 
The Last Glacier

A Jessica Thorpe Novel

By William Wresch

Copyright 2019 William Wresch

Smashwords Edition

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When the local water bottling plant – the only significant business in town – is threatened with closure, Jessica flies to Switzerland to meet with the owners. She discovers the local plant is just a pawn in a fight for control over a huge Swiss corporation. After a hike through the Alps to see a melting glacier, Jessica joins the fight, and in the process gains a new husband, a castle, and a new direction in her life. But this is a battle that will be fought mostly over social media, and mostly with hidden foes. She has to fight in Switzerland, across northern Wisconsin, and in her home town – and much more is at stake than one company.

Chapter 1

Jim and the Bear

Jim Thomas took me with him to Alaska. Amazing place. If you ever get the chance to go there, go. Just don't go there with Jim.

Jim and I had been together about a year. He is a famous videographer with two Academy Awards. I had first worked with him on his Oregon Trail film. I was just doing support – food and transportation – your basic lunch lady, with a few seconds on camera as an extra or body double. The following summer I ran into him in northern Minnesota and spent a day with him as he scouted possible shooting locations for his next film.

And that's the day I fell in love with Jim. More precisely, it was that evening as we sat next to a small waterfall. It was a beautiful place – trees, hills, a small valley for the stream, a water fall maybe eight feet high, lots of ferns, water bubbling over rocks. I liked it. I walked around it for many fifteen minutes, and then sat down on a park bench like a thousand people had before me.

Not Jim. He had a huge digital camera with him, and he was all over. He was on his knees for some shots, lying on his side, standing directly over some shots, walking up and over to the other side of the falls, taking shot after shot. For well over an hour. It was getting towards sunset, and frankly I was thinking it was time for dinner, or at least time to get back to the highway before it was too dark to see the trail we had taken. But I sat, and he took pictures.

Eventually he sat next to me on the bench. I thought we would just be there a moment, and then we would leave. No, he wanted me to see his pictures. Okay. Digital cameras are good. They have that big screen on the back. You scroll through pictures, and if you are me, you find all the ones where you have a thumb on the picture. But these were Jim's pictures. And after I saw the first one, I wanted to see all of them.

It turned out Jim and I had gone to different waterfalls. I had seen this "nice" waterfall. Jim had seen this whole new world of color and depth and shading and... well, I don't have the words to describe what he did, but what he did astonished me. There was a fern not five feet from me. I had looked at it and thought it was a nice shade of green. That's me – "nice" shade of green. Then there was Jim's picture of it. There were at least six shades of green in his picture, plus shading, plus contrasting background, plus just a hint of mist from the stream. It was an astonishing fern. A gift from Mother Nature. The most beautiful fern ever captured on camera.

And there were more. Dozens more. Each picture perfect. Each picture one you wish you could put on your wall. Each picture showing insight and talent and beauty in the man sitting next to me. He's a good looking guy with shoulders that go on forever, so I was already interested, but now, well, I was all over him that night, and I had been all over him the last year. I took time from managing my hotels to serve as his driver as his film company did that next picture – the one about some women who had served in Iraq and were now following the route of Jolliet and Marquette as they paddled to the Mississippi. We lived in a rented RV, small, but big enough for a bed.

When I wasn't his driver that summer, I was his model. The modeling had almost been an accident. I was with him night and day. Some days he had his camera out, and he might ask me to look this way or that, but usually I was just going about my usual activities when he took my picture. He might take them when I was first getting out of bed, and he might take them as I was sliding into bed at night, but he never took pictures of me when I was naked, or even had my breasts exposed. I was always wearing something, and I was often looking at him.

The month after he won his second Academy Award for cinematography, he invited me to a gallery in LA. Big surprise. He had told me a few of my pictures would be there. But the whole exhibit was me. He called it "A Woman' Day." You walked in the door of this fancy place, and to your left was me getting out of bed. You walked through an endless sequence of rooms with gray walls, and eventually you got back to the doors and me sitting on the edge of my bed, done for the day.

Sixty pictures of me. I was overwhelmed to see it, and frankly embarrassed. In most of the pictures I was looking back at him, and what you saw in my eyes was longing. And love. And vulnerability. It was so intimate I had trouble looking at it all. I think I would have been upset, but Jim had done some Hollywood magic to the images. The colors, the lighting, maybe some air brushing, all turned me into someone who was me, but not me. Somehow that helped. It was like it put this very slight veil between me and the viewers. I was grateful for that.

The exhibit was popular. It went on for months. I was there for the first few days, but I have hotels to run, so eventually I left his bed and his studio and flew back to Wisconsin.

He wanted me back for the last night of the show. The next morning he would fly me to Alaska where he would scout out locations for some stupid movie about men fighting bears. Of course I agreed. I had never been to Alaska, and I would be going with Jim. What could be better?

The first part of the plan worked fine. I stood with him the last night of the exhibit. I had gotten some help with my hair and makeup, and I was wearing a gold, satin, off-the-shoulder number that helped hide just how boring my mousy brown hair really was, so I at least resembled the woman they saw in the pictures. We drank good wine and talked with half the people of Los Angeles, some of whom seemed nice enough. All the original pictures had long since been sold, but he had prints for sale ($280 – unframed!), and I autographed many of them, usually on the back, but sometimes even on the front!

By midnight I was back in his home, in his bed, and in his arms. Did I mention his shoulders? He could hold himself over me all night. I didn't give him a minute's peace. I figured we could sleep on the plane.

As for Alaska, well the place is amazing, but for Jim and me, things got rocky fairly fast.

Maybe it started with his driving. The guy sees beauty, right? Good thing for a photographer. Not such a good thing for a driver. We started in Anchorage. Amazing place, but almost too much to see. You had the town, Cook Inlet, the mountains, and even a glacier down the road. And Jim wanted to see it all. But he couldn't cope. It was like attention overload for him. The intention was to drive out a few hours in every direction to see where the film might be shot. Good idea, but there were times when Jim was literally driving down major highways at five miles an hour. Alaskans don't like that. They certainly didn't like it when he stopped every hundred yards.

We had the highway patrol pull us over before we had gone three miles. The officer waved a sensor in front of Jim to see if he was drunk, then let him off with a warning ticket and a lecture. Five miles (and twenty minutes) later, he pulled Jim over again. This time there was a ticket - $230 – and a much longer – and louder – lecture. I took over driving.

We spent three days driving in three different directions. I drove as slowly as I could, and I stopped as often as I could, but Jim was frustrated with me. How is this my fault? I don't know, but somehow it was.

Then came Ruby. This is a tiny village on the Yukon. To get there you needed a chartered plane – single engine – and you landed on a mountain ridge that was just wide enough, and just long enough that you had some hope the plane would not fall off the side of the mountain. I got out of the plane with my knees shaking.

Obviously we were here to see if the banks of the Yukon might be a place to shoot. Someone knew someone, and we were able to rent a room in this couple's house. No Holiday Inns in Ruby. We shared dinner in their kitchen (Halibut pieces), and cuddled under quilts. It might be April, but snow had only started to melt, and the nights were all below zero.

The next morning we go hiking along the Yukon. We walk on snowmobile trails where the snow is packed down enough to make walking easy. I am walking in front. Jim is behind me, camera out, taking pictures of every log, rock, or snow drift on the river. It's not a bad day. Maybe thirty five, but no wind, and plenty of sun. We hit our stride and are miles from Ruby in an hour or so.

I come around a bend, and there sits the biggest bear in the history of bears. Probably a thousand pounds and twelve feet tall. Maybe taller. The people in Ruby had prepped us. It was still early, but there might be bears coming out of hibernation. When they come out, they come out hungry. These are not zoo bears, these are real bears, they will eat you. Do not run. Do not play dead. Either move will get you killed. Stand still, stand tall, and use your bear spray.

Good Idea. Where's my bear stray? With Jim. He's the man. He will protect me. He has the spray. Where the hell is he? Back somewhere probably taking a picture of yet another grove of pines. Shit. It's just me and the world's largest bear. I stand still and raise my hands above my head. It feels like I am surrendering, but I am trying to "be big." I am five seven. Mr. Bear is eighteen feet if he is an inch.

I start giving him orders like he is a dog. "Down Boy. Sit." I say it loud, hoping the world famous cinematographer will hear me and come around the corner with the goddamn bear spray. "Sit boy. Down." No action from the bear. No help from behind.

Now I am getting angry. "Goddamn it, Jim. If you don't get here in a second with the bear spray, I am going to beat this damn bear to death, and then I am coming for you." No sign of Jim, but the bear starts moving, slowly lowering his paws, and then dropping to all fours. It looks to me like he is now in position to do the hundred yard dash, and of course the dash leads straight to me. I am doing a pretty constant series of "Down boy. Back boy." My hands are now fists, and I am holding them as high as I can.

And Mr. Bear turns and walks away. He takes his own sweet time about it, but he is headed in the right direction, and I am now able to breathe. My arms are locked above my head, but unless Mr. Bear is giving me a head fake, it appears I may live to see the end of the day. Eventually I slowly lower my arms and back away.

"Unbelievable. Wait until you see the video." Mr. Marvelous is standing just at the edge of where the trail turns. He is practically jumping up and down. "You were amazing."

"I think I just wet my pants, you idiot." And I punched him as hard as I could in the chest. I think he was more insulted than hurt.

"But I was right here with the bear stray."

"You were right here. I was right there." I pushed past him and walked back to Ruby. He followed behind. He apologized about twenty times. But each time he followed with "You will love the video." And each time I wanted to stop and punch him again.

Enough of Ruby. We called in a charter, watched it roll to a stop inches before falling off the mountain (what idiot puts a landing strip on the top of a mountain ridge?), and flew back to Anchorage. Jim took our bags to our room. I went straight to the hotel bar.

I was still there five or six hours later when Lisa Lang arrived. I was sitting in a booth with yet another beer, wondering if I had had enough beer to be sick yet. Jim was across from me nursing his own beer. He had a laptop open in front of him, but he wasn't paying any attention to it. He was looking at me. I was looking at him, but it was not a look you will ever see in a gallery.

Lisa slid in next to Jim. "Show me." He pressed "play" and ran the video of me and the bear. The audio was not all that good, but you could hear me shouting at the bear. Lisa was director and producer of Jim's films. His boss. If she was here to fire him, I was fine with that.

"You're right." She said to Jim. "This is so much better. Men versus bears. It's been done. A woman, alone, versus a bear. People would pay to see that. I would pay to see that."

Obviously she was continuing a conversation that had started... after we landed in Anchorage? While we waited for the plane in Ruby? Before we had gone to Ruby?

"Jessica my love," Lisa finally looked at me. "It's your film if you want it. We'll have to teach you to walk, but you are a natural for the part."

"What's wrong with my walk?"

"Your steps are too wide, too long. Don't worry. We have coaches who will work with you. Otherwise you are perfect. Right age, right size, nice face and hair. We'll work out the storyline. LA is filled with screen writers. Maybe your husband came up to hunt gold and was killed. Maybe you got lost. Don't know. But you. Alone. On the Yukon. Mountains above. Forests everywhere. A hundred forty pounds of woman, a thousand pounds of bear."

"I weight one thirty two." That was mostly true.

"So you'll do the film?"

"Hell no." I slammed back the last of my beer and headed up to my room. I needed a bathroom and a bed. My last view was the two of them looking at each other. You didn't need to be a mind reader (or sober) to know what Lisa was going to say – "get her into bed, and get her to sign."

He got me into bed (I'm not stupid), but I never did sign. By noon the next day I felt good enough to travel. I flew back to Wisconsin. I was done with Jim. I loved him to death, but I was just one more thing on the other side of his camera.

They did the movie. It was stupid. Somehow she reunites the mother bear and a cub. Really? Rotten Tomatoes gave it 37%. I didn't rate it that high. I hated the movie, and I hated losing Jim. I went back to running my hotels. Back to Amberg. Back to being alone. And I was alone – for about a month.

Chapter 2

Saanvi Arrives

Saanvi came for me at dawn. I was awake, listening to my poplars. In late May, even this far north, the trees are fully and freshly leaved. Those leaves flutter in the breeze. I like to think of them playing a kind of tag with one another, just a bunch of kids enjoying their youth, the sunshine, and the dawn breeze. It's cool in the mornings here, but I keep my bedroom window at least a little open so I can hear my poplars.

So I had no trouble hearing Saanvi. My driveway is just a small patch of gravel, sand, dirt, and grass clumps where cars can park off the road. I heard her crunch over the gravel. I slid out of bed to see who had arrived. I saw a huge BMW. I could say something silly like "out stepped Saanvi," but that doesn't begin to describe what she did. Saanvi moves like a ballerina. Just seeing her move from the car was like seeing a dance. There was this incredible fluid motion. She was wearing three inch heels, so it was almost like she was in toe shoes. And her gown. Not yet seven in the morning, and she was wearing silk. Silk that bared half her chest, and floated above her thighs. Every movement of her body or breath of wind brought that silk against her skin.

She moved to the front of her car, and then just stood, waiting for me. She was stunningly beautiful. A native of Sri Lanka, her skin was a darker tone of honey, and just as smooth. Her face was heart shaped, framed by long jet black hair, thick and shimmering in the new sun. Her eyes were huge and dark brown. She had born two sons since I had last seen her. Her hips were now a bit wider, her breasts slightly larger, but still perfect.

But there was something more. The way she stood. She stood the way an actress does at the end of a performance, looking at the crowd as they applaud madly. She had done well, she was beautiful, it was fully appropriate for her audience to applaud. She would stand comfortably, regally, and let them cheer. In this case, the audience was me. She scanned the windows on my trailer, and saw me looking from my bedroom. Her eyes locked onto mine. Head high, posture perfect, she stood and let me look. She invited me to look. She wanted me to look. And to want.

This is where the woman I wanted to be would have gone to the door, told her to go to hell, and locked the door. But the woman I am walked to my door. I was wearing a short satin night gown that I straightened as I walked. I also pushed my fingers through my hair to arrange it, to give it more body. I primped. Because the woman I am, loved Saanvi.

Saanvi climbed the stairs to the deck out front of my trailer, and then stopped.

"Good morning, Jess." She said this very quietly, as if we were in the same room. But I am sure never in her life has Saanvi had to raise her voice to get attention. Easily one of the ten most beautiful women in the world, for all her life, every time she has entered a room, all heads turned and all conversations stopped. She talks. People listen.

She waited for me at the far side of my deck. I would go to her. She would not come to me. I came to her, of course, walking barefoot across the deck still wet with dew. She was two or three inches taller than me, and wore three inch heels, so I had to stand on my tiptoes as I put my hands on her shoulders and rose up to kiss her. She brought one arm around my back and then reached down for my ass with the other. I slid both arms around her neck and pulled myself tightly to her. She was soft, and warm. She bent me back as we kissed. She was holding me, but she was also possessing me. And the woman that I am, welcomed it.

This is the woman who had seduced me, stolen my fiancée, and lured me into the Arabian desert where I was held while she took my man. She had married Elias, had a child by him, and moved into his apartment in Bern after the goddam Iranians killed him. She had lived with the man I loved, and in the city I loved. Yet I held her, and loved the way she was holding me, even though I knew she wasn't here for me. There was something she would want of me. Eventually, when she was ready, she would tell me. But for now, she held me, and kissed me, and I pressed myself against her. She was beautiful. It was her right.

"Come inside." I took her hand and led her inside my trailer and then back to my bed. She let me undress her and put another satin nightgown on her. She looked at me while I did it, and kept her hands on me, once leaning forward to kiss me, both her hands on my face.

I pulled her into bed. She got on top, of course, her standard position, her thighs pressing out against mine, creating more and more room for her, her fingers pushed deep into my hair, holding my face motionless while her jet curls slid down both sides of our heads, creating a tunnel where all I could see was her face, her eyes just above mine. I wrapped my arms across her ass and held her tight. She held her face just above mine, and watched me. She was waiting. I was required to say something.

"You are beautiful, Saanvi. So beautiful." She expected praise. I gave it.

"I missed you, Jess. You should have become my maid as I asked. We would be like this every morning."

"Yes, I would have enjoyed that."

"Come with me now. We will go back to Switzerland together." She couldn't help but smile as she said it. We both knew that wasn't going to happen.

"Saanvi, you aren't here for me." I held her tighter. I didn't want to lose her, but I needed the truth as well as her kisses. "You are here for the water plant." Her company owned the plant. Why else would she be in town? I pulled her to me with both hands, hoping she would stay. She looked at me, her lips just above mine. I felt myself holding my breath. Would she get up and leave me so soon? She made me wait. Then she kissed me.

"I am also here for you."

"You have me." I held her and kissed her. She began moving her hips against mine and slowly drove me crazy.

"I have always loved you, Jess."

I doubted a word of that was true, but I didn't care. I held her, kissed her, and loved the feel of her body on mine.

We spent a long time in bed that morning, and a long time in the shower. Her hands were all over me. She was clearly the suitor. I was being seduced all over again. I could have told her she had me the minute she stepped out of her car. But she was being careful. Had the years made her a little less confident? I doubted either I or the water plant were that important in her world. After Elias and Ibrahim were killed by the Iranians, she left Dubai shortly before I did. I still had enough contacts with the company to follow her progress. Elias had left her rich. His family had surrounded her with wealth, but also with pressure. She had married a cousin of Elias – another member of the board – combining her wealth with his. There were two sons added to the daughter she had by Elias. There were maids and nannies. There were board meetings. There were social events. She was a popular hostess and an interesting guest. Her life was good. She was beautiful. She was rich. Her bedroom talents were unbelievable.

She had some new moves in the shower. New ways to hold me. New places to touch me. I did what I could to please her. She did so much more. When we finally finished in the shower, she picked out a silk dress for me to wear. I had always thought I looked good in it. But I could see she looked so much better in the same material, the same style. She was dressing me, but also reminding me of my place.

I made some breakfast. I guess I was her maid after all. I asked about her children. She asked about mine. She made a point of asking about my grandchildren. Yes, I was that old, lest I forget. Maybe I was being overly sensitive, but I felt she was working too hard to establish dominance. She was younger than me, prettier than me, richer than me. She had me. Wasn't that obvious to her?

After our eggs, she picked up her coffee cup and led the way into my living room. She took one half the couch and motioned me to the other half. We both curled our legs up under us, our thighs touching. She slowly slid her thigh against mine. Her free hand slid along the top of the couch and caressed the back of my neck. Under other circumstances, this would be foreplay, but I was pretty sure this was all a negotiating tactic. I didn't mind. I could play at that too. My free hand went to her thigh and slowly pushed up her skirt. She smiled. I smiled. Interesting game. Any time, Saanvi. Whenever you are ready, let's hear the pitch. But she wasn't quite ready. She set down her coffee cup and now had a free hand to reach over and slowly slide my straps over my shoulders. Whatever she was going to pitch, it must be something. She hadn't worked this hard before kidnapping me.

"Did you know your movie has been dubbed in German?" Her fingers were sliding down my shoulder and toward my breast.

"It's not my movie. I was just an extra. My real job was to keep the crew fed." I put my own coffee down. That freed a hand to put in her hair. It was like touching silk.

"At the end, you were an actress. And you were very good. Mattieu recognized you instantly when he saw the movie. He remembered you from the office."

"I don't remember him."

"He's the nephew of the man you called "klein Deutsch."

"I was trying to explain that I spoke little German – klein Deutsch."

"While looking at his pants and motioning with your fingers two inches apart."

"I never liked him."

"No one does. But he is now the company president."

"Elias always said he wanted the job."

"Now he has the job. And he has problems."

"You are here to fix the problems, and you want me to help." Saanvi chose not to respond. Instead, she leaned over me, forcing my head back against the top of the couch. She held me in that position, kissing me, while her fingers played with my breast. This woman really wanted something from me. Would she tell me, or was it up to me to guess? Either way, I have to admit I was in no hurry. The hand that had been on my breast was now under my skirt and going north fast. I could barely breathe.

"I am staying at the Hilton resort." One hand was caressing the back of my neck, the other sliding across my panties. She gave me a very long kiss before continuing. "Join me for dinner at eight. Wear an evening gown that I will enjoy taking off you." She kissed me again, stared at me with those huge brown eyes, and slowly moved her hands away. She took forever to slide her fingers back down my thigh.

And then she was gone. Out to the huge black Beemer and then out to county K. I sat collapsed against the back of my couch. I could still feel every place her fingers had touched.

Chapter 3

The Latest News from Amberg

Being Saanvi, it never occurred to her to ask me if I was free. She knew I would find the time. And I could. I had just started my summer circuit of my hotels. As always, I had done Appleton and Green Bay first. I had spent an evening with Tiffany, Ben, and their boys. Still no interest in the hotel business from either. I could wait – and hope. Amberg was always the next stop on the circuit, my chance to spend a few days at home in my trailer, and a chance to see my dad and Billy and Britney and their kids. I had arrived the night before. I might be here three days. I might be here a week. And then I would hit the next city on my route – Duluth.

I would probably wear an evening gown to meet Saanvi. Even at the Hilton I would be massively overdressed, but if that's what she wanted... In the meantime, I would take off the silk dress still warm from her touch, and put on jeans and a polo shirt – the official uniform of Marinette county women. I had shopping to do.

After a fifteen year absence, there was now a small grocery store open in Amberg, but old habits die hard. I drove down to the Wausaukee IGA. I knew every inch of the store. I could find what I needed in minutes. Mostly I just needed breakfast things, but I also grabbed some brats and beans and mac n' cheese in case the kids stopped by. I needed milk and juice and had both in my basket when I stopped to look at a sign in a cooler. "Please Recycle." Okay. Obviously a reasonable request. Very obvious. So why even say it, and why have it written out in large letters and posted right under the bottled water. No signs under the beer cans, or the Pepsi, or the plastic bottles of juice. Just under the bottled water.

I stood and stared. The sign had to be eight by ten. The "Stock Up for the Weekend" sign under the Miller Lite was barely half as large. There was no other sign anywhere in the store that was eight by ten. Just that sign, and just there under the bottled water – water that was pumped and bottled just up the road. No sign made note of that. No sign showed any pride in a product successfully sold throughout the Midwest (and certainly at all my hotels). Just one sign about recycling, drawing attention to just one use of plastic.

The water plant mattered. Wisconsin had been in decline for half a century. Amberg had been declining for twice that long. Founded on granite quarries and logging, it had moved on to farming. Granite stopped being used to build office towers, the white pines were all logged, and the farms... well, farms have been going under for a century. They went under faster in this part of Wisconsin where poor soil and a cold climate made things even tougher in a tough industry.

Along came Elias Gruber, president of a Swiss bottling company (and a man I hated, then loved, then followed to Dubai only to lose him to Saanvi), with an idea – why not pump water from the local aquafer, bottle it, and sell it. In a world running out of water, the idea was sure to work. There was a huge local fight over the plant, with some worried about the local water supply. There had even been shots fired.

But. And this mattered. In a town where the population shrank every year as people moved off in search of jobs, the water plant provided twenty four jobs at good wages, meaning twenty four families would have a pay check, health insurance, and a retirement plan. And. One of the people who made sure that happened -- was me. I got the plant opened, I hired the staff, hell, I even cleaned the plastic extruders to make the bottles. I had been gone several years, first to Dubai only to lose Elias to Saanvi and to the god damn Iranians, and then to a new career in hotels. But. If I had to stand at the entrance to the plant with my Smith and Wesson, that plant was going to stay open.

I had known for a year there were people who wanted the plant closed. It used plastic bottles. Yes, plastic was a risk, and yes, it was in the oceans. Once again, the plant was controversial. Something needed to be done. Okay, I get that. But. Twenty four families have rights too. The Recycle sign was held on with Scotch tape. I tore it free and positioned it in the middle of the shelf under the Miller Lite. If I'd had a marker, I would have added – Recycle (and drink real beer).

I pushed my cart to the cashier and checked out.

Next stop, after taking my groceries home? Dad. Clark's name was not on my birth certificate. And my mother had refused to tell me who my father was. Clark said nothing for forty years. But he was the one who bought the trailer I still owned, and he was the man who hired me for one job or another as I raised my girls. Until Elias and the water plant came along, I had spent ten years tending his bar in Amberg – the only bar in Amberg (hell, for most years it was the only business in Amberg).

I parked my Toyota across from the bar. A year earlier Dad had gentrified the place. Amberg consists of four buildings on one side of the main street. Over the years, Dad had bought the empty grocery store, restaurant, and post office. They stayed empty until the water plant and the Hilton Resort brought more business to the town. To make sure that business came to Amberg and not to Wausaukee, he had bulldozed the sidewalk in front of the entire block, and replaced it with a twelve foot concrete plaza complete with potted trees. I guess he had seen something similar in a newspaper. There were chairs and tables outside the restaurant. Outdoor eating had come to Amberg.

May can be a little cool for outdoor tables, but if you live this far north, you take advantage of any hint of sunshine. But apparently not this day. Only one table was occupied at the peak of lunch hour. Disappointing.

I passed up a chance for lunch and went into the bar to see my dad. He owned businesses all around this end of the county, but he lived around the corner, and at eighty five proximity to home was more and more important. So afternoons found him in the bar, sitting in front of a beer he never touched, staring at whatever ball game was on the TV.

I took the stool next to his. He looked over my shoulder.

"Traveling alone?"

"Yes. No Hollywood folks this time."

"Too bad. I liked them. You seem to go through men – and women – pretty fast." How do I describe my dad? Less hair every year, a bigger gut, and slower steps. He is really old. But what I see in his face is a man who cares. He was looking right at me, and I could see he wished I was with someone – man or woman.

"I guess I am hard to please. How are you doing?"

"Thinner hair, fatter ass, but I'm still looking at the green side of the grass."

"And business?"

"Not so hot, but I could always use another bartender, if you are interested. But I have turned over more and more things to Billy."

"Good. You're entitled to ease back a bit."

"Yes, and Billy could use the work. They are cutting back hours at the plant."

"When did that start?"

"It's been coming on for a while."

"I noticed fewer people at the restaurant. I guess shrinking paychecks explain that."

"No, it's worse than that." He stopped and turned a bit toward me. This is not normal. Clark's standard conversation is out of the side of his face while he watches the TV. You get an occasional glance in between pitches. This time I got almost his whole face turned toward me.

"There was a fight in here, a couple weeks back. Some guys from the plant, and some guys from the Hilton place. The plant guys start bitching about the Hilton women picketing the plant and hurting business. The Hilton guys ignore them. Then the plant guys start saying things about the women. Things a man can't ignore. The two groups start throwing punches. It was mostly black eyes and busted lips, but bad enough that now both groups stay out of town, thinking if they see the other group again, the next fight might be worse."

"Would it be worse?"

"You remember a few years back where those idiots in Wausaukee shot up that woman's house?" I nodded. "I think we are nearly there again."

"Shit." I took a sip from my beer. Clark went back to watching the ball game. You know you are old and bored when you have time for baseball.

I talked to the side of my father's face for a while. I asked about his health ("it's fine."), asked if he needed anything ("no"), told him I would be in town for a few days ("good"), and we should have dinner some night ("any night is fine."). Finally I ran out of things to say. I patted his hand, kissed his cheek, and left.

Where to next? I got in my SUV and started driving. The car seemed to set my direction on its own. It took me up to the plant. There's a large parking lot out front. I saw only about a dozen cars. No trouble finding a parking spot.

Do I need to describe the plant? Pretty standard factory. Basically a concrete box two hundred feet on a side. Train tracks along one side, truck loading on another. Protruding from the front was the usual office complex, about fifty by fifty with a peaked roof and double glass entrance doors. Above the doors was the sign – "Naturale." Next to it was an image of a bottle of Pike River Water, complete with the stylized drawing of Dave's Falls. I had to smile. I had helped design that logo.

There was a small lobby and a receptionist at a tiny desk. I asked if I could see Brenda Stark, the manager. But Brenda must have heard me, and she was out of her office instantly. We hugged and went into her office. I asked about her boys, both about to finish high school and talking more and more about college. Then I asked about the plant, and her smile faded.

"I assume you know sales are down." I nodded. "This shouldn't be repeated," she paused while I nodded agreement. "But sales are down thirty percent this quarter and the sales people tell us to expect continued drops."

"So that's why there are fewer cars in the parking lot."

"We haven't done layoffs yet, but we are down to thirty two hours work per week, and we still produce more than we sell. In another month layoffs will happen."

Neither of us said anything for a while. I could see the pain in her face. Every person in the plant was local. I had hired many of them. Brenda and I had known some since grade school. Every layoff was a family without income, a family with kids we probably also knew.

"Any ideas on boosting sales?" Leave it to me to ask the obvious.

"Bern keeps sending people over. They do surveys, and focus groups. No ideas yet. A couple days ago they sent over a woman. Indian I think. She just walked through the plant and looked at our stacked inventory. I worry she's here to shut us down."

"Saanvi?"

"Yes. You know her?"

"I knew her in Dubai. She married Elias. When he was killed, she moved to Bern and married another Gruber." When I mentioned Elias, Brenda's face did a funny shift. You could almost see the thinking process – wasn't Elias the man you were going to marry in Dubai? But she never said it. Good woman.

"Do you think she is here to close us?" An awful question from a woman with twenty three employees and two boys just ready for college. She suddenly looked older.

"I have spoken with her, but I don't know her plans." True enough. I had no idea what Saanvi was up to. Maybe I would find out at dinner, maybe I wouldn't.

I asked if I could see the plant, and Brenda immediately agreed. We both put on lab coats to protect our clothes, and went back into the factory area. I was immediately struck by how crowded it was. Whole sections of wall were covered with pallet after pallet of filled bottles. We had to walk around them to get to the machines.

Billy had one of the plastic extrusion machines down for maintenance. There were five or six people standing around watching him. Maybe they were getting training; maybe they were just killing time. I shook hands all around, and we talked about this and that. They wanted to know if I was coming back to the plant, and one joked that I wouldn't since I was now a movie star. I told them they seemed to be doing fine without me. They smiled, but the smiles were half-hearted. Clearly they were worried. They had walls full of unsold water bottles to remind them of the trouble they were in. It was not trouble I could help with.

I shook a few more hands in other corners of the plant, and then left. Brenda and I hugged at the front door, and I wished her the best, but the place felt a bit haunted. It had been such a big deal to build the plant, and here we were, just a few years later, and it certainly looked like it would close soon.

Where next? I drove back down to County K, but rather than turn into my place, I continued on and parked by the old one room school house. I liked the place, and this was where Kat sometimes brought women to look at the flowers that remained from when there had been farm families living in the vicinity. The school had been abandoned when farming collapsed here in the 1930s. Now it was used to store some hay, and looked like it might lean farther to the right and fall in the next big wind. A good place to sit and think about the next economic collapse for Amberg – the loss of our only factory.

I sat on the steps to the school and looked across the road at the lilac bush there. It was in full bloom. It was beautiful, but all that was left of a homestead. There had been farm houses where that hay field was now. Houses with kids and women who raised them and helped their husbands with the farm chores. Women who took the time to plant flowers, to bring beauty, even as they struggled to pull a living from this land. I was out here once when Kat brought a group by, and I remember saying we should remember those women and the beauty they left us.

Nice words. But I bet the women cried as they loaded up their truck for the last time and drove away, the bank taking their home and their land. Everything they had worked for now gone, replaced by a hay field. Should I plant a lilac to two up by the plant when it closed? More families losing what they had worked for. Would I cry when it closed? I was nearly crying now.

I sat on the steps wiping my eyes when an old pickup truck pulled next to my SUV. The driver sat and looked at me for a minute, then got out and walked toward me.

"You know you are trespassing." He was an old guy dressed in jeans and a work shirt, full beard, long hair hanging off the back of his head, nothing on top.

"You own the place?"

"Yup."

"I don't suppose you are a relative of the people who once went to school here."

"Nope. Grew up in a crappy town in Indiana. I wanted some elbow room. Came up here where the land was cheap. Didn't know I'd have to keep chasing people off my land." He stared at me. I stared at him. I didn't feel like moving.

"How much do you want for the school and two acres around it?"

We stared at each other for a while. Sitting where I was on the steps, I was about eye level with him. He frowned at me, but didn't answer. I waited. If I had learned anything in this life, it was how to wait.

"Fifty thousand dollars." He stared. I stared.

"Land here goes for four thousand an acre – if you can get that. The school is ready to fall over on your hay. Get your hay out of there. I'll give you eight thousand for the two acres, five thousand for the school." More staring. I had my elbows on my knees, my body leaning forward comfortably. I could sit like this for hours. He was sweating.

"Twenty thousand."

"Fifteen, and you get your hay out of the school." More staring.

"How do I know you'll pay?"

"I'll write you a check right now. You put the agreement on paper and sign it. I'll pay a realtor in Wausaukee to create the deed, and I'll pay a surveyor to mark the boundaries. You go home with fifteen thousand in your pocket."

He stared for a while, then walked back to his truck to find a scrap of paper and a pen. I walked back to my car and got out my checkbook. I hadn't updated my check register in a while, but I knew I had a balance of over three hundred thousand. I started writing the check.

"What's your name?"

"Clarence Bale. B A L E."

I put his name on the check while he wrote up the agreement. I made sure the check comment line said "For purchase of County K school house and two acres." It filled the bottom of the check, but I found room to sign it. Meanwhile, he wrote his agreement while leaning on the hood of his truck. I read over his shoulder. He had the shaky handwriting of an old guy, but it was legible. I saw him date it and sign it. He gave me the paper; I gave him the check. He studied the check carefully.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"I live in the green trailer down the road."

"You live in a trailer and have fifteen thousand to buy an old schoolhouse."

"Yes." He went back to staring at me. "The realtor will call you when the papers are ready for you."

"As you wish." He held up the check and made a bit of a show as he put it in his wallet, like he had just accomplished something. He drove away with a smile, no doubt ready to tell whoever he met, what a deal he had made. Fair enough.

I drove to Wausaukee and met with the realtor who had sold my condo. He remembered me - a good trait for a man in his line of work. Our conversation was short. I gave him the written agreement, explained I needed a deed and a survey. He said there would be a fee. I agreed, shook his hand, and left.

I thought that was enough for one day. I drove back up to my trailer to eat a bit, put my feet up, and get ready for my date with Saanvi.

Chapter 4

The Hilton Resort

The nice thing about an eight o'clock dinner is I had plenty of time. First, I dragged a kitchen chair out on my deck and sat out in the sun. My poplars fluttered in the breeze, birds were calling in my woods, mosquitoes mostly left me alone. I probably sat out there for an hour, just letting random things run through my head. I would soon officially own a school house. What would I do with it? At least initially, I would just keep it from falling down. Then? Maybe a museum? Maybe I could just get a list of kids who had attended, and post that on a wall. Maybe something else. Mostly I just felt compelled to preserve the place. I would talk with Kat about it in the next couple days and see if she had any ideas.

What else was on my mind? The plant of course. What to do about that? Find some way to streamline recycling? Put some other product in there? We had worked so hard to build the place, it seemed wrong to lose it so soon.

And I thought about the Hilton Resort. I couldn't help thinking about the January Willie and I had it to ourselves. Him in a tux, me in a gown, dancing while he sang Willie Nelson songs in my ear. That was a January to remember. And there was the night Vince had taken me out to the river bank, and we had held each other and slowly swayed in the moonlight, both of us barefoot, and me just wearing a slip. He had felt so good.

