"More--?" Turan's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. "Is that what you think?"
The two Hertas exchanged glances. His Herta blushed but it was the other who spoke. "In a nutshell, hotshot, what's in it for me?"
"You mercenary b--"
"Don't finish that, Turan," the other snapped. "Not if you want my co-operation."
Herta sighed and shook her head. So much for practicalities being tempered with diplomacy. "Enough!" She took a deep breath. "Look, this is ridiculous. You're both arguing as if I didn't exist and, in case you hadn't noticed, there are two of me. I'd rather not confuse the neighbours by suddenly showing up as twins."
She turned to her other self. "You put a sock in it for a minute."
She turned back to Turan. "And you shut up and listen for a change."
In the thundering silence that followed, Herta took a deep breath, trying to calm down. This whole situation was so bloody insane it was starting to make sense. Which almost scared her.
"Herta?" Turan took a step towards her, one hand outstretched.
She held up her hand. "Don't touch me, Turan. That's what I mean, you know. You have a need that requires fulfillment, but what about my needs?"
"But you are my soulmate..."
Herta nodded. "Maybe. But that doesn't make me you. I do not--" She stopped. This wasn't right. The words were wrong.
She tried again. "Turan, you need my soul to survive, but I need more than that."
Turan frowned. "What more is there?"
"Respect. Equality," the other Herta said drily.
Herta glared at the interruption, but didn't argue the point. "Friendship, purpose. A... a raison d'être, if you will."
"A ... a what?"
Herta's mouth twitched. "A raison d'être. A reason for being." Judging by Turan's expression, he still didn't understand. She tried another approach. "Turan, why should I need you?"
He blinked. "You're my soulmate."
She shook her head. "That's your reason. I've gotten along reasonably well enough without you so far." She shrugged. "I'm der Reizen and a freelance journalist. Either function does well enough to keep me occupied."
Turan's frown deepened. "Do you want someone to occupy your bed?"
Herta sighed as the other laughed. "I'm sure München has people that can take care of that problem," the other jeered.
Turan looked disgusted at the thought.
"Will you two stop it? It isn't helping."
"Look, there's no way he's going to understand. Neither you nor I do. Not completely. Other than he proposes to take and give nothing back, I mean."
"That's not true!" Turan objected. "We share, I don't take."
"Share what?"
"Souls, of course."
"And that means?"
Turan's eyes widened as he suddenly understood the problem. Or thought he did. "You require a ceremony?"
Herta scrubbed her face with her hands as the other Herta turned away with a snort of laughter.
"Then what?" Turan's frustration almost matched her own.
The two women stared at each other, sharing an unspoken communication.
"Then what?" Turan repeated.
The other Herta shrugged. "It's your call, kiddo."
Herta sighed. "When do you need to know?"
Turan froze. She was refusing him? She was actually refusing him? No! A darkness seemed to suck the life right out of him.
"Turan?"
He stiffened when Herta touched his arm. He would not allow her to gloat over his defeat. "Two days." He didn't add 'if I live that long', but it seemed to hang in the air nonetheless.
Herta wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her head against his shoulder.
Without thinking, Turan wrapped his arms around her. But there was only empty air. No. No, she wasn't his after all. He raised his eyes, dully noticing that they had returned to Herta's world.
The woman, almost a stranger now, Turan thought, was standing by the fireplace, her expression pitying.
"Two days. Until then."
Turan left without another word. What more could be said?
Herta remained where she was long after the closing of the door. Had she done the right thing? Would the price be worth it? With a shrug, she headed upstairs. Time would tell.
*********
Herta blew out her breath in frustration as yet another sheet of paper threatened to crumble instead of unfold. There had to be a better way to sort through this stuff. Maybe steaming, she thought? The local museum might know.
She got to her feet, dusting her hands on her jeans. Out of the two boxes she'd managed to sort through, over half of the papers were stiff with age and, possibly, damp. She resisted the impulse to kick the closest box. She needed another way to store this stuff until her computer and scanner arrived. She could check on that, as well. A glance at her watch told her that it was probably too late to go to the village now. But tomorrow morning....
