Before There Were Germans
Summary: An arranged marriage, an affair, an illegitimate child, and an establishment of a country. [Re-Write]
Chapter 1.
"Miss Johanna, you must choose a wedding day." Lydia insists that I must experience the joys of planning a wedding – although it's forced – because it's only right. "It must be in June; I dream of having a wedding in June. Oh, sorry, Miss, I shan't speak out of line; it's your wedding after all."
"I don't want to get married, Lydia. Plan whatever will please father." I stare out the window over the courtyard.
"He and your mother insist that you must plan it. I have found which days you would not like to get married: the fifth, the twelfth, the nineteenth, and the twenty-sixth days of the month. You know how they are about marriages on the Sabbath Day. Miss Johanna, I know you do not enjoy this idea of this marriage, but you must get the utmost joy out of it at least. You get to marry young and avoid ridicule."
"But I don't want to marry him," I blatantly remind her.
"Why not? He's a statesman and much less likely to die in a war." The maid frets about my dreams; she is more of a mother than my own. "You cannot mingle with the soldiers, Miss."
"They're the ones who deserve honor..." I grumble.
"So June?" She changes the subject back.
"Whatever will make father happy."
"What day?"
"Which ever one you suggest." I watch the men walk across the courtyard. A familiar shock of white hair walks steadily towards the house's front doors. I don't know his name, but I've seen him come and go, probably discussing military affairs because I swear his uniform is a general's. "What about the eighth?"
"What a perfect day, Miss! A Wednesday, this will make your parents proud." The middle-aged maid glows with pride. "I ought to tell your mother and remind Anita to start the fitting for your dress." She rushes outside of my room, leaving the large wooden doors open. I am left in my own thoughts for a short while until I hear footsteps approaching my room. I stand in preparation to put on my facade for my mother. My hands flatten my dress over my skin. It's late spring, so dresses are almost at their thinnest yet still restricting. My eyes fall upon a well polished boot on the floor and travel up to meet with exotic red eyes.
"Hello," I whisper on the edge of audibility as I curtsey politely, ducking my head to avoid this man's unusual gaze. He places his hand over his heart and gives a slight bow.
"Sorry for the intrusion, Miss, I am looking for your father." His eyes are callous from all the things he has seen.
"All is well," I smile kindly. "My father is on the other end of the house. One of the maids can help you." I hold my arm out to point him in the correct direction.
"Ah, thank you." He smiles.
"The pleasure's all mine." I watch him turn sharply and make his way towards my father's wing.
–i–
I envy Anita's skills with needlework. Her hands can create beauty beyond that of Paris' famed Worth. I remember when she tried to teach me needlework, but I don't remember as much as I should. Perhaps that's why I worry about this marriage. Will I be able to bring Lydia and Anita with me? They have been there for me my entire life, raised me from an infant. Lydia and Anita exchange hushed words. Anita then frees me from my silken confines and allows me to go. I wander around the hallways, waiting for someone to call my attention. Perhaps Adala is back from Austria and can play piano with me. I stare at the paintings that I have taken for granted, the paintings that I will grow to miss when I become someone else's property.
"A fine piece of work if I do say so myself." A voice interjects behind me, breaking my secure silence.
"Really? I can't say I've ever truly appreciated it..." I admit sheepishly. The owner of the voice walks forward. "Oh, it's you."
"My name's Gilbert by the way, Gilbert Weillschmidt." He smiles, placing his hand over his heart and bowing slightly.
"Oh, well, hello, Mr. Weillschmidt."
"I seem to keep running into you, or so it seems."
"Yes, are you doing something around this area?" I try to hide my interest.
"Something like that, your father has offered me board until I can return home."
"What's keeping you from there?" My interest shines through.
"My wife passed a few days ago, and I can't seem to return home yet." He responds meekly, never hinting at a frown.
"I'm sorry to hear about that..." I cannot face him, for I could never imagine how that feels.
"All I can do is move on...It's funny how many battles I've lived through, and I couldn't even protect her."
"Johanna! What are you doing here?!" Mother demands from down the hallway. My head snaps to meet hers, and my eyes widen in surprise. "Have you no customs?! You mustn't talk with men alone."
"Sorry, mother," I avert my eyes to the ground.
"Oh, Madam Schultheiss, you needn't yell at Miss Johanna; I dishonorably distracted her from going to her destination because I wanted the details about this fine piece of art." Mr. Weillschmidt interjects in my defense.
"There's no need to excuse my daughter; she's very poor on etiquette and sense of time." Mother is quite harsh.
"It truly was my fault, Madam." He repeats his bowing motion. He truly is a man of honor.
–i–
Adala sits on the piano bench; fingers pressing keys and creating mellifluous tunes. She is my older sister and wife to another statesman. She's beautiful and refined. She pats the bench beside her without looking at me. I take my seat next to her and begin to transpose and play her tune on a higher octave, attempting to achieve a harmonious song. She stops and stares at the wall.
"Adala, what's wrong?" I stop as well, awaiting her response.
"I'm unhappy, Johanna, and it seems that mother is doing to same thing to you." She admits.
"You needn't worry about me, Adala. I'm perfectly fine with all of this; besides mother says that I cannot wait too long before I marry."
"Johanna, I know you had another man who you loved more than this stranger." She runs her fingers over the keys. "What was his name? Axel? Leon?"
"Kiefer, he got in trouble with father."
"What about that general that's been wandering these halls lately? He ought to be better than a fifty-five year old man."
"Adala, don't talk about him like that."
"The general is younger; he's about thirty-five."
"Adala, please."
"Fine, don't come to me complaining about how unhappy you are." She hisses as she begins to play piano again. I quietly join her.
A/N: I just thought I should actually re-write this after a year of a hiatus, and I hope that this time around I can maintain time period accuracy. Please review or submit constructive criticism.
~FromPrussiaWithLove.