Clouds (18 page)

“What about the
Evangelische Kirche
?” Jonathan said. “Did you ask where that was? I found out this is the Catholic church.”

“Oh, good point.” Shelly turned back to ask the man, but he was gone. He must have bent behind a gravestone or
slipped back behind one of the ancient trees.

“It can’t be far,” Jonathan said. “As a matter of fact,” he looked up and craned his neck to see between the trees, “over there.” He motioned behind Shelly. “I think that’s another church spire. Should we walk or drive?”

“Walk,” Shelly said.

“Drive,” Elena said. “I’m cold.”

“Then let’s walk,” Jonathan decided. “It’ll warm us up.”

Elena let out a little moan of complaint. It surprised Shelly. Jonathan loved to walk. So did Shelly. That had always been their favorite time together, ever since their first walk around the block. Shelly couldn’t imagine Jonathan ending up with someone who didn’t love to walk.

They had only covered two or so blocks through the old part of town when Elena pulled on Jonathan’s arm, urging him to slow down. “I can’t keep up with your long-legged strides, Johnny.”

Shelly had thought they were going too slow as it was.

Jonathan slowed down and commented on the buildings they were passing. “That’s probably the newest structure on this block,” he said, motioning to a red-brick building with a large stone marker over the entryway with the words “
RATHAUS
1893” carved into the smooth stone.

Shelly giggled at the sign. “Rat house,” she repeated. “Is that where they send all the scoundrels?”

“No,” Jonathan said patiently, “actually, the
Rathaus
is like the town meeting hall. All little German towns have one.”

“Oh,” Shelly said. She felt silly not knowing that. Turning a corner, they could see the spire in plain view as it stretched into the overcast sky behind a giant elm tree. On the other side of the elm tree stood a large, three-story building that seemed typical of the kind of old German construction they had seen today. The tile roof was the familiar orange tile with pop-out
dormer windows set above two tiers of shuttered windows. It wouldn’t have been such an unusual sight except that the building was painted the brightest lime green Shelly had ever seen. She had a T-shirt that color but never imagined it would work on a house. And such a large house. The shutters and door frames were painted a mustard yellow, and the flower boxes along the second-story windows bubbled over with deep red geraniums.

“Whoever lives there has a flair for color,” Shelly said softly.

“Don’t laugh,” Jonathan said. “It could have once been the home of your relatives. It’s old enough, and even though it’s a little large for a parsonage and does look newer than a lot of these buildings, the
Pfarrer
usually lived right by the church.”

“The
Pfarrer
?” Shelly repeated.

“That’s German for pastor,” Elena said. “It’s a pretty church, isn’t it?”

They could now see the clock tower beneath the black spire. The gold Roman numerals were set against a deep brown rim with sweeping, gold hands.

“Doesn’t it give you the wonders?” Elena said as they stepped into the cobblestone courtyard that surrounded the church.

“The wonders?” Jonathan repeated.

“Yeah, to think your relatives once walked on this very ground. Doesn’t that give you the wonders, Shelly?”

“It does. I only wish I knew more. I mean, was he the pastor at this church or was he born here and then pastored at the church in Weiler where he’s buried?”

“We can knock on a few doors,” Elena suggested. “Someone might be able to tell us where the current pastor lives, and we could ask him to check the church records.”

“But it’s Sunday,” Shelly said, glancing up at the clock. The time was one-thirty-five. How well she remembered the routine
around her house while growing up with a pastor. Dad would preach two services on Sunday morning and then come home to a big lunch that Mom had ready. She was famous for her Sunday pot roast, which she stuck in the oven at two-hundred degrees at eight o’clock on Sunday mornings. By one-thirty the family had eaten heartily of the meat, potatoes, carrots, and Sunday pie, usually with ice cream. All they wanted to do was find a quiet corner and read the funny papers or take a nap. Shelly didn’t feel right about disturbing the local pastor on a Sunday to bother him about dusty old church records. Especially not at one-thirty, when he was most likely stretching out for a nap.

“I’m content to see the church,” Shelly said. “And maybe find the graveyard. Would you guys take my picture?” She held out Meredith’s camera and moved into position in front of the church. A large arch had been created long ago from gingerand marjoram-colored blocks of varying sizes and shapes. Across the entryway was an ornate iron gate locking out any who may try to harm the exquisite wooden church doors. However, they also locked out the occasional pilgrim, like Shelly, who showed up at off hours and wanted in.

“Smile,” Elena said, focusing quickly and snapping the picture. “Could you take one of Johnny and me?” She held out the camera and smiled her winning smile.

“Sure,” Shelly heard herself say.

Jonathan took his place in front of the iron gate. Elena flew to his side and curled up under his arm, wrapping her arm around his middle. Jonathan drew her close and gave her a little squeeze. Shelly focused the viewfinder. Jonathan was smiling. He had his arm around this girl, and he was smiling. As hard as it was for Shelly to admit, Jonathan appeared happy. She snapped the picture, refusing to let herself think about how she should have been the one standing beside him, receiving
that squeeze, smiling and holding him tight.

She pulled the camera away and for a flash of a second, white dots swirled before her eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, Shelly forced herself to smile at the couple.

Then she saw something she wasn’t ready to see. Elena turned her face up toward Jonathan’s. He leaned over and exchanged a sweet kiss with her. Elena whispered something to him, and he smiled.

Shelly felt as if the ground under her feet were beginning to shake. If she stayed where she was, it would certainly open up and swallow her.

“I’m going to walk around this other side,” she said, looking down at the camera. “I’ll meet you guys back at the car.”

She turned her head and began to walk quickly before either of them could notice the tears stinging their way down to her quivering lips.

