Tempting Fate (14 page)

“There is fuel to be had at Miesbach, but it is also possible to order it. I have heard that Siegfried von Grünstrasse has small tanks of it delivered to him. It’s difficult to get now, with the Army having priorities, but because of Herr Ostneige, it may be that allowances will be made for him.” As Otto said it, it seemed to him to be an excellent idea. “If you wish, I will make inquiries.”

“Yes. Do that, Otto,” Gudrun said gratefully, having envisioned an entire week spent attempting to make proper arrangements. “Let me know what the cost will be and what is required. The road here is not in the best repair…”

“I will mention that.” He again made that movement that was half a nod, half a bow. “Is there anything else, Frau Ostneige?”

Gudrun sighed. “Yes, Otto,” she said, resigned to the change in their relationship. “My brother will be arriving sometime this afternoon. Would you meet him at the depot? Do we still have the horses, or were they killed?” She had not thought of that earlier, and hoped that she would not have to buy horses as well as fuel for the automobiles, another light carriage, and finance the restoration of the Schloss. She envisioned her inheritance reduced to nothing.

“One was hurt. Hässlich and Wahnsinn are all right,” he told her, with an affectionate smile for the two big Holsteins. “Stürmisch had to be put down last winter—he got an illness and the farrier could do nothing. Von Grünstrasse’s groom had a look at him as well, but both said he couldn’t be saved.” He did not like telling her this, because Gudrun had ridden the splendid Prussian Trakehnen for almost seven years and loved the animal. “Dumm is being cared for at von Grünstrasse’s.”

With a gesture to show she did not blame Otto for the loss of her Trakehnen, she said, “Then you’d best harness up Hässlich and Wahnsinn and leave for the train station in the next hour. I gather that my brother”—she was not certain if she should call him “Maxl” to Otto any longer—“will be bringing a fair amount of baggage.”

“Very good, Frau Ostneige,” Otto said, and prepared to leave.

“You may have to buy food for us, as well. Here, let me find my purse. You’ll know better than I what we need until I find a cook.” She glanced once at Walther. “Will you look in on my husband shortly, Walther? He ought to be resting, but it isn’t certain that he is.” She saw Walther give a modified salute as she followed Otto out of the library. It was odd, she thought as she went across the hall. She had lived with servants most of her life, but always her father or husband had taken care of the management of them. In München Walther had attended Jürgen and she had shared the services of a housekeeper with another couple. Now she did not have that luxury. Here she was mistress, and the realization baffled her. She trusted that Otto or Walther would be willing to guide her in her responsibilities.

Otto held the door for her, and she went into the sitting room where Walther had brought her trunks. “I put it down here. It is disgraceful, isn’t it, to see such ruin?” She found her purse and opened it. How much would Otto need for the food? She had no idea. She handed him four or five banknotes, saying, “This should do for the moment. All I ask is you remember that my husband must have a simple and very sustaining diet.”

“Fine,” Otto said emotionlessly, then added in rather cautious accents, “The second cook from the Blau Pferd is out of work, and I know he is good at his job. Would you wish me to ask him to call upon you in a day or so?”

For the first time that day, Gudrun actually smiled without inner pain. “Yes. Oh, yes, Otto. I would be delighted to see him. I was afraid I would have to hire the stationmaster’s sister or someone else horrid. Ask him if tomorrow afternoon is too soon.”

“With pleasure, Rudi,” he said as he took the money from her. “I will be back in two or three hours if the train is on time. That is not always the case, especially now.” He faltered. “They say the war is going badly.”

Gudrun did not answer at once, and when she did, her mouth was a thin line. “When has war gone well?” She dashed her hand across her eyes. “Never mind. Whatever happens, we will hear of it soon enough. I cannot take time to think of France and Italy and Poland and Bulgaria. My home is in ruin, my husband is an invalid and that is all that matters to me now.”

Otto’s expression was sympathetic, but he kept a proper distance. “I will bring your brother from the train station and I will see that there is food. I’ll let the cook from the Blau Pferd know you wish to interview him tomorrow.” He had learned years ago to repeat the orders he was given, and did it for Gudrun as if he had done it always.

