The Tangled Rose

By Renee Duke

On Paige, Dane, and Jack’s fourth time trip, the medallion connects them with children living in Pre-WW II Germany. One, Hani, has Down Syndrome. Another, Nicko, is a gypsy. The Time Rose Travellers know the Nazi regime will soon begin persecuting such ‘undesirables’, but keeping Hani and Nicko from becoming victims isn’t going to be easy. Plagued by enemies from their own time, and not even sure who they’re supposed to be helping, they’re meeting with resistance from Nicko, and open hostility from Hani’s sister Marta, an ardent member of the Hitler Youth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Feb 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781772997774

Renee Duke

Renee Duke grew up in Ontario/B.C., Canada and Berkshire, England. Due to a treacherous re-drawing of county lines while she was out of the country, her little English market town is now in Oxfordshire, but she’s still a Berkshire girl at heart.After qualifying as an Early Childhood Educator, she went on to work with children of all ages in a number of capacities, including a stint in Belize, Central America with World Peace and Development. These days she still does occasional interactive history units with 6- to12-year-olds at an after-school care centre but is otherwise retired and able to concentrate on writing.Renee's BWL Publishing eBook titles are available in all the major markets and her print books can be found in local bookstore. For more information about Renee's books including blurbs, reviews and purchase links, please visit her website:http://www.reneeduke.ca/ReneeDuke.htm

Book preview

The Tangled Rose

Time Rose, Book 4

By Renee Duke

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-1-77299-777-4

Kindle 978-1-77299-778-1

WEB 978-1-77299-779-8

Amazon Print 978-1-77299-780-4

Print ISBN: 978-1-77299-230-4

Copyright 2016 by Renee Duke

Cover art by Michelle Lee

Cover rose image by Marion Sipe

Copyright 2013

Cover model photography by Summer Bates Copyright 2015

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

To my father, Archie Duke,

my mother, Kathleen Duke,

and all those who lived through those times.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank the following for providing translations, historical information, insights, personal experiences, and medical expertise: Ruth Sinkevicius; Valentina Rist; Professor David Dendy, M.A., Department of History, Okanagan College; Angela Gerstner of the Deutsches Museum’s Visitor Services; and Kathy Jones, retired nurse.

Family support throughout the creative process was very much appreciated, too, as was input from my editor, Nancy Bell, and my beta readers M.D., Linda Rogers, and Ruth Sinkevicius.

Special thanks to Werner Fischer, co-owner of Gasthaus On The Lake in Peachland, B.C., who graciously allowed us to shoot the cover at this enchanting pub-restaurant. Thanks, also, to my cover artist, Michelle Lee, my photographer and touch-up artist, Summer Bates, and my cover models, Antonella Feeney, Teryl Bates, Gabriel L’Heureux, Joshua Lundquist, Holly Womacks, and Isabella Harmel.

Rhyme on the box containing

the Time Rose medallion

’Tis for youth to call its own,

By speaking words in proper tone.

And up to five times be guided,

To those whose fate be not decided.

For divers lives must come to blend,

Ere the roses’ peregrinations end.’

Chapter One

"Fröhliche Weihnachten. Fröhliche Weihnachten. Fröhliche Weihnachten."

How many more times are you going to practice saying that? Paige Marchand asked her brother Dane.

I think I’ve got it now. He tucked the airline holiday brochure containing the phrase back into the pocket of the seat in front of him.

They do all speak English, you know. If you just say, ‘Merry Christmas’, they’ll get it.

Our relatives speak English. Other people we meet might not. I want to be able to do a proper Christmas greeting. It’s polite to talk to people in their own language. Especially in their own country.

