~II~

Posted on: 2009-02-15

Kitchen work was hard, and so once their neighbours and friends had left Leni and her mother were busy until the small hours to set everything to rights again. They'd sent Gretl and Marianne off to bed – Marianne was so grief-stricken that she seemed to be unable to concentrate on a single task, and having a sobbing Marianne drop an earthenware jug she'd been supposed to wash up and then getting into the way while they tried to clear up the mess was not going to be any help at all. Marianne had promised she'd get up in the morning and get breakfast ready so they could get some sleep. Gretl, though a helpful girl, and in a steadier frame of mind than her sister, would have been happy to help, but she'd had trouble in keeping her eyes open during the wake – she was not used to staying up for so long – and therefore her mother had decided to do without her assistance. Asking Fanny had never even entered their heads – the kitchen was their responsibility, as Fanny would have been only too happy to point out to them.

So Leni did the washing-up, cleaned the hearth and swept the kitchen floor while her mother prepared the dough for some more bread – they'd have to start baking early in the morning, for there was almost none left – and then got everything ready for breakfast, so that Marianne would be able to do the rest without mishap. The men needed their early morning repast; there was a great deal of work to be done and it would not do to send them off into the barn, stables or the fields with an empty stomach. A death in the family did not disrupt the work routine; it only made work more difficult because a pair of hands was suddenly missing.

Meanwhile, Hans was worrying what would be the best thing to do for his sisters, and Fanny was assisting him to the best of her ability.

"Maybe if we sold Daisy and her calf," he mused, "we could hand the money over to them and be done with it. What do you say? They'd fetch a good price on the market; it would be quite enough for them to live on for a while."

"Sell the best dairy cow you've ever had? Have you gone mad?" Fanny demanded. "And the calf too? I'm not saying they wouldn't fetch a good price, but where are we going to get a replacement for them? At a time like this too, with your father just dead and all the expenses of the funeral to be paid! Money grows on trees I suppose!"

"I did promise my father I'd do my best for the girls," Hans insisted.

"Haven't they got a roof over their heads? Good clothes to wear and three meals every day? What else can they possibly want? I'd say you are providing for them quite liberally already."

There was that, Hans had to agree; and, as Fanny pointed out to him, the girls' upkeep cost him more than enough.

"You must consider, though, Fanny," Hans said after a few moments, "that they do valuable work in the house and in the fields. – Maybe I should pay them wages."

"Pay them wages? What's wrong with helping one's brother, who provides one with a home and enough food to eat? What will you think of next, I wonder?"

"If I had to hire servants to take their places I'd have to pay them wages too," Hans pointed out. "Apart from supplying them with food and lodging, and new clothes and shoes twice a year."

"But you could get much more work out of them in return," Fanny replied. "Whereas you will always have to be considerate to them because they are family. Think of Marianne – how much work does she actually get done? Imagine paying her for the little she does do! And Gretl is too young to be paid anyway."

"I've got boys her age working on our mountain pastures," Hans said.

"Exactly. Boys." Fanny let that sink in, before she said, "I don't see why you should have to give them anything as long as they are provided for. I am sure your father only asked you to give them a home on the Neaderhof, and to look after them as a brother should. I am not saying you should not do that; it is your duty, and I am sure you will do it well. But your father cannot have wanted you to sell livestock in order to give them money, or to pay them wages for the work they do, or do anything that will diminish the value of the farm. He was too shrewd a man to have such foolish ideas."

"I suppose we could let them have the cottage," Hans said after a while. "They could live there, and still work on the farm, and we could make sure they have everything they need."

"Live in the cottage?" There was a small cottage opposite the house which served as accommodation for elderly farm hands; those who were too weak to work and too old to find jobs elsewhere. "And what if we need the cottage for our own purposes? Once you've let them move into the place there will be no getting rid of them! Only think of our boy; what if he wants to marry one day, and can't because his aunts are still living in the cottage, and we have nowhere to go?"

"They might still get married, you know," Hans said hopefully.

"They might, to be sure. But what about their mother? Don't tell me that she will go to live with one of her girls; oh no, ten to one she will be hanging like a millstone on your neck years from now, and will live the longer for the inconvenience she causes us. – Apart from that, the roof of that cottage needs repairing, and we cannot really afford to do so at the moment, as you well know."

There was some truth in that, Hans had to admit.

"I think the best thing will be for the girls to stay with us until they get married," Fanny went on. "You can make them a generous gift on the event of their marriage, which will be very proper; and by that time you will have recovered from the expense of the doctor's bills and the funeral. – I am sure this was what your father meant when he asked you to look after your stepmother and sisters."

Hans was only too happy to adopt his wife's opinion, and so he decided to do nothing but to leave things exactly as they were, which suited him best.

A similar discussion was going on between Leni and her mother as they were outside baking bread the next morning.*

"What are we going to do; now that Father is dead?" Leni asked her mother.

"We needn't worry," Mrs Daringer replied confidently. "Hans said he'd take care of everything."

"I see," Leni said, not really convinced. She was certain that her brother wanted to take care of them; he was not ill-disposed towards them. But his wife was, and therefore Leni wondered whether they would not be well-advised to leave the Neaderhof and seek employment elsewhere. Fanny had already demonstrated to them how life was going to be now that she was in charge, and while her mother was behaving admirably – she hadn't taken the butcher's knife and cut Fanny's throat yet – Leni knew that sooner or later she would break down.
It was inevitable; Fanny was insensitive at best, and spiteful at worst, and did not want them here – she never had. As long as her father-in-law had been alive, she had grudgingly accepted things as they were, but now the Neaderhof belonged to Hans, which more or less meant that Fanny was the one who had the running of the place. Her mother would not be content to watch for long, Leni knew. Things would come to a head at one point, and then…

"Maybe it would be wise to have some alternative plan, in case things don't work out," she suggested. "I could try and get some work, Mother. Paula has written to me – she says they are always looking for girls to work in that factory she is working in, and the wages are good…"

Paula was a girl from the village, one who'd been friends with Leni until she'd gone to Town to seek her fortune. She still wrote the occasional letter to Leni to tell her how she was getting on, and to find out about the local gossip of Unterau.

"No daughter of mine will end up in a factory," Mrs Daringer snapped. "And what your poor father would think of it I dare not even imagine!"

"We must live on something," Leni pointed out.

"We seem to be doing quite well at the moment, aren't we?" her mother retorted. "Give Hans a chance – he'll do something for us, never fear. In the meantime we'll stay."

It was useless to discuss the matter further, Leni knew. In her unfailing optimism, her mother trusted that Hans would keep his word, and would do whatever it was that he had promised his father. While Leni did not doubt his intention of doing so, she did doubt that Fanny would let him do it – and Hans didn't have the backbone to stand up to his wife. But she kept quiet. Her father was still in the house; he was not even buried yet. They'd talk about it again after the funeral. Maybe by that time her mother would be more inclined to see reason.

The arrival of the post was always an event of some importance. That day it mainly consisted of condolence letters from friends and business partners, but there was also one of those new-fangled telegraph things for Fanny from her brother, sent from Town, and she showed it to the assembled family and servants at luncheon.

Fanny's family, the Falkners, were known both for their wealth and their piety. The wealth was very real, and although Leni privately doubted their piety – and she was not the only one who did – they took an active part in their parish life. Fanny's father had died young, and had left the farm and his entire fortune to his wife, to be passed on to "the son she considered fittest for a farmer's life". Mrs Falkner had one ambition, however – one of her sons, she had always said, should study and become a priest.

It was the eldest, Eduard, who was to fulfil his mother's dream in that respect. His younger brother Robert had never shown any inclination towards study; and so it had fallen to his elder brother to go a boarding school in Town at an early age, and then continue to study Theology at the local university, with a view to taking up the clerical profession.

Eduard, being a good-natured and obedient boy, had never questioned his mother's decision, but had made her proud with his academic achievements, for he had enjoyed learning and did well in school. He was scheduled to take Holy Orders the following year, once he had finished his studies, and Mrs Falkner told everyone who wanted to hear it that "her son was going to be a priest soon". It surely added to her consequence in the village she lived in.

After everyone had duly admired the telegraph – the first that had ever arrived at the Neaderhof – Fanny opened and read it to the assembled family and servants. The brevity of its contents was something of a disappointment though.

Coming to funeral. E.

"Well!" Fanny exclaimed, obviously pleased, even though the message was but a short one. "Thomas, you'll have to go to the train station in Unterau to pick him up and take him straight to the church. He'll arrive on the 8.30 train, I'm sure."

Since there were only two trains from Town arriving in Unterau per day, and one of them in the late afternoon, it had not been a difficult feat to come to that conclusion. If Eduard wanted to attend the funeral, he would have to travel on the 8.30 one.

"But where will he sleep?" Fanny asked. "We can't allow him to sleep in the same room as the farmhands."

There were not many bedrooms in the farmhouse. One for the master and mistress of the house, one more bedroom which had belonged to Hans and Fanny but now was their son's nursery, one for Mrs Daringer and her daughters, one for the farmhands. The female servants slept in the pantry.

"Oh no, we cannot do that," Hans hastily agreed.

"He'd prefer the maids I'm sure," Thomas said dryly.

"How dare you talk about my brother like that!" Fanny shrieked. "He's not that kind! He's going to be a priest!"

Thomas grinned, but remained silent. He wasn't going to look for a new job - not at his age, at any rate, nor at this time of the year. Though if there was one thing that might make him change his mind it was that young Daringer woman.

"He could sleep in the parlour," Gretl suggested.

"In the parlour?"

"Why not? My father won't be there any more, and it's nice and warm in there."

"You cannot be serious!"

"Well, it is nice and warm in there," Hans began, but was silenced by a glare from his wife. "Coming to think of it, it's hardly suitable, is it?" he amended. "For one, there's no bed in the parlour."

"There is. On top of the stove**," Gretl said. "The one where Father used to have his Sunday afternoon naps."

Fanny regarded her with an expression of acute distaste. Apparently she did not think that such an important visitor as her brother should sleep on top of the stove in the parlour.

"I've another idea," she announced. "How about you leaving your room to him during his stay? It will only be for a night or two."

Marianne, who'd been eating quietly, staring at the table to avoid Fanny's eye, looked up. "And where are we going to sleep while he's here?" she demanded heatedly. Before she and Fanny could launch into an argument, however, Leni kicked her sister's shin under the table. Marianne took the hint, but glared at Leni.

"In the pantry with the maids. There are only two of them in there anyway; there's enough room for you." Fanny said.

Probably piled on top of each other, Leni thought gloomily. While it was perfectly fitting that the old farmer's wife and daughters should share their room with the female servants and the odd supplies, the young farmer's brother-in-law was to have a room to himself. Probably he was entitled to it, having studied in Town and being a future priest.

The elder Mrs Daringer was not in a mood to argue with her daughter-in-law, and merely complied with her wish. They would get their room ready for their visitor in the afternoon, she promised. Only Leni, who was sitting next to her, noticed the tears in her mother's eyes as she said so.

* The oven for baking bread, if there was one, was often in a separate building, and not in the house.

** There'd be a tiled stove in the parlour, and some kind of rack for drying the washing on top of it. In some places, though, there'd be a bed on top of the stove. Gretl is referring to one of those.

~III~

Posted on: 2009-02-22

Marianne's indignation knew no limits. She kept her mouth shut during the meal, but then stormed out of the house and ran into the forest.

"What's this?" Hans demanded, slightly annoyed. "Where does she think she's going?"

"For a walk," Leni said calmly. "She has been feeling so low all day, I told her she could go out in the afternoon to cheer her up a little. We'll need her in the evening."

"I can't remember when I ever had a walk," Fanny complained.

"In that case it is about time you went for one," Leni said sweetly. "We'll be fine; don't hesitate to take some time off if you feel like it. We'll clear up the kitchen and prepare for the wake, and the maids can get the parlour and the hallway ready. You've been working hard, you deserve a holiday."

Fanny sniffed indignantly at the suggestion that she needed a rest, and declined her sister-in-law's generous offer. Somebody needed to keep an eye on the proceedings, she said, and nothing ever got done properly if the mistress of the house went for a walk in the middle of a common weekday, as if there was no work to be done.

Fanny's brother arrived in time for the funeral, and caused quite a stir among the villagers of Unterau. He was not a strikingly handsome young man, but the only one in the congregation dressed in Town fashion. He wore a black suit, overcoat and hat, and added an air of distinction to the group of mourners assembled around the Neader-farmer's coffin.

His manners were quiet and unassuming, but very agreeable, and Leni found it hard to dislike him, although she had felt an inclination towards doing so at first. He was the one for whom they had had to give up their bedroom, after all.

He would not hear of it, however. He'd be perfectly comfortable wherever they'd find room for him, he said, and would not for the world allow anyone to give up their bedroom for his convenience. He did not mind sleeping in the farmhands' room; in fact the years he'd spent in boarding school had accustomed him to sharing his room with others, and he'd be uncomfortable if he had to sleep on his own. He'd be even more uncomfortable to know that he had caused his hostess such inconvenience, and would not be able to get a wink of sleep in that room. Pleasant though his manners were, Eduard Falkner could be as stubborn as a mule, and his sister's attempts at coaxing him were futile. Leni's opinion of him rose instantly.

During the reception at the local inn, Eduard sat with the village priest, who had approached him almost at once – knowing that this young man was about to enter the clerical profession – and thereby took the burden of entertaining the reverend gentleman from his sister's shoulders. Since both she and the elder Mrs Daringer had already worried about being obliged to do so, and not quite feeling up to the task – what did one talk about to a priest, who was quite a different person altogether and probably took no interest in one's daily concerns? Eduard could discuss complicated matters like politics with the man, and therefore managed to keep him tolerably entertained, while the hostesses could turn their attention to the other guests, safe in the knowledge that the priest was taken care of.

Later, when they returned to the Neaderhof, Eduard again astonished his sister by refusing to go in the cart with Thomas.

"I prefer to walk," he told Fanny with a smile. "I've been sitting around enough all day, first on the train, then at the inn – it's about time I got some exercise, wouldn't you agree?"

His sister's objection that they'd be walking for the better part of an hour before they reached the farm merely made him laugh. "I'm not such a poor creature that I cannot walk uphill for an hour without suffering any ill effects," he said. "But maybe you should go in the cart, Fanny. You look tired. – So do you, Mrs Daringer," he added, turning to the widow. "You have had a hard time of it, I'm sure. Please do not give up your place in the cart for my sake!"

Fanny followed her brother's suggestion, although she was a trifle displeased when he also invited her mother-in-law to join her. She kept her mouth firmly shut, however, and Mrs Daringer also climbed onto the cart, which Thomas then set in motion. Leni, Marianne and Gretl had chosen to walk with their brother and Fanny's.

