The Kammersee Affair

by John Holt

  He was just about to leave, when suddenly there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned. Standing behind him was Laura Stanley. She moved close to him, and gently kissed him. “Welcome Home, Tony,” she simply said. There was a loud cheer. Then the sound of applause broke out from the gathered crowd. Bartelli was taken completely by surprise.

  “The neighbours asked me to arrange this little welcome for you,” said the priest. “I was more than happy to oblige. Hope you don’t mind. Everyone has been marvellous and helped out.” He looked around at the gathered assembly. Then he looked back at Bartelli, his hand held out. “Welcome home – Tony.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t the biggest event in the Chicago social scene that summer, but to Bartelli it meant the world. There were people who cared about him after all. It wasn’t just the guys in the army. These people certainly didn’t need to make a big fuss, but they were there. They were there not because they had been forced to attend. They were there because they wanted to be there. That’s really all that mattered. That’s what counted. He was still very un-sure about his future plans, but he was now absolutely certain of one thing. He would not be staying with the military after all. Not now that he had discovered these other friends.

  * * *

  The following day, Bartelli returned to the church hall to see Father O’Brien, and to thank him for the party. “Oh don’t thank me, Tony. You should thank Laura. It was her idea, you know,” the Priest responded. “Her, and Mrs. Mulvaney. She really likes you, you know.”

  “Who does?” Bartelli asked innocently. “Mrs. Mulvaney?

  “Well yes, I imagine that Mrs. Mulvaney does like you” the priest replied. He began to feel a little embarrassed. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing. He coughed a few times, to clear his throat. “In fact I’m absolutely sure that she does like you. However, I was actually talking about Laura. She likes you very much.”

  Bartelli was stunned. “She does,” he said shyly. “Laura actually said that, are you sure?”

  The priest merely smiled. It was time to bring up the question of the orphanage again, perhaps? “By the way,” he said. “Did you give any more thought to our earlier discussion? You know, about the orphanage?”

  “Well yes I did, kind of. You know, just briefly,” Bartelli answered. He had actually given the matter a great deal of thought. He was beginning to feel that perhaps it was worth a little further investigation. Besides he had nothing to lose had he? “Where did you say that orphanage was?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s not too far,” said the Priest. “About twelve, or fifteen miles, I suppose. It’s out on the east shore of the lake.” Was Bartelli really interested, or was this just polite conversation. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I was just .. Curious, I suppose”, Bartelli stumbled. “I was just thinking that’s all. Nothing, er.” He hesitated. “Nothing definite, I’m not absolutely sure you understand. I might just go and have a look, you know. Idle curiosity, nothing more,” he said. “If I’ve nothing else to do that is.” Bartelli was trying hard to sound casual, non-committal, and failing. “Anyway a trip to the country might be enjoyable, you never know, do you? You said it yourself.”

  “Certainly I did, that sounds absolutely fine,” said the Priest. “It might be quite pleasant at that, especially if the weather is good. Certainly beats being stuck in town.” No argument there, thought Bartelli. The Priest continued. “Just see how things are the next day or so. If you did find some spare time I could let them know that you were coming. They would arrange somewhere for you to stay. It might be fun, you never know. If you did decide to go, I’m sure that Laura could tell you precisely how to get there. She drives up there three or four times a week.”

  “She does?” said Bartelli surprised. The orphanage was beginning to sound more and more inviting by the minute. “Why does she do that?” Bartelli tried hard not to sound too interested, but without succeeding.

  “She works for them on a part time basis,” said the Priest. “She does some teaching there, especially to the younger children.” The Priest looked at Bartelli. This was having the desired effect, he knew that. I’m willing to bet that my little Italian fish has taken the bait, and is well and truly hooked. “Anyway, let me know what you decide.”

  Bartelli said nothing. Things were beginning to sound better and better. He was becoming more and more interested, and more and more excited. He made no comment. He merely waved in acknowledgment, and started to walk out of the Hall.

