There Is a Season

By Laurie Campbell

In 1860 Prussia, Otto is busy raising his daughter and worrying about his wife, who is under the control of drugs. The common drugs in 1860 were opium and alcohol, along with new discoveries such as cocaine and morphium, and the tinctures and potions of the people. Ottos doctor sets out a way Otto can get Hildegard off the drugs, but before Otto can do anything, some awful things happen. Young girls are attacked on his estate, someone is stealing, and a man is murdered in bed. Who is doing the crimes? And why?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466987050

Laurie Campbell

Laurie Campbell grew up playing paper dolls with her sister, but spent far less time selecting their clothes than creating situations for the characters to act out. By the time they outgrew paper dolls, the characters were so real that Laurie started writing a book about six beautiful sisters who lived next door to six dashing brothers. She swears she'll finish that novel someday. But meanwhile, she enjoys writing about ordinary people in extraordinary situations that could happen to anyone who want the best for those they love. Laurie spends her weekends writing romance, and her weekdays producing TV commercials for a Phoenix advertising agency. She also works as a marriage counselor, teaches a catechism class, speaks to writing groups on psychology for creating characters, coaches newly diagnosed diabetics, and spends any free time playing with her husband and teenage son (who helps her solve plot problems). For getaway weekends, they travel to Arizona's red-rock country of Sedona...which was named for Laurie's great-grandmother, Sedona Schnebly.

Book preview

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Glossary Of German Words

And Terms Used

An Excerpt From Viennese Yarns

Ecclesiastes:

Chapter 3

1-8

1. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:

2. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5. A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6. A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7. A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8. A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

3-17

I said in mine heart, God shall judge the righteous and the wicked: for there is a time for every purpose and for every work.

THE SNOW QUEEN AND THE CATERPILLAR

From Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass

There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself, and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what was on the top of it.

She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue caterpillar, that was sitting on the top, with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of his mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

"Who are you?" said the Caterpillar

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

What do you mean by that? said the Caterpillar sternly. Explain yourself!"

"I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir, said Alice, because I’m not myself, you see."

I don’t see, said the Caterpillar.

I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly. Alice replied, very politely, for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.

It isn’t, said the Caterpillar.

Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet, said Alice; but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will someday, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?

Not a bit, said the Caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps your feelings may be different, said Alice; all I know is, it would feel very queer to me."

You! said the Caterpillar contemptuously. "Who are you?"

Which brought them back to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, "I think you ought to tell me who you are first."

Why? said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and, as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

Come back! the Caterpillar called after her. I’ve something important to say!

This sounded promising, certainly. Alice turned and came back again.

Keep your temper, said the Caterpillar.

Is that all? said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

No, said the Caterpillar.

Alice thought she might was well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking; but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, So you think you’re changed, do you?

I’m afraid I am, Sir, said Alice. I can’t remember things as I used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!

"Can’t remember what things?" said the Caterpillar.

Well, I’ve tried to say ‘How doth the little busy bee,’ but it all came different! Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

CHAPTER ONE

30 November 1860

Luise raced along the rectangular fenced yard between the back of the manor house and the stables, accompanied by her dog, Franz, a black spaniel with melted-chocolate eyes and ears so long he trod on them by accident.

Kirsten pursued them, calling, Luise! Wait! Oh, I hate it when you run away from me.

Hurry then, returned Luise, stopping to let Kirsten catch up. Franz leaped up at Luise to get the meat scraps she had for him, leaving muddy paw prints all over her coat.

What a mess, Kirsten lamented as she reached them.

Don’t look, then. Luise gave Franz his meat scraps, then spread her fingers out to show him there were no more, and held them out when Franz started to lick them thoroughly.

Luise, don’t do that! Kirsten scolded, her peaches and cream complexion turning red with vexation.

He gets my hands clean, Luise grinned. She wiped her fingers on her coat.

Not on your coat, Luise, you’ll make it all mucky, Kirsten protested. She was thirteen, very conscientious about her instructions to be a good influence on Luise. We make sure there’s a kerchief in your pocket every time, why do you never have it?

Luise, at ten, had perfected the art of ignoring Kirsten’s efforts to influence her. She turned her back on Kirsten without comment, and patted a sturdy-looking outdoor bird cage with a shelter in it. I can’t wait for spring when I can have another falcon. What’s a good name for the new bird?

Why not call it Friedel like the other one?

Franz stood on his hind legs beside Luise, his front paws on the wire netting. She petted the dome of his head absent-mindedly, as she argued, I can’t give him someone else’s name!

Kirsten shrugged. Why not? Kings do it all the time. Our King is Friedrich Wilhelm IV.

Luise looked through the wire into the cage, considering. Friedel II, like he was a King? she muttered, considering. I don’t know, shouldn’t he have his own name?

First off, he’s a bird and he won’t know.

Don’t say that!

And second, we always call this, ‘Friedel’s cage,’ and that way we always could.

Luise turned to look at Kirsten. Do you want to?

Kirsten crouched down to entice Franz to her. Ja, I do, really. Every time we pass it going to the stables I look at it and I think about what fun we had that day helping Herr von Goff make the cage for Friedel.

Luise’s eyes lit up. We did, didn’t we? I’m glad you remember how nice that day was, because mostly when I remember it, I remember how awful it used to be when Frau Blücher was mad at us.

Kirsten stood back up and reached out to snug Luise’s scarf back up around her neck affectionately, saying, I had a lovely day helping you build the cage. Frau Blücher was only mad at you that day because you moved her glasses while she was saying grace, and when she went to pick them up again, her hand went into the sour cream.

Well, I only did it because she was such an old dragon.

It’s wicked to say things like that.

Wicked, wicked, wicked girl! Luise mocked the way the old nanny used to scold the girls. Am I glad I’ve never heard that since Daddy sent her away.

And no one’s boxed my ears since she’s been gone.