"I am glad you could make it Eduard," Hans remarked as they walked along the main street of the village. "I know how busy you must be, at this time of the year."

"So are you." Eduard replied. "And two hands short after your father's death, I know. You forget I've grown up on a farm; I know this is the busiest time of the year. If you need some help I can stay for a while if you like – I do know farm work, and I'd like to make myself useful wherever I can."

"But what will your mother think of this?" Hans asked, doubtingly. He was not certain whether his mother-in-law would approve of Eduard's plan, and therefore was reluctant to accept his offer, even though he sorely needed another man about the house, and was not likely to find anyone in the middle of autumn. Eduard was right; there was work crying out to be done before winter, and not enough time – or hands - left to do it.

"Never mind what my mother says; I will settle it with her," Eduard replied. "I have brought my books with me; I can do my studies here as well as anywhere, I suppose, and as long as I do not neglect them I am sure she cannot object."

And so Eduard stayed. He soon became a favourite among the residents of the Neaderhof, for he was a real help; very willing to work hard, and always cheerful and friendly. Fanny refrained from cutting remarks in his presence, which made life much easier for Mrs Daringer and her daughters.

In the evenings, he worked for his studies, and sat at the parlour table reading his books and writing papers by candlelight. Occasionally, he walked into the village to dine with the priest, who graciously allowed him the use of his own library for his reading, and did not get back until late; a practice that often worried old Thomas, who felt it was not right to stay out until after the Angelus bells* had been rung. All kinds of things could happen to one – bad things.

Eduard laughed at Thomas' entreaties, said he was not afraid of witches and evil spirits – he did not believe in their existence, he said – but all this happened in a good-natured way and did not offend the old foreman. Since Eduard took a great deal of interest in local folklore, and Thomas was full of fascinating stories, they got along pretty well. Eduard encouraged Thomas to share his tales, and sometimes took notes, explaining that he did not want the stories to be forgotten – they were an important part of the local culture, he said, and should be written down, for research purposes if none other.

So whenever Eduard had the time they all sat in the parlour of an evening – the womenfolk spinning wool, knitting, and mending clothes, while the men sat around the stove, smoking their pipes, carving wood, and entertaining them with gruesome stories and legends or singing songs, not all of which were suitable for mixed company. Luckily Gretl was too young to understand what the songs were about, even though Leni and Marianne were not.

One particular evening the Fφhn** was raging outside, and making moaning sounds in the attic and the forest as they were sitting in the parlour. Eduard was acquainted with this particular phenomenon – it was known and feared all over the country - , though he'd never experienced its effects on an old house, miles from anywhere in the middle of the forest. If one did not know what caused these eerie sounds, he remarked, one might almost be afraid that there was some truth in Thomas' stories about the Wild Hunt or Lost Souls after all.

"Oh, I am not afraid when I'm here," Mrs Daringer remarked. "But when you are all alone in a cabin on the mountain pastures, and the wind whistles and sings between the rocks, you will start hearing voices singing, or music playing, and you will be afraid to look outside for fear of what might be there."

This was Thomas' cue; he embarked on a story of how a hunter had been obliged to seek shelter in an abandoned mountain cabin one late autumn, and what he'd encountered there.

"Almost all mountain huts and pastures are haunted," he finished his tale.

"Are they now?" Eduard asked, turning to Mrs Daringer. "What do you say?"

"I've spent some fifteen years on the mountain pastures***," she replied, "and I have seen and heard some things that I can't explain. Who knows?"

"Maybe it's the isolation of the place that makes people fanciful," Eduard said. Marianne glared at him. She was fond of these stories, and did not like it if people tried to find rational explanations for what happened in them. Did Eduard have no sense of romance?

"Could be," Mrs Daringer said, shrugging. "But I've seen what I've seen, and heard what I've heard. I didn't imagine those things. I've never felt threatened, though – whatever is up there doesn't harm people. As long as they are respectful, and do their work properly."

Again, Thomas knew a tale of what had happened to a disrespectful young man, who'd scoffed at people's warnings and gone up to the mountain pastures one winter night to prove that there was nothing to be afraid of there. He'd learned better, but did not live to profit from his lesson. He'd died two days later.

"I must say it was a foolish thing to do," Eduard remarked. "Going up into the mountains in the middle of winter – no wonder he died two days later. He must have caught a dreadful cold! And it's almost a miracle that he returned at all."

Thomas had to admit that Eduard had a point there. One did not go up into the mountains in winter if one could help it.

"I really like Eduard," Marianne announced later that evening, when they were preparing for bed. "But why does he always have to spoil Thomas' stories?"

"I don't think he spoils them," Leni replied. "He discusses them."

"He tries to convince us that they are nothing but stories!"

"There is no harm in that, I'd say. They are just stories. Surely you don't believe in the Mountain Ladies, the Wild Men, or the spirits of long-dead dairy-men haunting mountain cabins?"

"No, I don't. But I like to hear the stories about them, and I don't like to have them spoilt for me," Marianne complained.

"Eduard is training to be a priest. He is supposed to fight superstition," Leni pointed out. "It's one of the things he'll have to do once he's been ordained."

"I'm sure he'll be one of those … those dull priests with no sense of humour, and no idea of romance," Marianne said. "He can't even tell a decent story himself!"

"Eduard does have a sense of humour," Leni said. "A delightful one, too, I'd think. It's true; he's not an apt storyteller, but that doesn't matter. He's very likeable, and friendly – people will value him for that."

"It's a pity he has to be a priest, isn't it?" Marianne asked slyly, looking at Leni. "You like him better than you'd admit."

"I like him a great deal," Leni agreed. "He's everything a young man should be."

"Are you in love with him?" Marianne asked bluntly.

"What nonsense," Leni said sharply. "A fat lot of good that would do me, to fall in love with a priest!"

"I'm not talking about the good it will do you. I'm talking about facts. You are in love with him!"

"Nonsense," Leni repeated, got into bed, and extinguished her candle.

* Angelus bells: Church bells ring once early in the morning, once at midday, and once again in the evening, to remind the parishioners of their prayers. It was considered bad luck to be still out and about after the evening bell – one could fall prey to all kinds of evil; witches, demons, ghosts and spirits of all kinds roamed the countryside, but lost their power the moment the morning bell was rung.

** Warm southerly wind, especially common in spring and autumn. Fφhn can get pretty strong and cause some damage; if it's too strong in spring it can cause flooding because the snow melts too fast. It also has its effects on some people, who may suffer from headaches and weariness due to Fφhn.

*** In order to make hay from the grass in the valleys to get the livestock over the winter, farmers send their cattle up into the mountains for the summer. Usually a dairy-maid or shepherd is in charge of these mountain pastures, makes butter and cheese, and makes sure the animals come to no harm. Mrs Daringer used to be one of those dairy-maids before she married.

~IV~

Posted on: 2009-03-01

Marianne was not the only one to suspect that Leni was getting too fond of Eduard than was good for her. Her mother, once she began to take notice of what happened all around her, also became aware of Leni and Eduard's growing attraction towards each other.

A prudent mother would have taken measures to prevent this, for Mrs Daringer knew that Eduard's mother was not going to look favourably on her son's marriage. She'd set her heart upon Eduard's taking Holy Orders, and priests did not marry.
However, Mrs Daringer was of a rather sentimental disposition herself; and depended too much on her own judgement when faced with a problem. She knew what she'd do in a similar situation, and felt everyone would act in the same way. Mrs Daringer would never even think of getting in the way of one of her daughters' happiness; her own plans and notions weighed nothing with her in comparison. Therefore she felt that Mrs Falkner, though not happy about the match at first, would finally approve of it, and Eduard would be able to find himself a job somewhere and marry Leni. Such was Mrs Daringer's idea of what was going to happen once the young people got round to declaring their love for each other.

They were up on the mountain picking cowberries* one day, when Leni somehow turned their conversation towards Eduard, by pointing out the difference between him and his sister. The contrast seemed to appeal to her mother.

"It's quite enough to say that he is unlike Fanny," she said. "I love him already."

Leni smiled. "I am sure you will like him once you really know him," she said.

"Like him! You know I either love or hate people; there is nothing in between."

"You might respect him," Leni pointed out.

"I have never respected anyone I didn't love."

They got home with baskets full of cowberries, and immediately set about cooking jam. During the process, Eduard often came into the kitchen to see how they were getting on – and, as Leni accused him, making himself sick with all the half-cooked jam he tasted. Mrs Daringer took pains to become better acquainted with him; she wanted to find out why her daughter felt attracted to him.

She soon resolved that, although his quietness of manner did not recommend him to her - she preferred quite another type of men – he was a young man to reckon with; a clever, kindly young man who would treat Leni well. No sooner had she come to that conclusion, and discerned a hint of warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at Leni, that she began to look forward to their marriage as something that was almost certain to happen.

"In a few months, Marianne," she said to her younger daughter as they were feeding the pigs and mucking out the pigsty**, "Leni will be settled for life. We'll miss her, but she'll be happy."

"How shall we do without her, Mother?" Marianne asked.

"I don't think she'll go far. Eduard will find a job not far from here, and we'll be able to visit them as often as we like."

Marianne looked rather doubtful as to her sister's happiness and, when her mother questioned her whether she disapproved of Leni's choice, she said, "Oh, Eduard is lovely, and I love him like a brother – but he's not – he's not handsome, and not the kind of man I'd thought Leni would like."

"Why; what's wrong with him, in your opinion?"

Marianne hesitated; and only when her mother pressed her she continued, "He's not at all spirited; he's not … not a passionate man, I'm afraid, and he has no real taste, I think."

"You are being too harsh," Mrs Daringer replied.

"Only think of yesterday, when he read those poems to us – all the time looking as if someone had asked him to do the mucking-out!"

"You forget that he is an educated man; the kind of poems that appeal to us may not suit his taste."

"But that's what I mean – I couldn't be happy with a man who does not enjoy the same things as I! He must agree with everything I say; the same music, the same books must charm us both!"

Her mother laughed. "You will be hard put to find such a man," she said.

"I don't care; I won't be content with less," Marianne said heatedly. "And Leni would be well-advised to find someone like that for herself. Eduard is not the one, I fear."

"I am sure Leni would disagree," Mrs Daringer said.

"We must allow for difference of taste." Marianne admitted. "Leni's feelings are quite different from mine, and so maybe she may overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broken my heart, were I in love with him, to hear him read the poem with such indifference of feeling! Coming to think of it, I'm afraid I'll never find a man I can love – I want so much! He must have each of Eduard's virtues, and the ones he does not possess as well!"

Mrs Daringer laughed. "Remember that you're only just seventeen," she said. "You're too young to be afraid of never finding your match. Why should you be any less fortunate than I was? I was twenty-six when I met your father! Let's only hope that, once you do find the right man, your fate will be different from mine."

One morning, when they were cleaning up the kitchen and feeding the hens*** before preparing luncheon for the workers in the field, Marianne chanced to look at a towel hanging on the wall; a towel that Leni had embroidered. Leni was an excellent needlewoman, and many people had remarked on it already. Even Eduard had, although his praise had been lukewarm in Marianne's opinion.

"Isn't it a pity," she said, "that Eduard has no taste for your embroidery?"

Leni's eyebrows rose in surprise, and she asked Marianne what had put such an idea into her head. Marianne explained herself, upon which Leni replied, "I don't think he can have any taste for it. He's a man; he doesn't do needlework and doesn't know a thing about it, and so he can't appreciate it as we can. He knows what he likes, though."

Marianne was afraid of having offended her sister, and so she kept quiet. Eduard's quiet words of praise were not what she thought was the appreciation her sister's work deserved, which still made her think that Eduard had no true taste. It was not only his tepid approval of Leni's needlework, but also his lack of enthusiasm when it came to literature – or at least the kind of literature Marianne preferred.

Leni had kept a sharp eye on her sister and, recognising her smile, she said, "I hope you don't think he is generally lacking in taste."

It was what Marianne had thought, but she knew better than to tell her sister so. She did not want to hurt Leni's feelings, yet she could not for the life of her say something she did not mean. In the end, she compromised.

"I realise that my praise of him isn't what you think is his due," she said. "I do think he's a man of good sense, and a worthy one. That must be enough."

"Not even his closest friends could find fault with your description of him," Leni laughed.
Marianne was glad to find that her sister was so easily pleased.

"I'm going to think him everything you choose," Marianne went on, "as soon as you tell me that he's going to be my brother."

Leni started and almost dropped the bucket of fresh water she was holding. She did have a very high opinion of Eduard, and had reason to believe that his opinion of her was equally high, but she knew her case was hopeless – or as close to hopeless as made no difference – and so she did not like Marianne's conjecture regarding the state of affairs between them. She knew that Marianne and her mother tended to believe that what they hoped for was a fact; that they would expect her to marry Eduard if she did nothing to prevent them. To avoid this, Leni tried to give her sister a more realistic view of the matter.

"I won't try to tell you that I don't like him," she began. "I do."

"Like him!" Marianne cried indignantly. "If ever I've heard anything more cold-hearted! Next you'll say you're ashamed of it too!"

Leni could not help laughing. "I'm sorry," she said. "Believe whatever you like; that my feelings for him are stronger than I'd ever admit. But don't go any further than that. I've no idea what his feelings are, and until I do know, you cannot wonder at my caution. I'm not looking forward to having my heart broken, you know. – Besides, you have to consider other things. He's not free to make his own choices, as you know. You are acquainted with his mother's plans for his future – imagine what she'd say if he came to her and told her that after all those years of study, and the amount of money she has spent on his education – I'm sure it hasn't always been easy for her to come up with the necessary sum – he wishes to marry and won't take Holy Orders after all. She'd make things really hard for him, depend on that."

Marianne hadn't thought of that possibility, and was astonished to find that Leni had, and how far her own and her mother's conjectures were from the truth.

"I really thought things were already settled between you," she said mournfully. "But it will happen soon, I'm sure, and in the meantime we can still have you with us, and Eduard will be able to develop some taste for your embroidery after all."

Leni had told her sister the truth about her expectations. Unlike Marianne, she did not believe that she and Eduard were destined to have their happy ending. Sometimes there was a want of spirits about him that, while it did not exactly point towards indifference, hinted at something as unpromising. Eduard knew his duty to his family, he knew their expectations and the sacrifices they'd made to enable him to study. He was bound to go through with their plans even though it was not what he wanted, because he was too kind a man to cause his mother any disappointment. Leni was far from believing that his preference for her would lead him to stray from his path – that it was strong enough to make him break with his family and damn the consequences. Sometimes, she feared, that he felt nothing but friendship for her.

