by Mary Daheim
“Well . . .” Joe said, “it looked kind of like a wave.”
“Ha! He . . . there! I got it fastened. Let’s rock.”
The ride downtown was in morning rush-hour traffic, but mercifully, Renie kept quiet. The sun had come up and it promised to be a crisp, beautiful autumn day. Judith kept her eyes straight ahead while Joe muttered an occasional rude remark about less competent drivers. They reached the train station at ten to nine.
“Grab a cart,” Joe said. “I’m in an impound area and I’m already late. I don’t want to have to arrest myself.”
Judith leaned over to kiss Joe. “I love you,” she said.
“Right. Go. Somebody’s pulling up behind me.”
“Men!” Judith said under her breath after she’d dragged the travel case out of the car.
Renie had snatched a cart from an elderly couple who seemed confused. “Dump your case here,” she called to Judith. “Don’t run. You’ll dislocate your phony hip. I don’t want any more crap this morning.”
Wincing at the Subaru’s squealing tires as Joe rocketed away from the station, Judith joined Renie by the door. “Those poor old people,” she whispered after the cousins had gone inside. “Why couldn’t you get a cart on this side of the door?”
“What door?” Renie retorted. “You think I can see this early?”
“You can sure bitch,” Judith said. “Watch where you’re going with that cart. It’s not a NASCAR entry. You almost ran into that baby carrier on the floor.”
“The baby should have wheels on that thing,” Renie muttered. “Have we got tickets?”
“Yes. We have to check in at that desk when the conductor arrives. The line’s already forming.”
Renie stopped so abruptly that Judith almost fell on top of her. “Then I’m going to sit down right here.”
“But there’s a man—”
“Oops!” Renie yipped as the bearded man who was already sitting in the chair let out a cry of surprise. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and moved over to an empty seat. She glared at her cousin. “I told you I couldn’t see. You should’ve warned me.”
“I tried to,” Judith said in an irritated tone. “Why don’t you just shut up and sit there?”
“Okay.”
Judith wasn’t surprised by her cousin’s sudden docile change. After sixty years of being closer than sisters, they knew each other better than anyone else did. Sometimes they didn’t like each other very much, but their bond was so strong that nothing short of global destruction could sever it. Thus, Judith barely noticed that Renie had gone to sleep.
The bearded man leaned across the empty chair between them. “Is your friend all right?” he inquired in a deep, faintly accented voice.
“What? Oh—yes, she’s fine. My cousin isn’t an early riser.”
“You’re cousins?” the man said, still speaking softly. “You don’t look alike.”
“No,” Judith said. “My cousin’s sort of small. I’m not.”
“Your coloring is not the same . . . excuse me, I apologize.” He chuckled, apparently embarrassed. “I should not be so bold.”
“It’s okay,” Judith said, smiling. “Are you from around here?”
“No,” he replied, stroking his short gray beard. “I’m from Los Angeles. But I grew up partly in Germany. Tuttlingen, to be exact.”
“Ah,” Judith said. “My maternal ancestors came from that area.”
He held out his hand. “I am Franz Wessler. And you?”
“Judith Flynn,” she said, shaking hands. “My husband’s Irish. That is, Irish-American.”
“Very nice to meet you. You are going far?”
“No, only to Little Bavaria.”
He beamed, sporting a gold eyetooth. “So am I! I have family there. You are going to Oktoberfest?”
“Yes.” Judith smiled again. “It’s nice not to have to drive over the pass. The train didn’t used to stop at Little Bavaria, you know.”
Franz nodded. “True. I have not been there for some time.”
“Oh?” Judith’s dark eyes showed her genuine interest in other people. “Do your parents live in Little Bavaria?”
Franz nodded again, though he had turned grave. “My father does. At ninety-six, he is elderly, but in robust health. Still, you never know how much longer anyone has. I have not seen him since 1999. I felt I should waste no more time.”
