To those of you that are reading:
As always, I'm so happy that you're here, and I can't wait to keep telling this story for you guys!
I'm still forming it in my mind in terms of plot/length, so advice would be much appreciated ... as well as ideas!
Are there things you guys want me to write? Things you're especially curious about in terms of Richtofen's childhood, etc.? Let me know!
WickedIntentions: I'm SO looking forward to your commentary as I continue this story. You're such an inspiration! C: Hearing such high praise from you really means a lot, and as always, I hope I can continue to live up to expectations. *kisses* It's been super enjoyable to think about Richtofen as a kid; how did his mind work when it was at its (arguably) "purest" state? So I'm examining that as well as what happens to twist him… slowly. As far as the sequence: I'm still working that out. XD I suppose we'll see where it goes … I'm sure you'll encourage me along the way! :3 Thank you as always, my dearest.
M3D1C101: YOUR EXCITEMENT … IT IS SO DELICIOUS!
For reference: In my headcanon, Edward was born in 1907, so in this chapter, the year is 1913 (aka right before the start of WWI).
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We get a glimpse of Edward's family life.
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The Calm Before the Storm
Die Ruhe vor dem Sturm
CHAPTER TWO
Resentment
Groll
Edward ran home, eager to tell his mother everything.
He could smell his favorite dinner wafting through the open windows: Schnitzel and asparagus, and plum cake in the oven. Maybe his mother had made her delicious pea-and-potato casserole, too. He bounded through the kitchen door, almost trampling Minna.
"Edward," scolded Therese, frowning down at him. "Be careful."
"Mama," he gasped. "I've just learned so many things!"
Therese dampened her apron with some water, kneeling down next to her son. She wiped off his face and neck, glancing down at his fists. "What is this you have all over your hands?" she asked, grabbing them and spreading out his fingers.
It was the butterfly dust. He shook his head. "I was looking at a butterfly," he said dismissively. That wasn't the important part. The important part was Clara.
Therese sighed heavily. "Edward," she said firmly, scowling. "I told you not to hurt animals anymore."
"I didn't mean to," he whined. "I wanted to look and it wouldn't stay still."
She shook her head, wiping off his hands. "I need you to wash up before your father gets in," she muttered. "I can't have him seeing you like this."
Edward groaned. "Mama, let me tell you the important thing," he grumbled.
"And what's that?" she asked distractedly, twisting her apron between his fingers.
"I met a girl," he said, his voice reverent.
His mother raised her eyebrows, interested. "I see," she said, openly pleased at the respect in his voice. "And what was she like?"
"Wonderful," Edward murmured. "Like a princess."
Therese looked into her son's face, daring to hope. "It sounds like you got along with her," she said softly.
He nodded. "We're friends," he announced proudly.
His mother looked relieved. "Very good, Edward. I'm proud of you," she murmured, smiling. She stroked his cheek. "What's this girl's name?"
He spoke it like a prayer. "Clara."
"Clara?" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Siegmund Blumenthal's daughter?"
Edward shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled. Just Clara was good enough for him.
At that moment, Wilhelm Richtofen loomed in through the kitchen door.
Tall and imposing, the patriarch of the family was a broad-shouldered, handsome man with dark bronze hair and fierce blue eyes. The air seemed colder as he walked into the room, looking down at them all from his high, fine cheekbones. Therese stumbled quickly to her feet, brushing past Edward to take her husband's jacket.
"Dinner smells fine tonight, Therese," murmured Wilhelm, his voice low and booming. Edward shivered at the sound of it, retreating to a corner of the room as his father shrugged his heavy coat into Therese's willing arms. She hung it on a rack by the door.
"I've made the potato casserole you love," she said submissively, bustling back over to the oven. "And plum cake for dessert."
Herr Richtofen was silent as he crossed over to his chair, sitting down with a sigh. He glanced at Minna. She was playing with a doll in the middle of the floor. He frowned. "What is my daughter doing on the kitchen floor?" he asked, his eyes glinting with anger. He glared at his wife. "It is a dangerous place for a child."
Downcast, Therese rushed over to scoop up the toddler, carrying her across to the parlor.
"And Edward," Wilhelm grumbled. "Where is Edward?"
The boy in question inched out from the corner, keeping his eyes on the floor.
His father grunted. "Come here," he ordered.
Edward shuddered, stepping closer.