Thirteen-year-old Paige, and eleven-year-old Dane, were due to land in Munich, Germany in less than half an hour. Their father, Canadian filmmaker Alan Marchand, was already there, working on a docudrama. Their English-born mother, Britannia Hollingsworth Marchand, had taken them out of school a few days before the start of the Christmas break so they could appear in some of its background scenes. They often acted in their father’s films, and would this time be portraying ‘young foreigners’ visiting Pre-World War Two Germany. Having married an historical romance writer whose family was mostly comprised of historians, many of Mr. Marchand’s own projects dealt with historical subjects. Upon completion of this one, he had promised Paige and Dane a day of skiing in nearby Austria before they all headed to England to spend a traditional British Christmas with their English relatives.

Some of those relatives were travelling with them now. The Marchands had briefly broken their Vancouver-Munich flight with a stop-over in London, and resumed it in the company of Mrs. Marchand’s sister, Augusta Hollingsworth Taisley, Augusta’s husband, Gareth Taisley, and the couple’s nine-year-old son, Jack. Jack was going to be in the docudrama as well, along with two young German relatives, Zacharias and Alina Bauer. Zach and Alina’s English grandmother, Regina Ziegler, was some sort of cousin to Mrs. Marchand and Aunt Augusta. Having moved to Germany shortly after her marriage to German historian, Ludwig Ziegler, she had raised her family in a small town near Frankfurt.

Is ‘Merry Christmas’ all you can say in German? asked Jack, who was sitting with Paige and Dane about three rows behind their respective parents.

"Nein, Dane replied with a grin. In addition to the German word for ‘no’, I can say ‘Ja’, ‘yes’, ‘Guten Morgen’, ‘good morning’, ‘Bitte’, ‘please’, and ‘Danke’, ‘thank you’. I also know that ‘Auf Wiedersehen’ means ‘good-bye’, ‘Liebchen’ means something like ‘dear’ or darling’, ‘Achtung!’ means ‘Pay attention!’, ‘Hände hoch!’ means ‘Hands up!’ and ‘Das ist verboten’ means ‘That is forbidden’. I got the last three from old war movies."

Jack rolled his eyes.

Yeah, well, you only speak German because your parents had an au pair who taught it to you when you were little, Dane said defensively. But thanks to Dad and our French Canadian grandparents, we are fluent in French.

So am I. Priska taught me French as well. And Italian. Being from Switzerland, she knew all three. How are your Latin lessons coming along?

"Well…facile non est—it’s not easy, said Paige. I think we’re starting to get the hang of it, though. Dad found us a really good tutor. He works with us three times a week. We expect to be as good at it as you before too long."

I’m not as good as Mummy. Or Granny and Granddad. But they specialize in the study of Ancient Rome and have to do a lot of translating.

What are you going to specialize in when you become a historian? Dane inquired.

Jack’s scholarly abilities went far beyond a flair for languages, and his cousins knew he planned to follow family tradition and pursue a career involving history.

I’m not sure yet. I’ve come to like several eras.

Yeah, us, too, said Paige.

The young Marchands’ interest in Latin was more recent than Jack’s. The three children were in possession of an ancient medallion that could transport them through Time, and believed it would one day take them back to the time of the Roman Empire, when Latin was still in common use.

They had already been to fifteenth-century England, where they helped two medieval princes elude royal assassins, and also to Victorian England, where they helped a pair of street waifs escape from Jack the Ripper. They had even been to a primitive period in the far distant past of Canada’s Okanagan Valley, where a mysterious, almost ethereal, syilx girl named Skookaweethp had helped them. Thanks to her, and a long-secreted object, they had been able to get the better of a sinister Armenian sorcerer who feared they would one day travel to his time and free a young Armenian girl enslaved by the Romans. A girl he did not want them to free.

Her name was Varteni, which meant ‘rose tree’. A few months earlier, they had come across a book entitled The Little Rose Tree. It had been written by Rosalina Wolverton, a Victorian-era relative and fellow time-traveller who claimed the Wolvertons and their offshoots belonged to what she called the Line of the Restorer. Young members of this line were supposed to move through Time and seek out children in possession of Keeper Pieces, which were items of jewellery made from the same gold statue as the medallion. They’d been doing so for centuries, with each set of seekers working to pave the way for the final seekers. And, according to a rhyme another former time-traveller had penned, Paige, Dane, and Jack were the final seekers.

