by Roxi Harms
When the rattle of the carriage had faded away down the drive, Adam loaded up the wheelbarrow with firewood and headed for the house. After piling the wood neatly in the box beside the big stone fireplace and sweeping up the bits that had dropped on the floor, he stopped and listened. Silence. Kata normally left and visited her family on Sundays, so he was pretty sure the house was empty. Walking softly, he headed down the hallway in the opposite direction of the front door. The library, where the Count had his writing desk was the third door on the right. He'd called Adam in there once to show him the big map he had on the wall to see if it would help Adam remember the village he came from.
Adam pushed the door open slowly and peeked inside. The eyes of the mounted deer heads and stuffed birds that decorated the walls stared back at him. As he tiptoed over to the desk, he spotted the writing paper immediately. Good. He'd need a pen too. The only one he could find was a very fancy fountain pen. It would be better to write the letter here, so he didn't have to come back in and return the pen. It didn't need to be very long, he thought, sitting down. He just wanted to tell his mom he was okay and say Merry Christmas.
When he'd finished, he folded the sheet of paper neatly and slid it into an envelope that he pulled from one of the small shelves lining the front of the Count's massive wooden desk, then wrote the address across the front: BAUMANN, 12 GRAPE STREET, ELEK. He pushed back the big leather chair and stood up. There were stamps next to the writing paper. He'd sneak the letter into the mail box on their next trip into town.
A week and a half later, Adam's dad knocked on the door of the manor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Adam's dad had arrived during supper. Gracious as always, the Count and Countess had welcomed him to the table and filled a plate for him. Adam stared down at his own plate as the adults began a stilted conversation. Talk flowed more easily as they ate and drank. Every so often, Adam glanced across at his dad apprehensively, wondering what his punishment for running away would be. Oddly, his dad seemed more relieved than angry. God, how he missed his mom. He didn't want to go home though. At the Count's estate he did new, exciting things every day. The Count praised him for his work and his help when they hunted. And he hadn't been spanked even once.
While he sat watching his dad out of the corner of his eye, the adults discussed how different the countryside was where the Baumanns were from. So much flatter than here. The Count explained that they were in the foothills of the Alps, close to the border with Austria. His dad told them about his work looking after all of the vineyards in Elek. As the mood became more relaxed, the Count asked about the Baumann family. Adam was quiet. He knew the Count was trying to understand why he'd run away and stayed away so long. He'd told so many lies to the Count, and now he'd never have a chance to explain.
"Adam, it's a bit naughty of you to have pretended to be an orphan, don't you think?" the Count asked as they neared the end of the meal. Adam looked at him. He was trying to sound stern but there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, Sir," Adam replied, looking down at his plate.
"I can't imagine the worry you've caused your family," said the Countess in a very serious tone.
"I know, M'Lady. That's why I wrote the letter," he answered quietly.
"Well, I'd like to make a toast to the resurrection of Adam's family," interjected the Count, lightening the mood back up.
"Hear, hear," said his wife.
"Hear, hear," echoed Adam's dad quietly.
"Will you have some pie and clotted cream?" said the Countess, carrying the pie from the sideboard where Kata had left it for them.
"Yes, ma'am," Adam and his dad answered together. Their eyes met and they exchanged a slight smile.
"Adam's been a very good worker," said the Count. "He's been working in the stables every day, helping our master horseman, and doing many other jobs around here as well. And he's been the main groomer for my prize team of horses."
"Adam does good work when he puts his mind to it," his dad said to the Count. "He's a quick learner too. Gets straight A's in school. And he's in the Hungarian Youth Movement. This year they asked him to recite the Hungarian anthem on St. Stephen's Day. Memorized the whole thing. And he learned to play the mouth organ in a day. Played as good as anyone in Elek by the time he was eleven."
Hearing the pride in his dad's voice, Adam had a sudden urge to go home.
"Yes, he plays for us sometimes," the Count responded. "We'll miss that. And he's a smart hunter too. In fact, we got this boar just a few days ago."
His dad was quiet as the Count regaled how they'd missed the first three, and finally got a shot at the fourth one, right between the eyes as it charged at him.
"Tell him about the big buck we got before that," Adam said with a big grin when the Count had finished his story.
"Yes, that was another good day." The Count smiled a little wistfully before launching into the story. When he was done, he grinned over at Adam.
Adam's dad looked quietly back and forth between the Count and his son.
The Count's wife broke the silence. "Adam has a nice warm spot to sleep with the horses. Perhaps we could make you a bed in the porch for tonight."
"No, I'll be fine in the barn with my son," his dad answered quickly. "We'll get an early start tomorrow."
"We'll have a hot breakfast together and then I'll give you a lift to the train station," said the Count. "Let me show you to the barn then."
There was fresh snow on the ground when they drove to the station the next morning. The Count insisted on paying for their train tickets, and shortly after dawn they began their journey east, towards home. There was lots of time for conversation on the long train ride, but Adam wasn't sure what to talk about. His dad kept asking him to explain how he got all the way across the country on his own. Adam tried to explain, wondering when his dad's anger would come, but as they rolled along he seemed more curious than anything.
