by Renee Roszel
Her eyes moved on up, past the beauty of the building, and rested finally on the dominant Amergau peak, Kofel, rising above the Oberammergau valley. Drew could see a cross at its highest point, barely visible in the bright blue of the sky, lovely and inspiring, and for a moment, she smiled, breathing in the fresh spring air.
“Mrs. Erhardt!”
The businesslike bite of the words startled Drew back to reality and she turned to see a bullish-shaped reporter, a young female photographer, and Jim.
Having successfully got her attention, the squarefaced young man went on, “Mrs. Erhardt, we’ve been here nearly a week now, and I for one would like a little pace change to send home.”
He pulled a toothy grin, flipped on a tape-recorder that was strapped to his shoulder, and lifted a microphone to his lips.
Clearing his throat he went on, “What we’d like, Mrs. Erhardt, is your version of the story. What I mean is”—his smile turned knowing, somehow skeptical—“some of us find it a little hard to swallow, a little too pat, that you and Dr. Erhardt are really planning to make a go of this marriage.”
Drew felt herself go stiff and her heart rose to block her throat as he went purposefully on.
“I mean it’s perfectly understandable why you married the man—to help him get out of the East and all. But after one week together under the noses of the Reds, when you were a hostage? It’s pretty hard to believe true love blossomed. So what’s the real tale?”
Drew’s eyes moved from the short speaker to the mannishly clad girl who was taking pictures at his side, no doubt getting very revealing expressions of confusion and unease, and then to Jim, taller than the two animated ones before him.
He stood solemnly, green eyes narrowly surveying her, mouth turned down in a frown. She noted that the discoloration on his forehead was now only a dirty yellow, and that the cut was healing nicely. But the festering hatred in his eyes made her shudder.
She tried her voice. “I—I don’t understand quite what you’re asking.”
It was a quiet evasion. She shifted her purse to her shoulder and clasped her suddenly moist palms together.
“What’s not to understand?” His question held a note of irritation. “I just want to know why you’re still together now. I mean, Doctor Erhardt is out of the East. What’s the real story here? There’s more to this than you’re letting on.”
Squaring her shoulders, Drew was determined not to give Jim the satisfaction of knowing the truth. She began, hoping that at least outwardly, she appeared calm, “I can’t really see—”
“Mein Kindchen.” Gentle hands on her arms accompanied the familiar endearment. “I have found you again. Are you about ready for lunch?”
She turned to see Rolf’s smiling face, the first smile in the four days since their lovemaking; four days of silent, painful passings in the chalet.
The generous gladness of his greeting warmed her to her toes with a rare, revitalizing heat that was more welcome than the new spring sun above.
The reporter with the rolling tape would not be put off. “How about it, Doctor? What’s going on here? This fairy story about love at first sight—it just doesn’t wash with a lot of us. What’s the real dope?”
Rolf moved closer to Drew, sliding an arm about her waist, an air of authority surrounding his words as he spoke.
“It’s Max Dalton, am I right?” He addressed the smaller man. “Well, Max, have you got a girl friend?”
The little man shifted with the turn of attention. “Me? Sure—sure I’ve got a girl friend. Why?”
“Were you attracted to her the first time you saw her? Or, perhaps, did you think she was a—how do you Americans say it?—a dog?”
“Well, I—I sure didn’t think she was a dog, for gosh sakes.” He lowered the mike. “Can’t we get back to you?”
“But that’s where we are. I’m just suggesting that it is possible to fall in love with someone you’ve just met.”
“Okay, okay, it’s possible. Anything’s possible, I guess. But this is not probable!” He shrugged his brawny shoulders and continued with a sheepish smile. “I admit I liked my gal when I first saw her. I never said I loved her.”
Rolf chuckled deep in his throat. “Better turn off the tape then, Max. She might not understand some of this conversation.”
Drew relaxed slightly against him as he eased the situation that had so stymied her just moments before.
