While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

Adrian set the adjustable wrench on the top of the fork to loosen the counter-tensioned nuts that held the fork in place.

Isabelle was a great girl. She was attractive—assuming you liked redheads. She had style, intelligence, and a dry sense of humor. She was sharp, too, and extremely popular in the circles in which she moved. And she was a good match, socially speaking, to boot. On top of all that, she was pleasantly uncomplicated—a characteristic that he had never expected to find in such a spoiled young woman. So why on earth couldn’t he love her? It would have made everything so much easier! He and Isabelle would have long been married by now and his father would finally leave him in peace. Instead, he’d been brooding for ages about how to extricate himself from the whole mess.

The contracts that Moritz Herrenhus had presented to his father—which involved enormous sums—were full of legal twists. Isabelle’s father could demand the return of large portions with the wag of a finger if he and Isabelle . . .

“Stop! What are you doing?” a woman’s voice called out behind him. Adrian turned around and saw Isabelle’s friend standing behind him. “You’ll never be able to loosen the bottom nut with an adjustable wrench! You need a cone wrench, or you run the risk of damaging the fork itself—” The young woman abruptly fell silent and looked at him aghast. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to speak so out of turn, but the women in the club said it was all very informal here . . .” She kneeled beside him and pushed her blue skirt under her knees without a fuss. Then she dug around in the toolbox he had assembled. With practiced ease, she set a flat wrench on the lower nut. Then she eased the fork downward and out of its mount and set it aside, catching the ball bearings that dropped out after it skillfully in her other hand.

Adrian could only look on, astounded. All thoughts of Isabelle and the fateful situation he was in had vanished.

The young woman smiled and pressed the bearings into his hand. “So . . . what do we do now?”

“Now we put the new one on,” said Adrian and laughed.

For the next few minutes, he obediently handed Josephine the tools she asked for, while she focused on reassembling his bicycle. First, using the bearing grease, she positioned the little balls correctly and slid the new fork into place. Then she assessed and adjusted the tightness of the bearings. Finally, she counter-tensioned the nuts again to stop them from loosening. “Done!”

Adrian was amazed. She was so focused when she worked! And so sure of herself! It would have taken him at least twice as long to attach the new fork.

“Where did you learn all that?” he asked.

Josephine shrugged. “I had three years of lessons from one of the best mechanics in Berlin.”

“
You?
A woman?”

“Anything wrong with that?” she asked, looking at him intently, her eyes sparkling.

Adrian raised his hands defensively. “Not at all! But you’d have to admit that this kind of knowledge is pretty unusual for a woman. What did your parents have to say about your taking up this profession?”
Hadn’t Isabelle said something about Josephine working in a factory?

“My parents?” Josephine rubbed pensively at her right earlobe. “My father is a smith, and he was firmly convinced I’d slave away beside him at the forge my whole life. Without pay, mind you. He could never accept that I had other interests. I’m a great disappointment to them, so there’s been a wedge between us for years.” She looked at Adrian defiantly. “Now I live my own life, with rules I’ve set for myself. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks about it.” Then she took a rag and began to polish Adrian’s bicycle.

“And then?” he asked, somewhat breathless. Why didn’t she put down the stupid rag and keep talking?

“What then?”

“Well . . .” He waved his right hand helplessly in the air. He had so many questions going through his mind simultaneously that he didn’t know which one to ask first.

“I find it admirable that you’ve freed yourself so completely from the pressures of your family,” he said stiffly.
I’d love to do that myself,
he added to himself.

Josephine dropped her right hand to her knee. Her eyes darkened slightly, and she looked thoughtful. “I didn’t go looking for it. Life is just the way it is. There’s no reason to admire me for anything.”

Adrian looked at Isabelle’s friend. There was nothing affected about her words, nothing contrived, nothing forced, as he was so used to hearing from the young women in his world. As he had heard so often from Isabelle herself, who loved to be the center of attention. And from his sister, Irene, who was constantly trying to impress everyone with her cleverness.

As Jo returned to polishing the bicycle, she began speaking again. “It would be foolish to keep crying about the past and things that shouldn’t have turned out the way they did. Instead, I’m trying to turn my plans into reality. But first, I have to find a good job as a mechanic. Right now, I’m working in a shoe-sole factory, which is far from pleasant.” She screwed up her face at the thought.

“I can imagine,” he said and smiled. “If I can be of any help . . .”
“It would be foolish to keep crying about the past and things that shouldn’t have turned out the way they did.”
Josephine’s words had hit the nail on the head. In his life, too, there were so many things that shouldn’t have turned out as they had . . .

“Thank you, but I can do it on my own,” Josephine said, waving off his offer. “As soon as I’ve got a decent job and I’m earning good money, I’m going to buy a bicycle. Then I’ll be able to ride whenever I feel like it.” Josephine stopped polishing and put the rag aside. “You’ve got a lovely bicycle here. The new fork has a rather peculiar profile. I assume it will make the bicycle more immune to bumps.” She ran her hand over the new part with interest.

Adrian looked first at Josephine, then at his bicycle. “Have you learned the text in the catalog by heart?”

“What do you mean? It’s obvious what it’s for.”

He held out his bicycle to her. “If that’s the case, then I’d be happy to have you put the new fork through its paces. Go on, ride a lap!”

Josephine shook her head. “That’s awfully nice of you, but no, thank you. I’ve sworn to myself never again to sit on a bicycle that doesn’t belong to me.”

Adrian narrowed his eyes, confused. This conversation was getting more and more bizarre. “Why, if I may ask? I thought riding a bicycle was your greatest passion?”