Snow drifted down on them during the six kilometre walk from Kétegyháza to Elek, and they were relieved to reach the warmth of the house. As they walked into the kitchen where the smell of supper just eaten hung in the air, four sets of eyes turned towards Adam.
"Adam! Oh, thank the Lord, you're really safe." His mom was across the room in an instant, her arms around him so tight he could hardly breathe. As her familiar, comfortable scent filled his nostrils, he forgot everything else.
"Adam!" At the sound of his little sister's voice, he pulled away from his mom.
"Hi, Anni." She was looking at him with big eyes, her old rag doll under her arm. "Have you been a good girl? You've grown taller." He lifted her high in the air and then squeezed her tight before putting her down.
"Hi, Resi," Adam said, striding over to where his older sister stood in the doorway, smiling from ear to ear, to give her a quick hug.
Adam could see his brother, George, in the kitchen doorway behind Theresa. He had a curious look on his face.
"Hi, George," he greeted his eight-year-old brother, reaching past Theresa to slap his brother's shoulder.
"Where were you?" George asked, expressionless.
"I was living with a Count in the Alps, near Austria," Adam declared proudly.
"Well, you're in big trouble for running away," George informed him.
"You're a bad boy, Adam," Anni chimed in from where she'd climbed onto a kitchen chair.
"Never mind, everyone," Adam's mom interjected. "We are glad that Adam is safe and that is all that will be said about it. And now move out of my way while I fix your dad and your brother some supper. They must be starving, not to mention freezing from the walk."
There were lots of questions as Adam and his father ate their supper, but there was no more talk of trouble.
The next day and the one after that, Adam waited for a punishment that didn't come. Maybe his dad really was just happy to have him back safe. And even though he missed the Count a little and missed their adventures a lot, it was good to be home.
> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
That Christmas was the nicest they'd had in years. Everyone was happy. Even Adam's dad was softer than usual, at least for a few weeks. In January, Adam returned to school. With the war in its third year, the school was even more short staffed, but when Adam appeared in the doorway of the classroom early on his first morning back, Mr. Post put down his pen and asked to hear the whole story before they moved on to the topic of school work.
Through January, Adam spent his evenings completing the work Mr. Post gave him to catch up with the other grade seven students. By the middle of February, he was getting bored. Then he heard the youth brass band playing in the town square. It was fantastic! Just like on the radio, only better. All those shiny horns blaring out the notes. Ooom, pah, pah, oom, pah, pah!
Asking around, he learned that the band practiced at the school on Wednesday nights. The next week he crept down the empty hallway and sat on the floor outside the room the music was coming from. The band director was teaching them a new song. His ear against the door, Adam listened intently to the instructions and how each instrument sounded as they ran through the song over and over. He'd slipped quietly out of the house after supper when the radio broadcast started rather than explain where he was off to, so he couldn't stay out long. Best to get back before the broadcast ended and avoid an argument.
The next week he wasn't as cautious, and the house was quiet by the time he let himself in the front gate.
"Where have you been?" his dad's voice demanded from the darkness of the porch. Startled, Adam looked in the direction the voice had come from. A dark shape moved slightly and then a red glow lit up his dad's face as he took a long pull on his cigarette.
Adam stood at the bottom of the steps, his skin slightly chilled by the early spring air, weighing his options. His dad loved music too. He decided to tell the truth. "I was at the school, listening to the youth brass band," he replied. When his dad didn't respond, Adam walked up the steps and past him into the house.
Slipping off his muddy shoes in the entrance, he went into the kitchen. His mom glanced over from where she was working at the counter and smiled. She was cutting up the rabbits he'd butchered after school. George sat at the kitchen table, peering down at a book. Walking past his brother, Adam sat down on his bed.
"Adam, know what, Adam?" Anni slid off of Theresa's bed where she'd been sitting with their older sister, and climbed up with Adam, holding a corn cob. "When I'm big like Resi, I'm going to make pretty curls in my hair. See, like this," she said, grabbing a piece of her blonde hair and wrapping it awkwardly around the cob. She grinned up at Adam. Just then, their dad stomped into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Anni grew silent.
"I guess you think it's okay to wear the leather soles off your shoes walking around town at night?" his dad asked across the room, his voice low and angry.
Adam looked at his dad and answered calmly. "I'm planning to play the trumpet in that band when I'm old enough, so I wanted to hear what songs they practice."
His dad's face darkened. "That's a bunch of nonsense. You've got chores to do. Your responsibility is to this family. And I won't be paying for new shoes for you just so you can walk wherever you want at all hours and listen to music."
"No problem, I'll go in bare feet," Adam answered with a barely detectable note of defiance.
"Adam, you can't walk outside in bare feet. It's only March," his mom admonished quietly from the counter without turning around.
His dad strode over to her in three steps. Whap! His hand connected with the side of his wife's head. She stopped cutting but didn't turn around. George looked up, then quickly cast his eyes back down at his book and shrunk down a bit in his chair.