"Look at this filth," growled Wilhelm, grabbing his son by the front of his shirt. Edward gasped as his father tugged him close, pushing down his head to examine the back of his neck. His eyes flashed. "Therese," he thundered. "Did I not tell you to have him wash up before coming to dinner?"
Her voice was timid. "You came in the door just as I-"
"I believe he should be punished for this," Wilhelm interrupted, and Edward whimpered.
"No Papa, please," he begged. "I can wash up now."
"Don't punish him," added Therese, desperate. "I told him to go outside and play."
Wilhelm turned his anger on her, narrowing his eyes. "And why would you do that?"
She wrung her hands. "I thought it would be good for him to get some fresh air," she murmured, keeping her voice smooth and calm. "He was in one of his inquisitive moods, so I told him to go study the pretty flowers."
"Inquisitive moods," scoffed Wilhelm. "Isn't he always in an inquisitive mood?"
"I suppose so," Therese said quietly. "But that means he will do very well in school." Her eyes gleamed with hope. "Perhaps even well enough to go to preparatory."
Wilhelm grunted, releasing his son. "Go wash," he commanded, and Edward scurried off. Then Wilhelm turned to his wife, his eyes cold and dangerous. "Therese," he growled. "You know very well I plan for him to apprentice at the shop." His voice was low and threatening. "Don't go giving him ideas. He has enough of those already."
Silently, Therese set the table. She brought out the schnitzel and asparagus, setting it next to the casserole. Then she placed a tray of cured meats and cheese in front of her husband, who tucked his napkin into his collar and immediately began to eat.
When Edward returned, Therese was preparing him a child-sized portion of food. He came to sit next to her at the table. Her eyes were warm as she handed him his plate, kissing his forehead. "You look so clean and handsome," she said, smiling and ruffling his hair. He blushed with pleasure. Then Therese walked over to the parlor to fetch Minna.
She brought her back to the table to sit in her lap, where she could feed her little bits from her plate.
Herr Richtofen made a noise of pleasure. "This schnitzel is fantastic," he said approvingly.
Therese basked in the rare compliment.
"Thank you, darling," she murmured, giving him her loveliest smile. It was stunning. In an instant, her careworn face was transformed, and a beautiful young woman shone through. It was the maiden Therese; the pretty, carefree woman she'd been before the trials of her marriage.
Wilhelm looked at her for a moment. Something akin to admiration flashed across his face. But it was gone in a moment, replaced by stoniness.
"Mama," Edward whispered, leaning close to her. "Will you cut my asparagus?"
She grinned, reaching over with her knife. "Of course my angel," she whispered back.
"Any son of mine should say please and thank you," Wilhelm grumbled, missing nothing.
Edward glanced at him in terror. "Please?" he added, his voice small.
Hiding her face from her husband, Therese gave him a comforting look, continuing to cut his food.
"Thought there was going to be a disaster at the shop today," Herr Richtofen announced, moving along.
"Oh?" Therese asked politely, glancing at him. Her brows bunched together. "Hopefully nothing violent."
He chuckled. "No, nothing quite so exciting," he muttered, as though he was disappointed. "Herr Fassbinder never delivered his beef for the slaughter. Delayed it. Again." Wilhelm shook his head. "That's the last time I'm ordering from him. His meat may be top, but he's unreliable."
Graciously, Therese made a worried expression. "How did the shop fare without fresh beef?"
"Luckily, Herr Blumenthal came to my rescue," he murmured. "Happened to be in town just after I got Fassbinder's telegram. Siegmund saw I was in a state, asked if he could help, and found a cattle trader he knew. Within the hour, he'd cut me a fantastic deal. And so quickly." He looked amazed at this concept, raising his fine dark eyebrows. "Who would've thought."
"The Blumenthals are a lovely family," provided Therese. "You're always admiring Fritz and Imre."
Wilhelm grunted. "They are fine boys," he conceded.
"Then why do you sound so surprised at his good deed?" she asked sweetly, gently curious. "Siegmund is a fine man."
"He's a Jew," Wilhelm muttered. "Fine man or not."
"Oh, darling," Therese said, a hint of anger breaking through her careful facade. "I've known Siegmund since I was a girl. He's from a very respectable family."
