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CHAPTER 5

The Trip Home

      "PETER! MY dearest boy!" His mother came running down the stairs of the Schoeffer's stately house, her face full of happiness. "We weren't expecting you until evening!"

      Peter dropped his pack and ran up the remaining steps to meet her. She seemed fragile in his arms — as if she had grown smaller in the months since he had last been home. After a warm hug, he held her away from him. "Mama, you're so thin. Are you well?"

      "Oh yes, it's just that preparations for your brother's wedding have been keeping us so busy! Now come up to your room and make yourself presentable. Dinner's almost ready, and your father will be here soon." She took his arm and drew him up the stairs.

      "How good it is to be home," Peter said, looking about happily. "And Mama, I can hardly believe it — is good old Albrecht really going to get married?"

      "Yes, and his Frieda is a lovely girl! Pretty, well-brought-up, and from a good family. We've planned for everything to be done in the old-fashioned way, with outriders going to meet the bridal procession and musicians playing the old music. Ilse has been working with me on the arrangements — she's so grown up now, Peter. You'd hardly know her."

      "I can see you two have been enjoying yourselves," Peter grinned, as they reached the door to his room. "Now, just give me a few minutes to clean off this dust, and then I want to hear all the details!"

      "Don't be long," said his mother fondly.

      In his own room, Peter found everything in place, just as it had been all his life. His bed was immaculate, with fresh white hangings. The painted chest at the foot of his bed was shining with wax, and the little glass window panes glittered like diamonds. On the tall chest near the door, a deep china basin was brimming with hot water to wash in.

      Seeing all this, Peter gave a sigh of satisfaction — it was good to be so well taken care of!

      He slid out of his dusty jacket, peeled off his shirt, and plunged his face and hands into the basin. As he came up streaming, a tap sounded at the door.

      "Come," he called, groping for a cloth to dry himself with. He heard the door open, and then a linen square was laid gently in his hand. Peter took it blindly and began rubbing himself dry. When the water was cleared from his eyes, he saw an honest red face, beaming at him. "Welcome home, Master Peter!"

      "Hans," he cried. It was his father's steward, who had supervised the management of this great house since before Peter was born. Still shaggy with moisture, Peter embraced the old man warmly.

      "Was the water hot enough," Old Hans inquired slyly. "Is the room clean and in order?"

      "There's never been a time when you permitted anything in this house to be out of order," Peter declared with a smile. "It's all perfect, of course, and being here is like returning to a haven. I've lived like a savage since I left home, Hans, and it's up to you to civilize me again!"

      "We'll try, Master Peter," the old man answered with a smile. He held out a clean shirt and Peter slipped into it. "But now that I know you're comfortable, I must see to it that the kitchen staff has dinner ready on time."

      With that, Hans bowed and left the room.

      Seconds later, the door burst open again, and a lightning bolt of human energy propelled herself into Peter's arms. It was fourteen-year-old Ilse, his younger sister.

      "I knew you'd be here by dinnertime," she cried. "I was the one who told Cook to make everything you like best!"

      After a warm hug, he held her away from him for a better look. She was taller than he remembered, and her blonde braids, which had always gone flying, were now wrapped sedately about her head.

      "You've grown up this year," he said approvingly. "You're a beautiful young lady now."

      She blushed at his praise. "Oh Peter! We've missed you so much! It's not like home without you — are you back for good, now?"

      He grinned at her. "You know I can't stay home! I have to go out into the world and slay dragons!"

      "Dragons? Nonsense, I'm too big for fairy tales," Ilse sniffed. "What's more, if there were any dragons in Germany, King Frederick would have tamed them and sent them off to fight the Burgundians!"

      Peter pretended to look dismayed. "No dragons? Then what will I do with myself?"

      "You're going to be a rich banker," she answered with a pleased nod. "Father has taken care of that!"

      Hearing this, Peter's amusement vanished. "A banker? Ilse — what are you talking about!"

      "It's supposed to be a surprise, but I couldn't wait to tell you!" she answered, eyes shining with excitement. "Father's going to give the house and all the farms at Babenhausen to Albrecht and Frieda as a wedding present. But I heard him tell Mother that he wants to provide for you, too — and he's arranged for Mr. Waldenstern, the banker, to make a place for you in his business right here in Frankfurt. You'll be close to home and become a rich man. Isn't that grand?"

      Peter listened with growing dismay. A banker? Thinking of the dismal clerks in Mr. Fust's counting house, his heart sank. "But Ilse — I already have work. Important work! And I love what I'm doing!"

      "Bah! Mainz is a dingy little town, and you've been wasting yourself there for almost two years! Father wants you to come home now — he says it's time you stopped sowing your barley!"

      "Oats," he corrected her absently. "You mean 'sowing wild oats,' Ilse. But as to becoming a banker — think of all the things I've written you about the work we're doing in Mainz. It could make a difference to the whole world, and I simply cannot leave it."

      She stepped back, her blue eyes anxious. "But you can't disobey Father!"

      "No — but I'm certainly going to reason with him."

      Ilse shook her head. "But Father's set his heart on this, Peter. I think he's even signed an agreement with Mr. Waldenstern!"

      "Don't worry, little sweetheart, I'm sure it will be all right," Peter said. As he spoke, a soft gong began to sound from another part of the house, and he was glad to change the subject. "Listen, they're calling us to that wonderful dinner you promised me. Let's not be late."

      But Ilse's concern was not easily quieted. As they went down the stairs together, she sighed and said, "Well Peter, you've always been able to accomplish things that other people couldn't do . . . but be careful what you say. Father's a stubborn man."

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