The Proud Shall Stumble

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Is there . . . ?” Benji let it trail off when he couldn’t think of how to finish his question.

  Mitch chuckled. “No.”

  “No?” Rena blurted. “No what?”

  Mitch just smiled.

  Tina was staring at the blanket as if she might see through it. “Is there anything in the bottle?” she finally asked.

  Mitch’s smile broadened. “No.”

  “What?” MJ chirped. “You’re giving us an empty pickle bottle?”

  Mitch laughed now. “Yes.”

  The kids groaned, but the adults were completely perplexed. Then Edie thought of something. “Is it a bottle that you want us to put something into?”

  “Very good, Grandma. The answer is yes.”

  “Food?” Lem called.

  “No.”

  Frank was thinking very hard now. “This bottle, whatever it is, is something that is for all of us, right? For me and Celeste too? And Reginald?”

  “Absolutely.”

  There was a long silence as everyone stared at the mystery gift. Finally Celeste’s hand came up very tentatively. Mitch nodded at her and she asked, “Do you want us to put money in it?”

  “Ah,” he said. “Very good. Your guess is correct.” And with that, Mitch stood, picked up the present, and turned his back on them. With a little flourish, he jerked the blanket away and let it drop to the floor. When he turned back, he held a clear glass bottle with no label on it. But as the group peered more closely, they could see through the glass that there was something on the opposite side of the bottle, the side pressed against Mitch’s shirt.

  Now, quite solemn, Mitch looked around the circle. “Merry Christmas, everyone.” And then he turned the bottle around and held it out for them to see. A single sheet of paper had been taped to the glass. On the paper a single word was written in block letters and colored in with black crayon. Below it were four numbers:

  OBERAMMERGAU

  1930

  For several seconds everyone just stared at it. Benji reacted first. He leaped to his feet and with a whoop he thrust his fist into the air. Edie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my!” she cried. “Dozes that mean what I think it means?”

  “It does,” Mitch said, positively gleeful now.

  “For all of us?” June exclaimed, getting to her feet, her eyes wide.

  “Yes. We’re going to put this in the cupboard in the kitchen, and there it will remain. Grandma and I will put every spare dollar and dime we have into it. We hope that you will do the same and contribute whatever you can. I know that 1930 is a long ways off still, but that’s good. We have about six and a half years to save.”

  Edie was up and across the room. She took the bottle from Mitch’s hands, set it carefully down on the hearth, and threw her arms around him and planted a kiss squarely on his lips. The family erupted, clapping and hollering their approval.

  Mitch, beaming now, turned to the group. “Six and a half years gives you all plenty of time to plan so that you will be free.” He looked at MJ. “It will be in the summer, so we’ll have to find someone who can watch the ranch for us.” Then he turned to Frank and Celeste. “Not sure where you two will be by then, but we very much hope that you can join us.”

  “Are you kidding?” Frank crowed. “Count us in.”

  Celeste’s hand raised slowly into the air, her expression perplexed. When Mitch nodded at her, she hesitated and then said. “Can someone tell me what—” She looked over to the bottle. “Ober . . . Oberamma. . . .”

  “Oberammergau,” Frank said.

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “Have you heard about the Passion Play? It’s world famous. It’s in Oberammergau, a small village that was spared from the plague back in the 1600s and—”

  “Where is it?” Celeste asked, suddenly wary.

  “In Bavaria,” Mitch explained. “In southern Germany.”

  Celeste went very still and slowly sat back. The look that flashed across her face was that of great dismay. “Germany?” she exclaimed.

  Edie noticed two things. She first saw the surprise in Frank’s eyes and then watched his face lose all of its color as understanding dawned—Celeste’s mother was French. And the people of France did not hold Germany in high regard. Frank went to speak, thought better of it, and sat back, looking past his father at the fireplace.

  “Yes,” June broke in, somewhat puzzled. “It is one of the greatest cultural events in the world. People come from all over the—”

  “Culture!” Celeste’s face was a flaming red now, and she almost spat out the word. “From Germany? Never!”