Max was frowning now, peering down at the tape, but his eyes shot back up as Rolf used his name. “Max”—he paused turning toward the slight, pixie-faced girl—“and Suzy, right?”
The young woman pinkened and nodded, momentarily pausing in her kneeling position for getting the best angle for her next shot.
“. . . and Jim Pollard?” Rolf went on to acknowledge the silent, scowling man in back. “All right, I’ll tell you the truth, once and for all, and that will be all we need to say on the subject. Agreed?”
There was a vague nodding before the silence became palpable. And Drew felt sure that they could hear the rush of blood through her constricted veins. The truth!
What was Rolf doing! What was he going to say. . . or possibly admit? Had he decided that he didn’t care to go through the two weeks protecting a woman he couldn’t stand, a woman who would not “pay” him for the service by sleeping with him?
She bit her lip, waiting with the rest of them. Unable to bear to watch his face, she dropped her gaze to a stone in the cobbled walk at her feet and stared at it.
His hand dropped from her waist and her heart plummeted with it.
From the corner of her eye Drew could see Max move his mike closer to Rolf’s face to catch his words when they came.
His voice was oddly quiet when he began, “The truth is, that it really doesn’t matter what I say here. The romantics of the world will believe that we married for love. . . and the cynics will think I married this lady only to gain my U.S. citizenship.”
He put a finger to her chin, lifting her eyes. Looking down at her, he locked his eyes with her own, speaking in a hushed tone, “What really does matter is”—he took her violently shaking hand into his larger, steady one; his smile was tender, almost loving—“what does my wife believe?”
There was a momentary pause before Drew heard the young photographer’s breathless, “Cheeze!”
Rolf heard it too and his finely sculptured lips twitched with humor. “It appears we have at least one romantic in the crowd.”
Pink-cheeked at the softness of his words, Drew lowered her eyes only to lift them again in silent thanks for yet another rescue. She expressed that thanks in a shy smile which he returned. Yet his was a smile so dazzling that it sent an intense shaft of feeling through her that stole her breath away.
The rest of the world ceased to exist. There was only she, only Rolf. She knew that his performance for Jim and the others was just that—a performance. But she couldn’t help but be affected by his gentle nearness.
“And now, love, what about that lunch?”
She nodded as he took her arm.
Max spoke up, “Hey, Doc. Thanks for the quote.”
Rolf turned back to them and threw a quick wave as he led Drew off down the sunny walk.
She felt a buoyancy she had not experienced in days as they walked past the window of Langs, the largest woodcarver’s shop in Oberammergau.
She scanned the displays in the windows. There were several styles of the popular Madonna and Child, from placid to windswept, some stained and some gilded. There were carvings of country folk in native costumes, playful animals and plaques with sayings in German.
In a corner, one carving in particular caught Drew’s eyes. She stopped and let out a laugh. “Look, Rolf.” She pointed. “Doesn’t that look like Daddy?”
It was a carving of a lanky, bespectacled man poring over a large volume, an intent expression carved on his narrow face. His shoulders were stooped, and his long spindly legs were bent, knees locked tight with two volumes p
ressed between his legs.
She giggled. “I’ve seen Dad that way. How perfect! I knew Oberammergau was famous for its wood carvings, but I never expected to find my father!”
Rolf offered, “I’ll get it for you if you’d like. You really shouldn’t leave Oberammergau without a souvenir to remember your stay.”
She sobered instantly. She would need no souvenir to recall her stay here. For that matter, it would be better to concentrate her efforts on forgetting it!
She shook her head. “No, Rolf. I’m sure you understand that I couldn’t accept it.” Hurriedly she added, “I’ll show it to Dad. If he likes it I’ll get it for him for his birthday or something.”
He set his shoulders in reluctant dismissal and shook his head. “No, Drew, I don’t understand why you can’t accept at least a small gift from me. I owe you my freedom.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a discouraging hand and finished, “But if you do not want anything from me, I won’t force the issue.”
