Wolfie, as Paula always called her husband, had clerked in his father’s store all through his teenage years. After their marriage, he went to work for the Oberammergau Town Council as a clerk. Three years later he applied for the job in Munich and was accepted.
Of all her sisters, Inga was closest to Paula. When Paula had moved to Munich, it had been a great loss to Inga. But they corresponded often, and in those years when Paula wasn’t having babies, Wolfgang would take the family south to visit their families or Hans and Inga would take their family north, so they saw each other at least twice a year, sometimes more. Inga had been in a high state of anxiety ever since the invitation had arrived. Yesterday morning, the day of their departure, she had told Hans that she was too sick to travel. Though he was not renowned for his sensitivity, fortunately that morning he had understood exactly what she was going through. Assuring her over and over that all would be well, he pulled her out of bed and gave her a gentle shove toward the bathroom.
He had been right, of course. As always with such things. They had arrived at the train station in Oberammergau half an hour early. The train was on time. Wolfie was waiting for them at the sprawling station in Munich and guided them through the dizzying maze of a city to his home in Menzing, a western suburb. After an evening of catching up on Paula’s condition and playing with the children, Inga and Hans retired early. To her astonishment, she slept deeply all through the night.
This morning had dawned clear but cool. The worst of the summer heat was not yet on the city, and it promised to be a perfect day to be out. At breakfast, Wolfie announced that the academy, which was on the eastern outskirts of the city, was too far for them to walk and that getting there would require several changes of trolleys. Inga had felt her anxiety instantly spike, but her brother-in-law calmed her when he told them he had asked his supervisor for permission to be a little late for work. He would take them to the academy and then go on to work after that. Paula and the other children waved good-bye from the doorstep and wished them well as they left for the trolley stop, which was just two blocks from their home.
Wolfie was almost as excited as Hans and Inga were. This was a great honor for all of the family, and he had done considerable research on the von Krugers and their academy. As soon as they were settled in their seats he began sharing what he had learned, much like a professor addressing his captive class.
Inga only half listened. She liked her brother-in-law, primarily because he adored his wife and doted on her much more than Hans did on Inga. He was also a good father to his children. Hans liked him too, but he had a habit of finding fault with Wolfie when they were not in his presence. He was “a little dull,” he would say. “A plodder, with no great vision for his family.” Hans never openly added, “unlike myself,” but it was clearly implied.
But on this morning, there was none of that. Wolfie dutifully acknowledged what an honor this was for the whole family, which pleased Hans no end. Hans had been pumping him with questions ever since they had left the house. Now, as they approached their final destination, he was still going on about what he knew about the von Kruger family.
Inga decided to break in. “What does Count von Kruger do?”
“Do?” Wolfgang was taken aback by the question. “What do you mean?”
“What does he do for a living? How does he make his money?”
He laughed aloud and then quickly lowered his voice. The trolley was about half full. “People like that don’t work for a living, Inga. They are born into money—huge, obscene amounts of money. They have estates and properties and investments that other people run for them. In fact, I’ve been told that people like that believe that any kind of manual labor is demeaning and far beneath their station. They don’t even dress themselves.”
“No!” Inga peered at him to see if he was teasing her.
“Ja,” he replied. “They have servants who lay their clothes out for them. They actually hold them out so that all the aristocrats have to do is stick out their arms.”
Hans broke in, determined not to be outdone by his brother-in-law. “And when they eat, they never serve themselves. They have dozens of servants hovering around to pour their wine and serve their food.”
Openly skeptical, Inga turned to her brother-in-law to see if he agreed. He did. “Ja, ja,” he said eagerly. “Only people like the von Krugers don’t eat, Hans. They dine. And they wear formal clothes all the time. When you attend the banquet, you’ll see that for yourself.”
“I’m not going to the banquet.”
Hans jerked around. “What?”
Inga set her jaw. “I’m not going to the banquet. In fact, I’m not going to any of it. You and Wolfie go. I’m going to go back to stay with Paula in case the baby comes today.”
Laughing, Wolfgang took her hand in his. “You’ll be fine, Inga. The aristocrats live very differently than we do, but you’ll find that they seldom descend from their divine thrones to mingle with the unwashed poor like us.” There was a touch of bitterness in those last words. “I’m afraid you must do this,” her husband coaxed. “Hans Otto would be crushed if you didn’t come.”
“I know,” she said bleakly. “I know.”
Wolfie leaned forward. “This is our stop coming up. Come.” He stood up and dragged her to her feet as the trolley clanged in warning and others began getting up too.
To her surprise, as she stood, Hans reached in and kissed her on the cheek. “You are a good woman, Inga Eckhardt,” he whispered in her ear. “And no one can take that away from you. You are no longer the daughter of a Schweinehirt. You are the wife of a prosperous dairyman and the mother of a remarkable boy. Just think about that and let the servants pour your wine. Ja?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Ja,” she said, squeezing his hands. “I am the mother of the best science and engineering student in the school.”