And no one’s mean to Amalie anymore.

They beamed at one another. Kirsten admitted, What you did to Frau Blücher was funny, even if it was wicked. They laughed together, delightedly.

Luise’s eyes lowered. Kirsti, you don’t think Mummy will bring her back, do you?

No. Nein. Herr von Goff won’t let her.

Well, he sent Mutti to visit Frau Blücher, so maybe he thinks there was something good about her. It would be just awful if she came back.

Cheer up, Ludi, do. Herr von Goff only sent Frau von Goff to visit Frau Blücher because she’s at the seaside, and Frau von Goff was so ill. It’s for your mother’s health. It doesn’t mean Frau Blücher’ll be allowed back after all the awful things she did.

Luise still looked worried, so Kirsten offered. Remember the song we made up the day we made Friedel’s cage? I know I said I’d never sing it with you again, but maybe we could do it today. It’s not icy under the snow, maybe I won’t fall.

With the spaniel rushing along beside them, his ears flapping, the girls skipped hand in hand to the stable door, chanting, Fritz und Franz und Friedel und Fluch! Luise made a flatfooted jump on ‘Fluch’, but Kirsten gave a cautious extra skip.

Luise frowned. Come on, do it properly.

Nein, I’ll fall.

It spoils the song if you don’t jump.

It doesn’t matter, anyhow. We’re here.

Luise rolled her eyes to the heavens for patience and reached for the stable door. You get the oats and I’ll get the water.

I wish we didn’t have to go in there.

What do you mean? Where else would things for horses be but in the stables?

Helmuth scares me.

Boy. I hope I’m not as soppy as you when I’m thirteen.

Don’t be horrid, Luise.

Don’t be prissy, Kirsten.

Luise Maria, you can be so unladylike.

Kirsten Marie, you can be so missish.

I’ll tell Amalie.

I’ll put Fluch in your bed.

Kirsten screamed and put her hands over her ears. Luise! How can you even say something like that? I won’t listen to another word from you, you’re being too horrid!

You’re making me tired, Luise said with exaggerated weariness. She heaved a sigh as one heavily burdened, said, Don’t come in, then. You don’t have to. You can walk around the outside with Franz and wait by the side door and I’ll get everything myself. That way you won’t even see Helmuth. She let herself into the stables muttering as the door swung shut behind her, Waste of time getting water in this weather, anyhow. It just freezes.

In the cold outside Kirsten stood looking at the door for a moment. She fully intended to follow Luise in, and knew that’s what Luise expected. Then a rebellious feeling reared up, and she told the closed door, It would serve you right if I did just that. She looked down at Franz, wagging hopefully beside her, I’m a lady’s maid, she told him. Whoever heard of a lady’s maid hauling oats to horses? I shouldn’t have to do this sort of thing. I should be taking silver trays to a pretty little lady, not trudging across the snow with a boyish, headstrong creature who threatens to put her parrot in my bed.

She turned to face the trek around to the side door. There was no path dug through the snow in the direction she wanted to take because normally no one walked along the side of the stable. It would be easier to go inside. Kirsten hesitated until Franz whined at her, puzzled about the change in routine. Oh, Franzi, she sighed, bending down to fondle his comforting, doggy head. Come with me and keep me company.

Off she set with Franz beside her. No matter how Luise tried her, Kirsten couldn’t imagine being anyone else’s maid. She knew she wouldn’t be treated with as much kindness anywhere else. It was almost as if she were a poor relation instead of a maid.

When she’d lived in the orphanage, Kirsten had seen other girls when they returned to visit their friends on their half-days. She’d seen the black eyes, heard the stories of girls raped by their masters; the life of an orphaned serving girl was rarely as comfortable as Kirsten’s and well she knew it. As she made her way through the snow, Kirsten pictured how disappointed Luise would feel that Kirsten wasn’t there to help her, and that next time she’d have more care in what she said.

******

However, Luise hadn’t given it another thought after she’d shut the stable door behind her. When Kirsten hadn’t immediately reopened the door, Luise assumed that Kirsten had gone around the outside with the dog, so she continued on between the horse stalls, unconcerned. She quickened her pace she saw a little pony boy come towards her. Hey, Quappe! she called, though softly so as not to startle the horses. Help me get water and fodder for Fritz und Jagwida.

Ja, Fräulein, he answered, bobbing his head. I be ordered to do that. He looked around, puzzled, and asked, Where’s Fräulein Kirsten?

She’s too lady-like to come in here. Helmuth scares her. Luise put on a falsetto voice and acted the part of an offended lady, sending Quappe into peals of smothered giggles.

They glanced around, nervously, to see where her father, the lord of the manor, and Helmuth, the head stableman, were. The men were way over on the other side of the stables, having their perpetual arguments about the horses.

Luise pulled Quappe out of sight before they were noticed. Despite the fact that Luise was the heiress and Quappe was the lowliest of the stable hands, the two children were fast friends, and with a number of things in common. They were both small for their ages, loved horses more than anything else on earth, and had mothers who were ill. Between them they carried straw and oats to the side door and piled them there, then returned to the mash room and set about heaving on the pump handle to fill a bucket with water. How is your mother today? Luise asked. Is it true your father’s gone away again?

That doctor what wouldn’t come and see she on account we couldn’t pay him all of a sudden came back and saw her. Answer to prayer. But Frau Mutter still be poorly. Doctor say she won’t get no better if’n she don’t get more medicine, but Vati don’t got no money for no more medicine, and won’t take it as a charity, so he gone to the river try to get work. Him wants to be the ice warden on the Oder. I think the Lord, He takes meine Mutter.

Nein, Quappe, don’t talk like that. Don’t give up.

Folks say die Frau don’t get no better. You still got hope?

