Balance Wheel

by Taylor Caldwell

  Friederich took Charles’ coat and hat. “We didn’t talk of anything, yet,” he said. He added, shyly: “We waited for you.”

  Then Charles knew that he “had” Friederich, without a doubt. He took Friederich by the arm, and they entered the parlor together. Another change had taken place here. All the books had been replaced in their bookcases, all the tables had been dusted and polished, all the furniture had been brushed. The rug had been cleaned; there was a fire on the hearth. It was a shabby, cheap room, still, but soap had been used here, plenty of cloths and mops.

  George Hadden and his sister, Helen, were waiting for Charles. George rose and the young woman, who was about twenty-nine years old, smiled up at him. Charles saw that she was rather short, and plump, with her brother’s sandy coloring. Her hair was smoothly brushed back from her round, rosy face into a large neat knob on her neck. It was evident that she wasted no time on style and fashion, for she wore a plain white shirtwaist buttoned high on her throat, and a full long skirt of blue serge, and black buttoned shoes. She also wore pince-nez. But even the glasses could not hide the shining clarity of her blue eyes, and their deep intelligence. There was something sweet and tender about her mouth, something touchingly feminine about her rather broad, upturned nose and dimpled chin. She had capable hands, and a look of calmness and purity.

  “George has told me so much about you, Mr. Wittmann,” she said, and her voice was gentle. He sat down. Friederich hovered for a moment, then awkwardly sat next to Helen Hadden. Charles was suddenly interested. Friederich had changed extraordinarily. He was hesitant, but it was evident that he was excited. He stared for a long moment or two at Helen’s profile, and color came into his waxy cheeks. His arm jerked once or twice, as if he wished to put it along the back of Helen’s chair. Then he sat very stiffly, and colored even more.

  He said, to Charles: “You ought to have come for dinner, Karl. I—I think it was a good dinner—” His tone was almost pleading.

  “Very good,” remarked Miss Hadden. She gave him a sweet glance. “All my favorite dishes. Good plain Pennsylvania food.”

  Charles was surprised. Friederich studied his knees. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Schuele’s niece is an excellent cook,” he said.

  “And you don’t see that wonderful old German china any more,” went on Miss Hadden.

  So, thought Charles. That’s where Mother’s best set went to, after all. He just walked off with it, and here I’ve been looking for it everywhere for years. He kept his face straight, aware that Friederich was now blushing furiously.

  “It was my grandmother’s,” he said, and only Charles heard his feeble defiance. “Then it was my mother’s.” He paused, then went on, louder: “It was all I ever had, that belonged to the family.”

  “I know,” said Charles. “You’ve always been so busy, Friederich. Why don’t you look over the old house and see if there is anything else you want? I know,” he continued: “There’s our father’s old meerschaum pipe, with the gold and amber stem. I was looking at it only last week, and wondering if you wanted it. But it’s a nuisance to keep clean, and you’ve got a lot of pipes.”

  “I always wanted it,” said Friederich.

  Yes, thought Charles. You always did. I remember now. “Then I’ll send it to you tomorrow. Jimmy can drop it here on the way to school.”

  George glanced from one brother to the other, and understood. He wondered which of the two men he pitied the most. He said, to Charles: “I often see—or I should say, hear—your boy tearing around town in that big red automobile of yours, Charles. He’s growing up, fast. He doesn’t run around with many of his old friends, does he? I see that he’s taken up with Mr. Haas’ Walter, who’s a very serious boy.”

  “I’d never have thought it of Jimmy,” laughed Charles. “Only a year ago he despised young Walter, who is going to be a minister like his father. But now they’re close friends, even though Walter is a year older. They’re going to Harvard together, they tell me.”

  George turned to his sister: “Jimmy is Charles’ son.” Helen nodded pleasantly. She liked Charles. She nodded to Friederich also. Charles decided that Friederich resembled a happy dachshund very closely when Helen looked at him.

