Without involving my cousin, obtaining official documents could be tricky. The covert process meant using disreputable sources who would be happy to collect added fees for reporting to those who paid well for information. I would procure my identification documents legitimately. Claiming the loss of my current one would do the trick. Officials also played the information game, dealing in documents for money. They rarely wanted to risk their position within the government though. My father took more convincing. He was every bit as concerned for Frieda as we were. However, lying meant asking him to violate his honor. The call ended with a promise to get back to me later that night.
Set up in the study, we spent the day planning, fine-tuning, and reciting plans. The day sped by, and in the late afternoon, a telegram arrived. Wilhelm Dorn, the senior member of our group, if you could call thirty-eight senior, wired with information from Munich. Wilhelm’s message used an old code, one we had invented in school. Karl would not arrive in Munich until later that night, though, so we were confident the change was not due to the current situation at our end. It took Franz and me both working on it to decipher the message. We were more than rusty. Even more disturbing was that he needed to change codes with no warning. A reason which was hinted at in the message.
Confirmed German dinner in Austria STOP Anticipate mandatory attendance STOP Host plans late winter or early spring STOP May need exterminator here will confirm STOP
Was our translation correct? Did we have the dreaded date, confirmation of a late winter or early spring putsch? They had been able to spend the last four years planning and learning from their previous failed attempt, and failure was not an option this time. I sat staring at Franz, thinking about the "may need exterminator" in the telegram. A source or someone similarly resolved to stop the Nazi party is compromised. Franz volunteered, "I'll be packed and on the evening train."
"No, if Wilhelm needed us, the message would have at least implied it. Stay the course, we will get word to the Chancellor," I said.
Franz was already up and headed for the door, saying, "Allow me, please extend my regards to your father," and exited towards the Chancellory.
Father, yes, he should be ringing any time. What time was it? 7:00 pm. Already? So much had to be taken care of. I finished the last items and began to gather everything up. I thought I may as well get everything packed while I had time. Experience dictated that once the plan was implemented, it would gain momentum quickly.
As if on cue, the phone rang. Gräf Von Rieser, aka Father, inquired about Frieda leaving at once for Innsbruck. He also asked if I might come when convenient. I assured him I would prioritize the trip. As soon as my new identification documents were in order. I went over to the cupboard, brought out the Marillenschnaps, poured a heavy splash into a glass, and swallowed it. Taking an aperitif glass from the cupboard, I filled it halfway and set it on the drum table between the two wing chairs in front of the fireplace. Strategically, I placed the bottle beside it, rang the bell for Frieda, stoked the fire, and sat down.
Minutes later, Frieda swept into the room, prepared to cater to whatever need prompted the bell and presenting options. "Mein Herr, do you wish supper? There is a lovely roast just moments away from finishing. Something a bit lighter?"
I gathered myself, Thespian trained concern flushing my face and began my rehearsed drama.
"Please, Frieda, come sit with me." She looked at me with dismay. Before she could launch into an extensive list of questions, I continued, "Frieda, take a sip of the marillenschnaps, yes, just a bit, there we go. Frieda, Gräf Von Rieser has rung from Innsbruck. It seems your dear mother has taken ill." Instantly, her eyes began to water, her free hand clutching her throat. "There, there, Frieda, we must be strong. I believe she will recover, but you are requested to care for her and take on her duties until she can resume them."
Frieda gulped the schnapps and covered her mouth momentarily. The bottle was already in my hand, pouring a more generous portion. While she was still speechless, I added the rest of the details.
"Of course, we will have you on the first train home in the morning. It still runs at half of 8. You'll need to pack for an indefinite trip, so gather all your belongings now." She shook her head in agreement, cataloging what she needed to pack. Sipping from the glass at every finished thought.
Suddenly she set the glass down, stood up, and headed for the door. Turning as an afterthought, she came across the room and grasped my hands.
"Thank you, Mein Herr, you are so kind and generous to release me from my obligations; thank you. I will need to go and pack now." She released my hands, with moist eyes, turned, and left, saying, "I will bring your coffee in the morning before leaving."
I am a complete villain. If it saves her life, though, am I truly?
Franz arrived around nine o’clock, and I had just set out a plate of crackers, cheese, and canned oysters. A treat I had developed a taste for only the previous year. He gratefully devoured my supper and left me wondering what else I could scrape up. Of course, there was the roast. I chuckled to myself. Frieda had forgotten it in her grief. While packing up the study, I caught the whiff of overdone something; going to check, I remembered at once. Too late for the poor chunk of what used to be meat. Well, honestly, I do not know what it was. It was too far gone to tell at this point. I set the pan out back for the strays to pick through.
