Evening came early in winter to the little villages that lie in the foothills of the Zittau Mountains, where Germany meets its borders with Poland and Czechoslovakia. On Christmas Eve of 1937, snow had fallen heavily in the passes and on the mountains. The little villages it had turned into the perfect representations of dwellings from folktales of long ago. Those wealthy enough to own cars had solicitously shut them up in garages till the weather should turn – even the much lauded people’s car, the manufacturing miracle of the Volkswagen, was jealously protected from the sharp bite of the winter weather. Once more the older formers of transport came into their own – horses and oxen were turned out to pull wagons and carriages for those who needed to be abroad.
In contrast to the cold white world outside, the great stoves of the local homes ensured that inside was snug and cosy. Even the largest building in the village of Bad Bernsdorf, the famous Hotel de Saxe, glowed with inviting warmth and cheer.
Of course, the maintenance of such heat as radiated from the great enamel stoves in all the public rooms could not be maintained without considerable labour. And Frau Gutrun Blauer, the owner of the Hotel de Saxe, looked up and pursed her lips as she saw that Fritzel, her only son, had brought up a pile of logs to supply the stove in the Saal that formed the reception and waiting area of the hotel, with comfortable cushioned wooden chairs as well as her own desk.
“Why are you doing that?” she called to him crossly. “You should let Hans do that!”
Fritzel straightened, pushing his butter-coloured hair back from his forehead, and smiled at her. “Hans is chopping the wood,” he told her. “And I’ve finished all the accounts … Johan has the casino in good order too.”
She sniffed, as though reluctant to acknowledge he had acted for the best. But as he turned to add the last of the logs to the firebox, she gave him a look of maternal pride.
“You should spend some time at your books,” she said now. “There won’t be much work this evening, Liebchen. Apart from the casino … ”
He nodded as he came across to her and swung the book to look at the names of those already staying there.
Mr Chetwyn Glyde and Party;
Count Vasily Dolgorukov;
Franz von Essen.
Then there was the name Samantha Smith; the American woman who’d come a week earlier. And – according to Frau Blauer – spent far too much time distracting Johan the dealer in the casino. Apparently, she had told her son, with a dismissive sniff, she was Johan’s cousin.
Another guest staying was Ashton Sherman. He’d been staying for the last few days and spent his time out skiing round the local area
“There may be some more, Mutti,” Fritzel said, still examining the register. “There’s usually a few strays when the snow’s this heavy.”
Before he could say any more, the door from the Eingangshalle banged open and a tall, beautiful woman, swathed in furs and smelling of heavenly luxury in her scent, stalked into the room and across to the desk, ignoring Fritzel entirely.
“Where is he?” she demanded, speaking in English.
“Mr Glyde is in the Salon, Madame Nolan,” said Frau Blauer in the same language.
“Not him!” she snapped. “Olson! Where’s Olson?”
“I believe he has taken Fraulein Glyde for a walk to see the village houses in the snow,” said Fritzel.
Nellie Nolan fixed him with a withering glare, then swept her furs about her body in a magnificent gesture that would have them open-mouthed in the fifty cent seats, and stalked off in the direction of the Salon.
Fritzel and his mother exchanged speaking glances.
“What a temper!” she said.
Fritzel nodded, and then hesitated. “Yet don’t you think, Mutti, sometimes … the way she says something in German … I would almost call it a local accent.”
“Perhaps it’s something she’s picked up here,” suggested his mother. “Actresses, they say, have to have a good ear … ”
“Perhaps,” agreed Fritzel, but he sounded unconvinced.
“And so jealous of that poor little girl,” his mother went on. “It was kind of that Mr Olson to take her for a walk. It’s a quiet life she lives here!”
“Yes but … ” Fritzel began and then stopped. The church bells were ringing loudly – a wild, uncontrolled ringing. Fritzel and his mother stood frozen for a moment.
“Avalanche!” they said it together, and then Fritzel was racing for the door, grabbing the warm jacket and hat that hung on a peg beside it.
“Be careful!” his mother called. He paused only for the briefest nod, and then hurried away into the darkening evening.
As Fritzel bolted from the inn a blonde short haired woman hurried into the lobby from the direction of the casino. “Is everything all right?” Samantha Smith asked anxiously in English, looking toward the main doors. “I heard a dreadful noise,” she added in passable German, addressing Frau Blauer directly.