  The conversation continued to be amiable. Friederich showed no symptoms of wanting to discuss anything of importance. He appeared content only to look at Helen. So Charles turned his attention to George.

  “The Connington expects to have its furnaces going in the summer, George. They also expect to have a large machine tool shop.”

  “No!” said George, concerned. “In competition, I suppose? But then, they don’t have your fine patents.”

  “Brinkwell is under the impression that price will be a deciding factor, when they make the machine tools, and not quality. He even implied to me that there were ways of getting around patents. And he was insolent enough to hint that as 70% of the patents are held in the name of our company he could influence my brothers.”

  George, who was usually so peaceable, became angry. “He doesn’t know the Wittmanns,” he said.

  Charles considered this. He knew that Friederich had at last come to attention and was listening. “He might know one,” he said.

  Friederich burst out vehemently: “Yes! Jochen! He winds Jochen around his little finger. I know!”

  George and Charles looked at him. Charles tapped a fingernail against his teeth. Helen leaned forward in her chair. Friederich began to stammer: “At least, I think so. Jochen told me a few months ago—that—that the Connington wanted to lease or buy some of our patents, and that they would have a wonderful proposition for us when they were ready.” He became miserable. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know anything about business—”

  Charles said to George, mildly: “Has Friederich told you that he intends to take an active interest in our shops very soon?”

  Helen, who had been informed of much by her brother before coming to Friederich’s house, said with warm pleasure: “How wonderful. With Mr. Wittmann’s knowledge of social needs, and his experiences among the workers, he will be invaluable, won’t he?”

  “I’ve always felt so,” said Charles, without blushing in the slightest.

  Friederich was looking at Helen, as at a vision. She regarded him admiringly. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He stammered again: “Karl said he needed me—I don’t know why, exactly. But I’ll do all I can.”

  “What is wrong with Monday?” asked Charles.

  Friederich was appalled at the imminence of Monday. But Helen was waiting for his answer. “Monday.” He nodded. All at once he was important, valuable. His broad and bony face took on dignity. “I don’t know anything.” He said this, simply. “But I can learn. I’ve never taken an active part, and the shops are a mystery to me. But I can learn.” He looked at Charles, appealingly.

  “It won’t take long,” said Charles. “Yes, you can help me. I’m going to need your help, Friederich. I’ve told you that before.” Now he said to Helen: “Miss Hadden, you’ve just returned from Europe, and The Hague. Is there something you can tell us?”

  Helen smiled, somewhat sadly. “Someone told me in Europe that when the Quakers appear it is because they scent trouble. I was part of a small delegation, studying peace plans at The Hague. I attended two or three unofficial meetings.” Then her round face became stern and troubled. “I talked with many delegates. There is definitely something terrible in the air, in Europe.”

  Charles said to her, but held his brother’s eyes: “Yes? I knew there was something. Perhaps you can give us a little information, Miss Hadden.”

  “Perhaps I should first begin by saying that what threatens to happen to Europe, and probably to the world, is the result of a universal breakdown of moral responsibility,” said Miss Hadden. “We’ve been discussing this for several years, at Quaker meetings here. The battle for production, as they call it, and the competition among nations in the producing of goods and the struggle for world marke
ts, has caused a decline in spiritual values. Many of us came to the conclusion that when agriculture gives way to industrialism on a wide scale, materialism inevitably follows, unless spiritual values are determinedly cultivated and maintained.”

  She regarded Charles thoughtfully: “I suppose the industrialization of the world is inevitable. But many of us earnestly want governments to remove the emphasis on materialism and teach the peoples that the benefits of industry can be enjoyed only when they accept the moral responsibility of those benefits.” She paused, and the clear eyes behind the glasses became sad. “Even religious leaders don’t seem aware of the peril of their people, though the Pope, I believe, recently warned of this.”