Whether it was friendship or more, the understanding between Leni and Eduard was enough to make his sister uneasy. She sent a letter to her mother, telling her of her fears, and proceeded to depress any pretensions her sister-in-law might harbour.

She made good use of one opportunity, when the young people were outside in the orchard picking pears, and Mrs Daringer stood at the parlour window watching them with a smile.

"It's about time Eduard went back to Town," Fanny said sharply. "He mustn't neglect his studies; my mother won't give him a penny if he doesn't act as she wants him to. He knows that – no floozy will make him stray from his path."

The indication of these words, and the insult against her daughter's character, made Mrs Daringer answer with more force than was her wont. She then left the parlour, and decided to use the first possible opportunity to leave the Neaderhof. No one should be allowed to cast a doubt on Leni's respectability. The sooner they left, the better it would be.

She was still in this frame of mind when a letter arrived from quite another part of the country. Mrs Daringer had a second cousin, a Johann Mayrhofer, who owned a large farm in the Upper Inn Valley, and his message contained a proposal that in view of recent events looked particularly tempting to Mrs Daringer.

He understood that she was looking for a place for herself and her daughters, and could offer them just such a one if they cared to take it. They could live in the cottage of his farm during the winter, he wrote, and take charge of his mountain pastures during the summer. His dairyman was getting on in years and no longer able to do his work; they'd be doing him a favour if they could bring themselves to exchange the Neaderhof for the Bartlhof, as his dwelling was called.

He'd make sure the cottage was habitable; the mountain pasture was a prosperous one, and would provide them all with plenty of work and generous wages. If the offer was acceptable to them, he'd expect them to take their place in his household at Candlemas****, which was the usual day for paying servants and changing places. While it was still several months till then, Mrs Daringer resolved to accept her Cousin Johann's offer. Only a day before she would have refused it – feeling that the Bartlhof was rather too distant from Unterau to be considered suitable – yet now she was content with going as far away from Unterau as she could. The place was also ideal for another reason. The hamlet of Weidach, where the Bartlhof was situated, was within easy reach from Town. Eduard could come and visit them as often as he liked. Mrs Daringer began to think that it would be a judgement on Mrs Falkner if her son refused to fulfil what she called her dearest wish – a judgement she well deserved.

She therefore showed the letter to her daughters and, once they had agreed on this change of situation – though, in the case of Marianne, reluctantly - she hurried to send her reply to Cousin Johann.

* Dangerous work; the cowberries grow on mountain slopes – people sometimes took a fall, or got bitten by snakes when picking those berries. Contrary to a common myth, we do have poisonous snakes. Their poison rarely kills people, but it's not unheard of either.

** Looking after small livestock, such as pigs, was women's work, while the men took care of the cows and horses, if there were any.

*** Hens were kept in cages in the kitchen.

**** February 2nd.

~V~

Posted on: 2009-03-07

Mrs Daringer waited until her cousin had sent her another letter to confirm their agreement before she chose to make her announcement. Once the moment came, the effect it had on her relatives was everything she could have wished for.

"To Weidach?" Hans asked. "That's … that's pretty far from here, isn't it? It's in the Upper Country*!"

He could not help but feel ill-treated, after all this decision of his stepmother's robbed him of the opportunity of doing the one thing he'd been prepared to do in order to keep the promise he'd made to his father – to give his stepmother and sisters somewhere to live.

"It is," Mrs Daringer agreed and added, "It's closer to Town though." She noticed with a certain amount of malicious satisfaction that Fanny's complexion lost some of its colour. She had understood the implication of what she'd said. Eduard's mother had seen fit to remove him from their influence the moment she'd become aware of the danger he'd been in. That the danger might now come after him had not been a part of her plan.

"This Johann Mayrhofer – what kind of fellow is he?" Hans demanded.

"A respectable man," Mrs Daringer replied. "One of the richest in his parish – his farm is a large one; he keeps some thirty cows** and has lots of forest and fields*** as well."

Fanny listened up – she'd had no idea her mother-in-law had such wealthy relatives. "Is he a married man?" she asked. After all if he wasn't, there was no saying but that he was not only looking for a dairy maid but also a wife. He sure was welcome to any of her husband's sisters; it would take them off her husband's hands, even though Fanny did not see why any of them should make such a brilliant match.

"Oh yes, he is. He married a wealthy brewer's daughter some ten years ago, and they seem to be getting along really well."

Again, the implication did not miss its mark. Fanny became aware that while her father, a farmer, had been pretty well off, he had not been wealthy – and that her own consequence was nothing in comparison to the unknown Mrs Mayrhofer's. She greatly resented the suggestion.

"And how are you going to get there?" she snapped. "We can't do without the horses for days on end!"

"Oh, I do know that, and wouldn't dream of asking it of you. We'll go to Town by train, and from there we'll find some way to get to Weidach. In the worst case we'll walk, and ask the first of our neighbours who goes to Town on business to bring our luggage with him. I'm sure they'll do us the favour."

"By train?" Fanny gasped and added, acidly, "I'd like to see how you can afford that."

"I'm going to sell my goats," Mrs Daringer said. "I can't take them with me anyway, and I'm not going to leave them behind. They'll fetch a good price, and will leave us with enough money for the journey. Don't worry; I don't expect any money from you."

Since the goats' cheese Mrs Daringer used to make had often provided her family with some much-needed cash, this piece of news was not welcome. However, even Fanny knew that the goats were Mrs Daringer's property, and much though Fanny disliked the idea, she could do with them as she pleased. They could keep the goats, of course, by buying them from her mother-in-law, but Fanny's pride forbade her to make that suggestion, and would have made vehement objections if it had occurred to her husband. It did not, though.

Marianne took her mother's decision especially hard. She knew that they could not go on living on the Neaderhof, but she had been born and raised there, and the thought of leaving her home and never coming back affected her a great deal. As the day of their departure approached, she was often seen wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, and "This is the last time we…" became one of her most frequent sayings.

It did not help that the Christmas season had always been Marianne's favourite time of the year, and that she'd always enjoyed taking part in the preparations for the holidays, such as baking Zelten****, putting up the nativity scene that had been in their family for generations, or going to early-morning mass, wading through knee-deep snow in a dark forest, carrying a lamp that hardly penetrated the darkness ahead. Not even the cold and the lack of sun on the Neaderhof at this time of the year had ever made her lose her fondness for mid-winter.

This year, however, things were different. The fact that her brother had taken her father's place once more became painfully clear on St Thomas' Night*****, when Hans carried a pan of red-hot coals, incense and consecrated herbs into each room of the house, and everyone followed him to say their prayers for a prosperous new year. Both Marianne and her mother had to retire to bed afterwards – they felt unable to stay in the same room with a gloating Fanny, and the parlour was the only one in the house with a stove, while the rest of the building was ice-cold. Gretl and Leni stayed with the rest of the family and servants, but they too felt far from happy.

By the end of January, they had packed all their belongings – Mrs Daringer had taken care to take everything that belonged to her; she was not going to leave Fanny as much as an old dishcloth, she said – and paid their parting visits to their friends and neighbours. Most of them were truly sorry to see them go, though some village gossips felt secretly satisfied with the fact that their predictions had been correct.

The old Treichl farmer's wife was sorry to lose Leni – she really could have done with her as a daughter-in-law, as she had often told her son Rupert. She deplored the fact that her Rupert was not at home when the Daringer womenfolk called on her; he could have made use of this last chance to try and win Leni. However, he'd rated the attractions of the local inn and the contents of its beer kegs more highly than Leni's charms. Maybe the waitress had something to do with it too. How a respectable girl was to get anywhere with that hussy turning all the men's heads was something the Treichlin****** didn't know.

Still, she lamented her son's absence, telling them that he'd be sorry to have missed them – something none of the Daringers believed for a moment. Unlike the Treichlin they knew that Rupert showed no interest in anything that did not contain beer, or some other alcoholic beverage.

They paid their last visit to the priest, who blessed them and expressed his sorrow at the breaking-up of the Neader family.

"I hope you are not leaving in anger, Maria," he said to Mrs Daringer.

"I am not," Mrs Daringer replied. "I know Hans did what he could for us. We all knew that it would not work for long – that it would be hard for me to let go of the control on the Neaderhof, and that Fanny would resent that. I don't blame her; I'd have been the same. We're all better off now, and everyone can live just as they please."

The priest nodded. There was some truth in Mrs Daringer's assessment of the case.

"I know the priest of Weidach," he remarked. "A very clever man, though a bit … popular."

It was said in a disapproving tone of voice; as if popularity was something a priest should not aspire to. While the Daringers found no fault with a priest who could sympathise with his flock's concerns they did not say so – being mere women, they ought not to question a learned priest's opinion.

Mrs Daringer and Leni had calculated that their journey would take them two days if they really had to walk to Weidach from Town, and therefore they left the Neaderhof early in the morning of the first day of February. Fanny and Hans did not go to the train station with them – there was enough work to do as it was, they said, and since Mrs Daringer and the girls knew this to be true they did not resent their reluctance to see them off.

Thomas loaded their trunks onto a sleigh, and off they went. He also bought their train tickets for them – "one never knew with those railway blokes; they might try to cheat a woman if she had no man to conduct her business for her", he said gruffly. That they might cheat him just as easily since he'd never travelled by train in his entire life was a thought that did not occur to him, though it did come to Leni's mind.

He was even more reticent than usual, which was a certain sign that their leaving affected him much more than he was prepared to admit. He'd been on the Neaderhof for more than thirty years; he'd watched the girls grow up, and had a fatherly affection for them. Thomas had never had children of his own; the Daringers had been his family, and losing them broke his heart. He wished he could go with them, but he knew that the Bartl farmer would have no place for him. Leni promised to write to him, which was comfort of some sort, though not enough. Afraid that his voice might betray his emotions, Thomas remained quiet, and if he was obliged to say something he did so abruptly. Men did not show any kind of feeling if they could help it – apart from anger, perhaps. It was not seemly. Only the womenfolk cried.

When the train arrived, he carried the women's trunks into the luggage compartment, found them seats in the third class carriage, and finally took his leave. He shook hands with each of them, which was the equivalent of a hug from someone else, and then got out and waited until the train was out of sight. Finally, with a sigh, he made his way to the Golden Ox for a drink to calm his nerves, before returning to the Neaderhof and his day's work.

The train journey was pleasant, even though the carriage was filled to bursting point with people. Marianne and Gretl had got a seat by the window, though, and enjoyed looking out; pointing out the villages – which became an increasingly difficult task as they left the area they were familiar with – and watching the scenery fly past. In the meantime, Mrs Daringer and Leni discussed their options for the moment they arrived in Town. Leni had never been there, though her mother had in her younger days – her father had sometimes taken her with him to the Fair, which took place every year in spring and autumn. She remembered the name of the hostelry where they had spent the nights on those occasions, and suggested that they should go and find a room there, and continue their journey the next morning.

Leni, feeling that the walk was going to be a hard one considering the time of year and the distance of almost fifteen miles, suggested they already start their walk that day, and spend the night in one of the villages they were bound to pass through.

"We'll be glad tomorrow if we don't have to walk quite as far," she pointed out. "Fifteen miles is a lot, especially since we don't know what the road will be like."

Mrs Daringer had to admit that Leni had a point.

In the end, neither of their suggestions was carried out. They were standing on the platform, waiting for the porter to unload their trunks, when a man approached them and asked them if they were the Daringers from Unterau. Surprised, Mrs Daringer replied in the affirmative.

"About time," the man said. "Took your time in getting here, didn't you?"

"It's not our fault if the train was late," Marianne cried indignantly. "Who are you anyway, and what do you want of us?"

"I've a delivery to make in Weidach," the man explained, and introduced himself as Hubert. "The boss told me to take you with me and drop you off at the Bartlhof."

"And how did your boss know we'd arrive today?" Leni wanted to know.

"The Bartl farmer is his brother-in-law," Hubert said. He then told one of the porters to help him carry the trunks – using language Mrs Daringer would have preferred him not to use in the presence of her daughters – and took them outside the station building. There he instructed the porter to load their trunks onto a wagon that had "Jδgerbrδu" painted on it and contained several large barrels of beer. Leni remembered that Cousin Johann's wife was a brewer's daughter.

"You'll have to find yourself a place," Hubert said curtly. "I'll have to stop along the way to make deliveries, so in a while you'll be more comfortable. You can wrap yourselves into those blankets; Mrs Pallhuber gave them to me for that purpose."

"Mrs Pallhuber?" Marianne asked.

"Boss' wife," Hubert said, and that was all they got out of him for the time being. They followed his advice, for it was a cold day in spite of the sunny weather, and their journey was going to take them several hours.

They often stopped along the way, Hubert carrying the beer barrels into the local alehouses, and sometimes stopping for long enough so they could get something warm to drink. By the time they reached Weidach it was dark. Hubert stopped the cart outside a large, stone-built farmhouse, and said, "There you are. The Bartlhof."

Mrs Daringer and her daughters got down from the wagon, glad that they'd reached their destination and would finally get somewhere nice and warm. Hubert unloaded their trunks and, after a brusque "Goodbye", got onto the wagon again and drove away. He did not wait for them to enter the house.

Leni looked about her. The house appeared to be huge, though the largest part of it was the barn, which was attached to it. The paintings around the windows and on the wall gave it a cheerful aspect, but the windows were small – to keep the heat in during winter and out in summer – which made it look almost like a small fortress. An oven building was to the left of them, next to a fenced-in area that probably served as a kitchen garden in the warm season. On the other side of the house there was a large orchard, and a small stone-built cottage – in all probability this was the cottage they would be living in during the winter. All in all, it made a good impression on Leni, though in the darkness there was no saying but what it would turn out to be in broad daylight.

"Very well," Mrs Daringer said, and knocked at the door of the farmhouse. "There we are then."

* Both the Northern part (where this story is set) and the Southern part of the Tyrol are divided into an "upper" and "lower" country, the expression having something to do with the main rivers. The Upper Country is towards their spring, the Lower Country in the opposite direction. However, the divide between Upper and Lower Country is rather elusive.

** The worth of a farm is expressed in the number of cattle a farmer can keep. Thirty is a large number by Tyrolean standards.

*** Fields as opposed to pastures.

**** Zelten: Bread with nuts and dried fruit, not baked before St Thomas' Day (December 21st), and not eaten before Christmas.

***** December 21st, Winter Solstice. The first of the so-called "Rauhnδchte", which could best be translated as "Smoking Nights" – due to the tradition described in this chapter. The others are Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve, and the night before Epiphany, January 5th. Lots of traditions and superstitions are attached to those nights.

