What had she said to him then? "It would be different, if I hadn't come here to work. If I could be with them here, they way Tania and Lynelle are with their kids. But the hours we keep, into the office at dawn and reading by a candle until we are exhausted. I wouldn't see them here, either, so it was really a choice of having them grow up there, with family, or here, with a governess. Not much of a choice, really."
Another letter. "Dear Mom." To her mother, then. "I understand, Mom. Really, I do. We waited to have the girls, and that means that since we were older parents, you and Dad are older grandparents. I can understand how they exhaust you, especially after you've managed the day care center at the plant all day. You're right. Since Dominique is taking some time off anyway after the baby, it makes more sense for her to take them. Don't feel bad about it. I know that everyone is doing the best he can. She can. I understand. I love you all."
Meyfarth looked up.
Anita's eyes were full of tears. "All right, maybe it is blackmail. But if you won't go talk to him as a diplomat, then please go and talk to him because you're a pastor. Not a Catholic priest, but a pastor. Because we've got to have some kind of a breakthrough, Herr Meyfarth. For our girls. And for all the rest of the children. My girls are going to live with Dominique and Marcus; by the time we see them again, they won't know us. It was different, somehow, when they were with my parents. Even little children can tell Grandma and Grandpa from Mom and Dad. But now, for every real purpose, Dominique will be their mommy, Marcus will be their daddy, little Mark will be their baby brother, and . . . and I'll be Auntie Anita who lives a long way away and they haven't seen her for so long that they're shy with her."
She put her head down on the table and started to sob. Steve put his hands on her shoulders.
Finally she lifted her head up. "This isn't a good time or place to tell you, Steve. There isn't any good time or place to tell you. Not the way things have been going this spring, since the election. I'm pregnant, again. I'm sure, now. New Year's Day, I guess." She started to cry again; then forced herself to stop.
"Please, Herr Meyfarth. As a pastor. Help us make enough of a peace that we can bring our children to Franconia. Just that much. I'm not asking for eternal peace in the whole world. Just a truce in a little corner of it. Please."
Chapter 11: "Brillo, four feet or not, is a creature of free will"
Bayreuth, mid-April, 1634
Margrave Christian appeared to be interested in discussing modern literature. If that was where he wanted to start, Meyfarth was quite willing to let him guide the conversation. Particularly since Weckherlin had come with him to Bayreuth. Eventually, they would get to the point. These things could not be forced.
The margrave and Weckherlin were deep into a discussion of one of Weckherlin's sonnets. "To Germany." Not, Meyfarth thought, really a bad place to start.
Break the yoke beneath which you are bound.
Not a bad first line, if one was really discussing peasants who had defied their lords and what should be done about it. No, not bad at all. Perhaps Margrave Christian had something to contribute to a resolution of this current problem.
O Germany, wake up; grasp your courage again,
the usage of your ancient heart. Resist the madness
which has overcome you and, through you, freedom
itself.
* * *
Usage? Was that right in English. Customs, perhaps? The exact word was often hard to find. Germany. Teutschland. A concept of the humanists, not of the politicians. Could Germany do anything? No. Could the Germans, the dozens of varieties of them, do something? Perhaps.
Now punish the tyranny which has utterly shamed you,
finally wipe out the fire that is consuming you,
not with your own sweat, but with the foul blood
flowing from the wounds of your enemy and false
brothers.
Meyfarth shuddered. He did not share Weckherlin's vision in this. If this was carried through, it would only prolong the war.
Relying upon God, follow the princes
whom His right hand will, if you desire it, preserve,
to the consolation of the faithful and the wreck of the
faithless.
His just hand, perhaps, rather than His right hand? Gerecht, in a way, could mean either.
So abandon all fear; do not let the time slip by
and God will reveal to all the world that the enemy's
treachery and pride are nothing but shame and disgrace.
Meineid. Perjury, perhaps, rather than treachery? But no, Weckherlin's poem was well known, but for the ram's purposes, it was worse than useless. Patriotic gore. Meyfarth examined his fingernails while the margrave and Weckherlin talked.