by D. W. Goates
Madly she pressed upon the wood, but nowhere did it give.
“Perhaps it just appeared to be an eye,” the man volunteered. “It is late.”
“It was there . . .” said Elke.
“You have to leave! You cannot say these things about my inn . . . about my son.” The innkeeper was pressing her advantage.
“What’s behind this room?” the young teacher demanded.
“Get out! Now!” The older woman had had enough. She turned and appealed to the man, saying, “Herr Kovačić, I will discount your room if you will be so kind as to help her and her things to the street. I want this nasty woman and her things out of this place, immediately!”
Elke shot the man a desperate look, but he spoke before she could ask.
Looking down at her, he said, “I will help you, fräulein. Let me get dressed.”
Elke followed him up the stairs, but not before shooting the older woman a look of disappointment and disgust. In return she received an evil glare, which she could still feel upon her back as she slowly climbed to make good her eviction.
It was almost three o’ clock now. Though they spoke no more before going to their respective rooms, Fräulein Schreiber was confident that this Herr Kovačić would do more than just help her to the street. There was kindness in his eyes and upon his face; something too beneath his words she found reassuring.
She had just finished buttoning her ankle boots when he came to her room, candle in hand, in a simple shirt and vest, brown homespun pants, and worn riding boots. She was back in her dark green dress, which looked black in this light, her shoes now invisible beneath its long skirt. She had a hat pinned in her chestnut hair and was in the process of pulling on her gloves.
“It’s that trunk. It weighs as much as a dead body. My whole life’s in there. I’ve just moved here for employment. I’m the new schoolteacher.” Her words came out in a nervous string.
“I can get it, fräulein.” And he did, though with much visible effort.
Following behind him with her heavy carpetbag, she spun around one last time and surveyed the room for leavings. Satisfied, she made her way downstairs where again she encountered the wretched innkeeper.
“I suppose I should have to resort to mortal combat to obtain a refund,” Elke sniped uncharacteristically, surprising even herself with her haughty tone.
To her shock she discovered that the older woman had been ready with it. A palm of coins was thrown at her feet.
“You northern people aren’t welcome here—never have been. I’m glad to see you go, and never come back!”
Elke would have enjoyed denying the innkeeper the pleasure—to ignore the coins that had been thrown at her—but her means were simply too modest, especially in light of the fact that her proposed employer had failed to meet her coach. With as much dignity as she could muster, she stooped and quickly picked at what she could see. There was at least one coin of a greater denomination that she was certain had rolled away, but it would have to be abandoned in her haste to escape this oppression.
Once outside beneath the gas light, it finally dawned on her that she was alone with a stranger, in a strange place, in the dead of night. Her mind began to race as she weighed her options. It was finally Herr Kovačić who broke the long, uncomfortable silence.
“Where can I take you, fräulein? I have a horse, yonder in the stable. I can try lashing that box to him, but we’ll have to walk.”
“Herr Kovačić, is it? I cannot thank you enough for this kindness. You really are a lifesaver.” Her sincere smile radiated in the dim light.
Her honeyed words had an immediate effect upon the man; he showed no signs of being put out by this unexpected late-night errand. That she was quite comely for a schoolteacher could only have helped her case.
“Do you know where I might find the schoolmaster, or even the school itself?” she inquired.
“I’m sorry, but I do not, fräulein.” He addressed her as a servant might the lady of that castle up there. Perhaps it was just his excitement at having a young woman to engage with. “I’m not from Waldheim, fräulein. I am a seed peddler from south of here.”
This explained his name and rather unusual accent.
“Well, it’s not so big a village that it can’t be some place close. And surely the schoolmaster lives near his school. Would you mind if we did some exploring with that horse of yours? At this point, it’s too late for me to try to find another inn, if there is another inn in this most unfortunate place . . .” The last bit was a complaint that she had intended to keep to herself.
“I will get the horse. Please wait here, fräulein.” After she nodded her assent, he walked off down the vacant street.
With nothing else to do, Elke plunked down upon her trunk. Resting her head in the palm of her hand, she pondered her plight. Nothing had gone as expected. And what had the innkeeper meant when she had said that she wasn’t aware that Waldheim needed a teacher? They had better need a teacher! She had spent no small sum in travel to take this job—expenses for which reimbursement had been promised in writing. If Schoolmaster Rückert found another teacher without telling her . . . allowing her to come all this way . . .
It certainly was dark. The night sky and its moon were once again smothered by the clouds, and the air was cold and clammy, the kind of damp chill one might expect from a crypt.
The man wasn’t gone long, but it was more than enough time to draw her attention to the grave-like stillness of this place. Elke Schreiber was not one to scare easily, but the unusual quiet was deeply disquieting to her. Not so much as the hoot of an owl or bark of a dog could be heard. The village of Waldheim—home surely to hundreds by the look of it—lacked all vitality. It was like a cemetery, a memorial monument, not to what was, but to what had been—its people perhaps shadows of their former selves, or shadows of the kinds of folk one might expect to inhabit such a place.