****** Treichlin: The Treichl Farmer's Wife.

~VI~

Posted on: 2009-03-14

It was the master of the house himself who opened the door for them, with an older woman following close behind him.

"Here they are at last!" he exclaimed, and invited them to come in and warm themselves in the parlour. "Don't tell me – Hubert did stop for a drink in every alehouse, didn't he? He's a drunkard, but a good deliveryman, or so Pallhuber tells me. – You must have had a dreadful time of it, out there in the cold. Do come in and sit down by the stove. – This is my mother-in-law, Mrs Jδger, who is living with us, and I'll introduce you to my wife in an instant."

He held the parlour door open for them, and they entered, to be scrutinised by every member of the household assembled there.

"My cousins from the Lower Country," Johann announced, and everyone turned towards them. One woman rose from her seat and came towards them.

"I am glad to make your acquaintance," she said, and Johann made her known to them. It was Mrs Mayrhofer, the brewer's daughter. Her entire bearing proclaimed her superiority; as did her speech. Her language was not as coarse as that of the others in the room, and she used expressions that hinted towards a better education than farmers' daughters – or brewers' daughters, for that matter – generally received. One could hardly imagine Mrs Mayrhofer working in the barn, or in the fields. She had "town" written all over her, in spite of having been married to a farmer for more than ten years.

The Mayrhofers had seven children, a lively and – in Mrs Daringer's private opinion, spoilt – lot. The two eldest and the two youngest were boys, while the three middle ones were girls. They were healthy-looking children, and well-dressed. Cousin Johann could certainly afford to have a large family.

"You can spend the night here in the parlour," Mrs Mayrhofer told them. "It's cold in the cottage, and after the journey you've had, out in the cold all day, you must be half-frozen to death."

Although her words had been sympathetic ones, there was no true feeling attached to them; she gave Leni the impression of a woman who merely followed the dictates of propriety.

"Yes; you can move into the cottage tomorrow," Johann said. "We've had it cleaned, and painted, so it looks quite nice now, but it's not very warm in there even though we've kept a fire in the stove every day for a week. Not easy to get the cold out of a building no one has lived in for years."

A maid went to the kitchen and returned with some soup for them to eat. Johann and Mrs Jδger kept them company while they did so. Unlike her daughter, Mrs Jδger was a very warm-hearted woman, and one who truly felt for them in their plight. It had been Mrs Jδger who had made the suggestion to her son-in-law to employ his cousin as a dairy-maid, a suggestion he'd been glad to adopt, for during her active years on the mountain pastures Mrs Daringer had earned herself an excellent reputation as a hard worker. The arrangement would suit him as well as Mrs Daringer, he knew, and was glad that she had accepted his offer.

Mrs Jδger had one annoying habit, however, and that habit became evident to them even before they'd finished their dinner. She loved to meddle in other people's affairs; their matters of the heart especially. After her husband's death, she had made it her main concern to achieve a good match for both her daughters, and now that that task had been accomplished – her younger daughter had married Mr Pallhuber the previous year, and had only just given birth to a son – she appeared to be bent on making matches for everyone else.

In order to do so she immediately began to discover the elder Daringer girls' state of heart, and during their repast quizzed them about the young men of Unterau, indicating that they must have left behind many a broken heart among the young men in the Lower Country.
Even their mother's indignant reply that her daughters had never been interested in young men, or at least no more than they ought to be at their tender age, only made Mrs Jδger laugh. She was sure there must be a young man somewhere, pining for either Leni or Marianne, who were a pair of such pretty girls! To be true; Gretl was too young to be thinking of young men, but her sisters – ah, she herself had been married at sixteen!

"Maybe they just don't want to tell you," Johann said and added, with a mischievous grin, "From what I know about the Lower Country boys they're not ones to miss a chance where the girls are concerned."

Both Leni and Marianne protested against that statement, but Johann ignored them.

"They're not shy, like the ones around here," he said. "You know how the saying goes? Before you'll get a kiss from an Upper Country lad you'll have a child by a Lower Country one."

"That's not very complimentary to the Upper Country boys," Mrs Jδger said.

"Nor to the Lower Country girls," Marianne replied briskly. She resented the vulgar direction the conversation was taking, even more so since it appeared to upset Leni. Gretl was enjoying herself, however.

"Why is that so?" she asked eagerly.

Johann laughed. "As I said, people around here are more reserved than the Lower Country ones. It will take you a while to make friends here, but once you've made them they'll be your friends for life. The same goes for falling in love."

"Will you stop talking such nonsense in front of the children?" Mrs Mayrhofer demanded sharply, and Johann obediently changed the topic.

"I hope you'll find the cottage to you taste," he said. "If anything's missing I hope you'll let me know. Just say the word; I want you to be comfortable in there."

"Thank you," Mrs Daringer said. "It's very kind of you to let us stay here."

"Oh, I know I'll have some benefit too," Johann laughed. "I still remember your goats' cheese and the grey cheese* you used to make. The mountain pastures need someone competent to look after them. My old dairyman wasn't half bad; he's getting too old to be in charge of the place any longer though. You need a pair of quick feet up there, and a pair of strong arms too."

"Where is the dairyman now?"

"With the other owner of the pasture, the Talbacher**."

"There is another owner? I had no idea!" Mrs Daringer cried, and added, "I hope you asked him before offering the place to me."

"Of course I did! You don't think he'd let me make that decision on my own? He had his doubts at first; he was afraid you might not manage by yourself, but once I told him that there were three of you…"

"Four," Gretl pointed out. "There's four of us."

"Four of you," Johann amended. "It was fine with him then."

"How many cows do you keep up there during the summer?"

"Between sixty and seventy. Always depending. This year there's going to be some sixty-five or so, if all goes well."

That was a lot, and Mrs Daringer was glad she was going to have her daughters with her to help her with her job.

They met the Talbacher in church the next morning. Candlemas was an important feast day in these parts, and so the Daringers joined Cousin Johann's family and went to church with them. As they settled down in a pew on the women's side of the church***, a great deal of curious stares were directed at them, as Leni could not help but notice. Strangers were not a common occurrence in Weidach, and there'd been some argument among the locals as to why the Bartl farmer had chosen to hire a couple of flighty Lower-country wenches to work on his mountain pastures, rather than respectable local girls who'd surely be more use, if he had to employ females, which was not the most respectable thing to do. There had also been some speculation as to why the Talbacher had agreed to the scheme. He, as the mayor of the village, ought to defend the locals' interests, oughtn't he?

The women kept a close watch on them all through church service, trying hard to detect a sign of flightiness in their demeanour. The value of their clothes was being assessed, and more than one farmer's wife decided that a lowly dairymaid had no right to be dressed in such finery. The young girls also kept a close watch on the men of the village, whom they considered as their property. Any sign of approval from the men's side for one of the elder Daringer girls would have been noted quickly, and strongly resented.

Leni and Marianne pretended not to notice the scrutiny they were undergoing, and once the service was finished they did their best to talk to everyone who approached them in a friendly manner, knowing that being branded as "stuck-up" would not make life any easier for them.
Not that many people did approach them. Most of them were aloof, and while they did greet them they did not show any intention of talking more to them than they had to. Probably those preconceptions people at home had had about Upper Country folk were true after all, Leni reflected.

As they waited outside the church door for Cousin Johann, only two of Mrs Jδger's closest friends came towards them, asked Mrs Jδger for an introduction – which was unnecessary since everyone already knew who they were – and directed a few remarks at them. Then Cousin Johann, who'd been talking to a group of men, took leave of his friends and joined their group, bringing the Talbacher with him.

He was a tall man, in his mid-thirties according to Leni's estimate, and though he was not exactly handsome his looks were tolerable. His name was Christoph Prantl, he said; hoped they had not caught cold on their long journey from the Lower Country, and that they would soon feel at home in Weidach. The people here were kind enough once one got to know them, he informed them, and assured them that their initial coldness would not last.

"They'll watch you for a while," he explained, "and when you've gained their approval you'll find out."

All in all, Leni was pleased with the Talbacher. He appeared to be a kindly and intelligent man, with pleasant manners and (she suspected) a wry sense of humour. The people of Weidach and the hamlets attached to the parish appeared to respect him greatly, as much was evident from the way everyone greeted him.

The Talbacher then took his leave of them, told them that he'd come to see them one of these days to "talk business", and then walked off towards the village inn, where he'd stabled his horse for the duration of Mass.

On their way home, Mrs Jδger told them everything there could possibly be to know about the Talbacher. Leni's assessment had been correct; he was thirty-five years old but still a bachelor, as Mrs Jδger was quick to point out.

"Such a pity," she continued, "as I'm sure he'd be a good husband to whichever lucky girl he settles down with. There have been girls on the catch for him ever since he inherited Talbach, but he's never been interested in any of them."

"Then how does he manage, without a wife?" Mrs Daringer asked.

"Oh, he employs a housekeeper," Mrs Jδger said. "She's been a maid in Talbach ever since he was a boy, and she's got the running of the house alright. The farm's his concern; of course, he doesn't need anyone to meddle there, or so he says. I suspect though that he's still pining for the girl he fell in love with when he was eighteen, and wasn't allowed to have."

Neither Leni nor Marianne was interested in the Talbacher's love life, but they were going to be acquainted with every detail of it regardless.

"She was a ward of his father's, and lived in Talbach," Mrs Jδger explained. "A lovely girl, as far as I've been told – I've never met her – and he was quite mad about her. But the old Talbacher wouldn't hear of the match. The girl had some money, but not enough to support them, and the old Talbacher wanted him to marry an heiress with a farm of her own. His plan was to marry her to the elder son, to get his hands on her cash and make her stay on the farm. And this is what he did. It helped, of course, that the younger boy was drafted into the Army at that point, and not at home to prevent the marriage. By the time he got home, the deed was done, and the girl – her name was Elisabeth, by the way - was married to his brother. He never recovered from that shock."

"What did he do then?" Marianne asked, her interest awakened by the tragic tale.

"He left Weidach," Mrs Jδger continued. "He denounced his family, said he didn't want anything to do with them, and went off to work as a dairyman somewhere. I forget where that was. – Unsurprisingly, Elisabeth's marriage to his brother was not a good one, and so one night she ran off and went to Town. Nothing more was heard of her; her husband thought himself well rid of her and didn't inquire. Then Christoph, having inherited Talbach in the meantime, found her in Town. She'd found work in a factory, had an affair with a worthless scoundrel, and been dumped when he'd found out that she was with child. By the time Christoph found her she was very ill, and died soon afterwards, leaving her child in his care."

"Does the child live in Talbach then?" Leni asked.

"No; he was afraid the locals would not accept the girl, since they all know her story, and he doesn't hold with children having to pay for their fathers' – or, in that case, the mother's sins. He's found a good foster mother for her, though, and pays her regular visits to see how she's doing. The girl must be your age now, Marianne, or not much younger. – Anyway, knowing that story, one can understand why the Talbacher isn't married. "

*A special Tyrolean kind of cheese, used in many traditional Tyrolean dishes.

** Not his name, but identification by property again – "Talbacher" – "owner of Talbach farm"

*** Men and women occupied opposite sides in church.

~VII~

Posted on: 2009-03-22

Although the cottage was a small one, once they had moved in they found that they actually had more room than they'd had on the Neaderhof. There was a kitchen very much in the style as the one they'd had on the Neaderhof, with an open fireplace, a cage for hens, and hooks on the ceiling for smoking sausages and bacon*. The walls and ceiling in the parlour were wainscoted with pine wood, which gave the room a cosy aspect. A trapdoor in the hallway gave access to a small cellar, which was ideal for storing provisions. Cousin Johann had already taken care to fill the crates in the cellar with potatoes, apples and vegetables, enough for them to live on until they had to go up to the mountain pastures in June.

A small fire-hole door in the hallway corresponded with the parlour stove, which meant that the parlour remained clean when the stove was cleared out. Mrs Daringer was delighted with this convenience when finding out – one of her chief objections with the Neaderhof had been the fact that the fire hole was in the parlour, and not in the hallway. In the ceiling of the parlour, right above the stove, there was a small hole with a sliding door that could be opened in order to heat one of the bedrooms on the first floor. Since the other bedroom adjoined that one, they could leave the door open to heat the second bedroom as well. The house was to be their winter residence, and therefore they were glad to find arrangements that made their change of situation easier to deal with.

There was another bedroom on the other side of the upstairs corridor, which they decided would remain empty, mainly because there was no heating facility. They were going to use it as a storeroom, though, because milk and butter kept in there would remain fresh, if not frozen. A small woodshed was attached to the cottage, and the shed was well-filled with firewood – courtesy of Cousin Johann, no doubt. There was even a small, fenced-in area behind the cottage, which they could use as their own kitchen garden.

"Do all of your farmhands lead such a privileged life?" Mrs Daringer asked her cousin jokingly.

He laughed. "I look after them as well as I can," he replied. "That's why most of them stay with me, and I don't have to go looking for others every year. I like to have people around me who know their job, and who can be depended on to do it properly even when I'm not around. Old Toni would still be working for me if he could; but he's grown frail of late."

"Old Toni is the dairyman who was in charge of your mountain pasture, I suppose," Mrs Daringer said. "The one who's now living in Talbach?"

"Quite so." Cousin Johann nodded.

"I think I'll go and pay him a visit one of these days," Mrs Daringer decided. "He'll be able to tell me about the pastures; what to watch out for."

"He'll be glad to do that," Cousin Johann agreed. "Though he doesn't think a woman can possibly take his place. He's slightly offended that a bunch of females are going to take over his job."

"Then let us hope he won't make things difficult for us." Leni worried.

At first it did indeed look as if old Toni was going to do just that. After having stayed at the Bartlhof for a week, and becoming acquainted with the daily routines of the farm, Mrs Daringer decided to walk to Talbach, to meet Toni and talk to him about his work on the mountain pasture, as well as get to know her other employer. She took the girls with her, in the not unfounded hope that even if Toni turned out to be hostile towards her his attitude might not be quite as unyielding with her daughters.

They arrived at Talbach finding that the farmer had gone out – some parish business he had to attend to, his housekeeper said disapprovingly, and started to rail against those who should know better than keeping a hard-working man from his duties at this time of the year.

"Ever since he's become Mayor, everyone expects him to sort out their troubles," she concluded her sermon. "And instead of telling people that he can't take care of every little thing, this is just what he does. They're going to wear him out before he's forty if he doesn't take care of himself. If he doesn't, I hope he finds a wife who'll do so for him. It's about time he got married; I tell him so every hour of the day." She then introduced herself as Resi, the oldest maidservant staying in Talbach and the one who took care of household matters.

