Chapter Text
Shivering as a gust of wind blew snowflakes into her face, Clara clutched the tureen she was carrying closer to her chest. It was still warm, and she had every intention of keeping it that way until it could be delivered – after all, that was a great deal of the point of bringing someone soup, especially in this sort of weather. Next to her, Grett and Paul both tightened their scarves around their faces. Things had gotten colder since yesterday, and there was a distinct sharpness to the mid-morning air.
It was difficult not to let her eyes wander up the road as the trio approached their destination, past the Druckers’ home to the space that had, until late last night, been home to the church as long as anyone in town could remember. Huge pieces of the rubble of Our Lady of the Labyrinth were still lying about, sunken deep into the snow as if the ground underneath had simply given way. It was a jarring absence. Not for the first time, she wondered what everyone in town was supposed to make of the building collapsing. It didn’t seem like a particularly good omen for Tassing, having the church crumble to pieces – on the night of the Lord’s birth, no less! But if it was meant to be some sort of a sign, it certainly wasn’t a very useful one.
Paul rapped on the door as they reached the Druckers’, the sound muffled by his thick mittens. Not that it seemed to matter. Almost immediately, there were sounds of movement from inside, including the hushed murmur of… voices? But that couldn’t be right. Poor Claus hadn’t been able to leave his bed upstairs for a while now. Unless perhaps they weren’t Magdalene’s first visitors of the day – which would spoil the surprise a bit, but of course, they were hardly the only people in town worried about her and her father.
“Magdalene?” Paul called when the door failed to open.
“Coming! I’m coming! Just, um, just one moment!”
Something heavy-sounding fell on the other side of the door. Clara, Grett, and Paul exchanged glances.
“Is everything alright, dear?” Grett said.
“Another moment!” Magdalene called back.
Her voice became hushed once more, but if Clara were making guesses, it sounded an awful lot like she’d told someone “Never mind, I’ll handle this.”
How peculiar.
The door swung open to reveal a tired-looking Magdalene, her eyes ringed around with the tell-tale red of someone who’d been doing a great deal of crying. Her hair and clothes were mussed in a way that suggested she’d probably fallen asleep in them, and streaked through with dirt and dust.
“Paul, Grett, Clara,” she said in a strained voice. Her eyes flicked to the side. “To what do I owe the visit?”
“Just stopping by with some food,” said Grett. “I’ve got a few fresh-baked rolls and leftover cookies from last night, and Clara made you some soup.”
“We thought we ought to bring something,” said Clara, “It being Christmas and all.”
“I’m a hanger-on, I’m afraid,” added Paul. “Grett mentioned she was going to be stopping by your place when she visited us this morning. If you’ve got the time, I’d like to ask if you know anything about what happened with the church last night.”
“The church?” Magdalene’s eyes flicked to the side again. “That’s weird, why would you want to talk to me about that?”
Paul looked at Grett and Clara, then back at Magdalene. She laughed awkwardly, smoothing back her hair with one of her palms.
“...Because you live right down the street from it, Magdalene,” said Paul, with a patience in his voice that could only come from parenting two toddlers.
“Is something wrong, dear?” Clara asked. “You’re acting so nervous. Are you and your father alright?”
Abruptly, Magdalene pulled her hand from her hair, pressing to her mouth instead. She let out a choked sob.
“Oh no,” said Grett softly, “What’s happened?”
“It’s… it’s fine,” she said a little too quickly, though it didn’t take long for her to sober once more. “Except actually, um… oh, I can’t do this. It’s not fine at all. Dad, he...”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“Last night, then?” Clara asked. How incredibly unfair for so many awful things to happen in one night. Christmas night, even.
“Oh, how horrible,” said Grett. “And when no one knows what’s become of Father Thomas, too.”
“I’m sorry, Magdalene,” said Paul. “He was a good man. We were all hoping he would pull through.”
“I… me too.”
“You poor thing,” Grett continued. “Is it alright if we come inside? I don’t know if good food will be as much of a help as we were hoping, but it is awfully cold out.”
“Um…” began Magdalene. She turned her head to the side, frowned, shook her head, made an emphatic gesture with her hands, shook her head again, this time with a grumpier expression, and finally, nodded, a glimmer of I’m-going-to-do-what-I-want-thanks stubbornness in her eyes.
None of this strange pantomime was aimed in the direction of the three people on the doorstep. Grief did funny things to people sometimes, but it still struck Clara as not making much sense.
