I watched April scramble up onto the bar in a German dirndl dress that barely covered her ass. Her makeup looked especially garish under the bar lighting. If April were in her twenties, she might have been able to pull off the frilly green plaid dress with a matching milkmaid’s apron in pale pink. But she was pushing fifty. No one else in Leavenworth wore their hair in pigtails and walked around the streets in German clogs. April and I had had numerous disagreements over the years, usually about my lack of enthusiasm for the German culture and lately about Mac. April’s way of empathizing over the breakup of my marriage sounded about as sincere as a lawyer chasing an ambulance.
“Guten Abend,” April said in a botched German accent. I wished that Otto or Ursula were nearby. I knew they were getting a good chuckle out of April’s fake accent.
“Welcome, friends, to an evening that will go down in the history books as the night that we banded together to save our beloved Leavenworth.” April placed her hand over her heart, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. She froze in a moment of dramatic reverie before continuing. “As you know, our way of life is being threatened, and we will not stand by idly and watch it happen. We are fighters. We are Leavenworth! We are the land of Bavaria, a sacred space for all who visit. We are the keepers of tradition, and we stand in the footsteps of our grandmothers and grandfathers who fought for our freedom.”
“Freedom for what?” Garrett laughed. “To drink beer?”
“Good God,” Hans added. “She’s laying it on thick, even for April.”
“I would expect nothing less.” I sighed.
April was just getting started. She launched into a tirade about Kristopher and how he was a menace to society. She even went so far as to say that he should be banished from town.
“If she keeps talking, the next thing we know, she’s going to be reaching for a pitchfork and rallying everyone out to kill him,” Hans teased.
Hans wasn’t that far off. April fumed. Someone needed to rein her in. Finally, Mac, of all people, hopped up on a barstool and shouted. “Thanks, April. I think we all know what we need to do—vote for Valerie Hedy next Tuesday. Now, who is ready for free beer?”
Applause erupted as Der Keller servers wearing red-checkered Trachten shirts with black suspenders and barmaid dresses circulated through the packed space with trays of frothy beer steins.
April shot Mac a nasty look. I had to credit him for having a thick skin. He handed her a beer and moved off into the crowd. My fears about Leavenworth’s future were silenced. If tonight was any indication, Kristopher Cooper would soon be out of office, and life in our peaceful beer mecca would return to normal.
CHAPTER
THREE
GARRETT GOT CAUGHT IN A conversation with the owner of the hardware store. I snuck out the minute the meeting came to an end. There was no way I was going to chance bumping into Mac or April.
“I’ll walk you out,” Hans said, twisting his tool belt.
We squeezed through the crowd. The mood had shifted with the delivery of free beer. Conversations sounded upbeat and jovial. Hopefully, the mood would spill over to election day and everyone would cast their ballots for Valerie. I couldn’t see any scenario in which Kristopher could pull out a win.
Speak of the devil, I thought as we exited Der Keller and stepped onto the enclosed patio. Most people had been lured inside by the siren call of free beer, but a handful of locals were gathered around one of the large tables, warming their hands by the fire. I would have continued on, but a commotion broke out. Seated at the center of the table was none other than Kristopher Cooper. I quickly realized that he was flanked by his fringe group of followers.
“What are you doing here? You’re not welcome.” A shrill voice sounded behind me. Hans and I turned in unison to see April with her hands on her hips.
Kristopher leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the table. “The last time I checked, Ms. Ablin, it’s a free country. I’m enjoying a nice dinner with friends.”
April’s cheeks puffed out. “I thought you hated beer. If you’re campaigning against the craft, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
Kristopher strummed his fingers on his silver beard. “As you can see, my friends and I are sharing our favorite German fare and ice-cold glasses of sun tea. We believe in keeping our bodies pure and devoid of that poison that you all insist on drinking.” The smirk on his face was evidence of the fact that he was taking great pleasure in getting April riled up.
“You are such a hypocrite, Kris.” April shook her finger at him. “There are dozens of other German restaurants in the village, and you decided to eat at Der Keller. Tonight. You’re not fooling any of us. I know what your motive is.”