  Friederich was leaning towards her, stiffly. “I don’t know much about religion, Miss Hadden,” he said, and Charles, with astonishment, heard apology in his brother’s voice. Friederich became confused, as Helen looked at him. “I—I’ve heard clergymen say that strikes, for instance, were against the will of—of ‘God,’ and that strikers were ‘godless.’ I was in the mining regions not very long ago.” Now he turned bitter. “I wonder if any of those clergymen had ever spent a single day in the mines!”

  Helen nodded, gravely. “Yes,” she said. “I know. But I’m not speaking of clergymen, Mr. Wittmann. I’m speaking of religion. Quite often they are two entirely different things. I’m a Quaker, but sometimes it seems to me that only the Roman Catholic Church takes an active interest in the welfare of workers. This has created a lot of enemies for the Church, and the accusation that it is ‘invading fields’ which it ought not to invade, and ‘interfering’ in politics.”

  “There is a reason for these accusations,” said Charles. “I wonder who those men are, who oppose the activity of the Roman Catholic Church in combating materialism and stimulating religion?”

  Helen locked her plump hands together on her knees, and studied them. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I do know they exist. One of my friends suggested they were ‘munitions makers.’ But that is simplifying things too much.”

  She sighed. “People never want to accept the responsibility for death and ruin which they have brought on themselves.” She opened her big black leather purse, and brought out a sheaf of papers. “I made a few notes,” she said. She studied the papers closely.

  “It was all so diffused,” she said, after a moment, apologetically. “Information could only be deduced from certain events. For instance, Robsons-Strong, the great munitions firm in England, recently stated—and very jubilantly—that the past year has been an excellent one for orders for projectiles, armor, guns, and other implements of war, and that their mills and factories were operating at their highest capacities, and that prospects for the next six years are unbelievably good. This was reported in the British press, less than two months ago. The naval race, alone, from 1909 to 1912 gave another British company profits of two million six hundred thirty-five pounds, and in 1913, last year, their profit was eight hundred seventy-two thousand pounds.”

  “These are actual facts?” said Charles.

  Helen nodded. “Yes, these are the facts. They were mentioned at The Hague. I could give you more facts, concerning every other nation, too, especially Germany.”

  She held the papers in her hands, and frowned dejectedly. “It is a curious thing about Germany. I went there after The Hague conferences. There was constant talk of war, and of ‘aggressors.’ Everyone in Germany accused all other nations of being those ‘aggressors.’ Now, there is a tension in Germany, because Germany has become prosperous and very industrialized, and is invading all the world markets. She is aware that other nations regard her as dangerous, because of this.

  “Then, there is the Kaiser, who is a very proud, excitable, and womanish man. He sees enemies everywhere, even where they don’t exist.”

  Charles stood up. He began to walk up and down the room, his head bent. Friederich said: “I knew. I knew all the time. I felt it.” But no one heard him.

  “War,” said Charles, half to himself. “Yes. I knew it.”

  Friederich swallowed once or twice, then said aloud, in his high-pitched and stammering voice: “It’s more than war. War’s just the beginning, the means. It—it’s slavery. That’s what they want—after a war—slavery, for almost everybody, everywhere.”

  Charles stopped abruptly in front of him.

  “You think I’m a fool!” cried Friederich, defensively.

  “No,” said Charles. “But, who are ‘they’?”

  George watched them, puzzled. “Isn’t that idea just a little far-fetched, Charlie?”

  Charles repeated: “No. It isn’t far-fetched.” He said to Miss Hadden: “Do you know anything about this?”

  She, too, was puzzled. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Wittmann. I only know the facts I have. Who wants ‘slavery’?”

  She was concerned for him, for he appeared ill. She lifted the papers again. “The whole thing seems to me to be only a struggle for markets. And the press of populations. And the ambitions, and stupidities, of individuals.

  “There are some in Germany, around the Kaiser, who are giving him grandiose ideas. Germany can become the most powerful of all the nations, and not only industrially.”

  She selected a sheet of paper. “Everyone knows, in Europe, that there will be a war. And very soon. But who knows in America? That is the terrible thing. If our Government knew, something might be done.”