“Come on in,” Magdalene said eventually. “But first. Promise me you’ll keep this a secret. For now.”
Oddly, the emphasis on the last part felt like it was meant for someone else’s ears entirely.
“About Claus?” Clara asked, confused. “Why?”
“No, no,” she said, pushing a few stray tears back with the back of her hand. “About… someone else. He says he’s not ready for the whole town to know yet, even though I keep saying it’ll be fine.”
“I can’t imagine you being up to anything dishonest, dear, so it’s alright by me,” said Grett. “You two?”
Clara nodded, as did Paul, the latter furrowing his brow a moment in thought.
“Alright,” said Magdalene, before leaning in close and adding in a whisper, one hand cupped against her mouth. “Just… be nice. I know there are some people in town who still might not be so happy with him, but between you and me, he’s really not doing so well.”
Clara blinked at the strange description. She couldn’t think of anyone in Tassing who’d been considered much trouble recently. Her step-grandchildren were always getting up to some kind of mischief, but they’d never done any real harm. If the horrors of the revolt had given those left behind anything, it was a renewed sense of duty to care for each other. Not a desire to hold grudges against someone in need.
But there was little time to wonder about it. After her strange pronouncement, Magdalene finally pulled the door all the way open, leaving it to swing on its hinges as they came in from the cold. Clara, for one, walked briskly towards the table to set down her soup. Practical matters came first, mysteries later.
Nothing struck her as odd when she began surveying the rest of the house. The workshop was messy, but messy in the same well-used way it always was, and the table and chairs across from it less-touched than they ought to be. In fact, barely anything seemed different from the last time she’d been over to clean, which was a testament to how much time Magdalene had been spending at the Rathaus.
It was only when she registered that the heap of shabby fabric sitting on the floor near Magdalene’s bed was, in fact, a person that Clara realized someone else was in the Druckers’ home after all.
Her first thought was that he looked unwell. Not ill, mind you, but there was a bone-deep gauntness to his face and his tattered clothes hung loosely off a famine-thin frame, which boded poorly for his health. The same could be said of his hunched posture, suggesting aches and pains of a certain severity. His hands, which had begun to twitch nervously the moment she and the others had laid eyes on him, bore old burn scars, and his long hair and beard were horribly matted. Probably beyond saving.
In short, he looked uniquely badly-off, and immediately pitiable. She was certain she would remember seeing such a sorry ghost of a man around Tassing. And yet, a stubborn tugging on the corners of her memory insisted there was something familiar about his face.
“Hello,” said Paul, putting on the same kind voice she’d once heard him use with a cat that had gotten itself hurt climbing around inside the mill as he leaned over to extend a hand in the stranger’s direction. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Paul Müller.”
The other man hesitated to accept his handshake, though from his wary expression it seemed less like a slight and more like he was waiting for something.
“Actually, um…” Magdalene said, “You do all know him, it’s just been… a while. Almost as long as I’ve been alive.”
Paul blinked, looking confused, though he didn’t retract his hand. For her own part, Clara found herself sifting through memories from two decades ago, even the ones that pained her to recall – and there really were too many of them from that time, weren’t there? – attempting to find a clue somewhere in the face of the man before her.
There wasn’t much to suggest who he once had been, before the ravages of whatever had brought him to this sad state. His hair was greying, but streaks of its original reddish color remained, adding a bit of life to an otherwise muted person. The haggardness of hunger, too, was written all over him, but he didn’t have the look of someone who’d lost a great deal of muscle to it.
Burn scars on his hands. And his eyes—
“—Andreas!” she gasped, the realization hitting her all at once. “Andreas Maler!”
It was impossible, surely, unless he actually was a ghost. No one had ever found the man’s body, but that was because no one had ever thought there was much point in looking. Claus had reported seeing him run directly into the blaze of the abbey library, shortly before the whole place had gone up. It wasn’t the sort of thing people survived. And yet... there was no mistaking that clear gaze, which had always struck her as so kind, especially when he’d been telling stories to Ursula. Even now, despite the aching behind his eyes, it didn’t look so different.
The man on the floor gave a sad, tired-sounding laugh. “Guilty as charged.”
“Lord in Heaven…” said Grett, whose hand had flown to her mouth. She looked teary-eyed. “How?”
Finally accepting Paul’s hand as a means of leveraging himself from the floor – the younger man staring at him in amazement the whole while – Andreas stood to the best of his ability, though it was clear the act pained him..
“A devotion I didn’t deserve,” he said, choking up on the last word. “My—he—”
He didn’t even finish the sentence.
