The Left-Handed God (12 page)

How to explain such terror? Only small children were frightened of thunderstorms, and even they did not make such scenes. He wanted to crawl away and hide in his room at home again, but Stiebel had been kind to him and he owed him an explanation.

“I-it was th-the n-noise. S-so s-sudden and l-loud. L-like the c-cannon f-fire,” he said.

Stiebel was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Ah, yes. I see. Does this happen often? I mean, do loud noises frighten you?”

“N-no!” But that wasn’t entirely true. He had ducked one day when a carter had snapped his whip with a sound like a gun shot outside his window. His heart had raced for minutes after that. And there had been other noises. His sister dropping a kettle in the kitchen had started him shaking, and he had spilled the beer from his glass. A child screaming after a fall had made him see the headless body of the drummer boy Karl again. The memory had been so vivid that Franz had burst into tears and hurried away.

He said more honestly, “S-sometimes. You s-see, what h-happened is always w-with m-me. I h-have n-nightmares.”

“Hmm,” said Stiebel, getting up and extending a hand to him. “That must be very unpleasant. Have you told anyone about it? Consulted a doctor perhaps?”

Franz stood and wiped his face and neck with a handkerchief. The old fear of being thought mad was back. He looked at Stiebel, who merely looked serious but might well be thinking of dismissing him. The thought horrified Franz. He had come to like, no, love his work here. Yes, he had even come to be fond of his employer. “I-I’m n-not m-mad,” he said, pleading for belief. “I’m n-not. D-don’t s-send me aw-way! I p-promise n-no one w-will know.”

Stiebel’s eyes widened with shock. “Send you away? Don’t be absurd! How would I get along without you? No, no, there’s no fear of that. But what can we do? It grieves me to see you like this.”

Franz felt like weeping with relief. “Th-thank you,” he mumbled, turning away.

Outside the rain had slowed. Single drops still landed on the window and made their way downward. The world looked brighter but fractured into kaleidoscopic patches of color.

Stiebel put a hand on Franz’s arm. “Come join me in a small glass of cognac. I feel the need for it.”

They sat in the meeting room and talked like friends‌—‌or perhaps like uncle and nephew‌—‌sipping fine French brandy from small glasses. The spirits spread a comfortable warmth through Franz’s belly and loosened his tongue enough to talk about that day at Freiberg.

“S-so, you s-see,” he said, staring into his glass and thinking about it with revulsion, “I k-killed so m-many men, h-helpless m-men. And I m-made a terrible m-mistake when I d-didn’t give the order to f-form s-square and the hussars rode us d-down. It was m-my fault C-carl died, m-my fault that all of them died. All b-but the one that gave me the l-letter, but I failed him, t-too.”

“Well, now,” said Stiebel, “your not giving the right order does not seem so

terrible to me. They sent an untrained youngster into his first battle. And what were you to do but kill or be killed? You were wounded yourself. Most likely you were half out of your mind. What did they expect? What’s this about a letter?”

“A captain‌—‌I d-didn’t think he w-was s-so badly hurt but he d-died‌—‌g-gave me a l-letter to his father. Only I f-forg-got all about it t-till I was ready t-to come home. And then there was n-no one by that n-name in M-mannheim. All that w-weighs on m-my c-conscience.”

Stiebel said practically, “Then you must bring the letter tomorrow and together we’ll discover how to deliver it.”

“You’re very k-kind, sir. I should not b-burden you with my t-troubles.”

“I take it as a compliment.”

7

Max

Calms appear when storms are past,
Love will have his hour at last:
Nature is my kindly care;
Mars destroys, and I repair.
Take me, take me while you may;
Venus comes not every day.

John Dryden,
The Secular Masque

A
ugusta was greatly relieved when Franz took the position in lawyer Stiebel’s chambers and liked his work. She was even more relieved when his employment and his absence from home ended her mother’s wailing fits, and peace as well as some prosperity returned to the family.

But at the same time, her life became emptier that ever. Franz was gone. Her mother spent her time with neighbors or in planning little treats for Herr Seutter or in adorning her person with new caps, curls, and crinolines. Running the household fell to Augusta’s duties, but the little maid Elsbeth did most of the housework, and time hung heavy on her hands. She had never had friends in Lindau and had long since lost interest in such ladylike pursuits as reading romances, embroidery, or painting in water colors. These days, her only amusements were the lessons on the pianoforte at Herr Seutter’s house, and these were more of a burden than the daily housework she no longer did.