"Some of the most 'respectable' Jewish families still turn out to be usurers and cheats," Wilhelm growled. "In my years as a butcher, even as an apprentice under my father, I've met some of the lowest scum on earth. Most of them Jews, cutting false loans and never making good on their promises." He gave an angry sigh, rubbing his temples.
Therese worked hard to keep calm. She wanted to lecture him on judgment, especially since her children were present. But by now, she knew better. "My Wil," she murmured instead, using the affectionate name from their courtship, "Surely you won't let those experiences taint your knowledge of Herr Blumenthal. We've been neighbors for the whole of our marriage."
Wilhelm was quiet, considering. "Siegmund came through for me today," he admitted. "That is true. And as long as I live, I will never forget it. But his good deed cannot make me forget the deeds of his kin."
"Well," said Therese, accepting her small victory. "Siegmund is a fine man, and I'm glad he came through for you. It doesn't surprise me at all."
He grunted. "Edward," he snapped. The boy jumped. "Sit up straight when you are at the table."
Edward stretched up his long little body, trembling.
"You scare him when you snap at him like that," murmured Therese. "He does better with gentle urging."
Wlihelm glared at his wife. "Do not undermine me, Therese," he growled.
She was quiet.
Everyone ate in silence for a while, until Wilhelm spoke again.
"I've always wondered why Frieda Engel married Siegmund," he murmured, thoughtful.
"She fell in love," Therese said softly, looking at her husband with sad eyes. "That's why people marry."
Wilhelm didn't notice. He was lost in thought. "Remember how beautiful she was?" he said, rubbing his chin. "With black hair and black eyes. One of the most beautiful girls in town." He looked at Therese for a moment. "You were, too," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Of course I remember," said Therese, trying not to look annoyed. Before courting Therese, he'd chased Frieda for ages. It was common knowledge.
He chuckled. "The two of you were thick as thieves, teasing us all."
Therese sighed. She'd never say it out loud, least of all to her husband; but she'd always been jealous of Frieda. Admiring, and jealous. And every time he spoke of her was a blow to her soul. "Siegmund is a good match for her," she muttered. "Calm and gentle. She needed someone to calm her."
Wilhelm gave her an odd look. "I thought Siegmund may have had an eye for you at one time," he murmured.
"He did," she acknowledged, blushing.
She saw a wave of jealousy cross his face, and it made her heart soar. "You both were too beautiful for him," he growled. "Still are. He's a lucky man to have won Frieda. She's a fine wife. Beautiful, always doting." He shook his head.
Therese's heart fell back down. "I've given her a lot of advice on huswifery," she murmured, fighting for her honor. And it was true. Growing up, Frieda was a worldly girl from a wealthy family. She'd never learned how to be a proper wife, not like Therese. And when Frieda fell in love and found herself with two growing boys and a newborn daughter, she'd turned to Therese in confusion.
Her husband was looking at her thoughtfully. "You make a comfortable home for me," he said. It was a small consolation after the warm words of praise for Frieda Blumenthal. But the flash of affection that blinked through his blue eyes made her heart pound again.
"I try very hard," she whispered, trying to keep back the tears.
She got to her feet to distract herself, carrying Minna into the parlor. Then she cleared the empty plates from the table, taking them to the washbasin.
Edward slipped from his chair in silence, eager to get away from his father, but his heart ached with pity for his mother. He could see the pain in her face. He wanted to go to her, to tell her she was a wonderful wife, a beautiful mother. He wanted to promise never to break another toy, never to hurt another animal. They would be false promises, but he wanted to promise them nevertheless.
Herr Richtofen stood from his chair, seeming to fill up the kitchen. He walked over to Therese, slipping his arms around her waist. Edward watched as his father leaned over and whispered something into his mother's ear, making her shiver. Then he kissed her cheek and turned to walk down the hall.
As he passed by Edward, he glared down at him, threatening. "You better be washed before dinner tomorrow," he growled.
Edward looked at the floor. "Yes, Papa," he whimpered.
Wilhelm grunted and continued over to Minna, scooping her up. She giggled as he twirled her through the hair. Her curls made a golden halo around her round little face, and he kissed her warmly on both of her cheeks. "Sleep well, my girl," he said, in the tender voice he saved only for her. Then he put her back down and continued to the bedroom, where he'd stay until the morning.
Now, Edward's mother was scouring the plates quickly, eager to be finished. It was his chance to tell her how much he loved her, how dear she was to him, even if they didn't always understand each other. He tiptoed across the floor, tugging on her skirt.