Luise didn’t say anything for a while, then she said, Meine Mutter’s been better and worse ever since I can remember, so she’ll probably be better again when she comes back from the seaside. Amalie and I are going to the village this afternoon because Herr Schwartz hurt himself in the smithy and we have to visit him, so if your father’s away I can take your greetings to your family if you want.

Danke, Fräulein. Tell meine Mutter I hug her.

Frau Müller made a restorative tea for your Mutter and we’ve got warm things for the little ones, and some nice stew left from the servant’s dinner for them all to eat.

Herr Vater don’t hold with taking no charity.

I know, that’s why I can only take help to your Mutter when your Vater is not home. Mein Vater explained it to me, but I still don’t understand how can he leave the family without to save his pride. How can he bear it? What if he’s not ice warden, then how will he make money to get medicine?

Herr Vater will look for something else where no man will be his master. He don’t call no man ‘master’, nor his father before him, nor his before him. That’s why he disowned me for coming here. No Ritter ever called a Schmidt ‘master’ before now. I shamed the family name, and him never wants to set eyes on me again. I take all my wage to my sister and sometimes I can take apples and so to the little ones. I just make sure mein Vati don’t see me or he’d beat me for sure.

For the love of God, why won’t your father work for my father? It’s honest work at a good wage. We need help to build a skating rink in the grotto.

Then der Herr would be his master and he’ll die before he lets that happen.

But working on the grotto is not like being part of the household or stables. He’d be hired for the work. What about your mother, and the little children? Why should they go hungry and have no medicine because your Vater won’t work for mein Vater? Your Vater works on the villagers’ cottages, doesn’t he? What’s the difference between that and working in the grotto?

Quappe was only eight years old. He didn’t have answers to such complicated questions. His real name was Ulf Ritter, but when he’d arrived at the stables looking for work, Helmuth’s son, Kurt, had nicknamed him, ‘Kaulquappe,’ tadpole. That had become shortened to, ‘Quappe,’ by the stable-hands.

Most of the stable work was too heavy for him, so he was assigned jobs like running errands and helping Luise care for her pets. The stableman’s son, Kurt Schmidt, had helped Luise when she was small, but now that he was promoted to Carriage-Groom, and Luise was getting bigger and stronger, Quappe and Kirsten gave her almost all the help she needed.

Since Quappe Ritter could not go home at night the way the villagers who worked in the stables did, he slept in the hay and ate in the stable kitchen with the stableman, Helmuth Schmidt, and his family, sitting with the strappers and pony-boys at meal times. He wore the handed down clothes of the bigger boys, and worked to earn himself a blanket and his keep. When he was given coins he always made sure they went to his mother. Kurt had adopted the child as his strapper. Helmuth let the grooms and coachmen know that Quappe was not to be bullied, but other than that he acted as if the child didn’t exist, grumbling that Kurt should concentrate on his work and not get involved with the likes of the Ritters.

Carrying the bucket of water for Luise’s ponies was just about at the limits of Quappe’s strength. He and Luise carried the bucket between them, pacing sideways and leaning back against the weight of the water.

Kirsten better be there outside this door, Luise panted. We’ll never get all this to the pasture, just the two of us.

Luise’s pet pony, Fritz, had been brought home for her by her father, Otto von Goff. He’d caught the new-born colt in the forests of Byelorussia when Luise was only three years old. Fritz had never adjusted to being stabled, any more than he had ever been broken to the saddle, so he lived outdoors no matter what the weather. His companion was his foster mother, Jagwida, one of the sturdy Polish Konik ponies which could also withstand all weathers.

While Luise and Quappe worked to get the fodder and water for Fritz und Jagwida, and Kirsten plodded through the snow, the head stableman, Helmuth Schmidt, completed his morning ritual of going from stall to stall in the stables arguing with Otto.

******

Short, stumpy Helmuth was unswervingly pessimistic. Never had he expected life to do him any good turns and for the most part life fulfilled his expectations. Born and raised in the stables he now ran, cuffed and cursed by a harsh father, he hadn’t been at all surprised to have his life made miserable by the oppressive serf-liege atmosphere maintained by the previous master, Herr von Puttkamer.

By the time Herr von Puttkamer had died in 1846, leaving his young son-in-law, Otto as the new master of Schönwald, Helmuth was already middle aged, sour and set in his ways. He trusted no man, nor the fates. He had no kind words for any human alive and precious little good to say about those who had gone before him. Only with his horses was he gentle and kind. He fought with his wife, argued with his master and bullied his children.

The epidemic of 1846 which had freed him from Friedrich von Puttkamer, had also deprived him of his first wife, the bride of his youth, and their daughters, leaving him with three motherless sons. Desperate to have the boys cared for, he had married within months. His second wife, Otto’s cook, Emma, had raised his sons and had provided him with two daughters to replace the ones he’d lost.

Every one of his children was huge and ungainly. They baffled him. Not one of them gave him pride and joy, but all exasperated and embarrassed him.

His second wife, Emma, was the head cook at Schönwald. When the epidemic of 1846 had hit Prussia she had been the pastry cook for Otto’s eldest sister in Vienna.

******

Emma would never have been willing to travel so far up north had she known how many years the staff at Schönwald would torment her for being a foreigner. Had she not married the stableman so soon after her arrival, she wouldn’t have stayed.

It wasn’t until Frau von Puttkamer died in the new year of 1860 that Otto had rid himself of the von Puttkamer servants who had made Emma’s life miserable, but then Otto had insisted that the housekeeper, Minna, hire an assistant for Emma, Heinrich Hintzpeter.

Emma and Heinrich had been at odds ever since he had arrived. That morning they were squabbling over the dishes to be prepared for the Christmas season as they sat either side of the big table in the main room of the kitchen complex. Emma was constructing an advent calendar for Luise, while Heinrich was moulding fruit shapes from marzipan he had made.

We need nice, fat carp for Christmas, Heinrich insisted.

Well, we don’t got none. We do got geese, der Herr can always bag hare, and we can get the swine-herder to keep us a nice fat pig, Emma stated, pragmatically.

