Frau Ehrlich sat at the flour-covered kitchen table with the windows open and the curtains flapping in the breeze. She attempted to ignore a tray of burned apple cakes and instead tried to sort through the cavalcade of emotions that had descended on her in the past several hours. She had already had more phone conversations with Katja in one day than they had had in the past several months, and she was more convinced than ever that her daughter had inherited Heinrich's ability to surprise her.

The first conversation had been full of condolence over Schatzi's passing and concern about Christian handling the grief. The second conversation was the news that Katja had taken Christian's unhappiness over boarding school to heart and he would not be returning there and would be enrolled in the regional school instead. The third phone call was the announcement that Katja had called the Dachshund Society and was waiting for a woman to call her back about dogs in need of a new home, and the fourth call was to confirm that a young Dachshund girl was in a Tierheim not far from Katja's office and she was leaving work early to adopt the dog from the shelter for Christian. Frau Ehrlich doubted anything more surprising could occur all festival weekend, even if Frau Wefelmeyer drank too much new wine again this year and repeated her tabletop rendition of Marlene Dietrich torch songs.

She looked up as Christian came in the kitchen door looking a bit embarrassed, but not grief-stricken as he had earlier.

"Ah, Christian. How are you dear?"

"I'm okay, Oma. I know it was her time. Jens told me he buried her."

"I thought it was best to do it right away," his grandmother said. "I hope you don't mind."

Christian shook his head no.

"She's in Heaven now with Opa," he said confidently. "An old man up on the hill explained it to me."

Frau Ehrlich listened as Christian repeated what the old man had said about collective and individual souls, and try as she did to pry more details out of him about the old man and where he lived, it wasn't until he described the old man's attire that she began to smile with recognition and nodded.

"All well and good, and I'm proud of you for accepting this as you have," she said. "Now you are going to sit down and have a piece of one of the few cakes I didn't ruin, and I need to get some things done. Your mother is coming home early and she's bringing a friend with her."

Christian raised his eyebrows slightly at that news, but didn't ask for more information. Frau Ehrlich was glad he did not press her for details, because she was under strict orders to not betray the secret. She served Christian his cake and a glass of milk, and then excused herself.

She walked into the dining room and slid the heavy drapes back, inspecting the furniture for dust. There weren't enough hours in a day during harvest and festival time and guests would have to overlook dust or gossip about it in the village later. She walked over to the ornate serving board and slid the heavy family Bible toward her, turning open the front cover. A collection of family photographs yellowed and crisp with age slid out. She flipped through them and took one over to the window. It showed Christian's grandfather seated on a log, holding his favorite shooting rifle in one hand, his other hand balancing a wirehaired Dachshund puppy with an impish expression on his knee. He was wearing the worn cardigan sweater she'd darned a hundred times, and beaming below the brim of his floppy hat were gentle eyes and a kind smile. She kissed the photograph before replacing it in the Bible.

The strains of "Die Loreley" filtered up the hillside from the village below. The Lorelei, the mythical siren who had bewitched sailors on the Rhine - she thought that might be an appropriate name for a little Dachshund girl provided the dog didn't arrive with a name. Frau Ehrlich considered it just as likely they would end up with another "Schatzi." What was it Heinrich used to say? Ah yes, "Dachshund people are long on love and short on imagination."

"Christian," she called as she walked across the room. "When you are done with your cake come in here please and help me roll up this rug."

***

Katja slowed the car as she turned into the roundabout at the edge of the village. She waited patiently as a tractor towing a wagon loaded with hay and festival volunteers pulled onto the road ahead of her. She couldn't remember the last time she had left the office this early in the day, and she felt anticipation for the wine festival that she hadn't felt in years. She looked down at the pair of Dachshunds curled up on the passenger seat. The woman from the Dachshund Society had neglected to mention that the girl, Schatzi, had a brother, August, and after the Tierheim director had informed her that the two dogs were inseparable and had comforted each other after their owner had died, she couldn't very well leave the boy dog behind. The director had assured her that they were perfectly behaved and housetrained. Katja decided that even if that was not accurate it would give her an excuse to buy her mother a new Persian carpet for Christmas.

*******