Chapter Text
“So, uh,” began Artemis, pouring out the ewer of snow-turned-to-water she’d been instructed to heat over the fire. A slowly filling basin on the kitchen table showed the efforts of her work. “Remind me again why we chased out Dad and Great-Grandpa Peter and Apollo? I mean, the latter’s fair, but…”
“We don’t need the men underfoot for this,” said Clara. She gave a thoughtful look to a pair of socks she’d pulled from the growing pile of donated clothing on the floor, setting them aside after a moment. “Besides, it’ll give poor Andreas a bit more privacy.”
“But… isn’t he also a man?” Artemis asked.
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about him,” her mom said. “He’s… well, he’s Andreas. I doubt he’s gotten much more intimidating in the last eighteen years.”
“Quite the contrary,” Clara said, sadly.
“I still can’t believe he’s been living in the abbey this whole time,” said Aunt Eva, who stood at the table chopping up a small pile of dried soapwort. “Not that it’s much easier to believe he’s even alive.”
“He was always stubborn. Stubborn enough to give Tassing its very own miracle, apparently. A man back from the dead. It sounds almost Biblical.”
“You all haven’t seen him yet,” said Clara. She looked far more mournful than the others. “It’s just awful, what the years have done to him. He hardly even looks like the same man. Hardly acts like it either. Grett told me Paul and Anna have been having trouble even coaxing him to talk much. Magdalene’s been having a bit more luck, but she’s got her own troubles, the poor dear.”
“Oh, God. That sounds like a sign of the end times.”
“Be kind,Veronica! He’s not well.”
“I’m not making fun, I swear! I always liked talking to him, with his stories from traveling and… well, he was always a bit odd, but not like anyone from Tassing, that’s for sure. So he was an interesting, pleasant kind of odd. But you’ve got to admit, he always had a lot to say.”
“Or he used to,” Aunt Eva sighed.
Frowning as she scooped another ewer of water from the cauldron over the hearth, Artemis was about to ask what else Clara had heard from Magdalene and the Müllers that was worth mentioning when the creaking of the front door and a rush of cold air announced the arrival of yet another pair of hands to assist in their work. By now, she was certain they had more women around than they actually needed. But it was easy enough to see that was beyond the point for everyone here.
Excepting maybe herself. God, this was going to be weird.
“Ursula!” said Clara brightly as Artemis’ aunt walked through the door. “I wasn’t certain you’d be able to make it!”
“I wasn’t either,” Aunt Ursula admitted. “If Walpurga’s too much trouble, I may have to take my leave. But seeing as she’s napping, and I was hoping to see Andreas pretty badly, I thought I’d come for as long as I could.”
Little Walpurga was indeed napping, nestled against her mother’s breast in a cozy sling. Privately, Artemis thought this was also something of a Biblical miracle given the hearty pair of lungs on her baby niece. But she was still pretty cute.
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” said Clara, “He was always so fond of you, when you were little.”
“I wish I remembered him better. I can’t believe he’s still alive.”
Eva looked up from her work at the table. “We were just saying the same. Clara insists he’s not doing well, but I never thought we’d even see him again!”
“Oh, it’s still wonderful,” said Clara. “I’m just… I’m worried for him.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Aunt Ursula said. “We couldn’t spare any more of Fabian’s things, but I did bring some socks.”
“Everyone’s brought socks,” said Artemis’ mom. “Andreas is going to end up with the warmest feet in Tassing.”
“Better than the alternative,” Eva said. “With all the snow we’ve gotten this year.”
“Oh dear,” Clara fretted. “He’s been without them for the rest of it. And for who knows how many other winters. Maybe even all eighteen. What an awful thought!”
“Do any of you know… why?” Artemis asked. “I mean, Tassing’s been here this whole time.”
The question had been bothering her ever since Clara had told the rest of the Gertner home about the man’s sudden, unexpected reappearance. Sure, it was nice hearing an old friend of her family’s was still alive – and especially one who’d been purported to have a particularly gruesome death – but that didn’t mean it made much sense
A series of meaningful glances made their way around the room, which only left Artemis feeling further in the dark. She was particularly irked to see one from Aunt Ursula, who hadn’t even been that old when the revolt happened, but seemed to know something she didn’t anyways.
“Andreas was always a little strange,” said her mom. “It was hard enough figuring out what was going on in his head at the best of times, and he disappeared at an awful one.”