“I understand,” Judith said. “My mother is elderly, too. Nobody lives forever.” Except my mother, she thought. Maybe God doesn’t want her. And immediately she felt guilty. Gertrude’s parting words that morning had been to not drink any beer or act like a strumpet.
“Does he live alone?” Judith inquired.
“Ah . . . no.” Franz avoided Judith’s gaze. “Mutter died years ago.”
An announcement asked passengers to line up for the conductor. “That’s us,” Judith said, noting that Franz carried only a briefcase.
He stood up. “I hope to see you in Little Bavaria.”
“You may,” Judith said. “Enjoy the view. It should be lovely with all the trees in fall colors. We’re lucky the weather’s clear today.”
Franz picked up his briefcase. “After you.”
“No, go ahead. It may take me a while to wake up my cousin.”
“Well . . . if you insist.” Franz sketched a bow and got into line.
Renie, however, was awake. “I heard that,” she said, vaulting out of the chair. “You’re already picking up strange guys?”
“Keep it down,” Judith warned, rolling her travel case behind a couple with two small children. “If you were eavesdropping, then you know that Franz Wessler has an aged father in Little Bavaria. I have to be polite to everybody. They might be potential B&B guests.”
Renie plopped her suitcase on the floor. “Are you going to mention Hillside Manor’s mortality rate? Or tell them that if a problem arises, emergency vehicles are always parked by the cul-de-sac?”
“Pipe down,” Judith whispered. “Why didn’t you stay asleep? I could’ve put you in a luggage cart and shoved you to the train platform.”
Renie shrugged. “That’s what my son-in-law Odo does when I have a temper tantrum in one of those horrible big-box stores. Then, as I sail out the door, I throw him my credit card. Those places make me crabby.”
“Odo is a smart man,” Judith murmured. “Anne was lucky to get someone who could put up with all her peculiar proclivities.”
“Huh?” Renie stared at her cousin. “Like what? Our daughter is perfectly normal.”
“Oh,” Judith said, gazing at the high ceiling, where the original century-old plaster flower motif was being restored, “her obsession with casino gambling, her fascination with old cemeteries and ghost towns, her so-called work meetings that are only an excuse to dine and guzzle wine. Not every husband would humor her.”
“Ha! Mike married a bossy Valkyrie with a big mouth,” Renie countered, glaring at the three-year-old boy who was tugging at her slacks. “Why doesn’t he tell her to back off?” She held up a hand. “Don’t say it. Because she could throw him through the front window?”
Judith leaned closer to Renie. “Listen up, coz, since you chewed out Kristin last Christmas, she insists she’ll never come to any family gathering where you’re present. How do you like that?”
“I like that a lot,” Renie retorted, ignoring the older little boy, who was trying to show her a couple of Matchbox cars. “I did it for your sake. She had no right to call you a doormat.”
“You would,” Judith shot back—and suddenly began to cry.
“What the hell . . . ?” Renie muttered as the younger child yanked so hard on her slacks that she almost fell over her travel case. “Damn! Beat it, twerp!” She turned back to Judith. “Why are you crying?”
“Oh . . . I . . .” Judith sniffed a couple of
times. “Mike called last night to say the Forest Service is transferring him to a new ranger post.”
“When? Where?”
Judith took a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes. “He doesn’t know. He’s been in his current job for ten years. It’s time.”
Renie frowned. “Oh, coz, I’m sorry. They were just an hour away, and the little boys are growing so fast . . .” She seemed at a loss for words.
Judith had gotten herself under control. “They could go anywhere in the United States. Even Hawaii or Alaska.”
Renie glared at the older boy, who was racing his Matchbox cars between the cousins. “Is Mike upset?”
“Well . . . yes. They have to take Mac and Joe-Joe out of school. And both he and Kristin liked being close to a city, and this area is home to Mike. Joe isn’t happy about it either.”
The cousins had moved up almost to the conductor’s desk. Only the little boys’ parents were waiting ahead of them. Judith glimpsed Franz Wessler heading through the door to the train. The big clock on the far wall informed her that it was 9:25. She noticed that the line behind them reached almost to the length of the waiting room. Their departure was going to be delayed, but that was the least of her concerns. The trip to Little Bavaria would take less than four hours.
