A few days later, Hilda got up early and got dressed without the assistance of Mathilde, who usually brushed her hair or chose clothing for her to wear. After dressing in a fashionable yellow dress with a belt cinching the waist, Hilda brushed her hair and applied a small amount of the usual makeup before putting on a pair of shoes and heading out the door. As she walked away from her sizeable house, she felt a swift, summer breeze go through her loose blonde hair, but it didn't mess it up one bit. In fact, the breeze was so refreshing that she took a walk around the block before walking to the cemetery to visit Elsa's grave.

Of course, it was a strange behavior to talk to someone who was six feet underground beneath a tombstone, but to Hilda, it was like visiting her as though she were alive. The cemetery in which Elsa was buried was not that long of a distance, but when she entered, she looked around at all of the rows of gravestones that seemed to stare her in the face. It didn't scare her, but she felt a kind of relief upon her arrival at Elsa's resting place. There were still many bouquets of different kinds of flowers sitting on top of the fresh patch of soil used to bury the coffin.

"Guten tag, Elsa," she whispered, looking at the epitaph on her grave marker. "Ich habe Sie so viel vermisst. Ich wünsche, dass Sie zurückkommen würden."

The young woman felt a tear stream down her face, but it was as tough the wind wiped it before it could trail down her cheek any further. She sighed and continued, looking down at the rainbow of flowers atop Elsa's grave.

"Gott, warum nahmen Sie sie so bald?" she asked, louder than she had been as she looked up at the clear blue sky. "Ich weiß, dass niemand für immer, aber Gott lebt, könnten Sie mindestens ihren Aufenthalt auf der Erde seit noch ein paar Jahren gelassen haben. Vielleicht sogar mehr."

As she began crying softly, she felt a strange but somewhat familiar presence behind her. It wasn't the breeze, for this presence was that of a human. Turning around, she saw no one but Hans standing there with a bouquet of flowers to place on his grandmother's grave. He wasn't very close to her, but he watched her cry until he realized who it was.

"Hilda? Is that you?" he asked, walking closer to her to try and console her.

"Hallo," she said, wiping a tear away with her finger.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Hans asked as his eyebrow raised in shock. How could she have forgotten him?

"Nein, I remember you," she told him. "I just left early this morning to visit…Elsa's grave."

"I did, as well," he told her, holding up the flowers. "I stopped by a flower stall and just got something to put with all these other flowers." She nodded, watching him as he whispered a few words over the grave as he left the flowers on top of the others that had been sitting there for a few days. Hilda looked down at her feet, and felt Hans place his arm gently around her shoulders. He looked down at her, hoping to make eye contact with her great blue orbs, and once he did, he saw that they were a bit red but not puffy.

"Wischen Sie jene schönen blauen Augen," he said, hoping that his charming nature and flattery would cheer her up. Hilda wiped away any remaining tears and looked at him inquisitively.

Hans was a great mystery to her, and it was only logical to think that way because they had only known each other for a few days. From the way he looked at her with those magnetic blue-gray eyes to his overflowing of kindness, Hilda was still so intrigued by him. Also, she felt so relaxed and safe around him, and in a way, it was like being with Elsa all over again. For sure, she began to believe in a thought that was beyond all rationality—she had arranged fate from beyond the grave so that she could meet her grandson, a mysterious but handsome young man, who would always be there for her in one way or another. Nein, she thought, be reasonable. There is no way in hell that could just happen.

"Are you alright?" Hans asked, his deep voice full of concern. Hilda nodded slowly.

"Ja, I am fine," she told him. "I must go now." Hans' looked confused—he didn't want to be away from her.

"Hilda, I'll walk you home if you'd like," he offered kindly as she walked away.

"If you insist on doing so," she sighed with slight reluctance. It was only then that she realized she had sounded just as cold as her father did at times, so when Hans left the cemetery with Hilda, he looked at her curiously.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," he told her. "I know something is wrong. Don't tell me that you are perfectly fine. Something's wrong, isn't there, Hilda?" She looked and him and stopped walking, facing him with a blank countenance.

"Hans, I'm fine," she told him. "Believe me, I am. Thank you for your concern, though." They continued to walk, but Hans looked at her again, trying to make conversation with the beautiful young woman.

