by Susan Finlay
Max and Karl came out a few minutes later, smiling. “We take horses and carriage to stable across the street. Then we go find our room. Will be crowded, but is better than sleeping outside.”
The road-weary group came alive with smiles and happy comments, readily agreeing with Karl, anticipation of the sudden luxury of a warm dry room on everyone’s faces.
Once the horses were settled in at the stable for the evening, Karl and the others walked into the gasthof. They were assigned a room on the top floor—the attic Max had seen from outside. They tromped up two steep flights of stairs. As they reached their room, Max was happy to find theirs was the room with the window. He walked over to the window and gazed out at the stable down below and across the street.
“Any idea what town this is?” Max asked.
“Ja. We’re in Altenmünster.”
They left their belongings in the room, and then went downstairs to the common room to find food and drink.
Max didn’t know what kind of food to expect, but he didn’t really care. They were warm, dry, and someone would bring them food. What more could one ask.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MONIKA HOFFMANN breathed in the aroma of supper stew simmering in the large cast-iron pot hanging from a wrought-iron crane in the hearth. Standing in front of the pot, she lifted the ladle off its hook, stirred the bubbly brew, giving it a quick taste. Satisfied, she wiped her hands on her apron while looking around the farmhouse, a house completely different from the house she’d lived in with her first husband. That earlier house, as she remembered it, had five oversized bedrooms, a formal dining room, eat-in kitchen, living room, family room, four bathrooms, and an enormous laundry room. Rambling, pretentious, typical American styling. Her husband’s family, having only a few hours ago left after a week-long visit, had made her think of her own faraway family.
In her current home, the principal room—the kitchen—was some thirty feet long and eighteen feet wide, with a stone-flagged floor and a long oak table of sufficient size to seat a dozen people. On one side of the table, a bench was affixed to the wall, while a movable bench assumed its place on the opposite side. The fireplace was capacious with a cozy inglenook and a cast-iron fire-back. Assorted pots hung from hooks at the top of the fireplace. An oak dresser garnished with coarse filigree held earthenware dishes, and a huge linen chest completed the room. She’d always liked her parents’ kitchen back in Riesen—the old-fashioned cast iron stove and cabinets. She’d never imagined she would have an even more old-fashioned stove. She shook her head, wondering what her mother would say about it.
In the parlor was another hearth as well as gate-legged tables, oak chairs, and a couple of rush-bottomed chairs with sparred backs. The walls throughout the house were amber colored, some with well-worn tapestries hanging from hooks on the walls to provide color and decoration and to help hold in warmth during the cold winter.
She loved each of the rustic furnishings, mainly because they had been handmade by her husband Gerhard. Gerhard and his four younger brothers, who lived in the area before leaving to establish their own farms, had labored with Gerhard to build the two-story farmhouse, dairy, and barn. Monika smiled to herself, remembering those early days that had followed her marriage to Gerhard.
Their hasty wedding had been long ago when she was had just turned forty. Almost nineteen years ago, she thought. Has it really been that long? Seven months later, Konrad had been born. Thirteen months after that, their daughter Hanna was born, followed by Sigrid, and then Henrik eleven months later. Although Monika loved her family dearly, she had to admit she was a bit relieved when the change of life began at age forty-six soon after her the birth of her youngest son. Look at us now. My babies are almost grown up.
“Mutter,” Hanna said, interrupting Monika’s ruminations “what is wrong? You look sad.”
Monika pulled herself back to the present, and smiled. “Oh, I am fine, dear girl. I am merely tired. It has been a good week, but quite long, ja?”
Hanna laughed. “Yes, I am sad to see our houseguests go, but I surely am happy to not be tripping over people.”
Sigrid, sitting at the long kitchen table, slumped over and rested her chin on the table. “I will miss Karin and Marta. We were just getting reacquainted, and we were becoming friends, I think. Can we visit them soon, Mutter?”
“We will try,” Monika said, “but I cannot promise. We have much work to do around the farm. And we need to help out with Anna’s baby. She is due any day now. When your sister and I go to their farm, you will need to take care of this place.”
Sigrid sighed. “Does my life have to be nothing but work? We never do anything fun.”
Monika smiled. Yes, teenagers were the same no matter what year, or century, they were raised in. She remembered her oldest daughter, Diana, saying almost the thing twenty-three years ago when she was Sigrid’s age. Oh, to be fifteen again. God, she suddenly felt old thinking about Diana and Max, her oldest children, and realizing that she might have grandchildren as old as, or older than, these girls. She quickly wiped away a tear, hoping the girls wouldn’t notice.
“Mutter,” Hanna said. Is something wrong? You are acting very strangely.”
“Ah, pay no attention to me,” Monika said, brushing her hand over her pinned-up blonde-white hair that was becoming increasingly whiter. “I am getting old. It is much harder for me to handle a house full of people these days.” She smiled at her daughter.
Hanna, seemingly satisfied with the answer, smiled back. “You should let me do more to help. I am not a child anymore. I will marry and have my own family to care for very soon. Like Konrad. After his and Ulla’s wedding in the fall, perhaps.”