Samantha Smith was dressed in a nice but plain blue sweater and matching dark blue woolen slacks. Unlike Miss Nolan her makeup was restrained, and her manner far more hesitant. “Is there anything that needs to be done?” she asked the Frau deferentially.
“Nein, Fraulein,” said Frau Blauer. “The men will look after things.”
Without saying so, her tone implied that it was clearly no job for a woman.
Before she could say any more, the door swung open again.
“Hell’s bells!” came the intonated drawl as a man, dressed in a full waxed coat, hat and all the accoutrements of winter exclaimed as he stepped through the door. “What in all that’s godly’s name is that racket?!” A Texan drawl, no less. At least Jack was quick to remove his hat once inside the place and on noting the presence of a woman.
“Begging your pardon, Ma’am,” he nodded with a smile that slowly dawned and began to warm his features. “But you have the most interesting weather around these parts. And what IS that noise?”
“There’s been an avalanche,” said Frau Blauer, acquiring a welcoming smile at the prospect of a paying guest arriving – and an American too!
“Oh my!” Samantha exclaimed.
“Avalanches are common of course,” continued Frau Blauer, “but if there’s a prospect of the main road or the railway line being blocked, the men of the village will go out to help. You may have passed my son as you came in.
“Now, how may I help you?”
Jack considered the door with a worried look, before popping his hat smartly back on his head again. “Man’s work it is, right enough. I’ll be needing a room and some of that fancy spiced wine you people are so good at. And a room with a good, deep hot bath. Fancy I’ll be needing it after this. Jack Alder’s the name, figuring you’ll need that at the very least. I’ll be back once I’ve helped out some. Bags were supposed to be along shortly, but I’m guessing they’re gonna wait a while now.”
There was a beaming smile for Miss Smith too, a tip of the hat before the American started to take his leave to help out in the snow.
“Mr. Alder!” the blonde called in an American accent as he moved toward the front door. “If there’s anyone hurt….” She took a step forward. “Please… I’m a nurse. If anyone is injured… Maybe I should go also,” she stated, pointedly ignoring Frau Blauer in favour of the Texan. “I can get my coat…” she added anxiously.
Frau Blauer gave Miss Smith a very hard look but said nothing.
The door opened again andin came a tall dark haired man with a faintly sneering expression, accompanied by an ethereally fair and beautiful girl, with wide cornflower blue eyes and a look of delicacy. Frau Blauer greeted them.
“Herr Olson. Fraulein Glyde.” Her voice noticeably warmed as she said the girl’s name.
“We heard the bells,” the girl said a little breathlessly. “That means there’s been an avalanche, doesn’t it? Was anyone hurt?”
“You don’t need to get into a fever fit over it,” said the man addressed as Olson. “There’s avalanches all the time round these parts.”
Miss Glyde ignored him. “Was anyone hurt?” she repeated.
“We don’t know as yet,” said Frau Blauer. “But my Fritzel he is gone to help – ja, and all the strong boys and men from the village. All will be well!”
“You see?” said Olson. “You should go up to your room and rest, Miranda. You wouldn’t want to upset your father.”
At this, Miranda Glyde turned away from the desk. The nervous excitement that had animated her dropped away – she drooped like a delicate flower.
“I guess not,” she said dully, and turned to make her way towards the main staircase. As she did so, she seemed to notice Samantha and Jack for the first time and gave them a shy, hesitant smile.
Samantha hesitated, then gave Miranda a small friendly nod. The glance she gave Olsen was a bit more frosty. Then she turned back to Jack Alder for his response to her query.
“Well Miss, I’m sure they’d be grateful of any help offered, but p’raps waiting down in the village might be best so you don’t get cold in the snow?” The Texan suggested with a smile that would melt the coldest of hearts, reassuring and glad at the same time. Jack’s gaze drifted sharply up to the new arrivals, that same emotion displayed upon his features. “Sir. Miss.” A hat dip greeted both of the new arrivals too. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ll go see if I can lend a hand.” And without further ado he headed out the door.
“If you are a nurse,” said Frau Blauer to Samantha, “you could travel out on one of the wagons that will be going out to collect passengers.” Her tone was grudging, as if she doubted that a reputable nurse would be quite so fond of a casino.
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