"I am having a birthday party next week, Hilda," he told her, sounding more cheerful than he had been. "I was hoping maybe you could come."

"Really?" she asked as her mood and eyes lit up. "How old will you be?"

"I'll be twenty-five," he told her with a smile. "I can hardly wait. My family usually has birthday parties every five years of their lives, except for me. I had one when I was eighteen, then another when I was twenty-one."

"What about your childhood? Did you have birthday parties as a child?" Hilda asked.

"Ja, but they weren't as big as the ones I had when I was older," Hans told her. "I bet you have had many, many parties besides birthdays."

"Nein," she sighed. "My biggest birthday parties were when I was sixteen, eighteen and twenty. I never really celebrated my birthday as a child, at least not in the way you would expect."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because, that's why," Hilda said with a somewhat cold tone in her voice. "I guess you can say my mother has had many garden parties during the spring and summer."

"Garden parties? I bet there are many people there every time," he assumed.

"Nein, just women; usually the wives or daughters of government or military officials. People of class, I guess is the word I can use," Hilda said. "I learned recently that not every girl in my standing is nice."

"What…happened?" Hans asked.

"Erna Faltermeyer—"

"Mein gott, I know her!" he exclaimed in shock. "She is so mean! Her sister is actually kind of nice, though."

"Ja, I got along with her at the last garden party, but Erna almost got her face ripped off," Hilda said with a discreet chuckle, hiding the delight she would have taken in physically hurting the unruly young woman who went to her mother's garden party that day.

"If you don't mind me asking, what did she do?" Hans asked. Hilda looked around and saw that they were approaching her house, but she told him anyway.

"She and this other woman were being rude to my house-maid, who is my friend, and she was only trying to take orders from everyone, so Erna got up and lectured her as if she were a dog," Hilda explained. "Then, when Mathilde, my maid, brought the wine out, she accidentally tipped the tray on Erna and it went all over her dress. Erna got up again and was going to hurt Mathilde, but I stood up for my maid and she was about to attack me as well. Luckily, she was taken off our property."

"Mein gott, that's terrible!" Hans said as they approached the front of Hilda's home. He looked up and saw the magnificent house, marveling at its architecture and careful landscaping. It was close to being a mansion, but it only had to be a bit bigger to be so. The young man smiled at Hilda as they walked toward the front steps over the path made of stone slabs.

"What a beautiful house," Hans said, feasting his eyes on the magnificent exterior.

"Ja, we have lived here for a while," she said, opening the door as she stared back at him. "Would you like to come in, Hans?"

"Nein, not today," he said. "Maybe tomorrow? We can play music together, if you'd like."

"I'd like that," Hilda said with a smile.

"Also, my birthday party is next Saturday, the seventeenth," he told her. "If you can make it, let me know tomorrow."

"Danke, Hans," she said. "Auf wedersehen."

Hilda stepped into the house and closed the door behind her, noticing Ludwig, Krista, Feliciano and Emilio sitting on the couch in the living room, talking until they noticed Hilda stand in the doorway. Her father was the first to notice her standing there, and he gestured her to come over and sit in the empty spot on the sofa.

"Where were you? I just heard the front door close," he asked sternly, looking at his daughter as she sat down next to him.

"I was…at the cemetery," she answered. "I was only visiting Elsa's grave." Suddenly, she heard Feliciano whimper quietly as he sighed sadly.

"That is why we came here," the Italian said. "We knew how sad you were, mia bambalina. We came to console you and make you feel better."

"Si," Emilio added. "We know how much Elsa meant to you." Hilda smiled—he had always been so kind to her. Somehow she knew she had to tell Hans that she was already involved.

"That is very sweet of you both," she told them calmly. "Grazie."

"How long do you plan on staying with us?" Ludwig asked, looking at his Italian friend. Feliciano looked at him and smiled cheerfully.

"A few days, maybe? Why, Germany? Do you plan on rushing us out?" he asked. Ludwig shook his head as he received his cup of coffee from Mathilde, who was serving it to everyone in the living room.

"Nein, I was just wondering," the German told them. "I don't care if you stay here, but just try not to mess up my guest bedrooms."

"Will do!" Feliciano said, still in spirits that were higher than the clouds.

