The glasses were still clinking when the old count also took the floor: “My dear friend Reichenbach has given the father our little Friederike well-deserved praise, but having children is a matter that involves at least two people, and if we men were alone in the world, the emperor would soon have no soldiers left. So let us not forget the mother of today’s christened child, who sadly cannot be with us today because the stork bit her leg a bit too hard. We wish her a speedy recovery and the return of her strength. But we should also honor another woman to whom we owe a thousand thanks. ‘Honor the women,’ our great Schiller already said, and truly, he was right, for it is women who bring sunshine into our lives and adorn it with the roses of love and loyalty.”
The old count paused and lowered his gaze into his half-raised glass, as if he saw something reflected there that made him pensive.
“Reinhold!” Ottane whispered to her brother. “Pass me a Linzer Kränzerl. No one’s looking.”
Reinhold saw all eyes fixed on the speaker; they were unnoticed, they could risk it. Carefully, his hand crept across the tablecloth to the tempting dish and snatched two of the round, golden-yellow, fragrant cookies—one for Ottane, one for Hermine.
“You’ll have no doubt who I mean,” the old count resumed, his voice thick with emotion, “none other than the good angel of these houses and huts, who has bestowed a thousand blessings and deserves a thousand thanks. There’s likely no family in this valley that hasn’t experienced the kindness and generosity of this woman who hasn’t found her a comforter and benefactor, a helper in misfortune, and a sympathetic friend in good times. This time, too, she has shown our good Ruf that she shares in the joys and sorrows of even humble people. So I believe I speak for all when I say: our hostess, the godmother of little Friederike, our esteemed Frau Director Reichenbach, may she live long—cheers, cheers, cheers!”
The speaker unleashed enthusiasm—who could toast more sincerely than this woman, so different from the stiff, formal, aloof old countess? Everyone knew the dishes sent in her name went on her husband’s account.
But as the old count leaned toward Friederike Luise to clink glasses, she said with quiet reproach, “Why did you put me on the spot like that?”
“Please,” the old count defended, his voice still trembling slightly, “let me at least once say what I think of you. Forgive me.”
Then Frau Paleczek signaled that the children’s great table delights could begin—the Linzer Kränzerln, gingerbread, preserved nuts, candied calamus. The christening cake was cut, the strawberry punch served, and the mood grew ever cozier toward evening.
The first to leave was the doctor: “I must still check on Frau Ruf, and I have a patient at home who needs me.”
The others rose from the table and left. Forester Ruf pressed close to Reichenbach, grasping his hand, his eyes glistening with tears and wine. “Herr Director… Herr Director… forever… forever your grateful… to you and the gracious Frau… an honor till my dying day… I’d let myself be cut to pieces for you…”
His tongue stumbled, reluctant to obey, but his heart was deeply moved. “Alright, Ruf,” Reichenbach soothed, “stay steady, just do your duty well.”
As the guests departed and the children started to leave with Herr Futterknecht, Reichenbach called his eldest back. “Reinhold! What’s the seventh commandment?”
Reinhold stood rigid and paled. Merciful heavens, did Father have eyes everywhere? “Thou shalt… not steal!” he stammered.
Two hefty slaps landed on the boy’s cheeks. “There! One for each Linzer Kränzerl. And you’ll write a hundred times: I shall not be naughty at the table. That’ll be on my desk by noon tomorrow. Good night.”
Frau Friederike Luise took a vase of roses from the table and carried it to the bedroom. “You shouldn’t always be so harsh with the children,” she said as her husband followed.
“Should I just let such nonsense slide? When even Futterknecht doesn’t keep a better watch! Honestly, he deserves a slap too.”
“I saw it too. Reinhold slipped them to Ottane and Hermine.”
“It’s always better one slap too many than too few. Today Reinhold didn’t know a thing about chromite again.”
Next door, Frau Paleczek bustled, barking orders in her rough bass voice to the maids clearing up. Frau Reichenbach removed her hairpins and loosened her hair before the mirror. “Don’t you think love is the best way to raise children? They’re afraid of you.”
“Oh, nonsense. They can’t learn soon enough that life demands you stay sharp and it’s no child’s game.”
With a small sigh, Friederike Luise dropped an object, letting go of a matter they’d never agree on. “Aren’t you going to undress?” she asked, starting to unbutton her blouse.
“I’ve got to head to my study,” Reichenbach said. “Tomorrow, I’m making a new contract with the old count—I need to draft it. We’ll grow sugar beets, big scale, and produce sugar. If it pans out, I’ll buy Reisenberg near Vienna—a proper castle, and you’ll be a castle lady.” He chuckled briefly, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. “By the way, I think the old count’s a bit sweet on you.”
Big eyes stared at him. “Karl, how can you say such a thing?”
“Oh, come now!” he smiled with a sly grin. “Let him have his fancy. I’d believe his heart doesn’t warm to the old countess. And I know you’ve got no eyes for anyone but me.”
With that, he went to his study to draft a solid, profitable contract that would secure him a good share.
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