The American Lady(102)

“Christmas was just as lovely, with all the snow and the Christmas tree.” She pointed to the corner of the room where the tree still stood, decorated with the first baubles Marie had ever made, following family tradition. “My first Christmas in Germany. And it was even more wonderful than the Germans in the New York clubs had told me to expect!”

Richard was still looking straight at her. She could feel his knee pressing up against her leg.

“But New Year’s Eve is something else again, isn’t it?” Wanda asked, struggling to keep her voice light and friendly.

His gaze became a little less intense and was softer now, somehow turned inward.

“Yes, the last day of the year is . . . an ending of sorts. The minutes slip down through the hourglass . . . Suddenly everything that once was seems less important now, because we’ll make a new start soon. Because anything can happen in the new year.”

Wanda nodded. Richard had said exactly what she was feeling. She was even more bewildered now. His knee was pressing harder against her now, and she wondered whether she should move a little farther down the bench—for the good of her soul. She felt dizzier by the moment.

Richard gave her a knowing grin, then turned his eyes away. “We may not be such fine folks as they are in America, but we know how to have a good time, don’t we, Peter?”

The spell was broken. Wanda took a deep breath.

Peter laughed and dipped his ladle into the pot of punch that was simmering gently away on the stove, then began pouring more into everybody’s glasses. Somehow the pot never seemed to run empty. The others had all stopped to listen while Wanda and Richard talked, but as they picked up their own conversations again, Wanda saw that the expression on Anna’s face had turned even grimmer than usual.

Wanda drank half her glass in one gulp.



A little while later they began to play cards, and the mood became even merrier.

Whenever Hermine had a good hand of cards, her husband, Klaus, began to grumble, and she did the same when he was in luck. The more the old couple bickered, the funnier everyone else found it. At some point Johannes and Richard began imitating the two of them and gales of laughter followed. Aunt Johanna giggled like a girl, and even Magnus was not his usual sorrowful self that evening. Anna seemed to be the only one who didn’t find it funny. When she laughed at all, the sound was strangulated.

Wanda looked around the room, her cheeks aglow as she held her right hand over her cards. This wasn’t such a bad hand . . .

“Whose turn is it?” Why did her voice always have to go so squeaky when she was excited?

Johannes groaned. “Oh cousin, cousin, I think you still haven’t quite got this game. It’s my turn, of course.”

“You watch out, she’s just asking questions to make herself look harmless. These Americans are full of tricks!” Richard said, winking at Wanda.

She joined in the laughter, embarrassed. Look harmless indeed! How was she supposed to concentrate on the game with Richard sitting next to her, when she could feel the warmth of his body? How was she supposed to keep track of whose turn it was when his arm kept touching hers? She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. He was looking straight at her.

Wanda felt herself blush. Hastily she picked up her punch glass and took another mouthful, which only made her feel hotter.

Johanna glanced at her niece.

“It’s eleven o’clock already, and we haven’t cast the lead yet! Johannes, Anna—don’t we want to know what the new year will bring? It always used to be your favorite part of the party. And while you’re doing that, I’ll go and fry the donuts!”

Johanna stood up slightly unsteadily and walked over to the pantry. Hermine followed her to lend a hand.

While Johannes went into the workshop to get everything ready for the fortune-telling, Anna stayed in her seat.

“Why don’t you go and join Johannes? You’re always turning up whenever you like the rest of the time,” Anna said to Wanda.

Wanda couldn’t have been more surprised if Anna had punched her in the stomach. She looked back at her cousin, mortified.

“I daresay the lead will just make lumpy blobs anyway, and we’ll have to rack our brains to see any shapes that mean anything.” Richard laughed as Johanna came back to the table with a dish of freshly fried donuts. “But casting the lead is all part of the fun at this time of year, isn’t it?” Then he turned to Wanda. “Do you do that in America as well?”

She could feel his breath warm upon her cheek as he spoke. Anna’s remark was quite forgotten.

“I . . . how can I explain . . . we . . .” She laughed, breathless. What had Uncle Peter put in that punch! She felt as though her head were stuffed with cotton wool.