It just won’t do! Heinrich cried out, emotionally. Other great houses have carp ponds, why doesn’t this one?

Well, I doesn’t know, does I? Der Herr never complained about it, so we does what we always done.

I can’t bear it! I just can’t bear it! There’s no sense of propriety in this house! I’ll have to talk to der Herr myself!

Emma had been already middle aged when she’d arrived in Prussia from Vienna in 1846, so by 1860 her thick brown Hungarian hair was thinning and greying, her brown eyes weren’t as sharp as they’d once been, and her feet ached when she was on them for too long.

Heinrich Hintzpeter was young and graceful, and fancied himself to be an artist and a supremely gifted chef. He had as little understanding of Emma’s practical attitude to cooking as she had of his view of it as an art-form.

Until I hears otherwise from der Herr, we ain’t changing nothing from the way Christmas always been in this house, Emma said, flatly.

Heinrich howled in anguish. Oh, how can I create beauty when I’m surrounded by peasants?!

You doesn’t has to create beauty, Emma returned, complacently. God done that already. You has to feed the master.

But with finesse, Frau Schmidt. Surely we can strive to do it with finesse.

Nein. We does it with what we got to hand. Goose and hare or pork, just like always. Less der Herr have a spot of luck in a winter hunt, then maybe a bear or a deer. Now, for the sweeties next month. I be for baking the honey cakes and spice cakes, but you done some of them French things real nice. You can do things with eggs what just ain’t natural, but them likes it, so you can do some of them. What supplies we got to get from Eberswalde for you to do that? Got to get what we can now, never know if we might get snowed in if we leave it too late.

Heinrich gave up trying to persuade Emma, and muttered, I don’t see why you’re making advent calendars. That’s the responsibility of die Frau.

Die Frau ain’t never done such. Every Christmas of das Fräulein’s life her grandmother, die old Frau, made calendars for she, but her died New Year’s Day, so someone got to do it for the poor wee mite.

Heinrich said nothing further, settling down to discussing with Emma what they had to purchase for the Christmas season. The estate, Schönwald, was almost completely self-sufficient, but there were a few things, such as chocolate, coffee, and vanilla, that they had to purchase from the market.

******

Helmuth’s eldest son, Markus, had never grown past the mental age of two years. Now a grown man, he could carry firewood, shovel snow, and follow simple instructions, but that was all. Tall, awkward and immensely strong, the slow man was an enormous baby who lived in fear of being hurt, dissolving into tears at the slightest reprimand. Helmuth tried to forget he had ever sired anything like that.

Markus was shovelling snow from the entrances at the front of the manor house, the Gutshaus, when his youngest brother, Wolfgang, found him. What’re you doing? Wolfgang shouted at him.

The slow man just about jumped out of his skin. Not hurt Markus, he pleaded.

Get back to the Gutshof and do a decent job of it, Wolfgang bawled at him. Wolfgang was insulted that he was expected to tidy up Markus’s inadequate shovelling of the path across the yard.

Markus looked at the shovel in his hand. What had the butler told him? Don’t you dare leave until those steps are clean, do you hear me? The main entrance was finished, but the servant’s entrance was only half done. Markus shook with confusion. Wolfgang’s threat was more immediate and likely more painful. Whimpering softly, Markus trotted back around the house to the Gutshof, shovel in hand.

Wolfgang aimed a kick at him as he passed, then, in irritation at having missed, fired a volley of snowballs after the lumbering shape of his oldest brother.

******

Kurt, Helmuth’s second son, just as tall as Markus, was as bright as Markus was slow. He embarrassed his father in the opposite way. Kurt was intended to inherit Helmuth’s position of Head Stableman, and he made Helmuth feel that he would do a better job of running the place than Helmuth had. Not that Kurt deliberately embarrassed his father, but that he was brighter, younger, stronger, taller, and more up to date than Helmuth. Often the two could talk together like comrades, yet Helmuth resented Kurt.

While Luise and Quappe rested from lugging the pail of water to the side door, Kurt came up to them and said, Well, child of a frog, why don’t you carry the water for the lady?

Oh, Kurt, Luise laughed. You can see it’s too heavy for him to lift by himself. Look what the handle did to my fingers.

She held her hand up for Kurt to see.

Kirsten don’t feel well? Kurt asked, rubbing Luise’s fingers for her.

She’s quite well, danke. She wanted to wait outside for me.

Kurt nodded. With no effort at all he picked up the bucket of water and carried it for the children. Want to put the tadpole in this for a swim? he asked Luise.

Nein, she laughed. He’ll get all wet.

Tadpoles’s supposed to be wet.

Not this one, Quappe spoke up, stoutly. I be a land tadpole.

Kurt opened the door and set the bucket down just outside it, quietly telling Luise while he was bent down, I’ll be back in time to drive you to the village. Then he straightened up and said to Quappe, Don’t be too long out there, mind. Land tadpoles suffer from the cold something awful.

Danke, Kurt, Luise beamed, turning back to Quappe, saying. Come on, Quappe, we’ve got to get this fodder outside and get that door shut before the horses take a chill. Where is that Kirsten?

******

The youngest of Helmuth’s sons, Wolfgang, was only a baby when his mother had died. He was not as tall as his brothers, not as bright as Kurt and not as willing as Markus. He had hands that looked like slabs of beef and a bulbous nose that would have red veins in it when he got to be a middle aged, bad tempered man. He knew no mother but his step-mother, Emma, and resented the fact that she was a household cook, not a stable woman. He couldn’t forgive his father for marrying out of his class, even more so when he heard the gossip that his half-sister, Cosima, was born rather too soon after the wedding date.

He also resented the fact that he was still classified as a Groom-Gardener, when Kurt had been promoted beyond that stage at a much younger age. Not able to understand that he’d get ahead like Kurt if he worked as hard and as carefully, Wolfgang felt ill-used and put upon.