Although shrouded in code and innuendo, his meeting with the Chancellor had seemed to go about as well as it could. Indeed, the news held no surprise, only a timeline. As winter was almost upon us, decisions would need to be made. We were only acting as support staff in that arena, though. The choices rested on his shoulders. However, other areas required execution, and there was where our focus fell. I relayed the story of how our deception with Frieda had gone and the plans for early in the morning. I had a departure date for the day after tomorrow for our trip, pending my credentials. The temptation to leave on the train tomorrow crept in, but Franz, being the voice of reason, assured me Frieda would be fine, and we were better for having our means of transportation. Part of me thought he just wanted his chance behind the wheel again. He was correct, though. We were at a disadvantage relying on the train.
Sleep found me early, and I awoke long before anyone else. Time for a bath; it was heaven laying in hot water. The tub on the second floor was nearly 6’ long, allowing you to stretch out and relax. A meditative state slowly began to creep in. Sliding down in the tub, I let my mind drift. Slipping away, floating, I saw a face in my mind’s eye before me, blond hair, blue eyes, laughing, menacing. Startled, I sat up; my head must have slid under the water. The vision went faster than it had come. I shook it off, washed my hair, and reluctantly got out.
I wiped the mirror with my towel looking at my reflection. Overall, I seemed a handsome fellow, I thought. The thick black hair was my father’s, but the ice-blue eyes were my mother's. I was tall, 6’2” last time I was measured, with a strong jawline, which I was in the middle of scraping a razor across as I heard Frieda stirring upstairs. My skin was dark, but not Mediterranean dark, just dark enough. Black Dutch, my mother had told me, true Germanic tribesman. Mother had pale blond hair and skin like fine porcelain. She was not petite; her height must be close to 5’8”, but she was lithe. No, my skin was my father's, like my head full of hair.
Frieda was moving things around. I dressed and made my way upstairs. We had everything down to the auto in 10 minutes. Frieda was pouring coffee as Franz made his way into the kitchen.
"Thanks for leaving me a bit of hot water," Franz joked. He approached Frieda, took her hand, and bowed, "At your service, my dear Frieda." She burst into tears and ran to the lavatory. Franz looked at me in horror and said, "Exactly what did you say again?" I waved him off, got up, and went to speak to the lavatory door.
"Frieda, I told you Father says she will be just fine, please wash your face, and we'll get you to the train station." Water turned on, a nose was blown, and a properly straightened Frieda appeared.
Franz went over everything again on the way to the station.
"You will have Gräf Alexanders credentials. Should anyone inquire, he is your husband, and you are headed home to see your mother." Frieda nodded acknowledgment while Franz continued, "Do not volunteer anything. You were married Yule 1934. I know we go over this every time, dear Frieda, but we want to be sure you are safe."
Frieda sat up straight and tall, saying, "Thank you both for your kindness. I will be careful and do everything you have said."
We bought her tickets, brought her luggage, and placed her on the train. I made a big show of her being my beloved wife. She could not help but giggle and blush. Once she was seated, I found the ticket inspector and tipped him generously to ensure my wife had everything she wished. With a flourish of adoration, I left her seated comfortably in her private compartment. On his word of honor, the ticket inspector said no one would be allowed to occupy it with her. Then we posted up with me waving from the platform until the train was out of sight.
When we returned to the automobile, the teasing began at once. Franz was on a roll.
"No, I think Frieda would make you a wonderful wife, Alexsander. On the return to the apartments, I propose we stop and choose a suitable engagement present. I will be your best man; it can be a whirlwind wedding. Of course, I will still expect breakfast and coffee after you are married. However, it will be fine if you need to serve it while she refreshes herself."
The teasing continued off and on most of the day, of course. My credentials arrived by messenger not long after we arrived at the apartments. With everything in order, we spent the afternoon loading up and then going through and checking for strange trivial things, like no notepads left around for someone to scribble the hidden messages out of.
We had been invited to dine at the prince’s that evening. However, we declined the invitation. We needed to keep him in play, but neither of us had the energy for that cat-and-mouse game tonight. We sent our regrets, truthfully telling of our need to arrive at another engagement in Tyrol the following evening. If we were being watched, they would already know of the invitation to the Chancellor for the celebration in Mayrhofen. There was no need to be covert regarding the destination. Of course, I obliged Franz or myself to the prince, stating his person as our utmost priority upon return to Vienna. Frieda had left us a meal in the ice box with a note of thanks. A message we also burned in the fireplace before leaving. We retired early for a good night's sleep, arose early, broke our fast, and set off home to Tyrol.
"Would you just call me Jim?" I asked Franz, although it was more of a statement than a question.
He shot me a stabbing look, replying with the standard answer, "Yes, just as soon as you stop calling me Fritzy, Sandy." Parting shot received and logged.
It was hopeless, we were on our way to Mayrhofen in the automobile, and I had not drawn the straw to drive this half. Settling back in my seat, I let my mind wander where it wanted. The scenery zipped by while Fritzy hummed some unrecognizable tune.
