Stefan
Hannah handed back the letter. They sat by the window, while they talked about what Elizabeth should do. By the time they finished, the sun had set behind the cluster of box trees and it was growing cold.
Each day seemed unbearably slow. She would certainly have had the letter by now, Stefan knew, and today or tomorrow at the latest there must be a reply. Since he had written there had been several other incidents. A barn had been burnt, and a German farmer’s cattle poisoned. The police investigation in both cases had been less than adequate, and no arrests had been made.
Stefan had also received a letter from a neighbour in Hahndorf, saying his Uncle Johann and Aunt Anna had been interned, and their children had left the farm, which had been acquired by a local land agent at a bargain price. It was an unwelcome letter, the first news he had received of the Ritter family since he and Elizabeth had left there. Grossmutter was long dead, and the man asked if Stefan, whom he had heard was a prosperous vintner, could use his influence to have his aunt and uncle released into his care. His uncle believed such arrangements were sometimes agreed, if the custodian was of sufficient standing.
Stefan wrote politely back, saying he was very sorry to hear about their suffering, but the man had been misinformed. No such deals were ever made, unless bribes were exchanged, and if this was what his uncle was suggesting, it was quite impossible. He could not even contemplate it. Such an act would achieve nothing; it would not help the Ritters, and might harm his own family. Also, the rumours of his success were greatly overestimated, but he enclosed five pounds for his relatives, in the hope it might help ease conditions for them in their internment.
He did not add that any idea of bringing them here to live was completely abhorrent, and something he would never contemplate. He had only bitter memories of them, and knew Elizabeth would be appalled at the thought of seeing them again. If she returned. He had asked her to stay where it was safe. He tried hard to convince himself that it was the best thing for her to do.
‘Of course you must stay,’ William said. ‘I think he’s being prudent and sensible. It’s the logical thing to do.’
‘You think so, Papa?’
‘Stefan wants you to be safe. It’s clearly unstable over there.’
‘Maria could join you, like father says. She could even attend your old school.’ Harry was enthusiastic. ‘What do you think, Hannah?’
‘Elizabeth knows how welcome she’d be. Here with us, or else she could take over the house in Paddington. Make it her own, as long as she wants. We discussed both possibilities.’
‘Yes, we did,’ Elizabeth said.
They were in the living room, and the portrait of her, painted by Tom Roberts when she was sixteen, hung above the mantelpiece behind her. It created a strange mirror image, the youthful painting and its subject, twenty years older, yet still so alike.
‘I’m grateful for the offers, and touched that you all want me to remain. I’ve loved being here with you — it’s been a happy time — and it would be nice to stay. But I can’t. I think you all realise I can’t. It may be prudent and sensible, Father — but you above all people know how little that counts with me. If it is unstable, there might be some awkward times ahead, but I couldn’t leave him to face them alone. Not because he’s incapable, but because I’d rather be there with him. As for being safe — that’s not me at all, is it, Papa?’
‘No, it’s not,’ her father said sadly. ‘But sometimes, how I wish to God it was.’
The train moved off, and even after it had cleared the tiny village station Elizabeth and Stefan stood there alone on the platform, their bodies pressed together, their lips reluctant to part.
‘Didn’t you want me home?’ she said eventually.
‘Of course I did.’
‘You made out a very good case for the opposite.’
‘I was trying to be honest. Things are bad. And they’re getting worse.’
‘They’d be worse still, if I was in Sydney worrying about you.’ They went arm in arm to their recently acquired Ford sedan, parked in the station yard. On the drive home, she told him all about the wedding, what a splendid day it had been, and the way she felt about Hannah. How strange that she and her son, and even Mr and Mrs Forbes who had worked there for so long, all felt such a liking for this woman who had taken her mother’s place. Had in fact been her father’s mistress all those years.
‘They belong together,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I don’t know how else to say it. Papa’s a different person. They really love each other.’
‘And what of Harry? I hope you notice I give him his correct name?’
‘I notice,’ Elizabeth said, and leaned against him, wishing they were already home and could make love. He seemed to sense it. He took one hand from the wheel and put an arm around her. ‘Can you drive like that?’
‘I think it’s against the law, but there is nobody to see. Tell me Harry’s news. He works at being a lawyer?’
‘He tries.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means his mind is on other matters.’
‘This girl? Kate?’
‘No, I think he’s given up on Kate.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘He goes through the motions of studying for the law. I believe what he wants, Stefan — what he really wants — is to enlist.’
‘Dear Gott, no.’
‘His closest friend, David Brahm thinks this is what he wants. He told me. So does Hannah. She’s sure of it. I trust her judgement.’
‘And your father? What does he say?’
‘He’s opposed to the whole war. He says it’s Europe’s squabble and if we had leaders with guts, we’d be neutral. He’s completely against the idea of Harry joining up.’
‘Good,’ Stefan said. ‘I agree with your father. It shouldn’t be our war.’
‘You and Papa in agreement? Wonders will never cease.’
‘But I’ll be twenty next birthday, Grandfather.’
