"You should first know a bit about the participants," Father Edmund began, "Hans Theiner was a man firmly grounded in reality and duty. In his own way, he was an honorable man."
Herta smiled a bit at that. "You sound like Mark Antony," she said.
Father Edmund nodded. "The analogy isn't that far off. Hans was honorable, yes, but he was also hard, unbending, stubborn, and," he shook his head, in rueful recollection. "Above all, Hans was a very proud man. His son, Gunther, was just like him. Right down to the infamous family temper." He pretended not to see Herta's flush of embarrassment, but he frowned to himself. It remained to be seen if she was like her grandfather or her great-grandfather. Lives might depend on it.
"Gunther met Anika at a party in 1937. It was love at first sight. They were married the following year - against Han's wishes. Gunther had just turned 18 and, times as they were, he enlisted in the Army. Hans was furious. He thought Gunther owed more to the family than he did to Hitler. Gunther had other ideas."
"Das Ahnenerbe?" Herta guessed.
The priest nodded. She was quick and he said so. "Hans didn't see it like that. Gunther had been brought up to deal with family duties not, as Hans had described it, go grubbing about in the dirt like some peasant farmer."
"Did my grandfather make it?"
Father Edmund nodded again. "He did. Anika had originally loved the idea of going to foreign places, investigating all manner of German history." His lips pursed at the memory and its subsequent events. "Anika was not... happy," he finally continued, "about being left behind."
Herta laughed. "Knowing my grandmother, she came completely unglued and had a temper tantrum."
Father Edmund raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Herta shook her head. "I know it's not polite to speak ill of the dead, but my grandmother was... Well, I'd call her certifiably insane, but she had a document that proved otherwise."
He nodded. "That was a result of something that happened later. But if I may continue...?"
Herta blushed. "So my grandfather was a member of Hitler's Archaeology Division?"
"Gunther believed that he could still fulfill his obligations to the family while working for Hitler. He was an expert on the legends of the area and managed to keep a few important details from notice."
He drew a deep breath. The next part would be hard. "Because of the legends of this area, it was originally proposed that an internment camp should be set up here. Gunther convinced them to have it elsewhere and even volunteered to work in it."
Herta stared. "My grandfather volunteered for Dachau?" she whispered, appalled. This is not what she had imagined.
A brief nod. "He did what he could for the people there. There were some people..." he hesitated, looking for words to explain. "There were some people that volunteered to be... subjects. They were friends of Gunther's. Like him, they believed that the more innocent lives that could be spared..." The priest went to take a sip of his tea and realized his cup was empty. He got up to make some more.
Herta stared at the floor. This had all happened years ago, she reminded herself. People made choices that history condemned, but those choices had been made from either fear or an honest belief that they were doing the right thing. Nothing anyone could do now would change those choices. "Spared lives?" she asked, the words finally registering. "His friendsvolunteered in order to spare someone else's life?"
Father Edmund gave a mental sigh of relief as he poured the boiling water into the teapot. She had accepted that bit of news. Good. He put the teapot, cream jug and sugar bowl onto a tray and brought it over. "It just about killed Gunther to know that his friends were..."
Herta nodded. That might explain some of the anger and hatred she'd seen. Families of those who had volunteered, most likely. Some people had long memories, she knew. "And after the war?"
"Gunther came home on leave," Father Edmund continued, pouring a fresh cup for himself and Herta. "Hans and Anika finally agreed on something. They thought that Gunther should take the same route as he'd opened for some of the people in Dachau. Gunther disagreed."
"You mean they thought my grandfather should escape?" she asked, sipping the hot liquid. "And go where?"
"They didn't tell me, but I rather suspect Switzerland or at least up into the mountains. But Gunther didn't think it right. He and your grandmother had a rousing battle the day he left. That was the last we saw of him." Father Edmund's face was bleak. His last sight of his friend's angry face was still fresh in his mind. "As far as we know, he died at Ardennes."
"You and my grandfather were friends." It wasn't a question.
He nodded. "We'd gone to school together, Gunther and I. He went into the Army, but my fate had already been decided. I was to enter the Church." He shook his head as if to clear away painful memories. "But let me finish. Anika and Hans didn't get along, even from the beginning. I think they only did the one time. And then Anika found out she was pregnant. Hans was convinced that it wasn't his grandchild, but he didn't dare kick her out. As Anika had pointed out to him, if he was wrong, he'd be kicking Gunther's child out. Not something that would guarantee Gunther's return."
Herta nodded. Her grandmother had been an expert at emotional blackmail. Hans' obsession with 'duty' would make him an excellent target.
"Anika had miscalculated, though. Hans became very protective of the unborn child, but refused to have anything to do with your mother, Anna, once she was born. Hans was furious with Anika for not having a son." His eyes twinkled when he saw Herta try to hide a smile. "Yes, well, Hans didn't like any law that he hadn't personally made."
Herta chuckled. "It doesn't surprise me. Go on. I know Mom said she moved to Frankfurt when she was around ten."
Father Edmund's eyes widened. "Is that where they went? We hadn't known. Those ten years were rough on everyone. But your mother had inherited the Theiner stubborn streak. She kept after Hans until he recognized her as a human being. In her own way, Anna became a mediator between Hans and Anika. I don't know what it was that started the final argument between those two, but it resulted in Anika taking Anna away. Rumour had had it that they'd gone to England."
