“I see,” Dr. Schnebling said again. Which from the skepticism in his voice translated into, “And what are you not telling me?”
Hans smiled briefly. “To be honest, I’m hoping to change that status now that I’ve been discharged. She actually told me that once I was no longer a patient, she could give me her address and phone number. In fact, she had planned to meet me at the hospital on Monday when I finished my interview with you.”
“I am aware of that.”
“But she never showed up. Her mother was supposed to be coming to town that day. Maybe that’s why.”
“Ah, yes. Actually, that is why. It turned out that Nurse Fromme’s oldest brother, whose name is Ernst, came down with their mother from East Prussia.”
“He’s the one who’s the bachelor?” Hans wanted the doctor to know that Emilee had shared personal information with him so he would understand this was more than a lovesick patient with a crush on one of his nurses.
“Yes. And, unfortunately, he brought bad news. Their mother has been diagnosed with congestive heart failure.”
“No. Is that bad?”
“It’s not immediately life threatening, but it’s very serious. It means that her heart muscles are not strong enough to pump oxygen-rich blood throughout her body. But that wasn’t all. Conditions in East Prussia are terrible. The Bolsheviks are trying to seize the city government there. Gangs of unemployed ruffians, many recently released from the military, are prowling the streets at night and robbing anyone who comes along. They’re even breaking into homes and robbing people at gunpoint.”
“Sounds like about half of Germany,” Hans muttered.
Dr. Schnebling went on. “Because of that, they have decided to move the mother and the older brother down here to live with Emilee and her younger brother.”
“Does Emilee have room for them?”
“No. She rents a small cottage with two bedrooms. Currently she sleeps in one and her younger brother sleeps in the other.”
“She told me he’s mentally deficient.”
“We prefer to call it a disability, but yes. His name is Heinz-Albert. Now Emilee and her mother will share one room, and the two brothers the other. They’ll be quite cramped.” The phone went silent again. “In case you’re wondering, I know all of this because I’ve been a long-time friend of the family. In fact, I am Emilee’s godfather.”
“Oh!” That did surprise him. “She never said anything about that to me.”
“She wouldn’t. She doesn’t want people thinking she’s in a privileged position with me. But anyway, Emilee called me about an hour after you were in my office, hoping you were still around. But, of course, you weren’t. She and Ernst decided to go back to Königsberg to get the house ready to sell. Ernst will give notice at his work that he is leaving.”
Hans leaned forward, staring at the floor, and began slowly massaging his eyes. This was not what he had been expecting. “So they’re gone now?”
“Yes. They left Monday afternoon by train.”
“Do you know how long she’ll be gone?”
“Not for sure. She has two weeks of leave coming.”
“Two weeks?” Hans cried in dismay.
“Yes. She doesn’t have to come back to work until the sixteenth. Or she may be back as early as this Sunday. She just didn’t know how long it would take. Were you thinking of coming up to see her?”
“Yes. Actually, that was why I was calling. I was hoping you could give me a phone number to reach her. I . . . I need to apologize to her for some things I said.”
“I see.”
Do you? What has Emilee told you about us?
“When she called me on Monday,” Schnebling continued, “she asked me to give you a message if I heard from you.”
“Really?”
“She said to tell you that she’s sorry for some of the things she said to you the last time you were together.”
In spite of himself, Hans had to laugh. “Just some of the things?”
“That what she said, yes.”
“Dr. Schnebling, I don’t know if she told you this, but Emilee’s plan was to give me her address and phone number once I was discharged as a patient. I need to talk to her. Could you please give me a phone number where I could reach her?”
“Sorry, Sergeant. The policy is very strict. I cannot do that without her specific permission.”
“But she was going to give it to me. I’m not making that up.”
“I believe you. But unless she tells me in person, I can’t do it.”
Hans felt like shouting at the phone. “Will you at least ask her the next time you talk to her?”
“I will.”
“Any idea when that will be?”
“No more than what I’ve told you.” Then Hans thought he heard a little chuckle. “She did say that she would be very pleased if there was a letter waiting for her when she gets back. A letter that included your contact information.”