She was just beginning to experience a genuine fright when the man reappeared with his horse in tow. It was uncanny how the thickness of the night could swallow so the sounds from this man and his horse.
She stood, allowing him to heave her trunk atop the saddle that was fitted to the passive nag.
“Could I get your help, fräulein?” He was struggling to hold the trunk in place while tangling with the rope to bind it.
“Certainly,” she replied. He gestured for her to catch the rope on the other side. Following his instructions, she put the rope through the handle of the trunk and then returned it to him via the underside of the beast.
Once the trunk and her bag were secure, they set out to explore the deserted streets; the sleepy horse, led by the rein, followed dutifully behind.
Elke was sure that at least an hour had passed, probably more, but she was unable to confirm this with her watch in the dim light. The only illumination came from the gaslit doorways of a few scattered shops and houses. These were altogether too rare, however, especially on a night like this.
The buildings all looked the same—two-story, half-timbered—clearly of late medieval construction. They sat packed together and pressed much more closely upon the street than she was used to, Elke having come from a big city with wide avenues. Nothing looked the slightest bit like a schoolhouse. And another thing occurred to her about this place as they continued walking together in silence—the dearth of churches. A village this size should have a few at least, and she had yet to count a single one in their search so far.
It was some time later when the street they were on finally opened into what was surely the town square. All of these towns had them, especially the older ones like Waldheim. It was here, in the Marktplatz, that the residents would conduct their weekly trade in produce and other goods. If tradition was kept, then that larger building facing the square, with its stepped façade, should be the town hall.
Elke was surprised to find this s
quare lit by modern gas streetlights and so took the opportunity to both rest and check her watch. She sat on the steps below a large statue in the center of the square. This monument—a seated figure perhaps half again the size of a man—was situated facing the Rathaus.
It was approaching dawn. They had wandered now for hours half-blind in this place. Elke was hungry, and she was tired—all verve stemming from her melee with the innkeeper having long since dissipated in the clammy blackness. However, despite her wretched mood, she couldn’t help but admire the stoicism of her rescuer, who stood there beside her, apparently as unbothered as his placid mount.
Feeling particularly guilty for putting him out, she was about to release him from his obligation when, looking past him, she noticed another different sort of building across the square. This one, while appearing as if it could hold an audience, lacked the ornamentation of a church—even one of the more plain Protestant persuasion.
Quickly again to her feet, Elke moved in a half-run to this structure. The small sign upon the door confirmed this to be the school she sought. With an excited yelp she shared the news with her companion. The door was locked, of course, but with the day set to begin, and with the Sabbath still some days hence, the schoolteacher was now convinced that things would be sorted out for her in short order.
She crossed the square back to Herr Kovačić and, before she knew quite what she was doing, she embraced the man in an enthusiastic and sincere hug.
“Thank you so much for your help, good sir. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you!” She spoke this with her ear still upon his chest.
She could practically feel him blushing as he stood there seized in her grasp, but it was when the normally unflappable and plain-spoken man struggled for words to respond that she became painfully aware of her impropriety.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, releasing him.
“Don’t—Don’t mention it, fräulein.” The evening did much to hide his reddened face, but nothing for his flustered manner.
“Please go back and get some rest. I will be all right here. It’s almost morning, when I can meet the schoolmaster. There’s lights and everything,” she added, gesturing at the streetlights.
“Are you sure, fräulein . . . that you will be safe?”
“Yes, I’m positive. We’ve yet to see another soul. And I’m beginning to feel guilty for dragging you around on this adventure. Please go get some rest, and if you are still that concerned, you may call upon me later here at the school. In fact, I feel under quite an obligation to you.”
Elke had just gotten this last bit out before realizing that it might be open to interpretation. She wasn’t sure what she could do to thank him, but she hoped that he would not take her bluster as an invitation to some sort of courtship.
She would have to wonder, however, for in the meantime, he had managed to restore his usual stone-faced, inscrutable demeanor.
With her help, he placed her trunk and bag along the wall next to the main door to the schoolhouse. He then mounted the horse and was about to ride away when Elke stepped in, thanking him one last time and offering his helpful creature a friendly pat as she did.
And then he was off, slowly, into what remained of the night.
II
Elke passed the short while before dawn unmolested, seated again on her trunk, and this time leaning against the schoolhouse wall, half in doze.
Just before the sun arrived, a sinister fog had developed in the square, but this was quickly burned off as the orb began its climb into the sky. The clouds had broken, too, which did much for her mood. Though still tired and hungry, she was now also optimistic. The townsfolk began to stir.
At nearly nine o’clock, someone finally approached the door to the schoolhouse. It was a thin old man with crooked teeth in a plain black suit. He appeared surprised to see a young woman, along with her effects, there at the door to his school and almost flipped his dingy little wig. This was Schoolmaster Rückert—a fact he immediately confirmed in response to the question Elke had posed the very moment the man’s destination became evident.