Herta shook her head, glad that she could offer something. "According to my mother, they'd lived in Frankfurt for several years. Then, when Mom was 18, she'd had enough of Grandmother's... control, I guess you could say and forced Gran to sign some papers allowing her to leave the country?" At the priest's nod of understanding, she continued. "Mom moved to London and then up to Liverpool, but I don't know how long she lived in either place. I know she came to Canada in 1965. She married William Tanner, my father, in 1972."
"And you were born a few years later."
Herta nodded. "In 1975."
"Hans had heard that your mother had married and had a child. Anika mentioned it to one of her cousins, but we didn't know her married name or that the child was female." He chuckled. "Hans would have been quite upset, had he known."
She smiled faintly. "I think he might have been more upset to know that Mom and Dad sponsored Gran's immigration to Canada, and that Gran ended up looking after me while my parents worked."
Father Edmund smiled. "Most likely."
"So this letter was written to my mother?" she asked, tapping the envelope.
He nodded. "From what I understand, he wanted your mother to raise her first-born in the proper traditions, so that when he grew up he could return here and fulfill his duties as der Reizengebleiter."
"But he's stuck with me."
"I wouldn't quite put it that way, child, but the basic facts are true. He asked me to give it to Anna and I was to make sure she understood the instructions. I don't think he'd object if I gave it to you under the same conditions."
"All things considered?" Herta smiled. "Sounds fair." She put the book and the photograph on the floor beside her and opened the envelope. The thick sheaf of papers was covered with a spidery scrawl.
"Would you like me to translate it?" Father Edmund asked quietly.
She shook her head, fascinated by the words on the page. "This isn't exactly German, is it?"
"Not exactly, no."
"It seems to be," she mused after a few minutes study, "a cross between German and Celtic. It's older than both, isn't it?" She looked up, seeking confirmation of her guess.
"You can read it?" came the surprised question.
She blushed. "Not completely, but enough to make sense of it." She shrugged. "No one has ever asked me about my past. I majored in Journalism, but I also took French and German. I took classes in Celtic mythology one semester and learned Celtic in my spare time so I could read the original stories and compare them." She shrugged again. "But I'm a bit rusty, though."
He gave her a keen look. "How's your Latin?"
She grinned. "Even worse than my Celtic. I took a year of it in High School. I was short one Arts credit and I couldn't see me doing Art or Band. Not when it was my final year. How did you know?"
Father Edmund laughed. "I didn't. It was just a guess. Gunther was fluent in Latin, among other languages. He tutored me in it."
"It was my mother's idea, come to think of it," Herta mused.
"It doesn't surprise me. Anna spoke fluent Latin when she was younger. It drove Anika wild to know that the three of us could carry on a conversation that she couldn't understand." He sighed. "But Anika refused to even consider learning it. She thought it a useless pastime."
"That explains why she was livid when she found out I was taking Latin, then." Herta made a face at the memory. "Did my great-grandfather speak Latin?"
The priest shook his head. "That was something else he and Anika agreed upon."
Herta chuckled. "That must have galled him, having to agree with my grandmother."
He wagged a finger at her, grinning. "Sei nicht so frech, Fräulein. But you're right."
Herta shrugged, grinning as well. She hadn't been called cheeky in years.
Father Edmund laughed and stood up. "I will leave you then, to read your letter in peace. I'll be back in about half an hour. If you have any questions, I will answer them as best I can. Will that suit you?"
Herta glanced down at the letter. "Yes, thank you. If it won't be any trouble."
"None at all."
It was closer to forty-five minutes later that Father Edmund returned to the lounge. He found Herta, shoes kicked off, feet tucked under her, staring out the window. Her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
He cleared his throat softly.
She turned her head and offered him a tight smile. "It would seem that I have inherited more than just an old house and a bit of an income."
He came in and closed the door behind him. "A bit more," he agreed.
"Do you believe it?"
He sat down in the chair. "I have seen enough that I do not believe it to be entirely the ravings of a lonely old man," he said carefully.
"And you condone it? The Church does?"
He looked startled. "I do not believe that people should be persecuted merely for being different," he said sternly.
Herta's eyes narrowed. "So my family has the blessings of the Church in their guardianship of a gate between worlds?"
"It has nothing to do with the Church. This is a matter between the parish and myself. The Archbishop understands that."
Herta nodded. "That would explain how the village managed to survive the Inquisitors, the Nosferatu and Hitler's maniacs, not to mention centuries of petty squabbles between even pettier kings and other lunatics with delusions of grandeur," she said caustically. Her voice turned to ice. "And by the time I arrive, I find I must live in the filthiest hut in Christendom, I'm treated like something that crawled out of the sewers, and to top matters off, I'm expected to be a pimp for vampires."
Father Edmund stared at her. "Fräulein, you misunderstand--"
She slid her feet back into her shoes and stood up. "I understand one thing, Father Edmund. I am not fit for civilized company. If you will excuse me?" She didn't wait for his response, but strode out of the room and down the hall.
The brilliant sunlight seemed obscene as Herta hurried out the door. She saw Turan, leaning against a tree, and turned abruptly. If he was in league with Father Edmund, she didn't want to see him either.
Turan followed her.
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