For all that Herr Seutter treated her like a dainty figurine made from fine china, she felt awkward around him and embarrassed by the obligations they all owed him. This embarrassment increased with the many small gifts he bestowed upon her‌—‌the silk ribbons, lambskin gloves, a set of finely wrought silver buttons like so many tiny roses, scent bottles filled with French perfume, sets of gilt-edged stationery, lace pocket handkerchiefs, and a small china shepherdess that had reminded him of her. The most unnerving gift had been a laced kerchief to be worn around her neck and tucked into her bodice. Herr Seutter had presented her with it shortly after Franz had questioned her modesty on that hot day in the garden.

When Max Bauer walked into her life, it changed. He reminded her of the real world, of how lucky they were and how frivolous she had become. Fate was more cruel to some soldiers than to others. Franz had an education, a family to come home to, and friends who found work for him. Max had none of these.

She fed him some bread and sausages and a small pot of beer, and he blessed her. Then he blessed himself for having had such good luck that day. All this for a simple meal!

When he told her a little about himself, tears had come to her eyes. She could see he was a simple young man, but strong and well-made. With his blond curls and clear blue eyes he made her think of the image of the archangel Michael on the window of the Catholic church. Max had no wings, being quite earthly in most respects, but he had the same shy smile.

She told him about Franz to give him courage and hope and to show him that she understood. He was unconvinced.

“Your brother, Miss, was an officer. There’s a world of difference between officers and corporals.”

“Not so much, Max. We’re all God’s creatures and feel the same pain and fear.”

He bristled at that. “I wasn’t afraid. It’s not the war I blame, nor even the Prussians. From what I could see, they’re the same poor devils as us. It’s what ordinary folk think of common soldiers comin’ back. To them I’m nothin’ but a beggar and a thief. They think I’ll steal their chickens and rape their daughters.”

Augusta blushed hotly at this, and Max apologized, turning beet red himself. Augusta said, “Not all people are so mean. I trusted you right away.”

Max looked at her and then down at his clenched hands. “You’re an angel, Miss,” he said, his voice choking a little. “Yes, you’re as beautiful and good as an angel. But you shouldn’t have. There aren’t many angels about, and God help me, most men are devils.”

Augusta blushed again but, thinking of the archangel on the church window, she managed a little laugh. She had received very few compliments in her young life. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “It’s strange you should mention angels when you look uncommonly like the archangel Michael yourself.”

He stared at her, bereft of words for a moment, then burst into speech. “God love you, Miss. Me? I’m more like one of the devils.” He jumped up, looking quite fierce suddenly as he towered over her. “Don’t you go invitin’ in men like me, bringin’ them into your kitchen and showin’ them your kindness, Miss. And you all alone and as pretty as a flower. It would tempt a saint. It’s more than a weak and foolish man can bear.” He turned and stormed out of the kitchen. A moment later, the front door slammed.

Augusta sat stunned. What had come over him? Then she got up and went upstairs to peer into the small mirror in her room. Apart from being rather pink, her face looked unremarkable. Then she remembered her brother’s anger at her revealing dress and looked down at herself. Was it her body that tempted and infuriated men? This young man, Max, had not been her brother, and yet he had been angry.

She wasted a few more moments considering what brought men and women together, got properly hot and ashamed, and returned to the kitchen to clean up and look after the soup.

The next day, Max returned and knocked at the back door. Frau von Langsdorff and Augusta were in the kitchen with the little maid who was being instructed in darning socks.

Max came in, bowed to Frau von Langsdorff, and said he wished to thank them for their charity and to offer his help with any chores they might have.

He looked neater than the day before and seemed to have washed and combed his curls. Frau von Langsdorff eyed him appreciatively and said, “Hmm. You look strong and healthy. Augusta, what can he do?”

Augusta was embarrassed. “There’s no need to do any work, Max,” she said. “It was only a bit of bread and a glass of beer.”