Magdalene walked over to Andreas, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “—Andreas was pulled from the blaze by his apprentice,” she said, turning to the others. “But it’s hard for him to talk about. He didn’t make it.”
Paul looked stricken, his eyes widening with grief at the mention of the boy’s death. For her own part, Clara found herself recalling Caspar’s naïve offer to share his meal with Ursula, the last time Andreas had visited their home for dinner. Even if Peter had been too pained and despairing to see it as anything more than a breach of etiquette, she had still thought it kind of the boy to care about their daughter. So few other people had seemed to, back then.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Andreas,” said Grett. “He seemed like such a sweet boy.”
“But where have you been all this time?” Clara asked, unable to hold the question back any longer. Even with an explanation for Andreas’ survival, none of this made any sense. He looked frail and starving, like he was barely clinging to life. Surely he would have thought to seek help in town, where he had friends and was remembered fondly, long before being reduced to this.
Shifting uncomfortably, Andreas turned his eyes to the ground. Magdalene squeezed his shoulder, though a slight tremor had started in the girl’s own fingers. He raised his head to meet her gaze, something melancholy and unspoken passing between them.
“He’s been living in the abbey this whole time,” Magdalene said after a moment. “And some of the old Roman ruins.”
“The abbey?” Grett exclaimed. “In the state that it’s in? How, Andreas?”
“And why?” asked Clara. “Why not come back to Tassing?”
She wanted to pry even further – why stay away from warmth and safety, why totally isolate himself from help when he clearly needed it, why keep the fact that he’d lived a secret at all? Tassing had lost so many. It would have been a relief to know he’d survived. Even if Andreas wasn’t one of the town’s permanent residents, he was still a familiar face assumed to have been lost to the violence, and had been mourned by many.
But he had flinched bodily at both her and Grett’s questions, tugging his hand away from Paul’s and curling in on himself as if all their attention pained him. Pressing more was unlikely to be helpful. As he turned to Magdalene with a fearful look in his eyes, seemingly lost without her guidance, Clara found herself achingly sad remembering the young artist who had once slept in her upper loft, and let Ursula chase him around the yard until she shrieked with laughter, and presented them all with a simple, sketched family portrait in thanks before he left town.
(She was still grateful for that. It was the only reason that, after all these years without him, she had a picture of Peter.)
Very little of that young man was left. Even if Andreas had survived the fire in body, it was clear he had not in spirit. Nor, she was beginning to suspect from the way his gaze rarely met the person he was speaking to and his words came a little too slowly, entirely in mind.
“I—I didn’t—” he stuttered, then trailed off.
“It’s okay,” Madgalene said, a little too pleadingly, “You can tell them.”
Clara exchanged a worried glance with Grett, her own concerns clearly mirrored in the other woman’s eyes. Andreas wasn’t well, that much was painfully obvious. But it would be foolish to forget that Magdalene had just lost her father, and was clearly faring a different sort of poorly. Both of them were fragile right now.
“Please, Andreas,” the young woman continued. “We talked about this. You need help!”
Andreas closed his eyes. He tapped one of his hands nervously against his side, seemingly trying to soothe himself with the action. Eventually, he looked back at them and spoke.
“I didn’t think I’d be wanted,” he said. “In Tassing. Maybe anywhere. I’ve caused enough trouble.”
“What?” exclaimed Grett.
“Why would you think that?” Clara said, wringing her hands together. “Did someone threaten you?”
She couldn’t imagine how else he’d have gotten that idea in his head. Niko was still angry about Hanna, of course, and Agnes occasionally grumbled about Andreas having been too nosy for his own good. But others in town had been deeply saddened to hear about his supposed passing. Some had even carried more than their fair share guilt over it.
That was people for you. They always had more than enough opinions between them to go around.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Paul said gently, taking a step towards the other man. “Even though you seem to. But Magdalene is right. You look like you need help. And I know plenty of people in Tassing who would be happy to help someone having a hard time. I know I would.”
“As would I!” said Grett. “And Magdalene, too, it would seem.”
“And me,” Clara added, already considering what she could offer. They probably didn’t have any spare clothes around the house, even with the way Apollo was growing, but she was unfortunately well-acquainted with the careful process of weaning someone back onto full meals after too long without. And of course, it would probably take a few people to help him with his hair...
Clasping Andreas’ hand in both his own, Paul gave the other man a small, reassuring smile. Not for the first time, Clara found herself marveling at how different the young man’s strong, quiet kindness was from his father’s brazen cruelty. It was a miracle not to be taken for granted.