After patiently listening to Resi's description of her difficulties, Mrs Daringer cautiously asked if it were possible for her to talk to old Toni who, she understood, had been in charge of the mountain pasture the previous year.

"I'll get him," Resi said immediately. "He can show you the cattle and tell you everything there is to know about them, and by the time you're finished the farmer might well be back."

Toni was none too pleased to meet them at first. He complained about an aching back, indicating that it was a gross impertinence of them to expect him to show them around. He warmed towards Mrs Daringer, though, when he realised that she really knew what her work was going to be, and that she appreciated what he had done to date.

"I can see the cattle are in good shape," Mrs Daringer said approvingly when they went into the cowshed. "So is their accommodation. I always say you'll know a good farmer by the way his livestock is kept."

"The Talbacher sets great store by these things," Toni replied. "Used to be a dairyman himself, and it shows. You'll have to watch your step around him – he knows exactly what you should be doing and what you shouldn't, and he'll check on you."

"I'd say since he pays our wages it's his right to do so," Mrs Daringer said, undeterred. "I wouldn't have it any other way. A strict employer who's not afraid to tell me what he wants and who'll appreciate hard work is just the kind of man I want to work for."

Toni, who'd hoped for a different reaction, was surprised to say the least.

"I'm planning to go on as you have started," Mrs Daringer continued, and silently added, for this year, anyway. "I was hoping you could give me some advice regarding the pasture – what dangers to look out for, what weather signs to beware of, which of the cows needs to be kept under close watch – you know the things I mean. Won't you let us profit by your experience?"

Slightly mollified, Toni began to cooperate. He knew each of the Talbacher and Bartl's cows, and told Mrs Daringer everything there was to know about them. Like people, cattle had personalities, and one had to take each animal's personality into account when one expected to do a good job looking after them. Toni knew which of the cows were the best milkers, which ones were most likely to stray and needed to be kept under a close watch, which ones were the strongest, or the weakest, and which ones needed to be kept at a distance from the others due to their readiness to fight everything that moved. Mrs Daringer and her daughters listened carefully and made a mental note of everything. As Mrs Daringer had expected, Toni was full of useful information.

"We'll go up to the pasture after Easter, if the snow's gone by then," he said finally. "Cleaning work – that's men's work, as you know."

Mrs Daringer knew. "Cleaning" a mountain pasture had nothing to do with housecleaning, though that had to be done too and was, in fact, the easiest bit. "Cleaning" meant removing stones from the pastures – stones that avalanches had left there during the winter. It meant repairing and sometimes rebuilding the fences, the cowsheds, barns and the cabin where the dairy maids or dairymen lived during the summer. It meant uprooting or cutting trees and shrubs that threatened to overgrow the pasture. Cleaning a pasture was hard work, but needed to be done. A mountain pasture left to itself would become unusable within a couple of years.

"The Talbacher and Bartl are scrupulous when it comes to cleaning." Toni went on. "They always hire a couple of men and go up there as soon as the snow's gone. You'll have a well-tended pasture to work on."

"I'll go up with them," Mrs Daringer decided. "So I can get to know the area."

"Not sure they'll want a woman to come along," Toni said doubtingly. "It's hard work."

"And they'll be glad to have a well-cooked dinner once their day's work is done," Mrs Daringer said. "Besides I can lend a hand. So can the girls. We're used to hard work – we haven't been exactly idle on the Neaderhof either."

Gretl looked delighted, while Leni secretly wondered how Marianne would cope. To be fair, though, one had to admit that Marianne did excellent work if she had to; and picking up stones from a mountain pasture and carrying them somewhere else was not going to overtax her intelligence. Besides her mother was right; they had to get to know the area if they wanted to get the cattle down alive in autumn, and helping with the cleaning would be an excellent opportunity for them to do so.

"I don't think the Talbacher will allow it," Toni said.

"What is it that I'm not going to allow?" the Talbacher asked, as he entered the stable leading his horse. He greeted Mrs Daringer and the girls with a nod and a smile, and then stalled the horse before joining them.

"Well?" he asked, when Toni did not answer his question.

"I suggested that the girls and I should go up to the pasture to help with the cleaning," Mrs Daringer said. "Toni thought you might not like it because it's the menfolk who do that kind of work. But I'm sure there is something we can do to help, and we must get to know the pasture and its surroundings."

"You've got a point," the Talbacher replied, after thinking the matter over for a while. "I'll think about it – if I can find a place for the men to spend the nights, you're welcome to come with us. If not, I must ask you to stay down here. I can't allow the men to sleep in the same cabin as you."

"I hope you don't think…" Mrs Daringer began heatedly.

The Talbacher laughed. "I'd have the priest down on me like a ton of bricks if I allowed that," he said. "No, I doubt neither your respectability nor your daughters'. Our priest probably does though, and I can't be bothered to be starting an argument with him."

"The Weidach priest does not have a good opinion of women, then?"

"Not really. He was horrified when I suggested to him one day that his own mother must have been a woman too. Still, he had to admit to that fault in her character. He said she bore it like a true Christian though."

"Our priest in Unterau thought yours was a popular man. He must have been mistaken; a priest who hates women cannot be all that popular among his parishioners," Leni cried.

"Must have been talking about our old priest," the Talbacher said. "The one who was relocated to Brixen** some six months ago, so the Bishop could have him under his watchful eye."

"Why? What has he done?" Mrs Daringer asked.

"He was getting a bit too popular for the Bishop's taste," the Talbacher said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Especially among the poachers – I've been told he used to pay a generous price for venison. Naturally the owner of the hunting grounds around here complained."

"There are poachers around here?" Marianne asked eagerly, for the noble poacher featured largely in the kind of literature she was fond of.

"Oh yes; they're getting to be a bit of a nuisance," the Talbacher said calmly. "I tell them so whenever I can."

"You know a poacher?" Gretl was awestruck. "You really do?"

Even Marianne listened up, although she resented the Talbacher speaking of poachers in such a casual and disrespectful way. Didn't he know that they were gallant men, fighting for the rights of the poor?

The Talbacher grinned at Gretl. "Several," he replied. "But I know better than to buy anything from them."

He then turned to Gretl's mother and said, "I'll see what I can do for you. If there's a possibility for you to come along to the pasture when we go up to do the cleaning, you can come. If not, I'll take you up there some time before we drive the cattle up, and tell you everything you need to know. Toni can help me, can't you, Toni?"

"If I must," Toni grumbled, and the Talbacher laughed.

"Yes, you must," he said, and that was that.

* This kind of kitchen is called "Smoke Kitchen"; there's no chimney to the fireplace but the smoke leaves the house by way of the front (or back) door, or a central chimney in the hallway. Naturally, the walls in such a kitchen are pitch-black.

Here's a pic: http://www.sbg.at/schwaigerlehen/bilder/rauchkuchl.jpg

** Brixen / Bressanone: A bishop's seat in the Southern Tyrol, now belonging to Italy.

Posted on: 2009-03-29

~VIII~

While the cleaning of the mountain pastures still had to wait until the snow was gone – which was not going to happen any sooner than late May, considering the vast amount of snow that had fallen this year, Cousin Johann had informed them – the Daringers could not complain about any lack of work. They'd been hired as dairymaids, but were willing to help wherever and whenever their assistance was needed, and so they evolved into some kind of maids-of-all-work on the Bartlhof while they waited for the mountain pastures to be clear.

They took over most of the dairy-work on the Bartlhof, and even Vitus, Cousin Johann's foreman, had to admit that they were doing an excellent job. They kept the cattle in excellent order, and the butter they made was better than what they'd been used to on the Bartlhof so far. Most of the butter and buttermilk they produced was used up in the Bartlhof kitchen, but some of it also found its way to Town, where it was sold on the weekly market and fetched a tidy price. This pleased Cousin Johann to no end, and he congratulated himself on having had the notion of asking the Daringers to come and stay on his farm. The summer's produce would more than repay him for his pains, he felt.

Apart from their work as dairymaids they also helped with many household chores. Mrs Mayrhofer was none too fond of housework, and glad to pass some of it on to Mrs Daringer and her daughters. While she did not mind cooking and ironing the laundry, she disliked doing the cleaning – especially kneeling on the wooden floors and scrubbing them with a large brush – and washing. She found nothing wrong with dusting the furniture, and spending hour upon hour doing needlework, but she refused to do anything more strenuous than that.

"My daughter is quite the fine lady," Mrs Jδger said mournfully one evening. "She wasn't brought up to be a farmer's wife, but you know how the saying goes. Love goes where love will go. Anyway, Johann can afford to employ people to do the kind of work that she can't do, and he's never complained."

Mrs Daringer nodded politely. In her opinion a farmer who married a girl from Town had no right to complain when his wife turned out to be unsuited for her new situation in life. She might adapt to her duties or, as was the case with Mrs Mayrhofer, she might not.

Mrs Mayrhofer was an excellent cook, though, and liked having guests who appreciated her efforts. The Talbacher, a bachelor and therefore an object of pity for both her and her husband, was a frequent guest in her household, as were the Daringers. Mrs Daringer wasn't quite comfortable with this arrangement, but since she did not want to offend her cousin's wife she accepted these invitations as often as she dared, though sometimes she excused herself and her daughters because she felt that such running to and fro between the two houses was not good. Distance made the best friendships, she often said.

People on the Bartlhof were as fond of music as those on the Neaderhof had been, and so, once it was discovered that Marianne was good at playing the zither, and that all three girls had sweet singing voices, they became quite popular and were often asked to entertain the assembled company with a song or two.

Cousin Johann was most vocal in his admiration of their musical skills, which embarrassed his wife, who sometimes wished he'd behave in a more genteel manner. Mrs Mayrhofer often asked him to keep quiet and listen, and asked Marianne to play a tune she was particularly fond of and hadn't heart in ages – never mind that Marianne had only just finished playing it to them.

The only one who paid Marianne the compliment of his undivided attention was the Talbacher, and Marianne respected him for it. His enjoyment of her music, even though he did not shower her with extravagant praise, was real, and she appreciated it the more since others showed no real appreciation at all. She supposed that his advanced age and experience had made him grow out of the ability to feel any enthusiasm at all, and was perfectly disposed to make every allowance for the effects old age had on a man. At least he did not tell her he'd listened while betraying at the same moment that he hadn't.

Mrs Jδger was quick to discover any attachment between two young people; usually even quicker than the young people concerned. Ever since she'd come to stay with her daughter and son-in-law, she'd earned herself a reputation in that field, and many a young woman had been put to the blush by Mrs Jδger's sly insinuations while many a young man had only needed a gentle hint or two from that lady to finally declare himself. After all, if Mrs Jδger knew, the girl in question must know too.

It was no wonder, therefore, that Mrs Jδger was the first to discover that the Talbacher appeared to have a weak spot for Marianne. She rather suspected it from his listening closely to everything she said and every song she sang, and after no more than two weeks she was absolutely certain of his being as much in love with Marianne as a man could possibly be. It would be a perfect match, Mrs Jδger was certain, for he was rich and she was a remarkably pretty girl. The difference in their respective ages was insignificant in her opinion; as long as a couple got along well with one another, what did age matter? Her own husband had been almost double her age when they'd married, and their marriage had been a happy one!

She began to take every opportunity to tease both Marianne and the Talbacher; but while the Talbacher took little to no notice of her raillery, Marianne was incredulous at first, and, once she understood what Mrs Jδger was getting at, she was uncertain whether to laugh at Mrs Jδger's suspicions or to condemn them. It was cruel to make fun of the Talbacher in this impertinent way, she felt; a man who was an old bachelor and beyond such feelings as love should not be ridiculed.

She poured her concerns into her mother's ears, and it took Mrs Daringer a while to make Marianne understand that Mrs Jδger probably had no intention of ridiculing the Talbacher's age – after all, she pointed out, Mrs Jδger was old enough to be the Talbacher's mother.

Marianne had to admit that her mother had a point. "But, Mother, you can't deny that this accusation is ridiculous. You say that Mrs Jδger is old enough to be his mother, which is probably true; but the Talbacher's old enough to be my father! To suspect him of being in love with me, of all girls!"

"A pretty young father that would be," Leni remarked.

"You know what I mean," Marianne defended herself. "Even if he may at one point have been able to fall in love I'm sure he's outgrown the tendency by now. It's too ridiculous! When is a man safe, if old age and illness won't protect him?"

"Illness!" Leni cried. "Do you think him infirm? I suppose he may appear rather older to you than he might to Mother, or Mrs Jδger, but I've never seen a more vigorous man than the Talbacher! There's no trace of ill-health in him!"

"Didn't you hear him complain of an aching back the other day?" Marianne asked indignantly. "A sure sign of old age, isn't it?"

"My back aches too, if I've been on my knees all morning scrubbing floors," Leni said. "I'm getting on in years as well, I suppose."

"Next you'll say the Talbacher has been scrubbing floors all day," Marianne said.

"I won't, but we all know he's a hard worker, and after a long day of hard work in the fields a back may ache with perfect propriety," Leni said with a smile. "Even yours, I daresay, not to speak of Mother's."

"My dear girls," Mrs Daringer laughed. "You must be forever worried about me! It must seem like a miracle to you that I've survived my fortieth year!"

"Mother, you're misunderstanding us," Marianne said indignantly. "I'm not saying that the Talbacher is about to pop off any moment; he's very likely to live another twenty years or maybe more. But to be thinking of marriage at thirty-five! I think not; he's well past that."

"Perhaps," Leni said thoughtfully, "a thirty-five year-old man and a seventeen year-old girl really shouldn't have anything to do with each other when it comes to marriage. But if the Talbacher were to meet a woman of suitable age; some twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, I don't see why he shouldn't marry her."

"I suppose a woman at that age can't hope to make anyone fall in love with her any longer," Marianne said. "And if her home is uncomfortable, I'm sure she'll consider it no hardship to be acting as a nurse in exchange for being provided for. It would be a convenient thing for them both."

Leni broke into a peal of laughter. "For Christ's sake, Marianne! The Talbacher's not in his dotage! I know nothing will ever convince you that a woman of twenty-eight might well develop enough affection for the Talbacher to consider marriage with him a desirable thing. Very well. But please, please stop thinking of him as having one foot in the grave just because he happened to complain of an aching back the other day."

"But he talked of hay flower poultices," Marianne protested. "What more proof do you need? For me this spells aches, cramps, rheumatism and every other sign of old age and decrepitude."

"If only he'd caught pneumonia and were in a high fever, you'd pity rather than despise him," Leni said. "It would appeal to your romantic nature, wouldn't it? While an aching back is certainly unromantic; I won't deny this."