Jim is much easier when your proper Austrian name is Gräf Alexsander Jakob Wallner Von Rieser. Fritzy was less than a fan of the nickname, but it worked well, especially in our current game of intrigue. If strict formality is adhered to, the entire thing becomes unnecessary, as only titles and surnames would be significant.
The story of the nickname is a brilliant anecdote, boring dinner parties spring to mind. Our tale begins with a year abroad at Cambridge University. My initial entrance to the procured student accommodations brought me into a large hall. A group of fellow students seemed engaged in a somewhat lively debate. Upon seeing me in full formal dress, they turned like a wave in the ocean. The Earl, as I would come to call him, inquired, "Just who might you be, sir?"
"Gräf Alexsander Jakob Wallner Von Rieser of Tyrol, Austria, at your service," I stated formally with a click of the heels and a grand bow. I approached the situation as a gentleman would and a soldier should, with a full appreciation for the implications of being here with the war just over. I expected a certain amount of agitation, if not outright hostility.
However, all I heard was, "Jim," he said it with authority, and everyone laughed. It was certainly not the welcome I had expected. To this day, I feel the gratitude of those first moments when The Earl made a point of accepting me as one of their own by naming me in a very English way. Everyone came by to shake my hand, laughing and clapping me on the back, saying "Jim" with their greetings. From that day forward, it was "Jim." When I later inquired of The Earl why he had chosen “Jim,” he explained that in English, the German name Jakob translated to James, hence Jim. It was also close to the total of German he had remembered. He also recalled a few colorful expressions, which he generously vocalized, along with some numbers. Sechs, if memory serves, was a particular favorite. The name grew on me throughout my time there but met neither my parents’ nor Franz's approval. Adding to my parents’ displeasure, my educational experience became less about academia and more about philosophy. Let us just say different countries' educational establishments focus on various aspects of learning. Each has merits and minuses. My knowledge broadened from the time spent there, end of subject.
I looked at Franz, perfectly at peace, zipping down the road toward home. We may as well have been twins. Our mothers are sisters and remarkably close in age, also best friends. It would be the same for us. Gräf Franz Joseph Stephen Von Grünne, or Fritzy, as I preferred to call him, called me Sandy. Alexander is a mouthful when you are learning to form words. Sander was the best he could do and slowly became Sandy. My elder brother Otto died of a fever a year before preparatory school. After we lost Otto, Fritzy and I made a pact that we would never leave each other. Although the reality of that statement changed, we strived to be there no matter the circumstances. War, school, love, and service interfered, but we always made it work.
Preparatory school1 meant Stella Matutina in Feldkirch, Austria, for me. His father, a second cousin to both his mother and mine, enrolled him in Kalksburg College, Vienna. Gräf Von Grünne was the most recent to attend of an extensive line of Grünnes. Naturally, he expected his heir to follow their ancestors in the same glorious manner.
At the risk of both our fathers' wrath, we began planning a grand mutiny, complete with a voyage to the markets of Morocco. There we would buy camels, making our way to Aladdin’s cave. Once we had acquired enough treasure, we would travel the world. We were coming back to our parents only after they displayed significant remorse and offered profuse apologies for trying to break our bond of brotherhood.
To my knowledge, our planned mutiny remains a secret to this day. Before we could act upon a single plan, it was announced we would be attending Stella Matutina together. We both suspected intervention from our mothers. However, there was no proof. Looking back from that passenger seat, I felt a longing for those glorious days. In Stella Matutina, we would establish a group of friends to carry us through things we could not have fathomed then.
"Hey, Fritzy, remember the winter Leopold talked you into borrowing all the robes from the laundry and hiding them in the hothouses? Brother Joseph was not feeling the compassion of Christ that week." Laughter filled the car.
"Poor Leo, we were certain he was going to break. No matter what Brother Joseph tried, he wouldn't give me up." Fritzy fell silent.
I added, "No, he never broke."
Our thoughts fell to the war. Leopold was captured and kept confined in a prisoner-of-war camp. They found him in his cage one morning, all his blankets and clothes stripped away and piled in a corner, frozen. He never broke.
"He was the lankiest guy, not a scrap of meat on him. No one could touch him playing football. I have never seen anything like it before or since," Fritzy said.
"Catching you wasn't exactly a stroll down the lane. That is why you both were consistently in opposition. The two toughest players pitted against each other," I said. Fritzy nodded in agreement.
We faded back into our thoughts as the miles rolled by. The best of us were lost to the war. At least, it seems like that is the way of it. A few were married with families. Others, like the four of us, devoted themselves to other things. I looked over at Fritzy. He should be married with a pack of children running around. "Let's stop and stretch," I said. He gave me a strange look. A few more miles down the road, he pulled into an area with a trail next to a field. The sky was beautiful, the temperature a little too chilly without a coat and hat. I set a good pace down the trail and felt ready for another round as a passenger within 10 minutes.