by Ellin Carsta
Luise and Martha had never seen such an outburst from their mother. She hadn’t even cried when she heard her father had died. Elisabeth’s mother had died when Elisabeth was Luise’s age. Her daughters had asked about it once, but discovered it was a subject she wouldn’t discuss. So they never wasted any more words on it.
Robert rushed after Elisabeth, leaving the sisters to wait apprehensively. When their parents returned, it appeared they had talked it out. At least, Elisabeth made an obvious effort to put herself in a better mood—but that was precisely what made Luise anxious. Her mother had never taken pains to hide the mood she happened to be in.
For a while Luise feared her mother might have extracted a promise from her father to abandon the plantation and return to Hamburg once the largest debts were paid off. She paid close attention at the dinner table for any sign that their time in Cameroon might be ending, but fortunately nothing indicated it.
Luise habitually got out of bed at dawn and walked over to the tree to savor the silence and the landscape. Now she took her portfolio with her, committing her thoughts to paper, sometimes even drawing what she saw or from memory; she’d sketched several very good pictures of the church.
She usually stayed for an hour before stealing back into the house and crawling back into bed until it was time to go to work.
That morning Malambuku was not at his usual place on the veranda, so Luise went again into the house, having nothing to do. The sun was already well up, and there was no apparent reason for the change. When she went to the dining room, she needed a moment to understand why her family was there, waiting for her: a cake in the center of the table adorned with several candles.
Her mother approached her with arms outstretched, and her father followed.
“All the best on your birthday, my child!” she said.
Luise couldn’t have been more stunned. Was it the third of December already?
“Happy birthday, my little one!” Robert said, giving her a big hug.
“Thank you,” Luise managed to say, utterly surprised and a little moved.
“Here, Luise.” Elisabeth handed her a small box.
Luise untied the little bow and lifted the lid.
“Grandmother’s brooch!” She looked from her mother to Martha.
“You were always so fond of it, and I think your grandfather just forgot to mention it in his will. Georg, Vera, and your cousins all agreed that you should have it.”
“Thank you so much! This means a lot to me.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“We’ve something else,” Robert announced, and Martha handed her sister another present wrapped in newspaper. A book, Luise guessed from the shape. She undid the bow and folded the paper back. A leather-bound book appeared, and she opened it to find the pages blank.
“Martha told us you’ve been writing your thoughts for some time. Now you can write them in there.”
Luise was wide-eyed, opened the book again, and gasped. “I don’t believe it.” She hugged Martha enthusiastically, then her father and, with a little more reserve, her mother. “You’ve made me so very happy! Thank you!”
“But we’re not quite finished,” Robert said with a broad smile. “Malambuku!” he called, and a few seconds later Malambuku came in bearing a large cage.
“Present for nyango Luise.”
Luise was overcome with delight when she saw what Malambuku had with him.
“Caesar!” she exclaimed, unable to hold back her tears. “It can’t be!”
“We know how hard it was for you to say goodbye to Caesar. And so that he won’t be lonely, Martha and Frederike’s rabbits came with him, naturally.” Robert smiled at his daughter. “Once again, all our love for your fifteenth birthday, Luise.”
Luise threw her arms around her father’s neck and ran to the cage Malambuku had put down on the floor. She carefully took Caesar out and tenderly pressed him to her. “I’ve missed you so very much!”
Martha cleared her throat. She held a letter in her hand. “Will you listen, though you only have eyes for the rabbit?”
Luise nodded and took Caesar in her arms over to a chair. She didn’t give a fig whether her mother liked it or not. She was far too happy to care about anything. Martha began to read aloud.
Dear Luise,
All of us send best wishes for health, good fortune, and happiness on your fifteenth birthday!
We hope you’ll be wholeheartedly delighted with your presents and wish we could see your face when you take Caesar and his comrades into your arms. It is Frederike’s personal gift to you, to let you have her bunny so that the three of them won’t be separated. We know they are in the best of hands.
We send many warm hugs and will think of you lovingly on the third of December! And on every day, too, that we wish we could spend with you and your family here in Hamburg.
All our love,
Uncle Georg, Aunt Vera, Richard, and Frederike
Luise felt tears drip onto Caesar’s fur. Martha folded the letter and laid it on the table in front of Luise.
“I thank all of you so very, very much,” Luise said, deeply moved. “This is the most beautiful birthday I’ve ever had!”
“But, but,” Robert said, “the day’s just beginning. We thought we wouldn’t work today, but take you to Victoria instead. Would you like that?”
“But that would be lovely.” Luise hid the fact that she’d much rather stay on the plantation. Her relatives in Hamburg and her family here had taken great pains to make her happy. Luise would have felt ungrateful to turn down the offer.
“Then you should go and change, and we’ll leave right after breakfast,” Elisabeth said, delighted. “Victoria has a proper main street and shops we can look at. Oh, it will be marvelous!”