“How soon?” Renie asked.
The question startled Judith. “How soon? Oh—you mean before they find out where they’re going? I’m not sure. They’d probably move after the first of the year.”
“Then they’ll be here for the holidays,” Renie pointed out.
“Maybe.” Judith’s lips barely moved.
“What do you mean?”
“I told you. Kristin won’t come to family occasions if you’re there.”
Renie’s face puckered with disgust. “What a brat! Don’t worry. I’ll have a little talk with her. She’ll come and behave herself or I’ll fix it so that Mike can mail her to your house in a padded envelope.”
“You want to end up in the ER?” Judith shot back. “She’s twice your size.”
Renie shrugged. “True, but I’m sneakier. She’ll never know what hit her.”
“Don’t. Please. You’ll only make things worse.”
“How could I?” Renie said. And jumped—and swore.
Judith looked down at the toddler, who was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Renie snatched his hand out from under the cuff of her slacks.
“Get your stupid car off my leg, you little twit! What do I look like? The Brick Yard?”
It was his turn to burst into tears. The boy’s mother turned around just as her husband got to the desk. “What’s wrong with Ormond?” she asked in a vague voice. “Did he hurt himself?”
“Not yet,” Renie said, “but if you don’t move this pest and the one hanging on to my backside, I’ll stuff them both in the baggage car.”
“I beg your pardon?” the young woman huffed. “Ormond and Thurmond are amusing themselves. Don’t you like children?”
“Only as an appetizer,” Renie snapped.
“Excuse me?” The woman took a step toward Renie. Ormond’s crying had dwindled to a whimper. Thurmond, who looked about five, scrambled to his mother’s side. Their father had finished at the desk.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get on that iron horsey, guys!”
Both boys scampered off with him, but their mother lingered. “Stay away from our sweeties, you . . . monster.” Getting a frozen stare in return, she turned to Judith. “Are you responsible for her?”
Judith blinked. “Ah . . .”
“Skip it,” the young woman said. “If you two bother us on the train, I’ll call the conductor.” She rushed off, flipping a long woolen scarf over one shoulder as if it were a penalty flag.
Judith approached the conductor, who, she realized, looked distressingly familiar. “Good morning, Mr. Peterson,” she said in her friendliest tone. “We’re only going as far as Little Bavaria this time.”
Mr. Peterson didn’t conceal his relief. “That’s . . . good. I mean,” he went on with a quick glance at Renie, “it’s a delightful town, especially this time of year. Have a pleasant trip.” He handed the tickets back to Judith. “You, too, Mrs. Bones.”
“It’s Jones,” Renie growled.
Judith practically shoved Renie toward the door. “A natural mistake,” she murmured. “Mr. Peterson probably was thinking about the bodies that littered our route on the Boston trip.”
“Big deal,” Renie grumbled. “Which car are we in?”
“Second one down,” Judith replied, checking the seat numbers.
Renie went first. They reasoned that if Judith fell forward, she’d land on something soft. Unless, of course, she fell backward.
Judith noticed Franz Wessler toward the rear of the car. Renie saw the family of four behind their own seats.
“Damn!” she said under her breath. “Do we have to put up with those little hoodlums the whole trip?”
“We could go to the café for coffee,” Judith suggested, placing her suitcase on a shelf at the coach’s near end. “I wonder if most of these people are going to Little Bavaria, too.”
“Some of them are,” Renie said. “They’re dressed German-style.”
Most of the costumes were worn by a dozen or more older people, but there were two younger couples and four teenagers in lederhosen and dirndl outfits. Letting Renie take the window seat, Judith avoided eye contact with the couple behind them. The little boys were whining. The older child demanded ice cream. Their parents were asking if the train had a play area.
“They’re going to Little Bavaria,” Judith whispered. “Try not to turn any of them into victims.”
