by Maureen Lang
After the last hymn had been sung, Christophe led her from the church in no particular hurry. Outside, the air felt colder than ever.
Christophe put her arm through his. “See those stars up there, Annaliese?”
She spared only a quick glance. The air might have felt cold a moment ago, but the chill dissipated with his familiar touch, as if her arm belonged where he’d put it. Wrapped around his. She didn’t want the evening to end. She looked again at the stars above them. The night was clear, the stars bright, with just a sliver of the moon lighting the way.
“See how some of them are brighter than others?”
She nodded.
“We don’t have to look any farther than right up there to see we weren’t all created the same. It’s not fair, maybe, but it’s true. And apart from God, I don’t see how the party is going to make all of us equal in each other’s eyes. Bright or dull, there’s a difference. It’s not going to be an easy task to keep the dull ones from wanting what the brightest earn, or the brightest from ordering around the dullest.”
She had his gaze now, and her heart thudded in her chest the way it used to do when she was younger and shy. Looking away, she forced her feet to take careful steps and her mind to stay on the subject. “A society is only as good as its care for the least of those within that society. Maybe people will surprise you, Christophe, the bright and the dull. Maybe once we all have a voice, those sinners you’re so worried about will see a better way—the fairer way.”
His eyes were still on her. So close an added warmth came from him. For a moment she would have liked to lean closer, to have him kiss her in the way she used to dream about.
But instead she increased their pace, making her mind behave, reminding herself she already had one man wanting more from her than she should be willing to give. Besides, this man at her side didn’t hold any of the beliefs she had, and she none of his.
More importantly, he didn’t believe in the most basic goodness of man if he didn’t think fairness attainable.
So she walked silently at his side, wondering why he thought so little of the men God claimed to love.
* * *
Christophe opened the door to the house they shared, letting Annaliese go inside first, sorry the evening was over. He watched her walk all the way up the stairs. Something was different, and it had changed the moment she learned he hadn’t written those letters.
Still, smiles didn’t always mean what he thought them to mean.
So he let her go up to her room without another word. He opened the door to the flat he shared with Leo and Jurgen—to see Jurgen bent over the table, a glass of wine next to him, papers in front of him.
Now here was a man who knew how to pique the interest of a woman. Christophe had seen it happen.
Jurgen lifted his glass when Christophe approached. “Welcome home.”
Christophe nodded and shook off his coat, eager for his own room.
“She went with you? to your church?”
Christophe had been so close to the door to his room that Jurgen had said the words to his back. He stopped. “Yes, she did.”
“You’d do well to leave her alone, Christophe. She’s young and easily misled. Church will only confuse her, when she left all of that behind.”
He faced Jurgen. “I think she has a strong enough mind to decide for herself.”
Jurgen stood, taking his wineglass and approaching Christophe. “I wonder if you know that Annaliese and I . . . have a rather close bond? Both politically and personally?”
“Yes, I’ve seen your interest in her.”
“And hers in me?”
Christophe regarded the other man. If he admitted he’d noted Annaliese’s interest in him, it would be as much as admitting Jurgen had sole rights to her affection. On the platform the two of them had something special between them, but Christophe wasn’t at all sure the connection extended beyond political ties. He’d stopped believing that the night he’d taken Annaliese from the beer hall. Even if her fear had been slight, it had been there all the same. Christophe was sure of it.
“I’ve known her a long time,” Christophe said carefully. “I can see why you might seem a hero to her.”
A quick, almost-unnoticeable twitch appeared in the corner of Jurgen’s mouth. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re the opposite of what her father is. And right now at least, she wants nothing to do with him.”
Jurgen smiled, so if there was any hint of annoyance around his mouth, it was banished. “Let me assure you, what Annaliese feels for me has nothing to do with her father.”
Christophe shrugged again, then turned back to his room. “As you say.”
“Just one moment, Christophe. I know it’s late. I wanted to ask you something about the men you’re training. They’re young, but Leo says they’re loyal. Do you think so too?”
A chill—leftover from the outside air?—skidded along Christophe’s shoulders. He was used to training men and had rarely doubted their commitment to the army when fighting in France. But this was different. All Jurgen and Leo wanted from those who’d pledged their guns was to defend them in the dangerous streets of the city. What was there to worry about? Defense came naturally; all Christophe did was train them in the best way to do that.
“None have given me any reason to doubt them.”
Jurgen was silent then. With one last glance behind him, Christophe opened the door to his room. Even if he didn’t doubt the men—or at least their abilities to defend themselves—it looked as though Jurgen wasn’t so easily convinced.
17
Annaliese held the collar of her coat closed against the cold January air, but she barely felt the wind. How could she, leading a group of women to the polling booth? Thoughts of voting spread warmth through her veins.
She’d invited women all over Munich to meet her on the street corner this morning, to join together as they dropped their ballots into the boxes. She’d heard them before seeing them, laughter and chatter from around the corner, cheers when some caught sight of her as if she alone had arranged for them to have a vote.