When Otto was gone, Gudrun sat down on the largest of her cases and gave way to tears. It was so difficult and never-ending. She had talked at length with Jürgen’s physician and was aware that it was most unlikely that he would recover much more than he had done, but that if it was to happen at all it would be in the most relaxed surroundings she could provide, which is why she had elected to return to Wolkighügel rather than sell the Schloss. To have arrived execting so much and be greeted by this! Her sobs were more bitter for being almost silent. She wished she still kept the faith of her childhood, but during the last four years her willingness to place trust in God had drained away. Her confessor had listened to her doubts and her hopelessness, and rather than give her the warmth she craved, had castigated her, reminding her that despair was a great sin, according to some priests, one of the Seven Deadly Sins, more damning than sloth. And so she turned away from Catholicism and had not been able to put anything in its place. If she had had any faith left, she would have believed that these trials were punishment for her doubts, but that fear had faded with her faith. When she looked down at her hands she saw that one of the nails was torn, and this brought on a fresh torrent of tears even as she chided herself for silliness. What was a torn fingernail here? But her weeping did not stop, and she ceased to resist it. This once, she told herself. She would indulge herself now and put it behind her.

By the time Otto returned, she was dry-eyed and curiously composed. She had changed into a dark brown faille peg-top dress. Her hair was still in a braided bun, but she had changed her shoes to a pair of high-heeled kid slippers. In the last hour she and Walther had cleared away the greatest part of the mess in the afternoon reception salon, and Gudrun had asked that one of the tables be brought down from the attic. It was not much, but she had to begin somewhere, so she had changed her clothes in order to appear as a proper hostess, no matter what the vandals had done to her Schloss.

Maximillian Altbrunnen grinned at her as he came through the main hall. “Otto warned me. You’ve got your work cut out for yourself, Rudi, dear.” He embraced her enthusiastically and gave her a perfunctory peck on the cheek. “It’s been more than a year. What have you done to yourself? You look like somebody’s widow!” Immediately he said it he flushed and gave a conscience-stricken glance toward Otto, who was dragging the larger of his two chests through the door. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Rudi. You must believe me. I wasn’t thinking. I’m just not used to thinking of Jürgen being…” He broke off vaguely and let her assume the rest for herself. Standing there, he was quite astonishingly handsome. Tall, well-built, with strikingly deep blue eyes and a shock of silver-blond hair that always demanded attention. His features were regular, almost classical, and at twenty-four he was lacking in the experience that stamps character over beauty. He was dressed in a long, light coat and carried an alpiner’s hat in one hand.

“How are you, Maxl?” Gudrun asked as she linked her arm through her brother’s. It was like old times, before the war, when their parents were alive and neither of them had a care in the world. She could not help comparing the wreckage of her husband to this glorious youth, and felt a pang of remorse. She scolded herself for treachery.

“I’m well enough. You know what the times are, but all things considered, I manage well enough.” He looked around the hall. “Is the rest like this?”

“Some of it is worse, some not so bad. Most of the damage is on this floor. The attic rooms are practically untouched.” She nudged him in the direction of the salon. “Come, let me give you some tea. That’s about all I can offer you until Otto shows me what he’s brought from Hausham.”

“Tea’s fine. I’ve got a bottle of brandy in my bags, and I persuaded one of the innkeepers I know to part with a cask of dark beer. Otto will be bringing that in with him.” Maximillian’s easy smile made it almost impossible for Gudrun to rebuke him.

“I wish you’d brought three or four chickens and a ham, as well.” She was apologetic, but the wish was genuine.

“If what Otto said is accurate—and you know he does exaggerate, Rudi—I wish I had, too.” He entered the salon and his lips tightened for a moment in distaste. “I don’t think I want to see the rest of the rooms. I’ll go out to the gamekeeper’s cottage when we’ve had tea.” He took one of the hard wooden chairs and drew it up to the dusty old table that Gudrun and Walther had dragged down from the attic an hour ago.

“I won’t be able to flee,” she said, more sharply than she wished to, for it was foolish to blame Maxl for the destruction here. She decided to make amends. “You mentioned a brotherhood of some sort in your letter. Are you still part of that group?”