  “Honey, I—” Frank reached out and tried to take Celeste’s hand. She slapped it away, her mouth twisting angrily as she swung on Edie. “Now I remember. That’s where you and Mitch had been when you stopped off in Boston last year. Right?”

  “Yes.” Edie was too shocked to say anything else.

  “And you want to go back?” The look on her face was one of pure revulsion. “If you have been there, then surely you cannot describe this as some grand cultural event. From the Germans. Not until pigs can fly.”

  “Celeste,” Frank began again, leaning in to whisper something to her. She roughly pushed him away. “The Germans are uncouth brutes. Cretins. Savages. And have been for centuries.” She sat back, breathing hard.

  Stunned silence filled the room. Finally Mitch spoke. “We didn’t find them that way,” he said quietly.

  “And how long were you there? A week? A few days? Oh, yes, they put on quite the show, I’m sure.”

  I was there as a missionary for a year before the war and traveled there extensively for two months after the war. It was all Mitch could do not to fire his answer back at her, but he knew it would accomplish nothing. It was as though a volcano deep inside Celeste had suddenly erupted and was now spewing out fire and lava.

  Celeste’s chest was heaving and she was drawing in quick, deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s none of my business, but I feel I must speak out. Will Frank and I go with you? Never! Not in a million years. And I beg of you, don’t do it.” She was speaking to Rena and June now. “Don’t risk taking your children among such barbarians.”

  “What about Beethoven? And Bach? And Handel?” MJ posed.

  “I’ll grant you that in music, a few Germans have made modest contributions,” Celeste countered. “But let me tell you what the Germans are best known for. War. Conquest. Savagery. Brutality. They are thieves and murderers and—”

  “Stop it!” The shriek brought everyone around with a start. Benji was up on the balls of his feet. They were planted about a foot apart, and both of his hands were clenched into tight fists. He looked like an arrow about to be flung from a bow.

  Celeste turned, her words cut off mid-sentence. “Benji?” she asked. “What is it?”

  “You take it back!” he shouted. “Take it back right now.”

  Frank was as stunned as anyone else. He started to get up, but Celeste yanked him back down. “Take what back?”

  “You’re a liar!” Benji shouted as tears spilled over and trickled down his cheeks.

  “Benji!” Edie cried. “That’s enough.”

  “No, Mama. Alisa’s not a murderer. Miki’s not a thief.”

  Celeste was momentarily speechless, but then she looked at Frank. “Who’s Alisa? Who’s Miki?”

  Frank was staring at the floor now, his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Celeste.”

  “They are Benji and Abby’s best friends in Germany,” Edie explained. “They met them when we were in Oberammergau last year. They still write regularly.”

  That seemed to finally get through to her, and Celeste’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Benji. I wasn’t talking about your friends specifically.”

  “Tante Paula’s not evil. Oma Eckhardt’
s not evil. You take it back,” he cried. His eyes were huge liquid pools, with more tears threatening to spill over at any moment.

  Celeste looked quickly around the room, but then her jaw set a little. She turned back to Benji. “I apologize for making it sound like I was talking about your friends. I wasn’t. I don’t know them at all. So I’m sorry. But, Benji, you’re too young to know what I’m talking about. You have no idea what the Germans have done. So I won’t take that part back.”

  Frank looked up. “Celeste, please,” he whispered. “He’s just a boy.”

  “That doesn’t make him right,” she hissed. “Thanks for standing by me.”

  Suddenly, Benji started moving forward. His fists were up now, like a boxer’s. “Take it back, Celeste, or I’ll . . . I’ll. . . .”

  In a way the whole thing was tragically comical, this clash between an eight-year-old and a sophisticated, beautiful woman from Beacon Hill in Boston. Celeste was tempted to laugh. But she fought it back. “Or you’ll what, Benji? Tell me.”