  Charles thought of Colonel Grayson. “Perhaps some know. But we’re helpless. We have practically no army, and no navy of any consequence. Who will tell President Wilson? He wouldn’t believe it.”

  Miss Hadden said: “Here are some more facts. Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, has recently announced that England will maintain the sixteen to ten ratio of sea power. He also emphasized that as an ally of France, England’s ‘interests’ would force her to come to the aid of that country if she were invaded. No one questioned who would ‘invade’ France, or what ‘interests’ England had in France.”

  Miss Hadden had a strong yet womanly voice, and she spoke without emotionalism though her face had become very flushed and her eyes were brilliant.

  “President Poincaré made a state visit to England last June, and it is more than rumored that he discussed the French budget for the army and for armaments, which had been enormously increased over the preceding years. During the President’s visit to England the Russian ambassador was present on numerous occasions, and he discussed the Triple Entente, which, as you know, is composed of Russia, France, and England, and the Triple Alliance, composed of Germany, Austria, and Italy.

  “The Kaiser will request, in May, the creation of a petroleum monopoly. We were told this would not be passed by the Reichstag.”

  “Why not?” asked Friederich, bristling automatically.

  Miss Hadden smiled at him, sadly. “I don’t know, except that England might have a few friends at court, in Berlin, and possibly quite a few friends in America, who would prefer Germany not to create a petroleum monopoly. Such a monopoly might prevent a war.”

  Charles thought of what Mrs. Holt had told him, and Braydon’s oil wells.

  “We didn’t take the Balkan war very seriously last summer,” said Miss Hadden. “Yet, America could have said: ‘These aggressions and petty wars must stop. It is insanity, and insanity in nations is communicable.’ By ignoring the Balkan war we’ve led the powers of Europe to believe that America will stand by, no matter what happens on a larger scale.”

  “And no one in England or France is concerned?” asked Charles. “No one cares, or very few know?”

  Miss Hadden looked at him directly. “Oh, yes, many know. They call the Kaiser a Wagnerian imbecile. And they laugh. I talked with a number of members of the British delegation, and the French. They seemed—” and Miss Hadden paused, and then continued slowly and distinctly—“rather pleased, if anything.”

  “It’s not possible to—to understand such villainy,” said Friederich. Now his wax
y color had returned, and he was sick. Charles studied him somberly.

  “Villains, yes, everywhere,” said Miss Hadden, in a low voice. “Yet here and there are men who see the villains. For instance Lord Welby only recently said in London: ‘We are in the hands of an organization of politicians, generals, manufacturers of armaments, and journalists. All of them are anxious for unlimited armaments expenditure, and go on inventing war scares to terrify the public and to terrify Ministers of the Crown.’ The danger,” the girl continued gravely, “is that when war scare after war scare is invented there does come a time when the peoples become conditioned to the idea of war, and a war results.”

  “‘Politicians, generals, journalists,’” repeated Charles. “And their lackeys, their employees and their employers—the armaments makers.”

  He began to walk up and down the room in a turmoil of inner sickness and despair. “Why can’t all this money paid out for armaments be used to develop remote areas of the world industrially and agriculturally? Why—”

  “Because death is more profitable,” said Freiderich. He stood up beside Miss Hadden, and he wrung his hands together defenselessly.

  “Never any money to flood desert regions,” said Charles, as if to himself. “Never enough money to throw railroads across all the mountains, or to build cargo ships. Only money for murder. Why? But they have a plan. I know it. I don’t know how, but I do.”

  Charles stopped before her. “I’m not ‘simplifying,’ Miss Hadden. I’m not accusing the armaments companies of ‘creating’ wars, though they help. They’re in ‘business,’ you know. You see,” he said, looking down at the serious young woman, “to develop undeveloped regions of the world would expand man’s freedom. And that’s what so many men don’t want, and will even create wars to prevent.”

  He turned away, and said: “Everyone dies but the haters. They never die. They’re immortal.”

  “What? What? Who?” exclaimed Friederich, shrilly.