The Short Man of Nuremberg

By M. Gilbert Steiner

The Green Mountain near Nuremberg, Pennsylvania, attracts both hunters and lovers with its magnetic pull. But when it provides a sanctuary for a stranger with a dubious history, the village and the lives of its residents are inexorably altered forever.

After the short man arrives and begins a home restoration, he gains the attention of curious locals who engage in wild speculation regarding his identity and reasons for moving to Nuremberg. Determined to convince the stranger to adopt their ways, two of the villages female residents embark on a fact-finding mission that leads them to pronouncements that pale in comparison to the truth. But when one of the women finally receives a glimpse of truth about the stranger, she must now decide whether to shun the potential risk and act on her affection as everyone else wonders whether the lure of Green Mountain or divine intervention will determine their future.

The Short Man of Nuremberg shares the tale of Pennsylvania villagers persistent quest to learn the truth about their new resident with a mysterious past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480832749

M. Gilbert Steiner

M. Gilbert Steiner was raised on a dairy farm in the Midwest. Missionaries who visited his small Lutheran congregation fueled his interest in foreign travel. He has traveled extensively through Europe, Asia and the Middle East. Along with a Doctor of Ministry degree and a Fellowship at the University in Klagenfurt, Austria, he holds Masters degrees in theology, psychology and national decision-making. One of his many cherished memories of childhood was reading books on a fence post while he filled the water trough for the calves. He has written various religious works including a book on spiritual warfare and he contributed to a study Bible.

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Copyright © 2016 M. Gilbert Steiner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-3273-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3274-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016909715

Archway Publishing rev. date: 6/23/2016

Contents

Installment 1

Cousin Frieda's Diner

Installment 2

Potluck Protocol

Installment 3

Bratwurst Kiosk

Installment 4

Green Mountain Kids

Installment 5

Kneeling at the Prie-Dieu

Installment 6

Now, Ms. Buchwald---

Installment 7

The Pavlova Sisters

Installment 8

One down, five to go

Installment 9

Where is he now?

Installment 10

Now, Big Brother---

Installment 11

Honeymoon Package

Installment 12

Hello, campers

Installment 13

I really like that greeting

Installment 14

The ASPH

Installment 15

Tower Rock

Installment 16

I suspected as much

Installment 17

Dr. Quackologist

Installment 18

Things have changed, and I want out

Dedication

In memory of Gilbert and Bernice. To my family and friends for permitting me, rather, coaxing me, to engage in frivolous goings-on.

Installment 1

Cousin Frieda's Diner

A FEW YEARS AGO, THE PEDESTRIAN LIFE THAT SO CHARACterized Nuremberg, Pennsylvania, was inexorably altered when it lost one of its most beloved citizens and provided sanctuary to a man with a dubious history.

Nuremberg, about thirty miles east of the Appalachian Trail, flexed its muscles for decades with its prodigious output of coal. Its epoch in that industry had long since waned, but it had sired an ethos of courage and hope among those who had stayed and resolved to usher in a new age of prosperity. It was to this community that a man relocated and purchased the tall, blue-trimmed house formerly owned by Aunt Linda Guttekunst.

After Aunt Linda's untimely death, her home passed to her nephew, Donnie, whom the local people considered a ne'er-do-well devoid of ambition. They were certain his immediate acceptance of an offer for Aunt Linda's home by a total stranger even before a for-sale sign went up in front of the home was simply a manifestation of his intent to support a lifestyle shamelessly devoted to profligacy. Before the ink on the contract was dry, Donnie disappeared and was rumored to have squandered the proceeds from the sale on his sordid fantasies.

However, the townspeople's attention quickly shifted from Donnie to the stranger taking up residence in Aunt Linda's home. As he began a systematic restoration of the home and property, they wondered, Where did he come from? What did he do for a living? The locals wanted answers to these and other questions. His impeccable appearance, pleasant demeanor, and fastidiousness with which he cared for Aunt Linda's home secured high regard from the local folk but also aroused their curiosity.

