The Crest

by Jerena Tobiasen

  The previous evening, while the family discussed wedding arrangements, Paul stated that, for reasons he would rather not elaborate on, he preferred to be married at a town hall, rather than in a Catholic church.

  I don’t want to be involved in a discussion about religion, and how the Pope let me down.

  “You can’t just march into the München town hall and expect to be married on the spot!” Ilse-Renata’s uncle had told them. “You must make an appointment. It could take days.”

  “Then we’ll find another, smaller town to help us,” Paul said, determined to be married the following day.

  “Yes!” Ilse-Renata agreed. “We must be married tomorrow!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  HAND-IN-HAND, Paul and Ilse-Renata walked briskly from the train station to the town hall. It was early. Most employees had yet to report for work. Paul and Ilse-Renata approached a desk, over which hung a sign reading: “Marriage Licences”.

  “May I help you?” a middle-aged woman, dressed in a neat brown suit, asked, looking up from a typewriter.

  “Yes,” Paul responded eagerly. “I’ve walked all the way from Rome to marry this young woman.” He looked lovingly at his betrothed. “I’d appreciate it if you could ensure that we don’t leave here today until it’s done.”

  Ilse-Renata smiled back at him. “And I’ve been waiting for more than a year for his arrival,” she said.

  “We can help you,” the woman assured them, “but the marriage commissioner hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Vogel!” a kindly-faced gentleman with white hair greeted the clerk.

  “Good morning, Mayor,” Mrs. Vogel replied.

  “And who have we here?” the Mayor asked, smiling at the tall young man with long, blue-black hair and a bushy beard, and the petite blonde at his side, their hands tightly clasped.

  “Mayor Schulze, this young couple is hoping to be married this morning,” Mrs. Vogel said, before introducing Paul and Ilse-Renata.

  Paul shook hands with the mayor and explained their urgent desire to be married.

  “Ah! I understand,” said Mayor Schulze. “I saw military service as well. I appreciate what you’ve been through, and how long you’ve had to wait.”

  When Mrs. Vogel explained that a marriage commissioner would not arrive for another hour, the mayor said, “Then, Hannah, I must do it! I am the Mayor, am I not!”

  Mrs. Vogel gave the mayor a fond smile. “Yes, sir! We will finish the paperwork and attend at your chambers in a few minutes.”

  The mayor nodded toward the three and departed, walking smartly down the hallway toward his office, whistling a popular wedding tune.

  Paul and Ilse-Renata stayed with her family long enough to enjoy the celebratory wedding lunch, then caught the last train heading north to Bayreuth, where they arrived at dusk. Hands tightly clasped, they walked to the Lange family home from the train station. Paul carried a small suitcase with Ilse’s few possessions neatly packed inside. He had none.

  By the time they reached the home of Gerhard and Emma Lange, it was dark. The newlywed couple stood at the threshold of the home that Paul had last visited more than two years prior.

  Pausing to collect themselves, Paul noticed that his father had mounted the crest over the lintel. He reached up, placing his hand on the worn crest. I’m home and I’m safe. He felt the shape of the crest pulse in his hand.

  “I hope no other Lange will have to place a hand on this crest before setting off to war,” he said.

  “I agree absolutely,” Ilse-Renata said brightly.

  He left his concerns hanging on the crest, opened the door, and led his wife into the dimly-lit hallway.

  Paul sniffed the aroma of food being prepared for the evening meal, trying to identify it as it wafted from the kitchen.

  “Oh, good,” he said, “We’ve arrived in time for dinner! Smells like Schmidt sausage and sauerkraut.”

  It was quiet in the foyer, but Paul could hear a soft noise coming from within the study. He set the suitcase on the floor inside the front door and walked toward the tuneless humming, still holding his wife’s hand.

  Standing in the doorway of the study, he tore his gaze from her eyes, squeezed her hand, and said, “Hello, Papa.”

  Gerhard swung around, the force of his turn jerking the glass in his hand. Small drops of brandy jumped free of the crystal vessel, spatting on the silver tray below it.

