There was a long silence, then, very softly, “That only makes it worse.”
“What?”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way. The bad news is that Ernst’s friend is going to be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes.”
“Can you have him wait a few hours?”
There was no answer for a moment. Then she came back on. “Sorry, I was just telling Ernst what you said. How soon does your train leave Berlin?”
“At ten. So I could hopefully be there by two o’clock at the latest.” Unless, of course, there are major delays. Which was almost a given these days.
“Einen Moment.” He could hear the murmur of her voice and that of a man’s. From what little he could hear, Ernst didn’t sound too enthusiastic.
“Hans?” Her voice was heavy with disappointment.
“Ja?”
“Unfortunately, his friend is going to show us how to drive the truck and then we have to take him back to his family, which is about twenty miles northeast of Pasewalk. It’s on the way to Königsberg. As much as we would love the extra help, Ernst thinks we have no choice but to leave now.”
“I understand, Emilee.”
“But I was so looking forward to seeing you again.” There was brief moment of hesitation. “And to talking through things.”
“Me too.”
He quickly told her about the War Ministry being closed.
“What will you do?” she asked after a moment
“Uh . . . to be honest, I don’t know. I’ve got to find a job. And sometime I need go visit the University of Berlin and find out what my status there is.”
“Excellent!”
“But with the holidays, they’ll be closed too, I’m sure. And who’s going to be worrying about hiring people two days before Christmas?”
“So you’ll go back to Bavaria?”
“Much as I hate to say it, I guess so.”
“Hans!” The disappointment in her voice was sharp.
“Oh, I don’t mean it that way. It’s been great with the family. But that train ride? Going down took me forever.”
“I’m so sorry, Hans. I’ve really made a mess of things for you.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “But I am disappointed.”
“I would be very disappointed if you weren’t disappointed.”
He heard a man’s voice in the background calling out something. Emilee broke in quickly. “The truck’s here, Hans. I’ve got to go. Not sure when we’ll be back, but I’ll call you if I can.”
“Okay. Have a good trip. Tell Ernst to drive carefully.”
“Why do you assume it’s Ernst who’s driving?” Then, laughing, she said, “Auf Wiedersehen, Hans.”
December 28, 1918, 8:30 a.m.—Eckhardt dairy farm, Graswang, Bavaria
As Ilse picked up her bowl and started to get up from the breakfast table, Hans waved her back down again. “Einen Moment, Ilse. I have something that I would like to say.”
Everyone turned to look at him. The children, who were seated at the other table, all turned as well. Except for Miki, who was sneaking another piece of her grandmother’s cinnamon toast.
“I would like to make a proposal. Today is Saturday. And as you all know, I am leaving tomorrow to return to Berlin.”
There was an instant chorus of groans and protests. “I have to. I need to be at the Ministry of War first thing in the morning on the day after New Year’s.”
Annaliese, who was fourteen, cried out. “But that’s not for five days, Onkel Hans. Are you going up to see Emilee first?”
Hans gave her a dirty look. “How do you know about Emilee?”
“Because I told her,” her mother said.
“And I told Ilse,” Inga added. She smiled at him. “We all took a vote, and we’re all agreed. Emilee is a family matter and we want full disclosure from now on.”
“Yes!” Annaliese and Kristen shouted it out together. “When do we get to meet her?”
“Not until after we’re married,” Hans retorted.
That had the desired effect. His father’s head came up with a snap. His mother’s mouth dropped open. His sisters were all gaping at him. Laughing, he shook his head. “I’m playing with you. We haven’t even gone out on a date yet, for heaven’s sake.”
“But you are going to see her?” Annaliese persisted.
“Yes. Emilee has invited me to have dinner with her family for New Year’s Day.” He glanced quickly at his mother. “I was going to go up to her house for Christmas, but then she had to go to Königsberg. Uh . . . she asked me to go with them to Königsberg, but I told her I needed to spend Christmas here.”
Heidi spoke up. “Will you bring her down here after you get your reimbursement check?”
“An excellent idea,” Inga said.
Hans just shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Are you kidding? And have you guys pounce on her like a hungry Doberman on a piece of meat?”
Miki took one last bite of toast and then come over to stand by him. “I’ll be nice to her, Onkel Hans.”
Putting an arm around her, Hans pulled her in close. “I know you would, Miki. And do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think maybe I’ll take you with me to Pasewalk.”
“Why?”
“Because once she meets you, she’ll marry me just so she can see you all the time.”
Anna leaned forward, her eyes holding his. “Did I just hear my little brother use the word marriage a second time in two minutes? I think maybe there’s more going on here than you’re letting on.”
“I’m teasing you. We’re a long ways from even talking about marriage.”
Anna raised her fingers. “That’s three times!”
“All right, all right. Can I say what I was going to say now? You people are like bloodhounds.”
“Yes,” his father said sternly, obviously not pleased with this talk of marriage. “Let’s hear what Hans has to say.”
“Thank you, Vati.” Hans looked around the table. “I don’t know if you’ve looked outside yet, but we had about six inches of fresh snow last night.”
