With wet cheeks the mourners returned to the tasks and burdens of the day. Each faced the labors of autumn as they had every year before. Herwin joined the men in the forests setting fences for the swineherd. Varina returned to her children and sat in her damp, smoke-choked hut to spin the fleeces of spring-sheared wool. Lukas slipped away to the banks of the Laubusbach, and Heinrich walked his boys home.
The baker led his lads slowly along the footpaths of the village and said little. Karl, however, babbled on and on in his cheerful way, chattering of the simple, happy times spent with Emma. “Vati! She made me laugh and she taught me riddles!”
Heinrich smiled. “Aye, boy. I’ve yet to solve the one of the rooster and the chick!”
Karl laughed. He was sharp as a saddler’s needle. “Ha, Vati, and if you do, I’ve another!”
“Your riddles are stupid,” grumbled Wil. “And this is no day to laugh, you dolt.”
“Boys, no fights. Wil, the prior says you shall start school on Monday next. You’ll join a group of fine young lords from other parts and a few oblates. ‘Tis a wondrous thing. Frau Emma was so happy for it. Karl, in a few more years you’ll have the promise too.”
Wil wrinkled his nose. “I shall be with oblates?”
“Aye, mostly.”
“But the oblates are most of good blood.”
Heinrich nodded. “You and your brother are of good stock as well.”
“The son of a baker and the grandson of a miller? Everyone hates Grandpapa, and you … you are plain and …”
Heinrich drew a deep breath. “Aye, lad. I am a simple man, but you and Karl are blessed with a special gift from a great-grandpapa who even I never knew.”
The three then talked of other things until reaching their hovel where they entered the door to find Marta and Dietrich deep in conversation. “Father,” Marta said dispassionately, “you know I shall care for you. I shall—”
“What is the matter?” asked Heinrich.
“The prior has ordered Father from the mill. Too old,’ he says. But Father is yet strong and the mill is working well and—”
“Enough, daughter,” groaned Dietrich. “It is true, Heinrich. Others have been sent to run the mill. But I’ve other news as well.” He looked at Marta nervously.
Heinrich sat on a stool and his boys leaned curiously against the cottage walls. “Yes, go on.” Dietrich looked old to Heinrich. Indeed, the man was now in his fifties. What hair edged the sides of his head was white and sparse, his teeth were gone, and he had become bony and feeble.
“I’ve a bit of a problem. I’ve lost a wager with that devil Horst, the brother of Friedal. I thought sure of the thing and pledged m’house and chattels as good faith. I only wanted to win some shillings for a day such as this so you’d need not care for me and—”
“You lost your house and all what’s in it?” cried Marta.
Dietrich hung his head. “Ja, ‘tis so.”
Marta stared at her father in disbelief. “If Mother were alive she’d … she’d … how could you—”
“Marta,” interrupted Heinrich, “perhaps we can plead to Horst for charity and—”
“Charity? Nay! Never! My good word is all I’ve left to me and I shall not lose that as well, no, I shall not!”
Heinrich looked at Marta and at his sons with a stomach turning like a pail of curdling milk. “M’brother, Axel is to move out, methinks during the Advent. You shall live here and we shall provide for you.” The words fell from the man’s lips like heavy bricks. But Heinrich knew his duty.
Dietrich nodded and reached for his daughter. “Marta, Marta, I knew you would help. May heaven bless you.”
The woman stiffened and stared at him hard-eyed and bitter. She had not forgiven him for little Lukas’s death, though she was pleased he had suffered at least a bit for it. Ach! she thought. Another sorrow to endure…
The man embraced her for a moment, then he turned to Heinrich. “I shall help you in the bake-house.”
A pang cut through Heinrich’s chest. “I’ve apprentices from the monks and m’lboys, I’ve hands enough, I …” A sharp look from Marta finished his sentence. “I … might always use another, though.”
Dietrich smiled. “Of course you can.”
Advent brought its usual cheer to what was otherwise a dismal time of year. The air was cold and damp, the slaughter finished. Taxes and fines were paid and the village now waited expectantly for the feasts of Christmas. The labors of this season were easier than many, for little could be done other than the repair of workshops, roofs, and fences. For both serf and monk it was a time of blessed respite, but for Wil it was a time for work to begin.