She glanced down at him distractedly. "Not now," she muttered, impatient.
Edward frowned. This happened every time his father whispered in her ear. She became distracted by something, something that changed her. Mama was a sweet, gentle lady, always reading Edward and Minna a bedtime story, kissing them goodnight. But whenever Papa whispered in her ear, she made them all rush to bed as quickly as possible.
Edward hated his father for doing this. Partly because it meant no bedtime story, and partly because it made his mother behave so strangely. But mostly because his father was so cruel to his mother, making her cry and hurt all the time. And then with something as simple as a whisper, he had the power to make her forget all the pain and run to him.
He tugged on her skirt again, more insistently. "I want to tell you something important," he said, his voice urgent.
Her eyebrows bunched and she looked at him again, distressed.
He was her beloved son. Looking into his angel face made her heart swell with joy. But the chance to feel her husband's love, to try to make him adore her again; it was a false hope that drove her into a frenzy. Every time he invited her to bed, she hoped she could enchant him; and every time, it failed. But her hope never faltered.
Tense, she stared down into Edward's beautiful green eyes, her heart aching. "What is it, my love?" she asked, ashamed that she could only give him half of her attention.
He wrapped his arms around her legs, hiding his face in her skirt. "Don't listen to him," he said, his voice muffled.
"What?" she asked, frowning. She put down the pot she was scouring and knelt down, pulling him back to look at him. She glanced toward the bedroom.
"Don't listen to Papa," Edward said again, a whisper this time.
That got her attention. She looked at him in confusion. "Honey…"
His eyes were fierce, glinting up at her. "You are the best," he whispered. "You are the most beautiful. The best, most beautiful mother," he hissed. "Don't let him make you cry."
Her heart shuddered and she stared at her boy, horrified at his profound insight. "Dearest," she murmured, shaken again by the mind of her child, "Papa doesn't make me cry." She was trying to bluff, trying the age-old method of mothers hiding the truth from their children.
"Yes he does," Edward said quickly, confident. "I see it."
"Edward," she said soothingly. "Being a grown-up is hard. Things aren't always perfect."
"You're perfect," he said adoringly, looking deep into her eyes. "And you shouldn't let him hurt you."
Tears sprang to her eyes and she gathered him to her chest, holding him tight. "My beautiful boy," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "I pray that you love me like this forever." Then she pulled back to look at him again, brushing back his hair. "Don't worry about me, liebling," she murmured, stroking his head. "You worry about growing up."
His face crumpled. "But he hurts you," he hissed, the pain of the knowledge twisting his face. "Why do you listen to him?"
She kissed it away. "Edward, I must listen to your Papa because he takes care of us. We need him to take care of us." She sighed, glancing toward the bedroom, and the impatience returned to her eyes. "I must finish washing the dishes and get your sister to bed," she murmured, standing.
"I don't understand," Edward whispered, feeling tears come to his eyes, too.
"Not all things can be understood," said his mother. "Now get to bed, my love. I'll be in to give you a kiss."
Edward left for his room, walking slowly down the hall.
His mind was writhing with thoughts. Angry thoughts. Why must she listen to Papa? Why must Papa take care of them? Why couldn't they take care of themselves? He was always gone at the butcher shop. They spent every day without him. It made him furious to think that they needed him, that they somehow needed this horrible, cruel person to survive.
He'd figure out how to survive on his own.
And then there was the worst question. Why couldn't everything be understood?
As Edward dressed in his bedclothes, he frowned against that thought.
No. There must be a way. Usually, if he thought about things hard enough, he understood them. So he wouldn't stop thinking until he figured everything out.
And then, when he had all the answers, he could finally save her.
He'd save his mother, and she'd never cry again.
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So we get a little insight into baby Edward's motivations ... and the beginnings of his adult motivations ...
(Did anyone catch the game quote? :D)
Thoughts? Commentary? I can't wait to hear what you think!
And as I said above: Please let me in on your ideas for this story. I'd be more than happy to write what you want to read!
Since this is more or less open-ended in terms of timeline/length/sequence, I'm totally open to suggestions/things you're curious about.
What do you want to know about little Richtofen? About his family? About Clara and her family? I'll be happy to provide!
Comments, questions, suggestions? I love your glorious words!
Your reviews are what keep me going and inspire me to write!