Monika’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Oh, I know, but I have a difficult time thinking of you that way. You are still my baby. Both of you girls are.”
Sigrid was still seated, her elbows on the table, her pink cheeks resting in the palms of her hands, and her mouth in a pout as it often was these days. But hearing her mother call her ‘baby’ made her move her hands from her cheeks and place them over her ears.
Monika laughed and Hanna rolled her eyes at her younger sister. “You really act like a baby, Sigrid.”
Sigrid groaned, got up, and stomped out of the room and up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her sister.
“I hope I do not have a daughter like her,” Hanna said.
“You should be nicer to your sister. Some kids her age have a harder time than others. You have always been happy, but for Sigrid, well, she does not have as much to look forward to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you are lucky. Did you know that? You are one of the loveliest girls in the village. You have boys all around here wanting to court you, to marry you. Your sister, well, she is beautiful in my eyes, but she does not have the . . . well, the appeal that you have. You are warm and kind and you get along with everyone. Her prospects for a good match are not as good.”
Hanna nodded. “Perhaps we can help her. We could fix her messy hair and maybe even make a new dress for her. She could be pretty if she worked at it some.”
Monika smiled wistfully as she compared her two daughters. Hanna’s eyes were a bright sky-blue, her skin soft and creamy, and her hair pale-blonde and silky-smooth. Sigrid’s eyes were only a pale version of Hanna’s, her skin rough and ruddy, and her hair ash-blonde and wickedly defiant. But it wasn’t really their appearances that set them apart; Sigrid was pretty, but she didn’t have the confidence and social grace of Hanna.
“I think that is a nice offer and it could help. More important, though, is that she makes more friends and learns to socialize better. Maybe sometimes you could take her along with you when you meet your friends at gatherings.”
“Yes, I could do that,” Hanna said, smiling sweetly. “I will take her with on Friday, unless of course our neighbor goes into labor before then.”
Monika smiled, well pleased, and pulled her daughter into a moth
erly hug. “Thank you, dear girl,” Monika whispered into Hanna’s ear.
As they came out of their embrace, Monika said, “I know you are not a baby, Hanna. You are growing up, but I still think seventeen is too young to marry. I thought you were still torn between Gunter and Markus anyway.”
Hanna blushed and cleared her throat nervously.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. I just . . . thought I should wait until our guests were gone.”
Monika immediately felt a shiver, and she eased herself down into the nearest chair, trying to brace herself.
“What did you want to tell me?” Monika asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Gunter and I—well, we are in love.”
Hanna wrung her hands—a nervous habit Monika recognized because it was one Hanna had picked up from her. It could mean nothing but trouble.
“I cannot be sure, but I—I think I am with child,” Hanna said. “Gunter wants to marry me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
INSIDE GASTHOF BIRKINSHIRE Sofie followed the others downstairs to find dinner. The aromas coming from the kitchen practically pulled them down the stairs into the large dining room. With stomach growling and clothes fitting more loosely, she hoped for a meal with generous portions. Anything would be preferable to the bread, fruit, and dried meat that had been their fare on the road. After seating themselves on benches on either side of a long table, servers brought out bowls of thick soup, plates of boiled meat, a dish of vegetables, dessert, and a pint of Rhine wine.
The gasthof was crowded and noisy, the decibel level increasing as the evening wore on. When dinner was over, some guests left, but most remained, sitting around drinking beer, cheering, talking, and laughing. At their table, Max and Karl talked in English, reminiscing about Karl’s visits to the U.S. when Max and his sister were kids. Sofie and Tante Lotte talked to each other in German about history. Tobias joined in both conversations occasionally. Birgitta had found a group of women her age and was chatting with them at the next table.
About an hour after dinner, perhaps ten minutes after Lotte left their table and disappeared, Tobias tugged on Sofie’s sleeve and said, “Mom, where’s Ryan and Anneliese? They didn’t want me hanging around them, but they aren’t supposed to wander off, are they?”
Her mouth dropped open. She’d been so caught up in the meal and conversations that she hadn’t kept track of the younger members of their group. What kind of mother was she? Sure, Ryan and Anneliese were not her children, but during their travels, she was the closest they had to a mother. She looked over at Max. Should she interrupt him?
He was still drinking and talking with his grandfather, and looked happier and more relaxed than she’d seen him in days. Karl, too, for that matter. Maybe this would be a turning point in their grandson/grandfather relationship. She scanned the dining room, moving her attention slowly across each table, each chair, and each group of people. For a moment she thought she saw Lotte, but then realized it wasn’t her. Sofie’s eyes stopped at the last table, where teenagers were playing a game of some sort. Ryan and Anneliese weren’t with them. They weren’t in the dining room. Recalling the coziness of the two teens reminded Sofie of when she’d taught at university in the U.S. She’d often heard students complain about roommates sneaking boyfriends into their rooms late at night. Surely Ryan and Anneliese wouldn’t—
She held her breath and stood up, letting her ‘mother’ mode kick in. “Stay here, Tobias. I’ll be right back.” She walked up the stairs to the room their entire group was going to share for the night. It was empty except for the simple furnishings and some quilts and other items they’d brought from their carriage.
