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CHAPTER 16

An Urgent Message
October, 1455

      "MR. SCHOEFFER, a person is here to see you." Old Beildeck, Gutenberg's aged servant, interrupted Peter as he sat reading proof in a quiet corner of a shop that was made noisy by the sound of two presses, hard at work.

      Peter put down the freshly printed page and looked up. to see that the old man was alone. "Yes? Where is he?"

      "I asked the person to wait in the little storage room," the servant answered evasively.

      In the storage room? Peter unwound his long legs from the stool where he sat and followed the old man to the front of the shop. Why had Beildeck hidden his visitor in there?

      Peter paused at the doorway of the little alcove that was crammed with bundles of paper, dusty boxes, and assorted tools. The stranger was unusually small, he noticed, and he was muffled in a long drab cloak — far too warm for this brilliant October day.

      "Are you the one who wanted to see me?"

      At the sound of his voice, the stranger started violently, then turned and showed him a small, anxious face. "Why, Helga!" Peter cried in astonishment, "What brings you here? Did Mr. Fust send you?"

      "I . . . yes, I was sent to fetch you. You're wanted at Mr. Fust's house," the little maid faltered nervously. "It's . . . it's business."

      "But why didn't he send one of the men? Is anything wrong?"

      "No, no — but you're wanted. You're to come now." Helga spoke more firmly this time, so Peter, although still puzzled and surprised, fetched his cloak and hat without further questions.

      As Peter followed Helga through the clean, sunny streets, he puzzled over this odd summons. He was not worried, but — what could Fust want? The banker had reluctantly approved the expense of building the second press. And although most of the later pages were still waiting to be illuminated by the artists, the printing itself was almost finished. The red capitals looked beautiful, and Peter was certain now that he could squeeze out at least one or two volumes by Christmas. What a fine time for Johann Fust to receive his Great Bible at last!

      When they reached the Fust mansion, instead of taking him in the front door, Helga led him around the house and into the garden area behind it.

      Peter had never seen this side of the house before, and he looked around with interest. Immediately behind the mansion was a rich kitchen garden, and beyond it lay a small orchard and an enclosed area of flowers and ornamental shrubs.

      They stopped beside a large bed of cabbages. Just beyond that was a row of onions. Each was edged with a border of sweet-smelling herbs.

      "That path leads into the rose arbor," Helga told him, pointing. "You're to wait out here."

      Peter stared at her. "Mr. Fust is meeting me in the garden," he said wonderingly. "But he has never . . ."

      "That way," Helga repeated, pointing. Without another word, she turned and ran up the wooden steps to the servant's door and was gone.

      Well, Peter thought, this is growing stranger all the time! However, he did as he was told and walked down the crunching gravel path. He passed a large bed of sturdy, red-veined beet plants, edged by luxuriant growths of parsley and dill. He avoided a belligerent goose that had evidently escaped from Mrs. Fust's hen-yard, and at he last reached a row of gnarled apple trees. Beyond that was a low gate. He opened it and passed through into a small, ornamental garden, composed mostly of rose bushes.

      In the center of this lovely spot was a tall, arched arbor with pink roses trained over it. Under the arch was a shady seat, and he could just make out that someone was waiting there, so he strode briskly down the gravel, turned into the bower — and then stopped.

      The person waiting for him was Christina!

      It had been almost a year since he had seen her, and during that time she had changed a great deal. Last summer, she had been blooming, with roses in her hair. Now, in spite of the golden sunlight, she looked pale and rather weary. She was thinner, too, and more plainly dressed than he had ever seen her.

      But to Peter's eyes, she had never been so beautiful!

      "I'm glad Helga found you . . ." she said.

      "Christina! It's been so long! And I've missed —" Then a thought stopped him: "But perhaps I shouldn't speak this way. Are you Mrs. von Erbach now?"

      She shook her head. "Not now. And not ever! When Dieter proposed, I refused him! Father was so angry that he sent me away to a convent, and I got back only a week ago."

      "Ah . . ." For a moment, Peter couldn't answer her. But — what a beautiful, glowing day it was! It seemed to him that the sun had grown suddenly brighter, and the scent of the roses was sweeter than before. For the first time, he noticed that there were birds twittering and moving in the nearby trees.

      She gave him a wry smile. "However, his heart was not too badly broken. He married a rich girl from Mannheim, two months later."

      Peter smiled broadly. "I wish him happiness." And he meant it, too. Why not! What a good fellow Dieter was, after all! All his anger toward von Erbach had vanished with this news.

      Christina shrugged, dismissing the subject. "Peter — I haven't much time. Tell me about your Bible. Is it finished?"

      "I'll have the first copies ready by Christmas," he said eagerly. "And the rest should be completed by Easter!"

      Her thin face showed dismay. "But that's terrible! Not until then?" She got up and began to pace back and forth across the little enclosure.

      "But that's only two months," he protested. "And then it will be ready at last!"

      She turned on him fiercely, "You don't understand! We need it now!" Then her face softened, and she came back and sat down beside him.