  As he reached the doorway he stopped and turned. “Father,” he called out nonchalantly. “Could you tell the orphanage that I’ll be there tomorrow, about mid-morning.”

  With that he quickly walked out of the hall, and hurried back to his apartment. He had plans to see a certain young lady that evening. He had a lot to tell her, and he could not wait.

  * * *

  That evening Bartelli took Laura to the local cinema, A Stolen Life, with Bette Davis. It was a real weepie. Laura enjoyed it immensely. Bartelli had no idea of what the film was about. He was just happy that Laura was with him. Afterwards they went for coffee. They spent hours talking about everything imaginable, including the orphanage. They were surprised that they had such a lot in common. Their favourite films, music, what they liked to do. Laura told him all about the orphanage. He told her that he was seriously thinking about working there. He also told her that he would be going there the next day and that he would stay for a few days.

  * * *

  The following day he drove up to the orphanage. It was a beautiful hot sunny day. Clear blue skies and not a cloud in view. There was no sign of the previous day’s storm. He had already made arrangements, or at least Father O’Brien had, to stay for a few days. Leaving the city he had headed toward the west. After less than an hour he was in the country. He felt good to be out of the city. It was a beautiful day. It was hot, but comfortable, with a light breeze. The air was clean and fresh.

  Although not spectacular he had to admit that the scenery was beautiful. Gently rolling green hills that extended down to the river’s edge. Acres and acres of woodland. Small villages, and scattered houses.

  The road twisted and gently sloped upwards. As he reached the top of the hill the road turned sharply to the left. There, lying in the valley was Yorkville. The orphanage, Redfern House was located just on the outskirts. He could see the driveway leading through woodland, and then passing through a formal garden area, to the front of the house. He slowed the car on the brow of the hill, and pulled over. He switched off the engine, and got out of the car. From his vantage point he had a wonderful view of the building, and the grounds, which seemed to go on forever. The main building was a large rambling building, red brick with twisted chimney stacks, and leaded windows. Late Victorian, he thought, not that he was an expert in these matters. It was nothing like any of the orphanages that he had known. The building was solid, and ornate, but it was also inviting. It was not dreary, or oppressive like the orphanages that he had known. But that was only the building, the main point that concerned him was how it was run.

  He returned to his car, and continued his journey. As he did do he could see that beyond the main house were three or four smaller buildings. They were much newer looking, and probably only twenty or thirty years old at the most. In front of the buildings he could just make out groups of children playing.

  As he pulled up at the main entrance a young man came out to welcome him. “Tony,” he said. “Sorry I mean Mr Bartelli? I’m Peter, and I am to be your guide for the next few days. It’s my task to show you the whole place, and to answer any questions that you might have.”

  “Oh, hello Peter,” Bartelli replied. Surely this is not a member of staff. He seems so young. “Tony will be just fine.”

  “Come this way,” Peter said, hurriedly picking up Bartelli’s suitcase, and walking up the main steps into the entrance hall. Bartelli followed.

  Waiting to greet him, as he entered the hallway was
a middle-aged lady. “Hello Tony, my name is Katherine, and I’m the House Matron,” she said. “Welcome to Redfern.” She then turned to Peter, and instructed him to take Bartelli’s case to his room. “Top of the stairs, third on the left,” she said. “Then come and join us for tea in the Conservatory.” She then turned back to Bartelli. “I hope you enjoy your visit with us,” she said. “Come on, let’s get some tea.”

  As Bartelli followed Katherine to the Conservatory, he thought that Father O’Brien had been absolutely correct. Things have changed. This is more like a large family home. There’s no sign of a nun anywhere. These people here really care. As they walked through the corridor Bartelli noticed a number of children walking by, or occupying the rooms they passed. Just look at the children’s faces. You can’t force people to be happy. This is genuine. Perhaps, maybe, he could work there as a carer or an auxiliary, or something.