“That’s true. Even so, it’s one of the rules I’ve set for myself in my new life.”

“But . . . aren’t you making your life unnecessarily difficult like that? I mean, earlier you turned down Isabelle’s offer to ride, and now mine, too.” Josephine grew more mysterious—and more intriguing—with every word she uttered.

“Following your own set of rules . . . I’d love to do that,” he murmured to himself, hardly aware that he was speaking aloud. So he was startled when Josephine said, “Then why don’t you?”

Adrian laughed dejectedly. Then he told her about how he was the only son in his family—the heir!—who was supposed to lead his father’s empire in the future. “Elektronische Werke Berlin is growing all the time. Berlin and the whole region are flourishing. Industry needs more and more power, more and more electricity, and we’re leading the market.”

“But?” Josephine asked. And in that one word, Adrian heard more understanding, more perception than he had ever heard from anyone in his life.

“But it isn’t what I want!” he suddenly burst out. “Cycling is my great passion, too. At least, I look at a bicycle differently than the men and women in there do.” He waved his hand vaguely toward the clubhouse. “If you ask me, it’s far too brilliant an invention to be merely a toy for the rich or a sport machine for people who want to prove themselves physically.” He snorted disparagingly.

“Go on,” said Josephine.

“I see it like this. Two things have to happen. First, people need to understand that a bicycle is the best, cheapest, and simplest means of transport in the world. And second—” He paused uncertainly, but when he saw how mesmerized Jo appeared to be, how she hung on his every word, he went on. “Second, we have to find a way to produce bicycles more cheaply. They need to be within reach of the common people.” He spontaneously reached out and took hold of Josephine’s hand. “Picture the freedom that the bicycle would bring to workers slaving away all day long in loud, stinking factories! Or to maids wearing out their fingers scrubbing sheets on a washboard. Haven’t those hardworking people truly earned the right to go enjoy the fresh air after a hard day’s work?” Adrian breathed in deeply. Then he looked in surprise at her hand, which he still held in his. What was he doing? Here he was, sitting hand in hand with this young woman, a total stranger, telling her things he had only ever told those closest to him. He felt himself reddening, and he let go of her hand.

“But Adrian!” Josephine said. It was the first time she had called him by name. “How can you even say such things? If everyone could ride a bicycle, it would completely spoil all your clubmates’ fun!”

It took him a moment to realize that she was being sarcastic.

Then they both laughed and meant it.

“You forgot about women,” said Josephine, when they had settled down again. She leaned closer to him and said, “Bicycles would not only be good for factory workers but also for housewives lugging bread, butter, and flour home from the grocer in heavy baskets. It would be so much easier to carry it all on a bicycle!”

Adrian nodded vehemently. He looked into her radiant eyes and knew that they reflected the gleam in his own. “I’ve already thought about that. We’d have to build a very robust bicycle, with large baskets on either side to transport things in. A kind of steel mule.”

They laughed again.

Adrian felt better than he had in a very long time.

“I think you have wonderful ideas,” said Josephine, her voice filled with admiration. “Why don’t you just go to your father and tell him about them? As a businessman, he would have to see the opportunities in what you’ve just been talking about. He could support and guide you as you got started.” Her face had taken on a dreamy expression, but there was something very determined in it, as well. Adrian could hardly get enough of it. Just as he couldn’t get enough of her words . . .

“Maybe you’ll start manufacturing those cheap bicycles yourself? I’ll be your first customer, that’s a promise!” Josephine smiled and held out her right hand, and Adrian shook it firmly, as if they had just struck a deal.

It was after four when they parted. No doubt they would bump into each other again at the club, said Adrian, obviously convinced that nothing would stand in the way of Josephine’s becoming a member.

Josephine’s heart was aflutter as she marched briskly back toward Feuerland. Her conversation with Adrian had churned her up inside. What a man he was! To have such vision! And the way he thought about the lives of other people. What would make the son of an important industrialist even
begin
to think about factory workers and maids? Josephine promised herself she would ask him that the next time they met.

The bicycle as a means of transport for everyone . . . How revolutionary! Her own plans seemed trivial and inane by comparison. But perhaps one had to be as wealthy and carefree as Adrian to be able to have such high-flying ideas. All of
her
experience had shown her only that life was an eternal struggle and that one had to take it by the horns every day, like a belligerent steer. Pride would bring you crashing down fast—that, too, was something she’d learned from experience.

What a day! The women’s race. The encounter with Isabelle’s parents. Adrian . . .

It was strange. He had not uttered a single word about Isabelle. Now that she thought about it, why hadn’t he been inside with her and her guests? What could that mean?

She had been out all day, but she did not feel the least bit tired. The thought of the unwelcoming dormitory and the grim common kitchen suddenly seemed unbearable. What was she supposed to do there? Lie down and sleep? Impossible. Listen to the others fighting? Intolerable.

She could return to the dormitory just before bedtime, she decided. At the moment, she had to find someone to talk to about all her swirling emotions. And she knew exactly who that would be. Paying Clara a visit would mean killing two birds with one stone: Jo could tell Clara all about her exciting day, and she could admire Clara’s new home in the process.

She turned around with a spring in her step.

After a good hour’s march, she arrived, worn out, thirsty, and with aching feet at Clara’s door.
A cup of tea and a baked treat would be just the thing,
she thought as she pressed the doorbell. After waiting a minute, she pressed it again. Nothing. Josephine frowned and looked up at the windows. There was a light burning up there, so why was no one answering? After another minute of shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she walked away, disappointed.