By the time the sun was starting to sink behind the mountains, Garrett and I left Nitro in Kat’s capable hands. There were only a few regulars savoring happy-hour pints. Nearly everyone else in town was gathering at Der Keller for a community forum about Kristopher’s plan to outlaw alcoholic beverages.
“We’ll just be around the block if you need anything,” I called to Kat.
Kat’s dimples indented as she smiled and tilted a chilled pint glass at an angle. She slowly pulled the tap handle so as not to create too many bubbles and pour a foamy pint.
“Like this, right?” Her curls swung as she turned toward me.
“You’ve got it.” I gave her a thumbs-up.
I was impressed that she had been such a fast learner. I had only taught her the technique for pouring a perfect pint a few weeks ago, and she had already mastered it. Pouring a pint with just the right amount of foam takes practice. Pulling the tap handle too quickly can result in a frothy mess, as can holding a glass upright under the faucet. Kat looked like a pro, closing the tap handle swiftly to avoid overfilling the pint.
“No worries. I’ll keep the beer flowing here.” Her words received a cheer from two older gentlemen at the end of the bar.
Garrett waited for me by the front door. He had a gray Nitro sweatshirt on and a coat resting on his arm. Evening temperatures had begun to dip near freezing. Snow dusted the top of the surrounding mountain ranges. Soon it would blanket the streets, luring skiers and winter sport enthusiasts to the area for its abundance of outdoor recreation opportunities. We had already created a special advertising campaign geared toward the après-ski crowd. Anyone who brought in a lift ticket from nearby Stevens Pass, Mission Ridge, or even the Leavenworth Ski Hill would get a free appetizer with the purchase of two beers.
“Are you going in that?” Garrett asked, staring at my outfit. “Won’t you freeze? They’ve been saying we’re due for the first snow and a windstorm this week.”
“I’ll be fine.” I waved him off. Working in a brewery doesn’t allow for a high-fashion wardrobe, which was okay with me. I was happy in my jeans, rubber boots, and long-sleeved black T-shirt. Most days I tied my dark hair into a ponytail and didn’t bother with makeup. “My vest and scarf are right there,” I replied, grabbing a puffy red vest and red Buffalo plaid scarf from the coatrack.
“You’re sure you don’t want a coat?” Garrett held the door open for me and gave me a look of concern.
A cool breeze wafted into the pub. “We’re only going a block away. Really, I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t argue. Instead he ushered me out the door. “What’s the plan for tonight? Have you heard?”
I wrapped my scarf around my neck and tucked the extra fabric into my vest as I stepped outside into the crisp autumn air. “I’m not sure. Hans said that Otto and Ursula want to have an open—yet respectful—discussion about Kristopher’s anti-beer platform. There could be ten people attending tonight or hundreds.”
Leavenworth was always charming, but there was something magical about our village in the evening glow. Warm yellow lights illuminated the baroque storefronts. The street lamps made the changing leaves on the trees even more golden. I inhaled the refreshing cool air that was tinted with the scents of fall.
Garrett and I rounded the corner and turned onto Front Street. I never got tired of the view. German-style chalets lined both sides of the street. To our left were the gazebo and Front Street Park, where dozens of festivities occurred throughout the year. Crews had already started to wrap the trees and storefronts with thousands of twinkle lights for the upcoming Christkindlmarkt, which would take place Thanksgiving weekend. The highlight of the celebration was the lantern parade, where children would stroll along Front Street holding handmade lanterns and following Mr. and Mrs. Claus to the gazebo to watch the lights come on. The ceremonial lighting would kick off the holidays and was followed by Bavarian Christmas markets where shoppers could purchase authentic German gifts and crafts while sipping on mugs of hot mulled cider. The songs of carolers and hand-bell choirs would ring through the streets. Visitors could take rides in horse-drawn carriages and dogsleds. There would be sledding and tubing for youngsters and downhill skiing and snowboarding for older adventurers.
One of the sweetest traditions during the light festival was the great cookie hunt. Children received cookie maps and could sleuth out locations all over the village to receive special handmade treats.