The rhyme stated:

When generations five remain alive,

Deliverance is near.

And the rose tree will its role fulfil,

If all can persevere.

As yet, however, the final seekers were still seeking. While in the Okanagan Valley, in what Skookaweethp had called the mid-time—with some trials past, and some still to come—they’d been told there were other ‘lost ones’ they had to connect to first.

Do you think we’re likely to be going anywhere ‘interesting’ while we’re in Germany? Jack asked, changing to this very subject. He spoke quietly, so as not to draw the attention of the people around them. Had his parents and Mrs. Marchand been sitting closer, he would not have wanted them to overhear either. Time travel with the medallion was only supposed to be discussed with those who had achieved it. And his mother and aunt had not.

We can try, Paige said, equally carefully. The setting for Dad’s docudrama is one that might well put us in line with a place we can gain access to.

A place Granddad isn’t likely to approve of, Dane cautioned. Or Uncle Edmond, either.

Grantie Etta will talk them round, said Paige.

Their maternal grandfather, Avery Hollingsworth, and his older brother Edmond were both former medallion users. As was the children’s great-great-great aunt, Rosetta Wolverton, a still remarkably capable old lady of one hundred and five.

Their time trips, though eventful, had not been quite as perilous as those taken by Paige and the boys, whose safety Grandad had questioned even before he’d known there was a sorcerer involved. Learning there was a sorcerer involved had increased his fears, and even unnerved the hitherto blasé Uncle Edmond. Grantie Etta was concerned, too, but seemed to have more confidence in the children’s ability to carry out what she considered their family duty. She was sure to support their desire to make another time trip, even if that trip took them into Nazi Germany.

In modern Germany, they landed in mid-afternoon on a clear, but chilly, day and were met at the airport by the Taisley’s former au pair, Priska. Now married to Cousin Regina’s son Klaus, she and her husband lived in a small Munich apartment with their sixteen-month old daughter Tatjana.

Tata is with my mother- and father-in-law, Priska said when Aunt Augusta asked after the child. They arrived this morning and will be staying with us during your visit. I wish we had room for all of you as well, but… She shrugged apologetically.

The guesthouse you’ve booked us into will be just fine, Mrs. Marchand assured her. Alan’s already been there for several days. He told me it was very nice. It’s run by friends of yours, isn’t it?

By the parents of friends. It is nice. A very clean guesthouse, with good food. It is called Gasthaus Volkmar. That is the owner’s name, Volkmar. Come.

Priska led them to the airport’s S-Bahn station.

"My car is too small for so many, so we must take the train into München. We go first to the Hauptbahnhof, or, main terminus, and then, because of the luggage, will take taxis to Gasthaus Volkmar. It is in a good location, close to a U-Bahn station. Our rapid transit system goes most everywhere. It will take you to Marienplatz and other places of interest."

Ah, yes, Marienplatz, said Aunt Augusta. Munich’s famous Mary’s Square. That’s the place of most interest to me this trip. I’ve been to a lot of your city’s attractions, but never to the Christmas market. I’m really looking forward to seeing it.

So am I, said Mrs. Marchand.

The Christkindlmarkt in Marienplatz is perhaps the best known, said Priska, but there are smaller markets, also. Emma and I will take you to all of them.

Emma was her sister-in-law, mother of Zach and Alina.

Are Zach and Alina here already? Dane asked.

No. She and Horst will bring them tomorrow. As with you, their school is not yet on holiday, but they are good students and have been allowed to leave early to be in your father’s film.

Jack’s school was, thankfully, equally accommodating, said Aunt Augusta. Unlike Canada, both England and Germany fined parents who took children out of school without what school authorities considered ‘good reason’. What time do you expect them?

