A Trespass in Time (5 page)

            “
Find out
?”

            “Well, any people you might meet.”

            “As in relatives?”

            “That’s right.”

            “Sure, Dad,” she said.

            “And, on the other hand,” he said. “If you have no intention of looking up your mother’s relatives, well, just forget I said anything.”

            That night Ella and Heidi had dinner in one of their favorite restaurants in the old town facing the pedestrian bridge. It had taken Ella all of one day to officially retire any desire to ever eat
sauerbraten
or
wienerschnitzel
again. Fortunately, Heidi was a vegan and so was happy to discover less than traditional dishes when they went out together.

            “We are drinking beer tonight?” Heidi asked, as Ella ordered two pilsners and they looked over their menus.

            “I thought we’d be different,” Ella said.

            Heidi laughed. “Drinking beer in Heidelberg is different?”

            “I know, right?” Ella laughed. “But we always drink wine or Appletinis. I thought tonight we’d go native.”

            “You forget I am already native.”

            “That’s where the irony comes in, darling.”

            They toasted their pilsners and relaxed into casual office gossip and people watching. Their table was on the outdoor terrace and the autumn air was cold.

            “So,” Heidi said, sipping her beer. “What are we up to tonight? I, for one, am ready to meet some men.”

            Ella laughed. “I forget, Heidi,” she said. “Where did you say you were from?”

            “From Heidelberg, of course,” Heidi said. “Did you know it is the sister city to Cambridge.”

            “Did you ever travel much outside Heidelberg?”

            Heidi looked at her and for a moment Ella thought she saw something uncomfortable flash past her eyes before her happy countenance was back.

            “I have not been to America,” she said. “That, I would really love to do. When I go, should I visit the American South first? Or the Middle West? You are from the South, right?”

            “I’m from everywhere.”

            “That’s right, you travelled around a lot as a child. Lucky you.”     

            “But my mother was from Heidelberg.”

            “Really?” Heidi looked shocked, so much so that Ella couldn’t help but laugh.

            “Well, not really Heidelberg,” she said. “But near here. I’m thinking of taking a little field trip over the weekend to see if there’s anybody left I might be related to.”

            “Did you see Hugo?” Heidi said, craning her neck to look down the pedestrian walkway. “I just saw him walk past. He is totally into you, Ella.”

            “No way,” Ella said, forcing a smile. “It’s you he likes.”

            “Then why did he ask me where you live?”

            “I hope you didn’t tell him.”

            “He’s so hot. I can’t believe you don’t like him.”     

            “I like him okay but you know I’ve got this thing back home.”

            “The cowboy?”

            “Yeah, him.”

            Heidi giggled. “You know what the songwriters always say…”

            “I know, ‘love the one you’re with.’”

            “There is truth in the poetry of song, Ella.”

            “Even crappy pop music from the seventies?”

            They both laughed, but Ella’s laugh sounded a little hollow to her ears. On impulse, she leaned over and took Heidi’s hand.

            “Hey, Heidi? Is everything okay with you?”

            Heidi’s mouth dropped open in near shock. She looked down to where Ella was holding her hand. Ella tried to remember how Germans felt about people invading their space. Some of them were not very cool about being touched.

            “I…yes, of course, Ella. Is everything okay with
you
?”

            “You’d tell me, I hope. If you ever need to talk…you know, about anything.”

            “We are talking now, Ella. We talk every day.”

            “I guess I mean
really
talk. Like about problems we may be having.”

            Unless she was wrong, the always jovial Heidi looked very close to tears. Ella prayed she wasn’t overstepping her boundaries with her friend.

            Heidi pulled her hand out of Ella’s grip and then took Ella’s hand with both of hers.

            “I knew you would be a good friend to me,” she said, her eyes sad and watching Ella. “I knew you would be special in that way.” She squeezed Ella’s hand and the smile returned to her face. “Now where is that waiter? I have been craving a tofu melt all day long.”

            The next morning, her head throbbing with the fun of the night before, Ella pulled out a map of Heidelberg and located nearby Sandhausen, her mother’s hometown. It looked to be just a few miles outside of Heidelberg, easily reachable by bus. She looked at her watch. On the other hand, Hugo had offered to drive her there and she figured that would work too.

            It doesn’t mean anything, she thought. It’s just an afternoon between friends. Although she recognized she’d feel a little better if Heidi had been available to accompany them, she wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. She liked Hugo. And she could certainly handle him.

            What had her father meant last night? Was there something to be learned about her mother that she didn’t know? Could it possibly have something to do with the mysterious circumstances of her mother’s death? How could finding some distant aunt or cousin possibly be cause for concern or worry for her father? While Ella knew he had a habit of worrying over nothing, still, there was something about the way he had approached the topic last night that had her thinking that maybe there
was
something.

            An hour later, she and Hugo were driving through the streets of Sandhausen in his Renault. Ella knew her mother’s maiden name was Klaus, which seemed to be the German version of Jones. She found a Sandhausen address on the Internet for a Klaus, but no phone number or email address. Her plan was to knock on the door.

            “Germans don’t usually like that sort of thing,” Hugo said as he pulled up to a stop sign and read the street sign. “Brings back memories of storm troopers coming to the door.”

            “That’s silly,” Ella said. “Don’t tell me y’all didn’t have door-to-door salesmen in the sixties.”

            “
Y’all
?” Hugo grinned and gave Ella a little poke in the ribs. “You are my own little Scarlett O’Hara, aren’t you?”

            Ella forgot how annoying it could be to have someone relentlessly come on to you. She forced herself to smile. He was doing her a favor after all. She began to wonder how bad the bus trip could’ve been.

            “I’m not going to bang on the door and demand identification papers,” she said.