  “Paul!” Gerhard exclaimed, setting his glass on the tray. “You’re home!”

  Paul stepped into the room and his father’s welcoming embrace. Looking over his son’s shoulder, Paul added, “and who is this lovely young lady?”

  “Papa,” Paul said bashfully, “this is Ilse-Renata … my wife.”

  Caught unsuspecting, Gerhard searched his son’s face, then Ilse-Renata’s. As their news permeated his thoughts, he grinned broadly.

  “Ilse-Renata. A lovely name,” he said reaching beyond Paul to take her hands. “Welcome to our family,” he added, before enveloping her in his embrace.

  The introduction made, the three of them stood silent and grinning for a moment. Suddenly, Gerhard jerked his head toward the doorway and bellowed into the foyer. “Emma! Gerda! Arthur! Come quickly. Paul’s home!”

  Footsteps and squeals came from every direction of the house. They arrived one by one, greeting their wayward family member and welcoming his wife.

  “You’ve arrived just in time for dinner,” Emma said. “Gerda, run along and tell the cook that we’ll have four more for dinner. Arthur, go tell the old ladies that Paul is home, and that they should join us for dinner.”

  Then she turned to Paul. “There is time enough before dinner; would you like to rest? Are you hungry? From where are you coming? How long have you been travelling?” Her questions flew at them in rapid succession.

  “We’ve just arrived from München, Mama. We are a little hungry, but we can wait.” He turned to his wife for affirmation and she nodded. “I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to properly bathe and shave,” he said, running his fingers through his beard.

  “For the past year, I was imprisoned by the Americans in a camp near Rome,” he summarized. “I arrived in München yesterday and Ilse and I were married this morning. We had lunch with her family, then caught the last train home.”

  “Oh, my!” Emma said. “So much news and so many more questions! Ilse, dear. May I call you Ilse? Or do you prefer Ilse-Renata?

  “Please call me Ilse,” she said shyly.

  “Very well. Ilse, would you like to wait here while I sort things with Paul, or would you like to come along?”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll come along. Herr Lange, will you excuse me?” Ilse deferred to Gerhard.

  “Of course,” he said, shooing them out of the study. He took a sip of his brandy and sat with ease in the chair behind his desk.

  “Well,” he muttered to his glass of brandy, “so much for the priesthood!” His face radiated pleasure and confidence that the Lange family would have a fruitful future.

  Before she left her son and new daughter-in-law, Emma hugged them both and congratulated them once more. With her hands resting on her son’s arms, she said, “Paul, dear, you are so thin. It breaks my heart to think what you must have suffered while you were interned.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. Brushing them aside before they slid down her cheeks, she smiled and said encouragingly, “We’ll just have to fatten you up! Won’t we, Ilse?”

  Ilse smiled at her mother-in-law and then at Paul. “We will, indeed.”

  Emma left the newlyweds in Paul’s room while she ran down the oak staircase in search of Gerda and Gerhard.

  “Gerhard, my dear. This night is their wedding night! They must have our room. Do you think you can manage one night in Paul’s room?”

  “In a single bed. With you?” he leered at her. “I would be delighted to try …”

  She grinned at his mischief. “You … are … impossible!” she
said, wrapping her arms around his waist with her face turned up in anticipation of his kiss. He obliged.

  Emma pushed him away. “I must find Gerda. We need to prepare the wedding suite,” she said, floating out of the study. “Ger-da!” she hollered into the house.

  During dinner, the conversation stayed to family topics, notably the rash on Ilse’s cheeks and the absence of Paul’s beard—which caused crimson blushing each time someone commented on one or the other—and life in Bayreuth since the end of the war.

  They talked about the bombings in the city and the death of Otto, Hildegard, and Marie, but otherwise avoided any discussion of the war. Ilse enjoyed the banter and felt as though she had always been part of the family.

  When they retired to the study afterward to relax with a glass of brandy, Emma announced that their bedroom had been prepared for Paul and Ilse.