Meanwhile, Emilio looked at Hilda, wondering about the night they had shared earlier that week. He could distinctly remember asking her to marry him and come to Italy with him as his wife, but he still had no clue why she rejected him. Hilda had told him that she wasn't ready, but his intuition dictated otherwise—either there was another man in her life or she was really telling the truth. Nevertheless, he carried the engagement ring in his pocket until another time arose where she could be ready and willing to accept his advances.

A few hours later, Ludwig was busy refereeing his son as he worked out. The Bielschmidt household had a special spot in the basement where there were a few exercise machines and a bench-press, where Heinrich and his father worked out together everyday. Just before Heinrich's work-out session was over, Hilda walked down to find her father making him do push-ups with one hand supporting him and the other arm around his back. Sweat drenched his light grey tank top as he forced himself to push himself up and down.

"Noch neun Stöße! Sie können es, Sohn tun!" Ludwig said, getting on his knees as he began counting down the amount of single-armed pushups he had left.

"Ein, zwei, drei, vier..."

"Dad?" Hilda said, interrupting her father's counting. Heinrich stopped immediately upon looking up to see his sister, and he ran to her expecting a cookie pop out of view as she sometimes did. Hilda shook her head and pointed to the stairway.

"Go and get cleaned up, Heinrich," she ordered. "You're all sweaty."

"I want a cookie!" he begged, running around his older sister in a circle. Even though he was worked to oblivion by his father, he was still as energetic as always.

"Go upstairs and ask Mathilde for one. Only after you take your bath," she ordered. Ludwig rolled his eyes at his daughter, irritated by her interruption. Heinrich sped up the stairs, and once Hilda looked back at her father, she could see he was on the brink of anger.

"Hilda, you know better than to interrupt our training sessions," he told her with a grunt.

"I am sorry. Besides don't you think you have worked him enough into a frenzy?" she asked as they walked up the stairs to the main floor.

"Ja, I can only imagine the cookie he's going to eat making his hyperactivity much worse," he said, calming himself down. Once her father closed the door to the basement, Hilda tapped his shoulder, and he paid close attention to her.

"Dad, do you remember Hans from Elsa's funeral?" she asked. "That is her grandson."

"Ja, Hilda?" Ludwig asked, staring down into her identical light blue eyes.

"He is having a birthday party next Saturday, and he invited me to it," Hilda told him. "He was actually visiting Elsa's grave as well, so he asked me today if I could go."

"Ja, Hilda, you may go, but bring Mathilde with you," he ordered.

"Mathilde? I'm sorry, dad, I like her and all, but Hans doesn't know her," Hilda protested calmly. "He only asked for me to go."

Ludwig looked at his daughter, whose face was pleading. He felt it to be impossible to say no to those big blue eyes and her innocent-looking face. He nodded as he kept his eyes on her.

"Alright, you can go," he told her. "However, you can only have two drinks. Do you understand?"

"Why does it all of a sudden matter to you how much wine I drink, dad?" she asked, her eyebrows brought together in confusion.

"Because I have noticed how much you have been drinking in the past week or two, Hilda," he told her with a cold-sounding tone of voice. "First it was your mother's party, then it was the funeral, then it was with Emilio a few nights ago."

Hilda looked at her father, mortified about what he had said. How the hell would he have known about their candlelit night together in the living room drinking Italian wine and romancing each other with sweet nothings? Ludwig just kept a straight face.

"How would you know about that?" she asked. "He brought that wine as a gift."

"I know because I heard you and Emilio coming up the stairs late that night and kissing before you went to sleep," Ludwig told her honestly. "You didn't…sleep in the same bed with him, did you?" Hilda looked at him in shock—she was a grown woman; what right did he have to stick his nose in her business?

"No, I did not," she told him truthfully. "I went to my room, and he went to the guest room. I swear!"

"Alright, I believe you," her father told her. "I just don't want you to make any mistakes, alright?"

"Alright," she said as he left the room.

Unbeknownst to the two, Emilio was in the other room, and he took the liberty of hearing their conversation. He knew it wasn't right, but he knew that once he heard the name of another man that he should go and listen to what she was saying. Assuming it was the reason behind her rejection of his marriage proposal, Emilio could feel his heart start to break. I knew it, he thought. He grew nervous inside—he knew he had to do something about this.