‘I’ve told you often enough,’ William said. ‘It’s too young. Wait till you’re twenty-one, Harry. And by then I hope it’s over.’
Hannah looked up from the newspaper she was reading. The three were in the library, having coffee after dinner. William was pacing restlessly up and down. A coal fire was burning in the grate.
‘Will you please explain to me,’ he demanded, ‘what in God’s name is so important about going to war and getting your head shot off?’
‘Well, for one thing, I keep being given these.’ He produced a white feather from his pocket and tossed it on the table. ‘That’s the fourth time.’
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘Some young, well-dressed woman.’
‘Obviously a silly, vicious woman,’ Hannah said angrily.
‘She didn’t look it. I expect she thought I seemed old enough to defend her. Even if I am half-German.’
William stared at him. It was very quiet in the room. ‘Is that what this is all about?’
Harry rose and stood beside his grandfather.
‘Grandfather, try to understand. I have to be on one side or the other. Heinrich Muller or Harry Patterson.’
‘That’s utter and complete bloody rubbish,’ William said firmly. ‘Young lawyers are supposed to be intelligent. Being half-German is of no relevance. You were born here, brought up here, your father’s settled here and been naturalised — you’re Australian.’
‘Then I should do what other Australians are doing. Join up and fight for this country.’
‘And how would your parents feel?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then ask them. Because I’m sorry, I understand your feelings, but please respect mine. Not at the age of nineteen.’
Harry nodded, as if he had expected this. He picked up the feather from the table, and dropped it in the fire. He leaned down to kiss Hannah on the forehead, said goodnight to them both and went upstairs to his room. William shook his head. He watched the
last of the white plume curling as it burnt amid the coals.
‘It’s an outrage,’ he said. ‘A bloody disgrace — these women going around, demanding young men go off to die for them. Trying to shame them into it, when they’re not even old enough to be allowed to vote.’
‘Yes, it is. And it’s a terrible irony he feels this need to go and fight, when his father and friends are being so ill-treated. What would Stefan say, if he knew?’
‘I think he’d be as much against it as I am. I think we’d be on the same side.’
‘You know something, my darling? There are times when you sound as if you’re starting to like him.’
‘He makes good wine. And he loves Elizabeth,’ was all he said, gazing into the flickering glow of the coal fire.
The truth was, more and more of late he wished he had acted differently. He had been wrong about Stefan; had categorised him as a fortune-hunter, which was untrue. If he had shaken hands that day, invited him into the house, accepted the unpalatable fact that Lizzie loved him, they would have settled in Sydney, and his grandchildren would have grown up around him. All three. He sometimes forgot there were two others, and Maria, from her photographs, looked exactly like Elizabeth had looked when she was fifteen.
‘Maria’s at boarding school, isn’t she?’
Hannah had begun to read about the Turkish counter-attack on Gallipoli, where so many had been killed that both sides had declared a day’s truce to bury their dead. She looked up with relief from the graphic description of bloated bodies and the fear of cholera.
‘Yes.’
‘In Adelaide?’
‘She was a weekly boarder at a school in Tanunda, but they moved her to Adelaide. They felt it was safer.’
‘Does she go home for weekends?’
‘Not any more. Or half terms. It’s a shame, but they want to protect her from any chance of trouble.’
‘Stefan suggested in his letter, if Lizzie stayed she might like Maria to join her here. Go to school in Sydney.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Harry was keen on the idea.’
‘He’s fond of his sister. And you’re up to something.’
‘I was just wondering how they’d feel, if we offered to take her until things are more settled? They hardly see her, and she’d be safe here, and could attend Miss Arthur’s, where Elizabeth went.’
‘You were just wondering?’
‘Yes,’ he said innocently.
‘Why don’t you write and ask?’
‘I thought you might. That is, if you agree?’
‘I agree.’
‘You wouldn’t mind having her here?’
‘If she’s anything like her mother, I’d love it.’ Hannah smiled. ‘And Harry would be pleased. It might stop him doing anything rash — like joining up,’ she said, glancing at him.
‘Exactly what I was thinking.’ William nodded.
‘You’re as conniving as ever.’ Hannah shook her head and laughed. ‘I’ll write — and we’ll see what happens.’
TWENTY NINE
There were four soldiers. All young, in their militia uniforms. They marched in a tight group, in the charge of a corporal. Their rifles were at the slope, and their tan boots shone. The Sunday morning street was deserted, the shop windows with their names all anglicised now, except for Oscar Schmidt’s Apotheke which had still managed to remain defiantly traditional and avoid being vandalised. The corporal gave an order; the squad turned smartly right, towards the steeple and the bell tower of the Lutheran church.
As they drew closer, they could hear the massed voices of the congregation singing a hymn. The soldiers knew the tune, but not these words, for they were in German. As they reached the steps, the hymn ended, and the sound of the minister’s voice was heard, requesting his parishioners to pray.
‘Lasst uns beten.’