  “It won’t do to have you share Paul’s small bed on your wedding night,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mama,” Paul said, feeling his scalp prickle with embarrassment, “but we’ll manage.” He looked at his new wife, who, pink-faced, nodded her agreement.

  “Nonsense,” Emma said. “Gerda and I have already prepared the master bedroom for you. We insist. Don’t we, Gerhard,” she said, appearing to defer to her husband for agreement.

  “But what about you and Papa?” Paul asked.

  “Well, that was my ques—”

  Emma jabbed her elbow in Gerhard’s rib, ending his comment. “We will manage just fine in your bed. Just fine,” she said looking intently at Gerhard, a small grin beginning on one side of her mouth.

  Gerhard raised his glass. “To the newlyweds!” he said looking over the rim of his glass at Emma, a glint in his eyes meant for her alone.

  “Do you think you can learn to tolerate my crazy family?” Paul asked, watching Ilse remove the braiding from her hair and brush out the dark blonde tresses that fell in waves below her breasts. Her pale, pink cheeks gave her creamy complexion a healthy glow, causing the three freckles on the tip of her nose to darken.

  Her hazel eyes searched the mirror until she found his dark ones. “Of course! They’re wonderful people. It’s easy to understand you now. Seeing how your family is at ease with one another.”

  “I wish we could have had a big wedding in the cathedral,” he apologized, “but it will be a while before I have money that can be used for anything other than necessities. Besides, I’m not particularly fond of the Church just now.”

  “I presume you’ll explain your comment about the Church at some point, Paul, but please don’t apologize,” she said, placing the brush on the low dresser and rising from the stool where she had been sitting. “There is nothing simple or ordinary about a quick, shoe-string wedding at the end of a war. We may have nothing now, but we can build a life together. Family is what is most important.”

  “Ja, but we can’t even have a wedding night in a hotel, let alone a honeymoon!” He moved toward her.

  “None of that is important. We are together now. ‘Till death us do part’,” she said, mimicking the words the mayor had said that morning. “That is what’s important.”

  She smiled up at him, raising her arms to embrace him.

  He bent his knees and lifted her lithe form off the floor. His apple-flavoured lips lingered on hers while he carried her the three steps to their wedding bed.

  “We’ll have to find our own bed soon,” he said. “My parents are generous by nature, but I don’t want to take advantage of the situation.”

  “Agreed,” she mumbled, kissing the pulsing notch at the base of his neck. As she traced small, butterfly kisses to other tantalizing parts of his anatomy and inhaled his maleness, they forgot about war, church, and family, and focussed only on themselves for one glorious night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  OVER A LATE breakfast the following morning, the Lange family made plans for their future. A new wing would be added at the far end of the house to provide sleeping quarters and other private rooms for Paul and Ilse. In the meantime, Paul and Ilse would purchase a new, bigger bed for his room so Gerhard and Emma could have their own room again.

  Gerhard, Paul, Emma, and Ilse took their coffee into the study. Gerhard and Emma sat side-by-side in a pair of worn, leather armchairs, leaving the settee for the newlyweds. A discussion followed regarding the design of a new addition to the house.

  “Son,” Gerhard said, “since you don’t appear to have any imminent plans to enter the priesthood, I’m wondering whether you have discounted university studies?”

  The question caught Paul unawares, and Ilse even more so. “Priesthood?” she said, her eyes wide with questioning surprise.

  “It’s another long story,” he said quietly, smiling back at her. “May I tell you later?”

  Emma giggled. Leaning toward Ilse, she efficiently shared what Paul wished to avoid. Paul rolled his eyes when she concluded the story with their arrival the previous evening.

  “I see,” Ilse acknowledged with her own giggle.

  To end the embarrassing discussion, Paul made a small cough, and took control of the conversation. “Well … I hadn’t given university much thought in the past,” he said. “However, it has a certain appeal now. But I’m not alone any longer.” He wrapped his arm around Ilse and lost himself in her eyes momentarily. “What I really need is a job.”