So many bad things had happened at the resort - the sex slaves, the brutality, the threats – but I was determined to push those things into some corner of my memories and not get them out. Much better to think of two men I had loved and danced with and held as tight as I could as long as I could. Did I wish I still owned the place? Yes. But that was another memory to push away. I had made my choice. Hilton had paid me well, and they had managed the place well, building it into something more substantial than Willie and I might have done. No regrets. What was done was done.

I hadn't been to the resort in over a year. Time to visit, have dinner, and find out why Saanvi was here. I took the kitchen chair back inside and started getting ready. I spent well over an hour on my hair and makeup. My salon in Galena had worked on my hair a week ago, but still it was an effort to get this lock or that lock where it belonged. The color was good – a brighter brown than my natural mousiness, and no gray. They had put some wave in it. It lay over my shoulders well if I combed it right. That took time.

My face? I'm forty three. Colors help, as do moisturizers, but... I'm forty three. Is Saanvi even thirty? It will be a decade before she looks in a mirror and sighs. I did what I could do.

Dressing was easy. I knew exactly what I would wear. That first summer when I had been a part-time hostess at the fishing lodge Kat now owned, I had been so proud of my one floor-length gown – red satin, off the shoulder, half sleeves, skirts that flared nicely off my hips. I thought it made me look sophisticated. Elias had liked it. That first visit to Amberg when he was pretending to fish but was really evaluating the possibility of a water plant, he had held me, and he had looked at me, and he had bribed me to write a letter in support of the plant. And that had started everything – my first trip to Switzerland, hell, my first trip out of Wisconsin, my first flight, my first flight in a private jet, and eventually, my first nights in his bed. Saanvi had stolen him from me in Dubai. Somehow it seemed right to wear this dress in memory of my times with him.

For fun I thought about going with five inch heels. Saanvi was three inches taller than me, and would also be wearing heels, but maybe they would be shorter, and I could look her eye-to-eye for once. But five inch heels and a long skirt. I could see myself tripping and looking stupid, or even breaking an ankle. Three inch stilettoes would have to do.

But enough fussing. I grabbed an evening bag and walked out to my car. The sun was setting, the air beginning to cool. It felt refreshing.

The resort is just a five minute drive for me. Basically a few miles east towards the Menominee River. It's a fairly large river that separates Wisconsin and Michigan. For whatever reason, a large island exists in the midst of the river. On that island is a nine hole golf course and a very large hotel. There's a small bridge over to the island, and you used to drive your car to the resort. But cars took up too much room, so now a parking lot had been created west of the island, and young men took you across on golf carts. I like golf carts. And I like good service. I had barely parked my car when a young man brought a cart around, smiled, and waited while I got into the back seat.

It's a nice drive. Across the river, through the golf course, on a path leading through several pine groves, then some very nice gardens all coming into bloom with the season. In less than five minutes you leave the rest of the world behind and arrive at the front doors of a hotel that had aged well over the last century. Reputedly Al Capone's favorite excursion, the mob had put lots of illegal gains into expansions and upgrades. The long front porch had dozens of rockers, the double entry doors had leaded glass, every interior surface was wainscoted or paneled with good quality oak veneers.

And there was Hilton-level service. A uniformed man welcomed me and opened the entry doors, offering to direct me to whichever bar or restaurant I had chosen. Where did I want to go? Saanvi would be waiting for me in the main dining room. I would let her wait a few minutes. Years earlier I had been brought to the hotel to manage the sports bar. I would go there first to see how it had fared.

I immediately found two of the girls who had waitressed for me years before. They had been high school seniors then. Now they were what – college sophomores? Juniors? I was losing track of time. They both recognized me and rushed right over. We hugged and complemented each other. I asked about their college experience. Both seemed to be doing fine, but were happy to be home for the summer. We talked a bit about the summer I had been manager, and then they both wanted to know about the movies I had done. I reminded them I had just been an extra with a few lines. They both wanted selfies, and then two other waitresses asked if they could get a picture with me too. Amberg is a tiny town. It doesn't take much to be a celebrity.

We stood and talked for a few minutes more, and then I pointed out there were men at the tables in need of beer. We hugged again, and I left. Say what you want about the place, it was still helping local kids get money for college.

I took my time as I walked to the dining room. I worked on my posture. Shoulders back, head up, a smile for the people I passed. The dining room hostess was another of the girls I had once employed. She instantly hugged me, and told me all about her college efforts. She was already a junior, a marketing major, expecting to spend next summer as a marketing intern somewhere. I had to ask.

"Have you thought about hotels?"

"Sure. I have four years' experience at this one." I had to love her confidence.

"My hotels hire interns. What if I connect you with our HR people?"

"That would be so great." She didn't quite bounce up and down, but she was close. I got out my phone, took her picture, and texted it to Bobbi Steiner along with Alexa's phone number. I suggested a meeting to consider a future internship. Alexa saw me type all this in, still bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. I hit SEND and got a big hug from her.

"That was so cool. Thank you so much."

"Whether you get the internship or not, when you meet with Bobbi, listen carefully to everything she says. She is the most creative person I have ever met."

"Will do."

"And Google the Heritage Hotel in Dubuque. You will see what she has done there. It's a miracle."

I got a hug and thanks, and finally walked with her to our table. Once at the table she became very formal, explained Robert would be our server, handed me a menu, and asked Saanvi if she could bring her more water. Saanvi smiled but declined the water.

Then she got up and hugged me as well. I got a kiss on the cheek, and her hands on my bare shoulders. Her face was barely an inch from mine as her fingers slid down to the top of my sleeves and pulled them down an inch or so, exposing an extra inch of my chest. She watched my reaction as she lowered my gown. I had my hands on her waist, and left them there. She was playing with my dress, but she was really exercising control. She wanted it seen by all that she could do what she wanted, and I would let her. And I did let her. We stood opposite each other a little longer, her hands on my sleeves, a smile on her face. Then we sat beside each other at a very small table.

"I see you know the people here." She had an interesting expression on her face. Could you combine a smile with a challenge? She didn't like my interaction with the hostess, but she also didn't want to show it. I guess I was to enter the dining room and only have eyes for her. She was definitely something to look at. She had also worn a floor length gown and heels, but her gown was yellow silk and sheath cut, highlighting every aspect of her perfect figure. She still had the body of a model, even after three babies. And she still liked people to see her.

"She was a waitress of mine when I managed the sports bar."

"Before you owned the place."

"I managed the sports bar for a summer, was president of the company that owned the resort for a year or so, and personally owned the resort for about three weeks."

"Nice place."

"Yes, it is."

"And now you own eleven hotels." What she said was true, but I was struck that she would know it. Our website still listed ten hotels. Months earlier I had agreed to buy older hotels in Springfield and Champagne Urbana. We had closed on the hotel in Springfield, but I hadn't announced the Champagne purchase yet. We were still in the midst of transferring title and settling on inventory payments. Saanvi had been doing some fairly deep research on me to know so soon about the purchase.

"Yes. All here in the Upper Midwest." I wasn't sure what else to say. I didn't want to acknowledge the additional hotel, or deny it.

"Shakira would be very proud of you." Okay, she was trying to provoke me. I don't know why. But I also didn't want to go down that road."

"Saanvi, let's just have dinner, and then go to bed."

"No talk about old loves?"

"Of course not. Stop being rude." I stared at her. We had been holding hands under the table. I took my hand away.

"I have ordered something called a walleye salad. Robert said it was the specialty of the house. He is also bringing a bottle of wine." She had turned her body and was looking directly at me as she spoke.

"That will be good." I returned her look.

"I am interested in you, Jess. You haven't written or called in years. I am just trying to keep up with events in your life." She held out her hand, and I took it. I guess a peace offering, made and accepted.

Robert came with the wine. He was maybe twenty but looked very formal in his tux. He carefully went through all the steps in presenting the wine. He held the bottle for Saanvi's review, carefully removed the cork and handed it to her to smell, then carefully poured a taste. When she nodded her approval, he poured us each half a glass, then wrapped a napkin around the top of the bottle and set it in a silver cooling cup. All very formal, all following wine etiquette to the letter, just as it might be in Chicago or Paris. A little odd for Amberg, but then this wasn't Amberg, it was Hilton Island, an island of wealth and sophistication surrounded by a county of loggers and people who lived in trailers. But I have to say, the wine was very good.

The wine helped loosen us both up. We went through the first glass pretty fast. By the time our salads arrived, our hands were locked together and resting on my thigh, which she was caressing while smiling at me. We were friends again, on our way to being lovers again.

What did we talk about? Our children. We expanded upon our comments of the morning. Now our kids were cute and funny and did silly things that made great stories and got both of us laughing. The stories lasted through the fish salad, and the wine, and continued while her hand went farther along my leg, my hand resting on hers and encouraging her to explore. We talked, we ate, we drank, and we got increasingly hot. Time to leave.

I was a little uncomfortable as we walked past the hostess holding hands, but I was already pretty far along in hormone overdrive, so I just nodded in her direction, and then went back to giggling with Saanvi.

She had a first floor suite of course. One of the best rooms in the place. We entered, but never turned the lights on. We were all over each other the instant the door closed. I went for her zipper; she went for mine. We fumbled a bit getting our shoes off, but once free of those, we were back in each other's arms. She had left night gowns out on her bed. We were wearing satin tonight. White, long, low across the chest.

She also had a silk dressing gown on the bed. When she slipped the silk belt out of the loops I was pretty sure what came next, and I was fine with it. She wrapped the belt around my waist, and tied it tight behind me. Then she pulled my wrists behind me and wrapped the belt around them, holding my wrists tight against the small of my back. She knotted it.

She would have control tonight. I knew that coming in. It mattered to her. She would always take it. What she never understood is that she always had control, not from belts or ropes, but from one simple fact – I wanted her more than she wanted me. That was the essence of our relationship. I wanted her. And she would keep me wanting her. She had beauty, and she had skills.

For some reason she decided we should stand out on the small patio that was part of the suite. So we went out there. We were in the dark, but we were also very undressed. But she wanted to stand there. Then I heard it. There was a piano player in the bar. Show tunes, played well, but slowly, so people could dance. Saanvi took me in her arms, and we danced, or at least we rocked from side to side, our bodies sliding across each other. It was cool outside, but she had her arms around me, and it was warm leaning against her.

My hands were bound, but hers were free. One of them went low, sliding across my ass and holding our hips tight together. The other slid up the back of my head and locked itself in my hair. That hand brought my head back, always back, so as she kissed me, she was kissing down to me. She would always have it that way. She had three inches on me, and she used it.

We rocked together through several songs, and then she took us in. She wanted me in bed, and she put me there. I was on my back. She arranged herself over me. She took her time. First, one knee went between mine, and her thigh found the right spot between mine. One hand stayed in my hair, holding my head so my face was always toward her. She would have my full attention. She slid her body so she lay across my chest. Her weight across me was heavy, but not too heavy. Her other hand worked first with her own hair. She spread it out over my face, black hair in a darkened room, my sight now restricted to glimpses of her eyes as slivers of light came through the patio doors.

That done, her hand went to my throat. She brought it up just under my chin, and slowly squeezed. As she squeezed, she put her mouth on mine and kissed me. And then she started pushing with her thigh, sliding it across mine, and then pressing down. In a minute she had a rhythm – kiss, throat, her hips, her thigh – all moving at the same time, all pressing on me, all touching me, all driving me crazy.

She kept at it. I moaned, I gasped, I spasmed, I cried. I tried to push myself toward her. I was sweat-soaked and wet, and wanted it to go on forever. But of course she was the one who would decide. She could continue, or she could stop. She was in control. I could beg for more, but she would do what she wished. She owned me.

She stopped several times during the night. Whenever she stopped, I could see her eyes staring at me. She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and she wanted to enjoy it. She would wait for me to say "please," and then she would make me wait for more.

One time she stopped and wanted to talk.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, Saanvi, I love you."

"Tell me about your love."

"The minute I saw you in Dubai, I knew I would have to fight you for Elias. But I also knew I wanted to touch you. To hold you. And to feel you hold me."

That satisfied her for the moment, and she went back to work on me, sliding her thigh deep between mine, her hand sometimes closing my throat, sometimes dropping down between my legs. She did what she wanted, when she wanted.

Later, she wanted more talk.

"I wanted you to be my maid. When our husbands were killed. We were both alone. I asked you to come to Bern and live with me. We could have been like this every night."

"Yes."

"I had uniforms made for you. The sleeves were very short, the skirt very short, the neckline very low. Your beautiful breasts would have been peeking out from the top. I have still have them. You will look marvelous in them when you come to me in Bern every month."

"Wha..." I started to ask what she was talking about, but she didn't want questions. She put her mouth on mine. It was a kiss, but also a gag. She put her thigh and hand into motion again, and I went back to moaning. Her. Bern. This. To the extent I could think at all, I liked the idea.

She kept at me until dawn, and then she pulled me out of bed. I didn't want to go. I wanted her back on me. But she got to decide what we did together. And she wanted me in the shower. She took her gown off, but left mine on, my wrists still bound. She pulled the top of my night gown down around my waist, and pulled my skirts up and wrapped them around my hands. She pushed me against the shower wall and washed me. One hand stayed in my hair, holding my head back while she kissed me, or pressing my head against her shoulder while she went over my body with her hands.

I was kissing her neck when she started talking again.

"Emil is killing the company. He has no head for business at all. All our factories are losing money. He will end up shutting them all down. He will start with the three water plants here in America. Your plant will be closed in two weeks. All your people will lose their jobs."

I started to say something, but she put her hand over my mouth.

"You will save those jobs. You have three point eight million dollars left after buying the hotels in Illinois. You will give Emil three million for the Amberg plant. You have run it before. You can run it again. I have found a company that does sales and distribution. You will contract with us. We will get sales moving again. Each month you will visit me in Bern. You will stay in my apartment. And we will be together again."

I couldn't talk, but I could nod, and I did.

"You will go back to your trailer and pack. My driver will come for you in an hour. He will take you to our plane. You will meet Emil tonight and settle this."

I shook my head, and she moved her hand enough so I could speak.

"My passport is in Galena."

"Use your Swiss passport."

"It is in Dubai."

"It is in my purse." Before I could react to that, she had her mouth on mine again, as she undid the knots on my wrists and then those around my waist. She got me out of the shower, ran a towel over me, and then pulled my red dress over my head. While I strapped on my shoes, she found my passport and handed it to me.

I was out the door and down the hallway before I could ask any questions or think any of this through. My mind was breaking things down to their simplest forms. One hour. Plane. Buy water plant. Save jobs.

I reached the front doors. A young man was there. He opened the door for me and got into the driver's seat of the golf cart. I got into the back. To the extent I noticed him at all, I noticed the concern on his face. I didn't have a mirror, but I was pretty sure how I looked – wet hair, no makeup, a wrinkled red dress. I looked like what I was – a woman who had been through a night of rough sex.

The ride off the island was cold, but fast. I was back in my car, and back in my trailer in minutes.

Chapter 5

Bern

One hour. Very little time, but packing would be easy. I would be in Switzerland for maybe three or four days. We talked, we signed papers, I wrote a check, I got back on the plane. Four days tops. I packed for five. I had a dress bag, and I filled it with dresses I had bought last time I was in Bern – four cotton dresses for the office, three silks for the evening, my baby blue evening gown for any formal evening with the board. Dress bag filled, I put shoes and underwear in a suitcase, and put the bag and case by the front door. Done.

The real work was going to be my face and hair. What to do about my hair? I got out a blow dryer and went to work with that and a comb. It seemed matted on one side, wild on the other. I did the best I could. As for my face, in a perfect world, it would look bright and rosy cheeked after a night of bliss. In the real world it looked exhausted. I did what I could. I would have eight hours on the plane. I might make more progress in flight. Maybe.

What saved my spirits? I knew what I would wear on the plane. Elias had given it to me on my first flight over. I still loved the look of it. A beautiful black dress of a silky material, it had a slight sheen, sort of like semi-gloss paint. It had short sleeves, a scoop neckline with a wide and shallow curve, and long full skirts ending about three inches below my knees - "tea length." I had matching heels, and more importantly, Elias had given me a matching string of pearls. Real pearls. I was certain he would ask for them back after that first visit, but he had let me keep them. I put them on, just as thrilled with them now as I had been that first time.

When I looked in the mirror, I still saw a very tired woman, but the tired woman looked elegant. She looked like a woman that would have a Swiss passport and would fly on a private jet. I took a breath, pulled back my shoulders, lifted my head, and walked calmly to my door just as the driver arrived. I let him take my bags. Elegant Swiss ladies don't carry luggage. I checked my purse for my passport and followed the driver out to a huge black BMW. An hour later I was at the Green Bay airport. We were in the air fifteen minutes after I boarded.

I slept most of the way to Bern. I know we stopped somewhere on the east coast for fuel. I found a snack in the kitchenette, and had a couple glasses of wine, but mostly this elegant lady leaned back and slept.

Eight hours of flying, and five hours of time change, and I knew – as always – we would get in very late. No matter. An immigration official came to the plane. I remembered my initial instructions. I sat straight, I looked at the official, I said nothing. I did not smile. I handed my passport to the pilot, he handed it to the official, he checked it, stamped it, nodded to me, and gave my passport back to my pilot, who then gave it to me. Done. My bags were carried to another black limo, I thanked the pilot, got into the car, and rode off.

My first surprise came as we left the airport. Elias had an apartment in the city center, near the company offices. I expected Emil to live in the same general vicinity. He didn't. We drove out into the countryside, and then through a valley along a river. The road followed the river for a while, and then started rising. We were now in thick woods, with a mountainside to our left, and a drop to our right. How big a drop? It was night, so I couldn't see much, but I thought I saw the river down below. Miles went by. Where did this guy live?

He lived in a castle. Really. It was floodlit as we approached. Maybe a hundred yards across, a turret rising at each end, a square building in the middle. All stone. All old. There was even remains of a moat. The limo slowly drove into the entryway (through a stone arch, no less) and parked in the courtyard. He opened the car door for me. A butler opened the door to the building. Okay. Elegant Swiss lady meets castle. A bit odd, but I was here to give the owner three million dollars. I straightened my shoulders and went in.

The entrance hall had to be forty by sixty, and three stories high. A staircase wrapped around the walls, leading up to the second and third floors. Every wall was paneled in ancient oak boards. Framed portraits, and old armor and weapons filled almost every inch of every wall. The room felt huge, but crowded.

Standing midway across the flagstone floor was Emil. He made no effort to come to me. He stood waiting. He looked like a gray statue. He was wearing a gray suit, and still had his tie pulled tight to his throat, even though it was approaching midnight. He was about six feet tall, mid-fifties, gray hair, still thick despite his age, and worn a bit longer, in the European style. He had a square chin, a narrow line for a mouth, a bit of a hook to his nose, but it was his eyes you noticed. Narrow, with heavy eye brows that fell towards his nose. His face looked like it was locked into a look of displeasure. He was obviously displeased to see me. I would have been concerned, but I had never seen him when he was not displeased. This was his approach to all the world. I was just the current annoyance, and I would not be here long.

If he wasn't coming to me, I wasn't coming to him. I took a few steps into the room, but stopped a full fifteen feet from him. I looked at him, and waited.

"I understand Saanvi gave you permission to use the company jet."

"Yes, I have come with a business proposal."

"It is too late to discuss business. You may spend the night here if you wish. A maid will show you to your room. We will discuss your proposal tomorrow." And he turned and walked out of the room. The bastard. Three million dollars, and he can't be bothered talking in the evening. No wonder the business was floundering. I stood staring after him. A maid appeared from somewhere. She curtsied and turned. I followed. The butler followed behind with my bags. Stairs. We climbed a million of them. Were we headed for the bell tower? Nearly. She led me to a room on the third floor. The butler put my bags inside the door. The maid pointed to a cotton night gown arranged on the bed. Both left.

What a strange way to end the day. Elegant Swiss lady arrives on a private jet, but spends the night in a drafty room in a castle. A castle owned by a grumpy old man. I took a good look around. I had a fairly large room with a reasonably modern looking bathroom to one side. All the walls were stone. Two tapestries hung near the door, but otherwise I was surrounded by gray stone. Two windows with gothic arches looked out over something. It was night. I just saw black out there. My bed? Large. A four poster with actual curtains on each side, no doubt to help maintain warmth. It might be May, but I was not certain even full summer would warm these stone walls.

There was a wardrobe near the door to the bathroom. I hung my gown in there and put on the cotton night gown. It might have come from a past century. It had long sleeves with ruffles at the wrist, long skirts with another ruffle at the hem, and a collar that could be closed with a ribbon. It was heavy cotton. It would be warm. And the hem puddled around my feet. My toes would be warm. Toiletries were set out along the sink in the bathroom. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got under the down duvet of my bed.

I was warm. But could I sleep? No. I had slept on the plane, but now my body told me it was just seven in Amberg. Who sleeps at seven? So I lay awake, stared at the ceiling, and prepared for my meeting with Emil Gruber. It might be in an office here in the castle – I assumed he had one – or we would talk in town. My pitch was simple. You are going to close the plant in Amberg. Why take the loss? Sell it to me. We would dicker about the price, but the end result was certain. I would get the plant.

I rehearsed my lines again and again, hour after hour, and finally fell asleep – maybe five minutes before the maid came for me. Somehow it was suddenly morning. Shit.

I wish I could say I liked the maid. But she seemed a younger, female version of Emil. She was probably late twenties, but already had frown wrinkles – well earned. She was obviously not happy to be saddled with my presence. She tapped me on the shoulder to wake me, and then did it again when I apparently responded too slowly. I know enough German to at least understand "Gut Morgen," but I never heard that. I got a long diatribe whose words I didn't understand, but whose essence I'm sure was – get your butt out of bed, the shower is that way, why am I stuck with you when I should be washing windows somewhere?

I got out of bed, hit the shower, and stood there a long time. It might be morning here, but it was still just three or four a.m. in Amberg. And my body still thought it was in Amberg. I was tired, confused, and plenty cranky. I got more cranky when I finally left a nice warm shower to parade around my bedroom in a towel while I argued with the maid. She had put out my clothes for the day. Fine. It's her job. There was my underwear. There was not my dress. Today was to be simple. Cotton dress. Go to the office where all the other women are wearing cotton dresses, and negotiate with the cranky old man. But one of my cotton office dresses was not laid out on my bed. None of my dresses were.

Instead, there was a dirndl. I had been to Switzerland often enough to know what a dirndl is. I had seen waitresses wear it in a few bars and restaurants. It's a traditional women's outfit – short sleeved white blouse, plus a jumper. The jumper goes over the blouse, is about knee length, and laces up in the bodice. It's the thing a Swiss miss might have worn a century ago to walk the cows out to the pasture. Or at least that's what they wear in the commercials for cheese. Why in the world would I wear it?

After a lot of bilingual back and forth that accomplished nothing, the maid finally pulled her phone out of her pocket. She punched some buttons, and then handed it me. It was an email from Emil – fortunately, in English.

"I have a full schedule today. I may have time to speak with you this evening. As repayment for the use of my room, please help with this afternoon's tour."

What the Hell? How many ways could I be angry about that message? No time to see me? I have to pay for the room? I have to wear a funny dress and help with a tour? I am trying to give you three million dollars, old man, and this is how you treat me? I pointed to the door, and the maid left. I am not sure which of us was most happy to have her out of the room.

Now what? I felt no obligation to help him with anything. And I had brought plenty of my own clothes. I had no need to wear some historic costume. He was just pushing my buttons. Meanwhile, the floor was cold, the room was cold, and I was just wearing a towel. Okay, I would get dressed, and I would help with whatever this tour was. But the offer for the plant just went down.

An hour later I had my hair and makeup the way I wanted, and I was wearing the dirndl. Actually it was pretty nice material and well made. I doubted this is what women had really worn to milk cows. But historical accuracy was someone else's worry. I put on the black slippers that went with the outfit, and went looking for breakfast.

Food was on ground level. I went down a million steps, and then just followed my nose. It was a long walk. There was that big entrance hall, then another great hall that must have been over a hundred feet long, then there was a dining room, then a pool room (the cigar smoke was nauseating), then a library. Then down half a flight of steps and around a corner – the kitchen. Not exactly a convenient place to get to. But I found three women there, all wearing white uniform dresses and large white aprons, and miracle of miracles, one of them spoke English!

"Hello. I understand you are Mrs. Wilson from America. Welcome. I am Emma, and this is Maya, and this, Jana." Emma was the older of the three, and to be honest, also the heaviest of the three, although none of them were skinny. I would guess her age in the mid-fifties. Lots of gray strands in her hair which was pinned at the back of her head.

"I am pleased to meet all of you. I wonder if I might have some breakfast." That got a laugh.

"I can make you some eggs, but it is already after one, and the tour will be arriving soon." While she talked, one of the other women sliced several pieces of bread and gave them to me with some butter. After one. No wonder I was so hungry. I quickly buttered a piece.

"Can you tell me about the tour? Mr. Gruber asked me to help." That got an interesting reaction from all three women. Had I said something stupid? Was this all a joke? They looked at each other, and I could swear they were using telepathy.

"It is very nice of you to help." Emma paused. Struggling with her English, or struggling with something else? "The group will have their own guide who speaks their language, and the historical society will send a person over as well. If you wish to serve as hostess, it is enough to stand, smile, and shake hands. Here, I will show you where to stand."

I followed behind her, still eating the slice of bread. Say what you want about Germans (or Swiss who sound like Germans), they know how to bake bread. I finished that first piece before we were half way back to the entry area, and wished I had taken a second piece with me.

Emma positioned me near the front doors.

"Frau Gruber always stood here, near the base of the stairs. She would greet everyone who entered. She would shake hands with the women, and curtsey to the men. Foreigners love that. You might say 'Guten Tag,' but the only question you may get is where to find the bathroom. It is down that hall to the right. The sign says W.C. The tour guides do everything else. Okay?"

"Yes. Thank you. Your English is very good."

"My sister lives in Minneapolis. I fly there every year to Christmas shop. Your clothing is so much cheaper." She gave me hug and then worked on my laces. They were at the back of the dress, and I hadn't done much with them. Emma tightened them, and suddenly I dropped two dress sizes.

It was about fifteen minutes before the tour group arrived. They were Asian. About twenty five of them. The first couple through the door were a bit hesitant. They stood waiting until their guide came through. She walked right up to me and shook my hand. She said something in her language, I said "Guten Tag," and that was that. She raised her voice and went into tour guide mode while pointing at various things on the walls. Meanwhile, I shook more hands – lots of young women in the group. When the first man came up to me, I curtseyed, and that brought the whole show to a halt. There was lots of chatter in whatever their language was. There was a pause, and another man came up. I curtseyed again, and this man bowed. That brought applause. I think we had just acted out some scene from a movie for them. I went through that three more times for the other men, shaking hands with the rest of the women. By this time, the men and women in the group were bowing and curtseying to each other, and laughing. They might not remember anything else from this castle, but I bet they remember that.

Eventually the tour guide got them back on task, and she led off into the other rooms, talking about this and that. The last guy in the group was the local from the historical society. He introduced himself and started in German, but when I said "English?" he switched over almost without effort. I hate it that so many people speak English so well, and I can barely speak a few words of their language. It is embarrassing.

He was nice about it, thanked me for welcoming the group, and said how kind it was of Herr Gruber to open his home to tours. Then he was off, chasing after the tour group.

I wasn't sure what to do with myself, so I just stayed where I was. Maybe someone would need the bathroom. I was left to think about what the guide had just said. This was the Gruber home. Their home. This guy has his own castle. Was he so rich he didn't need my money? Or was his business failing because this is where he put all his cash? And where is Frau Gruber?

I was still standing there trying to make sense of this all when the group came back. Apparently now it was selfie time. I was wearing an interesting costume. All the women wanted a picture with me. Fine. Until one of the men in the group spoke up. I had seen him staring at me. I wondered if he would want a picture too, but even after nearly all the women had gotten their pictures, he made no move toward me. He just stared. A bit spooky actually. And then he spoke.

"Please. Your name?"

"Jessica Wilson."

He instantly pulled his phone out, and he and several others suddenly were thumbing through screens. A minute later, he spoke again.

"O ree gun?"

"Yes."

There was another rush to thumb through phones, and suddenly I could hear myself talking about Narcissa Whitman. When did phones start having so much memory you could store movies on them? Or was he downloading? Whatever he was doing, others were soon doing too. I could hear myself on several phones.

Now what? Now there were even more pictures of me. With this person, that person, this group, that group. The castle had a simple brochure. Now everyone wanted me to sign theirs. This went on for a while. I wondered what was happening to their tour schedule. No one else seemed to care. Finally their guide started moving them toward the door. Funny thing. Now each of the women decided they should curtsey to me as they left. I curtseyed back and then shook their hands.

Last guy out was the local historian.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I will be meeting with Mr. Gruber. I don't really know what our schedule will be." He nodded in response and ran after the group.

So that was my afternoon. No one wanted to use the bathroom, and everyone got a kick out of curtseys. And whoever is designing phones, wow, have they done well.

I went back down to the kitchen to get some more bread.

Chapter 6

Worst Dinner Ever

I sat and talked with Emma for about an hour. She made me some eggs. We laughed about the tour group doing curtseys.

"How often do you get tour groups here?"

"This time of year we just get one or two a week. More in August. Any group that comes to Europe feels required to see three castles and three cathedrals. By the fourth, they are so bored they just take selfies. If they stop here, usually they are coming from Vienna and driving to the Alps. We are a nice break on the trip."

"It's nice of you to open the castle to them."

"Yes." I have no idea how much meaning can be put into a single word, but I was pretty sure a great deal was packed into that simple "yes." Emma said it and turned away. Suddenly she had cooking to do. I decided not to dig into her answer. She was obviously uncomfortable. I would not push her.

The eggs were great, as were the five slices of bread I ate. These ladies could cook. As I stood to leave, I thanked Emma. She actually walked over and shook my hand.

"It was a pleasure to have you here. I understand you are invited to dinner. It is served in the dining hall at seven. Your maid will dress you. I hope you enjoy dinner." She is saying this while still holding my hand. Nice to have a friend in the place. But it's just a dinner, right? I smile and start back up the hallway and the stairs. You could get your aerobic exercise for the day just getting from point A to point B in this place.

The maid was waiting for me in my room. Somehow she seemed more annoyed. Whatever. She had new clothes laid out across my bed. None of the clothes were mine. Now I was annoyed. I walked over and took a look. The dress was long and formal – rose colored, cotton with long sleeves, and full skirts. Another dress from a past century. The maid was going on in German, which was now just background noise as I decided what to do. Wear this thing, or one of my own? If I wore my own, would I wear the silks? Too cold and too nice for what is really a business dinner. My cotton office dresses? Good for the office, not right for an evening. My blue evening gown? I need to save that. So, I went with the ancient rose dress. It did have virtues. My legs were cold. This dress not only had floor length skirts, but the maid had laid out petticoats to go under it. My legs would be warm. The dress also had long sleeves, and my shoulders would be covered. I don't know how you heat an old castle, and apparently neither does anyone else.

I changed clothes, and was instantly warmer. Now the maid wanted to do my hair. She held up a comb and pointed to a chair in front of a mirrored table. I sat and let her do her job. Was she good at it? Not particularly, but she did manage to get some hair pinned up a little higher than usual. A different look for me. I smiled and thanked her. Her expression didn't change. She let me touch up my own makeup, but before she left she pointed to a clock, and then to the seven. Lots of German followed, but I got the idea. Dinner at seven. I nod, she leaves, the room is finally quiet.

I had time to plan while I worked on my face. My approach? Keep it simple. I understand the plant has been having some problems. I am prepared to buy it. I know the company has been doing its best, but since I am local, I think I might be able to do somewhat better. What's your price? We haggle a bit. Saanvi had said the price would be three million. That at least gave me a ball park figure to start negotiations. Good. I wrap this thing up tonight, sign papers in the morning, get back on the plane tomorrow afternoon. It should work. They want to close the place. I let them walk away with some cash.

I spent a few minutes going through my shoes. Heels are dangerous on all those stairs, but heels make me bigger at a time when that might matter. I went with three inch chunk heels. Were they a problem on the stairs? Yes, but I kept one hand on the railing and made it down with only one brief stumble. I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked to the dining room ready to deal with klein Deutsch – the gray statue.

He was alone. He was sitting at the far end of the table, the end closest to the fireplace. He motioned for me to take the chair at the opposite end – the cold end. Nice guy. This also placed me at least twenty five feet away. Talking should be interesting. Bullhorns would help. I sat. He stared. I stared. Neither of us said a word. Negotiations are not off to a great start. My maid entered and poured us each a glass of wine – him first. I noticed there were no other place settings on the table. No one would be joining us. Okay, that might make negotiations simpler.

I decided to break the silence.

"I greeted the tour group as you asked. There were about twenty five in the group." I wasn't quite shouting, but I was certainly talking louder than normal.

"Yes." He was still staring at me. Neither of us had touched our wine. The maid put a bowl of soup in front of each of us. His first, of course. Interesting version of etiquette. He started eating his soup. I left mine untouched.

"This is where you might thank me for doing what you asked."

"And you might thank me for providing a room when you arrived unannounced."

"This is where your car brought me. I arrived to present a business offer." I stared. He stared. He went back to eating his soup. I picked up my spoon, and then put it down again. "Thank you for the room. If your car will take me into town later, I will get a room, and then tomorrow we can discuss my offer." He just kept eating his soup. I waited, and then I started on my soup. It was already cold.

"My wife allowed the tours." He was staring at me again. I could hear him – barely. He was speaking as if I were sitting right next to him. "Within weeks of our marriage she had met with the historical society and allowed the tours. She always greeted them. She also wore a dirndl when foreign groups toured. They seemed to like it."

"They took many pictures with me in my dirndl."

"That was one of my wife's dirndls. She had several. You make keep it if you wish."

"Thank you. I would like that. And your wife?"

"She died two years ago. Cancer. You don't like your soup?"

"No, it is very good." I went back to eating it. Neither of us said a word for a while. We finished our soup. The maid took our bowls and returned with plates – pork and potatoes. These guys were more German than the Germans. But the food was good.

"In December she would open the great hall to every group in the city. Every night there was some church or some organization in there. She had the hall filled with Christmas trees, and hired a company to hang laurels from the windows. Sometimes the groups provided food. Sometimes she did. The hall was filled every night. Lots of singing." He was eating while he talked.

"I'm sure it was beautiful."

"Yes." Silence again. I ate. He ate.

"Why are you here?" He had finished eating, and had put down his fork. Okay, time for business. I put down my fork too.

"I wish to buy the water plant in Amberg."

"No, you wish to steal it."

"What?"

"I have had our audit team working all day. It's very clear. Sales of water bottles are down all over Europe and in most of the US. It is no longer fashionable to drink water from a plastic container. We have three plants in the US. All in your region. Sales are down ten to twelve percent in two plants, down eighteen percent in one – the one you wish to buy."

"There has been some picketing of that plant."