  “Thank you” he said to Katherine. “So you are the House Matron. What’s Peter’s position?”

  Katherine stopped suddenly and turned to face him. She had a huge smile on her face. “Peter?” she said, “Peter doesn’t work here. He’s one of the orphans.” Bartelli was embarrassed, speechless. He had not expected that. “He is a wonderful guy, and we love him. He knows this place like the back of his hand. We thought he would make an excellent guide. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. No. Not at all,” Bartelli said, trying hard to compose himself. What an idiot. Why should I mind? “I’m delighted,” he said. “It certainly wasn’t like that when I was an orphan.”

  Katherine had been told about his past, and knew exactly what he was talking about. “You’ll find that there has been a lot of changes since you were an orphan,” she said laughing. “And all of them changes for the better. Come on, we’ll get the tour started. We’ve got a lot to get through.”

  They walked into the conservatory, and took a seat in the far corner. Bartelli noticed that the tea things were already in place. He walked over to the window, and looked out on the garden, and the wooded area beyond. “Well there’s one very welcome change,” he said. “We never had that kind of view in Southwater Road. It was bang in the middle of the city, next to the railway station. Not a blade of grass for miles.”

  “Come and sit down,” Katherine invited Bartelli. “And then we’ll make a start. We have a lot of ground to get through. Firstly, I’ll tell you a little about the set up here.” At that moment Peter entered the room, and came over to join them.

  Two hours later Bartelli had been told all that it was necessary to know. He had details of the property, the staff, and most importantly the orphans themselves. The staff represented the father and mother that the orphans lacked. What they needed now was an uncle figure, or perhaps an elder brother. Bartelli would fill that role easily. It sounded too good to be true. Katherine stood up. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you for dinner. In the meantime Peter will show you around,” she said. “If you have any questions, Peter is your man. If he doesn’t know the answer, it’s probably not worth knowing.” With that she gave a slight wave, and left the room.

  Bartelli turned towards Peter. “Before we start, do you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?” he asked. Peter didn’t mind. “To start with, how long have you lived here?”

  Peter was four years old when he had been brought in. Both of his parents had died in a car crash. There was no one else to take him. He was now sixteen years old.

  Bartelli looked at the boy for a few moments. There was much about Peter that reminded him of himself. “So you have been here for twelve years,” he said. “And in all of that time you were never adopted.”

  “I went to a foster home when I was six I think,” Peter replied. “Not for long though.”

  “But you were never adopted.”

  “Never,” Peter replied. “Too old they said. I don’t mind though, I like it here. I have a lot of brothers, and sisters, and the staff are great. And we all love Miss Katherine.”

  “Okay, Peter, that deals with the people,” Bartelli said. “What about the place itself? Are you going to show me around then?”

  Peter stood up. “We’ll start with the houses,” he said. “Come on, this way.”

  They walked toward the conservatory doors leading into the gardens. As they did so Peter continued explaining about the houses. There were four houses, Jasmine, Fuschia, Honeysuckle, and Lavender. They were treated just like a family house, a large family. Each house had house parents, and approximately twenty-five children aged between eight, and eighteen.

  “Sounds like a lot of hard work for the parents,” Bartelli commented.

  “You’re wrong there,” said Peter. “The children love to help. Everyone mucks in, even the little ones. Everyone has their own little task, their own piece of responsibility. There’s nothing the children would not do for the staff. They love the place and the people so much. You’ll see.”

  Bartelli did see. The children looked very happy. You can’t fake that. The houses were so clean; they sparkled.

  Peter continued with the tour, he was enjoying himself very much. As they walked through the grounds, Peter pointed out various things. “Over there,” he said pointing to the left “is the pool area. Just beyond is the tennis court.”

  “Tennis court,” said Bartelli, startled.