  He stopped, the shame and embarrassment mixing with the anger and frustration and rendering him speechless. Then it came to him. The worst thing he could think of. “Or . . . or I’ll never call your baby Reginald again. I’ll call him Reggie all the time.”

  That startled Celeste, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes. Then she smiled, deciding she had said enough. “Oh, Benji, I am so sorry that I hurt your feelings. I do take it back about your friends. I’m proud of you for sticking up for them.” Her voice softened. “You are so adorable when you are angry, and if you feel that strongly about it, you can call Reginald ‘Reggie’ any time you like.”

  Benji stiffened as if he had been stuck with a cattle prod. Then his head dropped and he turned away. He didn’t return to his seat but instead wound his way through the kids sitting on the floor and headed for the hallway. As he reached it, he turned around, fixing his gaze on his sister-in-law.

  Seeing the look in his eye, Mitch started toward him. “Benji!”

  Benji didn’t flinch. He just kept his eyes fixed on Celeste as he spoke slowly, pronouncing each word with soft emphasis. “Du bist nicht mehr mein Freund. Ich hasse Sie.”

  Edie gasped. “Benjamin Westland!”

  Benji turned and, with a cry of anguish, ran down the hallway. A moment later, the door slammed so hard that the windows rattled throughout the cabin.

  No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Celeste was staring at the spot where Benji had just been, her face glowing bright red now. Then, slowly, she turned to Frank. “What did he say?” she asked.

  “Celeste, he’s upset right now and he—”

  Her head lifted and her eyes were like glowing coals. “Tell me, Frank. Tell me exactly what he said.”

  Looking away, Frank just shook his head.

  So Mitch answered for her. “He said, ‘You are no longer my friend.’ And his final words were, ‘I hate you.’” He drew a quick breath and got to his feet. “I’m sorry, Celeste. I will go and speak to him.”

  Edie started to get up, but Celeste waved her back down and got quickly to her feet and turned to Mitch. “Grandpa Westland, I apologize for my outburst. I. . . .” She shook her head. “There is no excuse for what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt Benji. I am sorry to have ruined your Christmas surprise.” She took a deep breath. “I think I’d better go check on Reginald.” And with her head held high, she left the room.

  A moment later, Frank followed. As he passed his mother, he reached out and briefly touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry.”

  9:53 p.m.

  Mitch and Edie looked up as a soft knock sounded on their bedroom door. Mitch got up and went around the bed. Edie sat up and combed her fingers through her hair. Both were still fully dressed. They had supposedly been reading, propped up on their pillows. They were too heartsick to talk about what had happened any longer.

  Mitch opened the door and stepped back. Frank looked at his dad, and then at his mother. Seeing that they were awake, he asked, “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” Edie patted the bed beside her. As Frank went over and sat beside her, Mitch shut the door and took the chair in the corner. “Is Celeste asleep?”

  “No. She’s packing.”

  “Mitch, I. . . .” But Edie couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I know, Mama. I know.”

  “Please don’t go. We can work this out. Benji has already come and asked when he can apologize for what he said.”

  Frank nodded. “I don’t think Celeste will let him. She wants to apologize to him. Again.”

  “I know he was really upset,” Mitch said, “but for him to say what he did?” He shook his head. “He knows better than that. We want him to apologize. Tell Celeste that. Not just for her, but for him.”

  “I will. But. . . .” Frank shrugged.

  “It’s just another week, Frank,” Edie pleaded. “Things were going so well. It’s been so wonderful to have you and Celeste and Reginald here.”

  He looked over at her, and there was a ghost of a smile. “Reggie, you mean? It says a lot about Benji that that was the worst thing he could come up with. But no, Mom. It’s not just that. When Celeste called her family to wish them a merry Christmas this morning, her mother was still in bed, even though it was almost ten o’clock. Her father said she’s got a touch of the flu or something.” Frank sighed. “Her mother’s health is . . . uh . . . somewhat frail.”

  “Is it something serious?”

