CHAPTER FOUR
Jorgen's attitude towards the children certainly improved things in the Lausenstrom house and the next few years passed happily enough. Lars and Leif were good students in school and when Hans joined them aged five and a half, it seemed in the beginning that he would follow in their footsteps.
Ilse finally moved out of the house a few weeks later, finding a small house in a village twenty miles away which suited her perfectly. Her neighbours were an elderly couple and a young family and much as she regretted leaving 'her boys', her new home away from the bustle of the rapidly growing Denver was her dream come true. Every two weeks she would write a letter to Jorgen and a separate one to the boys and Lars and Leif would write one back between them, telling her of their achievements in school and other adventures.
After the first few weeks in school, it became clear that Hans wasn't about to copy his brothers and become a fine student – he hated school. There were two classrooms, one for those up to age ten and one for the older children. Lars and Leif had just moved into the upper class and were mixing with others their own age so took little notice of Hans after his first week, assuming he would find his own friends.
Hans was the only new child in the lower class at the time and was immediately picked on by a group of four seven-year-old boys for a number of reasons – he was new, he was the youngest, he looked like a sissy with his pale blond hair and smart clothes, he didn't know anything and his family were immigrants. There were a hundred and one reasons for the other boys to tease and taunt him and he spent the breaks between lessons and the lunch period sitting alone in a corner of the school yard, wishing he could escape. He never said a word to Lars and Leif – they had only recently began to include him more in their games at home and he thought a display of weakness would make them shun him once again.
"Hey! Lausenstrom!"
"Oh, no," Hans muttered under his breath as the four older boys sauntered towards him. He was just about to begin eating the lunch the cook had packed up for him and he knew at once that he would be going home hungry for the third time that week.
"What have you got there?" one of the boys, a redhead known as Thomas, demanded, towering over him.
"Stand up when we're speaking to you!" another exclaimed.
Hans scrambled to his feet, clutching the package containing fresh bread and butter with cheese and a piece of cook's best cherry cake. Thomas immediately snatched the things from him and unwrapped them.
"Ooh, sandwiches. Aren't we posh!"
"Is that cake? Give me that!" another of the boys said, grabbing the cherry cake and shoving the whole slice into his mouth, barely able to close his lips around it.
Hans stared up at them, wishing he was bigger. He would have loved to be able to knock them all to the ground, one by one. All he could do was watch as Thomas dropped the bread and cheese onto the ground and stamped on each piece.
"Hey, wonder if he's got any money," one of the others who hadn't yet spoken now said. He and Thomas immediately grabbed Hans by the arms while the cake-eater checked his pockets and discovered the two five-cent pieces he had in his jacket.
"Is that all?" scoffed Thomas. "Thought you were a rich kid?"
"He is rich. Everyone knows the Lausenstroms live in that big house with the fence around."
"I'm not rich," Hans said. "I just get an allowance."
"Ooh, an allowance! Well, your father's rich. Listen, Lausenstrom. You better fetch some money tomorrow, then maybe we'll leave you alone to eat your fancy cake," Thomas grinned.
"Yeah, bring a dollar," one of the others said. "A quarter for each of us, right, Thomas?"
"Right."
"I can't do that," Hans protested.
"Yeah, you can. Your father won't even miss it."
"You better. Or else!" Thomas added threateningly, prodding Hans hard in the chest. The four then turned away and walked off, laughing.
Hans stayed where he was, wondering whether to tell his brothers what happened and immediately deciding against it. They would probably think he was pathetic for not being able to stand up for himself.
The school bell rang to announce the start of afternoon lessons and Hans reluctantly returned to his classroom, slumping in his seat at the back. The schoolteacher, Miss Rivers, a prim middle-aged lady not dissimilar to Mrs Harrington, was teaching sums and Hans tuned out her voice and thought about how he was going to get his hands on a dollar before school the next day.
"Hans Lausenstrom! I asked you a question!" Miss Rivers' sharp voice penetrated his thoughts suddenly and he looked up from the desk.
"Sorry, Miss Rivers."
"I asked, if I have two apples on my desk and a pupil brings me another apple, how many apples will I have?"
"I don't know, Miss."
"Well, then, pay attention! You will stay after class this afternoon for some extra tuition. You've been in this school over a month now and appear to have learned nothing!" Miss Rivers said severely.
"I can't stay, Miss, my father will be mad," Hans replied.
"Then I will write a letter for you to take home to him and I shall point out that you'll be required to stay back tomorrow as well for talking back to your teacher!"
"Yes, Miss." Hans sighed heavily and the minute Miss Rivers turned her attention to another pupil, he returned to his thoughts. How to obtain a dollar for the bullies and how to get around his father when he read the teacher's letter that night. How he hated school.
At the end of the lesson when the other children had all left, Miss Rivers left the classroom for a moment and actually handed a letter to Lars, explaining that Hans was required to stay after class and that he should take the letter explaining his lateness to his father. Miss Rivers then returned and proceeded to give Hans a further hour's mathematics instruction.
By the time the boy arrived home, the table was set for dinner and the delicious smell of roast chicken wafted from the kitchen. Hans, having not eaten since breakfast, couldn't wait for dinner, but was immediately summoned to the drawing room by a very angry father.
"Hans! Come here!"
He walked slowly into the room. "Yes, Father?"
"I have a letter here from Miss Rivers. You were kept behind for not paying attention in her lesson and will be kept behind tomorrow for answering back. What have you to say for yourself?"