“He was… I could tell he had some heavy sorrows of his own, the last time I spoke with him,” Aunt Eva added. “I doubt he was thinking all that clearly by the time everything ended up on fire. I wonder if it didn’t help that everyone thought it was a lost cause looking for him.”
“He lost that sweet boy of his, too,” Clara said, sounding sad. “Caspar, the one who helped us with the festival decorations, setting up for that Saint John’s Eve, remember? That’s the sort of thing that would be hard for anyone.”
Privately, Artemis thought those all sounded like decent reasons to be a mess in a normal way – to cry a great deal, or to drink too much at the inn for a while, or to become generally sort of unpleasant to be around – but still didn’t explain becoming a weird ruin-dwelling hermit living somewhere as dreary and depressing as the old burned-out abbey for nearly two decades. But the other women all looked so sad thinking about it that she decided to hold her tongue for once.
“It still doesn’t feel real,” Aunt Eva said. “I think even once I’ve seen him, it’s not going to feel real. Not for a little while, at least. I’ve gotten so used to remembering poor Andreas along with… with all the others we lost, Dad and Otto and all the rest of them, God rest their souls.”
Artemis’ mom prodded at the hearth, adding another log to the fire for good measure. It sputtered briefly before the flames caught, sending a handful of embers floating lazily upwards.
“You’re not the only one,” she said. “Even Father Thomas included him in that dismal service a few days after, when he was trying to do proper rites for everyone even with so many dead. Most of the rest of it is a haze for me, I was so caught up grieving for Dad. But I remember it making me so sad, that all he could do was say Andreas’ name, because unlike the others there wasn’t even a body to bury. Turns out it wasn’t as sad a thing as I thought.”
A heavy silence lingered over the room as the fire settled and the other women grew lost in their thoughts. For her own part, Artemis suddenly felt very awkward. She never really knew what to say, when conversations drifted towards the revolt. She knew her own family had suffered immensely that night, and often felt like people expected her to feel all morose about it. But she couldn’t mourn her Grandpa Peter or Johan the same way her mom and dad and other people who’d actually known them did. They were holes in her life, not people she remembered and missed. They’d died before she was even born.
Andreas Maler had been a hole too. Someone people around town talked about often enough, who’d apparently once slept in her and Apollo’s room as a boarder, but not much more than that. She didn’t even know what he looked like, and unlike the others who’s been killed, he didn’t have family in Tassing to give her something of an idea – the way Clara always told her she had her Grandpa Peter’s hair, or Aunt Eva wistfully said Ötz looked so much like his dad.
She was suddenly keenly aware, standing there in the middle of a whole group of women going on about heartfelt reunions and miracles, that their joy and amazement was as foreign to her as their mourning. Her mom had been the one to tell her to stay for this, saying it would be nice for Andreas to meet one of the new faces in Tassing, and she was excited to introduce her to him. But right now, she felt less like someone there to say hello to an old family friend and more like some dolt who’d missed the Crucifixion altogether and didn’t think it was such a big deal seeing the Lord out and about.
“They ought to be here by now,” Clara said eventually, wringing the shirt in her hands a moment before setting it aside. “I hope nothing’s happened.”
Artemis’ mom tipped another bowl of snow into the cauldron over the fire. “I’m sure it’s fine. For one thing, Anna has two toddlers.”
“I suppose. I should really go over and lend the Müllers a hand one of these days. With Andreas still settling in, and both the little ones… I know Anna’s got Paul and Else to help, but little Ulrike’s such a handful, and Andreas—our Andreas, I mean, not their boy—well. He’s not all there, if you know what I mean.”
A few of the other women nodded, looking grim. Artemis did not.
“Well, I don’t,” she said. “Why are you all being so weird about him?”
Her mother looked like she was about to chastise her again—which was unfair, really, it felt like she’d asked a fair question—when there was a rapping sound at the door. Everyone in the room perked up, their eyes swiveling past Artemis and towards the front of the Gertner home.
“Come in!” her mom called. “No reason to freeze out there!”
The door swung open to reveal the cheerful, smiling face of Anna Mülleryn, almost as if their talk had summoned her. Next to her, looking far more grim and gripping one of her arms, was a haggard man clad in rags, both of which had clearly seen better days. He struck a decidedly somber figure, especially in contrast to Anna’s sunniness – though the thought lodged itself in Artemis’ brain that he had the uncomfortable bearing of someone who hardly meant to but couldn’t help it anyways.
“Anna!” Clara exclaimed. “Quickly, come inside! You too, Andreas, it’s cold out and you’re hardly dressed for the weather, though of course we mean to change that.”