"Yes. We are still working on your connection to that. We will find it. But we already have the big problem – your hotels. You were not clever enough there. You thought if you waited until just after quarterly reports came in, we would not notice your cancellations."

"What cancellations?" He just stared at me. If we had been closer, I would have slapped him. "I staffed that plant. I helped design the logo on the bottles. Hell, I have cleaned the extruders. If you ever had a loyal customer it was me. I put no other water in my hotels. I put it in every room – over a thousand rooms. I have just purchased two new hotels, and we are working on new purchasing agreements for them. That may have resulted in some changes to our order from you, but it should mean larger orders, not smaller. Tell your audit people to do their jobs right."

He stared at me. I stared right back. This was bullshit. A negotiating ploy? No, too dumb for that. He didn't know how to run an audit. He was probably one of those old dudes who didn't have a computer. Saanvi was right. He was going to run his company into the ground. Dumb ass. I kept my forearms on the table, leaned forward, and stared. If I were a man, I would be down at his end of the table throwing punches.

"They want two more days to complete their audit. You will stay here while they do their work."

"I will stay where I damn well please."

More staring. The maid took our plates away. Not a word was said. I thought we might still be staring at each other at midnight. Finally he blinked.

"Please tell me the names of the hotels you bought."

"Champagne and Springfield." And I spelled it for him.

"I would be pleased if you stayed here as my guest while we considered your proposal."

"I will stay two more days, and then I must return to the US. I have hotels to run."

He nodded. "Please be my guest for two days."

"I accept." I put my napkin on the table and stood. "Good night." I was out of the room and up the stairs in seconds. Audit. They can't even do a simple audit. Now what was I supposed to do for two days?

Chapter 7

Me, the Tour Guide

The next morning Brunhilda the maid tapped me on the shoulder so I could greet the morning by looking up into her scowling face. But Emma was behind her. I sat up immediately.

"Good morning, Mrs. Wilson." Emma and Brunhilda were now standing side by side, and would make good emoji's – happy face and scowling face.

"Good morning, Emma."

"Greta is like every student in the world. She studied, but then forgot everything after the exam. She did have six years of English. If you speak slowly, and carefully, she will understand you, and her English will improve." I was actually more concerned about her attitude improving, but I guess one thing at a time.

"I will do that." What else could I say?

"Good. Today there will be no tours. Relax today. Explore the castle. You are free to wear what you want."

"The dress I wore last night was very warm. Could I wear that again?"

"Of course. Greta will bring you several similar to that one. Wear what you wish. I will have breakfast waiting for you." I couldn't help myself. I gave her a hug. Someone being nice to me. Emma just smiled and headed back to her kitchen.

I took a shower, wondering what Grumpy Greta would find for me to wear. As it turned out, she had four fairly nice choices for me when I came out. Different colors and fabrics, but all having the primary design I wanted for castle-wear – long sleeves and long skirts. I went with a forest green number, did minimal work on my hair, thanked Greta, and went down to breakfast.

Emma was in a talkative mood. She had my eggs and toast ready as I sat down, and talked while she did the day's baking and supervised the two other ladies, who were busy cleaning.

"I called my sister last night and told her you were here. I knew you were in a movie, but she said I stayed in your hotel last Christmas. You own hotels?"

"I have eleven. They are called Heritage Hotels. We buy older hotels and fix them. I like old things."

"You must love this castle."

"Does it ever get warm?"

"Maybe in July. I hope you are still here then."

"I told Herr Gruber I would stay two more days. We have business to discuss."

"I hope you stay longer."

We got into a long discussion about the Twin Cities while I finished my eggs. She told me how much she liked the Mall of America. I told her how much I liked the pedestrian mall in Bern. We talked shopping, and prices. We talked. After all the accusations I had received the night before, it felt good to have a friendly conversation.

I finished my eggs and got up to leave, but Emma made me wait while she went into a corner and came back with a knit shawl.

"You'll need this if you go outside. Even though it is May, it is still cool up here in the mountains."

So I wrapped the shawl around me and climbed the back steps to begin my tour. By the way, with one hand holding the shawl together, and one hand pulling up skirts for the steps, walking seems pretty complex. I have no idea how our great grandmothers managed it all those years.

Where to start the tour? There was a small table in the large entry area, and on it were some brochures. It had a few pictures and a map. I could see immediately that if I really did want to see all the castle, it was going to take all day. I decided since I had a shawl, I would do the outside first.

But I didn't get very far. I just opened the heavy oak entry door when I bumped into Johann the historian.

"Mrs. Wilson. I was hoping you would still be here." What do I say about Johann? He had to be seventy, and thin as a rail, with pure white hair and pale blue eyes. But there was an energy to the guy. He had a big smile, and took my hand, and seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

"I will be staying two more days."

"That would be marvelous. Yesterday went so well. The castle is now all over FaceBook. It is the castle with the Hollywood Princess."

"Johann, I have had four husbands. My princess days are over. And Hollywood used me for thirty two seconds."

"Nevertheless, we have had two tour groups change their plans. They will be coming here tomorrow rather than Vienna. They want to meet the Hollywood Princess."

"If you will give Herr Gruber the time for the tours, he may be able to schedule our business meetings around the tours."

"Fabulous." And he hugged me. A seventy year old Swiss historian who probably hasn't hugged his wife in years, hugged me. Okay. I guess this mattered.

My reward for agreeing to help with the tours was a day with Johann. He took me through every inch of the castle, and he told story after story. I wish I had recorded them. What did I learn? Mostly that the knights of old were actually pirates. They built castles so they would be safe to block river and road traffic and demand tolls. At one time they even had a chain across the river to stop all who refused to pay. Most of the castle was just a barracks for sixty or seventy armed men. They fought with the tradesmen, and with other knights/pirates. Rough bunch.

I had to ask. "So the Grubers used to be pirates?"

"No, they were businessmen in Bern and bought the place a century or so ago when the pirate period was well over."

So, no pirates, and no "Sir Gruber." I was a bit disappointed.

But the castle was interesting. He started me in the lower levels for the wine cellar and the jail cells (unfortunately for the tour business, all the old torture equipment was long gone), then we did the main level with the large halls. He told about events that had happened in each room – the weddings, the murders, the sword fights. Pretty cool. Next up were the second and third floor bedrooms, all somewhat like mine in shape, but almost all empty of even the most basic furniture. If you take out sixty or seventy armed men, you end up with lots of extra rooms.

He saved the best part of the tour for the end. We went up in one of the towers. Lots more steps. I let Johann take my hand as we climbed around and around. I'm not sure if I was steadying him, or him me, but we made it up, breathless and sweating. But the view. Yes, the pirates could watch the river from up here, but I hoped they sometimes looked south towards the Alps. Only a jackass would take a selfie up here. There was no reason to obscure the view with a tourist. The Alps were snow-covered, jagged as teeth, and magnificent.

Johann stopped his narration while we both stood and gaped. I found myself thinking of the men I wished were up here with me to see this. I pulled my shawl tight around me, wishing instead it was a man's arms. What can anyone say? You stand, look up a mountain valley, and there are the Alps. I said "Thank you," I guess to Johann, but also to the world that created the Alps, and the circumstances that allowed me to be here to see them.

Eventually we came down. Eventually. But I know I wasn't seeing anything around me as I walked with Johann back to the entryway. I was still seeing the Alps.

As he stepped out the door I told him I would be sure to wear a dirndl. He said "no" I wasn't a milk maid, I was a princess. Something like the dress I had on would be better. Fine with me. My legs would be warmer.

Back in my room, Greta had a sandwich waiting for me. A very late lunch. I ate it and then laid down for a nap. How many steps are you supposed to take a day? After touring the complete castle, I thought I was good for a week.

How did dinner go that night? Better. He still sat me at the cold end of the room. To emphasize that point I wore my shawl through dinner. But etiquette improved. When Greta went to pour his wine first, he directed her to my end. And from that point on, I was served first. I was pleased so much by that, I even drank some of the wine.

As for conversation, he wasn't ready to talk about the audit yet, but there was the tour to talk about. I started it.

"Johann the historian was here today. He gave me a tour of the castle. He doesn't like the knights of old, by the way. He said they were really pirates."

"They stole from merchant families like mine, but they were also the first line of defense against invaders. Did he talk about that?"

"No. But he said there would be two tours tomorrow. He seemed very happy about that."

"I talked to him later in the day. There will be three tour groups. He should be happy. Because of you, his society just tripled its income." We were eating yet another version of pork cutlets as he talked. The pork was the same, but his mannerisms were just a bit different. Yesterday many of his words had been clipped – like he was biting them off. Well, like he was almost snarling at me. He was one angry guy. Was he smiling today? Absolutely not. But, he was not snarling. Maybe the audit guys were seeing their mistakes.

"Does some of that income come to you?" The question was a bit rude, but we were business people. It was a business question.

"I get no money. But I get a friend. Old castles are historic landmarks. You can't touch them without forty approvals. Ultimately the senior historian for the district has to sign off. Every time I do any upgrades – wiring, heating, plumbing – even the most basic, I need Johann's signature. Tours make him happy and more ready to sign. Tomorrow will make him very happy. And I should be able to install a larger shower in my bath."

"And heat?"

"They love the old fireplaces. I am hoping they get more flexible as carbon dioxide becomes a bigger problem."

See? The two of us could have a normal civilized conversation. No shouting, no staring, no grinding of teeth. Was I a day away from getting my water plant? We would see. But at least that night I felt like I was making some progress. Or at least reducing the damage from the night before. Dinner ended, we said good night, and when I rose from the table, he rose as well. I climbed the steps feeling much better.

Chapter 8

Hollywood Princess

What does a Hollywood princess wear around the castle? Greta had four gowns laid across my bed as I came out of my morning shower. Where was she getting all these? I guessed I was looking at Frau Gruber's wardrobe. How did Herr Gruber feel about me wearing her clothes? I guessed I would find out. As for the choices before me, they were all the same dress – long sleeves, long, full skirts -- so I went with what I thought might be princess material – a fabric that had some sheen to it. Not quite a Disney princess, but a bright buttercup yellow that would match expectations. I wondered what dance Frau Gruber had bought it for.

Greta tried a bit of English – "Very pretty," and worked on my hair. She had also written out my schedule. First tour at ten. My time to get down to the kitchen for a quick breakfast.

Oops, no kitchen for me today. Greta walked with me to the first floor, and then insisted I sit in the dining room. "Herr Gruber will soon." I could only guess at what she meant, but I smiled, thanked her, and sat in my usual seat while she went for the back stairs and the kitchen.

Maybe I should finally describe the dining room. Let me start with the table. It was made of wooden beams, each roughly 4 by 12 inches, joined, sanded, stained and varnished. I am guessing oak, but after all these years the wood grain was buried under layers of stain and varnish. The thing was at least twenty feet long and looked heavy as hell. You could probably seat two dozen around it. To my left was a wall of windows facing the courtyard. It must be the east side of the castle. Lots of morning light was coming in. No need for candles. To my right was an interior wall – gray stone, tapestries, portraits. Were the portraits ancient Grubers or leftovers from the pirate/knight period? They were just old, and darkened by wood smoke and age. The floor was gray field stone, the ceiling – maybe twenty feet above me – was wooden beams and boards. Bedrooms were up there.

I sat alone. Me in an ancient room wearing an old fashioned dress. Skirts on the floor around me. I waited. Was I sitting in Frau Gruber's chair, or had he let her sit closer to the fire? When he was traveling for work, did she sit here alone? In this huge room? I bet she filled the room with friends. But he ate alone. I would bet on it. Two years without his wife. The gray statue with the dark eyes. His back to the fireplace, his face to an empty room. Most single men went to sports bars so they could eat alone but not be alone. He would eat here – alone.

Greta brought me my breakfast and some coffee. I needed the coffee. My body had not completed the time change yet. It was still very early morning to me. I would need a couple more days to adjust. I should be back in Amberg by then, adjusting yet again.

Gruber came in and took a cup of coffee from Greta, but did not sit.

"I wish to thank you for helping with the tours."

"I thank you for allowing me to stay in your castle." Okay, we had both been polite. Now what? He sipped his coffee and looked at me.

"The auditors say they have some news for me. There may have been an error. I will learn more today, and we can discuss it this evening."

"Okay." I stared at him. He stared at me. Somehow his stare did not seem quite as harsh. Would I be getting an apology? Apparently not yet.

"We will dine at seven. Enjoy your day." He put down his coffee and walked out. I ate my eggs and two croissants. If there had been six croissants on my plate, I would have eaten all six. Frau Klemp (Elias' cook) had been good, but I think Emma was better. How did people not get fat here?

Greta came to get my plate and pointed out the window. Yes, I could hear it too. A bus had arrived. I took my station at the front door.

The first group was Asian. I never did determine what country. They were young, and mostly women. I did my usual – handshakes with the women, curtseys to the men. One man actually bowed, and then took my hand to kiss it. Everyone laughed. I was a movie actress, why not do something they had seen in an old movie?

There were selfies of course, and then I thought their tour guide would take them through the castle. But one woman stood next to me, and she said something in English while looking at her friends. I didn't catch it at first, but then she repeated it, with several other women helping with her pronunciation. Finally I got it. She was doing my scene from the Oregon movie. The little girl in the scene has the first line.

"Did all that really happen?" It came out "Did all hoppen?" I smiled, turned to her, and did my lines.

"Yes. They lived just up the Columbia River." And I pointed vaguely across the room.

"She bootiful?"

"Yes. Very beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman in America."

"They have children?"

"They had a daughter. Her name was Clarissa Alice. But some people say they had millions of daughters. All over Oregon. And each of those girls? They are strong, they are brave, they are beautiful. And when they love, they love with all their hearts. Just like Mrs. Whitman."

And the crowd went wild. Really. They all loved it. And of course, since one woman had done the scene, now all of them did. I did two more right there, but I wanted them all to see the castle, so I started moving through the building doing the scene in different locations. I sat on a couch in the great hall with one woman. We went into the dining room and pulled two chairs in front of the massive fireplace. They loved that, and we did five takes there. But then inspiration struck, and I led them up the stairs to the tower. Round and round we went, me pulling up skirts in front and dragging skirts behind.

At the top, they all reacted the way I had hoped. It really was a breathtaking view, and they were all silent while they looked down at the river and off towards the Alps. They looked, they took pictures, and then finally one woman asked, "May I?" She pointed to a place along the wall, and I joined her.

We said the lines, and somehow it seemed even better when I pointed off in the distance, the Alps behind us. They loved that. I had ten women do the lines with me at that spot.

I wasn't sure what to do with the men, but finally I called one of them over, and had him put his hands on my waist. He was maybe two inches taller than me. I put my palms on his chest and said, "Marcus, I love you." He said, "I love you." And we stood together while a million pictures were taken. I did the same for the other men. One moved to kiss me, but I stopped him while all the girls screamed with laughter.

We were up on that turret forever, but finally their guide came and got them down. Time to go. Their bus was too big to fit through the entrance to the courtyard, so I followed them out of the castle to the parking area, did last minute hugs, and waved to them as they drove away. Johann stood next to me and waved.

"Do that again, and we will triple our admission price."

"They were fun."

"You are a natural hostess."

"I have spent decades as a waitress and a bartender, and now as a hotel worker. I have been a hostess for years."

"No, you could have been a servant. But you are not. You are a hostess. You make people feel good."

"Thank you." Nice man.

We could see the next tour bus approaching, so we stayed right where we were and did our welcoming. This group was ancient. Eastern European I think. Three of the women used walkers, and I was pretty sure two of the men should have. We got them off the bus, did our greetings, and led them into the castle. Along the way I learned about old ladies and walkers. They go where they are going to go, no turns, no pauses. I saw two of them bump people in their way. It was like the frame they rolled in front of them was as much bulldozer as support. I had this image of them pointing the frame and mentally saying, "Here I come, now move your ass."

Inside there were some selfies, but the people who came up to me were just as likely to ask for the W.C. as a picture. And I had to feel sorry for their tour guide. She did the usual tour guide business, pointing and talking. I think three people listened to her. The rest stood around and talked, and since it appeared they were all deaf, they talked loudly. I stayed in the entrance area, one arm almost always pointed to the bathroom. No way were any of these people making it up the stairs to the turret. I'm not sure they got all the way to the dining room. They stood, they talked, eventually they left.

Lunch time. Back to the dining room for a sandwich and lemonade. Johann joined me. We laughed about the old ladies with walkers, and the determined look they had on their faces as they crashed into unwary fellow travelers. They were a hazard, for sure.

Next group up? Koreans. How do I know? They told me at the door. "We are from Korea." The English pronunciation was good, and the pride was obvious. Young, mostly women. I was immediately taken by their faces. Their makeup was perfect. A bit of healthy sheen, good colors, their eyes done with just enough mascara. Their hair was generally pulled back and wrapped in a coil, held in place with two long pins that could be chop sticks. And every single one of them was beautiful.

And they came prepared. Apparently the first group had livestreamed their videos from the morning. This group had copies and had already determined not only would they do that scene with me too, but they had already picked out who would do it where. Okay. Simplified my life. Off we went. The couch, the fireplace, the turret.

A funny thing happened on the turret. I did the scene over and over, and then one of the women said – very politely – "Please." And she motioned me away from the wall. Then one of the taller women took my place, and they did the scene in Korean. And I think they made some other changes. I didn't hear the word Oregon or Narcissa Whitman. I think they put in another place and another woman. And it occurred to me the world was full of Narcissa Whitmans – women who struggled, and dared, and sacrificed. There were bound to be some in Korea. Good. Let them tell that story too.

When they completed the scene, there was complete silence, and then lots of bowing. It was pretty moving actually, even though I didn't understand a word.

Their time came to leave, and I followed them out to the bus. There were smiles and handshakes. The handshakes were a bit funny. The usual thing with the right hand, but the left hand sort of hung around, down by the right hand, or up on the forearm. I mimicked it as best I could.

And then they were gone. Johann left soon after, all smiles. I climbed my stairs and headed straight to my bed. Standing around and talking to people can be exhausting.

Greta came for me around six. She had to wake me up. I was completely zonked. She made me stand while she checked my dress for wrinkles, obviously not happy that I had not taken it off before my nap. Sorry. She made me take it off, and did some quick ironing. I puttered around the bathroom, and then she got me back in the dress and on the chair by the vanity so she could do my hair. I heard "higher," and maybe some other words, but I was still half asleep. In the end, "higher" meant my hair was up as high as it had ever been. It was not a style I used. Too much work and too many pins. But for tonight, up it went. That also meant the string of pearls went around my now very exposed throat.

When she was done, she put a hand on each of my shoulders and said "Very pretty." I think she even made an effort to smile. She needed work on both her English and her smiles, but at least she was now making the effort. I got up, hugged her (which seemed to shock the hell out of her), and headed back downstairs to the dining room.

Gruber was in his usual chair. I took mine.

"I understand the tours went well."

"Yes. We even did a bit of acting. They wanted to do my scene from the Oregon movie. I do have one other movie scene to my credit. In the film about the women and canoes, I played a bartender. I got to say, 'You look like a fun bunch. What can I get you?' But no one wanted to do that scene with me." As I talked, I watched him. Was he paying attention to my words, or was I just making noises while he prepared to accuse me again?

"I have seen that movie. You made a good waitress."

"I have been a waitress or a bartender almost all my adult life." Where was this conversation going?

"And now you own hotels."

"Yes, now I own hotels." I waited. Is this when he announced his verdict? Guilty, or not guilty?

"The water order from your hotels was entered correctly, and then changed. The change was made here in Bern. My people are looking to see who had access. It could just be a shipping clerk. It could be someone else."

"But it was not me." I stared. He stared. Back to a battle of wills. Time to apologize, Gruber. Will you?

"No, it was not you. I apologize for accusing you."

"Apology accepted. Now, can we do business?"

Long pause. Greta came around with a bottle of wine. She filled my glass first, then his. I took a sip. I liked it. I also liked looking down the table at Gruber. His turn to squirm.

"I would like some time for our social media experts to investigate. There are various discussion forums that have gotten very ugly. Some ugliness is directed at the plant, some at the picketers. I understand it has led to fights."

"I know of one fight. It was in my father's bar. One group of men said things about some other men's wives. Punches flew. Some bruises. No injuries."

"When we first built the plant, there were shots fired."

"Yes. We have guns, and we have stupid people. I don't think it has come to that yet."

"But it could."

"Yes, it could." Long pause. Yes, it could. If those men got laid off, I could imagine someone doing something stupid.

"Should we close the plant? Free our company from a dangerous place?"

"You should sell the plant to me. That's why I am here."

"That is not a decision I will make tonight."

"When?"

"When our investigation is complete."

"While you investigate, I should return to the US and to my hotels." I was making a threat, and he knew it. You want to stall? Watch me fly away and take my money with me. We were back to staring at each other.

"It would be helpful if you stayed. We might have questions." Long pause. More staring. I sipped my wine and looked down the table. Let him sweat. "Three days. I promise an answer in three days."

I waited, and then nodded. "I will give you three days."

So, that was that. Current negotiations complete, we sipped wine, and ate what Greta put before us – some version of pork, some version of potatoes, and some peas. We might be eating in the dining room of a castle, but I bet we were eating the same fare as every other home in the German speaking area Switzerland.

Our dinner conversation? I described the tour groups. I even made him smile when I described the old ladies with walkers. It resembled the conversation two friends might have at the end of the day. I had a second glass of wine. So did he. When it came time to say good night, he not only rose, but he came to me and walked me to the base of the stairs. He shook my hand. If it had been any other man, I might have kissed his cheek. As it was, I paused, looked into his eyes, and told him I liked his castle. He thanked me. I grabbed a fist full of skirt, and climbed the stairs.

Chapter 9

Three Days

You might think I would be irritated this was taking so long, or nervous that he might turn me down. But I was fairly calm about the delay. It made sense he was being careful. This was a big decision. In the end, I was pretty sure the plant would be mine. So I decided to treat this as a vacation. I was living in a castle. I had to be sure to take some pictures for my kids. Speaking of whom, once up in my room, I borrowed Greta's phone while she hung up my gown. I texted Britney and Billy, asking if they were aware of nastiness on social media. I also explained where I was and what I was up to. Britney texted right back. She knew where I was. I had been "tagged" on the FaceBook videos people were uploading. She thought it was cute. But if I was a princess, where was my tiara? She would get back to me about local feuds and general social media nastiness.

I also texted my office and got the same reaction from Bobbi and Andy. Bobbi liked me up in the tower with the Koreans. Did nothing go on in the world that was not instantly visible to everyone? I asked her to check all correspondence with Naturale. Had we dropped all purchase orders with them? She promised a quick response.

How did the three days go? Day one was pretty much a repeat of the previous day. Three tours. Asians first. Lots of fun, lots of pictures. They all wanted videos with me, including the men. I played Narcissa to their Marcus. One guy even snuck in a kiss. The other two groups were retirees. The first bunch had some people who seemed to know their stuff. They knew the age of the castle, its basic design, and claimed to point out places where renovations had been made to repair battle damage. Interesting people.

Then there was the second group of older folks. British. Not too interested in me, more interested in directions to the bathroom. One of them told me they had been "touring the continent" for fourteen days. It appeared "the continent" no longer held them spell bound. It looked like they got as far as the great hall, found seats and collapsed into them. They weren't moving. The tour guide talked, they stared at portraits. Forty five minutes later they were back on their bus.

The most interesting part of the day came at dinner. I got to sit by the fire! Gruber was in his usual spot, but there was no place setting at my end of the table. It was down at his end of the table, in the seat just to his left. It felt like a significant promotion. I could even feel the heat from the fireplace as I sat down. Wow.

As for the meal, the wine was good, the meat was pork, the conversation was casual. Nothing about business. I talked about the tours. He was curious about the battle damage. Apparently this was news to him. So we ate, we talked, it was pleasant.

It was the end of the meal that was most surprising. I was about to push back my chair and begin the climb to my room, when he asked me to sit with him a while. Okay. We stood, and he led me back to the library. I had used this room on the tours. There was a small sofa facing the fireplace. I had sat there with lots of women doing the final movie scene. By the way, the sofa is odd. It is brown leather with wooden arms and legs that are supposed to look like eagle claws holding a ball. It had to be centuries old. If you saw it at a rummage sale, you would think, "What the hell?"

But it was reasonably comfortable. We sat together. I guessed he wanted to talk. The subject? At first, he wanted to know about Amberg. So I gave him the standard history. Which, by the way, is pretty funny when you are giving a hundred year history while sitting in a four or five hundred year old castle. But I went through it all, the granite quarries, the logging, the farms, and the gradual decline of the area. He listened, asked a few questions, but didn't interrupt. I took him up through the rebuilding of the plant by Mateo Schweig. I assumed he knew the more current stuff.

There was a pause when I finished, and I decided, okay, my turn.

"How is it you ended up living in a castle?"

"My grandfather. There is a business lesson in this story, by the way." He paused, and then got started.

"The family had done well. Even in bad times, we knew what to sell to whom. Some things we made, somethings we traded. Religious wars were bad here. As you can imagine with Calvin in Geneva in the west, and the Papal estates in the south, Protestants and Catholics killed each other for decades. We survived even then. Early in the last century my great grandfather built up the family business, and then died. He had two sons. He left his estate split equally between them – not always a common practice.

"My grandfather was the younger brother. He was twenty five and rich. Friends told him about this old castle. It had been empty for decades. It would be cheap to purchase, but expensive to rebuild. He had the money. He was young. Who could resist a castle of their own? He moved here. He married. His children and grandchildren grew up here. I played here as a child. What a great place to be a young boy.

"The other brother used his money to grow the business. He learned about Vitamin C. It came in fruit. People needed it and wanted it. So he spent years traveling the Mediterranean Basin touring orchards and vineyards. He found the fruit he wanted, got it at good prices, got it to Switzerland, and immediately turned it into juice so he could bottle it and preserve it. The company took off. His work made three generations of Grubers rich – including his brother and his children. He was a good man."

"And now the company is yours."

"Now the responsibility is mine. I will determine how the next three generations of Grubers live."

I took his hand. "You and I are lucky. We have children and grandchildren. We want to do everything for them. But they will do much for themselves. They have talents. They have skills. They may do marvelous things we cannot even imagine."

"Yes, you may be right." He continued to hold my hand. I bet we spent half an hour sitting there, holding hands, and staring at the fire. Finally I got up. Time for bed. He walked me to the base of the stairs again. This time I put my palms on his chest and kissed his cheek. His heavy dark eyes showed a bit of shock, but I think I also saw just a hint of a smile. I know he stood and watched me as I climbed the steps.

Day two? Day two was endless, but fun. We had four tours that day. Each tour normally runs an hour, but by the time you get them on and off the bus, take "just one more" selfie, and act out the Oregon movie scene with half of them, well, every tour ran late, and the day just flew by.

In the afternoon, I noticed Emma and her assistants working on the dining room.

"Professor Johann Krause said some members of the historical society wanted to thank you for your work. Herr Gruber invited them all to dinner. So, tonight we have a party." You should have seen the smile on her face as she said all this. Obviously the party was going to bring her vast amounts of extra work, but she seemed fine with that. In fact she leaned toward me, put a hand on my arm and added, "It will be good to have a party here again." Okay, I could add two and two. Frau Gruber had been the social one. With her gone, Herr Gruber hadn't had many people over. Tonight might be a bit like the old days. That would be interesting to see.

Hours later, I was standing at the entrance having just "one more" selfie with the last of group four when Greta came for me.

"Please Mrs. Wilson. Time to change."

I shook hands with the last few women, and then did the stairs to my room. A pedometer would have been really interesting in that place. I had skipped lunch and walked from one end of the castle to the other. I was on the castle diet plan. A few minutes in bed would have felt great, but Greta was determined to get me ready for dinner, starting with a new dress. I had been wearing a pale green floral print that I was sure would be fine for any dinner party, but Greta had it off me in a minute. I sat in the chair by the dressing table, and she went to work on both my face and hair.

This was the first time she had touched my face, and I thought I might make it the last. Her method was to bend towards me, her face practically in mine (was she near sighted?), and hold my chin in her left hand while her right hand put on cosmetics. She got a pretty good grip on my chin. I guessed my face would have some color from the makeup, and some color from her thumb prints. But she got the job done.

Then came the hair. Up it went. I swear she was going to take me from five seven to five ten. And it was wound around, and pinned, my neck now completely bare. Getting it all undone before I went to bed was going to be a chore. I hoped she would be around to undo her handiwork.

She gave me gold earrings and a gold necklace to wear, both relatively small – elegant rather than showy. I would have preferred my pearls, but Greta seemed to be in charge of this show, so I let her go to it.

Then came the gown. She made me wait for it. First came two petticoats. I was going to take up a fair amount of room. I was getting them adjusted when she pulled the gown from the wardrobe. I froze. It was gold, satin, embroidered everywhere, and just stunning. Short sleeves, scoop neck, flared skirt that easily went over the petticoats. It was a dress you wanted to twirl in. And I did, while Greta laughed. Grumpy Greta laughed. She was actually pretty good at it.

Shoes? Slippers with a one inch heel. Shoes you could dance in. I could only hope. I put on just a touch of perfume, and as Greta pointed to the clock, I did the stairs once again.

Gruber was standing at the base of the stairs, waiting to welcome his guests. He heard me on the stairs and turned to look. This is one of those moments that matter. He can say how good you look. He can even smile. But you can see what's really going on by watching his eyes the instant he sees you. There is that flicker before he forces the expression he thinks he should be using. That moment of honesty. What I saw was his eyes open wider, and that line he calls a mouth suddenly open. His face softened somehow. He looked directly at me, and continued to look at me as I came down the stairs.

"You are a beautiful woman." He said as he held out his hand. I put my hand in his as I took the last steps. "But tonight, you are stunning."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind standing with me as we welcome our guests?"

"Of course." I took my place beside him. He continued to hold my hand, and to look at me.

"I hope you will enjoy this evening. I know you have been busy all day, but the society is excited by all the attention you are bringing the castle – and them. They are here to thank you."

"It has been fun for me." We were standing close, our eyes on each other. He was not the gray statue tonight. He was wearing a black tux, and somehow that gave him more color. And his face? Where before he seemed to constantly purse his lips, and pull his eyebrows low over his eyes, his face was more open. It also seemed about ten years younger.

I was just about to take his other hand, when the butler heard someone and pulled the huge wooden door open. It was the first of nine couples. Each came to us for handshakes and introductions. We spoke with each couple for about five minutes. Small talk. They thanked Gruber for his continued support, and me for help with the tours. I commented on the wonders of the castle and the beauty of the region. You know, normal stuff strangers say. Each couple wandered off towards the dining room as new couples arrived. They obviously knew the layout of the place.

Dinner? I really have to compliment Emma. The dining room glowed. She had wall sconces turned up enough to overcome any shadows, but the real illumination came from a series of beautiful candelabras on the table. Of course the table was covered with a cloth, but it also had flowers here and there. Place settings were gold trimmed and looked ancient. I bet they didn't come out of storage often.

Food? Pork medallions of course. Northern Switzerland must be a good place to be a chicken. No one there seems to have any interest them. There was spätzle, asparagus, and lots of wine.

Conversation? This could have gotten complicated. There were twenty people around the table, Gruber at one end, me at the other. Who talks to whom, and in what language? But Johann seemed to lead the way. He had been through most of the tours, and had endearing things to say about some folks, and funny things to say about others. And he was kind enough to point out some of my efforts. With each compliment, others would nod and mention what they had seen on Facebook or from Twitter. An administrator for the society was monitoring all feeds and copying them to the society's own sites. They were very happy with the last several days.

That led to several comments along the lines of "We do hope you can stay longer." I promised to stay another day or two, but pointed out I had a business to run in the US. I then repeated all the kind things I had said about the castle, the region, and the tourists. Truth was, I was enjoying myself, and I could see myself staying a little longer.

Things got even better after dinner. Gruber had hired a string quartet. They were set up in the great hall. We were to waltz. A lot happened once we got in there, but I have to describe the room first. The great hall, was in fact, great. Twenty foot ceilings, stone floors, gothic windows along one side, endless tapestries on the other, but what you really experienced was size. I should have paced it off. Was it a hundred feet by fifty? Longer? You could imagine knights putting on armor here before going down to battle other knights or steal from merchants. There were four chandeliers hanging from the beamed ceiling, and they were the only light, except what came from the fireplace that filled the end of the room.

Ten couples in a room that size, moving to waltzes, couples circling around and around while the music bounced off the rock walls. There might have been room for fifty couples, or a hundred. But we did just fine filling one end.

Everybody danced. Gruber took me first. He was a strong lead and liked to turn. Johann took his place for two dances. For an old guy, he was light on his feet, and fast. Ultimately, every man danced with me at least once. And all of them were good. Young, old, tall, broad, every man could waltz.

Me? I had slippers. I had that wide skirt. I turned and twirled and laughed like I was on an amusement ride. Who needs Disneyland when you can waltz in a castle? The quartet never took a break. A few of the older couples stopped out for a dance or two, but then they were back in the mix. The rest of us just kept going. I know you can't literally dance all night, but I felt like I could give it a try.

But even waltzing in a castle cannot go on forever. The quartet stopped, we applauded one more time, and I stood holding Emil's hand. It was over.

But there was one last thing. Johann and his wife came over to where Emil and I were standing, both of us panting a bit. She had a black bag in her hand, and turned to show it to the other couples before showing it to me.

"One of the society's treasures is the tiara of Duchess Edwina." She pulled a silver tiara from the bag, and held it high. "There are no jewels, but the silver is pure, and the workmanship is the finest the sixteenth century could produce. We value it highly – so highly we mostly lock it away. It should be out where it can be seen and appreciated. So we are asking that our Hollywood Princess wear it while she is with us. It can go back into the safe after you leave. Until then, let our visitors see it and enjoy it."

Everyone applauded as she slid it into my hair. I was scared to death it would fall right out and get damaged, but she pushed it in pretty well.

My turn to say something.

"I know I am not a princess. But I am a grateful guest of your city. I will wear this with every tour I assist, so tourists have one more thing to remember about Bern. Thank you for entrusting it to me during this time." More applause.

There followed a general drift towards the door. There were hugs, and every woman told me how good the tiara looked on me. I, of course, was just hoping it wouldn't fall off. Fifteen or twenty minutes later all the good byes had been said, and the last people were out the door. The butler started locking things up and turning out lights. Emil and I stood together at the base of the stairs.

"Thank you for a beautiful evening." I had my palms on his chest as I looked up at him.

"It was you who made the evening." His hands were on my waist. I wasn't sure what else to say. Finally I just rose up on my toes and kissed him. My hands went to his shoulders and I felt myself pulling myself to him. His hands moved to my back. I could feel them, light at first, then both palms pressed against my backbone. I waited for an arm to cross my back and pull me to him, or one hand to drop and pull my ass and hips tight against him. But his hands stayed in the middle of my back, holding me, but lightly.

I kissed him again and waited for his hands to move. They didn't. I lowered myself back off my toes and said "good night." I lowered my arms. He held me a little longer, then he lowered his arms as well. I heard a very quiet "Good night" as I turned and climbed the stairs.