Her mother frowned at her. “Nonsense. It’s quite proper that he should offer to repay us by his labors. Do not deprive him of the opportunity. We must be charitable to the less fortunate.”

Max nodded, looking from mother to daughter. “Thank you, Ma’am. I’m very strong, Miss. I can carry wood. Or split it. Or patch the roof. Or move furniture. I can mend stairs or fences. Or maybe clean out your stoves. Please let me do somethin’.”

“Well,” Augusta murmured, “I suppose the windows upstairs are very dirty. Elsbeth is afraid to stand on a tall ladder.”

Max looked eager and asked where he could find a ladder and a pail of water. Augusta gave him some clean rags and a pail and told him to fill it at the well in the garden. “The ladder’s behind the shed,” she said. “But be careful.”

Max gave her a heart-melting smile. “I will, Miss. I won’t break anythin’. I’ll make your windows so clean it’ll be like lookin’ through air. You won’t even know they’re there.”

Frau von Langsdorff smiled benevolently. “Be sure to put a little vinegar in the water, and clean each window before the sun gets to it or it will streak.” She caught herself and added quickly, “Of course, I have never washed windows myself, but that’s what my maids have always said.”

Augusta gave her a look and fetched the vinegar.

*

Max Bauer had to report another failure to his employer, but after weighing the pros and cons of the situation, he decided that the protector of thieves had smiled on him again.

Compared to having tumbled head over heels into love with Augusta‌—‌he murmured her name to himself over and over again‌—‌facing the unpleasant Koehl was nothing. Max would have slain dragons for Augusta.

It turned out that no courage was required. They met again at the wall. Max was early, impatient to lay out his plan. It was sunset, and the ivy on the sun-warmed wall stirred in the warm breeze. Max leaned against it, watching birds wheeling in a faintly lilac sky. A beautiful day.

“From the smirk on your face, you’ve finally met with success,” said the unpleasant voice, startling Max from romantic dreams.

“Almost, your honor,” Max said. “Wait till you hear.”

“Almost? What do you mean? Do you have it or don’t you?”

“Nay,” protested Max, “it’s a risky business, breakin’ into houses in the daytime.” He gestured up at the thieves’ tower. “It’s my neck, as you said yourself, your honor. But you’re so cursed pressin’ that I made the attempt. Well, I was caught.”

“What?”

“The girl‌—‌her name’s Augusta‌—‌caught me starting up the stairs. Bad luck, except I turned it to my advantage. I told her I was hungry and lookin’ for work. She has a soft heart, that one. She fed me, and I’m to come back tomorrow to clean the windows.” Max grinned. “Upstairs. Where the cripple’s room is.”

Koehl stared at him, then allowed his lip to twitch. “Got to give it to you. You’re not without a certain native wit. And I suppose the silly female fell for your blond curls and fawning manner. All right. You’ve got a bit more time, but do not disappoint me.”

*

From the very beginning, Max impressed Augusta with his willingness to work and work hard. No, more than that. He put his hand to many things he had not been told to do. Soon, the pear tree in the garden had its dead branches trimmed off and a neat stack of firewood resided next to the shed. He kept the small vegetable patch and the single rose bush watered and pulled the weeds. One day, he appeared carrying a load of roof slates in a leather sling and set about repairing the roof.

This gave Augusta a fright, for the roof was very steep, and she trembled lest he should slip and fall and break his neck‌—‌a very handsome neck, as she had observed.

The Langsdorff property had been long neglected by the two women. They had not had the funds to make repairs even when they realized they were needed, and mostly they did not. Franz had neither the time nor the interest for such things these days and left the management of the household to the women.

But Max saw and knew what had to be done, and he set about it. He showed up at sunrise, accepted a breakfast of milk, bread, and cheese in the kitchen, and then went to work. He did the work cheerfully and without making great demands on their funds.

Frau von Langsdorff abused his good nature shamefully, sending him on errands to hat makers, seamstresses, shoemakers, haberdashers, drapers and mercers, and even had him follow her about town to carry her parcels. Augusta begged her mother not to do this, but to no avail.

“What?” asked her mother. “Am I not entitled to a little help? I see no reason why we shouldn’t keep a footman. After all, your brother’s a gentleman. And Max is very accommodating‌—‌besides being quite handsome.”