            “It will probably amount to the same thing,” he said, driving slowly down the block. “This is the street. What’s the number?”

            “508,” she said, looking at the house numbers. It was a typical German suburban street with the homes built in the last twenty or thirty years. If her relatives did live on this street, they had moved here after the war. “There it is!”

            Hugo pulled the car into the driveway. “It will be better if I stay here,” he said.

            “I was going to suggest it.” Ella smiled and hopped out of the car.

            The house was a tidy two-story with an orange tile roof. The shutters were blue and under the windows there were flower boxes full of geraniums. As she walked up to the front door, Ella noticed that the flowers were dramatic and full—even this late in the season. Whoever lived here was conscientious and proud of their home.

            As she tapped on the door—damn that Hugo for making her nervous—she rehearsed what she would say.
Hi! I think I’m your long-lost American cousin…

            A tall woman with red hair and a lined face answered the door quickly, making Ella wonder if her approach had been observed.
Could this be someone I’m related to?
Ella felt her heart beat faster.

            “
Guten morgen
,” Ella said.

            The woman frowned. “
Guten tag
,” she said. She looked at Ella’s empty hands and then at her face.

            “I am looking for Jane Klaus.
Ich bin auf der suche nach Jane
—”

            “
Ich weiss jenen namen nicht
,” the woman said.
I don’t know that name
.

            “Her family name was Klaus,” Ella said hurriedly, picking up on the impression that the woman was ready to end the interview. “They moved to America after the…after the…in about 1950 or so? I’m just trying to find if anybody is left because it was my mother, you see.”

            The woman waved her hand at Ella as if to make her stop talking. Ella was surprised at her unfriendly manner. There was an awkward but brief silence.

            “Many people left after the war,” the woman said finally, looking Ella up and down. “
Ich weiss jenen namen nicht.”

            “Okay. It’s just that, on the Internet, it says the family at this address is named Klaus. So your name isn’t Klaus?”

            Before she could finish, the woman retreated inside the house and slammed the door in Ella’s face. Stunned, Ella stood staring at the closed door and then caught the movement of a curtain being yanked across the window beside the entrance.

            Ella walked back to the car where Hugo was playing a game on his cellphone.

            “How did it go?” he asked as he started up the car.

            “She says she doesn’t know any Klaus.”

            “Oh, too bad. How about lunch?”

            “Is everybody this unfriendly in the hinterlands?” she asked. “Or was it something I said?”

            “She was rude?”

            “She slammed the door in my face.”

            “Well, Americans often have different definitions of what is rude and civil behavior.”

            “Really? So door slamming is a gray area over here? How about a fork in the eyeball? People here divided on whether that’s rude or not?”

            “You are upset.” Hugo put his hand on her thigh.

            “Hands and eyes on the road, please, Hugo,” Ella said. “Yeah, sure, let’s find a restaurant. I need to do some more research.” She pulled out her own cellphone and opened up a search browser.

            An hour later, with the remains of a very good Dover sole on the restaurant table, Ella knew that there was a woman living one township over from Sandhausen who might actually be related to her mother.

            “I don’t know what that woman’s problem was,” she said to Hugo as he poured her another glass of Rhine wine, “and it’s true she probably wasn’t a Klaus herself but I bet she knew something about the family. Why slam a door in someone’s face if you’re not freaked out about sharing information?”

            “Again, Ella,” Hugo said. “Germans are not as touchy-feely. I love that word. I learned it in Indiana. We are not as
touchy-feely
as Americans. It could well mean nothing.”

            “Hugo, how many times have you slammed a door in the face of a stranger who came to your door?”

            “I am not your typical German,” he said, leaning toward her. “Which you would soon discover if you give me half a chance.” She had to admit he smelled great. And he was handsome. Maybe it was the wine or the thrill of her little quest, but it suddenly felt like a great idea to let Hugo kiss her.

            At that moment, the waiter approached to ask about dessert.

            Hugo sighed and took the dessert menu. He ordered two coffees and a torte to share without asking Ella.  

            “Okay,” he said, flapping out his starched napkin onto his lap. “Where is it we are going now?”

            “Dossenheim,” Ella said. “It’s not far from here.”

            “And who is in Dossenheim?”

            “I have no idea,” she said. “And, seriously, if this is a dead end, Hugo, we’re done, okay? I honestly don’t care that much.”

            “But who do you
think
is there?”

            “It’s possible this woman,” Ella squinted at her cellphone screen to read the name. “Erica Weiss…is related to me somehow. Her maiden name was Klaus and she was born in Sandhausen in 1940. Even if she isn’t a relation, she might know my people.”

            “She is pretty old,” Hugo said as the waiter brought their coffees and dessert. “Is she in her own house?”

            “It looks like the address for an old folks home.”

            “Lovely,” Hugo said.

            Ella felt a surge of gratitude toward him that he would give up his Saturday to drive her around. She knew he was hoping to score but he was still very pleasant company and he was doing her a big favor. There was no way she could have done all this on the damn bus.

            Erica Weiss sat in the sunny day room of the
Sonnige Tage
nursing home and observed her visitors through rheumy, clouded eyes. Ella noticed her plucking at the wool afghan across her lap.

           
What am I even doing here?
Ella wondered. Hugo had accompanied her inside but she could tell by the way he held himself and the pinched expression on his face that he wasn’t comfortable. Frau Weiss did not speak English. Once again, she needed Hugo to help her if she was going to find out the answers she was seeking.

            “So,” Ella said brightly. “Thank you for seeing me, Frau Weiss.”

            The old woman smiled at Ella, the first indication that she wasn’t totally unhappy to have her morning routine interrupted.

            “I am happy to have company,” the old woman said by way of Hugo’s monotone, very bored translation.