Day three. This was to be my last day. Tonight he would come back with his decision. I would buy the water plant and then go home. Probably tomorrow. No more castles.

But I had today. And I had a tiara. I had a good chance to look at it while Greta did my hair. It came almost around in a full circle. There was a main band, and four heavily ornamented spikes rising about an inch, each surrounded by half circles. It was silver, so it had tarnished over the centuries, and the removal of the tarnish had rounded all edges. Etchings were faded, details were lost. But it was still beautiful. Greta was careful about how she slid it into my hair, and then she used a dozen pins to make sure there was hair in the right places to lock it to my head. I wouldn't lose it, but I would still be careful every time I turned or ducked my head for some reason.

My dress on this final day? Ivory, I guess to go with the tiara. Heavily embroidered, short sleeves, long wide skirts over petticoats. I would indeed look like the Hollywood Princess this day.

And it was a long day. Four tour groups again. No time for lunch. Johann and I walked people back to the buses at the end of the tour. It was the only way we could move them along. And I have to admit, with one group, I was the problem. They were Koreans, and the women were not just beautiful, they were prepared. They wanted to do the Oregon scene, and they wanted to do it right. I have no idea how many times they practiced, but their English – at least for those lines – was perfect. No accent at all. I was so impressed, I actually reversed roles and let them say my lines. Those too they got right. We did the scene over and over while their cameras rolled. I hugged each woman after she finished. I happily walked them back to their bus and stood talking with them while Johann pointed at his watch. Finally they boarded and left.

Johann also drove off, and I walked back into the castle. Emil was waiting for me. He smiled, held my hand, and walked with me into the dining room.

"Emil, I need to thank you again for last night. I love to waltz. And to do it in your own private ballroom. Well, that was very special."

"My pleasure." Our place settings were different this evening. Both at the fireplace end of the table, both side by side. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"I think I looked silly with the tiara, but people seemed to like it. Every woman wanted to look at how it was held in my hair."

"I am glad they cleaned the dust off it and put it to use. Of course you know it was a bribe. They are hoping you will stay longer."

We were sitting a few inches apart, each of us turned toward the other. I noticed he was wearing a navy blue suit. I don't remember ever seeing that much color on him. Greta filled our wine glasses and left.

"Will I be staying longer? You said you would have a decision for me today. I am enjoying myself, but I am concerned for that water plant."

"I have a proposal to make. I think you will like it. But I need to show you something first. I would like you to hike the mountains with me tomorrow. We will talk, and you can tell me if my proposal makes sense."

"Okay. I love your mountains. And tonight?"

"Tonight you tell me about your movies."

And that's what I did. I talked through dinner (fish for once), and talked more as we walked back to the library. He took my hand and held it as we sat on the weird sofa, and I continued the saga of Narcissa Whitman and the creation of the Oregon Trail. I bet I talked three hours nonstop. He held my hand, looked at me, and never interrupted. I finished how the movie was made, and even recited my final lines. As I finished, he finally spoke.

"It is good to tell her story because it is interesting, but I think it also reminds us of other strong women. Women who raise their own daughters and then work to improve their community. I am happy to know such a woman."

Okay, that earned him a kiss. I had one hand on the side of his face during the first kiss, and then I had both arms around his neck for the next. And his arms? Finally they were tight across my back as he pulled me toward him. That got him another kiss, and then I got up and took his hand. I led him across the castle and then up the stairs to the second floor landing.

There I stopped and put my arms around his neck again.

"If you want me, you have to take me." I kissed him and waited. He swept an arm under my legs and carried me the rest of the way to his room and to his bed.

Chapter 10

Hike to the Last Glacier

So, what was our first time like? Romantic, but also pretty silly, at least at first. We dropped into his bed and were all over each other, which is the romantic part. The silly part is we had the damnedest time getting out of our clothes. I was wearing a million layers, and he had a coat and tie on, so it was going to take some effort, but it's not like it was our first time at undressing. But I would just get started, and he wanted to kiss, and I would work on his tie, and get that half off, and then I would just grab him and hold him tight. We were all over each other, when a little discipline would have gotten us under the sheets much faster. But, maybe the important thing was – we were all over each other. Good man. Good night.

Oh. Just a comment on tiaras. They are hell in bed. With everything else I had to take off, I had to also worry about the tiara. Greta had pinned it on me. Fine. But now I had this thing in my hair with a million pins. Could I get them all out in the dark, while lying on my back? Or did I just leave the thing in, and risk bending it? It was an historical item. What would the Duchess Edwina have done? Hell, I just left it in.

Eventually we got the last of our clothes off, and we got under the covers, and I got under Emil, and good things happened. He may not have had a woman in two years, but he had not forgotten what to do. I liked his kisses, he had good hands, and once he was in me, I was glad. Well, more than glad. He held me well, he felt good in me, and I smiled up at him through it all.

Next test. We are done. Does he roll over and go to sleep? Well, we did sleep pretty quickly, it had been a long day, but he slept facing me, and there was always one hand on me – my hip, my back, sometimes my face as he leaned forward to kiss me again. My compliments to Lara Gruber. She had trained him well. Or, maybe, was there a side to my gray statue that I had not seen before. I could hope. In the meantime, I kept my body close to his, a hand near his face, a smile on my lips as we drifted off to sleep.

Morning made me a little nervous. I like to shower with men, but this could go bad. I'm in my forties, he in his fifties, too much exposure to naked bodies might show, well, too much body. But I risked it. When he rose, I followed him into the bathroom. First move – get the tiara off. The light was good in there, and he stood close as his hands went through my hair, and he removed the pins. I wondered if the duchess had done this with men. I would certainly recommend it. I kept my arms around his back, and well, sometimes down on his ass, and kissed him after each pin came out. The kisses slowed the process, I knew, but what was the hurry? I held him, he got his hands in my hair, and I think I found a new reason for the invention of tiaras.

Eventually he finished (maybe sooner than I would have liked), and he led me into the shower. It was tiny. And maybe that helped. We were practically on top of each other as we showered, meaning we felt each other more than we looked at each other. But I have to say I didn't mind what I saw, and he seemed to like looking at me. He had me against the wall – my favorite place – fast enough.

After the shower, I slid back into bed. I told him I wanted to sleep a little more while he had breakfast. I did want to sleep, and I drifted off pretty fast. But mostly I wanted to be back in his bed, and I wanted him to see me in his bed. Here I am, Emil, in your bed. How do you feel about that? Will I be back here again, or back up on the third floor? He looked at me as he dressed, and leaned over to kiss me before going down to eat. I liked his smile.

I did sleep for a while, and then slid out of bed. I pulled on one of my slips, and then gathered the rest of my clothes in a bundle, my shoes and tiara on top. Back to my room. I had a funny reaction as I stepped outside his room. Should I scurry back to my room? Or walk back, half naked, but happy to be so? I walked back, climbing the stairs in my bare feet, not sure if any of the household would see me, but perfectly happy with where I was and what I had done.

Greta was waiting in my room. I got a "Gut morgen," and a big smile. She took my armload of gown, and then gave me a big hug. There was a lot of German, but I heard the word "gut" in there. She didn't need to test her English to tell me how she felt. "Gut" was the key word.

Today was hiking day, and she had my clothes laid across my bed. The dirndl again. Would I be leading cows to pasture as I climbed? I had brought no jeans with me, and apparently Frau Gruber had none in her wardrobe. So, dirndl it was. White blouse (fairly low cut), forest green jumper that she laced tight behind me. I might have trouble drawing breath as I hiked, but my figure would be outlined for Emil to see. Fine by me.

No tiara today. My hair would be down, but she gave it a bit of a curl and hung it over my shoulders. It took a few years off me, or was that from my smile? Makeup is probably not the best idea for a long hike, but she did do some work on my eyebrows and lips. She had found hiking boots for me, and I was ready to go.

Emil had long since finished his breakfast, but he sat at the table having his coffee. I pushed my chair tight against his and put his free hand on my leg. He had a pretty cute smile. Greta was up a few minutes later with my breakfast. Meanwhile, Emil's hand had slid up under my skirt. A dirndl suddenly seemed like the perfect thing to wear.

Our hike came in two parts. The first part took only about thirty minutes, and consisted of climbing the hill behind the castle. It was an easy path, and took us fairly high, but without any real strain. I was feeling like a champ. Look at me climb a Swiss mountain. Up we went, no heavy breathing on my part, and soon we were in a clearing near the top.

There was a grouping of large rocks at the top, and we sat among them, resting our backs against them as we looked down on the castle. I know things are supposed to look smaller from above, but if anything, the castle looked bigger. I could see now there was a whole side to it that I had never visited. Amazing place.

We sat close, I leaned into him, and he took my hand.

"I want to talk to you about my wife." Well, that was unexpected. Tell me about the castle, tell me I am beautiful, but instead you tell me about your wife? Huh? But I held his hand and waited.

"I am impatient." A pause here. Was he searching for the right words in English, or was I supposed to argue the point. Actually, I thought it a pretty good descriptor.

"Some would say rude." Another pause. Again, I didn't argue. I guess my best response was to just hold his hand a bit tighter while I leaned my head into his shoulder and kissed his neck. Whatever his story was, I would let him tell it.

"I was this way even as a child. I don't think my parents dropped me on my head, and they certainly never abused me. I was just this way – impatient. I didn't have the patience to wait for others, or to do what they wanted to do. I wanted to do what I wanted to do, so that meant I often did it alone. And I was fine with that.

"I did have a few friends, but only a few. I made a few more friends at university, but only a few. I was a chemical engineering major, and I was serious about my studies. I went to class, I did well in my exams. I would sometimes drink with my friends, but I spent more hours in the library.

"In my second year, I had a chemistry class I thought was beneath me. The lectures were boring, the lab assignments trivial. I was doing yet another silly lab experiment – just following one step after another with no more complications than cooking an egg, and no real relevance to the class. I had the experiment done in minutes and was grumbling while I wrote up the report. I had a pen in my hand and was writing so hard I had punctured the paper in several places. And then my lab partner – Lara – put her hand on mine, her fingers just behind where mine held the pen. She didn't say a word. She just left her hand there.

"I exhaled. I stopped writing. I didn't look at her. I looked at her hand. Her hand stayed on mine. I waited. Her hand tightened a bit on mine. I realized I liked her hand there. I turned, looked at her, and asked her to marry me. She just laughed. But she left her hand on mine.

"Three years later, we hiked this hill, sat in these rocks, and I asked her again to marry me. This time she said yes. We were married for twenty nine years. We had two daughters and five grandchildren. And for twenty nine years, if I was impatient, or rude, she took my hand, and I calmed. She always brought out the best in me."

He stopped. I waited. I had no idea what might come next.

"That story about my wife, is also an apology to you. I have been rude to you many times. I was rude to Elias because he was company president even though I had worked there many more years. I was rude to you because I didn't believe a woman who had been so briefly with the company should manage our plant. But mostly I was rude to both of you because I am rude. That is the kind of man I am. Rude. Impatient.

"And I was wrong. Elias was absolutely right about buying the water plant in your town. And he was right about you. You have exceptional skills. I ask for your forgiveness, and I ask you to take a further walk with me."

We both stood. I wrapped my arms around his neck and got up on my toes to face him.

"You are rude. But I forgive you. There is a reason Lara loved you. There is a reason why I love you." I kissed him. He held me tight. I buried my face against his neck and said, "Tighter."

The walk he finally took me on went on forever. Well, about three hours, but that seemed forever. Hiking seems to be the Swiss national sport, so we encountered lots of hikers on our route. All of them gave us a cheery "Gut morgen," striding along as if inclines and altitude mattered not. I breathed as best I could and sweated like a race horse. Yes, it was beautiful, the spring green in every direction, with vistas that went on forever. But damn it was also work. We took a break now and then, and Emil had bottles of water in his knapsack, so we stayed hydrated, but I kept looking for an escalator to pull me up the next incline. I was fading fast.

When we stopped, I wasn't sure why we stopped. We were at yet another vista – a bit of a clearing as the trail turned around another mountain. I thought we were just taking a rest, and we had yet many more miles to go. I also had another terrible thought. However many hours we walked now, we would have to walk just as many hours to get back. I wondered if he was prepared to carry me.

There was a patch of grass, and we sat on it. I pulled my skirt down, but what I was really doing was massaging my legs. If the point of all this was to see if I had the strength to buy and run his plant, this was a test I might well fail. Fortunately, it appeared we had finally arrived. Emil took off his pack, then gave me a water bottle and a sandwich.

"This is what I wanted you to see." He pointed. I looked. All I saw was yet another valley. It was nice, but so were the last twenty. If there was something special about this valley, I was missing it.

"If a valley is shaped like a 'V', it was created by a river. Like the valley our castle is in. If a valley is shaped like a 'U', it was created by a glacier." I looked again. Definitely 'U' shaped. But.

"Where's the glacier?" I asked. He pointed. There was another group of mountains to the west. Far and high, much higher than the mountain we sat on. Up near their peaks was some snow. It was a long way off. Was that a glacier? I had never seen one.

"Now look below us. See the small lake?" It was the perfect mountain lake. Chrystal clear, surrounded by trees, you took one look and wished you had a cabin on its edge.

"It's beautiful."

"Look at its lower side." I did. It was hard to see from this height and distance, but there seemed to be hills on the lower side. They were covered by pines.

"When a glacier comes down a valley, it is like a bulldozer. It pushes dirt and rocks and trees before it. Where it stops, it leaves what it has pushed. When it melts, it leaves a pond."

"Okay," I said. I suddenly felt like a bright student. I figured it out. "The glacier came down to this point, left that wall of dirt and rocks, and as it melted, it made the lake. Maybe thousands of years ago?"

"When I was a young boy my father brought me to this place. The glacier was there, maybe a kilometer farther up the valley. We could see it. We could walk to it and have a snowball fight in the summer." I had only a vague notion of how far a kilometer was, but obviously it was closer than the glacier was now.

"So the glacier melted away during your lifetime."

"This glacier and many more. What you see in the distance is the last glacier in this part of Switzerland."

"What does this have to do with your business – and mine?"

"The world is getting hotter. Some parts will get drier, some wetter, but all will be hotter. People will need water."

"Sure." I turned to him and put a hand on his arm. "And I will provide that. Sell me the plant, and I will keep it in operation. You should not shut it down. People need water."

"I will not shut it down, although I know of the rumor. I want to keep it open, and I want to keep the other two plants going. And... I want to build at least one additional plant in the US every year."

"But, now I am confused." I backed away from him, my hand off his arm. "You said you would sell me the plant."

"I said you would like my proposal, and I hope you do."

"Okay, what do you propose?"

"Join me." He let that sink in. "I have countless engineers and geologists. They can tell me where the water is, and how to pump it. But they can't help me with the real problem – you Americans. You fight over everything."

"Now you're being rude again, and Lara isn't around to take you hand." I let that sink in. Of course now I was being rude too, but dammit, enough. "I may not be an expert, but it looks to me like your EU is falling apart, and you Swiss never joined in the first place. You have your own fights going on."

There was a long pause, each of us angry, and wondering if the fight had just started. Where was Lara when we needed her? We stared at each other, and then he broke the stalemate. He held out his hand. I took it. Neither of us said anything for a long time. Maybe it was best that way. I held his hand, and slowly I moved back closer to him.

"I want to propose a partnership. I will deal with the crazy Europeans. You deal with the crazy Americans. I make you president of our US operations."

I shook my head. "I have my hotels to run."

"You were willing to take on one water plant. Take three, and ultimately ten or twelve or twenty."

"I don't have time for that."

He pointed up the valley to the glacier in the distance. "You have fifty years."

It was a long walk down from that hillside. Fortunately, we didn't have to walk all the way back to the castle. But we did have to walk almost an hour down to a tiny village of maybe twelve houses and one restaurant with all of four tables. Emil showed good sense. He sat us down at a table and called his butler to come get us. While we waited I had two or three glasses of water, and then we started on a bottle of wine.

I decided one of civilization's best inventions was the chair. The ones in the restaurant were just wood, but "just wood" beat sitting on the ground all to heck. I leaned back, savored my water, and then my wine. How many miles had I hiked today? I had no idea, but I knew I had my steps for the month.

"I love the wine," I finally said. "Now if you will also feed me, I promise you can have your way with me tonight." Email laughed at me, but he turned pretty fast to get the waiter over. Good man. I like eager. There was a lot of talk in German, but I was pretty confident whatever landed on my plate would be some version of pork. I could live with that. As it turned out, I didn't have to. We each got a very large slice of quiche. It came with bread I would die for. My day was getting better.

We chatted about the restaurant and the food, and the homes we could see. Nice place, nice food, safe topics. Was I ready to talk about running his water plants? Not until after my second glass of wine, and then only to make the obvious objections.

"You want to build new water plants at the same time your current plants are losing sales, and losing money."

"Sales are down, and so are profits, but we are still making a little at each plant, even from the plant in Amberg."

"That's because Brenda cut back all hours. People are only getting paid for thirty two hours a week."

"Yes. You need to address that."

"I need to address that? Any suggestions?"

"The water is good. It is the plastic that is bad."

"Thank you Mr. Obvious. The world is getting buried in plastic. It is being banned in many forms. The future of plastic water bottles is not very rosy. What is it I do about that?"

"First, stop shipping water in the form of water." He let that weird sentence hang for a bit. I think he was proud of himself. "Plain water is helpful in emergencies. A hurricane comes through, and you give people dozens of water bottles. Convenient and helpful. Bottles are also good when the local water is bad. Municipal water systems have been put in and perfected for over a century, but still we have communities that have bad water. In the US there are more all the time. Either the local officials are corrupt or incompetent. They should be replaced. Until they are, water bottles help. So you will always have some market. Where are water bottles bad? When they are a fashion accessory. The local water is perfectly good, but the young don't want regular water, they want special water. I am special. I drive a special car, I wear special jeans, why would I drink ordinary water? If they are shunned for using plastic, they will find some other way to be special."

"Okay, so elective consumption goes down." I nodded. What he was saying seemed accurate, but not very helpful. "We are no longer a fashion item. But, unless you have very deep pockets and are prepared to act as a charity, we need some sales to keep the pumps going. And I assume you want to keep pumping."

"Pumping is essential, as is profit. First, we need to build infrastructure. Those wells need to be there when they are needed. And we need to pump from them, not only to pay for them, but to monitor the aquafer. You put in monitoring wells near Amberg. We will do that with all our wells. By the time they are needed, we will have fifty years of data showing how the water flows and what resources we have."

"What if they aren't needed? The planet doesn't warm, or the new climate gives us plenty of rain." He didn't answer that question right away. Instead he took my hand.

"Then you and I will be wasting the remainder of our lives. We will be providing a Plan B when Plan A is working just fine. No one will ever know what we did, or care." I wish you could have seen his face as he dropped that sentence on me. His look was straight at me. If it is true that eyes are the windows to the soul, he was letting me see his. He sat motionless while I looked deep. I had no idea what to say. I looked at him, I ate my quiche, I sipped my wine, I looked at him. I was sitting with a man who would spend the rest of his life preparing for a water shortage that might occur in half a century – or might never occur. I had no words for that.

The butler came with the car, and we rode back to the castle in silence. Once there, all he said was, "sit with me?" I took his hand and walked with him to the library. It felt great to shed my boots. I got them off, then curled my legs up under me and leaned into him as we sat on that ugly old couch. He got an arm around my shoulders. I rested my head against his neck. We stared at the fire. We held hands.

I don't know how long we sat like that. It was a long time. But finally I took his hand and pulled him upstairs. This time I led him all the way into his room. I saw Greta had laid his pajamas on the bed. Next to them she had put one of my satin nightgowns. Greta, the fortune teller. We changed fairly quickly and got under the covers. I hugged him as hard as I have every hugged a man.

Chapter 11

Saanvi

When I woke up, he was holding me. He had one arm under my neck and across my back. His other arm was on my ass, holding me, while also fondling me. He had me pulled tight to him. I kissed him and then looked at him. Obviously the guy wanted me. Was anything else going on?

"Jess, I need you." Not a bad thing to hear first thing in the morning, but was he talking about his world-saving project, or something more personal?

"Are we talking about the water plant?"

"We are talking about more than that."

"Hold me tighter, and give me some time to think."

He did both. Good man. We agreed I would stay on for a while. Maybe a week, maybe two. The castle tours would continue. It was unsaid, but I expected our new sleeping arrangements would also continue. We would have evenings to talk, nights to, well, nights to get used to this partnership. And fundamentally, I knew this would be about us. I wouldn't be signing up for a project. I would be signing up for a partnership with this man. I needed some time to think and feel.

Saanvi didn't make it any easier. I went back to giving tours. I liked doing it, and I was really coming to like that castle, cold or not. And it filled my days while I thought about Emil and where we might be headed.

Saanvi arrived the third morning after our hike. I was just finishing the first tour of the morning, standing near the entrance as a group of young women took their "last" selfie before getting back on the bus. Saanvi strode in wearing a silk nothing. Sleeveless with a neckline that showed the top of her breasts, her skirt barely made it halfway down her thighs. She was also wearing four inch stilettoes, so she stood over six feet tall. She breezed in, hesitated just a second to smile at me, and then walked toward the great hall. Every head in the place turned to watch her move, including me. She moved with a grace that stunned. She was performing a ballet, knowing she had an audience.

I stood for two more selfies as I pushed the women toward the door. I had been following people out to their tour bus for a final good bye, but not this morning. I got the last girl out the door and went looking for Saanvi.

I found her sitting on the couch in the library. She patted the seat next to her. I sat and she immediately twisted over on top of me, putting one knee next to each of my hips, her ass on my knees, and her face hanging over mine. Both her hands went into my hair, up near my tiara, and she bent my head back against the top of the couch as she kissed me. She gave spectacular kisses. She didn't press her face into mine. Her kisses were light, tantalizing, and they went on forever.

I began to reach around her back, to pull her toward me, when she pulled me forward a few inches and got to my zipper. Down it went, all the way to my waist. Then she pulled everything down off my shoulders – dress, bra, slips, all down to my waist. I was wearing long sleeves, so my arms were now caught, but that wasn't enough for her. She spread her legs wide and put a thigh on each of my forearms. Once again, she had complete control of me. One hand stayed in my hair to hold my head where she wanted it, while the other hand first spread her hair the way she liked – jet black curtains sliding down each side of our faces, so all I saw was her face. Then that hand went down to my breast.

She has marvelous hands. She caressed that breast, and slowly pinched that nipple, while kissing me and pressing her hips against mine. She set up a rhythm that became hypnotic, her mouth on mine, her hand on me, her hips pressing me, all in unison. My head went back and my breathing slowed. She felt so good. She held me that way for a long time, but not nearly long enough. Then she lifted her mouth just a fraction of an inch.

"Who do you love?"

"You."

"Who do you want?"

"You."

"Tell me about your love."

"I loved our time together in Amberg. I loved being with you. I loved holding your hand as we walked back to your room."

"I waited for you to come back to Amberg – and me."

"It's been..." I had no idea what to say. Complicated? Surprising?

"You want to help him?"

"Yes."

"Then buy the plant. He won't tell you, but he is desperate for money. Without your three million, he will show a loss this quarter. The board will start looking for his replacement. Do you want that?"

"No." I thought I heard the next tour bus rev its engine as it made the final climb to the castle.

"Then buy the plant. I will stay with you in Amberg while we plan new markets for your water. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. You know it would." Now I was sure I heard the bus. It was pulling into our parking lot. I heard its brakes squeal as it stopped.

"We will be together every night." And she went back to kissing me and pressing her hips against me. It felt so good, but I could also hear the bus. They all have some sort of air system. There is like an exhale as they park and the bus lowers to let people off. I heard that exhale and knew it was just minutes before people came to the door. Saanvi didn't know or didn't care. I wasn't sure I cared, she felt so good. Those light kisses stayed on my mouth.

"Tour group." I managed to mumble. The words didn't sound right, but I hoped she knew what I was saying. She made no move. Her hand held my head, her hips and legs held the rest of me in place. And I didn't struggle very hard to get free of her. If I could move anything, I think it would first be my head so I could get closer to her kisses, my lips tighter to hers. I heard the butler open the front door.

"Tour." I tried again. She kept kissing me, but I also saw her smile. Her eyes were just above mine, shaded by her falls of hair, but we could see each other. She was watching me. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. I tried to move my arms, to show her we needed to get up, but her thighs held me. She just smiled. I could hear people in the entry area. They would be in the great hall soon.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you." And I did. I was sure she could see that in my eyes.

"I'll move into your trailer with you. Would you like that?"

"Yes. I would love that." I could hear people wandering through the great hall, their guide describing this or that in some Asian language. People were approaching the door to the library.

"Say please."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Please visit me in Amberg."

"And..."

"Please love me." She held her face over mine, then smiled and kissed me. I could hear people, and I was panicked they might walk in on us, but I was also desperate for her to stay right where she was. She felt so good. Finally, I felt her begin to slide off me. She slid slowly, and I felt her on every inch of my thighs. I already wished she hadn't moved. But then she was off me, standing right in front of me, now with both her hands in my hair. Even now, she wanted control. I stood tight to her and struggled to unwind my clothing and pull it up. I could hear shoes just outside the door. My back was to them. Were they already watching me? I got my bra up, and then each of the other layers, and finally my dress was up over my shoulders. Saanvi held my head close to her the whole time, our breasts touching, my front wet with sweat. She leaned my head back and kissed me as I finished getting my dress in order. It took me several tries to get my fingers around the zipper and pull it all the way up. She just smiled.

I knew there had to be several people in the doorway. She was faced that way. She had to see them. She didn't care. She held me, and kissed me. I put my hands on her hips, ready to push her away. But I didn't. And I knew I never would. Instead, my hands slid around to her back, and I pulled her ass toward me, my hands sliding across her silk. We stood together, kissing, for maybe five minutes. How many were gathered to watch? I didn't know. I stood with her, I held her, I kissed her, and when she finally decided to stop, I held her to me as long as I could as she pushed away, smiling the whole time.

She strode out of the room, pushing through a group of young Asians. I kept my back to the door a little longer, straitening my hair and adjusting my clothing, but mostly readjusting my breathing. It took a minute, but finally I was ready. I turned and looked at a group of girls who couldn't be a day over twenty. I smiled. They smiled. And we all pretended they had seen nothing. I walked into the great room, shook hands with the tour guide, and offered to lead them up to the tower. She nodded, and I took the group down the hall and up the stairs, to views of the Alps, selfies and scene enactments with me, and appearances of normalcy.

I did two more groups that day. No drama with those tours. Just the Hollywood Princess posing and acting out the Oregon scene.

I was waiting out in the courtyard when Emil got home. It was something I did now. I could hear his car on the hill. I got Greta to pull the tiara from my hair, and then I came out the huge entry door to stand and smile as he drove in. I liked standing there in those long, formal gowns. I think I looked good. I think he liked seeing me. He always came to me, hugged me, and kissed me. And he stood with me. He didn't rush off to accomplish one thing or another. He stood with me. We talked. Eventually I would take his hand and lead him in to the library or up to our bedroom, or over to a grape arbor at one end of the courtyard. That night I led him to the grape arbor.

The arbor was probably twenty feet square and was shaded by some grape vines that looked a hundred years old. They appeared to be almost two inches in diameter at their base, and they threw huge canes up the sides and over the top of a large wooden frame. Their shade meant the arbor would probably be cool all summer. But that was not the main attraction for me. There were maybe half a dozen wicker chairs that the butler put out every day. Nice, but not as nice as the glider. I thought gliders were an American exclusive, but here was one in Switzerland. Whenever we went into the arbor, that's where I pulled Emil, the two of us sitting side by side, holding hands, and gently rocking back and forth.

That night I got us settled into a nice rocking rhythm, talked a little about some of the people on the day's tours, you know, just general chitchat, and then, when I thought he was comfortable, I asked my question.

"Emil, do you need money? I am still happy to buy the Amberg water plant from you."

"Saanvi came to see you today."

"Yes." The conversation had just taken an unexpected direction. If we were going to have this discussion, I wanted to see his face while we had it. I pulled my feet up under me and turned ninety degrees so I was looking directly at him. Of course in that position, my knees were now between Emil and the rest of me. I was also no longer holding his hand. Just the mention of Saanvi, and there was distance between Emil and me. But if we were going to have this talk, I wanted to hide nothing.

"I love Saanvi." I stopped there and watched Emil's face. He was looking at me, paying attention, but I didn't recognize any other expression on his face. So I kept going. "We were lovers in Dubai, and recently in Wisconsin. We were lovers while I was engaged to Elias, and after his death." I stopped and waited. Now what? Email paused, I guess to see if I had finished.

"How well do you know Saanvi?" he asked. Odd question after what I just said, but I answered it.

"She is from Sri Lanka. At fourteen she took a job in Dubai so she could escape the war in her country. She worked for a family there until she met Elias. She became his maid."

"She left Sri Lanka when she was eleven," he replied.

"Are you sure? She told me fourteen."

"When she became engaged to Elias, we sent some people to check. She was tall, and already beautiful, so the hiring agency lied about her age. She has been lying about her age ever since. She is barely twenty five."

"Oh." I had no idea what else to say. I wasn't sure why it mattered after all these years.

"I told you a few days ago I am an impatient man. I am quick to anger. You have seen how rude I can be. But with Saanvi, I remember her age when she says and does things I wish she hadn't. I think here is a woman who was taken from her parents when she was still a child. That must have been very hard for her. I think it may have scarred her. And now she is this incredibly young woman with three children, living in a foreign land. She has done well for herself, but that is all she knows – to do well for herself."

"So what she told me this morning?"

"Saanvi plots. With Elias, she was married to the president of the company. She wants that again. It will mean little additional income to her and Mattieu, but it will change how she is introduced at parties. So she wants me out, and him in."

"And the Amberg water plant?"

"It is a tool for her. If I sell you the plant, and I take your money, the family will get a larger dividend this year. They will be happy, but as people do, once they have seen one US plant sold, they will wonder about the others – and other dividends. If I sell them all, they may wonder why I could not be successful in the world's largest market. Maybe another president would do better. If I don't sell the three plants, they see the reduced profits from those plants and wonder why I passed up three million dollars for such minor places. Maybe another president would do better.

"So I come here with three million dollars, and you lose if you take it, and lose if you don't."

"Saanvi is very beautiful, and also very clever."

Okay, at this point I am feeling pretty foolish. I had trusted Saanvi, the same woman who had lured me out into the desert and taken my fiancée. How dumb am I? I guess the answer to that is obvious.

"I am sorry."

"You were trying to help people in your town. There is no shame in that." He held out his hand, and I took it in both of mine.

"What do we do now?"

"Family businesses are very complicated. Saanvi plots, but for her plot to succeed, she needs dozens of aunts and cousins and nephews, and all manner of relations to accept her views. That could take years. In the meantime, I think we have – what is your expression - bigger fish to fry."

"Yes." I held his hand, but I had trouble looking at him. I was embarrassed. Why did I let Saanvi maneuver me like that? Why did I love her? She had betrayed me before. Yes, she was beautiful, but was this all about lust? Was I that weak? I held his hand down by my knees, and that's where I kept my gaze. I felt tears coming down my cheeks. I was so weak, so silly.

Emil reached over and pulled me onto his lap. I buried my face in his shoulder while he held me. I sobbed into his neck, "I am so sorry." He put a hand at the back of my head, and held me tight.

"When you were engaged to Elias, the company also checked on you. The report came back that you were a good woman, you worked hard, and you were exactly as you appeared. When I look at you, I see a good woman who works hard, and is just as beautiful inside as she is outside. I am proud to be your friend."

Well, if I hadn't been crying before, I certainly was now. But he held me, and he ran his fingers along my back, and he kissed the top of my head. He even rocked the glider a bit. I think I had loved him before, but now I was absolutely certain. This was my man.

Chapter 12

Life in the Castle

I never said I would manage the company water plants in the US, but as time passed, it was clear I would do it. May became June, and I was still in the castle, giving tours in the morning, often going in to the company in the afternoon to review the reports from each of the three American plants. And I also talked to our marketing people about our water products and to several hydrologists about prospective locations for additional water plants.

Visiting the company was fun. I still remembered several people from my time there with Elias. We could talk about the original plans for the Amberg plant and for Pike River Water. But lots of people wanted to say "hi." I was a bit of a curiosity. I had been there before as Elias' fiancée. Now I was living with Emil. What was that about? Then, there was my appearance. If I had time to change, I put on an office dress after the last morning tour was done. But tours often ran late, so rather than change, I would have Greta take off my tiara, but otherwise I wore my castle tour outfit – long gowns, often with multiple petticoats, so my skirts swept against people's desks as I passed. I would get stares, some smiles, and a few scowls. The scowls were often well hidden, but I caught a few, especially if I was walking through the building with Emil. You had to figure a few women had their own ideas for who might be Emil's next wife. They had their plans, and then I came along.

But I think the most interest was not about me, but about Emil. The rude old guy I once referred to as the "gray statue" was not overtly rude to his employees, but I watched him interact enough times to know working for him would not be easy. You didn't need to speak German to know how a conversation was going. What he wanted, he wanted now, and what he asked was to be done correctly the first time.

But then there was me. I walked into a room, and he smiled. The first time I visited, I took his hand in the elevator, and kept holding it as we walked to his office. You could see jaws drop all over the building. I kept waiting for him to shake my hand off, but I had a pretty good grip on him, and, to be honest, he never made a move to pull himself free. Once we got to his office, I had to crow a bit.

"I enjoyed that. I hope I didn't embarrass you."

"I enjoyed that too. I think we just gave the staff something to talk about in the break room."

That didn't stop him from giving some young man a lecture five minutes later, but at least now his employees knew that maybe there was more to the old man than they had thought.

In the evening, Emil and I sometimes sat in the grape arbor, or we climbed the trail to the top of the mountain behind the castle. We sat there until sunset. He kept his arm around me. I leaned my head into his shoulder. Several nights we went into Bern and danced the waltz in the hotel ballroom I had used with Matteo years before. Some nights we entertained.

Early in June we entertained Emil's family – two daughters, two sons-in laws, and five grandchildren aged three months to three years. I was scared to death. I had spent a month wearing their mother's clothes, sleeping in their mother's bed, and sleeping with their father. I had visions of rough talk, mostly conducted in German. Who was I to try to take their mother's place? I could argue I was just a business partner, but it was obvious I was more than that.

The night they arrived for dinner, I was concerned about everything. I wanted to wear one of my own dresses. Maybe a silk, maybe a cotton office dress. Emil insisted I dress as I normally did – wearing one of his wife's long gowns. I wanted Emma to reset the table so I was not at the far end, opposite from Emil, and in the position his wife had probably taken. She said this is the way Emil wanted it. Emil wanted me to wear the tiara, and I said "no." That argument I won.

How did the evening actually go? I have grandkids. I should have predicted it. We adults got to say maybe fifty words, as almost all attention went to the kids. Where had the three year old gone off to? Where could the baby be changed – again? Was the two year old actually going to eat anything?

