“I didn’t need to take an exam. My father arranged a place here for me so I wouldn’t end up in a trench.”
“Your father?”
“Yes, he’s one of the chief engineers at Regensburg.”
She would never have admitted such a thing herself, but she appreciated his honesty and saw no harm in lending him a hand.
“I can help you.”
Josef beamed his enthusiasm. “Really?”
She nodded and he promptly stood and announced loudly to the room, “I’ve found my study buddy.”
Jeers and a squadron of paper planes assaulted them, striking Gabi in the head and clinging to her hair. Josef flung the planes back, diving behind Gabi and using her as a shield. She squatted down low, sniggering with juvenile glee and without thought to consequence. Then, as unexpectedly as the mayhem had started, the room stilled before the menacing figure of authority.
With order restored, Gabi slinked back into her seat. But Herr Klein, Professor of mathematics and master of sadism, would not let the matter go without penalty; they spent that morning memorizing logarithmic identities. By noon, Gabi was exhausted. Her hand throbbed from constant note-taking and her bottom ached from a seat she was sure was made of marble. She could see that Josef hadn’t written a thing and nudged him with her elbow.
“No point in both of us getting a sore hand,” he said. “Besides, I have no idea what he was talking about.”
Gabi eyed him sternly. “Look, you need to make some effort, otherwise I won’t help you.”
“Fine, you’re right. I promise to take notes next time. Or better still, why don’t I just give you some copy paper?”
She punched him playfully on the arm. “How can you be so lazy?”
“I may be lazy, but at least I’m practical.”
He returned her punch, and she knew that he liked her.
It was Christmas Eve and the students were given leave to celebrate with their families. Gabi arrived home that afternoon filled with joy and anticipation for a night rich in tradition and ceremony. It was a time of fantasy when the snow that blanketed Manor Grand Oak created a world of wonder and mystique when angelic choirs sang age-old carols that crackled on a gramophone used but once a year and colourful platters laden with marzipan fruit, oranges and gingerbread biscuits roused squeals of delight.
Gabi had bought everyone a gift at the Christmas market in Munich after much deliberation, for she cared greatly about such things and could scarcely wait for after dinner when gifts would be exchanged. She wandered about the house looking for Helmut to find out when dinner would be served.
Helmut and the groundskeeper were on their annual quest for the perfect spruce. The butler ambled about the forest looking for a tree of exactly the right height with flawlessly symmetrical branches and thick lush needles. The groundskeeper plodded along behind him from one tree to the next, inspecting and measuring with the accuracy of a carpenter. Finally, Helmut found a tree to his satisfaction and after shouting random instructions to a befuddled helper, they hauled the nine-foot spruce back to the manor and positioned it in front of the bay window in the main reception room. Gabi walked in to find the two men kneeling beneath the giant specimen.
“You know you shouldn’t be in here, Gabi. It’s supposed to be a surprise; Father Christmas may not come tonight,” Helmut teased.
“Oh, Helmut, I stopped believing in Father Christmas years ago.” She pulled herself tall and glanced knowingly at him. “It’s a beautiful tree, though; you’ve done well.”
The groundskeeper, who was securing the tree on the stand, rolled his eyes. “I’ve aged ten years helping Helmut with this damn tree. Never again.”
Gabi ran her hand along the spruces firry bristles, savouring the freshly cut scent that seeped from its oily limbs, reminding her to ask when dinner would be served.
“When I’m done decorating this tree.” Helmut reached high to break a bare branch from the main stem. “There, that’s better.”
“But that’ll take forever. Can I help with the decorations?”
Helmut removed his glasses, holding them in the air and squinting while he wiped a smear. Seemingly satisfied with his effort, he placed them back on his nose and peeled his ears forward to secure the arms. “Of course, but we need the ornaments. Could you go to the cellar and get the box?”
Gabi’s heart quickened. The cellar…
“Perhaps you’re right, Helmut. I shouldn’t be here. You decorate the tree and surprise us all tonight.”
She retreated back into the hall, following the heartening aroma of Christmas down to the kitchen, where Chef bustled about preparing the goose he had force-fed for a month and clumsy Inge polished the crystal glassware. A large pot of glühwein bubbled away on the stove and a cloth covered what Gabi knew to be dessert, a Dresdner Stollen, heavy and rich in nuts and glazed fruit, made by Frau Hermann from an old family recipe.
She watched them work, mundane though it was, finding relief in the warmth of a cosy kitchen, surrounded by familiarity; safe and secure, where she stayed for the rest of the afternoon.
Dinner was delayed by almost two hours. It had nothing to do with Chef, who had forgotten to light the oven, or Helmut, who spent the whole afternoon decorating the tree and not setting the table and attending to the wine. The clumsy maid was not at fault either, even though she dropped a tray of crystal goblets in the dining room, scattering needle-like splinters all over the floor. No, the household staff was not to blame but the master of the house. Apparently, the general had visited an old friend and had simply lost track of time.
Everyone dressed for the occasion. The general wore a new suit of the latest cut and crafted by the best tailor in Berlin while Gabi dressed in a cute outfit with fur collar and cuffs, worn but once a year on this special night. Although old-fashioned in style, Gabi adored its light cream colour and snug fit. Frau Hermann had unpicked a few stitches, allowing Gabi to squeeze into it for a third and most likely final time.
Helmut and Chef would celebrate Christmas Eve with the Richter family as neither had a family of their own. Only Tante Helga would not be with them that year for she was unwell and didn’t feel up to making the journey from East Prussia, but then she rarely did, preferring to dither about in her large, lifeless mansion.
Her husband Siegfried had died when they were still young. He was a Prussian officer, the son of a wealthy landowner, apparently of noble ancestry, and Helga told anyone who would listen how he died of a bullet wound. In reality, he had shot himself in the foot while cleaning his pistol, the wound becoming septic and eventually killing him. But she considered this fact immaterial and never spoke of it.
The general, her brother, was younger by some fifteen years and although they had never been close, had tried his best to keep in touch, inviting her to stay during the festive season. But she had become a recluse and rarely ventured out except to attend Mass and visit her husband’s grave. The general would say that after Siegfried’s death, his sister was like a cracked cup without a saucer—no longer functional and only half there. She wasted her young years pining for a lost love and spent the rest of her life wondering where the years had gone. Gabi always thought it a tragic coincidence that both her father and her aunt had lost their partners young and never remarried.
The double doors parted to welcome the small party into a room where a tree overladen with baubles and tinsel shimmered by candlelight.
“Oh, Helmut, it’s just beautiful,” Gabi said.
They all stood and admired Helmut’s work and a glint of a smile appeared on his face. He motioned to Gabi and she took her place at the base of the tree, as always, within arm’s reach of presents, meticulously arranged. Helmut and Chef shared a couch to the side and the general sat at the front in his armchair.