“And that would be?” Kristopher removed his expensive loafers from the table.
“Valerie’s hosting a huge campaign rally inside, and you’re here to stir up trouble.” April pressed the ruffles in her dress. I shivered at the sight of her bare legs. She had to be freezing.
At the mention of Valerie’s name, Kristopher shot a look I couldn’t decipher to an older gentleman seated across from him. They must have shared some of kind of code because the man pushed back his chair, gave Kristopher a nod, and hurried inside.
Kristopher made a tsking sound under his breath. “I hope Valerie isn’t misusing campaign funding to get everyone liquored up. It would be a shame to have to report her to the council.”
I thought April might attack him. Hans jumped in front of her to stop her from lunging at Kristopher.
Kristopher let out a nasty laugh. “Now, now, Ms. Ablin, that’s no way for Leavenworth’s ambassador to act, is it?” His tone was laced with sarcasm, making his friends laugh.
April tried to free herself from Hans’s grasp.
At the same moment, Valerie, along with a large group of her supporters, came outside. She stopped in midstride when she spotted Kristopher.
“Hey, Val. Funny meeting you here.” Kristopher stood. He was dressed like a politician in a pair of tailored slacks and a buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt. His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. No one in Leavenworth wore suits. Swimsuits to float the river or ski suits for winter afternoons on the mountain maybe. Kristopher looked out of place in his fastidious outfit.
“Look, Kristopher, this isn’t the time or place to do this.” Valerie’s voice was strong and forceful, much more so than when she was speaking to the crowd inside.
“Why? Are you nervous? Not up to any illegal campaigning, are you?” The arrogant smile on Kristopher’s face made me want to take a swing at him. “It would match the illegal boozing you’re fighting so hard for. All those boozy dollars going down the drain. Who needs it more? Six dollars for a pint of the devil’s drink. Our citizens are literally pouring their hard-earned dollars down the drain, and I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“Save it for the debate.” Valerie motioned for her crew to join her as she brushed past us.
Hans still had April by the elbow. I caught his eye. He mirrored my sense of disbelief. I had made it a point to stay out of local politics. In a town the size of Leavenworth, everyone had an opinion. On the rare occasion that I had had to attend a city council meeting for Der Keller, I had been shocked by how many people used the venue as a forum to vent their frustrations over everything from unleashed dogs to demands for regulating the height of trees and shrubbery in the parks. Why Kristopher or Valerie wanted the job was beyond me.
“Not so fast.” Kristopher blocked the exit. I guessed him to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He moved with lightning speed. “I came to have a word with you in private.”
Valerie shrunk back from him.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Kristopher gave her a knowing stare.
Valerie whispered something into the ear of the guy standing next to her, who proceeded to try and push Kristopher away.
“Hey! Hands off!” Kristopher shouted.
A fight broke out. Kristopher�
�s and Valerie’s supporters began hurling insults and physically pushing each other around. The commotion must have reached inside because people started pouring out of Der Keller to see what was going on. April, who continued to be restrained by Hans, egged everyone on.
“Get them out of here!” Her high-pitched voice cut through the mayhem. “He’s a Bedrohung! A Bedrohung. He’s ruining our beloved Bavaria.”
I had no idea what April meant by Bedrohung, but then again, she probably didn’t either. She was notorious for creating her own version of German or grossly misusing German words. I watched, dumbfounded, as the fight continued to escalate. Kristopher was outnumbered. His group had backed off the patio but were holding their ground on the sidewalk. No punches had been thrown, just a few shoves and plenty of insults. I didn’t understand why he didn’t leave. If they stuck around much longer, I had a bad feeling that it might turn ugly.
Nothing like this had ever happened, at least in recent memory. Leavenworth political campaigns usually involved a debate at the Festhalle, where candidates sparred over tax policy or parking enforcement issues. I’d never seen a city council race get violent.
A thunderous clap boomed. Everyone froze. I looked to the sky. No one had predicted thunderstorms.
