by Murray Pura
“Yes.”
“And prayed together?”
“Indeed we have.”
“So you are in support of his desire to train as a Methodist minister? You see the Divine spark in him?”
“I do. I most certainly do. I am sure God is in this, Father.”
Lord Preston pushed himself back from the table and walked around the table to Ben.
Ben slowly got to his feet.
Lord Preston wrapped his arms around the younger man. “My boy, I praise God. I am overjoyed! Elizabeth will be as filled with rejoicing as I am. Have you said anything to the servants here at Ashton Park? Anything at all to our good Baptist, Mrs. Longstaff?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, that is something we must announce when they bring us our cobbler and ice cream, eh? But first let me offer up a prayer for you. This is a great thing—an extraordinary moment. We must go to God with it and thank Him. Don’t you agree, Reverend Whitecross?”
“Why, of course, sir. But I’m no reverend yet. Far from it.”
Lord Preston kept his arm around Ben’s shoulders. “Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart.”
Hartmann Castle, the Rhine River, Germany
The mist rose up like a grey ship from the Rhine and moored itself over Hartmann Castle. Lord Preston walked around an inner courtyard with his new granddaughter in his arms, his daughter Catherine at his side in a cloak and hood. They spoke quietly with each other and laughed just as quietly. After half an hour, the sun had still not won out over the haze. While he conversed with his daughter, Lord Preston found his mind drifting away to Danforth Castle and the age of chivalry that had touched both England and Germany with a strong but gracious hand. He looked at the babe in his arms, then he kissed the sleeping child’s forehead and murmured, “Angelika.”
“Ah. There you two are.”
Catherine put a finger to her lips as her husband approached. “Shh. She’s sleeping.”
He smiled and looked at the baby in Lord Preston’s arms. “That’s because she was up all night singing.”
“Oh…” Catherine stifled a laugh. “Is that what you call her screeches?”
“I have heard far worse from choirs, believe me.” He turned to Lord Preston. “Lord Preston, after much discussion, Jane and Eva have decided to weather the storm for now by returning to Tubingen. Next week Jane will meet with her tutor and Eva will return to school. It’s true the Nazi presence is not great there, and they feel the incident at Easter was one that will not be repeated.”
Lord Preston’s features grew rigid. “I pray not.”
“Libby will remain in Germany with her daughter. In addition, Lady Preston wishes to linger till the New Year, another month or so, if you have no objections. She is welcome to remain with us as long as she likes.”
“Elizabeth must have found something wonderful in the German air, to want to stay that long. Well, I have Ben and Victoria and their children at Ashton Park, so I shall not get too lonely. I suppose you will have a grand celebration at Christmas, Albrecht?”
“With our new baby girl? Of course! You can count on us having an especially large tree in the great hall.”
“You mean to enjoy the holiday here?”
“Yes. The area is magical, especially if we are blessed with a fall of snow.”
“I should like to see that some year.” Lord Preston gently handed the infant to Catherine. “What news of the election?”
Albrecht’s face lost its new-father glow. “I just received the paper. With the stock market crash last year and the economic downturn, the Nazi Party and its goblins, including Goebbels and Himmler, have picked up momentum. I feared this. They have one hundred and seven seats now. A day ago they only had fourteen. This makes them the second largest party in Germany.”
“I’m very sorry to hear it. You still think Jane will be safe?”
“I would not take her to Munich or Berlin. It’s my hope that if financial conditions improve over the next twenty-four months we will see Herr Hitler and his cronies fade into oblivion once again.”
“Hmm.” Lord Preston gazed up at rooks that had flown into the courtyard and found several window ledges to perch on. “I hope you’re right. The Labor government of Ramsay MacDonald will be forced to make unpopular cost-cutting measures this Parliament. And it seems clear from what I’ve read in the papers from New York and Toronto that the United States and Canada are heading into a serious depression.”
Albrecht put his hands behind his back. “My sense of it is that the German people mistrust Hitler and his brownshirts. He may have won more seats this election, and he may be straining at the leash to gain the presidency or chancellorship of the nation, but he will not get either. People see what happens in the streets and at political rallies when his Nazis are present. They represent absolutely the worst side of the German character.”
Lord Preston nodded and put a hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. “Nor can Britain ever let down its guard. Bullies and fascists lurk in the corners of every democracy. Only good men like yourself keep them at bay.” He suddenly smiled. “You should write another book.”
“That very thing was raised by the Brotherhood last week. Frankly I didn’t think they would go forward on the idea, but Bruno Dressler rang this morning and said they very much want me to begin working on a first draft for publication in the spring or summer.”