      "Let me explain, Peter. It's a problem of money: Last year, Father lent a very large sum to a nobleman whose land borders the property of the Count of Cilli. There was some kind of dispute over where a boundary line should be placed, and before long the count and his neighbor had a small war going on. Then, this summer, after a decisive battle, the Count of Cilli won and took over all our nobleman's land! The nobleman who borrowed the money has run away to Flanders — and Father's money is gone forever!"

      Peter looked sober. "I'm sorry to hear that. Mr. Fust must be very upset."

      Christina held up her hand. "Oh, but there's more. There have been little wars like that all over the country. The poor farmers have hardly had time to look after their fields — and that means the harvests are poor. In this month alone, three small landowners have told Father they can't repay the money he had lent them. And then today . . . word came from Weisbaden that Uncle Heinrich, my mother's brother, is dead."

      "Ah, how very sad. Your poor mother!"

      She nodded. "We're leaving to go there at daybreak. And Peter — years ago, Father backed a several loans for this same uncle. Those debts were never paid. So on top of his other problems, he has to pay off those loans, too!"

      "Christina, why are you telling me all this?"

      "Because it affects you — and the Bible. After the letter came from Weisbaden, Father told Conrad Henkis, his chief clerk, that with these other expenses, he can't afford to put any more into Mr. Gutenberg's printing shop! He's going to close it down immediately!"

      "But he can't do that," Peter cried. "We're almost finished!"

      She bit her lip. "Peter, he really is dangerously short of money right now. And he can do it! Conrad let me read the contracts, and — it's hopeless, Peter. Every stick of furniture and piece of type in your shop was mortgaged years ago. Nothing has ever been paid back, and the debts came due years ago! Father owns it all."

      "But surely Gutenberg has a say in this! He and your father are partners!"

      "No, Peter. Whatever Mr. Gutenberg told you, my father is the sole owner. The papers they've been signing are work contracts. The most recent one binds Mr. Gutenberg — as Father's foreman — to produce the Bible within a stated time. And that contract expired early last year! You signed it yourself, as a witness."

      Thinking back to his first meeting with Johann Fust, Peter remembered the stormy scene that had sealed the agreement on the Great Bible. Yes, he had witnessed that contract. "But your father promised me extra time, Christina. I met with him last January, and he said he would wait until this fall . . . when the harvest came in."

      "Peter, this is October," Christina said gently. "The farmers are in the fields right now, harvesting their grain. Is the Great Bible ready?"

      Peter could only shake his head.

      They sat in silence for a few moments, and then she put her hand on his. "I must go."

      But she made no move to leave him.

      Absently, he covered her hand with his own. "I'm just trying to figure out what I can do."

      "We'll probably be in Weisbaden for two weeks," she said. "And I don't think Father will take action against Mr. Gutenberg until we return. Is there some way — any way at all — that you could have one copy ready by then?"

      "I don't think so. But I'll try," he answered grimly. "Keep your father away as long as possible, and I'll work night and day. We must not let the work fail!"

      Without warning, her lovely eyes filled with tears. "Oh Peter, you've worked so hard for this. It will break my heart if it has to end before the Bible is completed!"

      He turned to look at her. Ah! She understood as nobody else did! She really cared about the work. She cared about him, and his happiness!

      He was leaning toward her, clutching her hand. Hardly knowing that he spoke aloud, he murmured, "I've worried about you all this year, Christina! I was so afraid you would marry Dieter, and he'd make you unhappy! I thought I'd lost you forever!"

      She turned as pink as the roses around them. "I couldn't marry him, Peter! Not after I'd met you!"

      "Oh, Christina," Peter whispered, "I love you so much!"

      He had not realized it was true until he said the words. He thought, "Of course I do! It's as if I'd been looking for her all my life . . . only I never knew it until now!"

      "Peter, I've loved you almost since the first time I saw you." Now her eyes were sparkling with tears of happiness. "Remember that day we talked so long? I realized it that afternoon. I thought: I've never been truly awake until today. I still feel that way every time we're together! Oh, Peter — you're so good, and you understand everything! And you're clever, and you . . ."

      They were in each other's arms now, whispering broken bits of sentences. "Your father would never agree to it. I've no money. No land. Nothing at all to offer you . . ."

      "I don't care, Peter! I'll wait for you. And someday — who knows?"

      Then gradually, they became aware that a voice was calling from the other side of the trees. "Christina? Miss Christina?"

      It had been going on for several minutes, Peter realized. It was Helga's voice, insistent now: "Miss Christina — please. Your mother needs you. She sent me to find you a long time ago. You really have to come to her now . . ."

      She unwound herself from his arms. "Peter — I must go."

      "Christina . . ."

      She leaned forward and kissed him. Then she kissed him again, murmuring, "We'll find a way to see each other when I come back, Peter. And . . . something good will happen, some way or another. Because we'll make it happen!"

      Then she went lightly away across the whispering gravel, and he was alone with only the roses and his new happiness, for company.

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