That lifted Hans’s spirits a little. “I’ll do that.” Then another idea popped into his head. He had two weeks before his check would come. Maybe three. “Will you tell her something for me?”
“Of course.”
“Tell her I’m at the train station in Berlin right now. Tell her that I’ve got a ticket for Bavaria.”
“Bavaria?”
“Yes. Tell her I’m going home to see my parents. She’ll want to know that.”
“Yes, she will,” the doctor said, the chuckle back in his voice. “She will indeed.”
“And that I will write to her.”
December 5, 1918, 4:43 p.m.—Oberammergau Railway Station, Bavaria
“Next stop, Oberammergau. Ten minutes to Oberammergau.”
With a groan, Hans hauled himself up to a sitting position. Finally! What a nightmare. It had been about thirty hours since he had left Berlin. Thirty hours to go a little over four hundred miles. Under fifteen miles an hour.
Hans sat back, closing his eyes, a sense of dread settling in on him. The thought of meeting his family and having to explain why he hadn’t written to them did nothing to improve his mood. Every muscle in his body ached. He had body odor, bad breath, two days of stubble on his chin, greasy, matted hair, and a growling stomach. He decided to find a cheap room in Oberammergau for the night. He would rest, bathe, find a hot meal, get a good night’s sleep. Then he would make the five-mile walk to Graswang and surprise his family.
Five minutes later, the train began to slow and the conductor came through again. “Oberammergau. End of the line. Everyone must exit the train.” Grumbling to himself under his breath, Hans got to his feet, shouldered his rucksack, and stepped into the aisle.
As he stepped onto the platform and looked around, a rush of nostalgia hit him with unexpected force. After Berlin and Pasewalk, Oberammergau was stunningly beautiful. Fresh snow covered the streets and lay on the roofs of the colorful chalets like frosting on a Bavarian cream cake. It covered the pine-clad mountains in a blanket of white. Everywhere the eye turned, there was something to dazzle the senses.
Hans drew in a deep breath, letting the beauty of it soak into his soul. And he felt a glimmer of hope. In this setting, perhaps even he might find some healing peace.
“Hans!” a voice called from behind him. “Hans Otto!”
He spun around and then stiffened as his mouth fell open. “Mutti?”
Fifty feet down the platform, near the last of the passenger cars, a clot of people was coming rapidly toward him. They were waving and hollering, laughing and crying. But the one in front was his short, plump little mama. And his father was right behind her. Tears were running down his mother’s cheeks as she rushed toward him, joyously calling his name.
And then she reached him and he swept her up in his arms, crushing her to him, whirling her around and around and around. When he stopped, his father moved in, encircling them both in his large arms, weeping as unashamedly as his wife. The rest of the crowd gathered in around them, crying and la
ughing all at the same time.
Finally, Hans let go of his father and turned back to his mother, Inga. “Mutti, what are you doing here? How did you know I was coming?”
That made her laugh. “First, Hans, come, greet your family. You have some children who did not sleep last night because they were so excited to have you home again.”
“Last night? But. . . .”
A sturdy woman in her mid-thirties broke from the group and started toward them. A man followed right behind her, with two girls in their early teens in tow.
“Ilse?” Hans exclaimed as he saw who it was.
With a sob of joy, his oldest sister embraced him, burying her head against his shoulder. “Oh, Hans. Welcome home.”
Hans looked over her shoulder at his brother-in-law. “Hello, Karl.”
“Good to you see, Hans,” he said, his voice heavy, also choked with emotion. “We’re so glad to have you home again.” Then he reached out and pushed the two girls with him forward a little. “Do you remember our Annaliese and Kristen?”
Letting go of Ilse, Hans stepped forward. “No!” He shook his head in astonishment. “It can’t be.”
Annaliese did a quick curtsy. “Guten Tag, Onkel Hans.”
Hans turned to his sister. “My gosh, Ilse, she’s a young woman. And beautiful. When did that happen?”
