Day 1

The sight of snow falling outside the window while in a warm bed was among the sweetest joys of life for Hans Dietrich. He was half-asleep, though a grin spread across his face when he felt his wife, Esther, cuddle up to him. "Good morning, my angel," he said.

"Good morning, Hans," Esther said. "It's lovely out, isn't it?"

"Oh, indeed—I would hate to be out in the snow, though." Dietrich turned to give Esther a kiss. "If I am not mistaken, today is the day we will be putting up the Christmas decorations."

"Yes, it is, and it will be Gunther's second Christmas."

"With him learning how to walk, that means we will have to find a way to baby-proof the tree." Dietrich sighed. "I would rather not."

"We will find a way that won't involve building a fortress around it. Don't worry, Hans." Esther kissed his cheek. "Are you ready for coffee?"

"Yes. Wait—" Dietrich paused to listen.

"What?"

"I do not hear anything."

Esther gave him a confused look.

"Usually, on a day like this, it is not unusual for Troy to come barging into the house."

Esther sighed. "You do have a point. Perhaps we will get lucky."

"Perhaps." Dietrich got out of bed, and walked over to the crib his infant son, Gunther, was laying in. Gunther was still sleeping soundly. He was certainly a handful at times, but Dietrich wouldn't trade him for the world. After so many years of thinking I would never become a father, here you are. It was tempting to pick the baby up and cuddle him, but Dietrich figured it was best to let him stay sleeping for now.

After getting dressed, Dietrich went down the hall to another bedroom, and quietly opened the door. His nearly eighteen-year-old nephew, Anselm, was still sleeping as well. Earlier that year, Anselm had fled East Germany. He was the only child of Dietrich's oldest and cruelest brother, Konrad, who was reported to have died during the Soviets' rampage into Germany at the tail-end of the war. Anselm grew up believing that his father had been someone to look up to, thanks to his mother's delusional nature. After fleeing, Anselm was told to find his grandmother, or his uncle, Markus, unaware that Markus had changed his tune toward his family's cruelty. It began a journey of helping Anselm grow and change, and now he was under Dietrich's care, which was funny given that he had been told by his mother to never associate with Dietrich.

Living his whole life in East Germany, coupled with being on the run for several months, resulted in Anselm being severely malnourished. Since the beginning of that summer, Dietrich had been working with Anselm to improve his physical health, but it was a slow process. He was a bit skinny and suffering from anemia, which had done him no favors once autumn came and the weather grew colder and colder. He looked small under the many layers of blankets that Dietrich and Esther had given him.

Dietrich decided not to wake Anselm, and went downstairs where his wife was starting the coffee maker. He gave her a gentle hug from behind, and glanced out into the backyard at the falling snow. It would be his third Christmas with Esther, and although nothing would top the memory of telling her that he loved her for the first time, he had noticed each Christmas seemed more romantic than the last. "I will do something special for you this year," Dietrich said.

Esther smiled. "I love how this time of year makes you a bit more cuddly in the morning. You're usually quite grumpy before coffee."

"Am I? I apologize."

"Oh, don't apologize. You're better than Moffitt before his tea."

"Anything is better than Moffitt before his tea."

"Hmm… would you rather deal with Moffitt before his tea, or Troy barging in right now?"

"Moffitt before his tea, because tea pacifies him. There is nothing that can stop Troy."

"So, there is something better than Moffitt before his tea."

"Yes." Dietrich smiled before kissing the side of Esther's forehead. "What would you like for breakfast, my angel?"

"Today feels like a good day to make porridge. What do you think?"

"I think I will make that porridge for you."

Dietrich didn't start making the porridge until he poured his coffee. Before he started, he turned when he heard someone coming down the stairs, and a rather cold-looking Anselm appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Good morning," Dietrich said.

"Good morning, Uncle Hans," Anselm replied.

"There is coffee ready if you would like some."

"Thanks."

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Cold." Anselm got out a mug to pour some coffee for himself.

"Well, I will be going out to stock up on wood for the fireplace later. If you want to come, you can. Your aunt and I will begin getting out the Christmas decorations, if you want to assist with that as well."

"I wouldn't know the first thing about decorating for Christmas," Anselm said. "Not a real Christmas anyway."

Dietrich paused, his heart breaking as it struck him that Anselm never got to experience the holiday at all in his life. "Right. You grew up with twisted, evil substitutions for Christmas."

