"Franziska von Karma!" I winced as I listened to my name echo through the empty hallways. I wanted nothing more than to ignore my father's call, but I knew better than that. Fearing the worst, I hurried to his chamber, where I found him pacing and grumbling with my spelling test clenched in his fist.
"What is this?" he growled, pointing to the red grade on my paper.
I remained silent, my face deepening in color. I couldn't come up with anything to say that would even possibly calm him down.
"Answer me, child!" he barked, making me jump.
"A ninety-five percent?" I finally managed to squeak.
"At least that's one thing you've got right," he said disdainfully. "Why can't you be more like your sister, Cordula? She may have been imperfect, but her grades were always reflective of her lineage. Honestly, how do you forget an umlaut?"
"But Papa," I said, my voice beginning to waver, "A ninety-five is very good; it's almost one hundred. I'm new to first grade, because you had me skip kindergarten. I'm still learning."
"Only in first grade?" he roared. "A von Karma should be able to skip six grades and still be flawless in their precision!" My knees buckled out of fear, and tears began to collect at the corners of my eyes.
"You are more of a mistake than your sister or her mother!" he fumed. "You are a disgrace to the name von Karma! Get out of my sight!"
I didn't wait for him to finish his sentence; I bolted from the room as fast as I could and ran down the hall, not stopping until I reached my bedroom. I flung myself onto my bed and buried my face in my pillow.
For a few minutes, I just laid there, sobbing and wishing that Papa were kinder to me. Was I really a mistake? Was I not meant to be here? What about Mama?
I stopped for a moment at the thought of my mother. I hadn't seen her for over a year. She still loves me, I thought, even if Papa doesn't. A little voice inside me whispered, "If she really loves you, why are you here?" There had to be a reason; there just had to. I closed my eyes and remembered Mama, trying to find something to contradict the voice.
A little over a year ago, I came home from preschool feeling empty inside. Some of my peers had been talking about going on vacations with their families and how much fun they had. I had nothing to contribute; after all, I knew very little about my father, and my mother spent a lot of time with her adult friends who were mostly males.
I was curious about my father, so I asked Mama if she would tell me about him. I got very little out of the conversation; therefore I pressed her for more information.
"Mama," I asked, "How did you and Papa meet?"
"Not now, Franziska," she said, obviously not expecting my question. "I'm getting ready to go out with some friends."
Knowing full well what she meant, I replied, "Please, Mama? I don't think that Mr. Reinhard would mind waiting on his own a bit longer."
She sighed and poured herself a small glass of wine. "Alright, Franzy, I'll tell you." My eyes lit up, and I eagerly waited for her to begin.
"When I was a young girl, not much older than you, your father, Manfred von Karma, began going to the same school as I did. I fell in love with him the moment that I saw him, and I followed him around wherever I could. Unfortunately for me, it was only a matter of time until I discovered he had a crush on another one of my classmates, Christiane. For some reason, he chose to follow her around like a love struck puppy until the day we graduated from high school; it was sickening," she ended bitterly.
"But when was I born?" I inquired, still not satisfied.
"Many years after graduation, I met your father at a high school reunion party," continued Mama. "Even after so many years, I still loved him, so I was very excited to find out that he was now single. I approached him later that night, and I offered him a drink, which he graciously accepted. He and I went off on our own and made merry long into the night."
"Is that when I was born?" I asked inquisitively. Mama seemed taken aback that I had understood her sexual innuendo. She would have been even more surprised to know that I had figured out what happened that night. Even at such a young age, my peers had very interesting topics of conversation.
"Yes, Franzy," Mama replied after taking a sip from her glass. "And that's when you were born."
"Mama," I said, not finished gathering my information, "Do you still love Papa?"
"Of course I do," she laughed, finishing her beverage.
"Then why are you always with Mr. Reinhard and not him?"
"Oh come now, Franziska," she said, trying to hide her irritation behind a thin shroud of giddy laughter. "Your questions are going to make me late! I'll see you later tonight." With that, she grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
Later that night after I had already gone to bed, Mama's friend, Reinhard Nichtosten, brought her back home. I went to get a glass of water, but I stopped at the top of the stairs when I overheard their conversation.
"I love you, Veronika," Mr. Reinhard was saying. "I really do. But I can't have pieces of the past around to slow us down. You understand, right?"
"I can't just leave her Reinhard," said Mama. "She's only a child. Where would she go?"
"What about her father?"
Confused and scared, I retreated to my room and went back to sleep. I tried to convince myself that they couldn't have been talking about me, but deep down, I knew that they were.
For the next few weeks, my world just got stranger and stranger. There were times that I felt that Mama was ignoring me, and sometimes when she would talk to me, she refused to look me in the eye. I felt ashamed, but I didn't know why.
Then one day, Mama asked me if I wanted to go on a trip. It had seemed like such a long time since we spent time together, so I thought that this meant that life would soon be returning to the way it was. Mama told me to pack everything that I really wanted to take, including my favorite toys, skirts and bed sheets.
I asked her where we were going, but all she would tell me is that it was a surprise. I put all of my belongings in her car, and the trip began.
