook just inside the workroom door. The tiniest of them unlocked a small glass case which Vati had once used to display his best handiwork on a little tray lined with dusty purple velvet. They still had several of Vati’s old pocket watches in that case, as well as a selection of plain gold wedding bands (“We might as well have a stock of them, people are always getting married,” Hansi had pointed out reasonably) and some modestly jeweled rings and pins which customers had used to pay off an account, or traded for goods. She opened the case as Peter and Anna came in from the parlor.

  Peter was saying, “If you can sort out what to bring along by this afternoon, I’ll bring the wagon over from Arhelgers and give you a driving lesson.”

  “If Auntie can spare me from the store,” Anna looked composed and demure. “Oh, any of the plain gold rings that fit me will do. I think they were all priced the same.”

  Peter looked over her shoulder. “What about an engagement ring, then? Will that little one fit your hand?”

  “This?” Magda lifted out the one he pointed out, a narrow gold band set with a chip of garnet and two miniscule pearls. Anna slipped it onto her finger; it went on easily enough.

  Peter said grandly, “Add it to my account, then. Can you see to the other? I must go to Arhelger and let him know about the wagon.” He beat a hasty retreat after Sam.

  Anna put the gold band into her apron pocket and took down the account book. She opened the ink bottle and made a careful entry, remarking as she did so, “Well, that was fortunate. How long had you had that little ring in Opa’s case? It’s not the sort of thing that anyone would buy, ordinarily.”

  Magda shook her head, in disbelief. How could Anna be so casual, so very level-headed about this matter? She was about to tie her life, her happiness, her whole future to another person, yet seemed to see it as a matter for the account books.

  “Anna . . .Annchen,” she began to say, choked with an emotion she could neither define nor give proper voice to. “Are you sure of this—this decision to marry? And to marry not for love, but to maintain proper convention?”

  “Yes, I am, Auntie.” Anna wiped ink off the pen and re-corked the ink bottle, before setting both carefully away. “I am sure.” She clasped her hands together and appeared very serious. “I have given it much careful thought, you see. I cannot claim to love him extraordinarily well at this moment . . .”

  “Oh, Annchen!” Magda was revolted at the cold-blooded way that her niece considered these things, but Anna merely held up her hand and continued, “. . . but I like him very well and think that I could come to love him, as much as Mama cares for Papa, or you for Uncle Carl. As he would come to love me in time, as we share our lives as all married folk do. He suits me, Auntie! He does not speak to me as one speaks to an idiot child. When he sets aside mockery, he is very kind. After our little Rose,” for a brief moment Anna’s eyes looked bright with unshed tears, but there was a wistful smile on her lips, “on that day that we buried our Rosalie, he was most especially comforting. I had not expected such sensible consolation as he offered me on that day. But so he did, and I began to think most favorably of him. Besides,” Anna sniffed, “he cares so little for himself! Like a man, never thinking of eating well, or putting a coat on his back when it is nearly freezing outside. Like one of Dolph’s poor dogs, all skin and ribs. I do want to care for him, Auntie. I think I would be well rewarded for doing so. And,” her eyes were now as bright as stars, “oh, to go north and share in the same adventures! I would like that extraordinarily well . . . almost as much as being married to him! Think of it, Auntie—and Mama might not be able to use her fears and megrims against me going, for I would be with my husband! How marvelous that would be!”

  “You are sure of this?” Magda asked with enormous tenderness. “And that you are certain you will come to love him, as is proper in marriage? He is as dear to me as you and deserves no less a chance to be happy in marriage.”

  “I am certain, Auntie.” Anna went on tip-toes and kissed Magda’s cheek. Her hand closed on the pocket of her apron, as if she felt the weight of the gold band there. “I will take such care of him as he needs and deserves. Oh, my, I must pack! There is so much to be done, if we are to leave the day after tomorrow. I expect I will need to take a straw-tick and bedding for myself! Will you be able to manage in the store without my help, for the rest of the day?”

  “So have the children and I managed all along,” Magda answered with a sigh, for there would be much to do, even to invite those old friends who would be in town at mid-week.

  So much indeed; it seemed that the next day and a half passed in a frantic dream, an exhausting yet oddly exhilarating dream. Magda’s feet and shins ached from constantly running: from the shop to wait upon customers, to the parlor to tend Hansi, into the kitchen to placate Mrs. Schmidt, up the stairs to advise Anna on what to pack for a three-month long wagon journey north, and back down the stairs again at the silvery jingle of the shop bell. She suspected that everyone else in the household felt much the same, for there was something of the same look of exhausted triumph on all those faces in the candle-lit parlor. Even Fredi, who arrived at the last minute reeking of trail dust and horse sweat; even he looked tired. He, Charley, Dolph, Magda and her children, and Hansi lying on the chaise with his leg propped up on a heavy bolster, witnessed the marriage. Herr Pastor Altmueller’s aged and beautiful voice read out the vows as if it were the first time he had ever read them or they all had ever listened to them.

  Anna wore her best afternoon dress, blue satin with a darker blue draped overskirt and tight-sleeved jacket. It was set off with a small modish hat that sat rakishly tilted forward by a high-pinned knot of her hair gathered at the back of her head. The curled
ostrich-feather trim on her hat barely reached as high as Peter’s cravat stickpin, as the two of them stood side by side. Peter’s hair and mustaches gleamed as pale as polished ivory under the candle-light. Magda thought he looked a little dazed, distracted by the rush of events and the last-minute emergencies attendant on their morning departure. She, herself was so weary that the wedding party, under lamplight in the garden, passed in a blur of faces, music, and happy voices. There was dancing under lanterns that swayed gently in a cool spring breeze that sprang up at twilight. Hansi, carried out on the chaise so he could enjoy as much of his eldest-daughter’s wedding party as possible, had sent for bottles of champagne; cool and dry, straw-gold and full of tiny fizzing bubbles that rose from the bottom of Charley Nimitz’s hotel glassware. Magda drank enough of it to feel mildly elevated and to muddle this evening with other celebrations held in Vati’s garden, with the last of the pear-tree’s delicate blossoms falling to the rich earth below.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Rosalie and Robert, ghosts in wedding white and Confederate grey, dancing in each others arms as if there were no one else present. There were her sons, Dolph at twenty and fifteen year-old Sam already as tall and fair-haired as their father—and was Carl not there also, smiling his gentle and reserved smile at her on their own wedding day? Hannah, grave and serene, danced under the nearest lantern with Charley’s son, the boy who had caught the diphtheria and nearly died of it during that last year of the war. Hannah laughed at something young Chester was saying to her. Poor lad, his health was still very delicate; Sophie and Charley worried quietly over him.