Chapter Seventeen
 

S
helly didn’t cry long, and she didn’t cry a lot of tears. She stopped by the old church wall that overlooked the town and the pleasant green farmlands beyond. Far to the right was a forested hill, and at the north end of that hill stood a castle. Not a grand, brazen castle like the one in Heidelberg, but a light gray structure with a single turret rising above the forest.

“God,” Shelly whispered. Then she stopped. She had no idea what she wanted to say, or how she thought she should pray about all her mixed-up feelings. It seemed a long time since she had bothered God with any of her concerns. Her unspoken desire that Jonathan should not marry Elena was too selfish for her to pray. Jonathan apparently had found happiness. She was the one who needed the blessing. But how could she ask God for a blessing when it had been so long since she had done anything for him?

A soft wind swept in across the cobblestones and met the rumpled-up maple leaves, challenging them to a leaping contest. Around her feet the dying leaves hopped, as if they could prove by movement that they still had one last breath of life in them. They didn’t fool Shelly. Tomorrow at this time, those same leaves would be strewn across this walkway in a hundred dried-out little shards. Some would have been flung over this wall where their tissue-thin skeletons would lie in the pathway, waiting for the imprint of some villager’s boot.

Without having it all straight in her mind, Shelly sympathized with the leaves. There was no “last gasp of love’s latest breath” left between Jonathan and her after all. The poets all lied. So did the spinners of fairy tales. Happy endings are not for everyone.

Shelly drew in a deep breath of the smoke-laced air from the old town below the wall. She told herself not to let it hurt. A real friend would be happy for Jonathan and his newfound love.

Bending over, Shelly picked up one of the curling leaves and pressed it between the paper with the information from her grandmother. That’s when she noticed the rest of the information and realized that if these were clues to track down her ancestors, she had done pretty well. The church existed. Even the date, 1509, had appeared over the arched entryway above the iron gate. Only a bit of information remained unproved: Weiler, Ludwig Rudi, St. Annakapella. Shelly could guess that Ludwig Rudi was another relative, and the gardener had confirmed that they needed to go to the neighboring burg of Weiler. But she wasn’t sure who St. Annakapella was.

The jaunt back to the car helped Shelly compose herself. She walked at her usual fast pace, and as she did, she thought about her sister’s comment that Shelly had a little sway in the
way she walked. She certainly hadn’t tried to add anything to her walk. She had changed as she became older. Everyone did. Jonathan certainly had. If only some of the slight changes in his stature and personality had been disagreeable ones, she might have found it easier to say, “Boy, am I glad I didn’t marry him!” Unfortunately, he seemed to have only become more perfect.

Mr. Perfect and his adoring fiancée were just hiking the last street when Shelly caught up with them. Elena, with her short, thin legs, was a much slower walker than Jonathan. Shelly wondered if that would eventually be a problem for them. Even if it was, she doubted Jonathan would say anything. He never got mad.

“Which way to Weiler?” Shelly asked once they were all settled in the car. This time she had insisted on taking the backseat.

“I saw the sign for it back the way we came from Hilsbach,” Jonathan said, turning the car around.

They noticed a family with two children on tricycles out for an afternoon stroll. Aside from the man in the cemetery, these were the first people they had seen in all of Hilsbach. The absence of residents had made the place a little too quiet for Shelly, but the people of this town obviously still honored the commandment to keep the Sabbath holy.

As the narrow road led them out of town, Shelly looked over her shoulder. It did, as Elena had said, give her the “wonders” to think of what this place had been like in 1509 and what kind of hearty ancestors she had who could build a wall from limestone blocks and harvest the fields. What incredible people they must have been, especially to have built the castle the traveling trio now saw coming into view as they wound up the hillside into Weiler.

“Let’s check out the castle first,” Elena suggested. “The
graveyard might even be there.”

They followed a slow Mercedes up the well-paved road to the castle. On either side of them lay terraced acres of grapevines. From the looks of the vines, they were at the end of their season, and all the usable fruit had been picked. A few stragglers clung to the withering branches.

The parking lot was large enough to hold hundreds of cars, but only five were parked there this Sabbath afternoon. The three explorers got out and hiked up the asphalt path to the stone-hewn walls and tower. The trail turned to dirt, mud, and a little gravel dusted with autumn leaves. As they walked where once oxcarts had rumbled along and noblemen had pranced on groomed horses, Shelly stopped under one of the arches to examine the amazing wall of this fortress. The rocks were fitted together like a puzzle and worn smooth after centuries of work by heaven’s natural cosmetologists—rain, wind, sun, sleet, and hail. Thick, green vines came over the top of the stone wall and tumbled down like Rapunzel’s fabled tresses. Next to where Shelly stood at the base of the great tower, a smear of moss grew over the rock like a green five o’clock shadow on the face of a sleeping giant.

All around her was the scent of history. She touched the stone and found it as cold as she had imagined it would be. She gathered a flat, smooth pebble and tucked it in her pocket.

“This is what you love, isn’t it?” Jonathan said. She hadn’t seen him retrace his steps and come back to her.

“Oh, this? Yes,” she said, “I love this.”

Jonathan’s smile was faint, somber, and astute. “This is what I’ve pictured you doing all these years. It wasn’t enough for you to hear about places around the world. You needed to smell them and touch them, didn’t you?”

His insight penetrated her, not because she hadn’t ended up experiencing the world in the way he said, but because the
Jonathan she once knew hadn’t understood that.

“Actually, the thing is, during all these years, I …” Shelly was cut off by Elena coming back down the road and calling to them. She didn’t know how to tell Jonathan that this was the first bit of Europe she had been to.

“Are you guys coming, or should I go ahead?” Elena called out.

Shelly looked at her feet and said, “Never mind.” She stuck her hands in her coat pockets and held her little flat stone tightly. “We should get going.”