They slowed their pace. “Can you believe the amount of work it must take to keep these looking like this?” he whispered. “Amazing.”
“Shhh!” Inga hissed, squeezing his hand.
They listened intently, and in a moment they heard it again. It was laughter. A girl’s laughter.
Pressing a finger to his lips, Hans moved forward very carefully. The first thing they saw beneath the canopy of the first tree was two sets of legs—one in trousers, one in a black skirt. They were standing close together. Once again, Inga tried to pull her husband to a stop. Young Hans would not be happy to be discovered like this. But her husband wouldn’t let go of her, and he kept moving, though more carefully now. In four more steps they came around enough to see who belonged to the legs. Even Hans stopped dead at what they saw next. Young Hans and the girl were standing close to the tree, obviously hoping not to be seen by anyone. His back was to them. She was in his arms, facing them, but fortunately her head was tipped back and her eyes were closed.
As her son leaned in to kiss the girl, Inga’s first thought was that she was incredibly beautiful. Then as their lips met in a long, lingering kiss that quickly turned passionate, Inga saw it wasn’t just Hans kissing the girl. She was kissing him back, one hand behind his head, pulling it down hard against her.
Grabbing her husband by the coattail, Inga pulled him sharply backwards until the tree was between them and the couple again. She went up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “We can’t let him see us,” she said. “He’ll think we were spying on him.”
For one long moment, she thought he was going to jerk free and go barreling over to their son. She could see that he was seething, but something in her eyes got through to him. Nodding, he carefully followed her as she backed away until they could no longer see the two young people—or be seen by them. Then they turned and hurried out of the garden, returning across campus to the bronze map. There they found a bench and settled down to wait for their son.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Finally, Hans muttered one sentence. “That was not their first kiss.”
Inga shook her head. “No, it wasn’t.”
Neither of them spoke again. It was fifteen minutes more before Young Hans appeared, coming across the campus toward them, shouting and waving his hand in greeting. And he was alone.
For what seemed like forever, Inga held her breath as she watched father and son embrace. She could see the anger in her husband’s eyes and the thunderclouds building on his face. But as they hugged each other and slapped each other on the back with blows hard enough to fell a horse, she saw the clouds roll back. And she realized, gratefully, that her husband didn’t want to spoil this moment any more than she did.
She was next. “Oh, Mama,” Young Hans said as he swept her up in his arms. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
She pulled back, her eyes narrowing. “You were?”
“Ja, with the milking and all. And Aunt Paula. How is she?”
“She’s good. The baby is not ready to come quite yet.”
“Wunderbar. I’ve been so afraid it might come early and you would have to miss the awards ceremony.”
“Did you really think we would miss the crowning of our son as smartest boy in the school?” his father asked.
Hans Otto laughed. “I don’t think there will be a crown, Papa. And I am only the smartest in science and engineering. But I was second in mathematics and in history. And that’s in a school that already has the best students in all of Bavaria.”
“So you are the best of the best,” his mother said proudly. And proud of it. And that was all right too. She moved in and slipped her arm around his waist. “Come. Let’s sit down and you can tell us all about it. Then we want you to show us around the school. I want to see everywhere that you go so I can picture it when we return home again.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, taking them both by the hand. “I haven’t eaten yet this morning. There’s a wonderful little Ratskeller just two blocks from here. Let’s talk over lunch.” Then before his father could respond, he added, “My treat. I never spend all of my weekly allowance, and what I don’t spend is mine to keep. So I have over three hundred marks in the bank now. It will help when I go to university.”
The senior Hans stared at him for a minute and then turned to Inga, pride lighting his eyes. “Did you hear that, Schatzi? Our son is going to buy us lunch. Will the surprises never stop?”
Der Ratskeller, or “the council’s cellar,” is a name commonly given in German-speaking countries to a bar or restaurant located either in the cellar of city hall—the Rathaus—or close by. This one obviously catered to students from the academy, because Young Hans was greeted warmly and shown to what the host assured them was their best table.