There were cute moments. When the families came in, the kids were all wearing their finest, and they had shown the three year old how to curtsey and say – in English – "Pleased to meet you." I couldn't help but hug all the kids. Emil and the men went off somewhere, leaving me with the girls and kids. I think things went fairly well with the daughters. Their English was very good, and they both told me they were happy to see their father had a "lady friend". One daughter – Moira – looked at my dress, and I quickly said it was their mother's. I hoped they didn't mind. I wore them when I gave tours of the castle. The dresses went over well with the tourists – and they were warm. Both said their mother was a good woman, but her tastes were very old-fashioned. Her clothes belonged in a castle.

Did that mean every moment went perfectly? No. Jana said she had seen my movie, and liked it, but my part had been very small, hadn't it? I said I hadn't expected to be in it at all. I was just an extra. I am not sure if that helped, or made things worse. In any case, it was the only comment all evening that seemed unkind.

The evening ended early as evenings do with children that age. There were hugs and smiles, and we stood waving as they drove off. As soon as the second car was out of sight, I felt like a hundred pound weight had been lifted from my back. One last thing. I took Emil's hand and waited for his judgement.

"They loved you." I had my face inches from his, looking to see if he was telling the truth. I think he was. We had a great time in bed that night.

As June progressed, I spent more and more afternoons in the office. For all Emil's plans about saving the world from draught, we had a very immediate problem – people were increasingly concerned about plastic bottles. Sales were down. The US plants were still making money, but they probably wouldn't be in another year.

Emil had two responses. The first was to sell less plain water and more water mixed with flavors. He thought tea. Marketing thought lemonade. Research said they had forty seven fruit concentrates they could ship to the US plants, any of which might work. More market research was needed, and it was clear the promotions budget would have to be raised.

The second response was recycling. A few states had five or ten cent bottle charges that at least got bottles back to the store, but Wisconsin wasn't one of them. People might throw a bottle into recycling, or they might throw it in the trash. Maybe a big push from the company would help. I said our hotels could initiate a campaign. Maybe others would follow.

So, we had two possible solutions to the current concerns over plastic water bottles. We would try both, and keep looking for additional approaches. It seemed reasonable. I went home from these meetings feeling fairly good about the future of the US plants. I thought we could keep them open. Would we be able to keep them and a dozen more open for fifty years until the real need emerged? Maybe. I guess that was my job now.

Chapter 13

I Get Married – Sort of

June was winding down. I had been in regular contact with my office and kids back in the US. And I was honest. Yes, I was working on an important business deal, but yes, there was also something else going on. The last Saturday in June, that "something else" hit me full force. Emil wanted to go dancing. I had done tours all day, and frankly I would have been perfectly fine just sitting in the library staring at the fire and holding his hand. But, how do you turn down a chance to waltz?

Greta worked on me for about two hours. No tiara, but lots else going on in my hair. She had it up, then down, then mostly up. She seemed nervous. I hadn't been to a salon in over a month, so I knew my curl was gone, but really, it shouldn't have been that hard to get my hair done. She was also a little heavy with my makeup, and I complained since I knew I would sweat plenty once we got dancing. I didn't want my makeup running down my chin. I got a lot of German in response, but she finally finished without putting too many layers on.

My waltz dress was the ivory number. Put it over several petticoats and it filled half the dance floor, but it also emphasized every move. In Emil's arms, I would look like a lady dancing to Straus in Vienna. Emil came into our room as Greta was lacing me up, and his face told me I was wearing the right dress. He was wearing a dark suit, and he let me help with his tie. Did he need help? Of course not. But it gave us an excuse to stand close and smile at each other.

Dinner was interesting. The hotel with the dance floor had multiple dining rooms, all of them small – maybe six to eight tables. Look up "intimate" in a dictionary, and there is a picture of this hotel's dining rooms. A valet took our car when we arrived, a host greeted Emil by name ("Herr Gruber"), we were seated at a table with a view of the river. The place was special, and it felt great that we were being treated special.

The waiter was a man in his thirties wearing a tuxedo and bowing to Emil after about every third word. They spoke in German, but what I heard was a desire to please. I am afraid I pushed that a bit. The waiter explained the nightly specials, and Emil translated them to me. By this time I didn't need translation. I knew every dinner would be pork something or other. Enough already.

"Emil, can I ask a big favor?"

"Of course."

"I have been here over a month now. What I am missing, and what I would love to have, is a cheeseburger. I don't want to insult the chef, but do you think they could make me one?" The waiter might not be comfortable enough with his English to speak it, but he could certainly understand it. I saw his eyes go wide when I mentioned a cheeseburger. Fortunately, Emil smiled. He and the waiter spoke for a minute. I heard "cheeseburger," and for my benefit, he raised two fingers. So he was joining me. I really liked this guy. A minute later the wine steward came over. Again there was the wide eyes at "cheeseburger," but after a little discussion, he decided he had an idea for a wine pairing. Fifteen minutes later, he was back with a red that I really liked.

The cheeseburger was pretty ordinary, but the wine was spectacular, and Emil smiled and held my hand at every opportunity. I wasn't sure which of us was having the better time. And we still had waltzes to come!

What did we talk about? Our families. He told me where his daughters lived (Geneva and Paris), how they met their husbands, and how clever all of his grandchildren were. I told him about my daughters and explained that my grandchildren were gifted with multiple talents as well as great beauty. In short, we had fun.

And then we danced. Our waiter carried our wine to a table in the ballroom, and we went straight to the dance floor. There's the key to great waltzes, if you want my opinion. The male has to have a strong right arm. He keeps it on the small of your back, and sometimes he pulls you close, and sometimes, as you enter a turn, he pulls hard and practically lifts you off your feet as your skirts fly and you come around in a great circle. Emil did it over and over, even drawing attention from the other dancers. I put my head back and felt like I was on a rollercoaster.

And then, after each dance, I used the hand I had on his shoulder to pull myself up to him and give him a quick kiss. I hope he knew, every quick kiss now was a promise for a far more substantial kiss when we got back home. And I gave him lots of quick kisses.

When the quartet took a break, we sat at a table with a view of the city, but we weren't looking out the window. He held out his right hand, and I placed my left hand in it. We spoke about the dancing for a bit, but I could feel his hand. My palm was on his, and he held me gently while his thumb stroked the back of my fingers. This went on for a bit, and then I felt his thumb slide up against my wedding ring.

"He was a good man?"

"He was my protector, my lover, and my partner. He was a very good man."

"No man replaces another." I was watching his face at this point. Our eyes were locked on each other. "But you know I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

I leaned across the table, put both hands on the sides of his face, and kissed him. "Of course I will marry you."

The quartet started up again. Timing is everything. We stood locked together, then walked to the dance floor. They were playing the "Blue Danube" waltz, which instantly became "our song." I was pleased they had a large dance floor, since we flew around the place, our hands held high, his lifts huge on every turn. Every other couple had their heads in the proper position, looking to the left of their partner. We smiled at each other, our grins getting bigger at every turn. It was marvelous. And when the dance ended, we held hands and practically raced to the exit.

He had a ring for me. I got it the next morning in bed. It was his mother's. I had gotten up during the night and taken off Willie's rings. I thought of him as I slid his rings off my finger. He had filled my life with love and with songs. I could still hear him singing Willie Nelson songs in my ear. He had been a fabulous man. I would always miss him. But I put his rings deep in a corner of my purse, and went back to Emil's bed.

Being Emil, he had already planned everything about the wedding. I had choices to make and alternatives to select, but the main outline was there, waiting for my approval. We would be married on Monday – in a civil ceremony. He asked my permission for a church wedding as well, probably sometime this winter. A church wedding and reception took time. He would find me a wedding planner. I played with the new ring on my finger, kissed him, and agreed to everything. I would be his wife. Everything else was just details.

We spent much of Sunday in bed. When we finally got up, it was to climb the trail behind the castle. Somehow it seemed like a great day to climb, to view the world, to feel the air coming in and out of our chests as we stood at the top of the mountain, catching our breaths. It wasn't exactly a perfect day. There were some darker clouds and the possibility of rain. No matter. The view was spectacular, our castle was just below us, we were in each other's arms. I was as happy as I had ever been.

Monday we went to city hall. I wore one of my silk dresses and heels. Emil wore his best suit. We spent fifteen minutes filling out papers. We spent five minutes with a man who checked our papers, smiled, and congratulated us. We were married.

Chapter 14

I Meet a Priest

Emil asked me where I wanted to go on our honeymoon. I just laughed. I had a castle in Switzerland. Where could we go that could possibly match that? We went home and spent a lot of time in our bedroom "changing," and I did eventually end up in a dirndl and hiking boots. Off we went for a long walk, followed by a great meal in some little village. It's hard to hold hands while walking down a hiking trail, but there were plenty of stops, and plenty of places where we sat, his arm where it belonged, and my head on his shoulder. I am not sure it is physically possible to smile for ten or twelve hours straight, but I bet I was close. I loved that man, and being with him that day was magic.

The next day I did tours again, but already, there were some changes. Some small, some not so small. Take the historical society website. It continued to show our castle, and give information about tours, but now it also had my picture. Above me wearing one of my longer dresses and tiara were the words "Mistress of the Castle." Below my picture it said, "Frau Gruber, the former Hollywood actress, frequently greets visitors and accompanies them on tours. Check with the historical society about her availability." Below the text was the usual website magic, with a series of pictures fading out to be replaced by the next in the circuit. The series showed me shaking hands at the entry way, sitting with people in the library, standing in the turret and pointing off toward the Alps, and acting out my scene from the Oregon movie. I had gone from "Hollywood Princess" to "Mistress of the Castle."

The castle employees also now decided I was no longer a guest – I was the mistress of the place. The first few days I just passed their questions along to Emil, but he made it clear it was up to me to decide if the kitchen needed a new washer and if the tapestries in the great hall should be taken down and cleaned.

Things also changed at the office. I went in almost every day now, usually late afternoon after the tours were over. I was "Frau Gruber" to all, and if I approached a desk, people stood. Even women I had gone to lunch with, or sat with at meetings, never referred to me as "Jessica" any more.

It got a little silly as I prepared for my return to the US. It had been decided the plant in Amberg would start bottling tea. It would be brewed in Amberg in new machines. Fine. I wanted to learn about the machines, so I requested the two day maintenance training. It raised a few eyebrows, but I was scheduled for the training. When I learned a special session had been set up just for me, I told Emil I wanted to go through the training with other technicians. I didn't want anything watered down or simplified.

A week later, there I was, a lab coat over my dress, a maintenance binder in hand, joined with four young guys from Poland. The instructor didn't speak Polish or much English, and none of us spoke much German, so we had two days of few words, much sign language, and lots of pointing to illustrations in the manual. Through it all, no one was quite sure if I would go near the brewing kettle, or actually pick up a socket wrench.

The first day was all about safety, and we learned where the kettle was most hot, and where it built up pressure. The second day was about cleaning and fixing. It turned out the thing broke most often about where you would expect – where the used tea leaves exited the pot. The instructor showed us how to take apart the exit assembly and then looked at us, a socket wrench in his hand. Time for us to do what he had just done. There was a long pause as he and the Poles looked at me. I just smiled, took the wrench, and went at the assembly. I got the gasket twisted when I did the reassembly, but otherwise did fine. More importantly, everyone now relaxed, and I just took my turn as we tore apart other sections of the machine. Did I get invited out for beers after the session was over? No, but I did get handshakes.

The other change at work? I was now a part owner. Emil gave me a hundred thousand shares of the company as a wedding present. It was less than one percent of the company, but the shares were worth about half a million dollars. It was enough that I was now provided with all financial reports. The reports helped me see where the US plants fit into the larger picture. Short answer? Barely a blip. But, we would see what I could do about growing that blip.

My other big activity during those first weeks? Our church wedding and reception. The wedding planner visited me early in July. I liked her. She told me she had ten years of experience planning weddings, but she also said this was her first castle reception, and she was excited about it. I liked that honesty. She loved the castle. Forty year old women don't jump up and down much, but when she saw the great hall, she was close. She instantly started describing all the things that could be done in the room, talking a mile a minute, alternating between German and English. And she kept interrupting herself. She'd describe how the windows could be decorated, then stop, say "No," and then she'd be off on another approach. I couldn't blame her. It was a castle. You could do anything here.

After about three hours she had taken a million pictures, walked through all the main rooms at least ten times, been down to the kitchen twice, and I think finally just talked herself out. The best comparison I can make to her condition is a kid who has all the chocolate she could possible eat. There is so much, and it is all good, and ultimately just overwhelming.

She was still talking and looking back at the castle as I walked her out to her car. She asked if she could come back. I of course agreed. I also relaxed. If she was this excited about the reception, I knew she would work on it night and day – which meant I didn't have to.

My main responsibilities? I needed to help Emil with the guest list (easy on my side – dad, kids and grandkids), I needed to get a dress (I had already gone in for a fitting at a shop near the office), and I needed to talk to Emil's priest (not done yet for obvious reasons – I was petrified he would refuse us).

Emil had mentioned several times that we should schedule a meeting with his priest, and I always replied something like, "Sure, we should do that," and then I let the matter drop. Finally Emil just walked over there after work. What church would we marry in? The Cathedral of Bern. It is one of the biggest and oldest churches in Europe. I had seen it a million times. How could you not see it? Its tower had to be hundreds of feet high. And it was old. I looked it up – 1421. Nobody knew there was an America yet, and people were praying here. I had walked past it dozens of times as I shopped or toured the city. Had I ever gone in? No. I wasn't a Christian. I might still be a Muslim from my marriage to Ibrahim. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't. I didn't know the rules. But I was pretty sure girls who had never stepped into a church in Amberg, probably should not be going into ancient cathedrals in Bern.

But that afternoon, Emil held my hand, and in we went. What does a person do in church? I just did what Emil did. There was a basin of water near the entrance. Emil put his fingers in and then touched his head, chest, and shoulders. I did the same. The water felt funny on my forehead. Was it okay to wipe the drops off? We walked up the main aisle, and near where some parts of the church branch off to the left and right, he stopped and bent one of his knees. I bent my knee. He slid into one of the church pews, then knelt on a board and folded his hands on the top of the seat in front of him. I did the same. The board we knelt on had a pad. It wasn't too bad to kneel on.

After a few minutes an elderly priest came to us, smiled, and motioned for us to follow him. There were some gates and barriers, but we followed him through them to a small room. He sat, we sat, he and Emil spoke in German for a while. It seemed friendly enough. I sat, knees together, back straight, hands in lap. I found myself wrestling a bit with my hands. Each wanted to move around. I was hoping each would control the other, but they both seemed a bit disobedient. I guess that's a long way of saying I was very nervous. Emil wanted a church wedding, so I wanted a church wedding. This was important to him, so I didn't want to mess it up. But I knew, sooner or later the conversation between the priest and Emil would end, and my turn would come. I could think of no way my part of the conversation could end well.

It didn't even start well. The priest turned to me, smiled, and spoke to me in pretty good English.

"I was very pleased to hear you would like to marry in the church. Have you been to this cathedral many times?"

"No sir."

"Father."

"What?" I stared. Had his English broken down?

"It is customary to refer to priests as 'father.' I am Father Wilhelm."

"Yes, father."

"May I ask about your religious background?" Well, there it was. It was all over now. Did I talk about the church my mother never took me to? The church in Wausaukee that told women to submit? Or did I just give it all up now and tell him I was a Muslim? I decided to just get it all over with.

"Father, when I was in Dubai, I married a Muslim man. I took his religion."

"And did you practice that religion?"

"Yes. Before witnesses I said in English and in Arabic, 'there is no God but God, and Mohammad is his messenger.' I prayed five times a day, and I fasted during Ramadan. I lived as a Muslim."

"Really." He seemed a bit excited by what I had just said. "You will have to tell me about Ramadan some time. I am curious what a month of fasting is like."

"Actually, each evening there was a feast. So we fasted during daylight, but ate before dawn and after sunset. It was very hard for women to do all the cooking." Now both the priest and Emil were staring at me. I guessed Emil would have questions on the drive home.

"You understand I cannot do a Muslim marriage in the cathedral."

"I do not ask you to. My husband's faith is my faith." Well, that silenced the room. Clearly the priest was doing some thinking. Fine. At least he wasn't shouting and ordering me out of his church.

"So you wish to become a Christian?"

"Yes sir. Ah, father. I wish to become a Christian. A catholic."

"Do you believe in Jesus?"

"Yes father." I didn't know any more about Jesus than I did about Mohammad. What I knew was that I loved my husband. Was that enough? I waited. The priest apparently had a lot of thinking to do. I tried to help my case.

"Father, I have heard a marriage vow that I think explains my love and my sense of the church. If I may say it..." I turned to Emil. "I love you, and I know that you love me. Because of this I desire to be your wife. Through the pressures of the present and the uncertainties of the future I promise to be faithful to you. I will love, serve, and obey you as long as we both are alive. Christ told us that the wife must submit herself unto her husband as unto the Lord. For as Christ is the Head of his Church so is the husband head of his wife. I submit myself to you."

Emil had been holding my hand. Now he leaned over to kiss me. "I love you too, Jessica. But you won't be submitting to me or obeying me. We are partners."

What was the priest doing? He was staring at us. This was certainly not the conversation he had expected to have.

"You would have to be baptized into the faith."

"Yes father." Another long pause.

"Well, should we do it now?"

"Yes."

And that seemed to settle matters. The priest led us around another part of the church and to another stand of water. He asked me to kneel. He said a prayer and put his hand in the water and then on my head three times. Some of it dripped down my forehead. But then he asked me to rise, smiled, and said I was a Christian. I thanked him, Emil and he spoke for a while, and it was all over. We walked hand in hand back out of the church where we could now be married. I was one happy lady.

"You know," Emil said once we were back in the car and heading home. "You are probably the first Muslim to convert and be baptized in that church in five hundred years. I bet Father Wilhelm will be telling the story until the day he dies."

I had nothing to say to that. Emil wanted a church wedding, and we would have a church wedding. It had been a good day.

Chapter 15

Saanvi has Another Plan

July was warm, even in the mountains, even in the castle. No more fires in the fireplaces. I stopped wearing long gowns and went with dirndls most of the time. I had a few more made for me at a shop near our offices. This was also where they were making my wedding dress. It was white satin, and massive. High neckline with a gently scooped neck, puffed half sleeves, and skirts that would cover about a thousand petticoats. I looked in a mirror when I went in for fittings, and I seemed almost invisible. I felt it should come with a sign – "trust me, there is a woman under all this material." But the wedding would be sometime in December and both the cathedral and castle would be cold. At least my shoulders would be covered. On order from a lace factory in Ireland was my veil, and my shoes were on their way from Italy. I would be wearing the best Europe had to offer.

It was time for me to return to the US, but I have to admit I was finding ways to delay it. Wasn't there another report I should get first? How about the tapestry cleaning? Shouldn't I monitor that? Excuses. Just excuses to let me stay a little longer. I was having a great time. Most days I did tours until early afternoon, and then I went in to the office. Evenings, Emil and I often climbed the mountain behind the castle. I got so I could race up it pretty fast. Emil took his time. He was in his fifties, and sometimes it showed. He was still strong and healthy, and he could waltz like a madman, but he took his time hiking.

I would wait for him in our usual spot. The grass was soft and there was a large rock we could lean back on. When he final got to the top, he would wrap an arm around my shoulders, and I would put my arms around his waist, my head on his shoulder. We had a phenomenal view of the Alps to our south, but I have to admit I spent lots of time looking down at our castle. I didn't care if the builders had been knights or pirates, they had erected a beautiful castle in a beautiful valley. A castle I now called home.

And it felt like home. Granted, I had only lived there two months, but I was comfortable there. While there were dozens of rooms, most were empty. The rooms that we actually used were not much more numerous than in a normal home. The rooms were bigger, but really, there were just eight or ten that I used. That was not so many. And if they had twenty foot ceilings and tapestries on the wall, well, I was getting used to that too. Funny how that works. All I know is, as I walked from room to room, I liked what I saw, and I liked how the place felt. It was home.

Maybe the tours were part of it. I enjoyed giving them. I enjoyed walking people through my home. I gave at least two tours a day, seven days a week. Even as I was counting down the days to my return to Amberg, I gave tours.

It was on one of those days that Saanvi came back. The castle was being toured by an older group – lots of sitting, some walks to the bathroom, no particular interest in me. I was standing near the entrance, ready to point to the W.C. Saanvi came through the entrance, and then just stood so I would get a good look at her. She posed. A silk print dress tight to every curve of her body, stiletto heels taking her high above us all, her glistening black hair falling down her back almost to her ass. She stood and let us look. There were several men in the room. I hope their pacemakers were working.

Satisfied she had our attention, she came to me with the moves of a ballerina, put her arms around my shoulders, and kissed me. She held the kiss. She held me. She waited until my hands slid around her back, and then said, "We need to talk." She took my hand and led me up the stairs. Good. I wanted to talk as well. Upstairs was the place. She hesitated when we got to the second floor landing. I kept walking. I wasn't going to take her into the bedroom I shared with Emil. We would go up to my old room on the third floor.

While I closed and locked the door, she pulled all my clothing off my shoulders and down to my waist. She pressed me towards the bed and we assumed our usual positions – her on top, her face inches above mine, her long, black hair now hanging down each side of our faces, one hand twisted in my hair to hold my head where she wanted it, one hand already playing with my bare breast as her hips pressed on mine, and her legs pushed my thighs farther and farther apart. Me? I had my hands on her hips thinking I might push her off, but it didn't take long for my hands to slide back to her ass and hold her tight to me. She just smiled when she felt my hands. She knew what she was doing to me – what she always did to me.

She worked on me for a long time before she talked, her kisses light and long.

"Tell me you love me."

"I don't love you." That was a first for me. Unfortunately, while my mouth was saying one thing, my hands were saying something else. "You lied to me about the water plants in the US." My hands were still holding her tight. She was looking at me and smiling. She went back to kissing me while her hand worked on my breast. She had really good hands.

"I was telling you the truth of the future." There were such long pauses during our conversation, it took me a second to recall what we were saying. "You know all of them will be losing money within a year. They are already laying off workers."

"We can respond. We are adding new products to their lines." She ignored me for a long time. Her mouth was all over mine. Her thighs slid across mine. She had enough weight on my chest I could barely breathe, but I am not sure I would be breathing much anyway.

"Tea?" Her smile broadened. "Really? Good money after bad. You are just speeding Emil's demise." She went back to kissing me. I went back to stroking her ass, and pulling her hips tighter to me. She felt so good.

"So you think Mattieu will be president?" She just smiled. The point of having her hair hanging around my face was that I could see nothing but her face. She wanted my complete attention, and she had it. But now, as I looked so closely into her eyes, I thought I saw something when I said "Mattieu." The smile changed. Her eyes changed. Somehow she looked even more satisfied with herself. Triumph? Is that what I saw? What was going on behind those huge dark eyes?

"How old is Mattieu?" Now the smile was even bigger. She was enjoying this, watching me figure it out.

"He is in his forties." Was she teasing me?

"Forty eight? Forty nine?"

"Forty nine."

"You are twenty five."

"My passport says I am thirty."

"In Dubai, after Elias was killed, you said you would go to Switzerland to raise your baby. And you said the family would want you to marry another Gruber to keep Elias' money in the family. You said they were like Arabs that way."

"You have a good memory." She was now pinching my nipple to distract me. She kept her mouth on mine. It was a while before I could speak again. It gave me time to think.

"It's a big family. Lots of unmarried Grubers. All sizes, all shapes, all ages. Mattieu was the oldest. Probably the oldest by far."

Saanvi wrapped both arms around my chest and pulled them tight. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. But that was the point. I was to listen.

"This is Europe. Women run countries here. They can run companies. My man is old. Yours is even older. When we are free of them, what happens? We find another man? I think not. I think it is my turn to run things." There was a long pause while she held me. Her legs were doing a lot work. Her thighs pushed my dirndl up so it was out of the way. It was her bare thighs on my bare thighs. She moved her legs slowly, watching my face as she did it.

"You may not love me anymore, but you want me, don't you?" Another big smile. Yes, I was moving my thighs too. She pressed her thighs more tightly against mine. "Don't worry. I will be good to you. We can do this any time. While our men are alive, we will have our afternoons together. When they are gone, I will let you keep your castle. I will join you here. You will live well. You will give your tours, still mistress of the castle. I will run the company. We will have decades together. I know you want that."

"Those water plants in the US are important." Was I pleading?

"None of them will succeed. I guarantee it." While she is saying this, she is kissing me, but also tightening her arms around my chest. Tightening, loosening. Tightening, loosening. There was a message in that. She could give me pleasure, or she could give me pain. And she would decide which I felt.

"Let us keep the water plants. Please." I got those words out, and then she tightened her arms even more. Her kisses were light. Her arms were strong. I could begin to see stars at the edge of my vision. But I also felt her kisses. She drove me half crazy. She played with me. She kept at it a very long time.

And then it was over. Just like that. She got up off me, straightened her clothes, and then sat in front of my mirror to touch up her face. She seemed in no hurry. Finally she came back and stood over me.

"You are beautiful, Jess. I will enjoy bedding you. We will have this castle, and decades. You want that. I want that. We will have a beautiful life together." She rearranged the hair around my face, smoothing it. Then she smiled and walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

I was exhausted and soaked in sweat. I spent another hour getting my clothes back where they belonged, and fixing my hair and makeup. I could feel my legs shake as I walked down the stairs. Saanvi had a plan. What was my plan?

Chapter 16

Return to Amberg

That night I had a long talk with Emil. I told him everything.

"She was taken from her parents too early."

"She is dangerous, Emil."

"Yes." We were sitting under the grape arbor. We were holding hands, each turned towards the other. Neither of us moved the glider.

"What do we do about her?"

"She is a small problem. Our grandchildren will have a bigger problem."

"I understand. And I will get those new wells in the US. But what do we do about her?"

"We make a profit in the US."

That was a good start to a plan, but obviously we needed more. Much more. I was not sure if Emil understood just how formidable Saanvi would be as an enemy. She had a plan, and she would execute that plan. We better be ready.

We made a couple initial moves. I postponed my return to the US by a week, and Emil and I held dinner parties for stockholders. We got a complete list. There were 197. All had family connections of some sort. The stock had restrictions to make that so. But many were far fringes of the family – second cousins who had gotten divorced or moved to Italy or such. They might just have five shares. We would contact all the small shareholders and offer to buy their shares. I had the manager of the Pembine Wausaukee bank wire me $200,000 to pay for this stock. I could imagine him weeping as he saw that much money leave his bank, but it was time I put some cash into this business.

For those who had twenty thousand shares or more – enough to matter if we had an election for CEO – we would do more. We counted 47 people in this group. We invited all of them to dinner, ten at a time over five nights. Each was invited along with their spouse, and almost all came. Drinks at seven, dinner at eight, dress comfortably.

What were these dinners like? First of all, no one dressed comfortably. They were going to a castle. Men wore dark suits, women wore their jewelry and their best silks and satins, often floor length. Emil also wore a dark suit. I wore knee length silks each night. No tiara. Limited jewelry.

Emil and I stood just outside the entry, smiling in the fading sunlight, shaking hands and talking the usual nonsense. Emil had limited abilities in this area, but then, I had it somewhat easier - I could just tell every woman what a lovely gown she had chosen – and often it was true. We did the weather, their summer vacation plans, the latest with their children (we had memorized names and ages in advance). Finally the butler brought them into the castle and walked them to the great hall where one waiter gave them drinks and another served snacks. Oh, and we had a string quartet in the corner.

Dinner was served in the dining room, flowers and candles on the table, a four course meal accompanied by four wines carefully paired by someone we hired. At my end of the table we talked about the castle and about my movies. I had prepared little stories about the stars, so our guests could feel like insiders. That went over pretty well. Emil's end tended to be more about business, including new ventures in China and India. Not a word was said about the US.

Ten o'clock came and people drifted off – hugs, handshakes, thanks for coming.

Our dinners went well all five nights. At least they went well up until the very end. Saanvi and Mattieu were large stockholders. They had to be invited. It would look odd if they were excluded. We treated them like everyone else, including asking about their three children. It was smiles and good manners all the way to the end. But they were the last to leave. We stood by the door, Emil and Mattieu speaking quietly about some customer Mattieu had just landed, Saanvi standing with me.

She started simply enough.

"I really like this color on you." She was standing close and sliding a hand over the silk near my waist. Then she came a bit closer, and the hand slid past my waist and back to my ass, which she grabbed tight.

"One year, Jess. I have decided not to wait. You are prepping for a shareholder fight. Fine. Let's start," she whispered in my ear. "I see you like acting the part of the grand lady. You will have a little time to enjoy this. Then Emil is out and Mattieu is in. You keep the castle. Emil keeps some sort of title, manager of this and that, and a good income. But Mattieu takes over the company – until I take it."

"No." I put a hand on the hand that was grabbing my ass. I didn't want to get into a wrestling match, but I wanted her to know she couldn't hold me like that.

"Don't pretend you don't like it when I hold your ass. We both know better." Her face was may be an inch from mine. I looked back at her. My stare meant nothing to her. "A year from now you will withdraw to your castle and your tour groups. And you will smile about it. Or things might go another direction. Maybe people will start asking how a bartender came to own eleven hotels. Did she really own them, or was she just a front for the former owners, the mafia? Maybe that explains why all the incidents of bed bugs and food poisoning go unreported." She stared at me, waiting for my reaction.

"Emil was right. You were taken from your mother when you were too young."

She clawed my ass hard enough to leave bruises, and then turned and walked out the door, leaving Mattieu to rush after her.

Emil and I went upstairs and talked in bed for hours. We agreed this was going to be a tough fight. I was hoping he fully understood just how bad it was going to get.

Two days later I took the company plane back to the US. I had a large cardboard box with me – company reports, and reports on all three of the plants I now managed. Also in the box was a container with five hundred business cards showing I was President of Naturale's North American Division. I also had a hiring contract. I was to be paid $200,000 per year, plus $50,000 annually for every new plant I opened. I told Emil to use the money to buy more stock as it became available.

I took no clothing with me. I had plenty back at Amberg, and what was in the castle was perfect for the castle. What did I wear on the plane? I chose not to wear the elegant black dress Elias had given me. Not even the pearls. I wore one of my new dirndls. It made Emil smile to see me in it. He kept his hand on my skirt, and under my skirt, all the way to the airport. Good man.

We had lots to say as we stood outside the jet. I did a fair amount of crying, my head hanging on his shoulder. I asked the most important question, but one neither of us could answer – "When do I get to come home?" After about our tenth final good bye kiss, he pulled my new passport from his pocket. It was red like my old one, and listed my name as Jessica Gruber. But this one had a new picture of me, and a new spouse – Emil Gruber. And this one was real. By any legal standard, I was in fact, Frau Jessica Gruber, Swiss lady. It was the perfect parting gift.

But I wasn't ready to part. In the end, he had to carry me up the steps into the plane.

Eight hours later, my faced still wet from tears, I was in Green Bay. An airport limo was waiting to take me from our private jet to my trailer in Amberg. I have no idea what the driver thought when he saw where he was leaving me. I gave him a large tip and carried my box into my trailer. Ten minutes later I was back outside, mowing my over-long grass, still wearing my dirndl. It was actually quite comfortable.

Chapter 17

Updates and Beer

That evening I drove up to Niagara to have dinner with Britney, Billy, and the kids. I was still wearing the dirndl. Why not? Patti loved it, and I promised to talk to Santa about bringing her one for Christmas. I got a smile and a hug. I had stayed in pretty good contact with everyone while I was in Bern, but there was still lots to say about the castle, the company, and my marriage to Emil. Speaking of which, I asked them to get passports so they could attend my church wedding in December. That led to a whole new discussion, or at least the kind of talk you can have with a two year old and a baby wanting up on someone's lap every two seconds, and needing changing, well, constantly.

By the time dinner was over and the babies were put to bed, I was every bit as tired as the babies. Jet lag nailed me. I ended up sleeping on their couch, a blanket pulled over me.

With my body's clock still set to Swiss time, I was awake at four, and sat on the couch until six when I heard Billy in the kitchen. We each had a cup of coffee and a bowl of corn flakes, and he told me about the plant.

"The equipment for the new tea line arrived last week. It is still being assembled, but I think it will make a difference. People really thought the place would close."

"They were that worried?"

He paused for a second, looking confused. "Sorry, I'm not sure what to call you now."

"You can go with Frau Jessica Gruber, or Mom. You choose."

"Mom." The boy had a good smile. I had liked that about him, all the way back in high school when he was first dating Britney. "Jessica, just doesn't feel right. Mom is much better. I suppose it is Frau Gruber at work."

"Yes, that probably would be best."

"Okay. Anyway, Mom, you would not believe how scared and angry people were. Guys were talking about running down those women picketing outside the plant."

"Are they still picketing?"

"Every Sunday, eleven to three."

"Maybe I'll talk to them."

"I doubt it will do any good."

"It can't hurt."

"Maybe." He was saying "maybe," but his face was saying "no," and maybe something worse than "no." Billy had always struck me as someone slow to anger. If he was upset with these women, it was fair to assume, others were far more angry. I needed to deal with that.

Britney walked in with Patti and Amy. Patti climbed up on my lap, proudly showing me her new dress. Billy got up to go. He needed to clock in by seven. I told him I would see him at the plant later in the morning.

Britney and I spent the next hour trying to get food into the girls. Amy was getting cream of something or other and got some in her mouth and much on her face. Britney was patient with her. Patti was now a "big girl" and ate a cereal that was as much sugar as cereal. Kids' cereal had not changed much over the years.

I asked Britney about the laundromats she was still cleaning and stocking for my dad. She said it gave her a good excuse to get out of the house, but she missed her days at the local clinic. She was down to a few hours on Saturday. Mostly they kept her on hoping they would get more of her time years from now when the girls were in school. Quite an example of advanced planning.

Was there anything else I should know? Yes. Billy had not told me just how intense the anger at the plant was. They were still angry their hours had been cut – and cut by "those rich bitches."

"There were a few weeks there, when I thought there would be violence. Even Billy was saying things I didn't like. It's good you are here, but even with the new machines, I don't think people are ready to forgive and forget."

"Thanks for the heads up."

I got rolling around nine. I needed to go back to my trailer to shower and change, and Britney needed to get the girls ready for their daily trip through the four laundromats they managed. I didn't know how much longer I would be in town, but we promised to get together for dinner some night.

Back in my trailer I showered and then changed into one of my cotton office dresses. No more dirndls this trip. I sat on my porch with another cup of coffee, partly to enjoy my poplars, but also to delay my visit to the plant. In theory, the project I was starting would be to everyone's benefit – make sure there was water available now, and in the future. But the devil was in the details. Initially it had been overloading the aquafer, now it was plastic containers. Both were technical problems that had become people problems. Technical problems were solvable. People problems just got bigger and uglier.

And they didn't get smaller on their own, much as I would have liked to just sit on my porch and watch the poplars bend in the wind. So I took my chair and coffee cup back in, and drove up to the plant.

Brenda Stark was watching for me. I got a big hug and kind comments about my new ring. Funny thing, it wasn't a huge rock. It was a solitaire, maybe half to three quarters carat. Less than girls were getting these days, but more than enough for Emil's mother back in the day. But I digress. The point is, our conversation stayed personal for a while. I told her about my wedding and the castle. She gave me the latest on her boys, both of whom were doing fine. We even talked about high school sports. Both boys ran track, and the team had finished second in the conference, and Eddie had nearly made state in the four hundred meter relays.