“You’ll be needing somewhere to stay, I imagine,” said Paul.
“It’s okay if he stays here,” Magdalene said quickly. “I don’t mind.”
“Magdalene, dear,” said Grett. “You’ve had so much on your plate for so long, and you’ve just lost your father. Andreas doesn’t have to do things alone, but you don’t either.”
The young woman blinked, and Clara found her gaze drawn once more to the rings of red around her eyes. Magdalene was so strong, and everyone in town knew it. But it was such a gift to live in times where those who’d lived longer and harder lives could tell the younger generation honestly they had help in carrying their burdens.
Paul spoke again. “Anna and I have the room. We’d be glad to have you, Andreas.”
“...Ask her, first,” Andreas insisted. His brows were knitted together with worry. “To make sure. I don’t want to impose on… on anyone who doesn’t want me.”
“Oh, she’ll say yes,” Grett chimed in. “At least, she’d better.”
“Besides,” Paul said “The kids will be excited. Ulrike loves meeting new people, and Andreas… well… he's shy, but I think you'll get along.”
“I… you… you didn’t,” Andreas stammered, his face shifting from anxious to the tell-tale expression of someone doing their best to fight back tears.
It wasn’t long before he failed.
Patting his hand, Paul pulled the other man into a sturdy embrace. He continued to hold him as he started to sob, Andreas’ own shaky arms eventually returning the gesture – clumsily, but clearly grateful. Soon he was clutching at Paul to stay upright, his own legs having gone wobbly from emotion.
“You might be remembered a little differently than you thought,” Paul said, gently.
It seemed prudent to give them a little longer, but when Andreas finally began to pull away, Clara was the first to swoop to his side, taking his arm herself. He turned to look at her with watery eyes, but didn’t resist.
“You should rest, Andreas,” she said, guiding him to sit on Magdalene’s bed. With the way the young woman had been fretting over him, she doubted she would mind. “I can’t imagine you have much strength right now.”
“I—”
Grett joined her, clucking her tongue. “And you were already so skinny, even before. You should have something to eat. Clara and I were bringing food over for Magdalene, but there’s enough to go around.”
“My soup might be too rich, by the looks of you,” Clara added. “But maybe some bread.”
“What have you been eating, anyways?” asked Grett.
Shrinking at the question, Andreas – who had been looking a bit intimidated under their combined attention – put his head in his hands.
“It’s… I may have been stealing, here and there,” he said, sounding thoroughly ashamed. “Sometimes from the convent. Sometimes from your bakery. I’m sorry. I always took as little as I could.”
“Well!” Grett put her hands on her hips, giving him a scolding look. “I wish you’d taken more!”
Paul laughed. “You all seem to have things under control,” he said, heading towards the door. “I’m off to tell Anna we should prepare for a houseguest. Magdalene, I’d still like to talk with you later, but take as much time as you need.”
“Right!” she said. “About that. Andreas and I have… there’s something we have to tell the town about. Something big.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“Well… not exactly.”
“Then it can wait,” said Paul. “You just lost your father, and Andreas just came back from the dead. Those are both fairly trying ordeals.”
With that, he pulled the door open and stepped once more into the chilly December air. Clara didn’t miss the way Andreas shivered at the gust of wind that kicked a spray of snow inside before the door clicked shut again, even from all the way in the bedroom. She placed her hand on his comfortingly, rubbing her thumb against the side of his palm where the scarring wasn’t so bad.
“You’ll be alright,” she promised him.
“Will I?” he said, turning to look at her with an unreadable expression.
“God willing,” she said. “And Tassing willing, too.”
“Magdalene,” Grett said. “Have yourself some soup. Grief is always worse on an empty stomach. We can heat it up over the hearth if it’s gone cold. Andreas, do you need anything else before you eat? You look dreadful.”
“I… don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what I need.”
“We’ll start with the bread, then.”
The flicker of a smile crossed across his face, though it didn’t linger long. “I’ve missed you all,” he said.
“You’ve been missed, too,” Clara said. And it was true – she couldn’t speak for everyone in town, but she could speak for herself. While Andreas had not been the loss that weighed most heavily on her mind in the aftermath of the revolt, the news of it had still felt personal, and deeply unfair.
He didn’t offer anything more in response to that – just fixed her with a grateful look, though there was still a sadness behind it that suggested he didn’t quite believe her.
That was alright, for now. There would be enough people to make him see it in time.