That fall, Chris found Ernst Drechsler where he expected. “Ernst wanders off sometimes, and I don’t know where he goes, but he always comes back,” his wife had told Chris that morning when he went around to call for the first time since he’d been back in Texas. “I can’t tell you how long he’ll be gone, or I’d have you come in and wait. Would you like to come in anyway, Christoph? I have some brownies in the oven just about ready to come out.”
“Another day, Mrs. Drechsler, when I have more time,” Chris said. “Right now I’d just like to say hello to your husband before I drive back to Austin. I think I know where to find him.”
Mrs. Drechsler, like everybody else in town, just wanted to pump Chris about where he’d been, what he’d been doing the past two years without once showing his face in New Braunfels or contacting his parents. The Brandts’ explanation that he was off on some secret mission for the State Department was generally believed and accepted, but now that Chris was back home, confirmation of his activities would have been appreciated. It had not been forthcoming, so he was somewhat of a mystery man around town.
His homecoming had been less than what Chris had expected. His mother resented his “abandonment” of them bitterly, and his father, to appease his wife, took her side. Were telephone calls or letters too much for parents to ask of the son and only child they had nurtured and raised? It would have been one thing if he’d been over there in the line of fire, but whatever his job was for the State Department did not preclude him from contacting his family from time to time to save them the agony of worry. The misery that he had put them through for two years could hardly be forgiven.
Chris had been hurt and disappointed, the reason that he had moved quickly back to Austin and enrolled in the University of Texas to pursue his doctorate in education. He had the money for it without having to work, since two years’ worth of uncollected wages were waiting for him in his bank account when he was discharged from the OSS. His parents had not approved of that decision, either. In the German manual of child rearing, deviation from parents’ expectations was seen as a betrayal that carried a lasting sting, and things would never be right between them again. Chris couldn’t help but compare them to Ernst Drechsler and his wife, who would have accepted Dirk back no matter under what black cloud.
Up until now, Chris had avoided the Drechslers, but he’d been back for more than three months, and it was time to make contact. He was worried about Mr. Drechsler. “Not the same since Dirk left” was the common comment Chris heard when he asked about him, and Chris’s conscience prodded him to seek him out before he left New Braunfels with no plans to return anytime soon.
As Chris had expected, he found the older man fishing from his folding chair on the site of the Guadalupe River where Chris had spent most of his summer days with him and Dirk while he was growing up. His old fisherman’s hat with its fly trophies pinned around the crown made him easy to spot. His fishing line hung limply in the water, and he was staring off into space as if the rod in his hand had been forgotten. Chris approached him quietly to avoid startling him.
“Mr. Drechsler?” he said softly.
“Ah, is that you, Christoph?” Ernst asked without looking around.
“Yes sir. Mind if I sit with you?”
“Be a pleasure,” he said and reached into his pocket. “There’s an extra chair in the car trunk,” he said, handing a key over his shoulder. Chris took it and said he wouldn’t be a minute. At the car parked under the same trees as always, he paused at taking out the extra foldup chair. For Dirk? he wondered.
“Not much action today,” the older man said when Chris joined him.
“I can see that,” Chris said. “How have you been getting on, Mr. Drechsler?”
“Oh, about the same as always since Dirk has been gone. Just waiting for the war to be over and my boy to come home. I imagine he’s ready now and has been for a long time. I’m sure he’s realized he made a mistake, but we’ll just put it behind us and go on like nothing ever happened. We’ll be moving once he’s home and that will help.”
“Oh? Where to?” Chris asked, his heart holding.
“We visited Oregon a while back, my wife and I, and we really like it. It reminded us of Germany—lots of forests and mountains and lakes, pretty farms. Good fishing there. A change of scene where nobody knows us will do us all good.”
“Have you…done anything about it? Bought some property there?” Chris asked.
“No. We’ll have to see what Dirk thinks about it.”
“That’s good,” Chris said. “Very wise.”
“I think so.” Ernst cast the line farther upstream. “Of course, if he doesn’t come home, we’ll stay here where the memories are…where you are, Christoph.”
Chris swallowed down the balloon of emotion in his throat. Dirk was never coming home. That had been verified by Lodestar, but Chris would never—could never—reveal that reality to Dirk’s mother and father. It was one of the many wounds of war he’d have to live with—the conflict between destroying a father and mother’s hope for their son’s return or preserving their faith that someday he would walk through the door.
“Tell you what, Mr. Drechsler,” he said. “Let’s you and me set a time to meet on the first Saturday of every month at this exact spot to do a little fishing during the season. What do you say?”
“I would say that would be most generous of your time, Christoph. I’d like that very much.”
“All right then, it’s a deal.” They shook hands. “Now let’s get you home. There’s nothing biting today, and your wife told me she’s got brownies coming out of the oven.”
“No fish biting today, but there’s always a chance they’ll run tomorrow, right, Christoph?”
“Right, Mr. Drechsler.”