Klaus Sr. hooted. “Looked outside? While you were sleeping in, Rudi, Karl, and I were milking thirty-two cows.”
“Nice try, Klaus, but actually, I wasn’t sleeping in. I was out in the woodshed loading the milk cart up with firewood.”
“Firewood?” Gerhardt echoed. “What for?”
Hans got to his feet and looked around at the their faces, letting the suspense build a little. “Because we are going to have a snow party.”
Cheers erupted from the children. The adults looked a little taken aback. He laughed at their expressions. “That’s right. We’re going to build a big bonfire. We’ll take lunch. We’ll make snow angels and take the sleds up to the sledding hill and—”
“Can we play Fox and Geese?” Klaus Jr. cried.
“Why not?”
Several hands shot up. “I get to be the fox first,” Kristen said.
Her male cousins booed that down, but Hans cut them off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Sorry, but I’ve heard tell that because today is a special day, the first person who plays the fox has to be someone who spells her name M-I-K-I.”
Before he had finished spelling her name, Miki was jumping up and down and waving wildly at him. “That’s how I spell my name, Onkel Hans.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Are you sure?”
For a moment, that panicked her. She whirled around. “How do I spell my name, Mutti?”
Heidi kept a straight face. “M-I-K-I.”
As she swung back around, dancing with excitement, Hans swept her up into his arms. “Then this is your lucky day, little one.”
Gerhardt was waving a hand. “Can we make a snow fort and have a snowball fight?”
“Yes,” Kristen cried. “Boys against girls.”
Inga’s hand came up slowly. For a moment no one noticed, but she held it up until everyone fell sil
ent. “I have too much work to do today. Dishes. Laundry. Ironing. So I’ll stay—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Hans retorted. He looked around at his family. “All who think Oma should stay here and do housework, raise your hand.”
There was not a flicker of movement.
“And all who want to see Oma participate in—” Every hand in the room was up and waving enthusiastically. Ignoring Inga’s dirty look, Hans said to the others, “I think that was unanimous.”
“You can be on our side, Oma,” Annaliese said.
Hans gave Miki a kiss on the cheek and then set her down. “Let’s go have a party.”
8:45 p.m.
Heidi came through the back door, stomping the snow from her galoshes. Then she reached down, slipped them off, and came over to sit beside her husband.
“Is the baby asleep?” he asked.
“Yes. And all the others are out too. Miki has been so wound up all day I was afraid she’d never sleep, but she conked out in about two minutes.”
“They all played so hard,” Inga said, smiling.
“Yes,” Hans agreed. “They all did. If someone had told me I’d get to watch my mother having a snowball fight with her grandchildren, I would never have believed him.”
“And win,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes,” Anna said. “Did you hear what Klaus Jr. said? After catching one of yours in the back, he turned to his father and said, ‘Watch out for Oma. She’s got a wicked arm.’”
Inga just beamed.
They settled back, savoring the memories as they sipped cups of warm milk and ate the last of the Vanillekipferln, crescent-shaped Christmas cookies that were a long-time Christmas tradition in their family.
After a few minutes, Hans leaned forward. “Well, as much as I hate to say it, I’ve got to pack.”
“Yes,” Rudi said. “And Anna needs to get some rest too.”
“Not yet.”
All of them turned in surprise to look as Hans Sr. started to get up. Instantly, Inga was on her feet helping him. “Are you ready for bed, Schatzi?”
He straightened and then shook his head emphatically. “No. I have something to say.”
The family shot questioning looks at Inga, but she was as taken aback by this as they were. She sat down beside him, reaching out to hold his hand.
He stood there for a moment, swaying back and forth a little as he looked around at his family. Then, with a nod, he began, looking at Hans when he spoke.
“Thank you, son,” he whispered. “Thank you for being here with us for Christmas.”
“You’re welcome, Papa. But I’m the one who should be thanking all of you. It’s been a wonderful time for me.”
His father seemed not to hear that. He looked around at the others. “As you know, Hans is leaving us tomorrow. We don’t know when he will be back. So there is something I must say before he goes.”
The only sound now was the crackling of the fire. Every eye was on Hans Sr. He took a breath, and then a deeper one, and then looked down at his wife. And he immediately teared up. “It was twenty-three years ago in February that my beloved Inga delivered a strapping baby boy into our family. And she asked me if we could name him after me.”
“I remember that night perfectly,” she whispered. “You sat for hours rocking him in the rocking chair, just staring at him.”
“I did. Because now, we had not only a son, we had an heir. And I no longer had to worry about the farm. For more than six generations, the Eckhardt name has belonged to this house and to this land. And I was worried that might no longer be so. But then, my Inga gave us an heir.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hans saw Ilse and Heidi exchange nervous glances. And he saw that his mother saw it too—and was concerned.
His father turned so that he was directly facing his son. “Hans Otto, it is of that which I wish to speak tonight.”
“All right, Father. I am listening.”
“I wish to know if you have found gainful employment since your discharge from the army.”
Taken aback by the forcefulness with which his father spoke, Hans shook his head. “I have not.”
“And is it true what I read in the news, that nearly fifty percent of men your age are still unemployed in the Fatherland?”