Annaliese blushed right down to the roots of her hair. “I’m almost fourteen now, Onkel Hans.”
“And you are lovely.” He turned to the younger one. “And Kristen? You’re twelve now?”
She nodded. “I turned twelve last month.”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “And look at you. I can’t believe it, Ilse. She looks just like you when you were younger.” Then to Karl, “Are you sure you’re the father?”
“Hans!” Ilse blurted. Behind him, he heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath as well.
“Well, look at him,” he laughed. “He’s almost as ugly as I am. How did he get two such lovely daughters as these?”
And that redeemed him. Everyone laughed in delight as the two nieces turned a brilliant red but beamed back at their uncle in pure adoration.
Next came Heidi, the sister just younger than Ilse. She was with her husband, Klaus, two younger boys, a girl about three or four, and a baby she held in her arms. Hans reared back. “You’ve had another one?”
“Yes.” She pulled the blanket back, revealing a cherubic face with fat little cheeks and a skiff of dark black hair. “This is Inga Helene. She’s eight months old now.”
Hans glanced at his mother and then back to Heidi. “Another child,” he said softly. “Good for you. And you too, Klaus.”
“I wrote you about her,” Heidi replied. “Didn’t you get my letter?”
He shook his head. “The last year of the war was so awful, we rarely got mail.”
Then he turned to the two boys who were patiently waiting to be recognized. “And you are?” he said to the older of the two, who looked to be about ten. Before the boy could answer, Hans slapped him on the shoulder. “No! You can’t be Klaus Jr.”
“Yes I am,” he said proudly.
“But you only came up to my knee the last time I saw you.”
“It’s me,” he said, pleased that his uncle hadn’t forgotten him.
“And you,” he said to the younger one, “you’ve got to be. . . .” He waggled a finger at him. “Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Are you Gerhardt? Naw! You can’t be Gerhardt. He was no bigger than a squirrel the last time I saw him.”
“Well, I’m big now,” he said proudly. “I am almost eight.”
There was a sudden tug on his coat sleeve. “I’m Miki,” a tiny voice said. Hans turned and looked down. He thought his heart was going to melt as he saw a little wisp of a thing with enormous brown eyes and dark hair and the most winsome smile he had ever seen. He dropped to one knee and stuck out his hand. “I am honored to meet you, Miki.” They shook hands with great solemnity. “And how old are you?”
“I’m four,” she answered, holding up three fingers.
Heidi laughed. “Yes, she’s four now.” Then she spoke to her daughter. “Miki, do you have a hug for your Onkel Hans?”
Without the slightest hesitation Miki threw her arms around his neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. That did it. He stifled a cry as his eyes instantly filled with tears. He gently kissed her cheek and then stood up, wiping quickly at his eyes in embarrassment.
To cover himself he turned to the last of his sisters and held out his arms. “Your turn, Anna.”
Anna was just five years older than Hans, and he had been the closest to her as they grew up. She, like their father, had always been one of Hans’s most consistent supporters. Unlike their father, she clearly saw his flaws and blemishes, but it didn’t matter to her. He was her champion, and she was his. And she had wept the most bitterly when he went off to war.
“Stop crying,” she whispered. “I was doing just fine until you started to cry.”
Hans laughed through his tears. “I’m not crying. It’s just the cold air. It’s making my eyes sting.”
“Of course,” she said. Then, taking his hand, she pulled him forward. “Hans, I want you to meet my husband.” A slender man with thinning hair but a pleasant smile stepped forward, extending his hand. “This is Rudi Lemke, from Hohenschwangau.”
Hans shook Rudi’s hand firmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rudi. I am sorry that I wasn’t able to attend your wedding. Didn’t even get the announcement until two months later.” He saw Anna’s hand drop to her stomach, which had a noticeable swell to it. She blushed. “And we have another announcement, too.”
“Ah,” Hans said with genuine pleasure. “So you have one in the oven?”
She slapped at him playfully. “Yes. Finally.” She went up and kissed her brother on the cheek. “And if it’s a boy, we’re going to name him Hans, for his grandfather and his uncle.”