Anselm nodded. "I heard you and Aunt Esther talking about it. It sounds like something that makes you happy."

"That is because it is." Dietrich took a moment to think. "It is not something I can explain in words alone. I will have to show you."

"Okay. I'd like to learn what makes it so special to you."

Anselm perked up a little more after breakfast and coffee, and eagerly followed Dietrich downstairs into the basement, where meticulously labeled boxes of Christmas things sat on shelves on the opposite side of the room from the dryer and washing machine.

"First things first," Dietrich said. "The majority of these boxes contain things that are quite fragile, so do be careful. Second, Esther and Troy might poke fun at me for this, but I have a system in which I decorate, so please do not put anything anywhere without asking me where it goes, alright?"

"Alright," Anselm replied.

"For now, put the small boxes on the kitchen table. Large boxes will be placed on the chairs."

"Okay." Anselm picked up his first box, taking care not to shake it while heading upstairs.

It took a few trips, but they soon had all the Christmas boxes, except for the ones labelled "Weihnachtsbaum," as Dietrich wasn't sure when they would go out to get the tree for that year. They also left the outdoor lights. Dietrich would curse and swear while untangling them later. He stood by the table, looking over all the boxes and still unsure of how to explain Christmas to Anselm. "Alright. Pick a box and open it."

Anselm nodded, opening a small, but heavy box. Inside was a beer stein, elaborately carved with a Christmas scene. "I thought you didn't drink beer, Uncle Hans."

"Not regularly, but when I do drink beer, I do not use this." Dietrich gestured to the stein. "That is decoration. Set it on the table, please. That will go in the hutch along with the decorative plates, which are… ah, here." He opened another box. "These are old, and belonged to my grandmother, who was actually a nice lady."

"Unlike… your mother."

Dietrich nodded.

"I'm sorry." Anselm looked at the floor.

"It is alright. You are correct." Dietrich set the old plates on the table. "I have vague memories from the last Christmas spent with my grandparents. After that, if I wanted a good Christmas, I had to go to Aunt Miriam and Uncle Gerhardt. Speaking of them—" He opened one of the boxes nearest to him, and had to pause for a moment while looking down at the old parts of his aunt's Nativity scene inside. Much of it needed to be repainted, but he didn't feel comfortable working with pieces so small.

He could still see, vividly, Miriam lighting candles around the little manger on the last Christmas he saw her, in 1941. He remembered how quiet the house was, and how Miriam said that despite everything going on, she was grateful to have been able to see Dietrich for the holiday. Gerhardt had passed away years before. The rest of the family was in shambles. There was only Miriam and her nephew, attempting to uphold a sense of goodness and decency.

"Uncle Hans?" Anselm's voice cut through Dietrich's thoughts.

"Sorry—yes?" Dietrich replied.

"Are you okay?"

Dietrich let out his breath. "Yes. Just… remembering things."

"Bad things?"

"No. Sad, yes, but not terrible." Dietrich took the manger out of the box. "Having this out was one thing that stayed constant in all the years I spent Christmas with my aunt and uncle." He looked at Anselm. "You can touch it if you want. I trust you."

Anselm reached into the box, being gentle with everything, and taking out a lamb. "I guess this is part of why Mother hated you. You believe in something, but it wasn't the Nazis."

"Definitely not. Trust me, it was terrifying at times, and not much different from your experiences in East Germany."

"You mentioned that you found bugs in your apartment once."

Dietrich nodded. "That was mostly because I had painted a target on my own back."

Anselm set the lamb on the table. "I wish I hadn't been so misled throughout my life. I was never really nice to anyone, but that was hard when everyone else kept putting me down for one reason for another."

"It is hard. I am not immune to lashing out when pushed, but I do try to keep my stronger emotions in check. It is not too late to guide yourself into a better direction. That is a positive thing about coming here to West Germany—no one other than myself and Uncle Markus know your history. You can start fresh."

Anselm nodded.

"Having fun experiences with friends and family will help." Dietrich smiled. "I could spend hours talking about how being friends with the Rats have made Christmas more spectacular. We all have our own traditions that we honor and share with each other. Some of them are things that have been in our families for generations, others are things we started with each other. Whatever it is, it makes us who we are. There is no one way to celebrate Christmas."

"I think I'm starting to understand."

Anselm continued helping out with putting decorations up around the house. It was in the middle of the afternoon when he approached Dietrich, asking, "Could I help with picking out a tree this year?"

"You can," Dietrich said. "I have not decided when I want to get it."

