The Crest

by Jerena Tobiasen

  “Make sure you find us for the contest results,” Gerhard reminded Paul.

  In response, Paul snapped to attention and saluted his father, something he had done out of respect since he was three years old. Gerhard recalled one day six years in the past, when his company marched on parade and Paul imitated them.

  Before Gerhard could shift his focus, Paul appeared at his side.

  “Don’t you want to stay with your mates?” he asked.

  “No. I’d rather walk with you,” Paul said. “Besides, we’re all heading to hear the results of the mushroom contest, anyway.”

  “Are you enjoying the fair? See anything interesting?” Gerhard asked.

  “Yes, Papa. I’ve seen many interesting things. Impressive livestock—especially the race horses. The entertainers were amazing, too.”

  “What’s your favourite?”

  “I have two, actually,” Paul said. “One man swallowed a sword! Can you imagine?”

  Gerhard rumpled his son’s ebony hair.

  “And the other, a fortune-teller, was very … curious.” Paul softened his words as he spoke of the fortune-teller.

  “Why curious?”

  Paul looked up at his father, seeming to search for words. He breathed deeply and straightened to his full height. “She told me about my future. It was a little exciting, and a little scary.”

  “You know that she is just an entertainer,” Gerhard said, trying to assure him. “What she told you isn’t true,”

  “But it has to be, Papa. She told me that I would grow up to be just like you. That another war would come. And … and … that my son would have a great adventure. And a broken heart.” He brightened, smiling at his father. “At least I know that I will survive the war!” Abruptly, his smile disappeared.

  “What is it, Paul?” We don’t need another war. We haven’t recovered from the last one. God help us.

  “She said something else that made no sense. She stared at me for several minutes, saying nothing, then shook her head as if in disbelief. Then she asked whether I knew anyone with eyes the colour of melted dark chocolate. I told her I didn’t. When I pressed her for more information, she said that someone with that eye colour would play a significant role in the future of my family, and that I should take care!”

  “That is indeed curious, son.”

  “Can you think of anyone with eyes like that?”

  “Hmm, I’ll need to think more on the matter,” Gerhard responded, feeling the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle. I’m not inclined to believe the predictions of a fortune-teller, but, since there are threads of possibility in what she says, I must pay attention.

  They arrived early at the fungus-judging tent and found a fine spot near the entrance. Others started gathering around them. The air was electric with expectation.

  Precisely on the hour, the curtains of the fungus-judging tent were raised, revealing table upon table of remarkable fungus specimens of many types. On one such table, the judging table strategically placed at the front of the tent, sat the winning specimens, each held in a basket of equal size, covered with a remnant of the same blue-checkered fabric, intending to hold the suspense a little longer.

  A gong sounded nearby, and a herald announced, in formal delivery, that the contest results were about to be announced. The crowd, bubbling with anticipation, waited patiently.

  The marshal, now wearing a bowtie and black jacket with gold buttons, stepped forward.

  Everyone clapped. Gerhard drew in a deep breath to still himself and swallowed hard: a little too hard. Emma flashed a knowing grin.

  “Exciting, isn’t it?” he said, gesturing that they should pay attention.

  Most of the marshal’s announcements passed in a blur—best specimen this type, best specimen that type. Emma proudly accepted a ribbon for the prettiest collection of chanterelles and beamed with pride as she returned to Gerhard’s side from the judge’s podium. Finally, all of the baskets had been revealed but one.

  Nervous anticipation was getting the better of Gerhard. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, hunching his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Beads of sweat pearled slowly down his spine again. Get a grip, Lange. It’s only a mushroom contest.

  “You’re vibrating,” Emma said to her competitive husband.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The marshal called everyone’s attention to the stage. The murmuring crowd settled. “We have come to the last basket. The ribbon for the contents of this basket will go to the person who brought the fairest fungus to the fair today.”