He took umbrage that his younger sister, Cosima, had been promoted out of the kitchen and upstairs as the housekeeper’s assistant, not understanding that she worked equally as hard as Kurt did.

Most of all, it offended him to be the brother to someone like Markus. He felt as if it were something deliberately done to him and only to him, just to humiliate him. That the rest of his family were also related to Markus seemed to escape him.

Maliciously he followed Markus, throwing snow at him until the slow man began to cry. Then, afraid he’d be caught, Wolfgang broke off his bullying to go in search of some bottles of beer he had stolen from his father and hidden under the bushes that lined the driveway along the side of the house and the stables. He was afraid the beer might have frozen, but no, the temperature under the protecting greenery was above freezing and the beer was still liquid.

Feeling that he deserved a treat after all he had to put up with, Wolfgang tucked the bottles of beer under his coat, walked down the drive and along the fence to a place where he was sure no one would find him and make him do anything disagreeable, like work.

There he slid in behind a tree that grew close enough to the wooden fence between the house and the stables to spread itself like a canopy, and he tucked himself out of sight to enjoy the beer.

******

While her half-brothers worked outside, the older of Helmuth and Emma’s two daughters, Cosima, handed plates down from their racks to a dark haired, dark eyed maid to set on the table, saying as she did so, We need the big tureen, too, Marta, for the borscht.

Can’t you get it, Cos? You’re so much taller’n me. I’d have to climb on a chair.

Where is it?

You put it on the top shelf.

Oh, for the love of God, I keep forgetting everyone is so short.

Nobody wants to be a giant like you.

If you had a bit more height you could do useful things like getting tureens for yourself, Cosima grumbled without rancour, finding the tureen and lifting it down, then turning to help Marta set the table for the master’s breakfast. The girls worked quickly and quietly, one placing the dishes while the other placed the cutlery. Marta was setting the glassware out, while Cosima stood, counting on her fingers, estimating whether or not they had all of the serving dishes on the sideboard that would be needed, when the housekeeper, Minna Müller, poked her head into the room.

Almost finished, girls?

Ja, Frau Müller. These are ready to go down to the kitchens. Cosima indicated the array of serving dishes on the sideboard.

Minna stepped into the room to check it over, nodding, That’s a good job. You’re good girls. Send those down to Emma, then go off and get the Blue Room ready for Mittagessen now, so we don’t have to do that later. I have to pop back down to the kitchens this morning. Emma hadn’t made up her mind about the menus for December when I was down there this morning. We’d better plan for New Years and das Fräulein’s birthday, too, because you never know whether or not we’ll be able to get to market then. She left the room.

Cosima and Marta carefully placed the serving dishes on the dumb waiter and sent it rattling down to the kitchens, then went on to the bigger dining room which was used when the master had guests.

******

The youngest of Helmuth’s children, Emma’s change of life baby, was Ursula. Only eleven years old, already taller than her mother and fast gaining on her father, Ursula grouched and slouched about the kitchen, the very personification of the sour disposition Helmuth had managed to reproduce, no matter who bore his children.

Somehow, her constant anger against the world gave Ursula just the right punch and force to knead the best dough. Destined to be a cook like her mother no matter what her bent, it was sheer good fortune that blessed Ursula with a magic touch with bread and pastry.

Born on Saint Ursula’s Day, it was sad coincidence that her name meant ‘bear’ the way she sounded and walked. Ursula was deeply resentful that her sister, Cosima, had managed to get herself out of the kitchens. The loss of someone to spar with left a gap in her life that she filled by encouraging the hard feeling between her mother and Heinrich. Their fighting was her chief source of amusement. Never did she miss an opportunity to needle one or the other to keep the ill feelings fresh. At times she had so much fun bashing her dough around and causing dissention in the kitchen that she was almost cheerful.

******

Heinrich Hintzpeter had been to the top German cooking schools. He knew how to make several national dishes as well as the best of the German version of French cooking. He had won awards and expected to be hired by a top paying hotel or one of the higher class families, which was what he had thought the von Goffs would be.

It was a tremendous let down for him to find out that the von Goffs were a small family that did very little entertaining. To find that his immediate superior was a woman did not help at all. He took his disappointment out on all around him, fighting with Emma and snarling at the little maids and pages.

He had a grudging respect for Ursula. She might be one of the most unattractive children he had ever seen, but she had talent and she was afraid of nothing. He found it hard to believe she was only eleven. It shook him a little to realise she could easily be as tall as he was by the time she was thirteen, but he couldn’t doubt it. He had seen her sister, Cosima, who was horribly close to two metres tall, and at fourteen had not stopped growing. Each morning when Helmuth Schmidt and his sons had their first breakfast in the kitchens with Emma, Heinrich also saw Ursula and Cosima’s half-brother, Kurt, who topped two metres in bare feet and no hat.

******

In a hallway at the front of the house, Otto von Goff’s valet, Ernst Lenz, faced the elderly butler, Scharnhorst, demanding, Where’s slow Markus? That snow should have been cleared from the steps by now.

Scharnhorst would brook no interference from a mere valet in his appointed duties. In his sepulchral voice, he intoned, Slow Markus has other work to do, such as bringing in the firewood to cook your master’s meals and for your master’s fireplace. Of course, if it is your considered opinion that clearing the snow so that arriving staff won’t have to step in it is more important than taking care of der Herr, I shall be only too pleased to tell him so.

Ernst flushed. He hadn’t intended to speak out of turn. He could tell that Scharnhorst was surprised at him for doing so. The only staff member expected to arrive was Luise’s teacher of dance and French, who spent one week in three at Schönwald. Ernst hoped that Scharnhorst’s comment was a general one, and didn’t indicate that he suspected Ernst of wanting to give Anna special treatment. If the staff knew he and Anna were meeting one another, they’d be likely to tease her or gossip about her, and Ernst couldn’t bear that.