“Break it up,” Mac yelled as he leapt onto one of the tables. He held two beer paddles, or flight boards used for tastings. “Enough. Everyone go home. The show’s over.” He slammed the paddles together again. The sound was so loud, I pressed my fingers in my ears. However, his startle technique worked. The bloodlust energy in the opposing groups dissipated.
Kristopher gave Valerie a triumphant grin before sauntering away.
Had his only mission been to incite an argument?
Hans released April, who shook him off with a huff. She grabbed Ross, the owner of the Underground, and dragged him with her in Kristopher’s direction.
“Should we let her go?” I asked Hans.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve done my duty for the night.”
“That was nuts.” I glanced around us. There must have been at least thirty people outside. I was surprised that no one had called the police. The irony, that Kristopher was campaigning on a platform that alcohol was the root cause of public disturbance and distress, wasn’t lost on me. Had that been his purpose? Did he want a fight to break out at Der Keller, in order to blame it on beer?
Hans frowned. “Nuts, yes, and I suspect also staged.”
“Me too. Kristopher came here to pick a fight.”
“He succeeded.” He tucked his hands in his workpants. “You want me to walk you to your car?”
“No thanks. It’s just down the block.” I kissed his cheek. “See you later. Don’t go getting any ideas about running for city council.”
Hans pretended to gag. I left him and headed down Front Street. When I passed Conrad’s Nutcracker Shoppe, I noticed that he, Valerie, and April were continuing to trade barbs with Kristopher. For a minute, I thought about intervening, but instead I crossed the street and faded into the darkness. Kristopher had brought this on himself. It wasn’t my job to mediate. Thank goodness the election was just a week away. The sooner I could cast my vote and end the craziness, the better.
CHAPTER
FOUR
THE NEXT MORNING, I AWOKE to a thin layer of frost coating the rows and rows of hops that Mac and I had cultivated together. When we purchased the rambling farmhouse and organic acreage just outside of the city, Mac had visions of creating a hop oasis where he could plant a variety of vines and tinker with ideas for new beer recipes. There was one flaw in his vision. The man had a lackluster palate (if I’m being generous). Much to Otto’s chagrin, Mac never developed the ability to discern between notes of wood smoke or dark chocolate. He had never met a beer he didn’t like, either. His inability to distinguish flavors didn’t come from lack of effort. Mac had attended beer university in his parents’ homeland; he had spent countless hours working by Otto’s side, listening and watching his father, a master craftsman; and he had ingrained himself in the craft beer culture. He knew almost every brewer, distributor, and hop producer in the Pacific Northwest. The man was a walking encyclopedia of beer, but getting him to distinguish the unique subtleties in a pilsner versus a lager was impossible.
The fact that I could pull out a hint of grapefruit or honey in a beer with my eyes closed had irked Mac to no end. It had been an ongoing source of tension between us. Mac was convinced that I was intentionally trying to make him look weak in front of his father. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Otto had pulled me aside once after Mac had stormed out of a tasting session. “Sloan, do not let Mac get to you. He is upset, ja, but he will be fine. Some people have ze nose. Ze gift.” His kind eyes had held my gaze. “Do not give up or hide your talent because of Mac. He will get over it with time.”
I appreciated Otto’s reassurance, but he wasn’t married to Mac. He didn’t have to put up with Mac’s constant whining over why I could sniff out every subtlety in a beer, or his accusations that I was purposely trying to sabotage him.
I shook off the memory and tiptoed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Alex, my teenage son, was softly snoring in his bedroom. I resisted the urge to go kiss his forehead when I caught a glimpse of him curled in a half-moon, the same way he had slept since he was a newborn. Alex was the reason I had stayed with Mac for way too many unhappy years.
And, for what? I thought, flipping on the kitchen lights. The kitchen was my domain. I had fallen in love with its brick fireplace and views looking out onto our small hop farm. Now that Mac and I had split, what was I going to do with all of this space?
Nothing. That was the answer that had been tossing around my brain for the past few weeks. The farmhouse had been Mac’s dream. It was time to figure out my own dreams. I was fairly sure they didn’t include a huge farmhouse and the ongoing work of maintaining hop fields. I’d had my eye on a small A-frame house tucked in the forest. It was just the right size for me and Alex. So far, I hadn’t done anything more. I had been too busy with Oktoberfest. Or at least that was the story I’d been telling myself. The truth was, I was scared. As much as I knew that I was ready to be done with Mac, I was terrified of being alone.