The hardware store, grocery store, and diner reciprocated his patronage and generous gratuities with conjectures about his vocation and leisurely pursuits. The widows who were grateful recipients of his friendly, cheerful salutations and waves exchanged theories about his motives for relocating to untainted Nuremberg. His weekly routine ignited flames of speculation; his lack of self-disclosure spawned endless queries such as, Where is he going with that trailer?

Every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, he departed at 4:00 a.m. while towing a trailer behind his pickup, and he returned at 9:00 p.m. The third week of this routine compelled Amelia Perriwinkle to attempt to satisfy the collective curiosity of Nuremberg in spite of her husband's wishes to the contrary. Asserting that her nose detected the odor of natural gas, she ascended the steps of Aunt Linda's house, inhaled and exhaled, and opened the screen door. To her utter amazement, the front door was unlocked. Throwing her head back in a gesture of defiant rectitude, she marched in.

The seconds turned into minutes as the locals anticipated Amelia's egress. What will she find? they asked each other as they waited anxiously.

Amelia emerged. She carefully closed the door and hurriedly walked to Cousin Frieda's diner and took a table by the window. She straightaway started recounting the results of her reconnaissance mission to Frieda, her second cousin, in a whisper. There was not a shred of paper to be found. There was not one magazine or newspaper. All the furniture is neatly arranged. There is not a speck of dust in the house.

Cousin Frieda turned to see if anyone was listening before whispering, Did you check the freezer compartment in the refrigerator? People sometimes keep their important papers there.

Yes. Amelia peered around for eavesdroppers and lowered her voice even further. It was almost as if he expected someone to look around---as if he was daring us to come in.

Were there any books?

Yes. The house is full of book boxes and---

Cousin Frieda grasped Amelia's hand. His name must be written inside the books!

Well ...

You must go back. Not today of course. Yes. You must go back and carefully open one of the book boxes. His name will certainly be written in one.

But---

Amelia halted her account and signaled with her eyes to Cousin Frieda that Oscar, Cousin Frieda's husband, had just entered the diner.

Oscar's baritone voice resonated throughout the establishment. Is it possible for this Nuremberg booster to get a cup of coffee around here?

Nuremberg's quipster, Junior Pasternak, declared, Did you say, 'Nuremberg rooster'?

Everyone in the diner erupted in laughter---everyone except Amelia and Cousin Frieda. They coveted information about the stranger and would not be denied. One of Nuremberg's favorite traditions spurred their creative juices.

The prelude to deer hunting was the quasi-ritual of deer shining. Inhabitants employing high-powered spotlights raced through the countryside in pickups to shine the deer. Native folklore was replete with accounts of the ritual's origin. A harmless recreational activity for some and a reckless diversion for others, deer shining commenced when darkness filled the night and culminated when those shining had satisfied their primitive longing to enter the mysterious world of Cervidae.

On one such evening of deer shining, Amelia and Cousin Frieda concocted a ruse to accompany Oscar and Amelia's husband, Maynard. The menfolk sat in the front seat of the Chevrolet pickup, Maynard serving as driver. Oscar panned the landscape with his Sears spotlight. Meanwhile, the womenfolk sat in the backseat plotting to illuminate the obscure life of the stranger.

As they turned onto Green Mountain Lane, Oscar blurted, Look at that rack! That has to be a ten-pointer! You know, he bears a resemblance to Jack Burger. But that doe he's with doesn't look at all like Deborah. This off-color remark did not provoke any rebuke from the two women, who were theorizing about the stranger's trailer and profession.

Maynard simply smiled mischievously.

It was a profitable evening for the menfolk. They spotted at least forty deer. Oscar continued to issue pronouncements regarding certain deer and their resemblance to various Nurembergians.

Why don't we go past Aunt Linda's house? There've always been plenty of deer there, said Cousin Frieda with the ulterior motive of spying on the stranger.

Amelia hastily endorsed Frieda's suggestion.

Maynard emitted a groan. Well, I don't know if that's such a good idea. That new fella is living there now, and I don't know if he would take favorably to us shining his property. He may think we were up to no good.