Did Brenda have some problems to tell me about? Yup. But she began with positive news first, confirming once more, that I had picked the right manager for the plant when I went off to Dubai.

What were the problems? Three men had quit when she cut hours. That actually helped, since with them gone she didn't have to cut even farther. But she was not sure if they would come back now that the new line was opening and everyone was back at forty hours. Which signaled the biggest problem – morale. Workers had been proud of their jobs, and proud to be producing water that people wanted to drink. Now they were being told they were plastic polluters. They didn't like hearing that.

Okay, so I knew what my agenda was.

First, out to the plant. Brenda and I pulled lab coats on to protect our clothes. She gave me a quick overview as we walked around the equipment. There were some pallets of bottles stacked for shipment, but not as many as I had seen on my last visit. Brenda was quick to explain – "When your hotel order finally came through, we shipped most of the backlog." I explained there had been a computer error that was still being analyzed. She should plan on my hotels resuming normal orders. Thank God some problems are easily fixed.

We got around to the new equipment – the "tea line." One of the extruders was being reconfigured to produce a bottle with a different shape. And a new labeler had been ordered. The project of the day was to get the brewing kettle up and running. Six people stood around the boxes, instruction manuals in hand. I shook hands all around. I was introduced to two guys who had been hired after I left the plant. The other four, two men and two women, I had known since childhood. We caught up on each other's kids, and I talked a little about my castle and my new role with the company. And no, I thought I was pretty well done making movies.

Okay, so back to the kettle. They had the support assembly up, but were trying to understand which tubes brought in water, which let out the tea, and how waste leaves were handled. I asked for a wrench, called for the necessary parts, and assembled the three main parts, explaining where they would have most maintenance problems, and pointing to places to check and clear. I was at it for about three hours.

When I was done, I saw the two new guys give one of the older workers some cash. I had to ask.

"Did I miss something?"

Larry, the old guy, had no problem telling me. "When we saw you come in, I told they guys you would assemble this thing for us, just like you showed us how to maintain the extruders. They didn't believe me. So now they are out five bucks."

"They are out more than that." I pointed at the two guys. "At the end of the shift, I am inviting everyone to the Amberg Bar for a beer. Their beer is free. You two owe me a beer." That got a good laugh.

Brenda and I talked to a few more people, then went back to her office. She gave me half her sandwich, and we talked through the rest of the afternoon. I wanted to see what the monitoring wells were telling us as the summer progressed (so far only a minor decline in the water table), when she thought the new tea line would be running, and maybe most important, did she think we could recycle bottles. We had lots to talk about.

About four thirty, heads poked into her office, and we knew it was time to get to the bar. Everyone was invited, no one was required. I knew some of these folks had to get back to small kids and babysitters.

But almost everyone drove over to Dad's bar. They would stay for at least a few minutes. One round and then home. I used that one round. Morgan was bartending, which meant everything took longer. I got behind the bar and helped. Then when everyone had a glass, I held up one of our water bottles.

"Folks," I held the bottle higher and waited for conversations to quiet. "We are about to start hurricane season again. August and September mean storms. There's going to be damage, and there's going to be many needs. One of those needs will be water. And all over this country one of the water bottles rescue workers will pass out will have this waterfall on the label." I waved the bottle for emphasis. "Men, women and children will be grateful for your work."

I got a cheer, but I also heard one guy say, "Tell that to the bitches on the picket line."

"I will." I looked straight at the guy. "Will you trust me to do that?" He nodded. "And I will also tell them to stop drinking the weak tea they currently waste money on, and start buying the good stuff – Pike River All Natural Tea – the world's best tea brewed and bottled right here in Amberg, Wisconsin." I had a markup bottle along, and I raised that in my other hand. Even bigger cheer. Free beer, and strong words. Always a winning combination.

"Now, if you have kids you need to get home to – and that includes you, Billy..." Big laugh. "Time to go. For the rest of you, I will spring for another round to thank you for your support through a very tough time. You choose – that weak piss Miller calls beer, or a real beer. I'm pouring both." The "real" beer was some new microbrew Dad had found up in Iron Mountain. These days microbrews were everywhere. Fine with me. Support the locals. And that's mostly what I poured. Billy stopped over for a second – "nice job, Mom" and was out the door. Everyone else was out the door in twenty minutes. Having a beer or two with the boss was a good idea. Getting even slightly drunk was not.

By six the place was cleared except for me, Morgan, and two loggers having a pizza and shooting pool.

"Where's Dad?" I asked Morgan as I washed some of the used glasses, something Morgan might do – eventually.

"I haven't seen him in several days. Do you really live in a castle?"

"And I also live in a trailer." I have never liked Morgan. She was lazy and sloppy, and thought she was the town "hottie." Maybe she was. But she had worked for Dad for almost as many years as me. I guessed I owed her reasonable courtesy. "How's the local dating scene?"

I let her go on about recent divorces, her time with this guy or that, restaurants best for dating, just the usual drivel, and then I asked again. "You haven't seen Dad in several days?"

"No."

"I guess I'll go over and see how he's doing." She looked like maybe she hoped I would sweep up or something first, but I just headed for the door. Dad lived around the corner. Time to check on him.

Chapter 18

Dad

I had been to my Dad's house maybe six times. And if that makes me sound like a bad daughter, remember I didn't know he was my father until I was forty. My visits to his house came as I was his bartender, dropping off cash bags or picking up keys or something. And that happened rarely.

His house was on the next block, and like all the others – old and long overdue for a paint job. Pretty much everyone else on his block was Dad's age – old enough that peeling paint was the least of their worries. He had a small front yard that needed mowing, and a porch that was rotting away along the edges. The steps squawked as I climbed them and knocked at his door. Nothing. I waited. The sun was pretty well set. Time for some lights to be on, but I didn't see any in the front part of the house. I knocked again, and then just walked in. Sometimes people locked their doors in Amberg, mostly they didn't.

Dad was moving along a hallway from the back of the house. There was a light on back there, so I could see him in silhouette. I am not sure how to describe his movements. He was shuffling, and he was leaning, one hand braced against the wall. His head was down as he watched his feet. When he reached the living room he raised his eyes, and I saw embarrassment.

"It takes me a while to get to the door these days." He still had one hand on the wall, and it appeared he was struggling for breath. I wanted to rush to him and help him to a chair, but you don't mess with a man's pride.

"No problem. I just wanted to stop by and say 'hi.'" There was a TV, two stuffed chairs and a couch in his living room. I took one of the chairs. I knew he would take the other. It was a recliner surrounded by papers and coffee cups. The daddy chair in any American home. Dad took several steps and reached out to the back of the recliner for stability before he finally got to the front of the chair and dropped down into it.

"I hear you have a castle now." There were beads of sweat on his face, and he sat with his shoulders slouched. I could hear him take every breath.

"Yes. You will love it. I need you to walk me down the aisle."

"What, again?"

"Yes, again. You will need a passport and a tux."

"I have a passport and a tux." He paused. "How far do I have to walk?"

"It's the biggest cathedral in Switzerland."

"Cathedral? Are you Catholic now?"

"My husband is Catholic, so I am Catholic."

"Oh." There was another long pause before he added, "I don't walk so good anymore."

"I noticed. What does your doctor say?"

"I haven't had time to see a doctor in a while."

"I'll take you up there tomorrow."

"Okay." I expected a fight. I was disappointed when I didn't get it. He must have been feeling even worse than he looked.

"What do you say I cook us up some dinner and tell you about Switzerland?"

"Sure."

I got up and went into his kitchen. I could hear him struggling to get up out of his chair. Did I help? Not this time. But I was pretty sure the time was coming close. Male pride eventually lost to old age.

His kitchen hadn't been updated in fifty years. The linoleum on the floor was worn through in every place where a person would stand – near the sink, near the stove, in the common traffic routes to the living room and out the back door. His microwave had to be ten years old, and his stove was a relic. Bachelors. Kitchens are not a priority.

He had a large waste basket next to his old, white refrigerator. The waste was all pizza boxes. It appeared he was eating the same cheap pizzas he sold at the bar. No taste, no nutritional value. He was lucky he didn't have scurvy. There were three frozen pizzas in the freezer section of his fridge, and a bottle of catsup in the door. That was it. I closed the fridge and went looking through his kitchen cabinets. He had two cans of soup – tomato and chicken vegetable. Both were dusty. I checked expiration dates. The tomato soup was two years past its date, the chicken soup just two months. I went with the chicken soup.

While I heated the chicken soup, Dad shuffled into the kitchen and dropped down into a chair at the table. Again, it was clear this was his chair – there was an arc of papers and coffee cups just beyond where he would put a plate. I stacked the papers, put the coffee cups in the sink, and put out two bowls.

Over the next hour we ate the soup, I told him about Switzerland, and he told me about business, not mentioning that he had not been to his bar in several days. I washed all the dishes I could find in the kitchen and around the living room, and then called Britney asking if she could help me get Dad in to see a doctor at her clinic. She called back in twenty minutes with a one o'clock appointment. "I have been trying to get him up here for months," she added. I don't doubt it.

What do you do with an eighty five year old man who has been living on pizza and coffee? I promised to come back in the morning with groceries. We would have lunch together, and then go see a doctor. I was really tempted to help him out of his chair and walk him to his bedroom, but I didn't. I did give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and maybe as I hugged him I did some lifting, but I don't think I was too obvious about it. Male pride. No wonder they died before women.

There were many things I needed to do the next day, but they could wait. Family first. I drove back to my trailer and sat at my own kitchen table as I emailed an update to Emil, and called Brenda to tell her I might not see her until late in the afternoon. Then I called both my daughters to give them my assessment of their grandfather's condition. I agreed to tell them both what the doctors told me.

In the morning I drove to Wausaukee. I actually had three things to do there. I stopped at the real estate office first. He was happy to see me, and happy to take several checks from me. The title paperwork had been created and filed, and the survey had been completed. He gave me a copy of my title and a surveyor's map of my property. I now owned an old school house. He asked me what I planned to do with it. I told him I had no idea. He suggested a rural museum. I just nodded. Maybe.

Next stop, the bank. I had almost no American money. I withdrew a thousand dollars to cover costs during my next few weeks of travel. The girl gave me a slip showing me I had a balance of $279,554.87 even after wiring two hundred thousand to Emil for stock purchases. A financial advisor would say I was crazy to have so much just sitting in a checking account. But financial advisors hadn't lived on minimum wage for twenty years. Yes, I owned eleven hotels, and the corporate accounts had millions on deposit, but still I had Amy Tippin send ten thousand dollars to this account every month. And somehow this account meant more to me. Somehow this account seemed more "real." This was the account that paid the electric and propane bills on my trailer. This was the account that bought groceries when I was in town. This was Amberg money. Don't ask me to explain it beyond that.

Last stop, the Wausaukee IGA. What do you buy for an eighty five year old man? I bought milk, cereal, instant coffee, bread, butter, lunch meat, half a dozen cans of beef stew, a dozen cans of chicken soup, and a dozen microwave dinners that showed vegetables along with potatoes and meat buried in gravy. And yes, I also bought him an apple pie. He might eat fruit in that form, and hold off scurvy for a little longer. I also bought eggs, bread, and cereal for my own breakfasts. I carried three large bags out to my car.

I am not sure how to describe the rest of the day. Most of it was simple. I took my groceries to my trailer, then drove to dad's house with his groceries (he insisted on giving me forty dollars for the food), made us sandwiches for lunch (and poured Dad a glass of milk which he actually drank), then drove up to the clinic in Niagara to sit in the waiting room. Britney had found a neighbor lady to sit with the kids while they napped, and she joined us in the waiting room. All of this, of course, is empty motions. We sit, we talk, we wait, but all any of us are thinking about is what the doctor will say. Finally Dad goes back to an exam room. A nurse weighs him, takes some blood, gets his blood pressure and pulse rate, and asks him a million questions. Britney and I sit with him.

Finally the doctor comes in. Tiny woman from the Philippines, not much accent, big smile. She talks to dad too. Seems like general chit chat – how does he like the current weather, any interesting vacation plans... I get it. She is checking his mental condition. Fine. She gets him to take off his shirt, and she listens to his heart and lungs with her stethoscope. She asks about drugs he might be taking. He says an aspirin or two for general aches and pains. Well, she tells him, he has very high blood pressure, and a high pulse rate. She would know more when his lab results come back, but she is putting him on blood pressure medication for starters. And he needs to exercise more. Smiles and handshakes. I walk with Dad to the car. Britney stays behind to learn more about his condition. She hugs Dad and says she will call later.

I drive around the corner to the one pharmacy in Niagara and get his meds. There is a Dollar General store next door, and on a whim, I go in and ask about walking sticks. I know dad will never touch a walker, but maybe walking sticks will help him keep his balance. Yes, they have them – in my choice of colors. I go with black.

Now for the big event of the day. I take Dad home, he takes his first pills (they are huge), and I talk him into walking with me to his bar. Out come the walking sticks. He still just shuffles along, but he moves the sticks the way he should, and I can see they help him catch his balance several times. Eight ninety five well spent. It takes us fifteen minutes to walk one block, but we get him into his bar and into his usual seat. I sit next to him, and he actually puts a hand on mine and says "thanks."

We stay about an hour, sip part of a beer, and then I walk him home. I make him one of the microwave meals, and sit with him when he eats it – all of it. We each have a piece of apple pie – a little too sweet, but not bad. We talk about my wedding for a while – my dress, the church, the reception at the castle. He says he will practice his walking. We hug, I leave.

I cried most of the way back to my trailer. You know how it is, when you love someone and you know you are going to lose them. Britney called me and confirmed the obvious. His heart was deteriorating. They don't last forever. From now on, she would stop at his house to have lunch with him after her rounds of the laundromats. There was not much more we could do.

Chapter 19

I Meet a Picketer

The next day was Friday. It had been my plan to be on the road again Monday, driving up to Duluth so I could visit our two water plants in that area, and then continue my hotel visits – visits I had initially planned to do two months ago. I was getting backed up. And now with my dad... It was beginning to feel overwhelming. I would have to take things one day at a time and problems one at a time.

First, Friday. I spent most of the day at the plant. They were brewing their first batch of tea. I wanted to be there to help if needed, but I also just wanted to be there. They had seen their hours cut, and had heard rumors of a shut down. But I was the wife of the company president, and I was there now, and the new equipment was there now. Hopefully people felt reassured. Brenda and I had a little planning to do, but mostly I spent the day at the plant just so workers could see me.

After work, I had dinner with Dad. I made him some stew. Britney had come by to help with lunch, and she had brought her girls. Baby girls can charm anyone, and Dad was in a good mood. After dinner we walked over to his bar and watched about five innings of baseball (all anyone should ever watch, if you ask me). He shuffled there and back with his walking sticks. I had to be careful to keep out of the way as he flung them around, but we made it. I got a big hug back at his house. Maybe the new drugs were helping, maybe he was just working extra hard to be ready for my wedding, but either way, he seemed better.

Saturday I thought I would take dad out for dinner, but first I wanted to spend some time at my new property. I drove over to the school house. Had the crabby farmer gotten his hay out of the school? Yes – mostly. He had left a real mess – small piles of hay everywhere. I thought I saw movement in some of the piles. Hopefully just field mice, but a couple piles were big enough for almost anything.

Now that I could get into the place I was able to give it a good look. The keys the realtor had given me were a joke. The building leaned so much the door latch no longer lined up correctly. The door was held shut by a hook like on a screen door. Anyone could just walk in. If they did, and survived whatever was in the hay piles, they would worry about the whole place collapsing on them. It leaned far enough it did seem the next big wind would take it down.

Could the place be saved? Even when the school had been built, it was just a simple building. It was basically a 24 by 36 foot box up on stones. If it had a virtue, it was the original lumber. Studs and beams were cut bigger a century ago. They looked solid. And while several window panes were broken, they had been patched by cardboard so no rain had gotten in to rot the floor. The roof? Solid so far. So maybe, if the walls could be pushed straight again, the school could be saved.

As I stood in the middle of the floor, I heard a car drive up. Kat. I went to the door and waved her in. If there was anyone else in the county with an interest in this school, it would be her.

"I heard you bought the place. I couldn't understand why." She was wearing jeans and a dark green t-shirt with "Army" stenciled on it. You didn't need the label to see she was ex-military. She might be fifty, but she looked like she could do pushups all morning. I got a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm not sure why I bought it either. Maybe I wanted to piss off the guy who was using it for a barn. Maybe I just didn't like him tell me I was trespassing."

"He's telling everyone he took you to the cleaners. Very proud of himself."

"It made no financial sense. But I like the place. I like the history of it, and there is something about the flowers across the road. I guess I am at that age where history matters to me."

"Me too. Speaking of which, can I bring tours here again? That jerk chased me off."

"Come back as often as you want. Bring people inside, if you wish. Just be careful. I don't know what's in those hay piles, and the whole place might fall over."

We walked back outside and sat on the front steps.

"So," I asked, "Any more movie offers?"

"I heard from a couple directors. I saw the scripts. They wanted me to carry an M-60 and take out legions of jihadis. I was to be the next John Wayne. I owe the people I served with better than that. So I focus on my business."

"I bet your Oscar helps business."

"Not that much." She was looking directly at me now. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail I had a clear view of the concern I saw in her face. "I had a couple women come up from Illinois. While they were parked in Amberg, their cars were keyed. They started warning people about the risks of coming up here."

"I heard things were bed. I didn't think they were that bad."

"Most of the women picketing the plant are from Illinois, so now those cars are targeted. No one goes into Amberg anymore. If they come for my tours, they come straight to my lodge. If they are going to the Hilton, they go straight there. Amberg is too risky."

"And I suppose this is all over social media."

"You wouldn't believe what is out there."

What do you say to that? Nothing. I had no brilliant insights. I just sat with Kat and we looked across the way at the lilac that had drawn my attention initially. Its blooms were gone, but it still looked healthy. A wild rose peeked out through the tall grass alongside the road. Finally Kat broke the silence.

"I hear you got married."

"Yes. The guy comes complete with an ancient castle. We got married at city hall. In December we will get married in a church. There's room on the plane if you want to come over for it."

"I would like that."

We got up and walked around the place. I noticed there were now barbed wire fences around the back of my two acres. The guy sure liked to mark his territory. Kat and I found some flowers and talked about how she might adjust her flower tours now that she could use the schoolyard again. It was fun to walk with her and talk about something as simple as flowers. The day was sunny, but not yet hot. It was the kind of day you wished all the world could switch to decaf, take a long walk, and smile at flowers. Kat and I did for almost an hour.

I spent the afternoon dusting, vacuuming, and doing laundry. I sat out on my deck between loads. Emil might have a castle, but I had four acres of woods, including poplars that fluttered their leaves and slid from side to side in a private dance just for me.

I was in a good mood when I went over to pick up Dad. Where to eat? The Wausaukee Diner was tempting, but I knew where I had to go – the Hilton Resort. I was wearing a silk dress. Dad had a good shirt on. I made him put on a tie. I tied it for him. There wouldn't be much walking at the Hilton, so we left the sticks behind.

Not much had changed since my last visit. A few more condos were under construction, and I saw a fortune spent on annuals as the golf cart took us through the gardens on the way to the hotel. But it was the same basic layout, the same beautiful layout Willie and I had enjoyed when we had owned it. The golf cart took us to the door, and dad held tight to my arm as we climbed the steps and then shuffled to the dining room. He practically fell into his chair, but once he was seated, he looked pretty good.

What did I want, besides a pleasant meal with my father? I wanted to see and be seen. I wanted to see the women who were driving the folks at the plant crazy, and I wanted them to see I was like them in many ways. I could enjoy a good meal and a glass of wine. We didn't have to be enemies.

Well, maybe we did. Both the hostess and our server were women who had worked for me when I had managed the sports bar. I stood, and we hugged, and I introduced my father, and we talked briefly. The hostess was excited to tell me her internship interview had gone well. She would be interning in St. Paul next summer. She hugged me three times as she told me. That felt pretty good.

What didn't feel so good was the looks I was getting from around the room. One couple actually asked to move to a table "by the windows" which also happened to be some distance from us. We appeared to be sitting on an island in a corner of the room. Nice folks.

What did we do about it? We acted like adults. My father and I shared a bottle of wine, he had the prime rib special (guaranteed to spike his blood pressure and cholesterol, but I wasn't going to interfere), and I had the walleye salad I liked. Two people enjoying a good meal. We talked. He made a point of raising his voice just a bit as he asked what had changed from when I had owned the hotel, but otherwise it was just normal father/daughter chitchat. Ninety minutes after we arrived, I had hugged our server and hostess again, and we were back out on the golf cart. The driver was a nice guy, and I asked if he wouldn't mind taking us the long way back, so I could see more of the golf course I used to sell beer on. We talked about golfers and beer. I gave him a ten when we got back to the car, and he was a happy man.

"So," Dad asked as we drove back to Amberg. "Do you think you made any friends?"

"I don't need friends. I just need fewer enemies."

His fatherly advice? "This is going to be a tough one, Jess. You have two sides that are certain they are right. I think we are looking at a long struggle. Both the restaurant and grocery are already behind in their rent. It's not going to get any prettier from here."

"Maybe we just have to settle for less ugly."

On the plus side, I'd had a good evening with my father. I walked him into the house, and kissed him good night. He smiled and patted my head like I was five. I didn't mind.

Of course all of this was just a lead up to the big Sunday morning confrontation. Which never happened. I drove up to the plant about quarter to eleven, ready to greet each picketer, and frankly to study them – who came first, who came with whom, how did they interact – you know, basic insights that might help me. I was wearing a sundress and a smile. I waited. And I waited.

About eleven thirty a black Audi pulled into the drive and rolled up to me. A woman powered down the electric window and looked out, her eyes hidden behind shades.

"We figured you'd be here."

"I was hoping we could talk."

"We can talk about this." She handed me a folded piece of paper. "It's the estimate for the damage your thugs did to my car." I could see a long scratch down the side. It had been keyed.

"The people who work here aren't thugs. They are people with families. They are people who just want a job."

"Thugs are as thugs do. You'll be getting five more bills in the mail."

"The company will pay them, but I really would like to talk to you. Yes, plastic can be a problem, but it does have its place."

"Two days ago someone posted an old news article about a woman whose house was shot up when she protested this place. We get the point. We may just be 'foreign bitches' and 'Chicago libtards', but we aren't stupid. You won't see us out here again – not where you can hurt us. But we have other ways of shutting this place down."

"There's no reason for this fight. People need water, and they are going to need more in the future."

"See you in court – Hollywood Princess." She slammed the car into reverse and spun her wheels back out onto the road. So much for reasonable compromise, and shared goals. I stood and watched her drive away. Dad was right. This was going to be a long fight. And an ugly one.

Chapter 20

America's Lifeline

Sunday wasn't all bad. I called Brenda and described my morning conversation. I also told her to pay all the bills we got for repainting cars that had been keyed – and to make sure people in the plant knew we were paying those bills. I also called Emil and explained what I was seeing and what I was doing. I told him I needed a hug. He told me he was buying company shares, and the price was coming down as people heard we were about to close all our North American operations. It sounded like he needed a hug too.

The day wasn't a total waste. The kids and grandkids came to see me for an afternoon cookout during that golden window of time between afternoon naps and evening bath times. I even drove with them to see the school house. Billy said he knew some guys who might be able to get the building squared up again. I told him that, and window replacements, would be wonderful. Jeremy and Patti went straight for the straw piles and whatever critters were in there, so our visit was short. Straight back to the trailer for brats, burgers, beer, and mac and cheese for the kids.

While the kids and dads ran around my woods, Tiffany had downloaded YouTube segments about the castle and wanted me to explain each room. I gave a virtual castle tour, and then had her download a picture of the Bern Cathedral so she could see where we would be married. Her reaction? "Okay, getting married at Lambeau Field was special, but mom, I think your wedding will be amazing." Daughters. You have to love them. We talked passports and the company jet. Yes, it was going to be amazing.

So my Sunday ended far better than it began.

Monday morning I stopped at the plant long enough to talk with Brenda about the picketers again. She said she would do what she could to calm things down. I gave her a hug. What else could I do?

Where was I headed that day? The two other water plants were north and west – one hour each side of Duluth. How do you get there from Amberg? Easy. North to Iron Mountain (every other town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is named "Iron" something or other), then take Highway 2 west. Normally I feel sorry for myself whenever I make this drive. Two lane road, endless trees, tiny towns, an occasional suicidal deer. The road just goes on forever. Will you ever see another human being again? Maybe. I can make the drive in four or five hours. It feels like twenty.

Except. The hydrologists in Bern had another view of the road. "This is America's lifeline." Highway 2? Really? Shouldn't a lifeline at least have a grocery store or two? When they first told me their opinion of the road, I thought they were joking, or maybe they were struggling with English. You want a million pine trees? Use Highway 2. You need a lifeline? Maybe Interstate 80.

Here's their argument (minus all the charts, math, and ugly algae pictures). The world gets hotter. More rain falls some places, less others. Some places will be helped, and some hurt. But all bodies of water will get hotter. We are already filling them up with oil from ships and little two-stroke engines. Add general industrial pollution and farm run off (the new factory farms with one or two or three thousand cows produce an immense amount of manure), and you have water that is getting dirtier. Now heat that dirty water. You get algae blooms. Very interesting purple and green colors, but poisonous to people and animals and fish. So, we may end up with more water in some places, but more of the water will be bad.

Except (drum roll, please) Lake Superior. Bigger, deeper, colder, and more remote, it would still be a living lake twenty years after the others were all dead. And, not only would it be a reliable source of water, but since winds coming down out of Canada move over the lake and pick up water vapor, there is a huge amount of rain and snow arriving along its southern shore. What highway will allow us to work and gather water along that southern shore? Highway 2.

There. I have just summarized a four hour lecture in two paragraphs. Thank me later.

So, this Monday morning I am driving along a road I normally despise, but I find myself slowing down or stopping in every tiny town, wondering where I will put the next wells. I need forty acres and eight to ten workers. I think I can find them in a dozen towns. Every one of the towns looks a lot like Amberg – a "useta be" town. Little do they know some researchers in Switzerland think they are the future. How odd is that?

While all these towns are the future, Poplar, Wisconsin is the present. I get there about mid-afternoon. I would joke about how small the place is (sign says pop 552), and it really is just a wide spot along the highway, but – and this matters – at least this tiny town has businesses on both sides of the road. Amberg, take note. It also has a functioning gas station, a tiny restaurant, and an historically significant (so the sign says) old motel, long closed, but still looking dapper with its field stone walls.

To anyone driving through, there is nothing here. To me, off County Road P, is our newest water plant, our initial installation on America's Lifeline. I didn't have any trouble finding the county road or the plant. Take our plant in Amberg and shrink it to half its size, and you have the Poplar plant, complete with little office area projecting from the front of the building. I parked on the gravel lot and walked in. No one was around, so I walked through the office area and back into the plant.

And I found everyone. All eleven employees staring at their one extruder. It was partly assembled, or put another way, partly destroyed. I looked over shoulders and saw the screw assembly was bent.

"Gentlemen." I paused while heads turned. "Let me guess what happened. You worked late last night, pushed out extra bottles to make some shipment. But you were tired, so you didn't clean the plunger. This morning you came in, forgot to check the plunger, didn't see the dried resin on it, and pushed the first hot resin through. The plunger jammed, then bent. By the way, it cannot be fixed, so you will have to pull a new assembly from stock."

I had eleven heads turned my way. One of them, the only guy wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, stood and reached to shake my hand.

"You must be Mrs. Gruber."

"Yes. I take it you are Ted Owens."

"Yes." Not a bad looking guy. Maybe fifty. Beefy. Looked like he could be a truck mechanic. But nice hair, recently cut (for my arrival?). "But we have no replacement in stock."

"Even if you had a machine shop in town, getting that spindle straight would be near impossible. You will have to order a new assembly. But order two. This will happen again. There is a supplier in Chicago who will promise to have a new assembly up here tomorrow. He's a liar. Use the guy out of Minneapolis."

Owens got his men cleaning up the mess, and then went back to his office. I followed. I stood quietly in a corner while he ordered the parts he needed. When he was done, he sat behind a tiny metal desk, and I sat in a metal folding chair. He pointed to my chair.

"We keep our costs down here."

"I see that. But do another check of spare parts. Anything you order is going to take time to get here, so have some safety stock."

"Will do." He stared at me. Not an unpleasant look, but clearly he was trying to figure me out. I liked that. He wasn't going to try to fill me with random bullshit. He would see what I was after. I figured I would get right to it.

"Your production numbers are good, and so are your costs. What should I know that isn't on the computer reports?"

"The internet up here comes over the phone lines, and we still have places where the phone lines are laid from fence post to fence post. We don't have high speed anything. My monthly reporting files are so large, I send a guy to Duluth to send them from there."

"So you want better internet?"

"No. I think all of us live just fine without cat videos and porn. The problem is what gets through to us is just nasty. We get emails calling us polluters and plunderers."

"Plunderers?"

"Yeah, that one confused me too. I guess it's because we take water. It's all bullshit, but guys don't like it, and neither do their wives and kids. I had one guy quit. The others are none too happy."

"How do you feel about what you do?"

"I think water is pretty important. People need it, and we provide it."

"Good man. I've got people telling me the water you are providing is going to get more important all the time. If kids get unhappy, tell them to watch the news and see what gets passed out at every emergency. My job is to see that you get what you need to fill those needs. I have also been told to build more plants. Like I said, the need for water is only going to grow."

Enough lecture. I asked Ted to walk me through the place and introduce all his people. I spent the next hour shaking hands and learning what each man (no women at this plant) did. I expressed interest in each job, and had them walk me through details of their tasks. The message I wanted to leave? What you do is important. I hoped they believed me.

When the shift ended, I sat with Ted for a while, getting more impressions of the place, and then told him I would be back in the morning. There was no motel in town, and besides, I had one of my own down the road. Off to Duluth.

Chapter 21

A Surprise in Duluth

It was a little after seven when I arrived at my hotel. I always enjoy this one. It feels like an adult dorm attached to UM Duluth which is just several blocks farther up the hill. Of course maybe one of the reasons I enjoy Duluth is that hill. Amberg is so flat, any kind of terrain feels a pleasant change. Anyway, I was in a pretty good mood when I walked into the hotel, bags in hand.

The manager, Andrea Burns, had her office door open, and saw me as I checked in. She was out to the counter in a heartbeat, talking a mile a minute. She was small, always a bundle of energy, but seemed especially excited that evening. It took me a while to figure out the root cause – a boy. We went through all the usual questions – how long I would be staying, when would we meet, what records could she pull together for me – and then she got to the heart of the matter.

"Do you remember I said I wanted to try a date night like they have been doing in Dubuque? Well, we did our first one three weeks ago, and it was awesome. We had to turn people away. We have reservations going out a month. We have another one tonight. Wait until you see the crowd."

"Well, I might poke my head in to see it. What about you? Are you attending to observe, or do you have a date?" I only asked because the answer was pretty obvious. In the past I had seen her in a simple cotton dress and blazer. Tonight she had a sun dress that exposed lots of skin to the sun – or to a date. She had also obviously worked on her hair and makeup.

"I have a date. I'll introduce you. Troy Carlson. He is an artist. He has an exhibit up at the UMD gallery right now. He's a grad. MFA." There was more, but you get the idea. She was smitten. I smiled, promised to stop to see "Date Night," and backed away. I wanted my bags in my room, my feet up for at least a half hour, and then a good meal. I would meet the artist later.

Here I should admit my failings as a manager. My process for hotel visits in the past had been pretty good. Before I left Galena I used our computer systems to check at all the current numbers and knew volumes, costs, and any changes that were impacting the business. So my visit consisted of questions about anything that seemed unusual, discussion with the managers about their problems and suggestions, and a general appraisal of the manager. Not this time. I was completely unprepared. My head was still in Switzerland and still focused on water plants. I hadn't looked up any information on Andrea's hotel. My bad.

Worse, while I would be using her hotel as a place to lay my head, I wasn't really here to see her. Oh, I would sit down with her for an afternoon one of these days, but mostly I was in Duluth to visit two water plants. Was my time over committed? Absolutely. Could I achieve a better balance between my commitments to Emil's company and my own? I would try.

But that night I kept things simple – thirty minutes with my shoes off, then a good meal in the hotel dining room, followed by the obligatory meeting with Troy. He certainly looked the part – goatee and pony tail. I hoped his artwork was as good as Andrea thought. I sat with them briefly and had a glass of wine. But this was a date, so I got out of the banquet room pretty fast. She was right, by the way, the place was packed and the laughter was deafening. The kiss cam was everywhere. I was upstairs and in bed by ten.

I was up early the next morning for a long call to Emil (pretty much all business), then a quick breakfast and back to Poplar. My plan was to spend two more days at the plant, partly to show the flag, partly to get to know Ted better. I think I did fine with both. We spent some time together in the plant (repair parts arrived the second day. He and his crew were pretty good at putting the extruder back together again, something I made sure to compliment), some time in his office going over production numbers, and some time together at lunch, having soup and a pretty good burger at the only restaurant in town.

What did I learn? He was a former long distance truck driver, happy to have a job that got him home every night. The Swiss engineers who had come to Poplar to design the plant and supervise its construction – and hire him and the other employees - seemed like decent guys. He had no complaints about working for a foreign company, but it would be nice to have an American (me) deal with the home office.

I asked about possible expansion, and I got a concern I should have expected. Half his workers drove thirty miles or more to work. There just weren't enough local men to staff the place. So we had the typical small town problem – not enough jobs to keep young people home, but also not enough young people to attract employers. The monitoring wells showed the plant was having almost no impact on the local aquafer, so we had the capacity to put in a second bottling line. Could we staff it? Maybe. Raising the hourly rate a couple bucks would help, but the real problem was always going to be the lack of bodies. I was pretty sure I would find the same problem across the entire Highway 2 "lifeline." One more problem to deal with, assuming Emil and I managed to keep control of the company.

In general, I felt pretty good about the Poplar plant. They got the extruder up and running the second day, and showed me what the line looked like when it ran. Everything seemed to be in place. They started shrink-wrapping pallets of bottles (they also produced "Pike River Water"), and filled a truck load before I left. I violated every company rule and brought in a case of beer at the end of their shift to celebrate their quick work with the repairs. I would have bought a round at the local bar, but there is none (Imagine that – a town in Wisconsin without a bar!). I had half a can of beer with the guys, and then drove back to Duluth, telling Ted I would see him again soon, but he had my cell number if he needed me sooner.

I had a surprise in Duluth that night. Bobbi and Andy were waiting for me in the lobby. We hugged and talked about personal stuff for a minute – my marriage (Bobbi "loved" my ring), the good year both Andy's kids had in school, Bobbi's love for the Twin Cities and the art exhibits she was bringing to my hotel there. But. When the two senior officers in your company drive up to see you, it is not to congratulate you on your latest marriage. They had business to discuss, and a small meeting room in the hotel all ready. As we walked into the room I saw the large pictures of this year's UMD basketball team on the wall, but what really got my attention was the leather portfolios filled with papers. There were three sets, one at each of our seats.