“Yes, Mother, it will be.” Luise smiled at her, rose from the chair, and tucked Caesar back in the cage, giving a quick pat to the other two, still unnamed. “Wherever did they hide that cage?”
“Hamza took care of the animals,” Robert said. “He took the cage to the village and guarded it with his life.”
Luise smiled. “I’ll be dressed in two minutes.”
At that moment Malambuku came back into the room.
“Oh, good. Could you please remove these rabbits from the dining room?” Elisabeth asked, with a hint of disgust in her voice.
“Yes, nyango.” Malambuku picked up the cage.
“Take them to the place we agreed upon,” Robert said.
“Yes, sango, I will take them there.”
“Thank you, Malambuku.”
Luise’s eyes followed him with some longing. She’d have liked to run after him to see the rabbits’ new home, and to pet and hold them once more. Instead she took her new book and the box with the brooch to her room and changed her clothes. They had all made such an effort. She did not want to disappoint them.
Chapter Eight
Vienna, December 20, 1888
Karl had spent every day with Therese since arriving in Vienna at the end of October. She’d helped him with everything he’d needed to accomplish there. He took a room in the house of a widow Therese had known for many years, whom she often looked in on. The room wasn’t large, but was cozy and well kept, and the widow fussed over him like a mother. And the storehouse he’d leased was only a few minutes away from his lodgings. Of course, he knew that he’d have to look for something more imposing if he was going to launch a serious business in Vienna. But for the moment he liked things as they were.
He had in the meantime signed up six cafés as clients—in addition to Therese, who regularly ordered their beans; more deals had to be made, and he had to telegraph Georg more and more frequently for yet another shipment. The demand from the Viennese for the sweet delicacy seemed enormous.
Karl was happy with how things were progressing. Even apart from his excellent business deals, he felt better here in Vienna than he ever had in Hamburg. People were different here, more open and sociable. They wanted to enjoy life. Therese regularly in
vited friends and acquaintances to the café after closing time, and interested customers were welcome as well. Sometimes a visiting author would read from his work or a young painter would hang some paintings, hoping to find a rich patron, and sometimes there were just informal gatherings, everyone laughing and drinking. Therese’s circle was altogether a merry group.
Friedhelm, a twenty-three-year-old who worked in his father’s bank during the day, often brought his guitar, and they would sing, drink, and have a wonderful time. Karl felt a freedom he’d never known before. And right then—it hadn’t even been two months—he couldn’t imagine returning to stuffy old Hamburg.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Therese asked after the last customer had left and she was closing up. “Going back to Hamburg?”
“No.” Karl shook his head and picked up the basket of unsold pastries she was taking home. “I’ve already telegraphed my brother that I’d be spending Christmas here.”
“Is it difficult?”
“To be away from home for Christmas?” Karl thought while they strolled along Rotenturmstrasse. “Honestly, no,” he concluded. “Christmas with the family is nice, but it’s not the same with Mother and Father gone.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“Mother died a few years ago, and Father earlier this year.” He hesitated. “A heart attack,” he added, though he felt uncomfortable lying. But he had to keep the family’s story and couldn’t make an exception for Therese. “Are your parents living?”
“Yes, in Korneuburg. About an hour from here.”
“And you’ll be there for Christmas?”
“For one day, yes. Though I’d prefer to get out of it. We don’t have much to do with one another.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t like how I live.”
“What’s not to like? Your café’s successful, you’ve good friends, and you’re independent.”
Therese gave a loud laugh. “That’s exactly it: those are the three things they disapprove of.” She shook her head. “I’m going to trust you with something.” She stopped in her tracks. “My family is wealthy, extremely. And it’s a smirch on their reputation that I run a café and am still unmarried in my late twenties.”
They started walking again.
“What do they expect from you?”
“Oh, who knows. I think they’d like me to do something more important than serving chocolate and cakes. But that’s what makes me happy. And that’s just what my parents can’t understand. Now, my brother is the opposite—my parents’ pride and joy. One of these days all Austria-Hungary will be his.”
“You sound bitter.”
“Oh no, perhaps a little sad. I wish they’d understand that I like my life. I saved every penny until I had enough for the café.”
“Your parents didn’t support you financially?”
Another shake of the head. “No. And I wouldn’t have wanted it, anyway. My father always reminded me how hard my great-grandfather worked to build our family fortune and that he’d started with nothing. My grandfather carried on the business and passed it to my father. Florentinus will be next, and he will surely do my parents proud, which I’ve never managed to do.”
Karl moved the basket to the other hand and put his arm around Therese’s shoulders. “I know what it’s like to grow up amid high expectations.”
“And so here we are, at the bottom of the barrel,” Therese said in jest. “Though you’re doing something useful, dealing in grand style. But”—she raised her forefinger and grinned—“you’re older than me and haven’t found a wife. That’s awful, really horrible!”
“Well, I hadn’t met anybody like you until now.”
Therese stopped again and looked at him searchingly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Karl. I wasn’t trying to . . .”