June 12, 1913—Von Kruger Academy, Bogenhausen, Munich
The academy was four blocks from the trolley, through a quiet street filled with a mixture of small but pleasant homes, two- and three-story apartment buildings, and a few small businesses. Though it was straight up the street from the trolley stop, Wolfie felt compelled to escort them all the way there. Or, Inga thought wryly, perhaps it was to finish sharing all that he had learned.
“What is now the campus of the Von Kruger Academy,” he was saying, “was once a small, private monastery in one corner of the vast summer estate held by the von Krugers. So the whole campus is surrounded by an eight-foot wall.”
“Really?” Inga exclaimed. “Young Hans has never said anything about a monastery.”
“He probably doesn’t know that. I only found it out by accident. The chapel and one other building are all that’s left from that time. The church is over three hundred years old, but all of the classrooms and other buildings are under fifty years. I couldn’t find out how old the walls are, but they look ancient. They are all covered with ivy and are actually quite wonderful. It’s like entering a park when you pass through the gates. The sounds of the city are shut out, and it’s so quiet and peaceful.”
He stopped as he saw Hans’s questioning look.
“I . . . uh . . . I actually wanted to make sure I knew how to find the school, so I came here last week on my way to work.”
“And just how big is the campus?” Hans asked.
“Not that large—perhaps twenty or twenty-five acres in all. They say the monks kept bees here and also had vineyards outside the walls that supplied the estate with wine. But all of that is gone, of course. As Munich kept growing in population, the family sold off much of the estate and turned it into highly lucrative rental properties. They probably own everything you see around here.”
“Really?” Inga was starting to have second thoughts again. Without realizing it, Inga’s pace had started to slow. The jitters were back, and the prospect of what awaited them was filling her with dismay. Realizing his mistake, Wolfie hurriedly took his pocket watch from his vest.
“Oh, dear. I’m going to be late for work. I’d better go back before I miss the next trolley. Just keep going straight up this street and you’ll see the school on the left. You can’t miss it.”
He bent down and kissed Inga’s cheek. Then he took her hands and squeezed them softly. “It will be all right. Hans Otto is waiting for you. That’s why you’re here.”
“Danke, Wolfie. Thank you so much for showing us the way.”
He took a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Hans. “Here are detailed instructions on how to get back. I could come back for you, but I have no way of knowing when you will be through. Probably late. I need to be with Paula.”
Hans took the paper and put it in his pocket. “We’ll be fine, Wolfie. Danke schön. We are in your debt.”
The walls around the school were made of stone, now plastered over, and seemed higher than eight feet. The main entrance consisted of two massive bronze gates—which were closed—with a bronze arch spanning the width of them. On the arch in large, wrought-iron letters painted gold was the name of the school. Just to the left of the gate was a small guardhouse.
As the couple approached, a liveried footman stepped out and took his post beside the gate, watching them without expression.
At first, Inga thought he was glowering at them and felt her heart start to thump a little faster, but as they drew near, he smiled pleasantly. “Guten Tag.”
“Guten Tag,” Hans answered. He pulled the invitation from his side pocket and extended it to him. “We are the Eckhardts.”
The footman took the card, gave it a perfunctory glance, and then smiled again. “Thank you for coming, Herr Eckhardt.” He looked at Inga and inclined his head. “And to you as well, Frau Eckhardt. Welcome to the Von Kruger Academy.”
He turned and opened a smaller gate behind him that Inga hadn’t seen earlier and then stepped back. “The students are in a meeting with the provost in the chapel. They are receiving last-minute instructions for the ceremonies tomorrow. They should only be a few more minutes. In the meantime, you are welcome to look around the grounds. Oh, and just inside the gate on the left you will find a large bronze plaque with a map of the campus. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Yes,” Inga answered. “Our son told us to meet him at the plaque.”
“Very good.” He stepped back and shut the gate behind them after they passed through.
“You see,” Hans whispered. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Inga said nothing. Her head was turning back and forth in wonder. Her first thought was that her brother-in-law was right. The noise of the city had mysteriously faded away. There were some sounds, but they were faint, almost imperceptible. The hush was reverential. And Wolfie was also right about it feeling like a park. Some of the trees were huge, towering forty and fifty feet above the walls. But what caught her eye and nearly took her breath away was the splash of brilliant colors.
The walkways, which spread out in several directions, were lined with flowering bushes that were nearly as high as the walls. She recognized several different colors of azaleas but couldn’t begin to identify the dozen or so other kinds of flowering shrubs that joined in the dazzling display. Here and there, a few students sat on large expanses of grass. It had been recently cut and in the morning sunlight was of such a brilliance as to almost hurt the eyes.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “That boy! Remember? I’ve asked him several times what the grounds were like, and all he’s ever said was that they had lots of grass and flowers.”