I couldn't help myself. I had to ask.

"Please don't tell me the two of you are quitting, and these are your exit papers."

"No." They were both smiling, so I hoped that meant this meeting was going to be pleasant. Andrea had followed us to the room, and stood at the door to ask if any of us would like coffee. We all said "no," and she backed out of the room closing the door behind her. Okay, whatever this was, I guess now we were ready to start.

It was Bobbi who made the presentation, leaning toward me and smiling through all of it. She looked like she might be talking to a close friend. In many ways, we were.

"We have a proposal that we hope you will consider. It came to us one evening soon after you flew to Bern. We were having dinner, and were talking about you, when it occurred to us, a good way to describe you is something we had seen in some business article. You are a 'serial entrepreneur.' I really think that applies. You started out fixing several hotels that had been broken by the mafia, added several more that could be fixed, and soon you had "Heritage Hotels." And by any standard, you have done miracles with the company."

I wanted to break in and explain it was she and Andy who had really made this all possible, but she stopped me halfway through with a smile and a raised hand.

"Jess, say what you want, but it was you who hired me out of a part time coffee shop job, and gave Andy a whole new role that you basically invented. But let me continue."

I nodded and she went on.

"Next, you get into the movie business. You do logistics for them under really hard circumstances, while also managing to bring more business and phenomenal publicity to our hotels. And by the way, you looked marvelous on camera." Again, I started to say something, but she raised her hand.

"I'm almost done. Now you have taken on the water business. I know part of this is you supporting your home town. But we know you want to grow that business. That's you. You take something and build it. You're like a mother with kids. You help them get bigger and better." I had to interrupt.

"Okay, Bobbi. Well said. And I thank you. Now what?"

"Is it time for Heritage Hotels to leave home and go off on its own?" She let that hang in the air. I had no idea what to say. Sell the hotels? Is that where she was going? I looked down at the three leather portfolio cases on the table. Is that what was in them – sale documents? I wasn't ready to open the cases and look. I wasn't ready. I could feel which way the wind was blowing. But I wasn't ready. I pushed back my chair.

"Guys, the food is pretty good here. What do you say we get some dinner?" Now it was their turn to hesitate, but after a few heart beats they nodded, and we left for the restaurant. I saw Andy gather up all three portfolios as we left.

What can I say about that meal? Our table was at a window. We could look down the hill to Lake Superior. There was a big container ship going out of the harbor, and maybe half a dozen sailboats coming in as the sun set. The water was deep blue and went on forever.

The food was good, as was the service. We each ordered salads. I had a blackened perch on my greens. We all drank water. The waitress filled our glasses from a bottle of Pike River Water. She looked like a college girl. I hoped she got to go to Date Night.

There were a few comments about the view, but there were also long silences. We were almost done with our food before I said something that mattered.

"You two are good," I looked from one to the other. "No, that's not fair. You two are exceptional. I know you have been running the hotels while I did two movies, and while I went to Bern. You are a great combination of professional experience coupled with imagination. I think you could run all the hotels, but I wonder about Galena. I don't think either of you ever visited Galena while Shakira was there. You should have seen her work a room. She may have only been third runner up for Miss America, but she was Miss Universe in that resort. She walked past, and every person stood a bit taller. And when she smiled, every face lit up."

Now it was Andy's turn.

"We know Galena is special for you. You have a home there. And, to be honest, it is different from the other Heritage Hotels. It has a different clientele, a different niche, a different history. To us, it's the other ten hotels that are Heritage Hotels. It's the other ten hotels we would like to buy."

Well, okay, now it was all out on the table. I looked from Andy to Bobbi. "You two would own them and run them?"

"We would run them." Bobbi nodded while Andy talked. "We would be part owners. The other investors are mostly from the Twin Cities."

"What happens to current employees?"

"Initially all stay, but we do have two managers we have concerns about, and the chef in Dubuque is driving us crazy."

"I could tell you stories about him." I went back to looking at the table top. Time passed. They were being very good about not pressing me. The truth is, they were good about everything. If I sold, I think I would miss them as much as the hotels.

"You two have every right to the hotels. You have done marvels. But I want to sleep on this. Could we talk again at breakfast?" I got up, hugged them both, and left the hotel. I needed a long walk.

The decision was obvious, but still not easy. They were the ones running the hotels. I was working on water plants, and living, well, living at least part of the year in Switzerland. But. I had fond memories of every hotel. I loved the buildings. I loved the people. Every manager was a friend. Would I never see them again? Probably not. But. What did I owe to Bobbi and Andy? They had earned this. They deserved this.

I have no idea where I walked. It was dark. I walked past churches and parks and store fronts. I walked for blocks, turned a corner on occasion, and walked farther up the hill, or farther down. I walked. Eventually I walked back to the hotel.

At breakfast I signed the papers.

Chapter 22

Water Plant Number 3

I think I was stunned most of that day. I don't know how else to describe it. I was in a bit of a fog. As you would expect, signing over ten hotels in four states takes lots of papers and lots of signatures. Amy Tippin, bless her heart, did all she could to help me. For each hotel she had written me a note. It contained appraised value, cash flow, any outstanding debts, and anything else she felt relevant, all explained simply and directly. She was trying to explain what each hotel was worth. I trusted her. If she said a hotel was worth two million, it was worth two million.

It got a little more complicated for things like brand name, and general corporate resources like our computer systems. There was minor debt on two hotels for recent upgrades, and major debt on the St Paul hotel after all the work we had done there. So I was signing for individual hotels, but also for collective resources. What did I get? Twenty eight million, plus all current cash assets, which included several million sitting in corporate accounts. There would be all kinds of taxes and fees, but I was likely to walk away with well over twenty five million dollars. One more reason for me to be in a bit of a fog. How many bartenders have twenty five million in the bank?

I didn't actually have it yet. Closure would come September first. In the meantime, some systems would be moved up to the new corporate offices in St. Paul, and some would stay in Galena. That also meant some people would move to St Paul, and some would stay working in Galena at my resort. A lot would happen in the next five weeks.

By ten o'clock we had signed all the papers that needed to be signed immediately, and I think we were all tired. I felt good for Bobbi and Andy. They were so excited they could barely sit still. Me? I felt like crying. But I didn't. We hugged, we talked about a couple future meetings, I wished them well, I left. Enough. There was another company I worked for, and I needed to do my job.

I think I have described the road north out of Duluth. If Highway 2 is America's Lifeline, Highway 61 along Lake Superior is Eden's Pathway. Water plant number three was in Two Harbors, up Highway 61 maybe thirty miles. It was a beautiful day for a beautiful drive, and I'm not sure I saw any of it. I managed to keep my car in my lane, but beyond that, my mind was empty – or, over full – or, in complete melt down – or, I don't know. I just know I couldn't have passed the simplest IQ test that morning.

The smartest move I made along that drive was to pull over at one of the scenic overlook sites, and stare out at the lake. I was parked, so I wasn't going to hurt anyone, and I didn't have to think. I just sat. I'm sure I sat for over an hour. Did I have any brilliant insights during that time? No.

I had a brief period where I thought about loss. I had lost ten hotels and all the people I knew there. I thought about my dad, whose heart was going to take him away from us soon. I thought about Jim, who was the last man to take me up this road, a man whose eye for beauty won Academy Awards. He had won me, and then gone off to film bears in Alaska. We wouldn't be doing this road together again.

Pretty depressing, right? Then, for some reason, my mind just flipped, and I was happy. Not about the money. That much money just didn't make sense to me. You know what I was thinking when I saw the first prices on the hotels? Oh good, now I can redo my kitchen. Twenty five million dollars, and I am not thinking of a condo in Vail, I am thinking new cabinets and maybe granite counter tops – in my trailer. That's how my mind works.

What made me happy was thinking about Bobbi and that silly beatnik coffee shop she worked in when I hired her. I wondered if she went back now and told those folks what she was doing. And Andy, middle aged, middle manager, trained to watch costs for his hotels, while he wondered about the cost of college for his boys. He had more options now, and so did his kids.

And me? Could I have continued to run my hotels and also build the water plant network Emil wanted? Maybe, but each hour I spent in one business would have made me nervous that I wasn't spending that hour in the other business. I had already started feeling some of the stress from that. It would only have gotten worse. Now my life was simpler. My job? Build and support water plants. Generate enough profit that we could keep them in operation, ready if our grandkids needed them. I could do that. I would do that, starting in Two Harbors, Minnesota.

By the way, it's a nice little town, just half an hour north of Duluth. Once my head was clearer, I was able to finish my drive in no time. I drove around town a bit, looked at the stores on First Avenue, and saw the lighthouse up on the hill, you know, just basic tourist stuff. I liked what I saw. Maybe what I liked best was Lake Superior at the end of every street. Whatever you looked at, there was the lake in the background. Somehow everything looked better that way.

Most days I skip lunch, but I wanted to see a bit more of the town, and maybe I wasn't ready to work yet. Anyway, I saw a fish restaurant and decided to get lunch. Right on the edge of a lake like this, it was bound to have good fish, right? Wrong. I ordered lemonade and a pike sandwich. The pike fillet had been cut bun-sized, breaded, and deep fried so long it was chewy and had the taste of old French fries. But I ate it.

The restaurant was pretty much like any restaurant – one large room, maybe ten tables and six booths. It was a little after one, so the lunch crowd had thinned out. I was at one table, three people were at another, and four guys were in a booth. I had my phone out reading emails while I chewed my sandwich.

Women who sit alone know they will draw attention. It's uncomfortable, but it goes with the territory. I read my emails and hoped others would mind their own business. No such luck. The guys in the booth had been drinking their lunch. An older waitress took away their plates and brought them another round of beers. But one of the guys wanted a round of shots too. Trust an old bartender on this one – the only reason guys drink shots is because it will get them drunker than they can get on beer. It's barely one thirty in the afternoon, and these guys are looking to get hammered. They toss back the first one like they had seen guys do it in cowboy movies, and order a second round, shouting to the waitress at the far end of the room.

And then they turn to me.

"Can we buy you a drink?" I'm guessing these guys are late thirties to mid-forties. Big guys. Dressed for laboring jobs or for fishing. The one talking to me – pretty loudly – seems the oldest and biggest.

"No thank you." I glance in his direction and then go back to my phone. I hear comments from among them, including the words "Stuck up bitch."

"You should drink with us." Big guy is not giving up. And he's not smiling.

"No thank you." I put down the remains of my sandwich and put my phone in my bag.

"Think you're too good for us?"

I was up and to the cash register by the door. The waitress apologized. I nodded, paid, and gave her a couple dollars. I would be lunching somewhere else from now on.

Time to find our plant. This one was down near the lake. It was an old bottling plant Emil had found on-line. We had rebuilt much of it, of course, but he said it had once made strawberry sodas that were locally famous. Good for them. I had asked Emil about this purchase. If Highway 2 was America's lifeline, why did we buy this place? He was a bit guarded in his response. I guess he didn't want to insult me, but he mentioned some of the corruption the company had encountered in Wisconsin – campaign contributions that let you pave over a wet land or pass laws that made it harder to sue you for negligence. Was Minnesota more honest? He wasn't too sure, but why put all your eggs in one corrupt basket? Minnesota connected to the north side of Lake Superior, which might be the wrong side, but it was the right lake.

So, we had a bottling plant here. It took me two minutes to get there. I parked near the building and climbed ancient cement steps up into the plant. Older factories all tend to be smaller, and taller. Like this one. The first floor felt cramped, with inventory stacked along the walls and little space for walking around the bottling lines. Everything flowed to the right – away from the lake and toward the three loading docks. High up above was a second level. Once it might have held inventory, or even machines. Now it held a small office. The wooden stairs leading up there seemed to go on forever.

The plant had two extruding machines to make the water bottles. They were way to the left. A long white pipe held high in the air carried the resin beads from a hopper near the docks, across the room to the extruders. It wasn't efficient that way, but if you wanted to reuse old space, you accepted some adjustments. Bottles were filled with water in the middle of the room, then moved down the line for labeling and then packing onto pallets for shipment.

My information said fourteen people worked there. I saw seven spread across the floor. They had one line up and running. Two women were nearest the door, so I walked up to them and asked where I could find the manager.

"He went to lunch a few minutes ago. I expect he will be back soon." That's as far as the conversation got when we heard a crash outside the plant. All of us hurried outside. A black pickup truck had just taken out the rear end of my car. The driver? My friend from the fish place. He pretty much fell out of the truck, holding onto the door while he shouted at us.

"That's my parking spot." His table buddies got out of the truck and stared at the front of his truck and the back of my Toyota. My Toyota. I loved that car. I had two hundred thousand miles on it – two hundred thousand miles with nothing more than scheduled maintenance. It started on cold mornings, it stopped when I hit the brakes, it was the machine I most trusted in the world. The back end was crushed.

I completely lost it. I charged down the steps and got up in his face.

"You just killed my car."

"It's in my spot." He was drunk, and angry, and towered over me. I didn't care.

"Have you lost your mind? You can't come in here drunk and smash into cars."

"This is my factory, and my parking spot."

"Your factory?" Our faces were maybe six inches apart. God, his breath was bad.

"I am factory manager. And this is the manager's spot. I don't know what you are selling, but we don't need any. Now move your car."

I pulled my phone out of my bag and hit 911. "I want to report an accident and a drunk driver."

"I'm not drunk." He was shouting, making it hard for me to hear the operator, but I explained our location. "She parked in my spot," he shouted into my phone. The operator said an officer would be over soon. Meanwhile, the other three drunks came around the truck and started for the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?" I took a step to block them.

"We work here."

"No you don't. You are all fired for coming to work drunk."

"Who the fuck are you?" All three of them were now staring at me. But they had stopped moving toward the stairs.

"My name is Jessica Gruber. I am President of the North American Division of Naturale. This is our plant, and you are not setting foot in it. You will each be mailed your final check. Now go home and sober up." There was a lot of staring at this point. I maintained eye contact. They were too drunk to hold their heads steady very long. Finally one of them said "Fuck this." And walked away. The others followed. As they approached their cars, two squads pulled into the lot.

I spent the next hour in the parking lot as the local cops wrote up their report and gave Matt Ernst the field sobriety test. They already knew his name. This was his third offense. Eventually he went away in handcuffs. Then it was the turn of a tow truck driver. Both the black truck, and then my beautiful Toyota were towed away. I signed lots of papers. About five the towing company brought me a rental. They were pretty sure my Toyota was totaled.

Meanwhile, I was back in the plant, none too happy. I started with the woman I had first talked to.

"You said he had just left for lunch. That wasn't true. I also ate at that restaurant. I knew he was there long enough to eat and get plenty drunk. I assume you didn't want to snitch. Fine. But don't ever lie to me. All you had to say was that he was at lunch. That was the truth. I could figure out the rest of it on my own."

"I'm sorry." She was staring at the floor.

"Apology accepted." I held out my hand. She took it.

Next steps. I gathered everyone down at the only open space on the floor – the bit of room by the loading docks. I had lots to say, and lots of questions.

"I guess you already heard. My name is Jessica Gruber. And yes, my husband is Emil Gruber, president of Naturale. I am in charge of this plant and two others in Wisconsin. I will be with you for a while, until we get some things straightened out. My records show this plant has fourteen employees. I count seven. I fired four for coming to work drunk. This is a factory. Drunks are dangerous. I'll do pee tests if I have to, but there will be no drinking until the shift ends at four thirty. Clear?" Heads nodded.

"We seem to be missing three people. Where are they?" At this point I heard a young woman coming down the steps. We all looked up. I guessed she worked the office. Someone said, "The other two are sick."

"If they are sick, tell me they are sick. If they are fishing, tell me they are fishing. If you don't know, or don't want to say, just tell me you don't know." Several people said "Don't know."

"Good. We will wait and find out. For now, we are at least four people short. If any of you have friends who are looking for work, bring them around tomorrow. In the meantime, I want to talk with each of you about what you do. I will start at the end with the extruders and work my way down here to the docks. Okay?" More nodding heads.

It took me two hours to do my talks. Mostly what I wanted to know was whether I was going to have to fire more people. At least for the moment, it looked like I could keep these folks. That didn't mean there were no problems. The extruders needed maintenance, and I had just fired the guys who did that. Did the ladies who were left want to go through training for that? Yes. Good. I told them we would start in the morning. The other big problem was at the docks. Pallets. There were two tall stacks of trashed pallets.

"How did they break?" I asked.

"They didn't break, they came that way." There had to be fifty of them, and the stacks were so big they blocked access to the third loading bay.

"Dial the vendor, and then give me your phone." He did. I got Northern Lumber Products on the line.

"This is Naturale in Twin Harbors. I want two hundred pallets delivered tomorrow morning by ten. Your driver will also pick up fifty defective pallets you have delivered before. You will give us full credit for the defective pallets."

"Put Matt on the line."

"Matt doesn't work here anymore. Do you want this order, or not?"

"It will be hard to get there by ten."

"Deliver by ten, or I will call another vendor." End of conversation.

By now it was four thirty. I stood by the door and shook hands with each employee as they left. I took a shot at their names, got most of them right, and reminded them to bring a friend if they were a good worker and wanted a job. Then I climbed the steps.

Kayli was waiting for me. She was prepared. She had a key ring with a key to the plant and a key to this office. She had also written out the password to the local computer system ("2Harbor". I changed it immediately). She explained her job – mostly keeping the computer system updated. She had already updated the payroll status of the four people I had fired. I added my authentication, and that was done. Their final checks would go out automatically. She also had I-9s ready for the morning in case we had any applicants. She thought we might. Okay, so I was impressed.

Time to sit back and talk. Her? Twenty eight, married to a guy who did maintenance for a local internet service provider, no kids, lifelong resident of Two Harbors. She liked the place. They had a boat and spent weekends fishing on the lake. Drinking was a problem up here – winters were long. But basically people were good. I would like working here.

Okay. All that resolved, I can't begin to tell you how tired I was. I walked out with Kayli, using my keys to lock the office and the plant. I got into my five year old Ford rental, and drove back to Duluth.

Chapter 23

Ten Days in Two Harbors

I wish I could say my day was done, but I drove back to Duluth knowing I would be in Two Harbors at least a week. My to-do list for the plant was long, and none of it could be done long distance. My new home would be Duluth, my new work place, Two Harbors. What did I need first? Work clothes. I was short at least four people for the plant. Time to get my hands dirty. My phone gave me directions to a place just outside Duluth that sold Carhartt. I stopped long enough to get two pairs of cargo pants, five long sleeved t-shirts, and some boots. I wouldn't be dressing for the office for a while.

Next stop – a Toyota dealer. Duluth had one. I don't know which of us had a worse time, me or the salesman who looked up when I came into the big glassed showroom. I was tired, hungry, and crabby. He was an older guy who "knew" how to sell based on some sales course he had taken decades ago. We never got along. He started with "Hi, I'm Joel..." And waited for my name. I just said, "Show me the Rav4s on the lot." It went downhill from there. I think I may have said, "My Rav4 was wiped out by a drunk this afternoon," but I also said, "God, these new front ends are ugly as hell, do you have any of the older, better looking ones?" All they had were the new ugly ones, but they did have all-wheel drive, a backup camera, and radar cruise control.

I picked the blue one. Now for price. I got up a website with prices actually paid for these models, and showed him. He showed me the sticker price. I pointed to my phone. He said he needed five hundred dollars more. I said two hundred dollars more, but he had to deliver the car to Two Harbors tomorrow at five. He said he needed to talk to his manager. I said I needed dinner, and started walking to my rental. That was it. He surrendered and said he would take my offer. It took another half hour of paperwork, but I left the dealership soon to be the owner of a blue Rav4 with an ugly front end. I could live with it.

Back at my hotel, I was tempted to go straight to bed. I think I would have, but Andrea Burns saw me, and asked if she could join me for dinner. So, I guess I was eating. Why did she want to have dinner with me? Pretty obvious, right? She wanted to talk about the sale of the hotel. I'd had enough fish for one day. I went with a cheeseburger and a glass of merlot. Wine came in six ounce or nine ounce servings. I went with nine ounces. It had been a long day. Andrea, by the way, went with a cob salad and a small glass of chardonnay – more appropriate when you are dining with your boss.

So, what did we say? She had the tougher time of it. She wanted to sound enthusiastic about the change without making it sound like the old ways (my ways) had been terrible. Not easy to pull off. I wanted to be reassuring – they were going to keep current managers – without making promises I couldn't keep. In the end, Bobbi determined if Andrea kept her job, not me. So it was a complex hour. It occurred to me this might be the kind of conversation I might have with other managers. I used it to thank her. I did a chronology of her work with the hotel, highlighting all the actions she took that had impressed me. In a way, I was helping her write her resume. And I ended as I would with any managers I spoke with – I will always be grateful for your work, keep in touch, I will gladly be a reference any time you might want one.

We ended with smiles and a long hug. Then I finally got to bed.

I ended up working in Two Harbors for the next ten days. My routine was to rise by six and be on the road by seven. I had breakfast in the hotel, and asked them to pack a lunch for me. I was wearing work clothes now. It was interesting to see how people looked at me in that fancy restaurant. We never fail to judge people by their clothes. For at least another month, I owned that hotel. No matter. What people saw was a middle aged woman in work pants and a plain t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, eating here when she might have been better suited to a McDonalds. I suspect they were confused by how attentive the wait staff was.

Up at the plant, my primary function was to find a new manager, but let me come back to that. I had so many other things to do.

I needed to train new maintenance techs. Volunteers? Three women. Fine. Hate to deal in stereotypes here, but I find women are more willing to actually read and follow the directions in the manuals. We got the broken extruder up and running the first day – the usual problem with dried resin. We tore down the second extruder the next day, and this time I just stood and watched. They made two mistakes reassembling the machine, but I just waited, and they caught both mistakes on their own. I re-classed all three, gave them a two dollar eighty cent raise, and bought lunch.

Speaking of lunch, after my first day experience with people going off for a few beers with their lunch, I set Kayli a task – fix up the break room. Bathrooms and a small break area were up on the second floor. There was a coffee pot and a refrigerator if people wanted to bring their own lunches. We needed to do better. It took her a week, but Kayli got several new tables, a microwave, much better chairs, and a second fridge. She even painted two of the walls.

Next step – each person got a personalized coffee cup, she bought much better coffee and kept the pots full, we stocked the fridge with ice cream sandwiches and our own bottled water, and I declared every Wednesday was pizza day – I paid. And I got what I wanted – everyone had lunch at the plant. No long lunches, and no beers.

Remember the pallets? They really do matter. One bottle of water doesn't weigh all that much. But eight cases of bottles? Suddenly you have two hundred pounds. So we stack them on these wooden platforms that have two levels with space to slide in the tongs of a forklift. The pallets have to handle the weight – and the raising and lowering (often dropping) from the forklifts. They break. They are wood, so breaking is natural. We accept that. But fifty coming from the vendor already broken? No.

I had pushed the vendor to have new pallets to us by ten. Why ten? Mostly just to test them. How serious were they about keeping our business? Apparently not very. When they hadn't arrived by ten thirty I called and cancelled the order. The driver arrived at eleven, really angry. I told him to get his truck away from our loading dock – we needed the dock for other vendors. I have been called worse names, but never so loudly.

I gave Ted a call in Poplar. Where did he get his pallets, and was he happy with them? He used a guy in Ashland. I made the call. Two days later we had the new pallets we needed, and he hauled off the old damaged ones for a partial rebate. Equally important, I was hoping plenty was being said over beers around town – this is how Naturale now operates.

I ended up having to hire six new people. The two guys who were "sick," showed up later in the week, but I didn't like the look of either of them. Both had been sick, but neither could remember the name of their doctor. Actually, if people are sick, I hope they stay home before infecting others, but these guys seemed mostly infected with sly grins and the hope they could pull one over on the "new girl."

It took me until the second week to fill all six slots. They were all friends or relatives of current employees. Five were women. They ranged in ages from eighteen to fifty eight. We got them trained and got both lines running consistently. Kayli posted our production numbers in the breakroom. She also did a line graph, with the line heading uphill pretty fast.

So what did I do for a manager? I did what Elias had taught me years earlier. I sat in the breakroom and listened. Who sat with whom? Who seemed to be listened to the most? How many heads turned when someone walked into the room? Of course I was also keeping track of who asked me questions, who seemed to pick up new assignments quicker, and who was still working as we counted down to four thirty.

And the winner was Kayli. I had it down to three people, and then I saw her on the loading dock one day. It was the usual Tuesday shipment to our distribution center in the Twin Cities, and she had come down from her office with the paperwork. One of the new hires had a load of bottles up on a hand jack and got the wheels caught in the space between the truck and the dock. She barely got the wheels caught, and Kayli had a shoulder into the load and got it onto the truck. Good. What was better was she didn't give the new hire a bad time. She just explained what to watch for so it didn't happen again.

For the next three nights, after everyone else had left for the day, I had her run each line, using every piece of equipment. I announced her selection the next day. I liked how people reacted when I announced it. I was pretty sure she would do just fine.

If you are thinking, well, ten days of working and all problems are solved, I wish it was that simple. I was thinking both the Poplar and Two Harbors plants would do pretty well with little intervention from me, but there was a whole new side to the business that I had not been involved in. It was nice to produce bottles of water, but something had to happen to those bottles after they left the plant. They had to be moved, and they had to be sold. It was now my job to deal with all that too. We had contracts with providers for logistics, distribution, and marketing. I would have to monitor their performance, and I might have to select new vendors. Frankly, this was a part of the business I knew less about. But. As I stood at the door of the Two Harbors plant and hugged Kayli good bye, I wasn't thinking about trucking companies. I was thinking about Galena.

Chapter 24

Galena

I have lots to say about Galena, but let me start with the obvious. I love my resort in Galena. It was love at first sight. Back when I had first visited as Vince's accomplice, I instantly saw how special the place was. The design is brilliant. Sliding down the side of a river bank, it has multiple buildings, but they are low and hidden by trees and berms, so you never feel overwhelmed. You see trees, you see grass, you see the river. The architects did their job. Now add gardens maintained by a staff of nearly twenty, including two gardens designed for weddings. Flowers, hedges, arbors, trees arching overhead. A walk down any path led to beauty.

Now add the people. Shakira had defined the place. Multiple weddings every day, mainly same-sex, but traditional weddings as well. While it still might feel uncomfortable to be gay some times and some places, Shakira made all welcome in her resort. More than that, she was beautiful, and she made everyone else feel beautiful. She certainly made me feel that way. She would say she seduced me, but no woman ever said "yes" as fast as I did. The minute she touched my hair as we sat in that pool, I was hers.

Months later, she had been killed. One mob family killing another. She was just collateral damage. She wasn't in the mob. She didn't really even work for Vince. She ran the place and was on track to buy it. But. Thugs are thugs. She and two security guards were killed. I was in custody for weeks, and so couldn't even attend her funeral. Bad days.

I always felt like a bit of a fraud trying to take over for her. I had seen her work a room, and I tried to follow her example. Not easy. But I loved the place, and did the best I could. I had married Willie in Galena, Willie who sang Willie Nelson songs in my ear as we danced. Willie who helped me create Heritage Hotels. Willie, the undercover cop who died doing what cops do – helping protect a woman in need.

I hope I am making a point. Bobbi and Andy would be buying my other hotels, but I think they knew not to touch Galena. This was my special place – my home. Yes, there was Amberg, and now Bern, but Galena was special. It was past time for me to get back there and begin working on the transition. It would be separated from the other hotels. It would have its own computer systems and its own suppliers and contractors. I needed to help with that. But I also needed to get there, just because I had been gone too long. I wanted to see those gardens, walk those halls, and dance each evening.

I guess I started the mental transition before I left Duluth. I spent extra long on my hair and makeup. I was going to Galena. I put away my work clothes and pulled on a sleeveless silk dress with a flared skirt that didn't reach my knees. I was going to Galena. Sandals with three inch heels were a little clumsy for driving, but I was going to Galena. My new Toyota had a goofy looking front end, but it drove well and was pointed due south. I was going to Galena.

It's a six hour drive, mostly on two lane roads, and I was driving a car that was new to me. I had six hours I might have spent getting more familiar with the car (I was still trying to see which button engaged the Bluetooth), or I could have mentally created a to-do list of steps needed before the hotel sale was finalized, but I didn't do any of that. I set my cruise control and let the car drive south while I thought back to my favorite moments in the resort, and in my bed. The silk skirt slid across my thighs, and I smiled to think of Shakira and Willie. I was going back to Galena.

It was a beautiful August day, and as I pulled into the entryway, I was pleased to see the gardeners had coaxed color out of an endless display of annuals. The resort still presented the best first impression. And our staff was still prompt. One young man came for my car, and another for my bags. Both recognized me. My car went into the hidden lot, my bags into my room. I went to the office.

I spent the next fifteen minutes hugging people. I had been gone three months. Too long. There were questions about Switzerland, requests to see my ring, kind words about my castle tours which had been all over YouTube, and, yes, also comments about good things that had happened around the resort in my absence. What was not mentioned? September first. It was now less than three weeks away, so there was plenty we needed to deal with, but the general consensus seemed to be we would talk about that after my bags were unpacked and I had settled in a bit. That's a mature office staff for you.

Eventually it was me and Bonnie Edwards – my administrative assistant. Okay, hugs over. Time to start working. I was sure she had a list of people who wanted private time with me, some to tell me they were staying with this resort, some to tell me they would be going to St Paul. I told Bonnie I wanted an hour to walk the resort, and a half hour with Amy Tippin (and half a day tomorrow), but I would take appointments with everyone who wanted one today and tomorrow, well into the evening if they wished.

That settled, I walked the resort. I can't tell you how good that felt. This was my personal castle, and I knew – and loved – every inch of it. I walked the shops first. It was our own little mall - half a dozen small shops with resort wear, some bridal wear, souvenirs, snacks and champagne. I saw people in every shop. We were doing well. I stopped to see Keisha and Michelle. They had some new fabrics they wanted me to see. Mostly I saw that they were still together, and still happy.

Out through the gardens were the wedding venues. Staff was setting up two of the venues. A wedding was underway in one of the garden sites, two young women dressed in white, standing under a flowered arbor. I stood and enjoyed a bit of the ceremony, then went back to my walk. I took the main hallways of three buildings just to be sure everything was clean (it was), and then I checked on the spa. This building was designed to look like an old barn, complete with doors of wooden planks. Of course it was air conditioned and spotless inside. I made an appointment for a massage and a visit to the salon. My hair was long overdue.

Okay. Grand tour complete, back to work. I started with Amy Tippin. If Hollywood ever cast the stereotype accountant, they would use her. Nice woman in her fifties, gray hair, simple dress, she looked like her first wish from a Genie would be invisibility. She looked at her desk, at her computer, at her floor, but – on occasion – she looked at me. Today she seemed to be looking at me more than normal. That made me a bit nervous. So I went right to my main question.

"Are you staying with me, or going with Heritage Hotels?"

"I'm staying with you." I would have hugged her if she hadn't been on the other side of her desk. Maybe that's why she was back there.

"Thank you. And thank you for all your analysis of the hotels. I know that wasn't easy. And it helped me a great deal."

"You are welcome."

"Would you give me a company check, please?" She got out a large black book, one of those check books that have three checks per page. It looked like some relic of the pre-computer age, but there were still occasions when an old-fashioned check was needed. I tore off the top check on the page and made it out to Amy. It was a one hundred thousand dollar bonus. A consultant would have cost me far more than that. She initially refused it. We pushed it back and forth across her desk three times before she thanked me and said it would help her grandkids with college. Good. Done with that.

"I need to spend tomorrow with you to talk through how we create the systems for this resort."

"So you will be keeping the resort?" She was looking at the floor as she asked.

"Of course." I was surprised by the question. Why would I not keep the resort?

"When it became known that you were selling the other hotels, I began getting inquiries. There's even a bit of a bidding war going on. The current top offer is four point eight million."

"I'm not selling. I live here."

"And in Amberg, and in Switzerland." She was still talking to the floor.

"I know I have been gone a lot, but I will have more time now that the other hotels have been sold."

"Yes." I have never heard a "yes" that sounded so much like "no."

"Amy?"

"I have watched the YouTube videos of you in the castle. You look good there. You look like you belong there."

"I belong here too." I looked at Amy. I waited. Eventually she raised her eyes and looked back at me. "I have lost my hotels. I don't want to lose this resort too. I love this place." She held my eyes, then nodded.

That settled, we kicked around some initial ideas. Could we use the same IT vendor, or go with someone new? How much new staffing would we have to do? She wasn't sure who would stay, and who would go. St. Paul was bright and new, and the Heritage Hotel Corporation looked like it would be very successful. It would certainly attract some of our staff. I started to list some of the other areas we would have to cover in the morning, but then I stopped. This was Amy. She already had a list. Who did I think had been running the place while I was in Switzerland? I could count on her to be ready for our meeting at nine.

Next stop? My office. Bonnie would be showing people to my door soon. But I wanted to talk with Bonnie first. I asked her into my office, closed the door, and asked the main question first.

"Are you staying here, or going to St Paul?"

"Bobbi made me a very generous offer. She and Andy want me to work for them. I hate to leave you and Galena, but my family likes the idea of living in the Twin Cities." I exhaled, and felt my shoulders drop. I hadn't expected this. She had been with the place since Shakira had hired her.

"Should I make a counter offer?"

"Thank you." She had the sweetest smile. She looked like she had just gotten a second invitation to the prom. "But our decision is made."

"Do I get you until September first?"

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you."

Over the next two hours I lost our head chef, our entertainment director, the head of housekeeping, and our social media guru. I tried to smile, but each resignation felt like a gut punch. I tried to say all the right things - I respected the good work they had done over the years, I hoped they stayed in touch, yada, yada, yada. I wanted to establish there were no hard feelings. We would keep good relations between the new corporation and this resort. But it was not easy to say the words.

I offered a different deal to the "guru." I would pay her fifty thousand if she would stay on through September. I needed her to help me figure out what was going on in Amberg. She said she would check with Bobbi and Andy and get back to me. I gritted my teeth and was tempted to cancel the deal, but I did need her.

By this time it was after six and I was beginning to fear my fatigue might take conversations in a direction I might regret. Bonnie said she would move all other meetings to after lunch tomorrow. I was going to miss her.

Next stop – some food, some socializing with my guests, and a surprise.

Chapter 25

Meghan

I learned so many things from Shakira. If she walked into a room, instantly it was like all the 60 watt bulbs in the room went to 80 watts. She brought excitement. She brought laughter. She made every single person feel better. I will never be as good as she was, but I always try. This might be the last hotel I had left, but it was still mine. It was still my home.

That evening I did the job Shakira had taught me to do. I began in our bar. This is not your average corner bar, or a sports bar. It is huge, with fifteen very large tables, and a screen at one end that nearly covers the whole wall. We show videos there – wedding videos. If you got married ten minutes ago, our video people were already showing your marriage in the bar, along with reactions from your guests. Guests, being guests, often acted up for the cameras, and we ended up with long segments of really funny video. The idea was you could sit in the bar, have a glass of wine, and laugh at yourself. Of course there were plenty of tender moments too, but the general intention was to have fun.