"Is today too early?"

Dietrich glanced at Esther. "What do you think?"

"If he wants to get the tree today, that is alright by me," Esther replied.

Dietrich turned back to his nephew. "It is cold out. Very cold out."

"I know," Anselm said. "I'd really like to do this."

Dietrich remembered a doctor saying that keeping active would help Anselm's recovery, and while he helped Anselm stay active—within reason—during the summer, Dietrich wasn't sure taking him out into the bitter cold was a good idea. Am I being reasonable, or is this that dreaded "mother hen" side that everyone likes to tease me about? He let out a sigh. "Alright. Go bundle up."

Anselm smiled before disappearing to get his winter coat on.

"Do not forget your gloves."

"I know, Uncle Hans."

"Or your hat."

"I know."

"Wear earmuffs."

Esther smirked.

Dietrich gave her a look. "What?"

"Oh, just you," Esther replied, suppressing a giggle. "Clucking away like a hen."

Dietrich stood. "Well, I apologize for wanting to make sure he—"

"I'm ready, Uncle Hans," Anselm said, standing by the door.

"No, you are not," Dietrich said.

"Huh?"

"You forgot your scarf—and do not roll your eyes at me." Dietrich put on his own winter coat, then peered back into the living room. "Esther, is there anything I should get while I am out?"

"Nothing I can think of," Esther replied. "You and Anselm have fun."

"We will, and we will return with the tree." Dietrich kissed Esther's forehead before going back out to the entryway to get his boots on. Once he had his winter clothing on, Dietrich took his keys, and headed outside with Anselm in tow. The dreary, gray blanket of clouds had begun to shred and fray in the sky, revealing a pale pink hue off to the west. Dietrich's preferred Christmas tree farm was a roughly twenty-minute drive northwest of Hammelburg. It was situated at the top of a gently sloping hill, with a large vineyard to the east and scattered groves of trees and houses to the west. It offered a long view that Dietrich looked forward to taking in each year.

He was glad to see that he was the only customer at the farm when he arrived, and that there were still a lot of trees to choose from. Behind him, Anselm walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Snow crunched beneath their boots, and there were a few spots that were slick with ice. Anselm didn't look very comfortable, and Dietrich suspected that was due to having spent much of the previous winter on the run, searching for a suitable place to cross the inner German border. He put one arm around Anselm, giving him a gentle squeeze before they reached the rows upon rows of trees.

"So, we just pick one?" Anselm said.

"Pretty much," Dietrich replied. "Are you doing alright?"

"Yes. Cold, but not in pain. Not yet anyway." Anselm shifted. "How do you know what tree to pick?"

"I can pick any tree under eight feet tall. I prefer a six-to-seven-foot tree, not too narrow and not too wide, with plenty of room for decorations."

"This whole row is for six and seven-foot trees. Do you just look until you find the right one?"

"Yes, but with Christmas trees… you just know what the right one is." Dietrich was perfectly comfortable using this method when it was just him and Esther, but he didn't want to keep Anselm out in the cold for too long. He moved down the row of trees, surrounded by the heavenly smell of balsam firs. Nothing had caught his attention yet.

"Uncle Hans?"

Dietrich turned around, seeing Anselm examining a tree. "Yes?"

"How about this one? It fits all your requirements. Not too tall, or wide. Looks big enough for decorations. The tag says it's seven feet." Anselm kept staring at the tree. "I wouldn't say it's 'calling' to me, but it… feels right."

"Then we will take it home."

"But do you feel—"

"Irrelevant. You may choose this year."

Anselm's mouth hung open for a moment. "Really? I don't… You're sure?"

Dietrich nodded. Anselm still looked a bit surprised when Dietrich went to get the tree paid for. With the farmer's help, the tree was bagged in a net and tied to the roof of Dietrich's car. By the time they were ready to head home, the pink hue of the sky had darkened and bled various shades of red and orange. Stars began to twinkle overhead, and the two stood to watch, and to feel.

"It might take a little while for me to truly understand all of this, but I like it already. It feels happy," Anselm said.

Dietrich smiled. "Do you want to know something else you will enjoy about Christmas?"

"Sure."

"There will be plenty of food, and lots of sweets. Lots of sweets."

"I like the sound of that."

Over the last few months, it had been challenging to get Anselm to smile, so Dietrich was glad to see Anselm happy here. He was determined to make Anselm's first real Christmas the best it could possibly be.