Hans was still studying the plaque. He looked up as she spoke, obviously not paying much attention to her. He raised a hand to point to the nearest building. “That’s the chapel—the one with the small clock tower beside it. And just beyond it, that big building is the auditorium.”
Inga barely heard him. She was staring at the church. The door had just opened and students were pouring out into the sunlight. The sound of their voices floated softly on the air. She took a step forward, squinting against the glare. There were so many. And they were compressed in a tight group as they came out.
“What is it?” Hans asked, seeing that she was fixed on something other than what he was saying. Then he too leaned forward. “Is it him? Do you see him?”
“Not yet. But that has to be the group the guard told us about.”
“Well,” he said, taking her arm, “then let’s go and see.”
As they started forward, Inga’s hand shot out and grabbed Hans’s arm. “Look! There he is. Just coming out of the door.” She pulled him to a stop and raised her other hand and waved. “Hans! Hans! Here we are.”
The students were dispersing quickly now, and she got a clear view of her son. All the students were talking animatedly, and no one seemed to have heard her. Their son had stopped on the top landing of the stairs and was looking back inside the building. “It’s him,” she confirmed.
“I see him. Let’s go.” Her husband broke free of her grasp and started forward, but as he did, Young Hans disappeared back inside the building. “Come, Inga,” Hans called over his shoulder. “We must catch him before he goes another way.”
She fell into step beside him, surprised by the intensity of her joy at the mere sight of their son. They had only gone about ten yards when Hans reappeared. Only this time he had someone with him. Inga slowed to a stop again. Hans did the same. “Who’s that?” he asked.
She said nothing. She was peering intently now, trying to see better. They were still maybe thirty or forty yards from the chapel. There was no question that it was a girl. She wore a dark skirt and a bright red blouse with long sleeves. Her hair, which came halfway down her back, looked like it was jet black. Even from this distance, it gleamed in the sunlight. At the bottom of the steps, the pair turned in the opposite direction. They were walking together, but not particularly closely. Their shoulders weren’t touching.
“Hans Otto!”
Inga cuffed her husband on the shoulder. “No, Hans. Don’t shout.” She was staring at the two figures moving away from them. “Has he ever said anything to you about having a girlfriend?”
He glared at her. “No.” Then he gave her a sharp look. “Why do you ask that? It’s just another student. Look, they’re not even holding hands.”
Inga said nothing. She didn’t know why she felt that way. There was just something about the way Hans had been looking at her as they came out the door.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s catch them before we lose sight of them.”
“All right, Hans. But no more yelling.”
He grunted something unintelligible and started off. She ran quickly to catch up and then fell into step beside him. Neither of them spoke.
Students were going every which way now, some coming directly toward them, and it was hard to keep Young Hans in an unbroken line of sight. He and the girl were not strolling; they were setting a pretty swift pace. They disappeared behind a large azalea bush and reappeared moments later. They entered a large archway covered by what looked like wild roses. The archway curved and was surprisingly long, and Hans and Inga couldn’t see the other end of it. As husband and wife quickened their pace, Inga’s lips set in a tight line. She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn that just as the two students had entered the shaded archway, Young Hans had reached out and taken the girl’s hand.
“We have to hurry,” Hans said, “or we’ll lose them.” Instead, his wife stopped and pulled him to a stop as well. She suddenly had a bad feeling about what they were doing.
“No, Hans. I think we need to wait here for them.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “No, Inga. We’re here to see Hans Otto. We’ve waited long enough.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a fast walk beside him. “I want to meet this girl.”
The rose-covered trellis was the entrance to the campus gardens, and by the time they reached it, no one was in sight. The pathways that branched off from the main w
alk were empty.
“I think we need to wait here for him,” Inga said again. “We don’t know where he’s gone.”
“Stay here if you like,” Hans retorted as he grumpily started away. Bad feeling or not, Inga quickly fell in beside him.
The gardens were quite extensive, with the one main walkway that went through the center joined by several smaller stone pathways that branched off in different directions. It was breathtaking. Almost every bush was heavy with blossoms. Perennials bloomed along the walks and between the larger shrubberies. A small fountain with a nymph pouring water from a jug into a watering trough murmured softly to their right. Another life-sized sculpture of a man in a naval uniform stood in the center of a small sitting area with four low benches.
They moved slowly, staying on the main path but searching the side paths as they walked. They saw no one. It appeared as though none of the students were seeking solitude this day.
Except for our son.
“It looks like the path goes all the way through,” she ventured at the halfway point. “Maybe it leads to the dormitories. I think we need to go back and wait for him where we agreed to meet.”
Her husband said nothing, but from his expression she could tell he wasn’t going back anywhere. Not until he found his son.
The far corner of the garden consisted of two rows of perfectly aligned yew trees spaced out across another expanse of manicured lawns. The trees were well over twenty feet high. Each was the exact same size and had been trimmed so it was perfectly pear shaped, each without a leaf out of place, each exactly like the other nine.