thorough inspection and
inventory, and all evening in Alice's office, compiling a complete listing of the
necessary tasks.
When Alice retired to her room after supper and cleanup, Siegfried grabbed Grape Culture, Wines, and Wine-making , one of his favorite books from
Opa Roye's library, then undressed and went to bed. He turned the pages of
Haraszthy's European adventure until his eyes crossed, then switched off the light.
But sleep was slow in coming. He was keyed-up and conscious of the hours
slipping by. Harvest would come too soon!
When he finally did drift off, he dreamed of Rodernwiller.
...the house was dark, cold, and deserted. Siegfried climbed the stairs,
knowing what awaited him in his father's study.
He steeled himself to touch the corpse. The dead fingers twitched as
Siegfried pulled the signet ring from the cold hand. They reached up blindly
towards him, grasping, as Siegfried tried to make his suddenly heavy limbs dodge
out of the way.
Father's shoulders tensed and the dark-stained head struggled to rise from
the pool of dried blood on the gilt-stamped blotter. Siegfried whimpered with terror
as he scrabbled at the doorknob. He did not want to look at that shattered
face .
He ran down the hallway, clutching the gold ring he had looted from the
dead, the heavy metal weighing him down as if he were running chest-deep in a
flooded trench.
Down the dark staircase with its stained wallpaper, towards the beckoning
square of the front door...behind him he could hear an irregular shuffle, growing
ever closer. Dread gripped Siegfried's stomach at the thought of those cold fingers
grabbing him. Out--he had to get outside!
Enemy artillery fell, a rain of deadly fire, screaming with the lost voice of his
little brother.
There was a faint whoosh as the curtains ignited, then a wave of heat that
dissolved the sticky bonds weighing down his limbs.
Siegfried looked over his shoulder to see fire flowing like water across the
parquet floor towards him. His father's corpse, now a flaming torch, stood at the
foot of the stairs.
"Bring the buckets, son, and fight to the death!" rasped the thing. "Bring
water!"
"Water?" Siegfried managed to force a whisper around the fear strangling
his voice. "But there is no water, Father. No water!"
* * *
Alice awoke abruptly as she heard Siegfried cry out.
A terrible fear squeezed her chest. Before she could think, she jumped out of
bed and ran down the hallway.
Siegfried had not drawn his bedroom curtains before retiring. In the faint
moonlight coming though the window, she saw that he was asleep, moving
restlessly under the coverlet, captive to some disturbing dream.
Her anger at his arrogant and belittling remarks about the winery had faded in
the face of his plan to save Montclair. And he had been gallant, defending her to
Tati.
Alice started as he spoke suddenly, his voice low, harsh: " Wasser? Aber da
ist kein Wasser, Vater. Kein Wasser !"
She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hush," she whispered, as if to a child.
"Hush. It's all right now." She gently stroked his face to comfort him. His cheek
was faintly rough with stubble--and wet.
He was crying in his sleep.
She stopped, unwilling to experience such a feeling of communion with this
stranger, her husband. He did not wake, but her touch had already soothed him.
His jaw muscles relaxed and he turned towards her, one arm reaching over her
lap, his face nestling against her thigh. "Mutti," he mumbled, drawing her
close.
She knew that much German, at least. He had mistaken her for his mother.
Feeling oddly tender, she rested her hand in his rumpled hair. "It's all right. You're
safe here."
Even though she wished with all her heart that he had never come, she felt
sorry for him now. No one should have to wake up to a damp pillow, alone.
Alice sat there a few minutes longer, until Siegfried fell into deeper sleep, then
she carefully removed his hand from her waist, and went silently out of his
room.
Back in her own
inventory, and all evening in Alice's office, compiling a complete listing of the
necessary tasks.
When Alice retired to her room after supper and cleanup, Siegfried grabbed Grape Culture, Wines, and Wine-making , one of his favorite books from
Opa Roye's library, then undressed and went to bed. He turned the pages of
Haraszthy's European adventure until his eyes crossed, then switched off the light.
But sleep was slow in coming. He was keyed-up and conscious of the hours
slipping by. Harvest would come too soon!
When he finally did drift off, he dreamed of Rodernwiller.
...the house was dark, cold, and deserted. Siegfried climbed the stairs,
knowing what awaited him in his father's study.
He steeled himself to touch the corpse. The dead fingers twitched as
Siegfried pulled the signet ring from the cold hand. They reached up blindly
towards him, grasping, as Siegfried tried to make his suddenly heavy limbs dodge
out of the way.
Father's shoulders tensed and the dark-stained head struggled to rise from
the pool of dried blood on the gilt-stamped blotter. Siegfried whimpered with terror
as he scrabbled at the doorknob. He did not want to look at that shattered
face .
He ran down the hallway, clutching the gold ring he had looted from the
dead, the heavy metal weighing him down as if he were running chest-deep in a
flooded trench.
Down the dark staircase with its stained wallpaper, towards the beckoning
square of the front door...behind him he could hear an irregular shuffle, growing
ever closer. Dread gripped Siegfried's stomach at the thought of those cold fingers
grabbing him. Out--he had to get outside!
Enemy artillery fell, a rain of deadly fire, screaming with the lost voice of his
little brother.
There was a faint whoosh as the curtains ignited, then a wave of heat that
dissolved the sticky bonds weighing down his limbs.
Siegfried looked over his shoulder to see fire flowing like water across the
parquet floor towards him. His father's corpse, now a flaming torch, stood at the
foot of the stairs.
"Bring the buckets, son, and fight to the death!" rasped the thing. "Bring
water!"
"Water?" Siegfried managed to force a whisper around the fear strangling
his voice. "But there is no water, Father. No water!"
* * *
Alice awoke abruptly as she heard Siegfried cry out.
A terrible fear squeezed her chest. Before she could think, she jumped out of
bed and ran down the hallway.
Siegfried had not drawn his bedroom curtains before retiring. In the faint
moonlight coming though the window, she saw that he was asleep, moving
restlessly under the coverlet, captive to some disturbing dream.
Her anger at his arrogant and belittling remarks about the winery had faded in
the face of his plan to save Montclair. And he had been gallant, defending her to
Tati.
Alice started as he spoke suddenly, his voice low, harsh: " Wasser? Aber da
ist kein Wasser, Vater. Kein Wasser !"
She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hush," she whispered, as if to a child.
"Hush. It's all right now." She gently stroked his face to comfort him. His cheek
was faintly rough with stubble--and wet.
He was crying in his sleep.
She stopped, unwilling to experience such a feeling of communion with this
stranger, her husband. He did not wake, but her touch had already soothed him.
His jaw muscles relaxed and he turned towards her, one arm reaching over her
lap, his face nestling against her thigh. "Mutti," he mumbled, drawing her
close.
She knew that much German, at least. He had mistaken her for his mother.
Feeling oddly tender, she rested her hand in his rumpled hair. "It's all right. You're
safe here."
Even though she wished with all her heart that he had never come, she felt
sorry for him now. No one should have to wake up to a damp pillow, alone.
Alice sat there a few minutes longer, until Siegfried fell into deeper sleep, then
she carefully removed his hand from her waist, and went silently out of his
room.
Back in her own
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