Nonsense! exclaimed Frieda. If he is going to live among us, he is obliged to adopt our ways.

Now Freedee, Maynard has a point, said Oscar. There is such a thing as easing people along. He chuckled. Besides, isn't it high time we go back to the house and have some of that berry pie? He lowered his voice, turned to Maynard, and said, We can wash the pie down with some of that French cognac my uncle Dan gave me for Christmas.

Without waiting for the womenfolk to respond, Maynard pulled over at the Brewer farm and turned the pickup around. The womenfolk resigned themselves to defeat but quietly resolved to resume their clandestine operations at a more opportune time.

Over pie, Maynard and Oscar exchanged opinions about the veracity of Grandma Gertie's Winter Weather Forecast in the Pennsylvania Farmer's Almanac. Oscar nonchalantly declared, You know, of course, the best way to get better acquainted with someone is to invite them to a church potluck. It just so happens we're going to have one next Sunday. He smiled at Maynard. You'd be surprised what a man will say when he has a homemade pie in front of him and inquisitive women on either side of him.

Maynard said to Amelia, Sweetie, how about making some of that shredded carrot Jell-O salad or some of that lime Jell-O with the cottage cheese mixed in?

Cousin Frieda and Amelia at once commenced devising a plan to quench their insatiable thirst for knowledge about the stranger. Cousin Frieda placed her hand to the side of her mouth as she whispered to Amelia, I'll bring my chicken and dumplings and coconut rum cake. That's sure to loosen his lips!

COUSIN FRIEDA AND AMELIA SPENT the days prior to the potluck planning menus that would render the stranger vulnerable to self-disclosure. Cousin Frieda assiduously selected choice ingredients for her chicken and dumplings and coconut rum cake. Amelia elected to prepare her venison loaf, and for dessert, she acquiesced to Maynard and planned to bring her cool-lime salad complete with Jell-O lime gelatin and cottage cheese.

Of course, Oscar and Maynard were dispatched to Merle and Minnie's country store to secure the proper brand of rum for the cake. Oscar asked, Minnie, do you have any of that fancy Caribbean rum left?

Minnie exclaimed, Oh don't tell me Cousin Frieda is bringing her coconut rum cake to the potluck dinner!

Oscar leaned across the counter with a wry smile. Now Minnie, you know good and well you can't bring spirits to a church potluck unless they've been cooked, baked, or boiled in something.

Oh go on! exclaimed Minnie, feigning embarrassment. Do you need anything else?

No, thank you. That ought to do it for today.

Minnie knelt down and unlocked the cabinet where they stored the spirits. Here we are. She stood, reached for a paper sack, and rang up the total. With a wink, she said, Now you boys just make sure you don't open that up on the way home. My grandfather always said, 'If you have a fifth on the fourth, you won't be able to go forth on the fifth.'

I miss your grandpa Earl. He had more horse sense that you could shake a stick at. Well, I guess we should be getting back or the womenfolk will be sending out a search party for us. We'll see you at the potluck.

As they drove back to Oscar and Cousin Frieda's, Maynard asked, What in the world was she talking about with the fifth and fourth and back and forth?

Oscar chuckled. Grandpa Earl had a rain barrel of those sayings. In this case, he meant that if you had a fifth of whiskey on the fourth of July, you wouldn't be able to go forth and do any work on the fifth of July.

Uh huh. Oh, I get it now. That was pretty clever. I'll have to remember that one. As they drove past the stranger's home, Maynard asked, What do you think about that man living in Aunt Linda's house, Oscar?

Well, he seems pleasant enough. I don't have any reason to be suspicious of him.

Where do you think he works?

Well now, I suppose his work has something to do with the trailer.

Maynard immediately grasped the profundity of Oscar's statement. You're right.

At any rate, my friend, the mysterious stranger drives our womenfolk crazy with curiosity. They simply can't stand not knowing all there is to know about him. The fact that he's a pleasant fellow and minds his own business makes them all the more suspicious. Of course, this is a mixed blessing for us.