  “Consider this,” Gerhard urged. “Come to work in the factory with me, part-time. Earn the income you need. The two of you should be able to live here frugally.” He looked at each of them, then continued. “Attend to your studies the rest of the time.”

  Paul heard his father’s words and turned to Ilse. “We can certainly discuss this, Papa. Do you need an answer right now?”

  Ilse placed a small hand on his arm. “Paul, I think your father’s offer is generous. If you’re looking for my blessing, you have it.”

  “Then it is done!” Gerhard announced, rising from his chair to pour more coffee. Emma assisted by passing a bowl of sugar.

  “A toast!” Gerhard said, raising his coffee cup. “To an early and successful renovation and a happy future to you both.”

  “Hear, hear,” Emma said in agreement, raising her cup in good cheer.

  “Perhaps, sir, you might help me find employment, too?” Ilse asked, looking to Gerhard. “I’d be grateful for any help.”

  “Of course, if that is what you wish,” Gerhard answered. “On one condition …”

  “A condition, sir?” Ilse said, looking puzzled.

  “Yes, a condition.” Gerhard grinned mischievously and elaborated, “You will call me ‘Papa’ or ‘Gerhard.’ No more sir!”

  “I can do that. Thank you. Papa,” Ilse said shyly.

  Paul looked at the happiness surrounding him, feeling the weight of his emotional isolation slip slightly from his shoulders. I must speak to Papa soon. I need to know how he handled his fears and nightmares at the end of the Great War.

  When discussions of the new addition concluded, Paul and Ilse excused themselves, anxious to be off in search of a new bed.

  Gerhard set himself to make some phone calls to facilitate the pending construction.

  Arm in arm, Paul and Ilse walked into town, stopping at shops along the way, looking for a new bed. They finally found the one they wanted, paid for it, and arranged to have it delivered later that day. With free time on their hands, they went looking for a restaurant where they could share a quiet meal and talk.

  “So,” Paul said after the waiter had taken their order and cold glasses of a Riesling wine sat before them, “I told you of my year in Italy. Now you must tell me how you got from Breslau to München. It can’t have been easy. I know what Breslau was like when I left. And after I heard about the convent, I worried about you constantly. Did you stay much longer?” He reached across the table and held her hand.

  “No. We didn’t,” she said, looking at the large hand that covered hers, a band of gold gleaming on the ring finger of his rig
ht hand. “What did you hear about the convent?” she asked, delaying her story a bit longer.

  “Do you recall the story that I told you about Nayda and the other young girls?” Paul asked.

  Ilse nodded in her recollection.

  “As we were moving out, we heard of another raid by the Reds. One of the other platoons had gone out to investigate. Fortunately, by then, Nayda and her classmates had been removed to safety in Dresden. But the nuns were still there, of course.

  “When the platoon arrived … well …” Paul hesitated, not knowing what to say next.

  When he found the words, he continued. “The story we heard from some of the men in that platoon was that every nun had been raped and beaten, regardless of their age. None were spared.”

  He paused, taking a sip of his wine. “The story resembles the one we heard from Nayda, does it not?” It was a rhetorical question for which he expected no answer, then continued.

  “Apparently, two of the nuns were so distraught that they ran into the river as soon as the Russians left. The weight of their soaked habits pulled them under the water. The current pulled their bodies into the fast-moving water, and they drowned.” Paul shook his head in disbelief.

  “Oh yes! I know what you mean,” Ilse interjected. “No women were safe, including nuns and children. We heard on the wireless that several convents were attacked. Many women, including nuns, fell pregnant. Apparently, the Communists justified rape as a means of eradicating the German race. In addition to murder, that is. Few, if any, of the women kept their babies. Hospitals reported that so many babies were abandoned that they had insufficient supplies to care for them all. And no one wanted half-German, half-Russian children.”

  Ilse took a deep breath to steady her shaking hands. “I even heard one announcer say that nurses took babies to the river’s edge and drowned them.” Her words were hushed and miserable. “Can you imagine! Drowning a baby! How desperate they must have been.” A sob issued from her lips as a tear escaped her eye.