Artemis blinked. She had heard a surprising amount of stories about Andreas Maler over the years, despite the man only having lived in Tassing for a few months. Clara always talked about him wistfully, and said he’d deserved better than what had happened to him; Dad seemed uncomfortable when he came up, but in a sad, maybe even guilty sort of way; Mom’s stories about him were usually paired with a laugh, like she thought it was how he’d like to be remembered. Her mind had formed a fuzzy picture of him over the years – a city man in nice, probably expensive clothes, maybe with paint under his fingernails, the same way Magdalene and her dad’s hands always ended up stained by ink.
Saying the man clinging to Anna’s side looked nothing like that was a pointless understatement. He was more of spindly ghost with wild, matted hair and unbearably sad eyes who looked like he might keel over at any second – and a bit like he wanted to. Especially as the pair of them stepped inside the Gertner home.
“Sorry we’re a little late,” Anna apologized, shuffling alongside him. “Master Maler is in a lot of pain today.”
“You didn’t need to tell them all that,” he mumbled, clutching tighter at her arm. “It’s nothing to worry about, really.”
“Oh, it is you, Andreas Maler!” Aunt Eva exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. “It’s been so long, but I still know that voice!”
“I’m sure your memory’s sharper than mine,” he sighed. “Hello, Eva, Clara again, Veronica… God, is that you, Ursula? And… I’m sorry…”
“Andreas, this is Artemis,” her mom said, tossing an arm around her shoulder. “Wasn’t born until… oh, I think it was two years after you went missing? She and her brother are both terrors.”
“Nice to meet you, Master Maler,” said Artemis, though honestly she was still a little in shock at the man’s appearance. It wasn’t a lie, obviously, but her mind was doing an awful lot of spinning around, which did leave her at kind of a disadvantage.
“Oh, and this is Walpurga,” Aunt Ursula said, gesturing towards the thankfully-sleeping bundle at her breast. “Hopefully she won’t wake while we’re working though. She has opinions.”
Taking slow, careful steps, like he didn’t quite trust his feet, Andreas drew closer, something hard to interpret filling his eyes.
“You were hardly bigger than her when I first met you,” he said after a pause. “Toddling around in here barely up to my knee. It’s… it’s really been that long, hasn’t it?”
“Hey now, don’t go talking like we’re all ancient,” Mom laughed. “Even looking like a wild man, I know you’re not so much older than me, Andreas Maler! God, I’m amazed Clara even recognized you. Especially with us all so sure you’d died.”
“It’s a miracle,” Aunt Eva said. “We lost so many men that night, and… and before it. Having even one of you back is a miracle.”
“Not the one you were hoping for, I’m sure.”
“Andreas, you should sit down if you’re hurting,” Clara insisted. “Do you need anything? What would help?”
“It’s just old injuries, Clara. I’ve picked up enough of them. They’re manageable. Though I swear they all got worse after I got sick…” he trailed off, a distant look on his features as he began counting on his fingers. “Eight, years ago, I think. Maybe nine. Maybe more.”
“Nine years ago was a bad winter,” Aunt Eva offered.
“Probably nine, then,” he agreed. “It was bitterly cold. I remember I couldn’t stay warm at all, even in buried parts of the aqueducts… and then all of a sudden I was too warm, for weeks. My store of food ran out towards the end, too, and I might’ve gotten a bit reckless with venturing out into the snow. Everything’s hurt more since.”
There was a dead silence. It seemed to take Andreas a few moments to realize everyone was looking at him with various levels of badly-masked horror, though Artemis noted her mother’s seemed the most schooled – a little less shocked and a little more sad. After a pause with no sound but the crackling of the hearth, it finally seemed to dawn on him he’d just said something supremely messed up.
“Ah,” he said, growing fretful. “Sorry. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”
“Remember, Andreas,” said Anna. She sounded patient, like by now this was practiced. “You’ve been through a lot. We’re all just--”
“--Respectfully,” Artemis blurted out, since for some inconceivable reason it seemed like no one else was going to ask it, “Why the fuck didn’t you come into town?”
He shrunk back at her words, looking as though he wished he could scurry behind Anna again, or maybe even run out into the snow.
“Artemis!” her mom scolded, as if somehow she was the one who’d said something weird.
“What?” she protested. “It’s kind of the obvious question!”
“He’s only just gotten here, you don’t have to interrogate him.”
“Well!” Clara said, a little too brightly. “Perhaps we should get started! Andreas, you let us know if we’re tiring you out too much, but we thought we’d begin with your hair. Does that sound alright? Oh, and we really ought to get you out of those rags. They’re practically falling apart.”