"Sorry, Father," Hans muttered.
"You weren't brought up to be rude to your elders! I hope you apologised to Miss Rivers."
"Yes, Father."
"Go to your room. There will be no supper for you tonight. I want you to stay there until the morning and take the time to think about your failings. I shall expect an improved report from Miss Rivers the next time I hear from her."
"Yes, Father."
"Go."
Hans left the room, his heart sinking. He didn't care that his father was mad or that he had to stay back from school again tomorrow. Or even that somehow he had to find the money for the bullies or face them without it. The only thing he could think of at that moment was that cook was about to serve up roast chicken, potatoes, dumplings and gravy and he was to go to bed starving without a single bite.
However, just over an hour later as Hans lay on his bed, bored and with a rumbling and empty stomach, Leif tiptoed into the room. Hans sat up at once and opened his mouth to speak.
"Sshhh. Father will skin me if he finds out," Leif whispered, handing a small package wrapped in a napkin to Hans. "Sorry it's cold. See you tomorrow." He crept out again and closed the door.
"Thanks," Hans said to the empty room, unfolding the napkin. Inside was a thick slice of chicken and a soft fat dumpling with gravy soaked into its underside. He didn't waste any time gobbling the items down and even licked the remnants of gravy off the napkin before screwing up the cloth and throwing it underneath the bed. No longer starving hungry, he put his mind to working out how to deal with the four bullies the next day.
Hans woke up early. It was pitch dark and the house was silent. Not even the cook and housekeeper were yet out of bed and Hans pulled open his bedroom door quietly and slipped out onto the landing. He could hear gentle snoring coming from behind his father's door and no sound at all from the twins' room. He made his way silently downstairs and into his father's study situated at the back of the house. He knew there was a box in the desk drawer with some notes and loose change in it and the boys were probably right; his father wouldn't even miss a dollar.
Hans pulled the drawer open carefully and lifted the box out onto the top of the desk. It was locked, but the key simply protruded from the lock, waiting to be turned. Hans opened it and looked in. Some little wooden partitions inside divided the box into compartments, one of which was full of quarters. He recognised them immediately because Lars and Leif were given one every Friday to spend on toys and sweets. It seemed like a huge amount of money to Hans, who received two five-cent pieces each week. He picked out four of the coins and then closed the box again and turned the key. As he lifted the box to return it to the drawer, the key worked itself free and tumbled to the floor, bouncing and sliding on the polished wooden floor and creating what seemed to Hans like a tremendous noise. He froze, his heart hammering and waited to see if he had been heard.
After a minute nothing happened and he heaved a sigh of relief, placed the box in the drawer, picked up the key and stuck it in the lock, closed the drawer and tiptoed out of the study. He pulled the door closed and turned towards the stairs, coming face to face with his father.
"What are you doing?" Jorgen asked quietly.
"Umm…n-nothing, Father," stammered Hans, holding his hands behind his back with the quarters clutched in one of them.
"You took something from the study?"
"N-no, Father," Hans lied, wondering if he could drop the traitorous coins on the floor and get away with it. The hallway floor was wood too and they would bounce and roll.
"Show me."
Hans stuck out one empty hand, keeping the other behind his back. Impatiently Jorgen bent and grasped his other arm, jerking it up and prising open his fingers to reveal the four coins clutched there. Without a word, Jorgen gripped the boy's wrist and headed back into the study, closing the door behind them and lighting a lamp quickly. He placed the coins carefully on the desk and then bent again so that his face was level with Hans'.
"As if behaving badly in school isn't enough – now you're lying and stealing? What's wrong with you?" he demanded.
"I'm sorry, Father," Hans said in a small voice.
"What did you want this money for? Haven't you an explanation?"
"No, Father."
"Going without supper is apparently not a severe enough punishment," Jorgen said grimly. "You've been having things too easily. It's a shame I listened to your grandmother and got rid of Mrs Harrington; with her here we wouldn't have any of this kind of behaviour." Still gripping Hans by the arm, he turned the boy away from him, yanked up his nightshirt and delivered a swift and painful slap to his rear. Hans sank his teeth into his lip hard rather than scream and annoy his father even more. A second slap followed the first and then another. Jorgen stopped after three and straightened up.
"Get to your room," he ordered. "I don't want to hear a sound out of you for the rest of the night."
Hans left the study, his rear and the top of his legs stinging from the slaps and silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he crept up the stairs to his room. He lay awake until it was time to get up, dreading having to go to school and face the four boys. He knew he would have to wait until the lunch break to find out what they would do to him; they wouldn't come near him before the morning lessons because he walked to school with his brothers.
Several times on the way to school Hans almost told Lars and Leif about the bullies, until halfway there they suddenly revealed their father had told them what Hans had been caught doing during the night.
"How could you steal from our own father?" Leif demanded.
"What's wrong with you?" added Lars.
"I can't believe you're our brother," Leif sneered. "No Lausenstrom is a thief."
"What would Nana say?" said Lars.
"Don't tell her, please!" Hans begged.
"She'd be so ashamed of you," Leif said.
"I'll never do it again. Please don't tell Nana," cried Hans.
"What are you going to give us to keep quiet?" asked Lars.
"I haven't got anything."
"Your allowance. It's Friday tomorrow. You can give us your allowance tomorrow and next week," Leif said.
"Then we'll consider not telling Nana one of her grandsons is a thief," added Lars.
"Alright," Hans sighed. "Anything you say." Asking them for help with the bullies was now clearly out of the question.