The Ragged Edge of Night(71)

“It’s boring inside! I don’t want to be there.”

With an effort, Anton smooths the anger from his voice. All sugar, he says, “I know it’s boring, but you won’t be there for long. Then you’ll get to see Father Emil and stand up in front of everyone in your fine white dress. Isn’t that something to look forward to? Come along, now, mein Schatz. Let me help you down.”

But at that moment, the door bangs open and the boys run downstairs, shouting Maria’s name. There is an urgency in their voices; Elisabeth has sent them off to catch their little sister and bring her to heel. Distracted, Maria turns toward her brothers—and misses her step. In an instant, she dips to the side; her arms flap helplessly in the air. Her little face is all round eyes and round, open mouth as she topples from the wall, falling on the inside—where the animals sleep. A tremendous crash follows the little white figure’s disappearance. And then, a moment later, a cloud of stench rises from the Misthaufen trench.

Anton sprints to the back of the house and throws open the gate of the pen. He hurries through the straw bedding, kicking it this way and that. The dairy cow, dozing in her bed, lumbers to her feet with a frightened bellow. He finds Maria at the bottom of the muck trench, lying flat out in the urine and dung. The poor thing has smashed right through the light wooden planks, a perfunctory screen that, until now, has hidden the trench and its unappealing contents. For a moment, Anton fears she is seriously injured, perhaps fatally—she lies so very still. But then Maria sits up slowly. She looks down at herself—at the Communion dress, so lovingly made by Elisabeth, brown and reeking now, ruined with filth. She sucks in a tremendous breath, throws back her head, and lets out a long, piercing scream.

The boys join Anton below the house just as the cow trots away, driven off by Maria’s earsplitting cry.

“What have you done?” Albert cries, while Paul shouts with entirely too much glee, “Mother’s going to burn your backside!”

Anton reaches for the girl. The boys move as if to help him, but he waves them back. “Don’t you get filthy, too. Your poor mother has enough to worry about.” He lifts Maria in his arms, though the smell nearly chokes him. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she wails, “but now I’m all dirty!”

“Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

“Yes, but I didn’t believe you! I didn’t think God would be so mean to me on my First Communion day!”

“It wasn’t God who did this, you silly girl. You’ve no one to blame but yourself. This is what disobedience gets you!” Still cradling Maria, he carries her out from under the house. His own shirt is smeared with the same foulness, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. He stands Maria upright in the grass, surveying the damage. The filth is everywhere—soaking the front of her smocked dress from bodice to hem, splattered on her red face, matted in her hair.

Elisabeth has come to the sound of her daughter’s cries. Maria’s distress has summoned Frau Hertz, too; she runs from the farmhouse, already talking to no one in particular and wringing her hands. Out of breath, Frau Hertz can only cluck with worry, but Elisabeth is mute from shock.

After a few moments of useless gasping, Elisabeth musters her words. “We have only half an hour before we must leave for the church! Maria, you will be the death of me!” Tears spring to Elisabeth’s eyes. Anton is surprised—he hasn’t seen her weep since that day in the lane, when he played his cornet. “Whatever can we do?”

Frau Hertz takes Elisabeth under her comforting arm. “Be calm, my dear. It’s not as bad as you think. I still have my old Communion dress; I know just where I’ve stored it. It should fit Maria. It’s old-fashioned, of course, but it will serve.”

“I want to wear this dress,” Maria cries. “It’s so pretty!”

Paul says, “It’s not pretty anymore,” which only makes Maria cry all the harder. Elisabeth clouts Paul on the back of his head, sending his blond hair ruffling. The boys bite their lips to stifle their laughter.

“Come along.” Frau Hertz guides Elisabeth toward the big farmhouse. “We’ll get her cleaned up and dressed. There will be enough time, Elisabeth; don’t you fret. Albert, run ahead and fill up that big copper tub, the one I keep in my kitchen. The water will be cold; there’s no time to heat it. But we must wash her hair. There’s muck all through it. Anton, you carry Maria.”

As Frau Hertz marches her away, Elisabeth glances back at Anton. “You must change your clothes as soon as we’ve got Maria into the tub, Anton. She’s smeared dung all over your shirt; you can’t go to church in such a state.”

Anton does change, when he is free to do so. But when he enters the Hertz home several minutes later, freshly dressed, he is still not wearing his Sunday best.

Wrapped in a large towel and shivering, Maria is bent over an ironing board with her hair spread flat along its length. Already she has been thoroughly scrubbed; Frau Hertz can work wonders when wonders are called for. Elisabeth has clamped both arms around Maria’s middle, trying to keep the girl from wiggling. Frau Hertz applies a hot iron to Maria’s hair. The iron hisses like a serpent, and a cloud of steam rises, beading moisture on the windowpane.

“I was about to start my ironing when I heard Maria scream,” Frau Hertz says. “The iron was already hot. That was good luck; otherwise, we couldn’t hope to dry her hair in time. I’m afraid you won’t have curls today, Maria, but straight hair is better than muck-covered hair.”