They held each other for a moment. Hans felt another tug on his sleeve. It was Miki again. He dropped to one knee a second time. “Yes, Miki?”
“St. Nicholas?” she asked.
“St. Nicholas?” he repeated, giving her mother a questioning look.
“It’s St. Nicholas Day tomorrow. Don’t tell me you have forgotten that. That’s why the children are so excited. You’ll be here for St. Nicholas Day.”
Hans turned back to Miki and took both of her hands. “Yes, Miki, I did remember St. Nicholas.” Only because he had happened to see a sign in the railway station in Berlin. “In fact, I met someone on the train who knows St. Nicholas personally.”
Her eyes grew big. “Who?”
“Knecht Ruprecht.”
Puzzled, she turned to look up at her mother. But Klaus Jr. bent down and answered for her. “Remember, Miki? Knecht Ruprecht is St. Nicholas’s helper. He’s the one that carries the bag filled with toys.”
When Miki turned back to Hans, her eyes were enormous saucers. “Really?”
“Yes, really. And he gave me some presents for someone named Miki Borham. Do you know anyone by that name?”
She jabbed her thumb against her chest. “That’s me, Onkel Hans.”
“Really?” Then he bent in closer. “And guess what else he gave me?”
“What?”
“Three switches.”
She looked blank. Annaliese bent down beside her now. “Remember, Miki, if children have been good and said their prayers, then St. Nicholas has Ruprecht give them gifts.”
Gerhardt couldn’t stand it. “But if they’ve been bad, they get a switch instead of gifts, because they need to be punished.”
“Either that,” Hans said gravely, “or Ruprecht carries him off in his sack.”
That seemed pretty fantastic to her, so she looked to her mother for confirmation. “That’s right, Miki, so you have to be a good girl.”
“Do you know someone who’s been naughty?” Hans asked her.
Without a m
oment’s pause, she pointed at Gerhardt.
“Have not!” he cried.
“He broke Oma’s dish,” she said.
Hans got to his feet, shaking his head. “Well, Gerhardt, that doesn’t bode well for you.”
Kristen spoke up then. “Did Ruprecht really give you gifts for us, Onkel Hans?”
Reaching down, he picked up his rucksack, which was bulging now and weighed a good ten pounds more than it had when he left Pasewalk. “He did. The trains are running so far behind schedule right now that St. Nicholas didn’t want to take a chance on being late to Graswang. So he had Ruprecht give me your presents.” He nudged Gerhardt. “And some switches.”
Gerhardt was shaking his head. “St. Nicholas doesn’t ride on trains, Onkel Hans. He has a magic sleigh.” He turned to his mother. “Doesn’t he, Mutti?”
Heidi just smiled. “St. Nicholas and Ruprecht can ride in anything they like.”
Hans Sr. came forward then, smiling broadly. “Well, whatever it is, we need to get home in time to make sure your shoes are all clean before you put them out tonight by the fireplace for St. Nicholas. He won’t put any gifts in dirty shoes.” Then he briefly touched Hans Otto on the shoulder. “We have arranged for a dinner at Herr Kleindienst’s restaurant to celebrate your coming home, son.” He pulled a watch from his vest pocket. “He will be ready to serve us in ten minutes. So we’d better start.”
“Great,” Hans said, “after train food, that sounds wonderful, Vati.”
“But I need to warn you about two things, son. It won’t be a meal like the old days. Even here in our peaceful valley, there is not enough food.”
“I’m used to that, Vati. That’s not a concern.”
“The second thing is that a lot of people wanted to come with us to the train station, but we said no. We felt this was a time for only the family. But don’t be surprised if you have a whole welcoming party waiting for us at Kleindienst’s.”
As Hans looked around at his family, and especially his nieces and nephews, he shook his head. “That’s fine, as long as I have my family there, too.”
The kids scampered ahead, with Annaliese and Kristen taking charge of them. The rest of the family followed along at a more leisurely pace, and Hans Otto and his mother brought up the rear. As soon as the others were engaged in conversation, Hans looked at his mother.