  He paused, as if waiting for his comment to sink in. “As a reminder, the fairest fungus must have all of the attributes that have so far been awarded piecemeal: firm and fresh, meaty texture, proper colour, size, and, if appropriate, weight. In other words, a beauty to look at, but it must also have the taste to go with it. This beauty”—the marshal hovered his hand lightly over the last covered basket—“meets all conditions and then some.”

  He cast his gaze over the crowd before proceeding. “As you know, weight is the least important attribute. Some of the lovely pieces we viewed earlier have little to no weight at all. In this case, however, weight does matter, because the species is a heavy-weighted one.”

  One more pause followed for effect. The marshal enjoyed creating suspense.

  “I have had the privilege of inspecting and weighing many entries today, but, by far, none comes close to what’s in this basket. In fact”—the marshal caressed the checked cover—“I have never, ever, seen such a specimen as this in all the years that I’ve been judging, and that, my friends, has been a long time. And many mushrooms.”

  Gerda tugged at Gerhard’s jacket and raised her arms. In one smooth movement, he raised her high and sat her astride his shoulders, holding fast to her legs. She placed her tiny hands under his chin to anchor herself.

  “To win the ribbon for the Extraordinary Hunter of the Fairest Fungus 1928,” the marshal went on, “this specimen must also be in one piece. The constables and I have inspected it thoroughly to ensure no trickery. The only things we found alien to it, but not holding it together …”

  Once again, the marshal’s eyes panned the crowd. They waited. Gerhard felt the knot in his belly squeeze.

  “The only thing we found,” the marshal began again, “was the odd worm. Extra protein, that’s all. Besides, everyone knows that the quickest way to identify a crop of mushrooms is the presence of worms!”

  The crowd rippled in giggles and guffaws.

  “Makes great worm jerky!” someone bellowed.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. The tension broke.

  The marshal grinned and waited for the crowd to quiet again. He reached for the checkered covering that lay over the basket. Gently, he teased back the cover, as he had seen it done earlier, to reveal the monster bracket of chicken of the woods. As he continued to remove the cover, the crowd stood in stunned silence. There was no basket. The bracket stood alone.

  “The bracket,” the marshal shouted to break the hush of amazement, “weighed in at forty-five kilos!”

  The crowd erupted with awe.

  Gerhard slowly released the breath he had not realized that he held. A smile crept from a corner of his mouth and twitched into first a grin, and then a toothy smile as the marshal called out his name. He slid Gerda from his shoulders and handed her to Emma.

  Arthur bounced with glee. “Oh Papa! You won! Hurrah for Papa!”

  “Hurrah for Papa!” Gerda said in her small voice.

  Emma placed her hand lovingly on his muscled forearm and squeezed. “Go get your ribbon, Master Hunter,” she whispered on a husky breath.

  And that is exactly what the Extraordinary Mushroom Hunter of 1928 did.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TWICE A YEAR, Gerhard and his eldest son Paul took a load of farm goods—canned fruits and vegetables, jams, cheese, and, of course, Schmidt’s sausages—to the dock in Schinawa, timing their delivery with the arri
val of the coastal freighter operated by Konstantin Anker. Otto preferred that his two deliveries coincide with Zabar Anker’s arrival.

  The trading relationship established with Oyster Pearl Imports in 1920 had proven to be a lucrative business, especially the Schmidt sausages, which were in high demand in Amsterdam.

  In late October of 1934, Gerhard was surprised to have almost missed the freighter. On the morning that he and Paul arrived at the Schinawa dock, Konstantin appeared anxious. Commands to his crew were terse.

  Konstantin nodded toward them as they approached, inviting Gerhard and Paul to board the ship.

  “What is it, my friend? Are you in a hurry?” asked Gerhard, extending his hand in friendship. “It’s not like you to bark at your crew.”

  “Unfortunately, I am pressed for time this trip.” Konstantin accepted Gerhard’s hand and gave his right arm a friendly jab. “We aren’t going south as usual. Instead, we are returning north tomorrow morning, so I have the crew working double-time to ensure our cargo is sorted and stowed safely. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you arrived as you have. I would hate to return to Amsterdam without Schmidt’s famous sausage. The distributors would tan me alive!”