Instead of ensuring that he had not given any offence, in his embarrassment Ernst compounded the problem by stiffening his back and saying in his most disapproving, snooty tone, And if der Herr should happen to walk out of the front door? Should the Master have to wade through the snow?

Scharnhorst looked down his considerable nose and peered at Ernst like a bug in his soup. Frau Müller and I can take care of the house, thank you very much. That is our job, as taking care of der Herr is yours. I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to dress our master. In my day a valet wouldn’t dream of presuming to tell a butler how to take care of the house.

Chastened, Ernst apologised and slunk away. Although he was a small, slight man, he normally had an air of dignity that lent him stature. He was mortified to realise he had made a fool of himself over Anna.

On her way down to the kitchens to discuss menus with Emma, Minna Müller, saw him walking dolefully along the hallway towards Otto’s apartment. She called to him, Ernst! Herr Lenz! Do you think we should prepare rooms on the west wing for guests over Christmas? Has der Herr said anything to you about inviting his friends?

I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to run a house, Frau Müller.

Minna blinked and took a step backwards. Why, Ernst, that’s not what I meant at all. I meant only that you would know long before anyone else if der Herr was intending to have company during the season, and if so his friends ought to be close to his rooms. Is there something wrong?

Nein, nothing at all.

Has Herr von Goff mentioned anything about expecting friends or family for Christmas?

Not for himself, nein. He has said that he wishes to have das Fräulein’s cousin Sigrid come to live here so that Luise has more companionship that just Kirsten, but it is my understanding that is planned for next year.

Danke. When next year, do you know?

In time for das Fräulein’s birthday, I believe.

But that’s right after New Year! I’ll have to ask him about it the first chance I get.

Ja. You do that.

Minna looked at Ernst’s troubled face and asked again, Is anything wrong? Are you alright?

Ja, danke, he said, stiffly, convincing her something was wrong.

Thank goodness she doesn’t suspect I’ve been making an ass of myself over Anna Fischer, he thought as they parted.

******

It must be that Anna Fischer making an ass of him, Minna thought as they parted, hurrying down the stairs to the kitchen. Guten Morgan, Cousin, got time for a cup of tea? she called.

If’n that there helper you hired me would do my bidding, I might have time for all sorts of things, Emma said crossly, looking up from her calendar.

Heinrich got up from the table with an impatient snort, collected the marzipan onto a plate and left the room with it.

Minna took possession of an old kettle. From a box she kept on a corner shelf she drew out a little packet of leaves and roots and told Emma, Make a tea of this, Cousin, it’ll soothe your nerves. Mine could do with some settling, too. December is tomorrow, and I’ve just remembered something. We don’t only have to plan menus for the month, and for Christmas, but die Frau will come home in about two weeks, so we have to be ready for that, and like as not der Herr will be entertaining this year. Then there’s New Year, with das Fräulein’s birthday right after. She had no celebration of her birthday last year, der Herr tells me, so he wants to be sure she has a special day this time.

While Minna was talking, Emma left the calendar and went to scoop water with a ladle from the bucket to the kettle. When Minna mentioned Luise’s birthday, Emma forgot all about how annoyed she was with Heinrich, and turned to say sympathetically, Ja, we lost our old Frau first thing New Year’s morning. Stood up out of bed and dropped down dead. We none of us had the heart to make a birthday feast for das Fräulein only two weeks after. Poor wee mite. That was Luise’s tenth birthday, and that’s a real special birthday for most kids.

Coming into the main room to fill her water jug with water for her baking, Ursula commented sourly, You never did nothing special for me when I was ten.

Hold your tongue, you, Emma snapped at her. Be about your business. She put the herbs in the tea pot ready for when the water boiled, saying to Minna. So it’s nearly a whole year since Frau von Puttkamer died, dear old soul that she was.

You didn’t like her that much when she was alive, Ursula reminded her mother, skipping quickly backward before she finished speaking, so that by the time Emma heard what she’d said and took a swing at her, Ursula was already out of range without spilling the water from her jug.

Get you back to work! Don’t be commenting on conversations as don’t concern you, her mother scolded her.

Ursula stomped back into the baking room and could be heard bashing utensils around as she worked.

Every last one of them kids of Schmidt has tempers like that, ‘cepting poor Markus what don’t got the brains to have no temper at all, Emma grumbled to Minna, sitting back down to continue with the calendar while she waited for the kettle to boil.

Having seen no evidence of a sour disposition from Cosima or Kurt, Minna declined to comment. To distract Emma, she sat down to inspect the calendar, asking, What has Heinrich been doing to upset you? She kept her voice low so that Heinrich and Ursula couldn’t overhear.

Him wants to serve carp instead of goose for Christmas.

We don’t have a carp pond.

Well, I knows that, doesn’t I? Tell yon cockerel such like and get him off my neck. Him never been here for Christmas before, him don’t know how we does things.

This is my first Christmas at Schönwald, too, you know, Minna reminded Emma. Heinrich had worked there barely a month, Minna for five months.

You never come in here trying to change everything like he, Emma declared as she got back up and went over to the kettle sitting on the iron surface of the wood stove. You took the time to find out how we does things here.

Since Emma had evidently forgotten how offended she had been when Minna had tried to take over the housekeeper’s responsibilities, she decided not to remind her, and watched silently as Emma wrapped a cloth around the handle of the kettle to be able to pour the boiling water into the teapot without burning her hand.

Emma continued, in affectionate tones that made Minna smile warmly at her, I has to think hard to remember when you wasn’t here. She plunked the teapot on the table, and wrapped it in a cloth to keep it warm while it steeped, and went back to working on her calendar while they talked. We doesn’t has to plan das Fräulein’s birthday now, we can use what’s left from Christmas and New Years for that, but we has to have a plan from now ’til then.