Andreas’ eyes, which had already widened at Artemis’ question, grew once more, a sheepish-looking glint to them. He wrung his hands together nervously.
“That’s—er—I haven’t exactly got anything else,” he stammered.
“We expected as much,” Aunt Eva said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Which is why we all scoured our homes to see if our sons or husbands could spare anything that would fit you. Or something close to it, considering Clara told us you'd practically withered away.”
“We’ll have to do some tailoring to get any of the other things to fit, and again if you manage to fill out a bit more – though of course, you never were a large man. But it doesn’t matter so much with underthings. These were the skinniest we could find, between our houses,” said Clara, placing a neatly-folded pile of underclothes in Andreas’ arms.
“That’s because they used to be Paul’s,” Anna said, sounding fond, but distinctly amused. “He got his mother’s bird-bones, bless him.”
Artemis just barely caught her own mom muttering under her breath. “He got his mother’s everything, bless the rest of us.”
“This is… you’re certain they can be spared?” Andreas asked, running a hand over the material of the shirt as if he could hardly believe it was real.
Mom smirked at him. “Well it’s not as if we’re about to make you pay for them! Why don’t you go and change upstairs, Andreas? We’re probably all going to end up a little more familiar by necessity before this is all done, but it’s not like we’ve got to deny you all modesty.”
“Oh! Yes, I can… I can do that.”
An uncertain look on his features, Andreas hugged the clothes he’d been given and let his eyes dart towards the stairs. He looked almost as though he were afraid to ask for permission, even though the whole point of him coming over was to get him looking like less of a disaster. Because oh boy. Clara had understated that part.
“Go on,” said Clara. We’ll just be getting things ready down here!”
With a nod, Andreas did as he was told, though he took the steps awfully slowly. Artemis recalled what Anna had said about him being in a great deal of pain, and once again wondered how he’d gotten by all these years on his own. Sure, she and Apollo had managed to avoid any real trouble running around in the woods – mostly, and the other times didn’t count – but they were still young and healthy, a far cry from the man limping up the stairs. And contrary to what some people in town believed, she wasn’t totally reckless. She knew there were still plenty of dangers out there if you weren’t careful.
She didn’t seem to be the only one wondering.
“You weren’t kidding, Clara,” Mom whispered after Andreas had vanished upstairs. “Fuck.”
“Poor Andreas,” Aunt Eva said. She was clutching one of the shirts she’d been sorting a little too tightly, looking unbearably sad. “It’s hard… it’s hard seeing him like that.”
“How has he been, Anna?” asked Clara. “You said he was in pain?”
Anna sighed, looking more than a little sad herself. “He insists he’s fine, but Paul and Else and I can tell otherwise. I think it comes and goes, at least. I finally got him to admit he really ought to see Agnes or Doctor Stolz about some of his old injuries, now that he’s not so set on hiding from everyone, but we haven’t arranged anything. Let’s see… he’s still far too skinny but he’s finally been eating a bit better, and he can be awfully distant at times but he usually comes around alright.”
“He’s not ill, is he?” asked Aunt Eva. She sounded worried.
“No, I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t say he’s well either. There’s just so much to go about helping him with. It’s been hard to know where one problem ends and another begins!”
“Well, we’ll start by getting him cleaned up,” said Clara, matter-of-factly. “That hair needs to go. I’m sure it’s weighing him down horribly. Then a good washing. Perhaps after all that it’ll be a bit easier.”
“We might need to get the shears,” said Aunt Ursula, with a weary-sounding laugh.
“Do you think it all needs to go? Or just the mats?”
“It looks like it’s all mats to me. I can’t imagine the last time he combed it.”
“Er—is it alright if I come down?”
The whole huddle of women turned their heads abruptly. Andreas stood at the top of the stairs, hovering like he wasn’t sure he was meant to be there at all. In the clean clothes he’d been given, he looked even scrawnier, the shirt hanging loosely off his arms and protruding ribs as he held the waist of the ill-fitting hose up with one of his hands.
“Yes, of course!” said Aunt Eva brightly. “Of course you can.”
“Here, Andreas, have a seat so we can get started properly,” said Clara, pulling a bench from the table.
He obliged, self-consciously smoothing the shirt across his lap as he did so. Artemis watched as her mother handed Clara a pair of scissors, the other woman snipping them experimentally before she spoke again.