Inga was much too excited to eat, but finally, at her son’s insistence, agreed to a plate of Apfelstrudel with a cup of strong, dark coffee. Hans gallantly conceded that it would not be as good as the strudel she made at home, but promised that it was the best he had found in the city. When she bit into the delicate and flaky rolls of pastry wrapped around diced apples flavored with cinnamon, raisins, and powdered sugar, she was surprised to find it nearly equal to her own.
Hans and his father chose heaping dishes of Käsespätzle, cheese and noodles, served straight from the pan and boiling hot. They also ordered large steins of pale lager, a beer very popular throughout Germany. With their food served, the parents sat back and ate while their son regaled them with a summary of his life in Munich. He got so excited that from time to time Inga had to remind him to pause long enough to take a bite of food and wash it down with his beer.
And she marveled as she watched him.
She had known things were changing for her son from his occasional home visits and Christmas holidays, but now she could see just how much he was changing. No. Had changed. He was not a boy any longer. He had filled out even more than when they had seen him at Christmas. And maybe added another inch in height. He was now a good foot taller than she was. He was seventeen and already a man—a thought that brought back into her mind the image of him kissing the girl behind the yew tree.
She kept waiting, wondering if he would eventually get around to that, but he did not. He talked about his friends but mentioned only male names. He spoke of his classes and how challenging they were and how he excelled in all of them. He spoke of his professors in almost reverential tones, describing how he often spent time with them outside of class hours.
In some ways, his unabashed self-confidence made her wince a little, but she said nothing. It would have done her no good, because his father reveled in it. “That’s what I always told you, Hans Otto,” the senior Hans would say again and again as his son told them of another of his accomplishments. “I told you that you were a gifted boy, ja?”
“Ja, Papa,” he would answer. “You always said that. But I didn’t believe you.”
“But now you do.”
“Ja, Papa.”
They left the Ratskeller shortly before noon and returned to the campus. Young Hans proudly introduced his parents to the guard at the gate, whom they had encountered earlier. Then as they entered through the gate and started their tour of campus, he stopped constantly to introduce them to students, all of whom greeted him warmly and welcomed his parents to the school. Three different times he also introduced them to one of his professors.
Just outside the main administration building they met the Dean of Students, and Hans Otto introduced them to him as well. All the time, Inga’s amazement grew. Her son was not only gifted academically, he was gifted with people. As she watched him interact with others, she could tell that they genuinely liked him. They enjoyed being in his presence. Adults and fellow students alike—they just liked him. Her mother’s instincts told her that such a gift might be of even greater importance than his academic prowess. And what warmed her heart even more, there was not the slightest hint of him being embarrassed by the fact that
his parents were peasants from a small farming village. He would speak of their dairy farm proudly and tell others how his father had built it up from ten cows to almost two dozen now.
They ended their tour with a walk through the gardens and past the yew trees and then returned to the chapel, which was at the hub of the campus. Young Hans looked up at the clock tower steeple. It was five minutes to two. “Oh, dear,” he exclaimed. “I’ve lost track of the time. I have to meet someone at two o’clock.”
Inga felt a quick stab of jealousy. The raven-haired beauty they had seen earlier? But she managed a smile. “That’s all right, son,” she said. “Your father and I should get an early start back. We need to figure out how to make three different trolley changes.”
He spun around in surprise. “No, Mama. You can’t go yet. It’s not something with the school. In fact, I want to introduce you and Papa to someone. Then I plan to ride the trolley with you back to Uncle Wolfie’s and Aunt Paula’s house. I’m staying there tonight. Didn’t they tell you?”
“No, I . . .”
“Good. I told them I wanted to surprise you. Tomorrow we don’t have to be back here until just before the reception and the awards ceremony, which are not until evening, so Uncle Wolfie is going to take us downtown to the Marienplatz to show us the world-famous Glockenspiel there. Have you seen it before?”