“Oh, yes. It’s been a busy time. I told you a little about them, didn’t I? Well, it looks as if I’m going to be accepted into it.” The frown that had been deepening between his brows was banished by his enthusiasm. He put his elbows on the table, heedless of the dust and grime on the old wood. “It’s pretty much a sure thing. There were a few moments that had me worried, the Geselschaft has very high standards for its members; but Ulrich told me just yesterday that if Eckart gives his approval, it’s settled.”

“How wonderful for you,” Gudrun said, smiling in spite of herself. Her brother had always been able to lift her spirits, even when she had been determined he could not. “You’re proud of it, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Not everyone is accepted, and Eckart isn’t the sort to be too lenient, for all that he looks like someone’s indulgent uncle. He’s got a sharp mind and he is truly aware of what’s been going wrong in the world. Part of the purpose of the Geselschaft and Bruderschaft is to help put things right again. Rudi, I can’t tell you what a difference it’s made since I met Eckart. Before then, I was convinced that it was useless to do anything, that I might as well fritter away my time because nothing could be done anymore.” His blue eyes shone with purpose; to his doting sister he looked like an angel. “Just when I thought it was over for Deutschland, Eckart showed me how we were betrayed, and told me what could be done about it.”

“Can you tell me, Maxl?” Gudrun asked, hoping that Walther would bring in the tea soon.

“Not really. It is a secret brotherhood, and in general we’re not supposed to advertise our association with it. Ulrich explained it all to me.” He got up from the table and went to the door. “I hope Otto isn’t having too much trouble with the trunks.”

“If he is, he will ask Walther to help him,” Gudrun said with a complacency she was far from feeling.

“Who’s Walther?” Maximillian inquired, with minimal interest.

“Well, strictly speaking, he’s Jürgen’s servant. He served with him in the war and takes care of him now. He’s been the greatest comfort and I trust him completely. He’s already made a few suggestions about taking care of the Schloss and—”

“Be careful about that,” Maximillian interrupted her. “You never know with servants. They worm their way into your confidence and then try to take over your life. That maid Aunt Frida had was that sort. You don’t want that happening.”

“I’m sure that Walther isn’t that kind of man,” Gudrun said stiffly, disliking her brother’s tone. What would she do without Walther? she asked herself. How could she care for Jürgen herself?

“They’re all that kind,” Maximillian said wearily. “But if he served with Jürgen, then he might feel he owes some sort of obligation to him. Soldiers are like that.”

Gudrun’s hands closed into fists in her lap, but she was spared any more embarrassment by the arrival of Walther himself, with a tray of tea and sweet biscuits. She indicated the table, and as Walther set this tray down, she said, “This is my brother, Herr Altbrunnen. He is going to be staying here.”

“Very good, Gnädige Frau,” Walther said as he set out the cups.

“How is my husband doing, Walther?” This last question was as much for Maximillian’s benefit as for any information.

“He’s still resting, Frau Ostneige. Otto brought bones from the butcher and I am taking the liberty of preparing a broth for him.” He stepped back from the table. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you, Walther.” She sighed as the servant withdrew, then turned a challenging eye on her brother.

“Looks well enough,” Maximillian observed, and reached for one of the biscuits, saying nonchalantly before he bit into it, “I told Ulrich before I left that you’d be delighted to invite Eckart to stay for a while, if he wished.”

“What! Here?” Gudrun stared at Maximillian. “Invite him? With the Schloss in disrepair and Jürgen confined to his bed?”

Maximillian finished the biscuit and reached for another. “From what I hear,” he temporized lightly, “Jürgen is apt to be there until the day he dies, and you’re too young to shut yourself up in the tomb with him. You need to have friends around you, Rudi. I don’t know how you’ve stood it without them. And look at you—you’re positively haggard! And the Schloss? Otto said that you’re going to have it restored, so where is the difficulty?” He poured a cup of tea and dunked a third biscuit into it.

“It isn’t right, Maxl. You don’t understand the difficulties. I don’t know the first thing about Herr Eckart. What does he do? What sort of person is he?” This was a desperate ploy on her part, and she waited, knowing that Maximillian would not tolerate being disappointed.

“He’s a fine man. He owns a newspaper. And he’s not a foolish child. Have Otto or that Walther make inquiries in München if you’re not willing to trust what I tell you.” He drew up his shoulder and sulked as he had when a child.