“I know.” He stroked her cheek. “That isn’t like you.” He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. “I have never before met a person like you, Therese Loising.”
“You mustn’t do that out of pity.” She eyed him with a pinched look on her face.
He put down the basket, took her in his arms, and kissed her again, this time not tenderly but with some urgency. Therese responded to his kiss. Ignoring people’s stares, she threw her arms around his waist and pressed against him. They stayed like that for a long moment.
When they finally pulled apart, Therese’s cheeks were aglow. She looked at Karl, smiling.
“What would you think about coming to my parents’ for Christmas?”
They walked on.
“I don’t know.” Karl shook his head back and forth.
“They would definitely be kinder if they were presented with one of my friends.”
“Now then, Therese Loising, you’re exploiting me.”
“Why, naturally. You mean you didn’t know?” She produced that bright, bell-like laugh of hers, so familiar to Karl by then.
“Oh, women always try to use me to serve their own purposes.”
He rolled his eyes. Therese punched him on the arm and laughed more loudly.
“Well, why the devil not?” Karl said. “After all, I’m a respectable man from a good family.” He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. “We can show your parents that someone can be absolutely taken with you. But not because they say so.”
“And are you taken with me?” Therese looked at the ground intently.
“You’re different when you talk about your parents, did you know that?”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
They strolled without speaking for a while.
“What am I like?” Therese broke the silence.
“Not yourself anymore, not happy, full of self-doubt.”
“I know. I always feel I can’t do anything right in their eyes.”
“I know that feeling all too well. I’ve always thought I had to keep up with my brothers. To be honest, that didn’t change until a few months ago.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Like you I grew up in a well-to-do family. My father was Peter Hansen, the Peter Hansen, a successful merchant and very well known in Hamburg. They were big shoes that my brothers and I had to fill. Georg, the eldest, was always the smartest one. Everything came naturally to him, whether in school or with the accounts. One look was all he needed to understand anything. Exactly like my father. Robert, on the other hand, was always the bravest. He used to get—and give—more beatings than we two together.”
“Sounds painful,” Therese observed with a smile.
“My mother always said that Robert had an untamed character. I worshipped him for it.”
“And you? How would you describe yourself? We’ve got one smart brother and one wild one—so what’s the third?”
“Not worth much so far.”
Therese halted abruptly. “Don’t say that! You’re worth far more than most people I’ve known.” She started walking again.
“Can I tell you something in confidence?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve always felt worthless for as long as I can remember. That didn’t change until recently.”
“How?”
“Don’t be alarmed when I say this, but it was because my father died. Not that I didn’t love and admire him. But he ran into problems with the business, and we had no idea how big they really were. We had to band together after he died, and suddenly each of us became indispensable to our success. That’s when I saw that my work and help were significant.” He turned to her. “I hope you don’t think ill of me because it took my father’s death for me to recognize my own worth.”
“Of course not. That coming together, is that why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“And now everything’s moving along the way you and your brothers want?”
“Even better.”
“If this works out, will you go back to Hamburg?” A trace of anxiety appeared in her voice.
“I’ve been thin
king about that a lot lately. My family’s in Hamburg—that’s where our main office is. But in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve felt that Vienna has become my home. I’d prefer not to go back.”
She raised her head and laughed. “I must say, that appeals to me.”
“Oh really?”
She was beaming as she nodded. “Oh, you know that.”
They’d come to Therese’s place. She pulled out her key but didn’t go in.
“So—are you coming for Christmas or not?”
“Yes,” he decided. “I’d be pleased to join you.”
The twenty-fifth of December arrived, and Karl dressed in his best suit and vest with a high collar and an ascot with a pearl stickpin. He examined himself before leaving for Therese’s. His hair was parted precisely in the middle and slicked down with an apple-scented pomade. His beard was neatly trimmed, and he was very pleased with what he saw in the mirror.
“Chic” was Therese’s verdict upon opening the door.
“May I return the compliment?”
He took her hand and spun her around. Therese was wearing a white dress with a lace bodice, tight-fighting sleeves, and a wide skirt with layers of flounces. Hanging from a silk band around her neck was a stone amulet painted with a gentian. Her long dark-blond hair was artfully pinned up.
“What a marvelous dress! You should wear it more often.”
“This? I’d knock into every table.” She swung her wide skirt in one direction, then the other. “But I do like to put it on occasionally. And I would prefer my hair more loosely pinned . . .”
“It does look very pretty loose.”
“Believe me, my mother would stare with disapproval throughout dinner and never stop shaking her head. Or she’d take me aside as soon as we arrived and whisper that there’d been a mishap and I must get to the bathroom right away and fix my hair.” She gave a hearty laugh. “Shall we?” She handed him the cake she’d just baked.
Karl took it and said, “Yes, let’s be off.”
They went to the street where a coach was waiting. Karl hadn’t noticed it when he arrived.
“My parents sent their carriage,” Therese explained.
At that moment the footman dismounted and opened the door.