She’d laughed, then with a song of unity led the way.
* * *
Christophe stood on the street just outside one of the polling centers, rifle in hand. Not that he—or any of his men—intended to use a weapon. It was enough of a reminder that peace would be kept, at any price. Especially in this neighborhood, where Leo and Jurgen knew their vote was strongest.
He watched Annaliese lead the women to the municipal building, singing and smiling all the way. Her smile brought one to him, but she never looked his way.
He’d already cast his own vote. Annaliese and Jurgen and everyone around them had said a vote for anyone but Eisner was a vote for the old regime. No more government of lies, as some of the signs read. But while Christophe certainly wanted change, he hadn’t been convinced the new Socialist government was the best choice.
A decision he would keep to himself if he could.
Like many other soldiers, Christophe patrolled the streets and was relieved at the end of the day when he’d never had to issue a single bullet from his gun.
* * *
Annaliese spent the day on her own, visiting with women’s groups, celebrating their vote . . . because surely that had been a triumph.
But what was already being said about the election results made her anything except celebratory now.
It was past midnight, but she couldn’t go home . . . not yet. The party office was unlit and morosely quiet. Upon entering, she realized it wasn’t empty, though. She hadn’t been the only one drawn back to the center of their work. She heard low voices from the shadows in the corner.
For the moment, all she could do was stumble to a chair and slip out of her coat, all the strength in her limbs gone. Perhaps she should have gone back to her flat, after all, but she was too tired to make the six-block walk. She’d expected to be alone, to adjust to the election results in priv
acy, where she could let her tears flow without check.
She just needed time to rest; then she would be off. She didn’t even need to speak to anyone . . . or see the loss reflected on another’s face. Somehow, at least for now, she knew company wouldn’t help.
How could she have been so fooled? How could all of them have been so wrong? Jurgen? Eisner? Leo?
The crowds had done it; they’d convinced her, convinced all of them that their support would flow into the ballot boxes.
But it hadn’t.
Pitiful—that’s what it was. The majority of Bavarian votes had been won by the bourgeoisie. Her father’s capitalist party. They had voted Eisner out, and even though a respectable number of votes had been cast in favor of the softer form of Socialism, it was the same form of Socialism that had sold them out four years earlier by approving the war. How had they won more votes than Eisner?
With the capitalists in power there would be no atonement from people like her father now. Had everything Eisner stood for, everything she and Jurgen had worked for, been for nothing? Hopes of spending the rest of her life in a future full of solutions were already evaporating.
Eyes adjusted to the dimness, she became aware of those around Leo’s desk—Jurgen, Huey, Ivo, Leo himself. They were whispering as if at a funeral.
She looked around for Christophe, but he was nowhere to be found. Did he even know? Had he heard how absolutely they’d lost?
“They didn’t see it,” she said, and from the corner of her eye she saw Jurgen, at least, look her way.
“Who?”
“Them.” She pointed with her nose out the door, toward the street. “That even the bread we provided was evidence of how it could work.”
“They’ll see,” Jurgen said, his tone an odd mix of gentleness and steel.
“What’s to become of the councils?” she called to Leo.
“They’ll go on as before. They were elected by consensus; nothing in this election can say otherwise.”
“But without the support of the assembly . . .”
Leo exchanged a glance with Jurgen that seemed to say more than words.
“Are you planning something?” she asked, first sitting up straighter and then, because they looked so very serious, standing and joining them at the table where they sat. “What were you whispering about just now?”
Jurgen took one of her hands, stroking the top of it. “It’s been a long day, mein Herz. Why don’t you let Ivo take you home? We’ll fill you in on whatever decisions are made.”
“What kind of decisions are you considering?”
He stood and put his arm around her as he led her to where she’d discarded her coat. He picked it up, inviting her to put it on. “Not to worry. We still have the same hopes. The election has done nothing to our resolve. The people will be heard.”
“I think I’d like to stay—”
But Jurgen was already shaking his head. “You’re tired, Anya. And discouraged. Let us mull over the options. Ivo?”
He was there in a moment, leading the way out the door to the truck.
Instead of getting in the back, she took the seat beside him in the front. “What are they talking about, Ivo? Do you know?”
He shrugged. “Only what you would expect. Surprised at the numbers.”
“It means we need to work harder to spread our message,” she said. “We can hold more rallies . . .”
“But there won’t be another election for some time now.” He looked at the street instead of her. “And they say the councils are being dissolved in the rest of Germany.”
“The important thing is to make sure the councils here stay in place.”
Ivo nodded, then sighed. “Maybe the Communists were right about boycotting the election. It was too soon. They want the councils too, you know.”
She nodded, although the very word—Communism—struck fear in her. Munich might not have easy access to the news from around the world, but everyone knew what started in Russia in 1917. A bloodbath, and in the name of some of the same things she believed in. But no one wanted that here, not in Germany.