  The men shared a laugh.

  “You must promise never to tell Schmidt how desired his sausage is. He would increase the price, and I’d never be able to afford it!”

  “I won’t. My brother-in-law’s head is fat enough with the demand of our local customers! He raises the price for them, but I insist that the price for you be kept reasonable,” Gerhard said.

  “Paul, my boy! You’ve grown since last year. You’re turning into a fine young man. Here.” Konstantin greeted Paul and tossed him a coin. “You have time for a treat. Off you go, while your father and I do some business.”

  In a still-fluctuating adolescent voice, Paul thanked Konstantin for the coin, looked for his father’s permission to leave, then disappeared off the dock, heading for town.

  “Have you any lace with you, Konstantin? The women are screaming for it!”

  “I set aside a few bundles, and some other items that you might like to see. Come below.”

  Konstantin and Gerhard stood on the deck, watching Paul meander along the road from town. Gerhard checked his pocket watch, noting that it was past noon. If they departed soon, he and Paul would arrive home in time for the evening meal.

  “Paul!” Gerhard waved to his son to hasten his step, and the young man jogged toward them, almost colliding with a dilapidated cart that had drawn to a halt on the roadway near the dock.

  At sight of the cart, Konstantin tipped his cap to Gerhard. “Excuse me; this fellow will need directions.” He nodded toward the cart.

  Gerhard watched Konstantin march up the ramp to the dock and steady Paul as the two passed midway. While Konstantin rumpled the boy’s ebony hair, Gerhard heard him say, “Look like your father, you do! You’ll have the girls chasing you soon.” In response, Paul blushed, then paused to watch Konstantin approach the cart.

  Paul hurried onboard. “Papa, did you see the driver of the cart?” he asked. “He could be a twin to Captain Konstantin, except that he has darker hair.”

  They watched Konstantin greet each of the folks from the cart with an affectionate embrace, then direct the tallest fellow toward a nearby stable. Turning to the smaller ones, Konstantin gestured for them to follow him onboard.

  “Permit me to conduct introductions,” Konstantin said. “Gerhard, may I introduce my cousin-in-law, Rosalee Kota, and her daughter, Punita?” Turning to his guests, he introduced Gerhard and Paul.

  Gerhard saw Paul’s face shifted from curiosity to astonishment as he watched Punita remove her straw hat and loosen her long, dark hair. It rippled and fell like a glossy waterfall over her shoulders and down her back. The smudges of dirt on her nose and cheeks failed to dampen her beauty—high cheekbones, full, red lips, and lashes long and black.

  But for the rope belt tied neatly at her slender waist, the over-large ratty clothes she wore hid her tiny frame and what lay beneath.

  Her gaze held Paul’s for a moment before she blushed and looked away.

  “Paul!” Gerhard snapped, interrupting his son’s stare, then he turned to Konstantin with a quizzical look.

  “My cousin has been travelling through the countryside, which, as you can well appreciate, is not safe right now. They thought it best to use the disguise.”

  Turning to Rosalee, he indicated that she and Punita should go below-deck. “I’ll be along presently,” he told them.

  “Well, we must be off,” Gerhard said. “We’ll leave you to your business. Paul …” He turned his head, indicating that Paul should precede him up the ramp. Paul said good-bye to Konstantin and headed toward the road.

  Sotto-voice, Gerhard said, “Konstantin, I won’t ask what business it is, but I caution you to take great care. Life is too uncertain these days. Your journey on the river may be in danger.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I’ll heed your warning. Safe journey to you.”

  “And to you, Konstantin. Fair winds and following seas till we meet again.” They shook hands affectionately before Gerhard scooted up the ramp, following Paul.

  On the dock, Gerhard put his arm around Paul and turned him away from the ship with idle chatter about hurrying home for dinner.

  “Papa, what was that about? Why were those women dressed as farmers?” Paul asked.