Catherine laughed as she cradled Angelika. “That’s marvelous, Albrecht!”
“Indeed.” Lord Preston shook Albrecht’s hand. “What will be the theme? How shall it differ from your other book released to offset Hitler’s propaganda?”
“They wish me to challenge Hitler directly, as if he and I were engaged in a public debate at the university. Toe to toe and blow for blow, so to speak.”
“That sounds fairly aggressive and combative, but perhaps that’s the very approach needed. Have they suggested a title for this work?”
Albrecht nodded. “They wish to play off the success of Hitler’s title and raise sales as well as eyebrows. His, as you know, is called Mein Kampf, which means ‘My Struggle.’ Mine is to be entitled Mein Krieg, which means ‘My War.’ ”
Parliament, Westminster, London
“Danforth. Fancy meeting you here. You’re so far away on the benches in the House I thought you’d fallen into the Thames.” Buchanan strode across the empty foyer in the Parliament buildings, silver-headed walking stick in hand. “Waiting for Daddy, are you?”
Edward kept his hands clasped behind his back. “Stanley Baldwin, actually.”
“Baldwin? Old Has-Been Baldwin? You’ve hitched your cart to the wrong star, Danforth.”
“Do you think so? Your minority government will fall soon enough, Buchanan. And when it does, Baldwin will be first man in the kingdom once again.”
Buchanan lifted his thick eyebrows and curled his lip. “The Conservative Party is finished as a political force. So are you and your father. What will you do when Dover finally tosses you out on your ear? Sell pencils to the reporters on Fleet Street?”
Edward turned his back on Buchanan and gazed through a window at the November rain coming down in long, gray streaks. “Run for Ayrshire South, of course. That would be the easiest plum for me to pick from the Labor tree. They have a slacker as MP, no mistake about that.”
“Insult for insult, blow for blow, eh?” Buchanan’s voice was low. Edward half expected to get cracked over the head by the walking stick. “I’m far from finished with your lot, Danforth. Everything continues to fall into place. Hold fast to what you have. Soon enough you’ll not even have that left.”
Edward grunted. “You won’t live to see the day, Buchanan.” He turned his head slowly and their eyes locked. “Believe me, you won’t.”
18
December, 1930–May, 1931
Christmas Eve, Tubingen, Germany
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht!
Alles schläft, einsam wacht
Nur das traut
e, hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht!
Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht
Lieb aus deinem göttlichen Mund,
Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund,
Christ, in deiner Geburt,
Christ, in deiner Geburt.
The baron bent and poked the logs in the fireplace. “Sean, will you get me some more wood from the basket?”
“Ja, Opa.”
“Now we must have a song from Britain, Elizabeth…and then America, Jane. But Elizabeth first; she must begin it.”
“Me?” Lady Preston laughed, her fingers fluttering to her mouth and face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gerard. Catherine and Libby can do that far better than I can.”
“They will have their turns.”
“Oh heavens.”
“Mum,” Catherine said as she rocked Angelika in her lap, “you have a lovely voice.” Angelika was mesmerized by the firelight.
“Victoria has the voice, my dear.”
“Where do you think she got it from?”
Libby jumped in. “Oh come, Mother. You’d think he’d asked you to sing The Messiah.” Libby got up from her chair and plopped down next to Lady Preston on the couch. “I’ll help you. I have the perfect song. I’ll start but you have to come in.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“You all have to come in, all right?” She raised her eyebrows at Jane and Eva. “All right?”
Jane smiled. “Yes, Mum. We’ll raise the roof.”
“Ach, don’t do that.” Albrecht was mixing hot apple cider in a pot by the fire. “It’s snowing.”
Libby started singing an old French carol, and soon the other women joined in:
The holly and the ivy,
Now both are full well grown.
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown
Oh, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer.
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flower;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To be our sweet Savior.
Oh, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer.
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good.
Oh, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer.
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.
Oh, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer.
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.
Oh, the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer.
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.
The rising of the sun
And the running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.
Montgomery and Skitt stood just outside the alcove in the great hall where the family had settled in with cider to sing carols and open presents.
“Well, they won’t be needing us for a while,” Montgomery said in a low voice. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
“What if they ask for something?”
“They have German staff who are always at their beck and call and come at a quick march as if trying to show us up.” She seized his hand in her strong grip. “Come on!” She led him down a stone hall that still held centuries-old iron brackets for torches. Dropping his hand, she used both of hers to tug on the handle of a huge oak door. “They made ’em this thick to hold up against arrows and axe blows and fire.”
“Do you need a hand?” Skitt put his hands next to hers and pulled. “Oh! It’s stuck.”
“It’ll open. It always does.”