Minna tapped the calendar with a fingertip. Who is that for?

Das Fräulein.

Would you like me to write her name on it? Minna offered, seeing that there was no writing at all, only twenty four little doors being constructed with pictures behind each one. That way it could be from both of us, she added, to avoid mentioning that Emma was illiterate.

Danke, Cousin, that be a nice thought, Emma nodded.

******

Up on the third floor of the east wing, Luise’s governess, Amalie Braun, gave Anna Fischer’s room a last look over before the Swiss girl arrived for her week at Schönwald. The housemaids turned Anna’s room out and cleaned it after she left each time, but then it sat untended for two weeks until she came back again. Amalie liked to make sure no dust had collected, and that there was a small fire in the little grate to take the chill off the air in there. As she puttered around, alone, she entertained herself by calling out to Luise’s scarlet macaw, Fluch’s a clever boy.

Beautiful boy, he responded from his floor to ceiling cage in one corner of the main room of the nursery complex.

Clever Fluch.

Fluch’s a clever boy.

Where’s Franz?

Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Fluch liiikes kitties.

Amalie folded up with laughter. Any mention of the dog sent Fluch into calling kitties in a syrupy voice that would have sent any self-respecting cat scuttling for cover.

Settling down at the table in the main room with her stitching, Amalie called to the parrot, Oh, Fluch, I do so much want to have a little cat, but I’m scared of what you’d do to it.

Coo, dark in ‘ere, innit? Fluch said in the Cockney of his first home. Amalie couldn’t understand the words, though she recognised the phrase as one Fluch used quite often.

Speak German, Fluch, there’s a good boy.

Fluch’s a clever boy.

Ja, you are that.

Beautiful boy.

And modest, too, I see.

Horrid old bird.

Amalie laughed out loud. You certainly are!

Fluch told Amalie that her parents and grandparents had not been married, but since he said it in English, she didn’t understand him. Although she was afraid of the bird when he was out of his cage, she whiled away many otherwise lonely hours in his company as long as he was safely behind iron bars.

******

Luise’s governess for dance and French, Anna Fischer, was on her way to Schönwald, being driven by the Groom-Coachman from the estate of Otto’s oldest brother, Werner. She wearily moved her head, trying to find a comfortable position so that she might get some sleep. The lurching and rattling of the dog-cart over the ruts in the frozen road jarred her bones and gave her a head-ache.

She was getting tired of constantly travelling back and forth between the houses of the two von Goff brothers. Two weeks teaching the fashion-conscious and feminine daughters of the eldest brother, Werner, at Goffhausen, driven to distraction by their inability to conjugate the simplest verbs or pronounce the most common French words and their total lack of rhythmic sense, followed by one week teaching the only daughter of the youngest brother, Otto, delighting in her fluid and rapid French, her innate sense of rhythm, driven to distraction by her disregard for decorum and dress.

In between always this uncomfortable ride in the one-horse conveyance called a dog-cart because it was originally designed to carry dogs to the hunt, now the usual method of transporting lesser beings. Like governesses and dance teachers, she thought bitterly. How sick she was of getting up at four in the morning to be hauled one way or another, from Schönwald in the dog-cart driven carelessly by the Goffhausen Carriage-Groom, from Goffhausen in the dog-cart driven carefully by Kurt, but no more comfortable for that. For some reason that had not been given to her, Kurt was not driving the dog-cart this time. She swore the lad driving was deliberately hitting every rut and pot hole as hard as he could.

She lifted the leather curtain to look out at the bare cherry trees and apple trees lining the lane to Schönwald. She let it fall again, shivering at the cold breeze it had let in. Not that it provided much protection anyway. Not much further to go. From the warm arms of Werner’s son, Waldemar, and his youthful vigour and virility to the fussy, fastidious Ernst. From the son of one master in secret to the valet of the other, also in secret. Would there never be a man who would love her openly?

Anna sighed despairingly and tried again to get some sleep.

******

Thinking of her, Ernst worked restlessly in his master’s private suite of rooms. He slaved away with the smoothing iron himself, since the maids never did a good enough job of Otto’s shirts to keep Ernst happy. Not that Otto noticed. If he were covered enough to be warm in the cold and not arrested in the warmth, Otto was satisfied. Ernst, however, liked to have everything just so. He snapped at his little page for setting Otto’s belongings back crookedly as he dusted. Everything had to be shining clean. Not a hint of dust, no dusting around things, everything moved and cleaned every day, then put back precisely in place.

Shifting from one foot to another as he ironed, Ernst looked at the clock for the thousandth time. He strained his ears to hear any sounds that could be interpreted as Anna’s arrival. He knew she couldn’t be there before seven, but it was almost impossible for him to bear the wait.

Whether or not it was reasonable, he had to meet her. He couldn’t stand waiting upstairs any longer. He normally would never leave a task without finishing it, but he decided to leave the rest of the ironing, praying Otto wouldn’t notice. Ernst couldn’t imagine how he would explain work half done.

******

Feeling slightly foolish, Kirsten slogged through the snow, Franz beside her. It was a long way around the stables, so the dog became anxious and ran back to the door to wait for Luise. Nein, you dumb dog, she’s not going to come out that door. She’s going to the pasture the way she does every morning, Kirsten told him, but he wouldn’t heed her and she went on alone.

At the corner there was a high wooden fence. Oh, no, Kirsten sighed, realising she’d got herself into a bind. Instead of walking back along the shovelled path that she and Luise had used to walk from the kitchen door to the stables, she had taken what had appeared to be the shorter route of going directly along the side of the stables to the fence on the south side of the Gutshof. It was only when she was in the corner where the fence on the south side met the fence on the west side that she realised her mistake.