Leavenworth would bask in the colorful light display through March. The “Village of Lights” experience drew thousands of tourists to our tiny town in the Cascades. Many shops were already decked out for the holiday season with garlands, boxes of colorful presents, and Christmas trees.
“Oktoberfest is barely in the rearview mirror, and people are gearing up for Christmas,” Garrett noted as we walked past the window of the aptly named Nutcracker Shoppe. It was a relatively new addition to the village, having opened over the summer. However, the owner had wasted no time getting in the holiday spirit. It looked as if the North Pole had exploded in its front windows. Nutcrackers designed to resemble Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus along with a workshop of elves were on display, as well as traditional German nutcrackers in holiday lederhosen and even a set of reindeer nutcrackers.
Leavenworth was already home to a well-established nutcracker store, so I had been surprised when The Nutcracker Shoppe opened for business. There hadn’t seemed to be bad blood between the rival shops, but nutcrackers were such a niche item I wondered if Leavenworth could support two shops.
The shop’s owner spotted us and ran outside. “Did you see something you like? I know my sign says closed, but I’d be happy to let you come in and have a look. I’m here late working on the window display and don’t mind one bit to have you folks in for a while and see if you like anything. You know what they say, Christmas is nutcracker season.”
“Do they say that?” Garrett looked to me.
I shrugged and tucked my hands into my vest pockets. The tip of my nose was cold. Maybe I should have taken Garrett’s advice about grabbing a coat.
The shop owner nodded. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Nutcrackers fly off the shelves during November and December. They make great gifts. Think of a holiday party without a nutcracker. Can you imagine?” He made a dramatic motion with his hands.
Garrett stifled a laugh. I almost chuckled too, but quickly realized that the owner was serious.
“How is anyone going to crack open that big bowl of nuts that Aunt Susan brought to the party without a nutcracker? Nutcrackers are the key to any holiday celebration. Mark my words, you might want to come take a look now, because these are going to fly off the shelves during the Christmas markets.”
“I guess I never thought of that,” I said, trying to catch Garrett’s eye. “Sounds like you’re getting an early start on the shopping rush.”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “Exactly, and that’s just your practical nutcrackers. You should see what some of the collectors pay for our custom, handcrafted pieces. See that Santa in the window? He’ll sell for over five hundred, and I already have two interested buyers.”
“That’s great.” I tapped my wrist. “We’re on our way to Der Keller for a meeting. We should get going.”
The shop owner threw up his hands. “Der Keller. Is that for the meeting about that crazy politician?”
Garrett nodded.
“Do you care if I tag along? I’d love to hear what other business owners have to say. It’s a ludicrous plan. How could anyone want to turn the town dry? Business will dry up. All of us will be out of work.”
“That seems to be the sentiment with many people we’ve talked to,” Garrett said.
The shop owner shut the door behind him, slamming a string of red and green lights in the door. He opened it and tossed the lights inside. “My name is Conrad, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen either of you in the shop before, but I recognize that beer logo. Nitro. Is that the one around the corner? The non-German pub?”
Garrett and I introduced ourselves as we walked to Der Keller. Conrad was in his mid-thirties to early forties with wiry short curls, glasses, and a high-pitched voice. He didn’t strike me as the type to open a nutcracker store, but then again, I had no idea if there was a type.
I didn’t have a chance to ask him about what brought him to Leavenworth or drew him to the nutcracker trade because we arrived at Der Keller. The sight of its majestic entrance never failed to give me pause. It reminded me of a ski chalet, with its white stucco, slanted wood-beamed roof, and matching wooden shutters. Flags with the Der Keller family crest (two lions waving German flags) flapped in the slight breeze. The brewery encompassed almost an entire block with a bottling plant, the brewery, and a restaurant with an outdoor patio.
The German theme continued inside with red epoxy floors, hand-carved walnut tables, and a vast collection of beer steins. It looked as if the entire town had assembled inside. The restaurant was packed from wall to wall. People crammed into the bar area and spilled outside, gathering around gas fire pits to stay warm.