“I know you’ve always preferred to wear your hair a bit longer, but I’m afraid most of it’s going to have to come off. It’s just too matted. I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine,” he said, though he sounded pretty apprehensive for someone who thought it was “fine.”
“We’ll do our best to make you look presentable,” Aunt Eva reassured him.
If she was being honest, Artemis found watching Clara begin on Andreas’ hair to be morbidly satisfying, not unlike the time she’d watched her dad shear a sheep that had taken a whole year to find her way home after wandering off like an idiot. Well, even more of an idiot, for a sheep. Her wool had been so overgrown and matted by the time they’d found her, it had been fantastic watching it all slough off.
But that had been a sheep. It was far stranger watching a man’s hair come off in thick, hopelessly tangled chunks. Clara had begun at the back of Andreas’ head and was attempting to make her way to the sides, but it was clearly slow going, the snip-snip of the scissors decidedly disproportionate to the amount of hair actually falling to the floor.
“Hm,” she said with a frown. “This is going to take longer than I thought.”
“When was the last time you cut your hair, Andreas? Surely not eighteen years ago?”
Artemis’ mom had taken to heating more snow over the fire, seemingly in preparation for the – apparently far-off – next step in this whole weird business.
“I don’t know,” he said, miserably. “There were knives in the abbey kitchen; I might’ve made an attempt at some point. Those first few years are… they’re very blurry.”
“Oh dear,” said Clara.
“I’m sorry,” Andreas apologized.
“Oh, no, it’s not that. Eva, we’re going to need Agnes’ ointment after all. Could you fetch it for me? And a comb, too?”
Nodding, Aunt Eva made her way over to the small collection of salves and things Mom and Clara had brought home the other day – or in Artemis’ opinion, a not-so-small collection, but Clara always did like to do things thoroughly.
“Is something wrong?” asked Andreas, somehow sounding even more nervous.
“You’ve just managed to pick up a good deal of lice in all that hair. But don’t worry,” Clara reassured him, “I thought to ask Agnes about a few things yesterday. She’s got a mixture that should help.”
Artemis winced slightly in sympathy. She and Apollo both were unfortunately quite familiar with Agnes’ lice remedy, having managed to pick up nasty infestations multiple times growing up. It was always unpleasant having the greasy ointment smeared into your hair. Not that Andreas was going to have much of it left by the time Clara was through.
“...I see” said Andreas, “If you think it’ll help.”
“Oh, good,” Clara said. “I was afraid I was going to have to put my foot down. Peter was always so stubborn about things like this. He never put much stock in them.”
“Dad was… stubborn about a lot of things,” said Aunt Eva, frowning as she set the ointment down next to where Clara was working.
Something deeply sad flashed across Andreas’ face, which Artemis found curious. If anything, she’d have expected him to get angry at the mention of Grandpa Peter, considering the reason he’d been holed up miserably in the old abbey longer than she’d been alive. She thought about what the other women had said, about him not being all there anymore. Was his memory really that bad? Did he even know everything that had happened, eighteen years ago?
“Agnes says you’ve got even less brains than she thought, by the way,” said Mom. “And that you better be taking caution in this cold if you’ve really near wasted away. Which I’m afraid to say you have.”
“I’m glad Agnes is still around,” he said.
“Aren’t we all."
Artemis’ mom’s statement was met with vigorous nodding from the other ladies, particularly Clara and Aunt Ursula. She wasn’t surprised by the latter – it sounded like Walpurga had been a pretty difficult birth, which gave her plenty of reason to be grateful to the town midwife.
“Did she recommend anything else?” asked Anna.
“Mostly to ‘Keep the poor idiot warm,’ especially with this winter we’re having. I think she’s worried he’ll fall ill. Well, more ill.”
Curiously, Andreas didn’t seem to have a very strong reaction hearing Agnes’ opinion he was lacking in brains, or to being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. He just frowned, fiddling with the too-loose fabric of his hose, staring more into space than at anyone or anything in particular. Artemis was really starting to wonder how much of the conversation he was hearing. Unless he was simply to worn-out to care.
“Speaking of keeping you warm, Andreas,” said Aunt Eva. “We were thinking we’d try to send you home with another change of clothes. How do you like these? I know they’re too large, but we can always bring them in a bit.”
She held up a pair of worn but decidedly warm-looking brown hose, one of the knees already heavily-patched.
“That’s… those would be fine,” he said. “So long as… does your husband need them?”
“Oh, these don’t fit Til,” Eva said matter-of-factly. “They were Otto’s. He was skinnier. It’s funny, even Ötz can’t wear them anymore. I knew he’d grown, but I didn’t realize he’d grown taller than his father.”