"Didn't you hear me? I just told him not to wear out his goddammed shoes!" he roared, then reached for the leather belt hanging in the doorframe and turned back to Adam. "And if you're going to be a smart ass, then you'll get a lesson in respect."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A month and a half later, Adam was accepted into the band. It hadn't been difficult to come up with fibs about going out to help the neighbours with various chores after supper, and after listening to a couple more practices from the hallway, he'd decided he didn't want to wait two more years until he was old enough.
The band leader's first response had been ‘no'. Looking him in the eye, Adam promised he could play at the required level. The leader had given him a challenge, one he'd assured Adam it would take two years to meet, especially as Adam didn't own a trumpet. He was to learn a complex song and a series of advanced scales. The leader demonstrated both. When Adam could play these competently, he could join the band.
Each day after school, instead of hanging out with his friends, Adam exchanged a half-hour of barnyard labour for a half-hour lesson with one of the trumpet players in the band. When he showed up and performed the song and the scales a month later, the leader had clapped him on the back and welcomed him to the band on the spot.
Adam explained to his dad that he'd been asked to play trumpet as part of his duties to the Hitler Youth Group. He was confident his dad would support his trumpet playing under this pretext and hoping he didn't know enough about the band or the youth group to detect the lie. He was right on both counts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Summer 1942
Band practice was Adam's favourite time of the week. But all too soon, summer break loomed and with it, the end of practices and the beginning of long days in the fields and vineyards with his dad. The need to escape dominated Adam's thoughts.
Wracking his brain, he came up with an obvious solution. Franz's dad needed someone to help his tenants out on the farm for the summer. It was easy work and he usually hired a kid. Adam walked home with Franz after school to talk to Herr Wittman about it. Within a few minutes, they shook on the deal. Even his own dad was in favour. The responsibility would be good for Adam and the extra money would be helpful. The best part of all, as far as Adam was concerned, was that the farm was too far out of town to walk back and forth every day, so he'd be sleeping out at the farm in the hay loft. Two long, hot summer months of freedom!
Herr Wittman picked him up to take him out to the farm and introduce him to the tenants on his first day. "Mr. and Mrs. Sommer, this is Adam Baumann. He'll be helping out this summer. I'll pick him up on Saturdays when I'm finished my rounds and give him a lift home, and he can walk back out on Sunday afternoon. Show him around and explain what you need him to do. Good day. See you Saturday, Adam." Herr Wittman flicked the reins against the horses' backs and drove the wagon out of the dusty yard into the road, back the way they'd come.
Mr. Sommer didn't have to explain anything twice. The job was simple. Make sure the cows got out to graze in the morning, back into the small corral for the afternoon to build up the manure pile for fertilizing the crops, and then into the barn for the night with clean water to drink.
Mrs. Sommer was a good cook and usually sent Adam out to the barn after supper with a bit of cake or a cookie to munch on. Adam loved his nights in the barn, especially the quiet time just after he settled into the nest he'd made for himself in the loft above the cows. He could hear the cows shifting around in their stalls below as they settled into the silence of sleep. It was then that he thought about everything he'd seen and done last year when he'd run away, about the Count's beautiful carriage and the manor house, and about all the places he was going to see someday. The guys that came home from the war on furlough had been to Yugoslavia and Russia. And his Aunt Louise was in America. And Germany sounded incredible from the radio broadcasts. So many places to see. One more year of school and then he'd set out and see the world. Somehow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The last cow meandered lazily into the corral, flicking her tail at the flies on her haunches. Locking the gate, Adam climbed up onto the fence and balanced on the middle rail, oblivious to the pungent stink of the growing manure pile cooking in the mid-July sun. A piece of
straw dangled from the corner of his mouth. Afternoons were a little boring. He could see Mrs. Sommer across the yard digging potatoes. The bull that Mr. Sommer had put in with the herd a few days ago was standing nearby facing the other direction. He was ornery, as Adam had seen that morning out in the field when he poked him between the back legs with a stick. Adam climbed down from the fence and climbed back up again closer to the bull. He looked over. Mrs. Sommer couldn't see him from here and Mr. Sommer was nowhere in sight. Grabbing the bull's tail, Adam pulled it to one side and twisted hard. Whoa! Laughing out loud, Adam jumped backwards off the fence as the bull leapt ahead and kicked his back legs high in the air. Then the massive bovine turned and trotted towards his tormentor, stopping with his huge face a few inches from the fence. After staring at Adam for a minute or so, he snorted a breath of hot air out his nostrils and walked back to the herd.
Adam decided to shovel out the stalls. After that he could mix up the feed for that night, and then it wouldn't be much longer until supper. Might just add a little to the manure pile myself before I start shovelling, Adam thought as he jumped into the corral. Pulling down his shorts, he squatted near the edge of the herd. The manure was squishy between his toes. He scratched idly at the mosquito bites on his arms and legs and looked around at the cows. He watched as the bull looked up from where he was standing on the other side of the corral. Slowly, the bull walked towards him and stopped in the middle of the corral, staring at him.
"What are you looking at?" Adam called out to him. "Get outta here."
The bull didn't even blink. He just kept staring. Adam stuck out
his tongue.
The bull lowered his head and scraped his front hoof against the ground. Suddenly he was thundering towards Adam.