  “Sure,” said Peter. “We have both an indoor court, and an outdoor court.” Bartelli was more and more impressed. The main building contained the office areas, the dining room, a small medical area, staff quarters, and three dormitory areas for the younger children. Bartelli learnt that there were approximately 110 children in care. The staff consisted of the Home Manager, the House Matron, four sets of house parents, a general handy man, who carried out the majority of the maintenance work, two full time gardeners, and a nurse who came in three times a week. Apart from that there were about five people, including Laura, who worked for the home part time.

  “What about education?” Bartelli asked. “How is that organised? I mean you don’t go to a local school do you?”

  “Well some of us do go to school. I do,” Peter replied. “The older ones go to the local village every weekday. It’s only a couple of miles away. There is a school bus takes them down, and brings them back again. The other children have their lessons here. We have two teachers come in daily, and another teacher who comes three or four times a week. So there’s no problem.”

  Bartelli was more and more impressed. His own education had been very limited. It consisted of lessons given by the nuns, which he hated. He also remembered that there was a lack of equipment, especially books. He wondered if there was a similar problem at Redfern.

  “No problem at all,” Peter said. “Let me show you our library.”

  Peter and Bartelli slowly made their way back to the main building once more. Peter took Bartelli along the main corridor, and into the Library. The room was lined with shelves floor to ceiling, all round the room. Peter walked over to one of the shelves, and took down a book. “I want you to see my favourite book,” he said. “I’ve read it so many times, I’ve lost count.” Bartelli took hold of the offered volume. He could see that it had been well used. He opened the book, and turned to the title page. It was Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.

  Bartelli started to read the opening chapter. He then stopped, and looked up from the book. “Peter what happens to you when you reach eighteen?” Bartelli asked, offering the book back. “I mean where do you go then? What do you do?”

  Peter looked at Bartelli for a moment. He then looked at the line of books in front of him. He knew exactly what he would do. “That’s easy,” he said. He then took hold of the offered book, and slowly returned it to its designated place on the shelf. “I’m like that book,” he said. “It belongs in a precise space on a particular shelf. I believe that there is a shelf somewhere just waiting for everyone, just like Oliver Twist, Jane Eyre, or any of the other books here.” He waved his arm across the room. “I know, without any
doubt, that my shelf is right here, at Redfern.” He turned and started to walk out of the room, into the corridor. “I’ll stay and work here. For nothing if need be.” He stopped. Then he turned, and called back to Bartelli. “Come on,” he said, “it’ll be dinner time soon. I’ll show you your room, so you can freshen up. I’m starving.”

  Bartelli suddenly realised that he had built up quite an appetite. He too was starving. He quickly walked to the doorway and then stopped. He looked back into the room, and over to the shelves. He could clearly see where Oliver Twist was sitting. “Maybe my shelf is waiting for me, right here as well.” He turned away, and went into the corridor. “Coming,” he yelled, as he hurried after Peter.

  * * *

  The few short days were over much too soon. Bartelli had had a wonderful time. The staff had been most helpful and friendly. Peter had been incredible. He was definitely the younger brother that Bartelli had always wanted. So the few days were over, but Bartelli had vowed that he would be back. He intended to grab that job as soon as possible. He couldn’t wait to speak to Father O’Brien. He couldn’t wait to speak to Laura either.

  At the end of the ten days leave, Private Bartelli began packing his things, ready for his return to the barracks. His future had now been fully mapped out. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He now had no more doubts, and no more fears. He was ready.

  A few days later Bartelli returned to Chicago. He was no longer a soldier. He no longer needed the army. He could survive perfectly well without them. He didn’t need the guys after all. Sure he would keep in touch, that would be good, but that’s all. An occasional letter or a card at Christmas, the odd visit maybe.

  A few weeks later Bartelli returned to Redfern House, to commence his duties as a member of the staff. He soon settled into a routine. Peter very quickly took on the role of his assistant. Bartelli had found his space on the shelf. He had also found that large family that he had always wanted.