“Has he really?” asked Clara. “I hadn’t realized.”
“In the legs, at least,” said Aunt Eva. “I swear, he’d better be done growing or I don’t know what he’ll wear next spring.”
“We’ve got plenty of socks for you, too, Andreas, ” added Aunt Ursula.
“And some winter things,” added Artemis’ mom.
“You’re not too cold right now, are you?” asked Anna. “We could always wrap you in a blanket.”
Andreas blinked, seemingly dragging himself back to the present by force. “What?”
“Are you feeling cold?” asked Clara. “I suppose chopping off your hair probably isn’t helping matters, We could always get you in something warmer.”
It was a long moment before he replied, shaking his head slowly and solemnly – and looking awfully ridiculous on the process with most but still not quite all of his hair shorn short, minus that wild, unkempt beard. Artemis choked down a laugh at the sight.
“No, that’s alright,” he said. “Best to just get it done.”
“I’m sorry,” said Clara. “I’d work faster if I could. It’s all rather tangled and I don’t want to hurt you.”
Almost as if to punctuate her point, a large, matted clump of his hair fell to the floor, which at this point was littered with reddish-grey clippings.
Artemis’ mom chuckled. “At least he sits still. I remember having a Hell of a time trying to cut the twins’ hair when they were little.”
“Hey!” Artemis protested. “I was still better than Apollo.”
“No you weren’t,” her mom replied, fondly.
“I feel bad, trimming everything so short,” said Clara with a sigh . “You always had such lovely hair, Andreas.”
“You did,” said Aunt Eva. “I remember thinking it was so pretty.”
He blinked again. “Did I?”
“It was a nice color,” added Anna. “ I always liked it.”
“You’re all sounding like Mom,” said Artemis’ mom with a laugh. “I haven’t told her you’re back yet, by the way, Andreas. She’ll be thrilled, of course, bu t she’ll descend on you the moment she knows. Dad always used to tease her for how she talked about you, when you were first here in Tassing.”
“Could you tilt your head back, Andreas?” asked Clara. “...Andreas?”
But wherever Andreas’ mind had wandered, it didn’t seem like it was anywhere in Tassing. He was just… staring straight ahead at nothing, his hands trembling in his lap, like something had frightened him terribly.
“Oh no,” said Anna, softly. “He does this sometimes. Andreas, it’s alright. You’re with us.”
Taking a seat next to him on the bench, Anna reached out and gently tapped his shoulder – once, twice, and then a third time before something resembling clarity returned to his eyes. He turned to look at her, startled, before knitting his eyebrows together in worry.
“Is everything alright?” he said – which, frankly, Artemis thought he was the last person who ought to be asking.
“Do you need a moment?” asked Anna. “I’m sure you could go back upstairs, if you’d like.”
“Oh. That… that might be wise.”
“Take all the time you need,” Aunt Eva reassured him.
Awkwardly, Andreas brushed some of the hair clippings off his shoulders and nodded. He rose shakily, clearly self-conscious as he headed upstairs once more, stopping to tug on his too-loose borrowed hose a few steps up. Artemis couldn’t help but think he cut a pretty sad figure – although even thinking it felt oddly mean.
She was starting to understand why everyone was being so weird, earlier.
“Does that happen… often?” asked Aunt Ursula after Andreas had disappeared again.
Anna sighed. “Often enough that I’m getting worried for him. Paul’s even more stressed – but of course, you know how Paul is.”
“Do you think it’s just because he hasn’t been around people in so long? Or is it something else?” said Aunt Eva.
“I wish I knew.”
“He’ll be in our prayers,” Clara said. “He already has been, of course, since I told the others. But we’ll be thinking of him a great deal this winter.”
“Ours as well,” said Aunt Eva. “Til didn’t know Andreas well, but he was still glad to hear he’d survived.”
“It’s horrible timing, losing Father Thomas so recently. I should’ve liked to ask him for advice on all this,” said Clara.
“Andreas does always appear at the most complicated times,” sighed Aunt Eva. “I don’t know how it keeps happening.”
Frowning, Artemis’ mom reached for the broom, starting to sweep some of the hair clippings scattered across the floor into a tidier pile. There was something distinctly sad to her face.
“Well it ’s clearly been terrible for him,” she said. “Let me guess, he blames himself for a good deal of what happened? Even the things that weren’t his fault?”