She then left the room to get some provisions from the cellar, and Marianne turned to her mother.

"Speaking of illness," she said. "I am sure Eduard is not at all well. We've been here for a while now, and he hasn't come to see us; not even once! Nor have we heard of him! What, apart from sickness, could detain him?"

"Did you think he'd come so soon?" Mrs Daringer asked. "I didn't. Being the considerate boy he is, I'm sure he is waiting for us to settle in before troubling us with a visit. Does Leni expect him already?"

"I haven't mentioned it to her, but I suppose she must."

"You must be mistaken. Why, only yesterday we were talking about the spare bedroom, and what a pity it was that it was so cold, and what could be done with it. She said that we needn't hurry too much with finding some solution or other, since in all likelihood the room won't be wanted for some time."

"How strange! Whatever is the meaning of this? But then, the whole of their courtship is rather extraordinary, isn't it? Do you remember their leave-taking? How cold and how composed they were! Their conversation on Eduard's last evening in Unterau too; he gave no sign of being sorry to leave us – to leave Leni! He didn't make any difference between Leni and me either, when he did say goodbye! He behaved like an affectionate brother – to us both! I wanted to give them a chance to take leave in private, but whenever I left them alone in the same room, Eduard followed me almost at once! It's unaccountable to me! And Leni, too! She hasn't cried once; neither when Eduard left the Neaderhof nor when we had to leave it. She's never dejected; always good-tempered and cheerful! She doesn't look like a girl whose heart has been broken to me! She doesn't try and avoid company, or appear restless and dissatisfied. Whatever is wrong with her?"

Since, at that moment, Gretl came in with two of the Bartlhof children, they could not discuss the matter any further. Mrs Daringer merely told Marianne not to worry, and recommended her to continue her work on some new pillowcases for the bedroom instead.

~IX~

Posted on: 2009-04-08

It was a long and cold winter that year, and so even the work in the fields could not begin until after Easter, by which time the snow in the valley had melted and made it possible for the farmers to start their work. This did not bode all that well for this year's harvest – crops planted too late in the year might freeze in autumn. But there was nothing one could do; planting potatoes in the frozen soil would not have the desired effect either; and Tyroleans were used to roughing it anyway.

It was not until May that the Talbacher finally made his way up to the mountain pasture, only to come back to tell the Daringers that they could not come along with the cleaning expedition.

"You see, we'll have to rebuild the whole roof of the cabin," he explained. "The snow's been too much for it this winter; it's collapsed. Luckily the cabin as such still stands so we needn't rebuild the whole thing. Still, I can't ask you to come up there with us if I can't offer you a proper place to sleep. Never mind, I'll take you up once the cleaning work is done, and show you around."

Mrs Daringer, though none too happy with his decision, had to admit that the Talbacher had the right of it, and therefore it was the Talbacher, Cousin Johann, some of their farmhands and the village carpenter who went to the pastures to set everything to rights.

They were not idle while waiting for their summer job to start. Not only did their cottage undergo some vigorous cleaning (for Mrs Daringer strongly believed in tidiness, even if one wasn't actually at home) but also did they get their luggage ready. They knew, of course, that they'd have to carry everything they needed on their backs, and so there was only so much they could take with them.

They wouldn't need many clothes, Mrs Daringer said. They could safely leave their Sunday clothes down in the valley; they had no need of them on the pasture. Attending Church on Sundays was impossible if it meant walking some ten hours there and back, and leaving the cattle to themselves in the meantime. A simple prayer on Sunday mornings would have to do, and the Lord would not object to them saying those prayers in their work-clothes, which were the only clothes they were going to take with them.

Such provisions as they had to carry up with them – flour, sugar and salt – would be carried on horseback, at least as far as a horse would go. The men would carry the bags the rest of the way.

Marianne insisted on taking some of her books, although both her mother and Leni told her not to.

"I need them," she protested.

"What for?" Leni asked. "How much time for reading do you think you're going to have, Marianne? Starting work at four in the morning, and never stopping till nightfall – when exactly do you mean to read?"

"I'll find some time, never fear," Marianne snapped, and packed four books into her bag.

"Fine," Mrs Daringer said. "But don't forget you'll carry your bag yourself, Marianne. No one's going to help you."

Leni said nothing in reply, but feared that the Talbacher might disagree with that notion and be happy to carry Marianne's bag if it turned out to be too heavy for her. Nor did she put it past Marianne to ask him to; the poor man.

Finding a proper day for driving the cattle on the mountain pastures was rather difficult. The weather had to be fine, for one, for driving cattle onward on a narrow mountain path was dangerous enough without having slippery stones or roots to deal with. The moon phases and zodiac signs played an important part in the decision – there were days when one had better not try to take cattle away from their farm*. Tuesdays and Thursdays were thought to be unlucky, and therefore had to be avoided. Considering this, Leni thought, it was surprising that they did find a suitable day in the end.

On a fine morning in mid-June they started their journey. They left Weidach at daybreak, to be on the pasture and get their work done before nightfall. Without cattle, the hike took about five hours either way, but with cattle it could well take longer. There was nothing more wayward – or stupid, as the Talbacher chose to express himself – than a cow.

"You want them to stay on the track and they'll wander off and have a snack in the forest," he muttered. "And when you want them to rest, because by God you could do with some rest too, they suddenly decide they want to go ahead after all."

Not even Marianne could find signs of old age in him during their journey to the mountain pasture. He was as quick on his feet as any young boy, ran after cows in all directions to drive them back to the herd, and probably walked three times the distance in consequence without apparent fatigue. Toni, who'd insisted on coming along, and Stefan, Cousin Johann's eldest son who was going to stay with them as a cowherd during the summer, followed his example. They all had long hazel staffs which they used not only for support but also for frightening the cows if they wandered off – though not, Leni noted with some approval, for beating them. She did not hold with beating animals, and was glad to see that neither the Talbacher nor Toni did. They'd hit the stones next to the animal instead, and create a bang that was loud enough for them to seek shelter among the herd.

The first stage of their journey led through a thick forest, the path running alongside a small river and going upwards at a steep angle all the time. After some two hours, they reached a clearing, and decided to sit down and have something to eat. Gretl, who'd already become friends with Stefan, went to sit with him, watching over the cattle while the grown-ups had their breakfast.

Both the Talbacher and Toni were full of valuable information, and most willing to share it. On their first visit to the pasture some two weeks previously they'd acquainted the Daringers with the names of the surrounding mountains and the most important weather signs to watch for, and now they did the same – to make sure the Daringers had not forgotten – adding some that they had not thought of before.

They told them that the most dangerous thunderstorms usually came from the north-east; that clouds building up behind a certain rock formation on a sunny day meant that it was soon going to rain, that a "sabre" of clouds across another mountain meant that bad weather would set in for a while. They told them that a small and harmless-looking stream trickling down from one side of the mountain could quickly turn into a torrent in certain weather conditions, and that they'd better not be anywhere near it if this happened.

As they left the forest and reached the pasture region, the Talbacher showed them a cross, built on the spot where one of his ancestors had been killed in an avalanche, in an attempt of getting the cattle back into the valley during an early snowstorm in August some seventy years before**.

The Talbacher was so familiar with the pasture that Leni asked him whether he'd worked on it too. He laughed.

"Naturally. What better way of keeping one's son out of trouble than sending him to work on the pastures? I started coming up here with Toni when I was some seven years old, and worked as a cowherd like Stefan is doing now, until I was eighteen and had to join the army. What I know about dairy work is what Toni has taught me, and it has come in useful often; especially when I had to find a workplace for myself."

"Toni did mention that you used to work as a dairyman," Leni said. "Where was that?"

"Southern Tyrol," he replied. "Near Sterzing."

"That's pretty far from here," Mrs Daringer wondered. "Didn't you want to be somewhere closer to home?"

"No; on the contrary. In those days I wanted to be as far from home as possible."

Leni remembered what Mrs Jδger had told them about the Talbacher and his unhappy love affair, and refrained from asking any more questions. He sounded cheerful when he was talking about those days, but it was a deceptive cheerfulness that did not quite reach his eyes.

After a walk of some eight hours, they reached the gate of the mountain pasture. The gate had to be closed at all times, to make sure the cattle did not wander off into the forest. From the gate, they walked another half-hour or so until they came to the mountain cabin that was to be their home for the summer.

There were several buildings huddled together on the slope. The largest one was the cowshed; a huge stone-built structure, designed to accommodate up to eighty cows. On the other side of the path there was the dairy building, where the tools for dairy work were kept and the products could be stored until someone found the time to carry them into the valley.

The living accommodation was right next to the dairy building. It was stone-built like the cowshed and the dairy building, and though it was smaller than the cottage they inhabited on the Bartlhof it would be large enough to house them all, Leni thought. There were only two rooms; a larger one that doubled as kitchen and parlour, and a smaller one at the back of the building which would serve them as sleeping quarters. Outside, a ladder led up to a small attic, which would serve as a storeroom as well as a place for Stefan to sleep in.

There was not much time for talk upon arrival. They had to get the cowshed ready for its inhabitants; put the provisions into the storerooms, and although the cabin had been cleaned before it did not reach Mrs Daringer's standards of tidiness. Therefore Gretl and Stefan remained outside; keeping an eye on the cattle while the Talbacher and Toni carried the provisions into the cabin and got the cowshed ready. Mrs Daringer and Marianne cleaned the kitchen and bedroom, and Leni was to carry water into the house and get dinner ready.

Nobody was much inclined to talk when they were at last able to sit down and eat their dinner. The first evening on a mountain pasture was an important event and warranted better fare than was usually available. Leni had made grey cheese soup, a very nourishing dish, especially when eaten with roasted bread. The children had found some mushrooms in the forest on their way up, enough for everyone, and Leni had roasted them on the hearth with some butter and salt.

The Talbacher and Toni were on very friendly terms, Leni noted. When the Talbacher addressed the old man it was in an affectionate and respectful manner; very much like someone talking to a relative – a father, even. Toni, on the other hand, could talk to the Talbacher in a tone Leni did not think any of his other employees dared use – or would be permitted to use. She suspected that Toni had been more of a father to the Talbacher than his real father had been, after all those summers they had spent on this pasture together, and that this relationship gave him more freedom than the Talbacher's other workers enjoyed.

The men spent the night in the attic with Stefan, and went back into the valley early the next morning.

"Either I or the Bartl farmer will come up here every week," the Talbacher said when taking his leave. "So whenever you need something let us know. If you need immediate help - no matter why – follow the path over there to the communal pasture. Martin is the dairyman there; he'll be glad to help."

"How far is it to the communal pasture?" Mrs Daringer asked.

"Oh, no more than an hour's walk or so. Three quarters of an hour if you hurry up."

Leni made a quick calculation in her head, and suddenly realised what being in charge of a mountain pasture really meant. It was not an easy job; as much had been evident to her before. What she hadn't been aware of was that they'd have to do it by themselves, with no help whatsoever.

"Good luck," the Talbacher said, and shook hands with all of them – maybe keeping Marianne's hand in his for a moment longer than necessary, though no one, not even Marianne, objected. "May St Leonard*** keep you safe."

Whatever saint was in charge of them, Leni hoped he was going to make a good job of it. They could certainly do with divine protection, considering that any other help was at least an hour and a half away.

* Moon phases and zodiac signs used to play an important part in many decisions for our mountain farmers, even modern ones. My grandfather had certain days for certain jobs, on the basis of the moon, and wouldn't do those jobs on any other day. They "wouldn't work out, you know", because "the sign isn't right". This includes all kinds of things, from driving cattle on the pastures to cutting timber and / or firewood, and even a haircut should be avoided on certain days.

** Even in summer there can be snow on mountain pastures. While a little snow isn't dangerous, one has to get the cattle down into the valley if bad weather sets in and there are large amounts of snow.

*** St Leonard is a very popular saint among farmers, since he's said to protect livestock and people alike.

~X~

Posted on: 2009-05-01

Routine set in rather quickly. Mrs Daringer kept them all on short reins, and the work was divided more or less equally between them, according to everyone's abilities.

Their days started at daybreak, when they all got out of bed and started their day milking all the cows. By the time they were finished it was six o'clock already; and once they had let the cattle outside onto the pasture they had time to sit down and have their breakfast. Stefan and Gretl usually took their bread and milk on the pasture with them; they shared the task of guarding the cattle and, should anything untoward happen, they had strict orders to get help and not to attempt to solve the situation on their own.

After breakfast, Mrs Daringer and Marianne set about churning butter and making cheese, while Leni put the cowshed and the cabin in order and then went to the pastures not in use that day, to remove plants that might harm the cattle. On especially fine days, she took Gretl with her and cut grass and made hay on the slopes too steep and dangerous for the cattle to tread on. The hay was stored in their barn for a while, and packed up and carried to a smaller barn further down along the path to the village whenever they found the time to do so. It would remain there until winter, when the farmers would come and get the hay and take it the rest of the way on their huge sledges.

By the time they had finished their daytime tasks, the cattle had to be driven back to the cowshed, and had to be milked for the second time that day. Once the cows were cared for and had settled down in their stalls, the Daringers and Stefan were at leisure to sit down and have their dinner before going to sleep. They were usually on their feet from daybreak till nightfall, with hard work to do in between.

On rainy days the cattle had to be guarded more carefully; the damp grass was slippery and on steep slopes a false step could well mean the death of a valuable cow. So Stefan and Gretl – and, since on those days she could not cut any hay, Leni too – were with the cattle, trying to keep them from the dangerous slopes which, according to the contrary nature of some animals, became the more tempting the more dangerous it was to go there.

The thing they, like all mountain people, feared most was a sudden change of weather. A thunderstorm could come up suddenly without warning, and animals outside on the pasture were often struck by lightning – as were dairymen and dairymaids trying to rescue them. It was no wonder therefore that the Talbacher had acquainted them with all the essential weather signs – more often than not they pointed in the right direction, and it was better to err on the side of safety.

Even in summer it could get very cold in the mountains all of a sudden; snow in July and August was not unheard of. If the snowfall only lasted for a day or two, and the amount of snow was trifling, this was not dangerous; one simply remained in the cabin and kept the cattle in the cowshed until it was gone again. If, however, it did not stop snowing, one had to get the cattle back into the valley. It was during such an attempt that one of the Talbacher's ancestors had been killed in an avalanche, along with some ten cows, which had been considered the greater misfortune since the family's livelihood had depended on them.