I decided right in this minute to stop by April Ablin’s office on my way to Nitro and arrange a time to see the property. April wasn’t my first choice of a real estate agent, but in a town as small as Leavenworth, there weren’t many alternatives. The only good thing about hiring April was that I knew she would be cutthroat in negotiations. If I had to work with her I might as well reap the benefits of her annoying, tenacious personality.
I brewed a pot of coffee and gathered ingredients for breakfast. Alex had midterms at school all week, and I wanted to send him off with a hearty morning meal. With the cold weather creeping in, I thought a comforting sweet breakfast of my special French toast with a side of chicken sausages would hit the spot.
I started by whisking eggs, heavy cream, and vanilla. Then I added a touch of salt and a few tablespoons of sugar. Next came my secret ingredient—a cup of dark, stout beer. The chocolaty beer would give the batter a rustic depth. I’d been making pancakes, waffles, and French toast with beer for as long as I could remember. I’d never given away the secret. Instead I just smiled when people raved about the unique flavors on their morning breakfast plates. Maybe beer-infused waffles would have to go on the breakfast menu for our overnight guests at Nitro.
Beer is such a versatile ingredient in cooking and baking. It adds a natural froth to breakfast batters and can be used to enhance flavors in soups and sauces. I use it in almost everything I make. There’s no need to be concerned about getting tipsy on breakfast French toast because the alcohol burns off in the cooking process.
Once I had a smooth, dark batter, I dredged thick slices of peasant bread and grilled them in butter. The smell of the sizzling French toast and chicken sausages roused Alex from his bed. He shuffled into the k
itchen in a pair of sweatpants and a warm-up jacket. His hair was tousled from sleep.
“Morning, Mom. What smells so good?”
“French toast.” I slid a slice onto a plate and dusted it with powdered sugar. “There’s a bunch of different syrups and jams that I picked up from the farmers’ market on the table. Help yourself.”
Alex took the plate. He stabbed a couple of sausages and took his breakfast to our farm-style dining table.
Fall in Leavenworth brought a bounty of local produce, along with homemade jams, jellies, and salsas to our weekly farmers’ market. I had picked up apple butter made from Washington’s famous Pink Lady apples, Bing cherry preserves, honey, maple syrup, and a black raspberry sauce.
“Geez, Mom, how am I supposed to pick?” Alex motioned to the assortment of sweet accoutrements on the table.
“Have them all.” I filled my plate and joined him. “Are you ready for another day of testing?”
He chomped a bite of the chicken sausage. It was also locally produced and packed with fresh herbs like rosemary, fennel, and basil. “I guess.”
I thought about broaching the subject of moving but didn’t want to stress Alex out during testing week. “You have soccer practice after school, right?”
“Yep. I’ll catch a ride home with someone. You don’t have to come get me.” He slathered his French toast with the black raspberry sauce.
“I don’t mind. I’m happy to leave a little early to grab you. It’s slow at Nitro right now. I might as well capitalize on that as long as I can.” I spread apple butter on one slice of the golden brown toast, and cherry preserves on the other.
“It’s cool, Mom. Some of the guys want to grab pizzas and study for our math midterm together. Is it okay if I invite them here?”
“Of course. If you want, I can pick up pizzas on my way home and meet you here.” I felt like I was often walking a tightrope when it came to mothering Alex. I didn’t want to smother him, but I also wanted him to know that I was here for anything he needed. The teenage years had brought a burgeoning independence. It was heartening to see him developing into such a wise and capable young man, but I knew that he was still hurting from Mac’s and my separation. He didn’t talk about it much. Every once in a while, I would catch him in the right mood, and he would divulge that it was “weird” that his dad and I weren’t living together. Otherwise he kept his feelings bottled up. I knew that he had inherited that trait from me. My only play was to continue to gently nudge him and make sure the line of communication stayed open between us.
Beyond a Reasonable Stout Page 3