18
Christophe had left open the door to the front hall so he wouldn’t miss the sound of someone coming in. The lightness of the step told him it was Annaliese. Exactly whom he’d been waiting for.
He reached the threshold of his doorway just as she put a hand on the rail and a foot on the first step up to her room.
“Have you heard?” she asked.
She looked so forlorn that he wished he could change the truth, make it somehow different in spite of the way he’d voted. Assure her all the work she’d done in the past few months hadn’t been for nothing. His vote wouldn’t have helped anyway, and for that he was grateful. It absolved him of any guilt over the disappointment on her face now.
He nodded. “Just some early results. Enough to know how it was heading.”
She sank onto the stair instead of going up. “How could we have been so wrong? All of us?” She glanced at him when he stood in front of her, and for a moment he thought a flicker of annoyance outweighed her sadness. “I shouldn’t include you, I suppose. Your heart was never really with us, was it? You probably didn’t even vote with us.”
He took a seat beside her. “Your vision is good. To take care of everyone, stop the exploitation. I believed in that. And the councils are a good idea too, at least so the National Assembly doesn’t have all the power in one place. And Eisner . . . he’s a good man.”
“But you didn’t vote with us, did you?”
He shook his head; no sense denying it.
She only looked away. “I’ve heard the free corps are disbanding the councils in other places around Germany. By force.”
He’d heard that too. One of the reasons the men had to know how to defend themselves. Supporters of the councils would be fair game if the free corps came here to Munich.
“What will you do now, Annaliese? Now that the election is over, I mean?”
She rested her forehead in her palms, closing her eyes against tears. “I . . . I should say I have more work ahead of me. The election should teach me that much, shouldn’t it?”
Christophe put an arm around her shoulders. He hadn’t let himself near her in the three weeks since Christmas. Not that avoiding her had been difficult, since she seemed to be doing the same. It was as if that night, those moments when he’d sensed sincerity behind her smile—the same smile he remembered from long ago—had been the beginning and the end of anything growing between them.
They’d been right to be cautious, he’d decided. Everything around them reminded him how little they had in common.
But seeing her now made all those cautions disappear.
“I’m sorry, Annaliese.”
* * *
Annaliese sagged against him, her head on his chest. A few tears seeped past her closed lids, and she raised a hand to wipe them away. She shouldn’t let herself take any comfort from him. She should rail against him for not voting with her, call him a traitor to the party. Tell Jurgen to send him away, tell Leo not to let him use the extra room.
But then he’d never claimed to be loyal to the party, had he? He’d allowed his name on the roster that day but had been honest enough as to why: he’d been tracking her down for her parents. He’d taken a job and he did it well, but even that had been done for reasons she’d never been entirely certain about.
“What will you do now, Christophe?”
“I’ll continue what I’ve been doing. The men still need training, so I’ll stay as long as I’m welcome—and as long as defense is the goal. If that changes, I’ll try finding a job, earning a living.”
“Back in Braedon or here in Munich?”
“Braedon, I suppose.”
So he would leave Munich, just that easily? Maybe she’d been wrong to think he might care for her, in spite of how badly she’d treated him when she thought him responsible for what Giselle had done. Had she been wrong to think he’d taken t
hat job to train Jurgen’s men because of her? Her parents had sent him to find her, but he hadn’t needed to stay nearby once she refused to see them. Yet he had stayed, and she’d been silly enough to let herself think it was because he had come to care for her. Somehow she’d hoped whatever differences they’d had would fade. Once the election was won and he saw how successful their plans for the future were, he might have come around to her way of thinking. . . .
“I have a house waiting for me back home. So do you.”
She stiffened, leaning away from him now, closer to the wall. “My sister died because she hated the way the war changed my father. Everything I believe in now is rooted in trying to make up for that. Do you think I would just toss it all away without another thought? run home to Braedon, even if my parents aren’t there?”
“Hasn’t the war ruined enough lives without letting it destroy the rest of your life, too?”
“How can you say that? My life isn’t ruined by my work. It’s better for it. All we have is what we do here and now, Christophe, and I’m doing my best to make the future better.”
“Life is important; I know that. What we do here matters. But this life isn’t all there is.”
She shrugged, unwilling to argue about his faith.
“Is politics really so important to you?” he asked. “Or are you going to spend the rest of your life trying to make up for what others think your father did wrong?”
She stood, away from his words. She didn’t need to listen to his arguments. Not now. Not ever.
But Christophe stood too, and he didn’t stop talking. “You may not want to hear this, but God can’t help but love you. Not for what you’re trying to do, not for what you’re trying to fix. Just you. And He loves your father, too.”
A corner of her mouth twisted downward. “You stand here more passionate about God loving my family than about anything we might agree to believe in for the future—the here-and-now future, the future of Germany.”