In spite of all the hard work, they enjoyed living on the pasture; they had greater freedom than they had hitherto enjoyed – there was no Fanny to censure everything they did, and no farmer to order them around. Marianne still found the time to go exploring in the area, without having to justify herself. As long as she got her work done beforehand, her mother had no objection, and towards the end of their second week on the pasture Mrs Daringer even mentioned to Leni that Marianne was making progress and would, by the end of the summer, be a useful dairy maid.

They did not get many visitors, although Martin, the dairyman from the neighbouring pasture, paid them a visit to make their acquaintance, and Cousin Johann and the Talbacher came to see how they were doing. Otherwise, they were more or less left to themselves. People from Town had not yet discovered this area as a summer residence*, and did not disturb them with their demands of buttermilk or a full meal, and their subsequent complaints that the fare on mountain pastures was by no means up to their standards.

One evening, as they had finished their dairy work, Marianne stretched and said, "I'd dearly like to go for a walk. Shall I take some hay to the barn with me?"

Mrs Daringer, looking up at the clouds that gathered around one of the mountain tops in a decidedly menacing way, advised her against it.

"Oh, pooh!" was Marianne's rude reply to her mother's warning. "I'll be back long before it starts raining!"

Leni tried to add her entreaties to her mother's, but unsuccessfully. Marianne wished to go, and go she would. She even took Gretl with her, to help her carry a bale of hay. She'd have taken Stefan too, but Mrs Daringer refused to let him go with them.

"Take care of yourself," she said to Marianne, "and of your sister. Turn back in time; I don't want you to get caught in a storm."

Once again assuring her mother and sister that it was not going to rain before nightfall, by which time they'd be back safely, Marianne set off with a bale of hay on her shoulders, pulling Gretl along with her. For the first part of the way, they walked swiftly across the pasture towards the fence. After they had climbed over it, they reached a shortcut that Stefan had pointed out to them, and decided to make use of it to get the hay quickly to the barn and take the long way back.

By now, black clouds were blocking the sun and Marianne's fanciful mind recalled the tales of weather-witches sitting on the mountain tops brewing foul weather to destroy anyone unfortunate enough to be still out and about at this time**. Maybe, she thought, they really should have listened to her mother and stayed in the cabin, but the idea of being cooped up in there again had been too much for her to bear.

Hurriedly they descended the steep path, reached the barn only moments before the first thunderclap rang out, and went inside. At least the hay was safe and dry, and if all else failed they could spend the night there, Marianne thought. Though the thunderstorm wasn't going to last that long; they'd be able to go back to the pasture in an hour or so, Marianne was certain. In the meantime they sat down in the hay, pulled their shawls closely around them to keep themselves warm, and while thunder and lightning raged outside and the rain pattered on the roof, Marianne entertained her sister with some stories to pass the time.

The atmosphere in the gloomy barn was not such as inspired her to tell cheerful tales; in fact she recounted the same legends connected with the Wild Hunt and weather witches that had come to her mind previously, and Gretl was not one to complain; for like most children of her age she adored gruesome stories. However, as Marianne told her the story of a hunter who'd got caught in just such a thunderstorm, and who'd sought shelter in just such a barn as they were sitting in, they suddenly heard a noise outside. A dog was barking in the distance, and the noise was getting closer and closer as they listened. Gretl shrieked.

"Marianne, do you think … do you think this is the Hunt?" she asked, her white face almost glowing in the gloom.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable herself, Marianne replied that it could not be. "Maybe somebody's dog has run off into the wood, and has discovered a hare or something," she said in a faltering voice.

For a moment Gretl allowed herself to be reassured, but when the heavy steps of a man approached the barn, she gave another shriek and began to climb the haystack. Marianne went after her, but when she had almost reached the top she slipped and fell down – right in front of the newcomer, a young man neither of the sisters had ever met. He was carrying a gun, and had a pointer at his heels – the dog they'd heard bark just before. Both the animal and its master looked at Marianne with some interest.

"Are you hurt?" the young man asked her.

"I don't think so," Marianne replied, reluctant to admit that one very delicate part of her body was aching.

"Let me help you get up then," he remarked, and took her hand to pull her back on her feet. It became evident then that Marianne had twisted her ankle, and in such circumstances it would be difficult for her to walk back to the pasture without assistance.

"I'll help you, once the rain stops," the young man said to Marianne, after examining her leg to see if it was broken. "Why were you scrambling up there anyway? Who did you think I was?"

"The Wild Hunt," Gretl's embarrassed voice answered from above. He laughed, but it was a good-natured laugh.

"Not very wild, I'm afraid, though I am out hunting," he admitted.

"Are you a poacher?" Gretl asked breathlessly.

"Nowhere near as interesting, I'm afraid. I'm just staying with my aunt on the Alfingerhof, and she's given me permission to hunt*** in the area."

They'd heard of an old lady living on the Alfingerhof, but hadn't known that the lady had a nephew. Marianne could not help but think that she'd have appreciated that fact; although it was growing darker and gloomier by the minute she could see enough of the young man to notice that he was very handsome.

"But what are you doing here?" he asked. "I've been coming here for years yet I can't remember ever meeting either of you. I think I would remember if I had."

"We're working on Talbach Fall Pasture," Marianne said. "My mother is the new dairy maid there."

"Oh? What happened to the old fellow who used to be in charge of it? His name was Toni, wasn't it?"

"He's grown too old to be in charge of the pasture," Marianne explained. "He no longer works there."

"I can't say I'm sorry to hear that," the young man said with a grin. "Not when you've taken his place."

He opened the barn door and looked outside. "Looks like the rain has almost stopped," he remarked. "So we can set out and I'll help you get back to the pasture – I don't think you can walk by yourself, can you?"

Marianne shook her head.

"By the way, what is your name? It seems rather uncivil to be carrying a young lady with whom one is not acquainted," he said.

"I'm Marianne Daringer, and this is my sister Gretl."

"Jakob Wildauer." He smiled. "Let's go then."

Mrs Daringer had been increasingly worried about Marianne and Gretl the longer their absence had lasted. Leni's assurances that they'd come back once the thunderstorm had stopped, or tomorrow morning at the latest, had done little to calm her. She imagined all kinds of accidents that could have befallen them, and blamed herself for having allowed them to go in the first place.

So when Gretl pushed the door open and entered the cabin, out of breath, and telling them a story of how Marianne had taken a fall, Mrs Daringer at first supposed that she must have had an accident on the way.

"We must go for help at once!" she cried. "Stefan, run to Martin and tell him…"

"We don't need Martin," Gretl said hurriedly. "There's this hunter – he is carrying Marianne here."

While Leni and Mrs Daringer were still wondering whom she meant, the door opened once again and a young man came in, carrying Marianne.

"There you are then," he said jovially, and took his hat off to Mrs Daringer and Leni. "You must be Marianne and Gretl's**** mother," he said to Mrs Daringer. "I'm sorry to say that my arrival at the barn seems to have frightened them so much that Marianne took a fall and hurt her leg; but I think she will be fine in a day or two."

He was a fine-looking young man, Mrs Daringer thought, and immediately took a liking to him – she'd take to anyone who came to her daughter's rescue, even if he'd caused her accident in the first place. His ready laugh and his engaging manners were enough to recommend him to her, and she cordially invited him to stay and have something to eat before returning to his hunting lodge; but he declined her offer, saying that he'd have to hurry or he would not be able to reach the lodge before nightfall.

"But I'd be honoured if you allowed me to come back tomorrow to see how your daughter is doing."

"Certainly! We'll be happy to see you!" Mrs Daringer exclaimed.

Jakob Wildauer shook the ladies' hands once more, and then walked along the path back to the forest, where he soon disappeared, leaving Marianne to hope fervently that his promised visit the next day was not going to be delayed.

* Many people from the larger cities who could afford to do so went into the country for the summer. They'd rent hunting lodges and go hunting, or they'd climb the mountains, which, according to the local people, was sheer madness. But, you know, you get all sorts in Town, and they're weird but harmless most of the time. They pay you handsomely, too. ;)

** Some mountains in the Tyrol have a particular reputation for having been a meeting-point of such evil witches. The Schlern in Southern Tyrol is one of them – the Schlern Witches feature largely in Tyrolean mythology. The stories are best explained by the fact that thunderclouds often appear to be forming in the same place – behind a particular mountain, for example.

*** Not everyone's allowed to hunt in our forests. You can buy the hunting rights for a certain area (or pay some kind of rent to their owner, or inherit them even), and this means no one else is allowed to hunt there.

**** Young girls usually are referred to by their given names, sometimes along with the house name to specify which Marianne or Gretl one is talking about. Only schoolteachers and town ladies were referred to as "Miss", anyone else who demanded it would have been considered "stuck up". So no, Jakob Wildauer is not treating them with undue familiarity. :)

Posted on: 2009-07-16

~XI~

A sharp whistle around lunchtime the following day alerted them to the approach of some visitors and brought them out from the dairy cabin, where they'd been making butter. Marianne was disappointed to see, though, that it was not Jakob Wildauer who was coming to see them, but the Talbacher and Cousin Johann, who'd chosen this of all days to check on their well-being and who, Marianne was afraid, would be very much in the way when Jakob Wildauer did call.

Her leg was better than they'd feared at first; she could get up and attend to her daily duties with not much less than her usual vigour; yet when her mother gave Cousin Johann an account of her accident she felt he did not treat the matter with becoming respect. The Talbacher, at least, gratified her by sounding worried, although he too offended her when he said that walking into the forest had probably not been the best idea anyone could have had when there was a thunderstorm about to break loose over their heads. He did not say that she'd been silly, but had implied it, and she was quick to notice a slight where probably none was intended, Leni thought.

In consequence of this, Marianne treated the Talbacher coolly, even though he'd surprised them with a gift of mushrooms he'd collected on the way to the pasture, to provide them, as he said, with a change in their otherwise monotonous diet. Leni thought the gift was a thoughtful one, but even she had to admit that it lacked romance.

It turned out that both Cousin Johann and the Talbacher knew Jakob Wildauer, and while the latter kept rather quiet about the man Cousin Johann was willing to tell them what he knew about him.

"You know that farm on the roadside that you pass when you come to Weidach from Town, the Alfingerhof? The one that belongs to an old lady, Mrs Albrecht?"

Upon being assured that they did, Cousin Johann carried on. Jakob Wildauer was, apparently, a nephew of Mrs Albrecht's, and since the old lady had no children of her own it was generally assumed that he would inherit her property once she died. He visited the old lady at regular intervals, usually twice a year, and since the lady also owned the hunting rights in the area he often went shooting; a pastime that he appeared to be rather fond of. Cousin Johann, who was equally fond of shooting, could furnish them with much information about the success of Jakob Wildauer's hunting expeditions, but did not know much about the man himself, except that he had some job or other in Town, and that he had never heard anything against the man.

"He's an amiable fellow," he said. "Everyone likes him – don't they, Talbacher?"

The Talbacher agreed that it was so.

"Did he have his dog with him?" Cousin Johann continued. "A beautiful black pointer bitch. I once offered to buy her off him but he wouldn't sell her. Pity."

Marianne told him that Jakob Wildauer had indeed had his dog with him, and Cousin Johann said, again, that he wished Wildauer had sold the dog to him. He then took himself off to the pasture, to check on the cattle as well as his son, and the Talbacher stayed behind. He restricted his conversation to the running of Talbach Falls Pasture, however, and did not allude to Jakob Wildauer again. He inspected the dairy cabin, complimented Mrs Daringer and her daughters on the excellent quality of the work they'd done so far, and packed some of the butter and cheese into a large basket that he was going to carry into the valley on his back.

"I won't be able to come next week unless the weather's bad," he told them when Mrs Daringer invited him back into the cabin for some dinner before he started his walk. "The grass is getting pretty high; we're supposed to make hay if the weather holds."

Mrs Daringer nodded, and Leni did not envy the Talbacher the task. Making hay was hard work, and not made any easier by the fact that it had to be done in hot weather. She preferred the more clement temperatures where she was, even though life on the mountain pastures was not an easy one either.

After lunch, Cousin Johann and the Talbacher took their leave, and Marianne could look forward to meeting Jakob Wildauer without having to fear interruption from either of the two.

Jakob did come in the late afternoon, and handed Marianne a bunch of flowers he'd picked on the way, to atone for the fright she'd had the previous evening. Marianne blushed, and smiled. This was the kind of gift more likely to appeal to her romantic nature, unlike the Talbacher's more practical offering.

He did not find it difficult to engage Marianne in conversation; mentioning one of her favourite books was enough to get her going. They quickly discovered that they shared their enthusiasm for music and dancing, and that Jakob had read some of the books Marianne thought the best that had ever been written. If he did not quite agree with that opinion he did not say so; it seemed to Leni, however, that he was willing to adopt Marianne's views on that and any other subject as his own. Before his visit came to an end, he talked to her with the familiarity of a long-standing acquaintance.

His visit was doomed to be rather brief, since he had to be back in the valley before nightfall, but when he said goodbye to the Daringers he promised them he would be back before long, and none of them doubted his word in that respect. They watched him walk away towards the forest, and when he disappeared from view they went to the cowshed to milk the cows.

"Well, Marianne," Leni said as she settled on her milking stool and put the bucket into place, "for one meeting I think you've done pretty well. You've discovered Jakob Wildauer's opinions of every matter of importance. However, at the rate you're going you'll run out of things to say to each other by the end of the week, if not sooner. Another meeting will be enough to satisfy your curiosity regarding his opinion of second marriages, local folklore, and the scenery, and then you can have nothing else to ask him."

"Leni!" Marianne cried. "This isn't fair! You're acting as if I had no other ideas in my head than those I discussed with him today! But I see what you mean. I've been too frank, too much at ease with him. I have been open and sincere when I should have been dull, spiritless and deceitful. You must forgive me for not talking of the weather, and the cattle, and for speaking more than once in ten minutes. If I had, I might have been spared your homily."

"Marianne, it is you who is being unjust now," Mrs Daringer intervened. "Leni didn't mean to offend you; she was only in jest, as you well know. You may be certain that if she'd truly meant to spoil your happiness I'd have scolded her myself."

Marianne reddened, and apologised to Leni for the things she'd said.

Jakob Wildauer became a frequent guest at Talbach Falls. He visited them almost every day, only staying away when the weather rendered a walk to the mountain pastures impossible. Since they were enjoying a period of warm weather, this was not often. Occasionally, when a thunderstorm was imminent, he even spent the night there, sitting with the Daringers and joining in with their prayers over the storm candle to protect themselves from lightning.* Then he'd retire to the attic with Stefan, and leave at daybreak, only to come back later that day. Mrs Albrecht probably did not see much of her nephew that summer, Leni suspected.