Anna grimaced. “That’s exactly it,” she said. “We’re having a hard time convincing him the whole of Tassing doesn’t hate him.”
“Hate him!” said Aunt Eva. “After he tried so hard to help?”
“Andreas was so generous when he stayed with us,” Clara added. “I never doubted he cared, even when it all got so complicated.”
“I think maybe he cares too much,” said Artemis’ mom.
Sighing, Artemis leaned against the stairs at her back. Unlike the others, she still didn’t understand what she was meant to be doing here, especially with things going poorly. Or at least it felt like they were going poorly. How was she supposed to know if they were or not? She couldn’t even join in on the gossip like she could doing most chores, since everyone was so stuck talking about the past. Or sneak off to her room, since Andreas had gone up there to be alone.
Unless… maybe as long as she didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t mind? It was her room. And she was getting pretty sick of standing around and being left out of things.
Quietly, with the practiced ease of someone used to doing a great deal of sneaking in and out of places she wasn’t supposed to be, Artemis started to creep towards the foot of the stairs. No one in particular seemed to note her departure from their circle, still caught up talking.
“ ...would never have thought he was so troubled.”
“Maybe he wasn’t, back then.”
“Has he said if…”
Making sure to avoid the particularly creaky second and fifth steps, Artemis was up the stairs quickly, figuring no one would be likely to bother her if they didn’t see her go. She wasn’t sure what to expect once she got up there, but was a little surprised when it was so… normal.
Andreas was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, staring at her curiously. His gaze was a lot clearer, now, and she couldn’t help but notice there was a certain curiosity to it, practically asking why she’d come upstairs.
But no judgement. That was something.
“...It’s weird down there,” she said eventually.
“Ah. I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is a little bit.”
“Okay, yeah, it is a little bit,” she said. “But I was going to be nice about that.”
“You’re doing fine so far.”
Artemis gave him a quizzical look. It was the sort of thing she’d have said to her brother to make fun of him, but as far as she could tell there was nothing mean-spirited about it, coming from Andreas. If she hadn’t just watched him go all odd and distant downstairs, she’d have guessed he was teasing her.
“Was that a joke?” she asked.
Andreas gave a sheepish little laugh. “It was an attempt at one. I may not be the best at those anymore.”
“What, after you went--”
She stopped herself there. She’d been about to say “went crazy,” but that didn’t seem like a great idea, even if it was true. So much for trying to be nice.
Frowning – though it didn’t feel like it was at her – Andreas uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again, eventually settling on drumming his fingers on his knee.
“I hadn’t given much thought to how I was going to look to you kids,” he said after a moment. “Magdalene was one thing, given the circumstances, and little Ulrike and… and Andreas are young enough they haven’t questioned it. But I suppose to the rest of you I’m just going to be some strange, mad old man, aren’t I?”
Unsure of the best thing to say – because he wasn’t wrong , but she didn’t feel like she was supposed to say that – Artemis settled for sitting on the floor across from him, so at least she wasn’t staring down at Andreas anymore. That, at least, seemed to surprise him.
“I know you used to be… uh, different,” she said. “Mom and Dad and Clara and… well, a lot of people, really, talked about you sometimes.”
Andreas gave a strange laugh. “Was I different? I suppose I acted like it. But my mind’s been falling apart for a long time.
“...Uh, sure.” Artemis didn’t know how to respond to that. “Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t talk about the past, like everyone else.”
She didn’t know what to make of the look Andreas gave her next. Surprised, maybe, but also sort of sad. It seemed like “sort of sad” was kind of his default, though.
“Don’t apologize for that,” he said. “Honestly, it was all the talk of the past that overwhelmed me, down there. I’ve gone so long shoving it all down that hearing the women talk about… about Otto, and Peter, and Johan, and the others so casually came as a bit of a… well, I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”
Yet? thought Artemis, attempting not to raise an eyebrow. It’s been 18 years!
“But I’m sure you didn’t come up here to hear me explain myself,” continued Andreas, sounding sheepish.
“No, it’s okay,” she replied. “I was… I was actually feeling weird about the same thing. Kind of. Not because I remember everybody who died, but because I don’t. I never know what I’m supposed to say; ‘Sorry you miss my grandpas I never met’? That’s stupid, but I don’t have anything better.”
“Do you miss the idea of them?”
Andreas was still drumming his fingers on his knee, looking thoughtful. Up close, she could see his hands were marred by a lot of ugly-looking scarring, probably from the fire that was supposed to have killed him. She wondered if it still hurt, and if he was angry at the men responsible for it.
