Your House Is on Fire, Your Children All Gone: A Novel by Stefan Kiesbye Read Free Book Online Page B

horses, and, worst of all, hadn’t caught a single glimpse of Rutger von Kamphoff.
    “Thank you, Mr. Janeke,” she said nicely and icily in front of her house. “You want to come over tomorrow?” she asked me while she was climbing out of the truck. “My dad is going to decorate the tree with us.”
    “You go,” my father said. “I’ll be okay on my own.” But I shook my head. I had given my word.
    That evening my mother took me aside and questioned me about Inge Madelung. How was she dressed? What did she talk about with my dad? Was she really constantly at his side? What had she said and done?
    I loved my father, but I feared my mother. I had to give her something if I wanted to stay in her good graces.
    “The owner of the manor seems to like her well,” I said, and told her about the old man’s peculiar behavior.
    “It’s a shame,” she said. “What a cunning person. Well, she doesn’t own a thing, so she has to go after our men.” But no matter how much she cursed and complained, the news seemed to please her. She praised my effort, tousled my hair, and stroked my cheeks. “Be nice to Friedrich,” she said. “See if he tells you something.”
    Later that evening my dad called me and asked if I had made friends with Friedrich. I confessed what had happened, and what Anke had said, and he nodded. Finally he said, “It’s not as easy for Friedrich as it is for you girls.”
    “But he’s dumb and stupid,” I said.
    “He’s only afraid.”
    “Afraid of us?”
    “He’s not from here, and you let him feel that.” He paused a moment. “Do you really want to come with me again tomorrow morning?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Do the von Kamphoffs really have a black woman in the basement?”
    My father looked at me in surprise; he’d never been interested in rumors. “Maybe you and Friedrich can find out tomorrow,” he laughed. Then his face was all serious again. “Don’t tell your mother anything about Mrs. Madelung. It will only upset her.”
    I nodded.
    “She doesn’t understand the work I’m doing, how good it feels to have someone who is meticulous, hardworking, and who you can count on. Your mother sometimes suspects the worst things imaginable, but we know better, don’t we?” he asked.
    I nodded again.
    “And be nice to Friedrich. Maybe you can still become friends,” he said slowly. “Are you still playing with your model train?”
    The next morning, while my mom was boiling water for his coffee, my dad came to my room, and with my help, he snuck out of the house for a few short minutes without my mother noticing. When we reached the manor house in our three-wheeled truck and Inge Madelung came to greet us, he took a large wooden box from its bed. “It’s nothing,” he explained. “Only old toys Linde has no use for anymore.” And as an answerto Inge’s surprised look, he quickly added, “She never owned any dolls.” His face turned red and he grinned sheepishly. “I guess I always wanted…” He stopped himself. “I can help you carry all that junk home.”
    “I can handle it,” Inge protested, but my dad would have none of it.
    “It’s pretty heavy,” he said. “Really is.”
    I followed the adults, and when we came to Inge’s doorstep, they suddenly grew eerily quiet. I remember how embarrassed my father seemed. With that big box of his, he stood in front of Inge’s door and large drops were visible on his forehead, but it is clear to me now that he wasn’t sweating because of the unusually warm weather. I still see Inge’s hand around the doorknob, hesitating, unable to make a move. But Friedrich had heard us come and finally opened the door from the inside and let us in. His face looked grim. We must have been the first visitors in the two years since they had come to Hemmersmoor.
    “Just put it down somewhere,” Inge said to my father. “I’ll take care of it later. Thank you so much.”
    My dad didn’t leave immediately though. He set down the box