“I think I know Heinrich well enough by now. He would rather face whatever comes with you than be safe without you.”

“I know, of course you are right. It is only that I fear for them.”

“These are fearful times for us all.”

“There is nothing I need do now?”

Again the doctor thought for a moment. “Ring me when Heinrich returns. I will need to check the boy’s leg anyway. But the three of us have serious matters to discuss.”

21 The Mothers

21

The Mothers

As Doctor Abrahams returned to the village, a speeding auto passed him, dangerously close to the center line. The doctor swerved slightly, then continued on into the village.

Behind him, Gustav braked hard, then turned left and drove into the estate bearing his father’s name.

He found his mother in her parlor.

“Mother,” he began, “Sabina refused your invitation.”

“Was she busy, dear?”

“Not in the least,” he answered, crossing the room to where she sat. “She just said she didn’t want to come. She wouldn’t go for a ride with me either.”

“Gustav,” said his mother, a serious look coming over her face as her son drew close, “have you been drinking? You seem very upset.”

“I had a beer in the village.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I had to see some friends. And yes, Mother, I am upset,” he went on quickly, changing the subject. “Sabina sometimes treats me like I am a stranger. She never invites me to the garden anymore, and whenever we go riding—and half my invitations she turns down—I feel she is merely putting up with me. I just don’t know what to do, Mother. She does not behave at all with the courtesy she should show the man who will soon be her husband.”

If young Gustav rather overplayed the severity of Sabina’s ill-treatment of him—in truth, she was always as cordial as she could make herself be toward one with whom she had less and less in common with every passing year and had on this day spoken more boldly to him than ever before—he excused himself on the grounds that the situation had grown intolerable, and he saw nothing for it but to coax his mother toward intervention on his behalf. She desired the match as much as he did, and he well knew how she would respond.

Ingrid von Schmundt listened to her son with sympathy. He had been well skilled in getting his way with her almost from birth, a tactic she was as unaware of today as she had been when he was two.