She would’ve been angry. Even 18 years later.
“I don’t know,” she said, truthfully. “How am I supposed to miss them if I don’t even know what they were like?”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he said, gently – too gently, honestly. “Wish you got to know them, I mean. They should still be here.”
Artemis blinked. That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting.
“Let me guess, he blames himself for a good deal of what happened?” her mom had asked about Andreas earlier. “Even the things that weren’t his fault?”
“How come you can talk about all this now?” she said, defensively. “You said it was all too much earlier. That you weren’t ready for it.”
It was Andreas’ turn to blink. “...I did, didn’t I? But I suppose it helps some, seeing things through different eyes. Ones that aren’t so focused on remembering, and more on the present. Thank you, Artemis.”
“Sure,” she said, still not quite understanding how it was different.
A piercing wail from downstairs cut off anything she might have said next, causing Andreas and Artemis both to startle. It continued for a while, high and keening and distinctly unhappy.
“Walpurga’s awake,” Artemis commented.
“I see,” Andreas replied. “Perhaps we should head downstairs again. Or perhaps I should, at least. I know I’ve been holding things up.”
“No, I’ll come too. Can’t have Mom nagging me about slipping off again."
“Again?”
She shrugged. “Apollo and I get up to what we want."
“I have seen you two in the woods a lot. You seem to know your way around.”
Somehow, it hadn’t yet occurred to Artemis that the strange man who’d been living in the woods and the ruins for almost two decades might have noticed her and her brother exploring in and around the woods and the ruins. It seemed obvious now, if a little unsettling. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Well, don’t tell Mom and Dad where we hang out,” she said. “That’s our secret.”
Andreas gave her a warm smile. It looked slightly out of place on his sad, tired face, like he was entirely out of practice, but had a certain mischievous tilt to it that made her think her mom hadn’t been so wrong after all when she assured her she’d like him.
“It’s safe with me,” he said.
Walpurga’s crying had only let up a little by the time the two of them slipped downstairs. Aunt Ursula’s rocking seemed to be doing about as much good as usual, which was to say, not much. Clara and Anna seemed to be offering their help with the fussy baby, though Artemis wasn’t sure they’d have any more luck.
“There you are!” her mom exclaimed as she laid eyes on her. “What were you doing upstairs?”
“Just talking,” she said.
“Artemis was very helpful,” said Andreas, tugging self-consciously at the neck of his new shirt the way he’d been doing on and off “By the way, Veronica, I haven’t had the chance to say yet – Artemis and Apollo, for twins?”
“I would have thought you’d like it,” she said. “You always seemed to like old stories.”
“It’s just a bit on the nose, is all.”
“Ha! I suppose you’d have gone for a more obscure myth? That’s a new one. Father Thomas, may he rest in peace, gave me an earful about choosing Greek gods instead of saints, you know.”
Andreas got a very strange look on his face at that. “...Ah. I suppose he would’ve.”
“Well I like my name,” Artemis said, a little grumpily. It was true, too. She’d always found it a little thrilling to be so controversial.
“Sis quocumque tibi placet sancta nomine,” said Andreas.
Artemis’ mother cackled. “Was that Latin?” she asked. “You lived in the woods for 18 years and you still speak Latin?”
“Remembering Catullus is hardly the same as speaking it, but I did try to hang onto some. You never know when it might come in handy.”
“Oh, it’s good to have you back, you strange man.”
“Andreas!” Anna called from across the room. Walpurga seemed to have calmed herself some by now, her cries tapering off into confused babbling. “How are you feeling?”
“Well enough,” he replied. “Apologies for earlier, I--”
“—Oh, none of that,” said Aunt Eva. “It must be a lot, readjusting to everything.”
“Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up,” said Clara. “The water’s even warm! Though I’m afraid you’ll have to ask one of the men for help, shaving the rest of your beard. I’m at a loss there.”
“I’ll ask Paul, when we get home,” said Anna. “I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”
Watching as Andreas crossed the room to where Clara was waiting with an ewer of water and a bar of tallow soap, Artemis found she still didn’t know what to do with herself. There were more women than there were tasks to be done, even with Aunt Ursula busy with Walpurga now. But she also found she felt a little less out-of-place than before, almost in spite of herself. Andreas Maler might’ve once been a story to her. Now, though, he didn’t feel quite as distant as he had before. It was kind of neat, even, catching glimpses of the person her family had always talked about under all the hurt he’d been through.
So long as he didn’t tell her parents about the old salt mine. Then she might feel differently.