  “You heard Konstantin. It’s risky business travelling about the countryside these days.”

  “She was very beautiful, wasn’t she, Papa?”

  “Hmm?” Although he had implied that Konstantin’s business was not his, Gerhard contemplated the possibilities regardless, and missed Paul’s question.

  “The girl. She was very beautiful. Was she not?”

  “Indeed, son. Both women were remarkably beautiful.” And their eyes were dark brown, Gerhard recalled, like melted chocolate.

  “I know that woman, Papa. The one Captain Konstantin called Rosalee.”

  “Oh?” Gerhard replied, his attention returning abruptly to Paul’s remarks.

  “She’s the one who told my future. The one who talked about ‘eyes of dark chocolate’! I still don’t know what she meant, but the girl … her eyes were like dark chocolate, weren’t they? Did you see them?” His words were excited, almost breathless.

  How could I miss them! “Remind me what Rosalee said to you, if you remember?”

  “Of course!” Paul said. “I’ll never forget!” As they walked toward the truck, Paul retold the story of his encounter with Rosalee at the 1928 Fall Fair in Liegnitz.

  “Ah, yes! I remember now,” Gerhard said. “Although I don’t believe in the predictions of fortune-tellers, I am inclined to pay closer attention to your future, especially if another war breaks out.” And how those interesting eyes might be involved.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE SUN WAS low in the sky by the time the truck rolled into the yard behind the estate. A crimson glow lit the yard. At that hour, it was often busy with farmhands ending work for the day and rushing home to their dinner. On this particular day, men still milled about in small groups, speaking in quiet voices.

  “I wonder why they’re still here,” Paul said as they disembarked from the truck.

  A young man broke away from the group, removing his hat as he approached them. “Sir. We’re very sorry, sir. We only just heard when we came to put the vehicles away.”

  “Heard what, son?” Gerhard looked at him and the others in puzzlement. “We’ve only just returned from Schinawa ourselves. What’s happened?”

  One of the older farmhands approached. “Heinz, be off home now,” he said in clipped words and shooed the boy away. “Sir, you’d best get yourselves into the house. It’s the old master. You’ll have some sad news, I’m afraid.”

  Gerhard nodded, and he and Paul hurried toward the manor.

  The house was cold. Aromas of the evening meal should have greeted them, but t
here was nothing welcoming about their entry. Every room was dark. “Where is Cook? She hasn’t made the meal. There’s not even a light in the kitchen.” Paul said.

  “Shhh!” Gerhard cocked his head. “They’re in the parlour.” Leading the way, he snapped on light switches as he passed.

  The parlour door was open. Marie and Anna sat together on the worn settee, Marie’s hands wrapped around her mother’s. With a free hand, Anna dabbed the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. Emma and Cook stood behind the settee, leaning on one another.

  “What is it?” Gerhard said, bursting into the room.

  The women looked at him, then beyond him, and he turned. He had not seen the doctor standing just inside the doorway. He turned back to Anna. “Mutti?”

  “It’s your father, Gerhard. He’s had a heart attack. Doctor Lennhoff was just telling us that his heart is quite damaged, and that he won’t live much longer. I think he’s been waiting for you. He keeps asking …”

  Gerhard turned fully to the doctor. “May I see him, then?”

  “Yes, of course. He’s in his room. I’ll accompany you up and fill you in as we go.”

  Gerhard led the way up to his father’s room and listened as the doctor described the severity of the heart attack. “I’ve decided to leave him here, and have arranged for a nurse to be with him ‘round the clock. Transporting him to the hospital would only exacerbate his condition.”

  “How long?”

  “Any time now. At the most, a few days.”

  “But how? He was fine when we left this morning.”

  “Your father has had a heart condition for many years. Medication has helped delay the inevitable. As you know, he is a strong, determined man, and he refused to heed my advice,” the doctor said.

  They stopped at the top of the stairs outside the room that Michael and Anna shared. No sound came from within.