He turned to survey the street at her back. “It looks as though Jim and his friends are gone.”
Resuming eye contact he went on, “Actually, I’ve already had lunch. And Doctor Porter is expecting me at one o’clock. He is anxious for my impression of his work on the Tokamak. So, if you will excuse me?”
His offhandedness punctured her balloon of buoyancy and she felt deflated at his obvious eagerness to be away now that they were alone.
Fighting a hot stinging in her eyes she lifted her chin. “Of course, Rolf. You don’t owe me lunch. . .or anything.”
“Are you going to be at the meeting later?” he asked as she turned to walk away. “I’ll save you a seat.”
“No. thanks. I’ll sneak in the back; that way my scribbling won’t disturb the speaker.”
At that she turned, trying for light-heartedness in her wave good-bye.
DREW marked her cassette with the identifying title and dropped it into its case. Her work done for the day, she stood, pressing her hand to the small of her back. Stretching, she tried to relieve a tense ache that had begun during the long hours of sitting taking notes and recording the presentations.
As usual, Rolf had been detained by numerous questions, and as usual, Drew took a cab to the house they shared, alone, ate a sandwich alone, and returned to her room to soak in a tub and then file away the materials for the speeches, which she would compile into a series of articles for the Los Alamos Scientific Monthly.
Walking to the glass door that led to the balcony, Drew gazed up at the clear black sky twinkling with stars.
She opened the door and stepped outside, inhaling the crispness of the night and pulling her fleecy robe close about her.
It was unearthly still, and except for the light of her room and Rolf’s there was nothing this far out of town to illuminate the darkness.
Rolf’s room? Lights?
She turned quickly and stopped, voicing a surprised, “Oh!”
“Hello, Kindchen.”
Rolf was there! His door was open, and he was leaning casually against its jamb, arms folded loosely across his chest. He must have come in while she was reviewing the tapes and she hadn’t heard his entry.
He wore the coffee-colored flannel trousers, turtleneck sweater and corduroy Norfolk jacket he had been wearing that afternoon. Always the casually well-dressed scientist, she mused.
“Hello, Rolf. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I just got back.” Straightening he went on, “Aren’t you cold out here? It’s barely above freezing.”
“I guess. . .a bit. But it’s so lovely.” She moved her hands to her arms, rubbing slowly as the chill began to penetrate.
He did not respond, merely watched her in a totally disconcerting way. Uneasy, she decided not to linger under that disturbing look. “Well, I think I’ll go on in to bed.”
She turned toward her door.
“At eight-thirty?” His question halted her and she shrugged her answer. “Drew, why don’t we call a truce. It’s early and I thought we might talk.”
“No. . .I. . .”
“Just talk.” He finished quietly.
She looked around. His face was serious. He seemed tired, somehow vulnerable, and her heart melted against her will.
“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to talk.”
“Good.” A flicker of satisfaction raced across his eyes as he stepped back out of the door and offered, “You may have the chair.”
A bit hesitantly, she followed him into his room and seated herself stiffly in a tall rocker that sat beside the door.
Rolf lowered his big frame to rest on the edge of the room’s largest piece of furniture. The bed. They faced each other for a moment as Rolf moved his elbows to his knees and laced his hands beneath his chin.
Feeling an awkwardness in the quiet, Drew spoke first. “Rolf? Whose house is this?”
His lips lifted in a brief smile. “Vacationing friends of Gieslbert Hartmut. It was a fortunate chance, since the conference had everything else in town reserved.”
She nodded. “It is a lovely home.”
Pursing his lips he agreed with a slow movement of his head.
“Rolf? I was thinking. In the beginning in the East, why didn’t you just ask me for my help like you told the press?”
The pleasant expression vanished and he raked a hand through his brown curls, ruffling them further. “That, Kindchen, was a mistake. I admit it, and I apologize.” Fleetingly a bitter smile twisted his lips before he spoke again. “But you will remember I originally believed I had only hours. I didn’t know you, and most importantly, I was used to using totalitarian tactics. In the East people are told, not asked, to do something.”