“I believe that is true, yes,” Hans agreed.
“Then,” he said, his eyes boring into his son’s, “then I declare that you shall stay here with us and take your rightful place as heir of this farm and all that goes with it—the land, the livestock, the outbuildings.”
His three sisters and their husbands were staring at each other in open dismay now. His father saw that and turned to them. “My dear daughters,” he said, “how I love each of you. How faithful you have been to me and your mother. And to your husbands, I say thank you. You have kept the farm going through the war years, and I shall ever be grateful to you for that.”
His shoulders lifted and fell, as if he had just thrown off a great burden.
Hans was stunned. He felt his face burning with embarrassment. He knew his father was expecting some kind of response, but he was speechless. Then he saw Ilse reach out to take Karl’s hand. He jerked it away, staring at the floor. She looked at Hans and then at her father. “Papa, I. . . .”
Now Hans Sr. spoke to his sons-in-law. “Karl, Klaus, Rudi, I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have been faithful helpers. You have been good husbands to your wives and good fathers to your children. I love you as I would if you were my own sons.”
Hans winced as he saw Heidi, head down, shake her head back and forth, angered by his last words. Anna, looking as if she were going to be sick, got up and walked out of the room. And at that moment, Hans knew he had to say something, and he had to say it now.
He got slowly to his feet and turned to face his father. “No, Papa,” he said softly.
His father blinked, and blinked again. He seemed confused. “Hans Otto, do you have something you would like to say?”
“I do, Papa. I have something I must say.” He moved over to stand beside his father. He put his arm around his shoulders, inwardly wincing as he realized how old and vulnerable his father had become. He pulled him closer for a moment and then let his arm drop and turned to face the anguish that was so clearly evident on the faces of these people he loved so much. Hans took a quick breath and began. He spoke slowly and clearly so that his father could not misunderstand.
“Father, I am deeply honored that you would make such an offer as this, and I shall ever be grateful to you for it. But I cannot accept it.”
Hans felt his father stiffen beside him and saw his sisters’ heads come up. He rushed on. “Father, I know not where life shall take me, but of this much I am sure. My path is not going to bring me back to Graswang. As much as I love this place, and you who live in it, I—”
“But you are the heir.” It was a cry of pain.
“Yes, I am, Father. But I am not worthy of that title. Not yet, anyway. I hope to change that, but . . .” He wasn’t sure how to finish that, so he took another quick breath. “Also, Papa, I want to say this: these three men who sit here before us are your sons now, Papa. They are as fine and loyal to you as any sons a man could ever have. And their wives—my sisters—”
He had to stop because his throat had suddenly pinched off. “They are your heirs too. This is their farm, their cattle, their home.”
Hans had to stop as he looked around. Ilse had started cry. He saw Karl’s Adam’s apple bob up and down twice as he swallowed hard. Heidi was gripping Klaus’s hand so tightly that her knuckles were white, tears streaming down her cheeks as well. Then a movement caught Hans’s eye. Anna was standing at the door, one hand to her mouth, the other resting on the swell of her stomach. She started to say something to him but couldn’t get it out. That did it. A great convulsion rose in his own throat and he could say no more.
Suddenly his mother was beside him, stepping in between Hans and his father.
She took both of their hands. Though her eyes were shining, she had not given way to tears yet. She looked up at her husband, who looked like a bewildered little boy. “It’s all right, Schatzi,” she murmured. “It’s all right. Hans is right. You have other sons now, and Hans has other places to go, other things to do. But the farm is in good hands.”
He turned to Hans. “Is that true?”
The hurt in his father’s eyes tore through Hans like a knife, but he nodded. “Yes, Papa. If Mother approves, I hereby formally and publically renounce my right to this land once you are gone. And I shall sign whatever paperwork is required to declare that my sisters, Ilse, Heidi, and Anna, and their husbands, are to be joint heirs of this land and all property upon it.”
Every head turned toward Inga. She glanced up once more at her husband and nodded. “I fully concur,” she whispered. Laying a hand on his cheek, she went up on tiptoes and kissed him softly. “Come, Schatzi. It’s been a very long day. Let’s go up to bed.”
December 29, 1918, 7:50 a.m.—Eckhardt dairy farm, Graswang, Bavaria
This farewell was far more tearful than when Hans had left before Christmas, because everyone knew that it would likely be a long time before they were reunited again. He went through his sisters and brothers-in-law, and tears flowed freely as they whispered their thanks and gratitude to him. Through all the nieces and nephews he managed to keep a pretty tight rein on his emotions, until Miki stepped up and threw her arms around him, weeping as though her little heart was shattered. It was too much for him, and he began to sob. Along with everyone else in the room.
Barely had he gotten that under control when he had to face his father. Neither said a word. They just clung to each other for a long, long time. Did his father remember last night? Had he accepted it now? Hans couldn’t be sure. “Good-bye, Vati. I’ll call often. And I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
When he finally turned to his mother, Hans felt utterly spent. So he just opened his arms and stepped toward her. To his surprise, she reached out and took him by the hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. “I have something I need to say,” she said in a low voice.