What do you mean by mixed blessing?

You'd think that if they're expending all their nervous energy spying on him, they're going to come up with fewer honey-do chores for us, but it never seems to work out that way. Instead, they always find a way to get us embroiled in whatever it is they're up to. You've heard of the National Security Strategy. Our wives have the Nuremberg Stranger Strategy. Once the womenfolk have established the stranger isn't from outer space, they'll proceed to the next phase.

What's the next phase?

They'll determine whether he has a criminal record.

Then what?

They'll embark on a spouse-finding mission.

Maynard thought about that. What if the fellow prefers to find his own wife?

Oscar chuckled. My father was a navy pilot during World War II. He was shot down on his way back to the carrier. He survived the crash and was able to stay afloat long enough to be rescued. When he returned home from the war, three eligible women attempted to stake out their claims. My father said the rivalry became so contentious he began to think he'd been in less danger floating in the Pacific than facing the prospect of three women vying for his attention.

What did he do?

With the help of some of his navy buddies, my father located a lady he had met after Pearl Harbor. She volunteered at the Lutheran church and provided support to the service members after the bombing. He flew to Pearl Harbor, found her, and begged her to marry him. He told her it was her patriotic duty to marry him because he was related to everyone in Nuremberg. She married him anyway. The moral of the story is if you have any intention of resisting the local womenfolk, you better be prepared to fly a few thousand miles to buy an insurance policy.

MEANWHILE, COUSIN FRIEDA AND AMELIA were heavily engaged in food preparation in Cousin Frieda's kitchen. So who's going to invite him? asked Amelia.

Cousin Frieda dropped the spatula with which she was creating her culinary masterpiece. Oh my goodness! I've spent so much time preparing the food I completely forgot about how we'd get him to the potluck. She dried her hands on a dishtowel and pondered the matter. What would elicit an affirmative response? Her countenance reflected inspiration. We shall activate the Nuremberg Welcome Wagon!

We'll what?

Activate the Nuremberg Welcome Wagon and ask it to issue him an invitation to the potluck.

Amelia, appearing as if she had been excluded from the sorority of secret wisdom, said, I didn't know we had a Nuremberg Welcome Wagon.

We haven't. At least until now.

Who runs it?

Are you asking who runs it or who delivers the Nuremberg Welcome Wagon Basket?

Ahh, yes. Is there a difference?

Of course. You and I run it, but our husbands deliver the basket.

Do our husbands know they'll be delivering the basket?

They will when we tell them, Cousin Frieda answered. And speaking of the basket, go and whip up a pot of your corn chowder, biscuits, and a cherry crumb coffee cake. We'll have our husbands deliver that with an invitation to the potluck.

As Amelia drove home, she mulled over the menu and whether Maynard and Oscar would serve dutifully as the Nuremberg Welcome Wagon Basket Delivery Service.

Maynard had barely entered his home when Amelia informed him of his mission. The Nuremberg Welcome What? exclaimed Maynard.

It doesn't matter what we're called. All you need to do is deliver a little basket of food and invite him to the church potluck. Amelia's matter-of-fact tone was intended to conceal her uneasiness. After all, you yourself said we should welcome him into our community.

Maynard sighed as he sought refuge on his La-Z-Boy recliner. He switched on the floor lamp and grabbed the latest issue of the Pennsylvania Beef Farmer. He scanned the table of contents and flipped to the The Hazards of Inoculating Angus article. Amelia waited anxiously for Maynard to say something---anything. Maynard spoke without looking up from his article. Amelia, you must stop poking your nose into the lives of other people. One day that'll blow up in your face. He paused. I'll deliver your basket. I will do so not because I'm your delivery service. I'll deliver the basket because he deserves a welcome better than what you and Cousin Frieda have cooked up.

A HALF HOUR LATER, MAYNARD turned into the driveway of Aunt Linda's home. He did not see the stranger's pickup. He wondered if he should leave the basket with a note or return another time. He pondered other courses of action. While leaving the basket with a note would disentangle him from the potential awkwardness of interacting with the stranger, he was determined to have a personal exchange with him. He turned and saw the stranger's vehicle pulling into the driveway.