Inga shook her head. Her husband did as well, but added, “I’ve heard much about it.”
“It is the most wonderful clock in the world. The tower is very high, and the clock has forty-three bells and thirty-two life-sized figures that come out while the clock is chiming the hour.”
“That’s nice,” Inga murmured. Then, still catching up with his torrent of words, she asked, “You have to meet someone?”
“Yes. I want to introduce you.” And he turned and started away.
Falling in behind their son, Inga and her husband exchanged knowing glances. At last, she thought. So he wasn’t hiding the girl from them; he had just been saving his best surprise until last. She smiled, more relieved than she had expected to be. Yes. Their son had become a man, and now he was going to introduce them to his girlfriend.
• • •
“Mama. Papa. I would like you to meet two friends of mine from America.”
As Young Hans had led them into his dormitory and taken them to the lounge on the main floor, Inga had been rehearsing what she would say to the beautiful young woman they had seen in the garden. But as they entered the lounge, the only two people there were two men in suits and ties. They also carried Homburg hats in their hands. Inga was still looking around for the girl when Hans went up to them and shook their hands. Now she just stared at them, thoroughly confused.
“This is Elder Jackson from Salt Lake City, Utah. And this is Elder Reissner, from Idaho.” He grinned. “Wherever in the world that is.”
The second young man stepped forward, “Guten Tag, Frau Eckhardt. Guten Tag, Herr Eckhardt. We are honored to finally meet you. Your son has told us all about you.”
It barely registered. Inga’s gaze swung back and forth between the two young men and her son. They were clearly older than Young Hans, probably in their early twenties—hardly what you would call elderly. In German, the name for an elderly person was Älterer, a description that certainly didn’t fit these two men. But Young Hans had used a different word. He called each of them Kirchenältester, which meant “elder priest,” or “elder in the church.” It was used only of officials in the church. And her mind was still trying to process the fact that they were not the beautiful young woman she had been expecting.
Seeing the bewilderment on his parents’ faces, Young Hans laughed. “These are missionaries, Papa. From America. They are Mormons. Come, let us sit down.”
Once they were settled, Hans Senior spoke. “Mormons?”
“Ja,” the one called Reissner said. “That is what people sometimes call us. But the official name of our church is Kirche Jesu Christi der Heiligen der Letzten Tage. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
This boy’s German was much better than Elder Jackson’s, who spoke it well but with a heavy American accent. Reissner spoke with the accent of north Germany, perhaps Berlin, but his German was flawless.
Reissner went on. “We have come from America to share a message about our Savior Jesus Christ. We met your son a few weeks ago in the town square and quickly became good friends.”
“They are helping me with my English, Mama,” Young Hans said. He took his mother’s elbow.
“Ha!” Elder Reissner exclaimed in mock horror. “So your only interest in us is self-centered and selfish?”
Hans thought that was enormously funny. “But of course. I am a self-centered and selfish person. Ask my mother if you do not believe me.” He turned to her, smiling. “Right, Mother?”
For a moment she was completely taken aback by this sudden turn in the conversation, but then a smile slowly stole across her face. “I never said you were selfish.”
That actually startled him for a moment, and then he feigned deep hurt. “I am shocked, Mama,” he cried. “So you think I am self-centered?”
She reached out and touched his hand. “Let’s just say that I don’t think you are burdened with an overabundance of humility.”
“Can I be blamed for being prideful when I have so many excellent qualities to be proud of?” he shot right back.
Even Inga had to laugh at his impudence. She felt a warm rush of affection for him. No wonder people liked him. He had a quick wit, an open and happy manner, and he was right. He did have so many gifts that it was only natural that his confidence was pretty near unshakable.
But even as those thoughts came, she saw her son turn and look at his father. Instantly, the laughter in him died. “Papa, we were only joking with each other.”
Inga turned and saw the deep creases in her husband’s forehead. He glared at her for a moment and then turned back to the others. “I see no humor in belittling the gifts and abilities of another.”