The congregation knelt, as the corporal pushed open the heavy oak door. His squad stamped to a halt on the stone floor of the church. The butts of their rifles grounded like revolver shots. Startled faces turned to see the source of the interruption. The minister’s voice faltered; he tried to continue with the prayer. The corporal’s loud voice stopped him. ‘Pastor Thomas Hubrich?’
‘Yes?’
‘Step down from the pulpit.’
‘Please — can this wait? You are interrupting our service.’
‘The service is over. My orders are to take you into custody.’
‘Custody?’ The minister looked bewildered.
‘You’re under arrest.’
A shocked ripple ran through the crowded church. Oscar and Sigrid, who were present, turned to look at each other in perplexity. In the pew beside them were Eva-Maria and Gerhardt, and before anyone could realise what he intended to do or prevent him, Gerhardt stepped into the aisle between the soldiers and the minister.
‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you bring guns into the church? Why is he under arrest?’
‘Orders. Preaching in German is an offence.’
‘He was not preaching — he was saying a prayer.’
‘In German.’
‘Lutheran prayers are in the language of Martin Luther. Our pastor’s sermons are preached in English, as the law insists.’
‘Stop arguing and get out of the way,’ the corporal said, pushing Gerhardt back into the pew, where Eva-Maria clung to him.
‘He was breaking no law,’ Gerhardt insisted.
‘Stop it,’ she whispered fiercely to him.
‘Stop. Be quiet.’
‘Escort, remove the prisoner.’
The corporal snapped the order, and they all watched, as Pastor Hubrich walked slowly out, surrounded by the four soldiers. ‘You barbarians,’ Gerhardt said loudly and bitterly. ‘How can a man on his knees, saying prayers to his God be your enemy? This is an act of shame.’
The corporal murmured to one of his men, who returned to where Gerhardt stood.
‘You silly old bugger,’ the young soldier said so softly that only Gerhardt heard it. Then he kneed him in the groin so swiftly that hardly anyone realised what had happened, until Gerhardt doubled up in agony. The soldier grabbed him by the arm, dragged him along the aisle and out the church door, as Eva-Maria cried out in protest.
‘No, please.’
She ran after him. The door was slammed shut in her face.
She tried to open it, but it was securely held from outside. There was no response to her frightened pleas to be allowed to talk to her husband.
Outside the church, one solider guarded the pastor and another kept a hold on the door, while the rest encircled Gerhardt.
‘Barbarians?’ the corporal said. ‘You’re the barbarian, you fucking German bastard.’
The first blow was to his kidneys, from behind, making him gasp; the second a hard punch into the solar plexus, which almost doubled him up in agony. They cuffed and slapped his face. He tried to remain silent, to spare Eva-Maria, and they hit harder, as though goaded by this tacit resistance. When he fell to the ground from their blows, they began to kick him.
Stefan and Elizabeth were in Adelaide where they had driven to spend the weekend with Maria. On the Saturday night they took her to dinner, and booked a single room for her at the Gresham Hotel, where they were staying. It was a habit they had grown to enjoy, ever since they had moved her school, and it was some compensation for not having her home at weekends or half term. Maria understood their reluctance. There seemed to be far more hostility in the small towns and districts like the Adelaide Hills and the Barossa, than here in the city.
She had experienced no trouble at school. The headmistress, Miss Shillington, had addressed all the girls at assembly one morning, and had made several concise points. The first of these was that their state of South Australia had a greater percentage of German immigrants than the rest of the country, many of whom had been here for generations, raised families, contributed to the community and become part of the fabric of the society. They had no liking for their nati
onal counterparts on the other side of the world, nor any wish to join them. The second point made was that she ran a most selective school, her pupils chosen not only for scholarly achievements, but also for their impartiality, understanding and commonsense. She felt sure nothing more need be said on the matter, they were all much too sensible — but if there was the least sign of bigotry or any sort of racially biased behaviour, then the girls concerned would no longer be welcome at her academy.
Maria was vivacious over dinner with her parents. She regaled them with news of the past few weeks. It had been an eventful time. She had been made class captain, and selected for the hockey team. She really loved the school much more than the one in Tanunda, had heaps of friends, and hoped her parents could afford to keep her there until she was eighteen, when she would like to go to university. ‘And study what?’ Stefan asked.
He adored this bright and spirited girl, so engagingly like the one he had met and fallen in love with aboard a ship years ago. Of the three children, she was by far his favourite. He knew parents should not have favourites, but Carl was a pleasant, hard-working lad with little sense of humour, and Harry was virtually a stranger, so who else could it be but this gamine replica of his wife?
‘Medicine,’ Maria replied, and laughed at the startled expression on his face.
‘Medicine? A doctor — or a nurse?’
‘A doctor, of course, Papa.’
‘But it’s unusual,’ he said.
‘Then it’s time that changed,’ Elizabeth said.
‘But are there many women doctors?’
‘Some, Papa. Not enough yet, but one day there will be. Did you know that back in the 1880s, the first university medical school to admit women was here in Adelaide?’
‘I didn’t,’ Stefan said.
A Bitter Harvest Page 30