  “Her father’s not sure, but now Celeste is worried. If we wait until New Year’s Day to leave, then it will be another three days before we’re home. If we leave tomorrow, we’ll be home before New Year’s and can spend some time with them before we have to start school again.”

  Mitch sighed. “We understand. Tell Celeste that we understand why she wants to go now.”

  Frank went on. “Celeste has debated about talking to the two of you. She wants you to know a little about why she reacted the way she did. But she decided that it’s still too painful for her. So she asked me to share something with you. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Okay,” Mitch said. “We’re listening.”

  “As you know, Babette, Celeste’s mother, was born in France. Her maiden name is Durand. She lived there until she was in her twenties, when she met Celeste’s father and he swept her off her feet, married her, and took her back to Boston with him. But Babette’s parents are still in France. So Babette’s ties to France are very strong. And she’s tried very hard to imbue Celeste with her French heritage. The family goes back at least once every year and stays a week or two.”

  Frank stood up and began to walk back and forth as he spoke. “When Celeste was nine, her parents sent her to Paris to live with her grandparents for a time. You see, Celeste is not just the Dickersons’ only child; she is the Durands’ only grandchild. So she went. She lived with them for over a year. That’s why her French is so perfect.”

  “No wonder she feels so strongly about France,” Edie murmured, guessing where Frank was going with this.

  “Very strongly.”

  “And the bad blood between the French and the Germans has been going on for centuries,” Mitch added. “I know that. When I lived there, I heard about how some Germans feel about the French. Especially after the French invaded the Ruhr Valley and seized all of their coal mining and industrial plants.”

  Frank nodded. “Anyway, when we were dating, I knew that Celeste had lived in France for a time, but until tonight I didn’t know that while she was there, she became very close to one of her second cousins. His name was Renard. He was six years older than she was and became the big brother that she had never had.” He stopped and looked at Mitch. “It was in the late spring of 1913 that Celeste went to live with the Durands in Paris.”

  “Oh,” Mitch said very slowly.


  “What?” Edie asked Mitch.

  “The war broke out in August of 1914.”

  Edie gave a low cry. “And did Renard . . . ?”

  “Yes,” Frank said. “He enlisted immediately. Celeste returned home a month earlier than planned as it became evident that war was about to break out. So she didn’t get to say good-bye to him before he went off to war. Then when Celeste was twelve, Renard was captured by the Germans and taken to a prisoner-of-war camp somewhere in Germany. The family received a letter or two from him and he talked about how harsh conditions were in the camp, but then the letters stopped coming. After the war, the family wrote to the German government several times, trying to get word of Renard. They wrote back and said they could find no record of him. The family became convinced that Renard was tortured and had died, and that’s why the government wouldn’t tell them anything.”

  “That’s possible,” Mitch said. “Heaven only knows how many atrocities went on in that war. On both sides. Even some of our American boys did horrible things. But more likely, the problem was that Germany was in utter chaos after the war. Elder Reissner and I were there. We saw it firsthand. The government was fighting hard just to survive, so it doesn’t surprise me that finding someone’s records was not a high priority for them.”

  “I understand that,” Frank said. “But didn’t someone once say that it is not reality that governs our lives, but what we perceive to be reality? And to the Durands, reality was that their son was tortured to death by Germans.”

  “Of course. And how horrible that must be for Celeste, to not have closure.”

  “No wonder,” Edie breathed. “No wonder she reacted as she did.” Her head dropped into her hands.

  Frank stopped his pacing and sat down beside his mother, putting an arm around her shoulder. Edie looked up, and through her anguish she whispered, “Please tell Celeste that we understand and hold no anger or bitterness about what happened.”

  “I will,” Frank said. After a moment or two, he stood up. “Well, I’d better get back and help her get things ready.”

  Mitch and Edie stood too. “Are you sure you want to take the bus to Thompson Springs?” Mitch asked. “With the stops it will take you a couple of hours longer than if we drive you up. We don’t mind, son. Really.”