“Whoa.” Garrett let out a whistle. “I would say there’s safety in numbers. If this is any indication of how people are going to vote when they turn in their ballots next week, Valerie Hedy is going to win in a landslide.”
“Let’s hope so,” I replied, scanning the crowded space for familiar faces. “Everyone who is here has to actually turn in their ballot.” I spotted Hans on the opposite side of the room. He waved me over. “There’s Hans, come on.”
We parted ways with Conrad, and I dragged Garrett through the throng of people.
“Sloan, can you believe this turnout?” Hans greeted me with a hug. He smelled of cedar and sandalwood. I knew it wasn’t from expensive cologne. Hans owned a small woodworking shop where he built custom furniture. He must have come straight from work because he wore a pair of Carhartt pants, and his tool belt was still tied around his waist.
“I was just saying that to Garrett. Is everyone in Leavenworth here?”
Hans clapped Garrett on the back in the way of a greeting. He had been instrumental in helping me get my position at Nitro. For that, among many other reasons, I was forever grateful to him.
“Let’s hope the fire marshal doesn’t show up,” Hans said with a scowl. “I think we’re violating every fire code.”
He had a point. There was no space to move inside Der Keller’s warm interior. I glanced around the familiar space. The restaurant was an homage to Otto’s and Ursula’s German roots. Banners with the Krause family crest hung from the high-beamed ceilings. In addition to the antique steins lining the wall behind the bar, there were dozens of bronze, silver, and gold medals from beer competitions throughout the world. The smell of beer cheese soup and sauerkraut rolls wafted in the crowded restaurant. My stomach grumbled at the thought of a bowl of Der Keller’s signature soup paired with a pint of their award-winning Doppelbock.
Dinner would have to wait. At that moment Mac hopped onto the top of the bar and pounded a spoon on a pewter stein to get everyone to quiet down.
“Oh great,” I muttered under my breath.
Hans squeezed my elbow in a show of solidarity.
“Hey! Thanks for coming, everyone. Cheers to seeing so many friends and familiar faces tonight.” Mac’s ruddy cheeks glowed under the golden lights hanging above the bar. He held a full pint glass. “As you know, we are here tonight to talk about one thing. One important and vital thing to our community and our livelihoods.” He raised his pint glass. “Beer!”
The room erupted in cheers.
Mac’s cheeks turned redder. “Now, I wish I could be serving everyone a pilsner right now, but as you can see there isn’t any room to send our servers out with trays.”
“We’ll make room,” someone hollered.
Mac laughed. He was in his element. “Don’t worry, Der Keller will be pouring free beer for the rest of the evening, but first we need to talk about this nasty business of trying to make Leavenworth dry.”
A round of boos sounded.
Hans’s golden-brown eyes met mine. “Free beer?” he mouthed. “On whose dime?”
“Hopefully Valerie’s, but then again…” I shrugged. It was a classic Mac move. Unlike his brother, Mac loved the limelight. He was constantly “wining and dining” (his words) potential clients and suppliers.
“That’s right. That’s right.” Mac took a swig from his beer. It dribbled down his chin. “How many of you are business owners or work for a business in the village?”
Hands flew into the air.
Mac wiped his chin with the back of his hand. I wondered if someone had coached him on his outfit. He had on a pair of skinny black jeans, loafers, and a Der Keller T-shirt. His blond hair had been slicked back with gel. Was he trying to change his style, knowing that he would soon be officially free to date whomever he wanted?
“I see that basically every hand in this room has been raised. That means that most or all of us make our living off the tourist trade. How many people pulled in a profit during Oktoberfest?”
Again, nearly everyone raised their hands.
“Exactly! One man and one man alone is trying to end the way of life we know and love here in the greatest little Beervarian city, Leavenworth, Washington—Kristopher Cooper.”
A number of people rattled off insults.