Elder Reissner quickly spoke up. “Herr Eckhardt, let me assure you that my companion and I only spoke in jest.”
Irked at his ill humor, Inga said, “It’s all right, Elder Reissner. My husband was speaking more to me than to you.”
He went on anyway. “We treasure our friendship with your son. We find much in him to be admired. We are blessed by our acquaintance with him.”
“Are you trying to convert him to your religion?” Hans Senior asked bluntly.
“No, Papa,” Young Hans cried. “We have talked much about religion and God, and they know that my beliefs in those directions are not strong. But I find much in their feelings about the nature of God to my liking. They see him more as a loving Heavenly Father than the harsh and punitive deity that we often hear preached in the churches.”
Inga could sense that this was not mollifying her husband. “We are a God-fearing family,” he said tightly, speaking to the missionaries, “but we have little patience for organized religion.”
She knew that given his present mood, Hans would not appreciate what she was about to say, but she felt compelled to say it anyway. “My husband speaks for himself, and perhaps for our son,” she said quietly. “But he does not speak for all of our family. I attend church in our local parish each Sunday with our three daughters and their children.”
Hans swung toward her, but she turned to Elder Jackson and spoke to him before her husband could say any more.
“Do you have given names?” she asked. “I assume your first names are not Kirchenältester.”
Jackson laughed aloud. “A lot of people ask us that. But yes, my first name is Charles.”
“And where is this Lake of Salt?” Hans Senior asked.
“Salt Lake City? It is in the state of Utah. That’s in the western part of the United States.”
Reissner leaned forward. “And my name is Jacob Reissner. Jacob Heinz Reissner, to be precise.” He pronounced his first name as Yah-ko
hb in the German way.
“But that is a German name,” Hans Senior said in surprise.
“Ja. My grandfather and grandmother joined our Church back in the 1860s and emigrated from Germany to America. I am named for my grandfather.”
“Is that where you learned to speak such excellent German? From them?” Inga asked.
“No. They both died while I was still little. But my father was a boy of ten at the time they emigrated. He learned English very quickly and spoke it with only a hint of an accent. So he always spoke English in the home. But he also used a lot of German too. I just kind of picked it up, I guess.”
“I am sure your grandfather would be very proud of you,” Inga said warmly, “for your German is very nearly perfect.”
He nodded and smiled. “Papa always said that Deutsch was the language of heaven. All other tongues were from the lower regions.”
“Well spoken,” Hans Senior said, actually laughing. “Well spoken, indeed.”
Elder Reissner stood up, saying they had another appointment they had to get to. They shook hands all around, promised to see Young Hans again soon, congratulated him on his coming award, and then said farewell.
As they watched them go, Young Hans turned to his parents. “I’m so glad you liked them. I find them to be excellent company.”
His father gave him a long, probing look. “We are not sending you up here to study religion.”
To Inga’s surprise, her son bristled at that. “I am here to study many things, Papa,” he said tartly. “You don’t need to tell me what I should or shouldn’t study.” Then, turning to his mother before Hans Senior could respond, he said, “Let me run upstairs and get my things, and then we will go. I’m anxious to see Uncle Wolfie and Aunt Paula again. And Gretl. It will be good to see Gretl too.”
Chapter Note
Though it will come as a surprise to many members of the Church, there were about 200 missionaries in the Swiss-German Mission at this time, and they were having great success. In spite of persistent and widespread opposition, convert baptisms in the mission kept increasing. For example, in the six-year period from 1898 to 1904, a time of great persecution, the number of members in Germany went from 1,028 to 2,863, nearly a 300% increase. And in 1924, the Swiss-German Mission was the top baptizing mission in the world and had the largest number of members of any mission in the Church (see Mormons in Germany, 51, 62). Even with considerable emigration of converts to America, in that year there were 11,102 members in the Swiss-German Mission, which was almost 2,400 more members than were in California at that time.