The only opening in the fence at that end of the Gutshof was halfway along the west side, between the stables and the house. There was a path through the snow from the gate which joined the path she and Luise had skipped along. To reach the gate from the corner, Kirsten had to either slog on through the snow past the trees and shrubbery growing against the fence, or slog back to the door and follow the path. She didn’t want to plough through the snow all the way to the gate, battling with bushes and low branches, all of which looked only too willing to dump their load of snow on her head. She didn’t want to trudge back the way she’d come either. It looked as if her only other alternative was to climb the fence.

I should have gone back to the path and through the gate instead of coming along here. She scolded herself for not looking first and thinking things through properly. Sighing, she hitched up her skirts, took a good grip on the wooden cross pieces of the fence and climbed. Going up wasn’t difficult, but turning at the top was another thing entirely. She wobbled alarmingly, went down the other side far too fast, lost her balance and fell. Oww, she complained, tears filling her eyes. Then she added, Oh, drat, under her breath.

Wolfgang was on the other side of the fence. Playing a game with das Fräulein? he asked.

Nein, she said, curtly, wincing as she tried to get up.

Hiding from someone?

Nein. Don’t you have something you should be doing?

Ja. Today I be helping lady’s maids to their feet.

Nein, danke. Kirsten hastily got to her feet.

Such a pretty girl shouldn’t be so independent, Wolfgang chided softly, smiling and showing too many yellowed teeth.

Kirsten backed away from him, but the wall of the stable was only a few steps behind her. She braced herself against it. Go about your business, Wolfgang. She put on her coldest voice.

Right now you are my business, Mädchen, he smiled, moving closer.

Kirsten edged away from him towards the side stable door, Luise, safety.

Wolfgang moved to cut off that escape.

Get away from me! she hissed.

Such a pretty girl shouldn’t be so unfriendly, he smiled, moving closer.

Kirsten moved away from him the only way she could go, towards the fence, which she knew would trap her. You keep away from me!

Such a pretty girl shouldn’t be so unkind, he smiled, leaning on one elbow on the side of the stable.

She tried to go around him, but he caught her. He leered at her, assuring her, You don’t really want me to go away. Not yet. I haven’t got close yet.

Kirsten struggled, but he was too strong for her. Her skirts hampered her, where his trousers left him free to move in the snow. She tried to scream. Not a sound would come out but a kind of angry whispering that only made him laugh. No one can hear you, precious. No one can see you in behind the tree. You might as well relax and enjoy it. Remember, you dropped in to see me. I never looked for you.

CHAPTER TWO

A Time to Every Purpose

In the stables, Otto left Helmuth muttering about the vagaries of a life that would give him a bad back when he had so much work to do, and let himself out the same stable door he’d gone in. He leaned against the door lighting his pipe and looking around for his setter, Haferbrei. She had assumed he would leave the stables by the door to the pasture and was waiting patiently way around the other side of the long building.

The only dog Otto could see was Franz, Luise’s spaniel. Stupid dog, he muttered at Franz, who edged away from him, uneasily. Are you the only dog here? Where’s my faithful companion?

Seeing how uneasy Franz was, Otto spoke more kindly to him, once the pipe began to draw satisfactorily. I suppose Haferbrei’s waiting for me at the other door. Well, No-mind, why aren’t you on your way to meet Luise? Isn’t she in the stable? I didn’t see her. Nein? Well, where, then? Find Luise. Good dog, good boy, find Luise.

Beside himself with joy at Otto’s inexplicable praise of him, Franz romped madly in the snow, yelping when he stood on his ears. Gradually, with much coaxing and bounding back and forth, he drew Otto to a trail through the snow around the side of the stables.

Otto followed, muttering under his breath, Stupid dog. Otto followed Franz from the stable door along the stable wall to the corner calling, Good Franz, good dog, find Luise. He was puzzled. What was that child doing? he asked Franz. I can see why you aren’t waiting for her at the side door, your hole under the fence is full of snow. Are you too dumb to dig your way through it? Or did she change her routine and confuse you? It looks like she walked around the stables by herself. Why didn’t she go through in the warm and dry instead of blazing trails like this? There’s where you went back to the door. She turned around here to send you back. Oh, I see, she climbed the fence and left you here, is that it? And you’re expecting her to come back. Well, I don’t blame you; she’s confused me, too. What was she doing? Playing one of her hare-brained games?

He stopped at the fence. He couldn’t see through it, but he could hear low voices. Luise was probably playing some off-beat game with Kirsten and Quappe instead of doing her chores. It would serve her right to be caught out.

Without a second thought Otto scaled the fence and leaped off the top, shouting, Gotcha! landing in a crouch in the snow, staring straight at Wolfgang’s panicked effort to yank his hand out from under Kirsten’s clothes before it was seen.

In a split second Otto had taken in Kirsten’s terrified eyes and cowering stoop, Wolfgang’s casual hulk over her like a cat over a mouse, before Kirsten breathed, Mein Herr! with relief and stumbled towards him, arms outstretched, while Wolfgang lost his triumphant expression and become the one cowering in fear.

With one arm Otto put the now sobbing Kirsten behind him, stepped forward and knocked Wolfgang to the ground, bellowing, What do you think you’re doing? HELMUTH!!

The roar rolled across the silent snow, setting the geese honking, the horses neighing, and the dogs barking.

Wolfgang scrambled to his feet clutching his hat in both hands, blood trickling from his lip, stuttering, N—nein, b—bitte, mein Herr, don’t call Herr V—Vater. I didn’t do nuthin. Her climbed over the fence and fell. I helped her up.

HELMUTH! Roared Otto, his fair skin turning puce with rage. Purple veins pulsed on his forehead. I saw what you were doing! You keep away from this child!

She’s just a maid, shrugged Wolfgang. In an attempt at worldly manhood camaraderie with Otto, he grinned slyly and said, You know how it is with a man and a maid, mein Herr.

Otto took a step forward and with one blow knocked Wolfgang several steps back. Wolfgang hit the snow like a sack of potatoes and stayed there.

Otto turned back