If they catch the earliest train out of Frankfurt they should arrive mid-morning.

Sweet, said Dane. He’d met twelve-year-old Zach and ten-year-old Alina at Grantie Etta’s birthday party back in the summer and liked them both.

"Bitte?" said Priska, slipping into German in her puzzlement.

‘Sweet’, used in that context, is a slang expression conveying high-level approval of something, Mrs. Marchand informed her as their train pulled in.

Ah.

Less than an hour later, they were standing on a cobbled street in front of Gasthaus Volkmar. The high wooden gates were open and, beyond them, three low steps went up into a cobbled, two-level courtyard that, in better weather, contained tables and chairs. There was also a small wishing well and a variety of shrubs covered with Christmas lights. The guesthouse itself stood in a ways, an attractive old three-storey building with balconies and shuttered windows. A huge Christmas tree stood to the side of it, reaching almost to the roof.

"A most impressive Tannenbaum, is it not? Priska inquired. At Easter there will be a different type of tree. An Osterbaum, an Easter Egg tree. Another German custom, but not one that has been adopted by other countries to the same extent as Christmas trees."

Inside, two medium-sized Christmas trees flanked the beautiful, almost life-size nativity scene in the entrance area. As they stopped to admire it, a short, stout, middle-aged man with glasses came out from behind a desk to greet them.

Priska made the introductions.

"Herr Volkmar, this is Herr Taisley, Frau Taisley, and their son, Jack. My little Jonty of long ago. I have told you of him, I think. And this is Frau Taisley’s sister, Frau Marchand, and her Kinder, Paige and Dane."

Herr Volkmar made a little bow. "Welcome. Excuse please my English. My wife, her English is more good. But I do my best, ja?"

Your best is quite good, Herr Volkmar, Aunt Augusta assured him. Much better than my German.

Or mine, said Mrs. Marchand. Or my husband’s. I imagine he went off early this morning. Did he leave a message?

"Ja. Very early they go, but a message he leaves."

He went back to the desk and returned with a note.

"Danke, said Mrs. Marchand, taking it and scanning the contents. They expect to be filming all day and won’t get back here until supper time," she informed the others.

They? Uncle Gareth queried. Who are the others?

Jeff Brockton and Tarkan Demir, Alan’s AD—assistant director—and DoP—director of photography. You probably saw them flitting about at Rosebank when Alan was doing his documentary on those medieval letters you found.

I thought the people in that film crew were all local hires.

Most were. Most of the ones here are. The only other Canadian is the PA—production assistant—who accepted a last-minute invitation to stay with relatives while here. A PA’s basically just a slave, who does anything and everything, but this one speaks fluent German, which Alan considers an added bonus for this trip. Jeff and Tarkan have worked on several of Alan’s projects. Jeff is very good at taking care of all the day-to-day business, and Tarkan is very good at pulling everything together and creating the look and feel Alan’s after.

Paige has a crush on him, said Dane.

I don’t! Paige snapped.

You don’t? Mrs. Marchand sounded surprised. I’m sure I would have at your age. He’s devilishly handsome.

M-um!

Aunt Augusta came to niece’s rescue. My goodness, she said, what with film people, and us, and, tomorrow, Emma and her family, our party seems to be taking over your little guesthouse, Herr Volkmar.

"Nein, nein. You do not take over. Six rooms you have, but we have, still, six more. All full. It is a busy time of year."

Yes, I imagine it is.

I will let you get settled, said Priska. I do not, for long, like to leave Tata with my parents-in-law. They are not so young, and now that she walks, she is into everything. They do not say, but I know, for them, this is tiring. We will, all of us, come tomorrow, after the others get here, and take you to the markets. If you do not have too much of the jet lag, she added, looking at the Marchands.

With only an hour’s time difference between England and Germany, she knew the Taisleys would not have that problem.