“Herr Doktor, I’m Elke Schreiber, your new schoolteacher.”
He possessed no such degree but did not correct her. In discourse of this sort, such social promotion was customary.
“Fräulein Schreiber . . .?” His absentmindedness was evident, until he stuttered, “Oh! Oh dear! This is regrettable!”
And so he had forgotten!
“You were supposed to meet my coach yesterday evening. I had to stay at the inn,” she complained.
“Well, you see—” He stopped himself, but continued unlocking the great door with an equally great key.
She stood there, mouth half open, as he finished. When the door was open, he stepped inside and turned to address her, gesturing.
“Come, come inside.”
She grasped the handle of her carpetbag and stepped inside. “My trunk . . . I cannot leave it in the street like that.” Though part of her wondered what such a skinny little man was supposed to do about it; the both of them together would be no match for such a sea chest. It had already begun to feel like an anchor to her.
“Leave it for now. Bernhard can get it when he comes.” The concern was still evident on her face, and she looked ready to press the issue before he added, “It will be safe.” He stopped to look directly at her as he added this warranty, though his tone wasn’t very reassuring.
She followed him into a small, cluttered room, which she understood to be his office. She would later learn that this room, sitting like a box in the corner, was the smallest of only three that constituted the school. The other two were classrooms—a large, main classroom which opened to the square, and a second, smaller one, situated along the back wall of the building.
He offered her a seat, and it was here that she experienced quite a shock. The village was no longer in need of a teacher after all—the position having been filled a week ago by the schoolmaster’s own niece. Fräulein Schreiber’s forgiveness was humbly begged, but there was simply nothing that could be done. He had intended to post a letter to her but had forgotten, and the whole thing would have been pointless anyway. By that time she would have already begun her thirteen-day overland journey to Waldheim.
Further questioning revealed additional facts. Of course he wasn’t guilty of nepotism; the secondary class of older students that Elke was to teach was actually acquired by Frau Geller, their tenured primary school teacher of twenty years. Fräulein Rückert, the principal’s niece, had taken over Frau Geller’s youngsters.
“This offer represents a contract!” Elke fumed as she thrust the man’s own letter in his face. Her hunger and lack of sleep were also taking their toll.
“I am sorry for the misunderstanding,” the old man responded, apparently oblivious to the meaning of the word. “There is simply nothing that can be done. Frau Geller has been with us twenty years. It is her class now.”
Apparently when the previous secondary teacher had retired, Frau Geller was merely “considering it.” It must have been when Elke expressed interest—responding to the out-of-town advertisement—that this Frau Geller had made up her mind. Had that woman seen Elke’s letter? How could she be in competition with a woman she didn’t even know?
“I took this job because I love to teach,” said Elke desperately. “I’ve had to uproot myself. I don’t know if I can return to my previous situation, even if I had the money to do so.”
Nearing tears, Elke’s plea was no act. She had spent over half of her fortune, which she had earned as an assistant in a large city school, to travel to this place. She did not have the money to go home. Well-trained and urgent to lead a classroom of her own, she had ignored all the risks, choosing instead to happily pitch herself into the unknown. Now, here in Waldheim, in this tiny office, with this ugly little man, she was left with only regret.
Having few remaining choices available to her—and none of them appealing—Elke accepted a temporary assistant’s position at the school. The pay was a pittance, and with rents, it would render her practically an indentured servant. As further insult, she would be “assisting” in the very class that she had been originally hired to teach.
What need had an experienced, tenured educator for an assistant in such a small school? Well, there were exams to grade, more advanced lessons to prepare, and so on. Frau Geller was apparently still getting used to the unique demands of older students, despite having been the very teacher who had introduced them to their numbers and letters.
Would taking advantage of someone already trained in secondary education not make more sense? Certainly not. Primary and secondary students, while different, weren’t overly so, and neither the curriculum. Frau Geller just needed a “little time,” and “look,” this offer was “basically charity” anyway given that the budget was not really designed for additional staff.
Fräulein Schreiber would be brought on only until such time as she acquired sufficient funds to return home. Obviously Rückert could not get away without some proffer of indemnity for her trip, but the most she could get out of him without employment was not going to be enough. He only offered to reimburse her for her travel and the meals she had taken while on the road. Elke had incurred additional expenses in the closing-out of her residence and prior employment. These amounts would be the very least that she would need in addition to travel costs if she had any hope to be reinstated at her previous position.
The schoolmaster actually had the audacity to suggest that she begin work that very afternoon.
Had he any inkling of her recent night’s experience, or clue to her foul mood, he would never have dared. In any event, on this point she was steadfast. She would be given a meal and a room immediately, and if this “Bernhard” was what was necessary to have her things in off the street, then he was to be summoned forthwith.