“To be truthful, I cannot imagine how one such as my brother Otto could content himself to have to do with nothing but money and investments. Money is such a dead thing. This manure has more life than all the money in all the banks of Germany. Can gold make bread? No, but this manure can!”

The two worked their way down the series of open stalls, gradually piling the cart higher and higher. When the mound had at last reached its limit, the baron set down his pitchfork and wheeled the cart outside to dump it where a huge pile already awaited the end of the harvest for distribution.

“Three or four more loads,” he said, reentering the barn, “and we’ll have the ladies’ beds all nice and fresh!”

With increasing gusto Thaddeus plunged his fork into the organic dung, hardly taking notice of the brown splotches steadily accumulating on his trousers and shirt.

“We’ll have those things washed for you before you leave,” said the baron. Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he burst out with a great laugh.

“What?” said Thaddeus.

“You just smeared a big brown smudge across your face from the back of your hand! I’m sorry. I couldn’t help laughing.”

Thaddeus glanced down at his hand and saw the offending stain.

“What would my colleagues at the embassy say if they could see this!”

“They would be too busy holding their noses. They probably wouldn’t see the true man beneath the grime.”

Twenty minutes later, after five bales of fresh, clean, yellow straw had been tossed down from the hayloft above and spread out across the floor of the stalls for the evening’s comfort of the inhabitants, baron and diplomat leaned their pitchforks back against the wall and left the barn.

“Thank you, Baron,” said Thaddeus as they walked slowly up the hill to the house together. “Every day around here is full of new experiences—for both me and my son. I am very grateful.”

The baron smiled. “Unusual experiences, is that what you mean?”

“I haven’t felt more alive since coming to Germany. Cows and manure and green fields of grass… sleeping in a house hundreds of years old… wearing another man’s boots… a cobweb-filled hayloft… the smells of farm life… fields full of golden grain awaiting the harvest—I just can’t tell you how it all goes down into my soul. I wish Matthew could spend a week here.”

“We’d be happy to have him.”

“Perhaps the time will come,” said Thaddeus.

18 Change of Plans

18

Change of Plans

That same afternoon, when dinner was over, Sabina agreed to take Matthew on one more ride prior to his departure with his father for the city.