Chapter Two

The next day, Mrs. Marchand was feeling the effects of jet lag, but Paige and Dane were not.

Must have built up a tolerance to it, like your old man, Mr. Marchand told them at breakfast. You’ve been travelling the world with us since you were toddlers. After all the time zones we’ve dragged you through, you’ve finally learned to automatically adjust your body clocks.

Dad might be right, Paige said later, when she and the boys were sitting under one of the indoor Christmas trees awaiting the arrival of Zach and Alina, "but I think the absence of jet lag comes from all the time eras we’ve been dragged through."

Unless it has something to do with the Arcanus Piece, said Dane. Ever since we brought it back from Skookaweethp’s time, other things have been better, too. He turned to Jack. According to the latest tests, neither of us has life-threatening allergies anymore. Or even minor ones.

And I don’t get travel sick anymore, Jack revealed. Speaking of Skookaweethp, did either of you dream of her last night?

Yeah, I did, said Dane.

Me too, said Paige. She was standing on that ridge where we met her. She didn’t say much. Just sort of re-said what she said then—that we still have some ‘lost ones’ to save. Was that how she was in your dreams?

Pretty much, Dane confirmed. She seemed to think we’d be going to them soon. But she wanted us to be careful, because the sorcerer still wants to stop us. He frowned. I thought, after what happened in the mid-time, he wasn’t supposed to be able to get at us in our own time. Or show up in other ones.

I don’t think he can, said Jack. "Not like before. What I got from last night’s dream was that, since we now have the Arcanus Piece, he can’t harm us himself, but he can harm us through other people. People he can somehow influence or control. He paused. I say, you did bring the Arcanus Piece, didn’t you? And the other Keeper Pieces we’ve collected?"

Of course, said Paige. They’re in that jewellery box I thought the Customs guy was going to make me open at the airport. Fortunately, he didn’t. Since the other medallion users are the only ones who know we’ve got them, Mum might have asked awkward questions. She smiled. I did have a story ready for her, though. Inspired by exposure to the silver tongues of Grandad and yourself, lying doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to.

It shouldn’t bother you at all if it’s connected to our use of the medallion, Jack avowed. Think of it as being a creative re-arrangement of facts designed to assist us in our quest to find Varteni. What was the story?

That Grantie had secretly started a Keeper Piece collection and had let me take her acquisitions back to Canada with me so I could show them to my friends. Mum would have been horrified. Our parents—and yours—already think it’s reckless of her to let us wear the medallion so much.

When Grantie Etta first presented them with the solid gold, extremely valuable, Keeper medallion, they had taken turns wearing it, but for the past few months, it had been in Canada, hidden away in its specially carved box. Now that the cousins were together again, they had resumed the practice of wearing it on a daily basis. The day before, Dane had had it on. Today, Paige did.

I was ready for awkward questions, too, said Dane, but not with a story. I was just going to pull out my harmonica and use it as a distraction.

Harmonica?

Yeah. Mémé and Pépé are spending Christmas in Quebec this year, with Pépé’s sister. They headed out over a week ago and gave us our presents early. One of mine was a harmonica. A really nice one. Mum and Dad hate it, but since it came from loving grandparents, they can’t very well take it away from me. I actually quite enjoy making music with it.

Making irritating, high-pitched, unmelodic noises, you mean, Paige amended.

I’ll get better at it. Pépé said it takes practice. He plays really well.

He’s got an ear for music. You haven’t.

I do, too.

Hah!

How would your having a harmonica have distracted Auntie Tania? Jack wanted to know.

She thinks it got left behind. I’m sure seeing it would have taken her attention away from Paige and the Customs officer. He grinned. After I packed it, she unpacked it, but I slipped it into the side pouch just as we were leaving the house.

Paige groaned. "If I’d known, I’d have slipped it out."

"Well, despite negative family feeling regarding harmonicas, I doubt