We visited many interesting places throughout southern Germany like the Black Forest and the Olympia Park. I was fascinated; I had no idea that the world was such a large and beautiful place. I thought for sure that my life was going back to normal.
After so much learning, fun and excitement, I was exhausted. I tried my best to stay awake, but the humming of the car's engine and its rhythmic clicks eventually put me to sleep. When I woke up, there was rain sliding down my skin and soaking into my hair and clothes. At first, I thought I had fallen asleep with the window down, but I soon realized that couldn't be farther from the truth. I was lying on my luggage on the front steps of a large, majestic house, alone in the rain. I was lost.
Before I could grasp what I was doing, I began to cry and bang on the front door, desperately hoping that whoever lived here would allow me to stay.
Above the sounds of my pounding and sobbing, I heard a voice. I couldn't make out what it was saying, but it didn't sound happy or welcoming. When the door opened, a well-built man with a stern stare, sleek white hair and ornate clothing that included a cravat came into view. He looked around as if searching for my adult supervisor and then looked at me. He scrutinized every aspect of my being from my hair color to my clothes to my luggage.
"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. "This is not the orphanage, you know."
I flushed in shame. "My name is Franziska Fehlerhaft."
His eyes widened in disbelief. "What did you say?"
"Franziska Fehlerhaft."
"It can't be…"
"May I please come in?" I asked meekly, straightening myself up. "It's very cold and wet out here."
"Of course," he said, more to himself than to me.
I began to gather my belongings and carry them to the door. As I made my way inside, I found that the house was not only regal on the outside but on the inside as well. I was so awestruck that I didn't notice the letter that fell out of my luggage. The man however, did.
He stooped down and picked it up, reading the front. The words had been smudged by the rain, but they were still legible. The man quickly laid my possessions down and closed the door. He walked speedily to a tiny desk and pulled out a letter opener. Wasting no time in opening the envelope, he ripped the top off and dropped the letter's shredded casing.
I picked it up, not understanding what he was getting so worked up about and read it. On it is written, "To Manfred."
I looked up at the man, whose name I assumed was Manfred; his eyes were quickly darting across the folded paper. He kept muttering to himself, "No. It's not possible." After reading the letter for probably the fifth time, he put his head in his hands and sighed.
"Are you okay, sir?" I asked, not wanting my host to be uncomfortable.
"Come here, child," he said quietly. I obeyed.
He raised his head and looked at me again, unsure of what to do next. "Is your mother really Veronika Fehlerhaft?"
"Yes, sir."
He held out the letter. "Is this her penmanship?"
I nodded. "Yes, sir."
He crumpled the note in his hand. "Then the rumors are true. I am a father." His voice became more and more distant as he spoke. I still didn't completely understand how this all pertained to me.
"You, girl." He paused. "You, Franziska, are my daughter, my flesh and blood. You are no longer a Fehlerhaft but a von Karma."
"Papa?" I asked, my heart leaping for joy. I threw my arms around his neck and embraced him, waiting for him to do the same. The closest he got to doing so was placing a hand on my shoulder.
"I suppose," he began, taking a deep breath, "I ought to show you to your room now."
"Oh, thank you, Papa!" I cried, giving him another quick squeeze before gathering my possessions.
Papa then led me up the stairs into a long hallway. Every so often, he would pause at a door, look in and mutter to himself, "No, not here. Definitely not." Eventually, he stopped at an especially old-looking doorway. "This will be your new room," he said as if he had just made a very difficult decision. "I will be back later to remove my old files." And with that, he left me.
I stared in awe of the dusty room. It looked as though it hadn't seen light for years. I carefully sat my stuff down next to a pile of yellowed papers before continuing my exploration of the room. I soon found out that every part of the room was, in essence, the same: dark and all together, uninviting. But it really didn't matter; I was going to perk it up as soon as Papa retrieved his papers. I heard a phone ring.
I found my way back to the stairs and descended to the main floor to collect the rest of my luggage. As I passed what appeared to be the kitchen, my arms full of bags, I heard Papa talking on the phone.
"I don't want to be a father! It was not my choice!" He listened to the person at the other end. "No, you fool! You drugged me! I made the mistake of loving once, and I will never do it again! Emotions are empty, worthless things, all of them! Especially love!" he spat. More listening. "But she reminds me of you, that night, everything! To the Devil with your morals; I will keep her, but only for my own reasons. One more syllable about right and wrong, and I'll be seeing you in court! Good day!" he growled, slamming the phone.
I was terrified, and I ran back to my room as fast as I could, slamming the door behind me. I prayed that Papa would be nicer to me than he was to that person on the phone.
I got some dust in my nose and sneezed, sending a few papers into the air. I picked them up, but before I put them back, a newspaper clipping that now sat atop the stack caught my attention. It read: Manfred von Karma, Perfect Prosecutor. Little did I know to what extent that statement would govern my life.
I returned to reality, where I was laying on my bed holding a tear-stained pillow. I didn't want to think of Mama anymore; it hurt too much.
Instead, I thought about what Papa had told me a few days earlier. He had some business to take care of in the United States, and he would be gone for a week or so. There was a man, Gregory Edgeworth, that Papa was determined to defeat in court.