Near the door to the room, she paused and watched a young couple walk past, arm-in-arm. She remembered seeing that couple in the stables with their carriage earlier. The stables. She padded down the stairs, careful not to draw attention. No one looked in her direction. Sofie turned and went outside. It was dark except for a half moon and a sky full of stars. Making her way to the stable across the street, she felt a chill as if someone was following her. She whipped around, but no one was there. A slight breeze made the trees sway and the bushes rustle. Perhaps that’s all it was.
She pulled open the heavy wooden stable door and immediately saw a lit lantern. She crept forward and gasped when she came upon Ryan and Anneliese entangled in each other’s arms in a pile of straw. They saw her and Anneliese grabbed for her clothing, scrambling to dress. Sofie glared at Ryan, still lying there, then said, “Are you out of your mind? Don’t you realize how stupid and dangerous this is? Not only is she younger than you, but the morals and laws are very different in this time period. And she’s Birgitta’s granddaughter. Not to mention there’s no birth control.”
Ryan’s face reddened as he reached for his own clothes.
Sofie turned on her heel and started back across the road to the gasthof. Again, she felt as if someone was watching. Chills rippled through her body as she looked around. Seeing no one, yet unable to shake the feeling, she rushed back to the dining hall and sat down next to Max. He gave her an inquiring look. Should she tell him? She wasn’t the mother of either teen. Technically, it wasn’t any of her business, but if Ryan were her son, she would want to know. Sighing, she leaned across the table and whispered to Max, “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay. What is it, sweetie?” His face was red and his breath smelled of alcohol, but if he was drunk, he was the happy kind of drunk.
She took a deep breath, then let it out. “I went to the stables looking for Ryan and Anneliese. I caught them . . . uh, in a rather compromising position.”
Max’s mouth gaped open a moment and then he said, suddenly sober, “Oh God. I warned him. This isn’t the first time he’s done something like that.” He stood up and took a step, then looked over his shoulder at her. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll go talk to him.” He stormed out of the building, drawing a few stares from around the room.
Karl said, “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Sofie said.
Tobias turned his head, clearly confused, but didn’t say anything.
MAX NEARLY GOT blindsided by Anneliese as she flew past him into the gasthof, her hair and clothing in tangled messes with pieces of straw sticking out every which way. Oh man, he hoped she would make it upstairs unobserved, especially since Birgitta would be furious if she found out what the girl had been up to. It didn’t take a genius to know Birgitta was overly protective of her granddaughter.
He found Ryan in an empty horse stall, putting on his shoes.
“Good God, Ryan! Why would you do something that stupid?” Max ran his hand through his hair and paced as a two year old memory sprang to mind. One night—middle of the night—Max had caught Ryan with a girl in his bedroom. The boy had brought her in after everyone had gone to bed. If Max hadn’t gotten up to get medicine for his headache, he and Jenny wouldn’t have known. No telling how many incidents they didn’t know about. The girl had dressed and rushed out of the house while Max was telling Jenny what was going on. They’d confronted him together, and Ryan had gotten belligerent—said they didn’t have any right to tell him how to run his own life. Max had screamed at him that it was his house and his rules. If he didn’t like it, he could leave.
The next day, Jenny, having simmered down, had begun defending Ryan, pointing out that they’d been intimate long before they married. That wasn’t the point, and she knew it. They’d fought over every parental decision, every rule, every mistake Max made, every dime they spent—hell almost everything they did, for several years. A few months after the incident, Max moved out, at Jenny’s request.
“You got away with that kind of shit back home,” Max said. “But life here is different. You could get us all in trouble. What are you going to do if Birgitta finds out and tells her son—Anneliese’s father—what you did? Gramps told me the man is huge and he is strict with his children. He could force you to marry her. Ar
e you prepared to do that?”
Ryan glared at him.
“I asked you a question.”
“I don’t owe you any answers. You’re shacking up with Sofie. Didn’t waste any time, did you?” He stood up and clenched his hands. For a moment Max thought the boy might hit him.
“Sofie and I haven’t ‘shacked up’. I care for her, but we’re behaving the way responsible adults should. You’re eighteen, old enough to know right from wrong. Grow up and be responsible for a change.”
Ryan pushed past, bumping into him as he did and slamming Max into a wooden support beam for the stall. Max hit the back of his head on the beam. Wincing, he rubbed the sore spot, then chased after Ryan, yelling, “You’re behaving the way you did when your mother caught you smoking pot last year. You got indignant with her, too, when she was only trying to get you back on track and keep you from ruining your life.”
Ryan said, “Go to hell.” He sped up, disappearing into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MONIKA PACED THE bare floor, waiting for her husband to return. “I am worried about what your father will say.” She’d always known this might happen with one of her children, but she was still unprepared. Back in her own time, abortion would have been an option, but not here.
Hanna was a good girl who had never given them any problems. Monika felt certain that Hanna was in trouble now only because she was too warm and kind and naïve. Of course with all the attention she got from boys, she would be tempted. I should have seen this possibility. I should have talked to Hanna and warned about the risks. Too late now.