Mac waited for the crowd to settle. “I know. The man is on a mission to ruin Leavenworth. I’m not sure what his motives are, but if we allow Kristopher to be elected, I know one thing, and that is that many if not all of us are going to go out of business. You’re going to lose your jobs, and Leavenworth is going to become a ghost town.”
Someone shouted a comment from the other side of the room. I couldn’t hear what they had said, but Mac held up his free hand. “Okay, I know we’re upset, but let’s not talk about resorting to violence. Kristopher has a right to his opinion. And we have a right to vote him out of office.”
Everyone applauded.
“I’m going to turn things over to a couple special guests we invited to be part of tonight, but before I do, I want to thank you for your support. We have a table set up on the patio where you can register to vote if you’re not already a registered voter, and Valerie Hedy has a bunch of yard signs, posters, and buttons. Take some for yourself. Post them in your shop windows and front yards and share them with your friends and neighbors. We have a week until election day, and Der Keller is casting our vote for Valerie.”
He handed one of the bartenders his beer and then helped a woman, who I recognized as Kristopher’s opponent, up on the bar top.
“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for our next city councilor, Valerie Hedy!” Mac boomed.
Valerie had sensibly worn a pair of khaki slacks and tennis shoes. She was about my age, with short brown hair, thick glasses, and a shy smile. She looked more like a librarian than a politician. “Thank you, everyone. Thanks for that warm welcome.” Valerie’s voice didn’t carry the same way that Mac’s had. I had to strain to hear her. “Der Keller has been such a great supporter of my campaign. I want to take this opportunity to publicly thank them for their ongoing involvement in the community and for brewing such wonderful beer.”
“Has she ever tasted our beer?” Hans whispered.
I laughed and punched him in the ribs.
“My opponent wants you to fear beer and every other thing that makes our village so unique. He wants to dwell on the handful of negative things that happen during festival season. I think we’re all well aware of the recent murder that occurred during Oktoberfest. It was certainly disturbing but, as the police discovered, that had nothing to do with the festival and involved village outsiders. As to Kristopher’s claims of petty theft and a handful of drunks, they’re things that would likely happen anyway, and while they might be a nuisance, they’re not going to tear our town apart. What Kristopher Cooper is doing is exactly that. He’s pitting neighbor against neighbor and business owner against busines
s owner. This isn’t the pioneering spirit of Leavenworth, it’s nasty politics.” She paused to catch her breath. “I don’t claim to have extensive experience in politics, but I can tell you what I do have—that’s a passion for Leavenworth. I grew up here. I’ve raised my family here. I’ve built my career here, working as a mediator. I want to put my professional skills to work for you.”
People clapped, but the applause was nowhere near as thunderous as it had been for Mac.
“Are there issues that arise during Oktoberfest? Yes. Are there practical solutions? Yes.” Val sounded soft. Her smile appeared forced. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous or if public speaking wasn’t her forte.
She pressed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose and continued. “For instance, we can create a citizen volunteer group to support the city in its cleanup efforts. Would anyone in this room be willing to volunteer a few hours to clean up our gorgeous streets?”
Tons of hands raised.
“Excellent.” Valerie folded her hands in a prayer position. “Thank you for your support. I’ll be on the patio to answer any questions and talk in more detail about some of my other ideas and plans. I would be honored to become Leavenworth’s next city councilor, and I want you to know that should I win, I will have an open-door policy. You can always come to me with questions, concerns, and suggestions for making our fair city the most wonderful place in the world to live.”
Valerie climbed off the bar with help from the bartending staff. Mac made his return. “Valerie Hedy, our next city council member, everyone.” He led the crowd in another round of applause. “Our next speaker needs no introduction. She is the face of Leavenworth and Leavenworth’s biggest cheerleader.”
“Oh no,” I muttered.
Garrett raised his brow. “What?”
“April Ablin,” I said, rolling my eyes. April was Leavenworth’s self-appointed ambassador and welcome wagon. She insisted on wearing traditional Bavarian garb and demanded that everyone else do the same.
Beyond a Reasonable Stout Page 2