He was exactly the kind of young man to appeal to Marianne; he had lively spirits, an open and affectionate manner, was intelligent and handsome, and shared enough of her ideas to make her feel they were exactly suited for one another. She began to look forward to his company, and greatly missed him when he did not come. He read to her – much better, in her opinion, than Eduard had ever done; he talked to her, and sang with her, being well acquainted with the songs she liked best.

In Mrs Daringer's opinion he was as faultless as in Marianne's, and even Leni, who was the most critical of the Daringers, could find no fault with him but a propensity towards saying exactly what he thought without thinking whom he might offend by doing so. It was a characteristic Leni did not like about him, much though Marianne tried to change her mind.

Marianne became aware that her fear of never meeting a man who'd satisfy her ideas of perfection had been wrong. Jakob was everything that she'd wished for, and his behaviour towards her told her that he was as much in earnest about her as she was about him. Her mother, too, hoped for their marriage and even expected it, and secretly congratulated herself on her prospective sons-in-law, Jakob and Eduard.

The Talbacher, whose fondness for Marianne had been evident to his friends and had enabled them to make fun of him, seemed to distance himself from her when he'd met Jakob Wildauer on Talbach Falls pasture twice in a row. Leni became aware of it, but she also noticed the longing glances he cast at her sister when he thought no one was looking, and her heart ached for him. What hope had a man of thirty-five, with his down-to-earth attitude and silent manner, to win Marianne's heart when it was also claimed by a lively young man ten years his junior? There was none; and considering the difference in their ages and character, Leni did not even wish him to succeed, fearing that their marriage would not turn out to be a happy one. She hoped, though, that he would grow indifferent as time moved on, and that he'd find someone better suited to him in the end. He deserved to be happy, Leni thought. She liked him a great deal; she had found out that his quiet manner hid a brilliant mind, and a wry sense of humour. His personal history was such as excited her compassion and respect, and she pitied him even more when she realised that Marianne and Jakob greatly underestimated him.

"The Talbacher is the kind of man who everybody speaks well of and nobody cares about," Jakob said one day when they were talking of him.

"That's exactly what I think about him," Marianne cried. Leni could no longer keep quiet.

"This is nothing to be proud of," she said. "You're being unjust, both of you. He's highly regarded in all the village or he would not be the mayor; and if you take the pains to talk to him you will find out that he has a great deal to say for himself."

"That you appear to like him is certainly a point in his favour," Jakob said. "But tell me, what kind of merit is attached to being approved by such people as Mrs Jδger?"

"Perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will outweigh Mrs Jδger's regard for him," Leni said sharply. "If her approval is censure, maybe your censure is praise. She is no more undiscerning than you are unjust."

"In defence of your protιgι you can even be saucy," Jakob said teasingly.

"My protιgι, as you call him, is a sensible man, one who knows his business and does well in it, one who does a great deal of good for the community he lives in. These merits will always attract me, even in a man between thirty and forty. He's seen more of the world than either of you have, he reads a great deal, and is not averse to using his head. I've found him willing to share his information with anyone who'd ask for it, and very useful I have found some of it. – Why do you dislike him so much?"

"I don't dislike him," Jakob defended himself. "He's a very respectable man, who has everyone's good opinion it seems but no one's notice. He has more money than he can spend and two new coats every year."

"Apart from that," Marianne added, "he has no taste or spirit. He may have a certain amount of intelligence, but only as far as it relates to his work. His feelings have no ardour and his voice no expression."

Leni laughed, but it was an angry laugh. "I can see you are unwilling to recognise his merits," she said. "Very well; you are as entitled to your opinion as I am to mine. But keep in mind, Marianne, that in spite of his seeming indifference to others, his lack of feeling, he has given us a chance to live and work here; so without him you'd still be on the Neaderhof being ordered around by our dear sister-in-law, and not sitting on his land abusing him to your heart's content, in company with a young man you wouldn't even have met if it hadn't been for the Talbacher's generosity."

"Now that," Jakob said, "is the one thing that almost makes me like him."

* Storm candles or "Weather Candles" are black candles, usually bought at a holy place, and blessed by a priest. As soon as the first thunder makes itself heard, people will light the candle and say their prayers – a combination of a rosary and a special prayer for thunderstorms the words of which I can't remember right now, though I recall the Holy Cross features largely in it – until the storm has moved on. The candles are still available, and especially the older generation uses them regularly.

~XII~

Posted on: 2009-08-17

The Daringers had not expected a cushy job when they'd come to Talbach Falls Pasture, but if anyone had told them that their cabin would become a major tourist attraction they'd have laughed at the mere notion. Yet this was what happened. Weidach was situated fairly close to two major cities, and during the summer months there were many city dwellers seeking refuge from the stifling summer heat in town in the mountain villages nearby*. They'd go hunting, or climb the mountains, and were fond of stopping at the "quaint" mountain cabins and of the food and drink offered there. It was an ancient rule that dairymaids and dairymen in charge of mountain pastures turned no one away from their doors, offered shelter to whomever stood in need of it, and gave what they could to the poor who asked for it. So far, so good – even better it was then that they city people offered generous payment for whatever it was they ate and drank; so Mrs Daringer did not doubt that neither the Talbacher nor Cousin Johann would object to her welcoming these people. Word travelled around fast; it became known that the dairy maid of Talbach Falls had two very pretty daughters (and was not ill-looking either), and that she was a first-rate cook. So hardly a day went by without some traveller from Munich or Innsbruck stopping at their door and asking for nourishment in the form of buttermilk or bread and cheese. Some of them even made regular stops at Talbach Falls; either because they hoped to set up a flirt with one or other of the Daringers or simply because they enjoyed the company to be had there. There were artists among them, writers, musicians as well as scientists and doctors; some bringing their families to enjoy the countryside and the clear mountain air as well as the wholesome food. Others came by themselves, seeking inspiration for whatever project they were working on.

Among this illustrious set, Jakob Wildauer stood out; not only because he was more or less a local man but also because he enjoyed Marianne's favour. While she was polite but aloof with most of their visitors – except for those she stood in awe of, such as a writer from Munich whose work she was acquainted with though she did not dare tell him so – she treated Jakob with easy familiarity and made it quite clear that his affection for her was mutual.

Leni was not surprised at their attachment, but she wished they'd be less ostentatious about it. Occasionally she tried to draw Marianne's attention to the impropriety of her conduct, and the repercussions that might follow if she did not learn to behave with more circumspection, but these gentle hints always met with reproof. Marianne detested concealment; she argued that there was nothing wrong with two young people falling in love with each other, and since they were not doing anything wrong she did not see any necessity for secrecy in the matter. Jakob shared her opinion, and they never lost an opportunity to advertise their happiness to the world.

When Jakob was present, Marianne had eyes for no one else. Whatever he did, or said, was right; no one's opinion but his mattered. He was practically sitting in her pocket; hurried to assist her in whatever tiresome chores she had to perform so she was at leisure to sit with him later. Whatever suggestions she made for their entertainment he was quick to adopt, a fact that soon came to the attention of the regulars at Talbach Falls and caused a great deal of amusement among them. But their ridicule did not provoke Marianne and Jakob; they ignored it, and saw no reason to make any changes in their conduct. Mrs Daringer, when appealed to, saw no harm in two young people being so obviously fond of each other and acting according to their feelings, and refused to interfere. Their behaviour was nothing but the natural consequence of a strong attachment to each other, she said, and she for one was not going to spoil Marianne's happiest days for her.

That it was so; that Marianne was enjoying herself to the fullest and was radiantly happy was apparent. She was devoted to Jakob, and her affection for him softened the loss she'd felt after her father's death and, more recently, her removal to the Upper Country. It did help that Jakob was a Lower Country man too – though, regrettably, from the same valley as Fanny's family; he even knew them, or at any rate had heard of them. Apart from that, however, he was the embodiment of perfection, and could not possibly do wrong.

As for Leni, she was not feeling happy at all. There was not much to make up for what she had left behind; although there was the occasional visitor on the pasture who appeared to show some interest in her person she was not likely to encourage them. She did not think their intentions were honourable; besides she became aware how much she missed Eduard, and how superior to those men he was. So, while she treated everyone kindly, listened to everyone's life stories and tales of woe without comment and thereby added to her popularity, she remained quite lonely, for there was no one into whose ears she could pour her own worries.

The only person among her new acquaintance whom she liked and respected a great deal was the Talbacher. They saw him quite often, for he made good his promise to come to see how they were doing every week, and readily assisted them in any such work as required a man's strength to be handled. His way of treating the livestock commanded Leni's admiration and respect; he was an intelligent, gentle man with a great deal to say for himself, and Leni grew as fond of him as she had ever been of her brother – fonder, even.
But the Talbacher was in love. Even though he received no encouragement from Marianne he seemed unable to put her out of his mind, and in his conversations with Leni he found consolation for her sister's indifference towards him. Leni felt sorry for him, for thanks to Mrs Jδger she knew that he'd been disappointed in love before.

There was a discussion in front of the cabin one afternoon between Marianne and several hikers who'd stopped there which he'd overheard, and which prompted him to say to Leni, "It seems your sister doesn't like the idea of second marriages."

"No," Leni replied. "She doesn't think it is possible for someone to fall in love twice. Her notions are quite romantic, you see."

After a moment's reflection, he said, "But your mother was your father's second wife, I understand."

"Quite so, and it would reflect quite sadly on his character if it were really so, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not sure it would; he had a son who stood in need of a new mother, after all," the Talbacher argued. "Remarrying is what a responsible father would do. Not that I mean to imply that this is why your father married your mother; or that he didn't love her. I'm sure he did."

"He'd hardly have settled for a lowly dairy maid if he hadn't," Leni said dryly.

"Lowly dairy maid? Nonsense. Why should such a thing matter to a man who has everything he needs?"

"There are some to whom it does," Leni pointed out.

"Probably, but I don't think your father was one of them. Or was he?"

"It seems you do have a couple of romantic notions yourself," Leni said laughingly. He smiled, though there was a touch of sadness in his expression.

"I might have," he admitted. "Life hasn't managed to knock them out of my head just yet. – But tell me; does Marianne make no allowances in her objections against a second attachment? Is it equally bad in everybody? If, say, someone has been disappointed in his first choice – no matter what the circumstances – is he supposed to remain indifferent for his entire life?"

"I have never heard her make such allowances," Leni replied. "But she's young. I suppose life and experience will teach her better."

"Be careful what you wish for," the Talbacher said earnestly. "Believe me when I tell you that life has a particularly unpleasant way of instructing people; such as I wouldn't wish to happen to your sister. I once knew a girl very much like her, with opinions like hers, and what life has done to her…" He broke off, and soon afterwards changed the topic altogether. Leni did not question him; she could make an educated guess as to who he'd been thinking about, and felt that she had no right to inquire any further. It was clear that he did not want to talk about the girl he'd been in love with when he'd been young; at least not to her, and she left it at that. She was well enough acquainted with the Upper Country nature by now to know that if one tried to press people into talking one simply made them go quiet.

Mrs Daringer had grown quite accustomed to young men admiring her daughters, though she kept a watchful eye on the more dashing of them to make sure the girls' reputation did not suffer. What she had not bargained for was that she also became an object of admiration, in spite of her age and recent widowhood. All in all she was well able to handle the situation and to fend off unwelcome advances. There was one man, however, who simply seemed not to care; and in fact she did not even become aware of his state of mind until, one day, Gretl came running to tell her that a calf** had been bitten by an adder and that she did not know what to do now.

"Stefan doesn't know either," she cried breathlessly. "What can we do to help her, Mother? The poor thing's in such pain! It's dreadful to watch!"

One of their regular visitors, a man in his forties who didn't talk much but was just content to sit there and enjoy the scenery, suddenly was all attention. The only thing the Daringers knew about him was that his name was Rudolf Wieser, and that he was from somewhere near Munich.

"Where?" he asked.

"Over there, on the pasture," Gretl replied.

"No, where is the bite?"

"Her hind leg. I think she must have trodden on the adder, which was why it bit her."

"Pity she didn't tread on its head," Rudolf replied. "Take me to see her."

"And what do you think you can do for her?" Mrs Daringer asked him sharply. If the poor calf was dying she wasn't going to allow a nosy crowd to watch it do so.

"More than you think," he replied. "I'm a veterinarian. Horses are more in my line, I admit, but I do know a thing or two about cattle, so if your daughter takes me to see the calf we'll see what I can do."

"I can't pay you," Mrs Daringer was quick to tell him.

He laughed. "I don't want payment," he said. "I'm here to enjoy a holiday. – Now if you want me to do something for the calf you'd better take me there or it'll be too late."

This was said in a tone of authority, and Gretl immediately hurried off, looking back over her shoulder to see if he was following her. They were gone for almost an hour, during which Stefan came to fetch a wheelbarrow and some rope, and in the end all three returned to the cabin, Rudolf pushing the wheelbarrow with a dazed but docile calf tied to it.

"I'm not sure she will make it," he said. "The less she moves the better it will be, so I took her back. Show me her place in the shed and I'll leave her there. It would be a pity if she died; such a fine animal as she is, but then I've noticed you keep all your cattle in excellent shape, Mrs Daringer."

"They're not mine," Mrs Daringer replied.

"They're still well-kept, and since they've been on this pasture since June I suppose you had something to do with that," he insisted. "I know you don't take kindly to being complimented, which is why I've avoided doing so until now. But I did think some praise of the work you're doing here would be acceptable."

There was nothing to be said against that, and so Mrs Daringer graciously accepted his commendation, and invited him into the cabin for some bread and cheese; a rare sign of favour. From then on, Rudolf Wieser was an even more frequent visitor on Talbach Falls Pasture than before, and while it soon became evident that it was Mrs Daringer rather than the scenery that attracted him he was wise enough not to hazard losing her goodwill by becoming too obvious in his attentions.

* Or not quite so nearby. The 19th century was the time when the term "Sommerfrische" became popular; it meant that those who could afford it got a summer residence in some place in the country, and would leave town for the summer months. The most popular places were Bad Ischl in Upper Austria, which was where the Emperor had his summer house; the entire Salzkammergut area in Upper Austria, Styria and Salzburg was popular with the Viennese fashionable set. The Tyrol became a favourite haunt too, though here the tourists were mainly people from close by – Munich, for example. The area of Weidach (a real place, though I've used the name for a fictional one) has had its share of famous visitors; the writers Ludwig Ganghofer and Hugo von Hoffmannsthal being just a few examples.

** The term "calf" applies to cattle during their first year. Very young calves and their mothers didn't go to the mountain pastures; it would have been too exhausting for them. Not sure if they do nowadays, though getting there has become easier.