**********
A bell tinkled merrily as Herta pushed open the door to the stationers' shop. It smelled of hardwood floors and turpentine. She took a deep breath and smiled. It smelled comfortable.
"Was wollen Sie, Frau Theiner?" a cold voice asked. "What do you want?"
Herta's eyes followed the voice to the man behind the counter. He was tall and grey-haired with ice chips for eyes. Another fan of her grandfather's, obviously. Her chin lifted slightly. That was just too bad.
"I need archival quality sheet protectors, twenty-two by thirty-six centimeters, if you have. If not, twenty- two by twenty-eight will do. I'll need bristol board and D-ring binders, as well," she said in flawless German. "You can supply this?" Both her tone and her quick look around the shop indicated doubt.
He flushed. "I can."
She gave her order and his eyes widened.
"But Frau Theiner, what will you do with all this?"
Her eyes held his. "My name is Fräulein Tanner, and, not that it's any of your concern, I have papers that must be sorted out and properly stored."
"Your grandfather's things, I suppose?" he questioned.
Herta borrowed a look that her grandmother had often used on the presumptuous. It had the same effect on the shopkeeper as it had had on her. He flushed. "What pertains to my family will be preserved. What pertains to the village will be donated to the museum."
"Your grandfather volunteered for Dachau," he spat out.
She nodded. "And this village was relatively untouched by the Nazis. One has to wonder why."
He snorted. "And you think your grandfather was responsible?"
"Or perhaps someone else?"
He blanched. "There is no one else," he said, as if he were trying to convince himself.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But the truth is hidden until the papers have been sorted out. And for that, I require safe storage. How soon can you have these delivered?"
"It will take a few days, Frau... Fräulein Tanner."
She nodded. "In the meantime, I will take what you have on hand. You may deliver them this afternoon." She laid her credit card on the counter.
He tried to stare her down. And failed. "Yes, Fräulein Tanner."
**********
Herta, torn between amusement and anger at her reception in the stationers, almost ran into Father Edmund and Krista. Giving in to their invitation, she joined them for coffee. "How did your meeting go, Krista?" she asked once they'd settled at a table.
The woman grimaced. "It went as well as I'd expected. Any luck with the chimney?"
"The chimney?" Father Edmund asked.
Herta started to explain about the anomalies of the parlour fireplace, but was stopped by Father Edmund's chuckle.
"You mean you haven't found the ashpit?"
Both women stared. "The ashpit?" Krista repeated.
The priest nodded. "Oh, I don't know how to get into it, but I remember Gunther telling me about it. That was one of the chores he hated, taking the ashes outside to make lye once a month." He chuckled again. "Gunther complained that the ashes were no respecters of persons and got into places that they shouldn't."
Herta coughed to cover her laughter. "I can imagine." She sat back in her chair. "But what would they have needed with that much lye? Soap? Where would she get the tallow for it?"
Krista looked confused. "You can make soap with ashes?"
Herta nodded. "Sort of. You run water through hardwood ashes and mix the result with sheep fat." She chuckled at Krista's look of horror. "Well, sort of. I'm not sure of the exact process, but that's it basically."
"One would have to wonder, then," Krista mused. "Where would they get that much hardwood? And, as you say, why need that much lye?"
"The war effort?" Herta guessed.
Father Edmund shook his head. "Not with the way Hans felt about it, no."
"So why make it?"
"Lye is a disinfectant," Father Edmund said.
"And stinks almost as bad as ammonia," Herta added.
"And could be used to mask a scent from the dogs?" Krista wondered.
The other two stared at Krista. "Helping Jews escape?"
"Among others?" Krista asked.
Father Edmund and Herta looked at each other. "Who else is there," he eventually asked.
Krista gave them both a level look. "You tell me."
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