The stranger maneuvered his pickup alongside Maynard's, established eye contact, and proffered a polite wave. Maynard exited his pickup with the picnic basket. The stranger climbed out of his pickup and said, Come, Gus. Maynard turned his attention to a black, furry behemoth lunging out of the pickup. Named after Gustavus Adolphus, the canine goliath stood at the stranger's side. The stranger observed Maynard's uneasiness and walked over, hand extended.

Maynard grasped the stranger's hand but was concerned about how the dog would react. He sure has a firm handshake. Hello, I'm Maynard Perriwinkle. My wife, Amelia, and I wanted to welcome you to Nuremberg. Amelia thought you might enjoy some corn chowder, biscuits, and coffee cake.

That is very kind of you and your wife. He accepted the basket. Please, come in and allow me to offer you a cup of coffee.

Summoning the courage to overcome his awkwardness in conversing with the stranger and his wariness of the dog, Maynard accepted the invitation. Thank you. I would enjoy a cup of coffee.

Maynard followed the stranger and his dog into the house and reflected on the last time he had entered Aunt Linda's house. After her death, Donnie had held an estate sale. He recalled Hugo Kleinkoenig, the auctioneer, donning a John Deere cap and starting off the bids with his rapid-fire, mechanical delivery. Each successive bid was acknowledged with a hand signal resembling the chopping motion of an ax and a Yep! Hugo was known for his ability to squeeze maximum bids out of those who attended his auctions.

Please have a seat, Mr. Perriwinkle.

Thank you. Ah, call me Maynard. Maynard watched the man as he measured out exactly six tablespoons of coffee grounds and poured ten cups of water into the coffeemaker.

Please allow me to place this wonderful meal from your wife in the refrigerator.

Sure.

The aroma of hazelnut wafted through the kitchen as the coffee brewed. Maynard, would you like a piece of peanut butter coffee cake?

Yes, please. I believe I would.

While the stranger sliced generous pieces of coffee cake and placed them on dessert plates. As the stranger poured the coffee, he asked, Were you raised in Nuremberg?

Yes. I'm third generation. Maynard elaborated on his lineage from there as his host poured the coffee. Thank you. He took a sip. This hazelnut coffee is pretty good. We'll have to try this at home. He said, That is a fine looking dog. What breed is it?

Thank you. Gus is a Black Russian Terrier. Upon hearing his name, Gus strutted toward his master and rested his head on his lap.

Oh yes. I recall reading about that breed. They were described as loyal and courageous.

He is a character. The stranger shifted the conversation. Maynard, I noticed a gun rack in your pickup. Do you hunt?

Well, I try my luck at deer hunting. Nothing tastes finer than Amelia's venison chili.

Speaking of Amelia--- began his host as he presented an object he retrieved from the floor to Maynard. Her earring must have fallen off when she placed the dishes in the basket. I noticed it on the floor when I poured the coffee. Maynard recognized the piece of jewelry instantly; it was one of a pair he had given Amelia for their fifteenth wedding anniversary.

I'm certain she'll be delighted to have this back. I bet she's tearing the house apart as we speak trying to find it. Unconsciously, Maynard began devouring his coffee cake. His preoccupation almost resulted in his forgetting to invite the stranger to the potluck. We would like to invite you to our church potluck tomorrow evening. We always have a good turn out.

I am delighted to accept your invitation. Would you like me to bring anything?

Just your appetite. There's always enough to feed the United States Marine Corps. We'll look forward to seeing you there. Maynard stole a glance at his watch. I better get back or Amelia will send out a search party. Thank you for the coffee and coffee cake.

Thank you for the basket of food.

Gus escorted Maynard to the door.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, MAYNARD STOOD in the kitchen of his home. Amelia was preparing dinner. "Well, it's done. He accepted the invitation. But I must say, you should be ashamed of