He lifted dark eyes to meet hers. “Do you understand what it is to be desperate?”
Lowering her gaze, she exhaled her sad answer, “Yes, Rolf, I think I do.”
As if the few words spoke volumes, Rolf moved in the obvious direction.
“Tell me how it was with Jim.”
She hedged. “It’s not worth discussing.”
He coaxed. “Some men in my position would believe they had a right to know.”
Drew’s eyes shot up to meet his, an electric storm of emotion flashed in their gray depths. “You have no right to pry. No one does!”
He did not appear affected by her anger as his voice nudged kindly, “Perhaps as a fellow human being I could exercise my right to help. Sometimes just talking to someone can be healing.” He was watching her squarely now. “Don’t you think it’s about time you rid yourself of the pain?”
She stared at him wordlessly for a long moment. Yes, he was right. She did need to talk about it. Yes, she was in pain, and yes, maybe it would be healing to tell him. After all, he of all people already knew her better than anyone, now—possibly even herself!
She sighed and began in a rush of words, “Jim was handsome, charming and glib. He literally swept me off my feet. It was a whirlwind romance and I thought he was everything a girl could want in a man until. . .until—”
She stopped and closed her eyes, feeling once again the anguish twist her insides.
“Until?” Rolf urged.
She studied him through the dark fringe of her lashes, unable to look directly at him in her embarrassment, “Until the abuses started. . . . First verbal. . . then mental. . .and finally. . .”
“What do you mean verbal?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Drew shifted uncomfortably in her chair and lay her head back against the soft lambswool draped across its back, closing her eyes. “He called me ‘cold’. . .‘unresponsive’ . . .” She couldn’t go on.
Opening her eyes she looked at him to appraise his reaction. He was frowning, leaning forward a bit. His eyes were steady, nonjudgmental.
“Go on.”
She swallowed. “Then it was mental abuse. He flaunted his little affairs at me saying he couldn’t get satisfaction from an ‘ice queen.’ He said—” Her
voice caught and she paused to regain her composure, curling her fingers about the chair arms. “He said I was his, and I’d learn. . . but in the meantime I wasn’t enough. . . .”
She pulled her hand loose and moved it to her mouth to stifle a sob. “Oh, Rolf. Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”
His eyes narrowed reflectively. “Why did you stay with him?”
She shook her head. “Looking back, I really don’t know exactly. I guess it was because I was brought up to believe a marriage was forever. . .and you had to work at making it good.” Sighing heavily, she let out a shaky laugh. “And I guess after a couple of years of working at it all by myself, I began to believe that ‘love’ was only a romantic notion for schoolgirls.”
Moving her shoulders in a helpless gesture she finished, “Once the honeymoon was over, I imagined that all marriages must be pretty much the same as ours was—hollow.”
He shook his curly head and slowly unfolded himself from the bed, reaching her in one long stride.
“There are two things you must realize, Drew.” Taking her cold hand, he firmly pulled her to her feet. “First, between the two of you, you were not the fool.” Pulling her to him in a gentle embrace, he cradled her face against the softness of his sweater, his lips grazing her forehead. “And you must know by now, you can be a very passionate woman.”
At his touch, her wits flew into chaotic, directionless flight like a sky full of startled butterflies. Frightened by her reaction, she tried to push him away, but his arms would not allow them to be parted. “Rolf, please—”
“Nø, just listen. I’m very sorry that my manner when we first met reminded you of Jim’s type.”
She was drowning in his masculine fragrance and warmth. Her voice became thready and weak. “His type?”
“Surely you don’t believe all men are like Jim.” It was an urgent whisper.
“No. . . not exactly.” She shook her head in the confines of his hand, feeling the soft cashmere move against her cheek.
But inwardly she saw little difference. Both Rolf and Jim were dominant men, prowling animals not content with one mate. It was not in their nature.