Renie merely shook her head and continued staring out the window as they began a snail-like pace north through the tunnel under the downtown area. The coach lights flickered; the little boys wailed in fear. Renie lay back and groaned.
“It’s ni-ni time, darlings,” the mother said. “How about a nice nap?”
“It’s dark!” the older boy shrieked. “No nap!”
“Oh,” the father said, chuckling, “you know they like to sleep with the lights on. We can’t change their routine.”
“Of course not, but . . .” Mom shut up as the car’s lights went on and the train began to pick up speed. The boys quieted.
“Where’s Mr. Peterson?” Renie muttered. “We can’t go to the café until he takes our tickets.”
“It could be a few minutes,” Judith said, wincing slightly as one of the boys kicked the back of her seat. “It’s a fairly long train.”
“Right.” Renie sat back and continued staring into the darkness.
They were out of the tunnel and headed north along the Sound by the time Mr. Peterson showed up. Renie kept looking out the window while Judith handed over their tickets.
“Excuse me,” the conductor said, leaning closer. “I saw you speaking to the bearded man in the station. Do you know where he went? He’s supposed to be in this coach.”
Judith shrugged. “No. Maybe he’s in the men’s room.”
“Maybe.” Mr. Peterson moved on.
“Let’s go,” Renie said, standing up. “I’m hungry.”
Judith led the way, moving cautiously down the aisle. They had to walk through another coach car before reaching the café. Fortunately, there were still adjacent stools at the counter. Judith ordered coffee and a bran muffin. Renie asked for hot chocolate and a doughnut.
“The kids went to sleep,” Judith said. “That helps.”
Renie nodded. “Why don’t I check out the observation car? We could avoid the hooligans and get a better view. After the next stop, we’ll be heading toward the pass.”
“Sure,” Judith agreed. “You’ve cheered up.”
“Yeah, it’s after ten,” Renie said, before licking hot chocolate off her upp
er lip. “I’m almost human.”
“True.” Judith surveyed the other café patrons. “Franz isn’t here.”
“What?”
“Franz Wessler, the man who sat by us in the station.”
Renie’s shoulders slumped. “Please. No mysteries this time, okay? Let’s take a trip without homicides, disappearances, or near-death experiences. I’m not as young as I used to be. I’ve come off the bench for Joe instead of working on La Belle Époque’s spring catalog.”
“Stop griping,” Judith said. “We’re only going to be in Little Bavaria for three full days. What could possibly happen?”
Renie turned to stare at her cousin, slowly shaking her head. Along with her artist’s talent, she was a history buff. Thus, she knew history had a way of repeating itself—especially for the cousins.
The journey up the western face of the mountains had been beautiful. Gold, orange, red, and brown foliage shone in the late-morning sun. As they climbed to the summit, only traces of old snow lay in the shade of the tall cedar, fir, and pine trees. They’d passed the green-tinged river, trickling waterfalls, and small towns clinging to the cliff sides. By the time they began the brief descent into Little Bavaria, they had returned to their seats.
The station wasn’t more than a sleek blue canopy with a bench on the edge of town, but a bus was waiting to drive passengers to their destinations. Judith couldn’t help but scan what looked like about forty people who had disembarked. To her relief, the family of four was walking in the opposite direction. She saw no sign of Franz Wessler, but decided not to mention the fact to Renie. Maybe a relative was meeting him.
“Gorgeous day over here,” Renie said as they walked to the bus. “It’s always either warmer or colder on this side of the summit.”
Judith nodded. The mountains divided the state not only geographically, but in almost every other way. The western half was damp, cool, hilly, and much more heavily populated. To the east, the larger part of the state had a Midwestern air. Agriculture dominated, with wheat fields, orchards, and farms scattered over great stretches of almost flat land. Summers were hot; winters were cold. The western side was damp and rainy; the eastern part got far more snow. The very earth changed from dark brown to brick red where the Ice Age had carved out the arid land that had been spurned until great dams were built under President Roosevelt’s New Deal.