“How many times have you been here?”
“Enough.” She glanced at his face. “And all alone, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
The door finally gave with a long moan. A gust of cold air spinning with snowflakes blew over them.
“What does this open to?” asked Skitt.
“A turret.” Montgomery went outside, hugging herself with her arms. “Brrr. It’s nippy but the view is worth it.”
“What you can see of it. It’s dark as pitch.”
“The lights of the village are far below. Look.”
Skitt had his hands in his pockets and his shoulders drawn up around his ears. “Lovely,” he said.
“Don’t tease.”
“I’m not. I like the sheer drop of thousands of feet. You think I’d land near the sweets shop?”
She punched him in the arm. “Running off on me?”
“Never.”
She opened her fist and ran her hand up and down the sleeve of his butler jacket. “I shall miss you, Skitt. I feel I got to know you better here than I did in England. Especially after we nursed Lady Preston and young Jane together.”
He smiled. His eyes were used to the darkness now so he could make out her petite features clearly. He brushed a cluster of snowflakes off her maid’s cap.
“It strikes me that you haven’t seen much snow, have you?” she asked, still moving her fingers up and down his arm.
“Not much, no. I did see a snowfall once when I was a boy. It was in the Welsh mountains.”
“It snows all winter in New York State.”
“Is that still home?” He brushed at her cap again. His fingers strayed and touched the dark hair pinned up underneath.
“Home’s wherever Jane winds up. Dover Sky. The Rhine. Perhaps Ashton Park one day.”
Now his fingers touched her cheek. “It’s snowing all over you.”
“Have you ever caught snowflakes on the tip of your tongue, Skitt?” she asked.
“I confess I haven’t.”
“You should try.”
“I’d rather try this.” He kept his hand on her face as he bent slightly and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Oh how I shall miss you when Lady Elizabeth returns to England, my lovely Skitt. I pray Libby, Jane, and I will visit England this summer. I’ll do everything in my power to convince her she ought to marry Commander Terry and move us back across the Channel lock, stock, and barrel.”
“That’s a good plan. You could stir up the Nazis as well. That might help your plans along.”
“Those gangsters! I prefer a wedding between Commander Fordyce and Lady Libby be the reason for our move.”
He put his lips against her neck and shoulder. “I would prefer a wedding too.”
“Now, my dear Jane, I have a special gift for you.”
“But it’s not Christmas morning yet, Grandmother Elizabeth.”
“We won’t tell the others, will we? Jesus was born on Christmas Eve, wasn’t He? So that is a wonderful time to give someone a gift.”
“Unless He was born at two or three. Then that really would be Christmas morning.”
Lady Preston laughed. “You and your wit. Please shut the door, Jane.”
Jane got up from the bed where she’d been sitting next
to her grandmother. The air current caused the candle that lit the room to flutter. The girl closed the door, and when she turned to come back Lady Preston was holding up a necklace of rubies that flamed brilliantly in the candlelight. Jane stopped and put a hand to her mouth.
“Merry Christmas, my dear!”
“Grandmother! Not for me?”
“Yes, for you. And this as well.” She patted a hand on a red dress folded up by her side. “Both came from the Far East long ago. You know what the Far East is known as today?”
“China and Japan and—”
“The necklace and dress are from China and fairly traded, I must say, by my great-great-grandfather Welcome Cornwall. He was a great seaman, Jane. Twice he circumnavigated the globe. He was an extraordinary man. We have one of his ship logs and three of his diaries.”
“I should like to read those.”
“I thought you might, and so you shall when you come to Ashton Park, which I pray will be soon.” She set down the necklace and lifted up the dress. It gleamed in the candlelight. “Pure silk. Come. You must try it on. I want you to wear it with the necklace Christmas morning in the great hall.”
“I can’t, Grandmother Elizabeth.”
“Nonsense! Of course you can. You will be fourteen this coming year, but you already look like a lady. You are so tall and perfectly proportioned. You will turn all the men’s heads when you come of age. Why, you already do. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Jane could feel a blush rising from her neck. “Grandmother, that’s not true.”
“Of course it’s true. You will soon grow into the kind of exceptional beauty men paid a king’s ransom to woo and wed in the days of the great dynasties. Emperors would have courted you with pearls and gold. Now, alas, you shall have to settle for Germans and Englishmen. Hopefully a dashing one!”
Jane giggled. “You’re such a storyteller. I should like very much to wed a naval officer like Terry Fordyce.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. He cuts a fine figure. Hopefully your mother will grasp the fact and make him her husband—the sooner the better.”
“I think he’s very close to asking for her hand.”
Lady Preston’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh? And what will your mother say?”
“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