My process was to walk up to each table and ask about their wedding (or other activity – not all people came just for weddings), say nice things, and then move on to the next table. The videographer had a couple short segments showing me, and he projected them over the caption "Say Hi to Jessica." Then he went back to wedding videos. It basically introduced me, and helped initiate conversations. Often people wanted a hug or a selfie, and we might talk about my movie. I always felt a bit like a fraud since my movie "career" lasted a total of thirty two seconds, but like I said, it was a conversation starter.

Things went well that night. By the third table I felt like I was back in the old routine. People were happy, I got lots of hugs and lots of pictures, and I had pretty good conversations – less about me, and more about them. I would see two young women in white dresses, ask how they met, and conversations just flowed from there. I spent about an hour in the bar, had a few sips of wine with one table, smiled lots, talked lots, and left feeling pretty good.

Next stop, our dining room. This is another big room. Some booths, some tables, table cloths and flowers on every table top, ferns along the wall, dimmed lighting, wainscoting on the walls, carpet on the floor. If this is your special night, we wanted you to share it in a special room.

I hesitated outside the doorway for a moment to see how things were going. An instant later the hostess was hugging me.

"Jessica, I am so glad you are here tonight." Hug over, she kept her arms around my neck, a big smile on her face as she looked up to me. Meghan – according to her name badge. She was maybe five five, but her heels brought her up nearly to my height. I guessed her age to be about thirty, but she stood younger (if you know what I mean). Thick red hair framed her face and flowed down her back. She had incredibly blue eyes. I had to wonder if she wore tinted contacts. Could such a bright blue be natural? Round face coming to a pointed chin, small nose, a largish mouth that kept her from being movie star beautiful, but gave her face a special look. It was a face you remembered. We had uniforms for our waitresses - powder blue cotton dresses with short sleeves and a flared skirt that came to their knees. Our hostesses wore the same uniform. Not this hostess. She matched the color, but her dress was sleeveless, satin, and didn't reach her knees. Apparently she dressed herself.

She held her smile, her face inches from mine, her arms still around my neck, then backed away, and took my hand.

"Let me introduce you to some people." She kept my hand and led me to one table after another. At each table she began with some variation of this:

"Hi. You all know Jessica, the owner of the resort and our own movie star. Jessica, I would like you to meet the Smith family. They are from Wichita." She would say "Wichita" as if she were saying "And they are from the rings of Saturn." Wichita was exciting, but so was the fact that they were back for an anniversary, or Mrs. Smith was a violinist. Whatever the words were, her voice was saying "Aren't these people wonderful?" And you could see the appreciation in all the faces at the table.

I was stunned that she had learned – and remembered – the names of essentially every person in the room, or at least appeared to. And those initial comments? She was giving me conversation starters. And they worked. Within three sentences I felt like I had known these people for years, and I am sure the feeling was mutual. It was all pretty amazing.

I visited every table and joined three, ordering a snack for myself and a bottle of wine for the table. We talked. I learned about Wichita and the Rockford Symphony and kayaking on the Mississippi. We talked relationships. I talked about Shakira like I had not in years. They talked about their lives. The depth of the conversations was remarkable. I was in that room for two hours and felt like I had made dozens of lifelong friends. Most of us promised to meet again on the dance floor.

That was my next stop. We had one wedding reception going that night – with a bar and a band. We also had music in one of our gardens. My practice was to visit all music venues, work as the second bartender for a while, and then – when invited – hit the dance floor. I had barely served half a dozen drinks when a group of women pulled me from behind the bar, and off we went to dance.

We did some silly dances (what drunk invented the chicken dance?), lots of fast dances, but plenty of slow numbers too. Our bands are good. I alternated between the two venues, dancing with the two brides at the reception, then back to the garden to dance with several men. Somewhere in there, Meghan joined me. We were doing some silly disco number that everyone swore was silly (but the dance floor was full), and then there was a ballad. And she had her arms around my neck again, that big smile on her face. My arms went around her back, and, well, they stayed there after the song ended. Time passed. Time for another song to start. Certainly time for me to let go of her. But I didn't. And neither did she.

Eventually the band cranked up some classic rock, and arms started flying, as did skirts. It was fun. I turned and danced with maybe five or six different women as the song went on and on, all of us sweating and laughing. We were all out of breath long before the band had done the third chorus. But we kept at it.

Finally the band took a break, and I decided it was time for bed. I hugged a few women on my way out of the garden, then started for my room. I can't say I was surprised to feel Meghan take my hand.

"Meghan, you did a nice job in the dining room tonight. I was impressed you learned so many names."

"Thank you." I guess I expected more conversation, but that's all she said. She kept my hand, swinging it slightly as we walked, our hands brushing my skirt or hers with every step. There were a few other people about, but mostly we had the walk to ourselves. August is hot in Illinois, even at night, but there was a slight breeze through our trees, and you could smell day lilies in each garden we passed. I felt no need to say anything. We just walked along the path, back to my room.

I hesitated a moment at the door, but she said "May I talk with you a few minutes?" I nodded and went in with her. My suite is not very fancy. There is a small living room when you first enter. A half wall separates it from the bedroom, the bath, and large closet beyond. The living room has a couch backed against the half wall, with the pair of chairs to the left, and a desk to the right.

Meghan went straight for the couch. I sat next to her. She pulled her feet up under her, her hand pulling up her skirt in the process. Her other hand went along the top of the couch and then to the back of my neck.

"You wouldn't remember me, but I was a guest here once." Her fingers were sliding up and down my neck. "It was when you and Shakira were together. I was here for a cousin's wedding, and the two of you came to our table. You said all the right things, but I remember thinking the words didn't matter. What mattered was how you stood together. I looked at the two of you and thought, that's love."

At this point, she put her other arm around me, leaned over, and kissed me. She held the kiss, and she held me. Gradually she rolled until her back was to the couch again, with me leaning over her. She was initiating all the action, but she wanted to be in the submissive position. I was to dominate. She held me there. I slid one arm around her back, and put the other on her thigh. That hand slid up and under her skirt. We held the kiss, and we held each other, pulling ourselves together tighter and tighter.

And then I stopped. I have no idea why. I got up from the couch, using the arm around her back to pull her up with me. She got up willingly, I guess assuming I would be leading her to my bed. But I led her to the door. We stood there. We still had hands on each other, we still held each other tightly as we kissed. When I took my face away from hers, I could not think of a single thing to say. I stood straighter, but my arms were still around her. I was obviously sending her mixed messages. I was obviously feeling mixed emotions. The hand I had around her back was now on her ass, pulling her hips tightly against mine. She was so warm against me.

But I let go. "Good night." What a stupid thing to say. But I said it, my hands now by my sides. She smiled, gave me a short kiss, and then left. I closed the door after her. She knew, and I knew, she would be back.

Chapter 26

So Much to Do

I had breakfast with Amy the next morning. We sat in a booth, both having fruit cups, yogurt, and coffee - both of us being good girls (I would have killed for a stack of pancakes). No surprise, Amy had a list of things we needed to do. She even had check boxes in front of each. There has to be a special place in heaven for accountants. They certainly don't get the credit they deserve on earth.

The IT firm that was servicing Heritage would be only too happy to duplicate their systems (and fees) for Galena alone. A team would be arriving to do that next week. Same for our marketing consultants. Same for our security firm. Any company that had been providing services to Heritage must be thinking it was raining money. They just had one customer become two customers, both paying big bucks.

There was the question of what to call the resort. It had been Premier Properties, then Heritage Hotels. Now what? I suggested "Shakira's Place." Amy said we could discuss it with the marketing agency (her way of saying she wasn't sure that was the way to go). I agreed to put it off until more people had discussed the possible names.

Our big job for today? The bank. We needed a separate account. I like doing business local. Big banks might be too big to fail, but they are also too big to give a damn about their customers. Heritage had been using Northern Illinois State Bank. They had done well for us. I guessed Andy would rather do his banking in the Twin Cities, so the Galena branch would lose the Heritage account. We guessed they would be glad to have the account of our resort. Amy and I drove over there after breakfast.

Of course Amy had set up an appointment. Nothing spur of the moment for her. The branch manager was ready for us, and she had even brought in some big wig from the home office in Springfield. Off we went to a private work room prepared with donuts and coffee and piles of forms. Amy had already provided the local manager (Kaitlyn) with the basic outline. So we just covered the basics – new account, gradual transfers between now and September 1, twenty eight million more when the deal closed. Kaitlyn and the Springfield guy looked like kids at their first Christmas. They're both thinking bonuses and promotions. You have never seen forms get filled so fast.

The only clunker at that meeting was me. I handed over a deposit slip from my bank in Wausaukee, and asked that one million get wired there. There was the briefest hesitation as Kaitlyn looked at me, desperate to ask – why? But decided it was my money, and the main rule of this morning was pleasing me.

Why did I do it? It was the bartender in me. You can dress me up, and even move me into a castle, but it has still been just a few years since I was working for minimum wage and the occasional tip. I wanted a million in my home account, a million that would see me to the end of my days, and leave enough that I could help my grandkids. I was going to end up with over twenty five million in this Galena account, but somehow that was resort money. And yes, I know all that is silly thinking, but spend twenty years on minimum wage and see if it doesn't shape your perspective a bit.

Amy did a good job of not mentioning the Wausaukee transfer as we drove back to the resort. She had already checked the box for – "open new bank account" – and that settled the matter for her. She needed to start moving money after we got back, a process that would be complicated by the many cash flows from eleven hotels, but she would get it done. She was working with Andy and his new accountant to ensure that everyone agreed what money belonged with which property so there would be no surprises September 1. If I had a check box, it would say "Thank Amy for dealing with all this."

I had meetings the rest of the day. For people who were staying, I got an update on their department, any issues they were facing, any plans for the future. It was the plans for the future that took the most time. Now that we were an independent resort, would I be doing anything differently? No. I was clear about that. As far as I was concerned, we were the premier resort in the Midwest, and everyone should just keep doing the excellent job they had been doing. That answer got me big smiles.

The meetings with the people who were leaving got increasingly annoying. Losing the head of security – that I could see. But the head gardener? Was he going to plant petunias in Dubuque? He mentioned Evansville and the gardens there. Those were the gardens I had helped design. He said they needed work. So, insult my gardens and leave me shorthanded just as we start all the fall grounds work. He got a handshake. No hug.

By five I had my fill of meetings. I went back to my room, called Emil and talked for a long time, then changed out of my cotton office dress and into a satin cocktail dress. I needed food and dancing.

I started my usual routine in the wedding bar. The place was full, and happy. The video was showing a bride throwing her bouquet over her shoulder. She must have been a softball player. The bouquet went well over the garden wall. A minute later there was one of her party bringing it back into the garden – soaking wet. She had tossed it into a pool. I spent over an hour in the bar and laughed almost every minute.

Then there was the dining room – and Meghan. She was waiting for me, took my hand, and practically skipped to the first table for introductions. She did her usual with names and conversation openers ("Clarisse and Wendy are the second couple from their sorority to marry here"), but as we talked, she moved our clasped hands up behind her back, and then slowly slid them down onto her ass. It was her putting our hands there, but for anyone looking (and I assume there were plenty), it appeared I was putting the moves on her. Of course I could have let go of her hand at any time. Did I? No.

Periodically she would run off to greet people arriving at the door, but then she would return to stand with me, our hips touching, our hands behind her. If I sat with a table to talk and snack, she would come over and stand behind me, her hands playing with my hair. It was a touch that communicated intimacy. I could have stopped it. I didn't. I worked the room for over two hours. Meghan was always close.

We had two wedding receptions that evening (you'd be surprised by how many couples wed midweek), plus our own music, so I had three venues to visit. I helped in all three bars, but I also danced. I probably danced with thirty people that night. Mostly women, but some men too. One man held me particularly close during the dance, and kept holding me after. I kissed his cheek, and then started dancing with two women. The night was warm, but the music was good, and it felt especially good to dance in the gardens with the stars above.

Meghan joined the dancing after her shift ended. She danced with me, but she also danced with others. She knew this dancing was fun for me, but it was also part of my job, and she let me do it. But when it was her turn with me, somehow her arms were tighter around my neck, and I guess my arms were tighter across her back. Our hips felt good together.

We left the dances around midnight, her holding my hand across her back and then down across her ass as we walked. We took time to stop at two of the gardens. There were small lamp posts along each of the paths, enough to see the flowers closed in the shelter of endless ferns. We stood together, our hands all over each other. Really. I was all over her.

When we got to my room, we were on the couch in a flash, and she made her usual move to pull me so that I was leaning over her as she lay back, her head on the top of the couch, one arm holding my neck, the other around my back. I had a hand up under her skirt in a second, the other around her back. We kissed long and hard. I felt her hand begin to work the zipper on my dress. She pulled it down slowly. I could feel her fingers as each tooth slid apart. When she had it all the way down, her hand came up to my shoulders and began moving my straps down my arm.

And I caught my breath. We were maybe ten seconds from a quick trip to my bed. And we would be lovers. My hands were all in favor. Her thigh was warm, slick with sweat, and unbelievably inviting. My arm around her back was pulling her tight against me. I could feel her breasts through her satin dress. I wanted this woman. I really wanted this woman.

Why did I stop? I don't know. Neither did Meghan. But she felt me hesitate.

"Jess, I want to be with you."

"I'm married." That sounded so stupid. I was all over this woman. I was holding her tight against me. And I said "I'm married?" My hands were saying something completely different.

"Jess, he's yours in Bern. I get that. No problem. Let me be yours here. And now." She pulled my face to hers with one hand, and pulled the other strap of my dress down with her other hand. She was going to take me. Not that I was putting up any resistance.

I stood up and pulled her toward the door. She kept her arms wrapped around my neck, and now wrapped her legs around me. I was going to look pretty stupid putting her out in the hallway. Instead, we leaned against the wall next to the door, kissing. Every part of her was now touching me, and every part of her felt good.

"Jess, keep me tonight. Decide in the morning."

"If I keep you tonight, I will keep you forever."

"Good. Keep me forever." She was squeezing me so tightly I could barely breathe, not that I minded. I held her against that wall for at least ten minutes while we kissed and held each other.

But then I stopped. I pulled my face away from hers.

"Meghan. Please. Leave me tonight. We will talk tomorrow."

She looked back at me. One hand she kept around my neck. She used the other to play with my hair, pulling various tangles back out of my face. She did that slowly and carefully. She waited. She touched me. Her fingers in my hair, and then her fingers on my lips. She waited, her legs still wrapped tightly around me. I have no idea how much time passed, but finally she unwrapped her legs and stood.

"You love me now. Tomorrow you will show it." She kissed me, and then walked out. I was pretty sure she was right.

Chapter 27

I Run

I had breakfast with Amy again. She's not old enough to act like my mother, but she is definitely old enough to give me the big sister treatment. She slid into the booth across from me.

"So, long night?"

I didn't answer at first. Finally I just said, "It's complicated."

"Is it?" She looked at me for just an instant, and then dropped her gaze. Subject closed. I was grateful. What did we talk about? Inventory. I guess that box was still unchecked. Some inventory arrived every day. In these final two weeks, who paid for what? She gave me a long explanation of how accountants view inventory and how each view might affect who paid what bills when. If you ever have the silly idea that you actually understand business, have breakfast with an accountant. They will show you pretty fast there are whole new levels of meaning you never knew about. And after that breakfast, I suspect you will do what I did – tell the accountant to do whatever she thought was best.

My morning didn't get any better after breakfast. Three more people, all fairly senior, came to tell me they were leaving. One wasn't even going with the new corporation – he was leaving for Marriot. I can't believe I ever hired anyone that dumb. I sat and nodded my head, thanked them for their past work, and shook their hands. I was cutting payroll pretty fast. How much talent was I losing? I would know starting September second.

My most irksome meeting of the morning was with Penelope Krist – my social media "guru." That was not her official title (it was director of something or other), but she had her business cards printed with her own logo and her own title, both of which she also used on all her email. The first time I got an email from her, I deleted it thinking it was spam. Now she wanted to tell me that she had talked with Bobbi and gotten permission to stay on with me for the month of September (which meant she would get my fifty thousand dollar bonus – something I suspect she never told Bobbi, and of course chose not to mention now). What did she want to tell me – besides her willingness to work for me? She wanted to impress me. She had two notebooks full of data on the number of "eye balls" she was getting on various social media platforms, all showing what a wonderful job she had been doing keeping our resort going "viral."

Sitting across from this woman is not easy. It's not just that she smirks with every third word, but that she has so many kinds of smirks. If there were such a thing as an arrogance meter, it would be glowing red and threatening to explode. It's been at least a century since you could legally slap an employee, but I really wanted to go back in time.

The best I could do was cut her off mid-bar chart and tell her I had a different assignment for her. She was surprised enough by that to lose her smirk for about three milliseconds. Then it was back. Apparently that's the length of time it took her to believe I was giving her yet another chance to show off, a chance I was giving her because she was brilliant, creative, cutting edge and viral. I'm guessing there was some other jargon going between her ears, but, like I said, it was just a moment before the smirk reappeared.

"I want you to use your skills to study a community – Amberg, Wisconsin. Two groups of people are angry with each other. There is very little direct contact between the groups, so I am guessing they are using the internet. Maybe FaceBook, maybe Instagram, maybe Twitter. I want you to find out what is being said, and if possible, find out who is saying it."

"Of course." Her smirk became a big smile. I had just given her an easy assignment – another chance to show her immense skills. "I am redoing the resort web page right now, and responding to some Travel Advisor comments, but I should be able to get you that information in a week to ten days."

"I don't think you understand." I let that remark hang in the air. The look of confusion on her face was the bright spot of my morning. "Between now and October first, your full time job is to study Amberg. All other duties will be performed by other members of our staff. You will start your day studying Amberg, and you will end your day studying Amberg. I want you to tell me what is going on up there. And. You will tell me how to stop it."

Confusion turned to consternation. This was not at all what she expected. I was wondering if she was going to quit. But. Even a "guru" will take an odd job for fifty grand. She sat staring at me, and then just looked confused.

"Can you tell me where Amberg is?"

"Get a map from the Internet. Print it out. Hang it above your desk. Put copies on your wall. Learn the name of every town around it. Feel free to take a day and drive up there. You have just over a month to become the world's foremost expert on how a town tears itself apart."

Now the smile was back. I had said the magic word – "expert." Of course she would be. She rose, shook my hand, and said she would get started immediately. She was already out of my office before I could say the obvious – "yes, get started immediately. That is what I asked you to do."

At this point I had all the meetings I could handle. I got up and walked my resort. I much preferred managing by walking around. I talked to guests, and to employees, and it didn't hurt that the weather was beautiful. Yes, it was hot, but the trees provided huge areas of shade. And there were the gardens. And smiling people. I bet I spent an hour just wandering around.

I did have an ultimate destination – the spa. I thought a massage would help after a morning of quitters, and I was well overdue for some work on my hair. The massage was marvelous, and the ladies in the salon did a great job taking my hair just a tone brighter and working in a little more curl. Like any good salon, they made me look natural – only better.

Except. Just as I am getting ready to leave, and ready to sign for a large tip, the lady has her fingers in my hair and a mirror out where I could see her work, and she adds, "Yes, she is really going to like this color on you."

Oops. There is no mistaking who "she" is. Nor is there any mistaking what is being said by my staff. Our resort may be large, but in some ways it is just a village where everyone knows everything about everyone. What was known about me? I was seeing Meghan. I was getting my hair done. She would be pleased. It is my goal to please her. That is what lovers do. Brighter, lighter hair – maybe tonight will be special. After all, she will be pleased.

Now what? I had no idea. I signed for the styling, tipped 20%, smiled, and hugged her. Now what? I went back to my room. It was late afternoon. Time to change from my cotton office dress to something for the evening. An evening with – Meghan.

It was after nine in Switzerland. I sat on my couch and called Emil. He complimented me again on the Two Harbors reorganization. That was nice, but that's not what I wanted to hear. We were five minutes into our conversation before I heard – "I miss you." I would have to work on the guy. There is an appropriate order for husband/wife conversations. "You did a good job at the water plant" should never be the lead. I told him I had dreamt about him (that was true), and we joked about a tour group that had locked itself in the cells in the basement. We said all the right things before hanging up.

I changed into a silk cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and a flared skirt well short of my knees. It would be good to dance in. It was another night with two wedding receptions plus our own music venue. There would be lots of dancing. And, yes, I am not completely blind to my own actions, I knew "she" would like it.

Let me skip to the part that mattered. I did the bar, and once again had a great time. I promised to dance later with half the room (and I did). When I got to the dining room, Meghan was instantly close, her fingers in my hair, telling me how much she liked it. We then spent the next two hours moving from table to table, her hands on me, her hand pulling my hand across her back and down – slowly – across her ass. Somehow we still managed to have intelligible conversations with the guests.

Dancing? I did all three venues, and probably had fifty partners. But one danced closer, and held me tighter, and kissed me at the end of every song. When we left the dance at midnight, there was no question about our next stop. We paused at each garden to enjoy the view and to look up at the night sky, but it was all foreplay. Our bodies were so tight against each other, each of us was wet. I had both arms around her ass and held her hips tight to mine. She had her arms around my neck and pulled herself up and against me. We were paying zero attention to the day lilies in the garden.

"You're mine now, Jess." She was kissing me as she said it.

I have no idea why she said that. Maybe she was just happy. Maybe they were just words. But they sounded possessive. And I didn't like being possessed.

"I'm married, Meghan." I'm not sure why I said that. What was the point?

"He's not enough for you, is he? I will be."

And there it was. I will always be grateful to her for summing up the situation so well. I had a woman in my arms, a woman who was driving me crazy. Why? Lust? Sure. She was attractive, and she felt so good. But I had a husband. Was he not enough for me? I had been married barely a month, and here I was with another.

Slowly I lifted my head, straightened my back, and took my hands from her backside. She still had her arms around my neck, but she could feel the change in me.

"Jess?"

"You asked all the right questions. And I know the answer. Yes. He is enough for me." Her eyes flashed through pain, and anger, and confusion, all of which hurt me. But I didn't change my mind. I stood. I waited. Slowly she lowered her arms. I kissed her cheek, said, "Good night," and walked to my room.

In the morning I flew to Switzerland.

Chapter 28

Yes, He's Enough for Me

I had plenty of time to think as I drove to Chicago and then took the flight to Frankfurt and Bern. Plenty of time. What was clear to me was Meghan and I were headed straight to my bed if she hadn't chosen to make a comment that surely seemed obvious to her, but hadn't been obvious to me. Yes, I would have belonged to her, and yes, it would have shown Emil was not enough for me. I had gotten to that point riding a wave of hormones. But, I am a thinking adult. And that moment's conversation in our garden had given me just enough breathing space for that adult to think – and feel – and reevaluate – and move in a very different direction. Emil was enough for me, in fact more than enough, and I would know that for certain when I was back in his arms.

If I ever got there. Flying commercial takes forever. It was after midnight when I walked out of the customs area at Bern's airport.

And there was my gray statue, dressed tonight in a navy blue suit with matching shirt and tie, tall, solid, smiling. I was in his arms in a heartbeat, my arms around his neck, my face pressed into his neck. His arms were tight around me, but still, I was just about to whisper "tighter," when his arms clamped around me so tightly I could barely breathe. Good man. He made no effort to move to the car. We just stood, holding each other. We kissed. The first words out of his mouth were "I love you." Nice job on his part, don't you think? I held him, so glad I had made the flight.

Eventually we did move to the exit.

"You have a bag?"

"Everything I need is here. Now drive me home and ravish me."

It turns out he can drive pretty fast. Once in the castle courtyard I jumped out the car and raced him up the stairs. I was in a satin nightgown and in bed while he was still getting his tie off. But he got in with me fast enough, and moments later we were rocking. He felt so good. He ravished me just fine. I wrapped myself around him so tightly, I almost felt like part of him.

We lay close all night, and still held each other into the early morning. I loved his hand. It slid down my back, pulled my ass towards him, and then went back up my back. He must have done that for an hour, and it felt marvelous every time. Eventually we showered, lots of soap, lots of hands, my back against the wall.

He dressed for work. I dressed for him – underwear and a slip. I followed him down to breakfast barefoot and half dressed. I wanted him to see me this way, and think of me this way while he worked. I sat with him while he ate, one arm on his thigh. When he walked out to his car, I walked with him to the front door, then stood close and lowered the straps off my shoulders. Yes, I am a tease. But I wasn't teasing. I was promising. He held me and said all the right things. Good man.

Eventually he went to work – very late, but smiling. I climbed the steps to our bedroom. Greta was waiting for me. It took her a while to get my hair sorted out. Her only comment as she fought my snarls was "Good color." Later, as we stood before my closet and decided on a dress, she added, "When you are here, he smiles. When you are gone, he shouts."

Even though it was August, the castle was not uncomfortably warm, so I went with a long gown, pale green satin with short sleeves and flared skirt to the floor. It looked elegant. And, well, I was a lady living in a castle, and elegant seemed right. I put on some slippers and went down to my own breakfast.

What was my day like? It was August – the month everyone in Europe takes their vacation. I had barely finished my breakfast when the tourists started filling the castle. Johann and an assistant were the first ones through the door. He was excited to see me, but we barely got three words out when the first group filled the entrance area. I took my place by the foot of the stairs, all smiles, handshakes, curtseys, and selfies. Johann and his assistant Maya took up their places – him in the great hall, her on the tower. By the time we shooed the last tourists out at five, I was certain over three hundred had gone through the place. Johann said the number was 356. This was the month his historical society got most of their money for the year.

I was swinging back and forth in the glider when Emil got home a couple hours later. I was still wearing my castle gown. It felt right. I felt right. I was home. I can't begin to tell you how comfortable and happy I felt. Yes, it was a castle, but somehow it was also home.

Emil joined me on the glider, an arm around me. I talked about the tourists, he talked about how much he had missed me. It was a quiet conversation with lots of swinging. Eventually we talked business.

"You sold your hotels."

"I sold ten of them. I still have the large resort in Illinois."

"I am sorry. I know you cared for those hotels."

"I felt like a mother. I helped them grow. But they are grown now, and the people who will own them are my own executives. They will care for the hotels. I will have more time with the water plants, and more time with you."

"Then I am not sorry." I wasn't sorry either. Well, at least not too sorry. I laid my head on his shoulder, and we sat together swinging until Emma came to get us for dinner.

That evening, and most evenings, after dinner we went into the great hall and waltzed. He had a CD player ready to go, we dimmed the wall sconces to about half light, set the chandeliers the same way, and waltzed in that huge room as if we were in a dream. And each night we would close with our waltz – the Blue Danube – his arm on my back nearly lifting me off the floor at every turn. The waltz may be two century old foreplay, but it still worked on me. We went up to our room in each other's arms every night.

Saturday we took a long hike, me in a dirndl and boots, him with a large backpack. We paused to look down on our castle, then continued. I knew where we were going. We would go to where his glacier had been. Three hours on mountain trails is a lot of hiking, but the breeze was comfortable up high, and the views, well, there were a thousand places that might have made a picture postcard. It was not an easy trail, but it's hard to complain when you feel you are walking on top of the world.

When we got to the glacier valley, Emil laid out a blanket, and then pulled out water bottles and sandwiches. We ate and looked up the valley. If there was any snow left, it was just a speck barely visible in the distance. Time to talk about water.

"You did a good job in Two Harbors. Management was under performing."

"Management was drunk. The bastard killed my car. Things should be better now. I will check on Kayli in a few weeks, but I think she will do fine."

"And the new plants?"

"I understand your thinking on Highway 2. It rides along the underside of Lake Superior, and it will give us a way to get water to larger cities. But we are going to have labor shortages. Every town in northern Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is a shadow of its past self. They are filled with old people. You will have to design each plant so it can be operated by just ten to fourteen workers. Ideally, some of those workers would be retirees."

"We can do that. Europe is filled with old workers too."

I was in no hurry to start the next conversation, so I finished my sandwich and pushed myself closer to him. It didn't take him long to get a hand up under my skirt. Good man. We sat like that for a while, looking out across the miles below us, the sun bringing an intensity to every color. But. If we were going to do anything about water, we also needed to deal with the other problem.

"What will we do about the plastic problem?"

"We can do a small amount of recycling, but only a small amount. The problem with plastic is it's not one product. It is a group of products in many forms and many formulations. They have to be sorted before they can be recycled."

"I know. A bad job, and an expense aluminum cans don't have."

"I am going to send two engineers back with you. We have some equipment they can test out at your Amberg plant. But it will just be a test. We can't make promises. The plastic problem is too big for us to solve on our own."

That ended our business discussion. It certainly ended all the business discussion I wanted to have at that moment. I had four days left before I had to return to the US and finalize the sale of my hotels. I had four days left with my husband. We had many other things to talk about.

"Greta says when I am here you smile. When I am gone you shout."

"When will I be shouting again?"

"In four days."

"Then make me smile for four days."

I think he smiled all that time. I know I did.

Sunday we went to mass. I wore a long gown. Greta picked it out. Navy blue cotton. Long sleeves. She also gave me a lace cloth to wear over my head in church. Emil wore a black suit. We parked a block away and walked through the ancient city center, over cobblestones, through the pedestrian-only part of the old town. I had walked through this area many times, just window shopping. Now I had my husband holding my hand as we climbed the steps to the huge cathedral.

He reminded me to cover my head, but I needed no other prompting. I just followed his lead. Holy water, pew, kneeling, praying, sitting, listening, walking to the front, a wafer put on my tongue. After communion we stood outside the church and talked with his family – cousins, aunts, nephews, nieces in bright dresses. Talk was in German. I stood, smiled, and waited. An aunt spoke to me in halting English. I think she was happy I was giving castle tours. A niece said in better English she had enjoyed my movie. Eventually we all moved to a large Italian restaurant. It was an escape from pork. I had a glass of wine with my meal, held hands with Emil when I could, smiled when people spoke German, had brief conversations about the US in English. No one had heard of Wisconsin. This would be my Sunday mornings from now on? I was fine with that.

Back home, we changed out of our church clothes. Mostly I stripped out of my cotton dress and stood helping him unbutton his shirt, my satin slip tight against him. There was a Sunday tradition I wanted to start, and when his hands got to my ass, I was sure he liked the tradition idea. Sunday afternoons would be spent in bed.

My final days I spent my time talking to tourists, walking through my castle, working with Emma and Greta about things we needed. And every day I walked through my castle, it became more and more my castle. I ordered some new furniture here and there. I updated a few things in the kitchen. I asked that a few walls be painted. And I walked through my rooms, in my castle.

And Emil? My man? He was enough for me. What a stupid thing to say. He was a wonder. Meghan's words had made me rethink many things. I was embarrassed now that I had needed her push. He was my man. This was my home. Everything I needed or wanted was right here. The morning before I flew back to the US I called Amy Tippin. "Are there still people interested in buying the resort?"

Chapter 29

The Sale

I wore one of my long gowns to the airport. I wanted Emil to see me as he did in our castle. He was giving me the company jet, which meant we could spend as much time as we wished sitting in our car talking, and then standing outside the plane holding each other. Never once did I have to say "tighter." The gray statue I had met in May now stood with me and whispered all the right things. The two engineers he was sending back with me were on the plane, no doubt a bit impatient to get going. But my man was in no hurry. Neither was I.

Eventually I boarded the plane. I noticed Emil waited and stood next to his car watching as we taxied to the runway. You had to love a man who would do that.

I had eight hours to talk with the engineers. Even with maps on our phones, I am not sure they ever understood where Amberg was. We were just going as far as Chicago where I had left my car. They would be taking a rental due north. Sometimes they looked at their phones and Amberg was visible, other times it was not. My advice was to drive up to Wausaukee and then ask the locals.

For their part I got a long lecture in reasonably good English about plastic – its formulation and all the recycling problems that came with it. It sounded to me like they were already explaining why their project would fail. I reminded them this was all a test. I didn't expect perfection, but I did want to know how much could be done. I needed processes, and I needed costs. They promised they would give me all that. Enough business. By the time we were over the Atlantic, we were all leaning back in our seats dozing.

In Chicago the engineers headed for a rental counter and a car to take them north. I paid incredible parking fees and then took my Toyota west.

You beat the clock when you fly west, but it was still late afternoon when I got to Galena. I was thinking I might have some quiet time to sit in my office and review the papers I would be signing in the morning – September first. But others had plans for my time.

Bonnie was first. Good. I had been gone ten days. She could fill me in, and she did. Three more assistant managers wanted to talk with me. They would be leaving. All three were fairly junior people. Were Bobbi and Andy intent on picking me clean? I asked Bonnie to just take resignation letters from them. I was tired of talking to quitters.

Amy Tippin was next. Good. I wanted to be sure we were ready for the sale in the morning. We were. No problem. If there was no problem, why was she looking at me the way she was? I was sitting behind my desk, and she was in one of the chairs across from me. She actually rose and pulled that big old leather chair around to the side of my desk, dragging it close. What the hell?

"I got your email about selling. I thought we should talk."

"I know it was a surprise, but I think it might be time for me to sell this resort."

"It isn't a surprise. I have been waiting for it." Remember this is the accountant lady whose favorite focal point is her shoes. Suddenly, not only does she have a chair close to me, but she is actually making eye contact. It gets stranger. She reaches out and takes my hand. Now I'm really confused. By the way, her hands were really cold. It's August and she has cold hands. Funny thing to notice.

"Why?"

"Emil. You love him. I saw it in your emails, and when you talked about him. And this place was going to ruin your marriage."

"You mean Meghan."

"If it wasn't Meghan, it would be someone else. Sorry."

"And you don't think I can control myself." She didn't answer that. I was not real happy with her at that moment, but I let her hold my hand. I looked at her. She looked at me. Funny, but I think I noticed for the first time she had brown eyes. This may actually have been the first time she looked directly at me.

"There is also your other business, and splitting your time between the US and Bern." Nice. She was giving me an out – some reason to sell that was less insulting.

"Whatever the reason," I paused there. I also took my hand away. "I asked if there was still interest in buying the resort. Is there?"

"They are waiting for us at a restaurant in town."

"Who?"

"Hyatt."

"Give me half an hour to think this through." She nodded and got up. She moved her chair back to the exact spot where it had been before. She was an accountant.

What did I do for half an hour? Nothing. I stared at my computer. Email grows like maggots. Bonnie answered or deleted most messages, but there were still plenty on my screen. I scanned them but ignored them. I was tired from the flight and cranky that Amy knew me so well. I didn't want her to be my friend or my big sister. I wanted her to keep our books and pay our damn taxes. Now I was going with her to negotiate the sale of Shakira's resort? None of this felt good. Mostly because I knew it was necessary. I didn't have the time any more. And I had this vision of my dancing each night, getting hot and close to someone, and then pulling away to go back to my room alone. Night after night. Would I? Stupid question. I had a long history that told the world exactly what I would do. Even though I shouldn't.

I was still wearing my long castle gown. I decided not to change. I would face Hyatt as a Swiss lady. Amy was waiting for me when I came out of my office. We took her car.

What can I say about the meeting? They had a private room in the only restaurant in town as good as mine. Wine was on the table. I asked for water. Out came a bottle with Dave's Falls on the label. These people had done their homework. There were four of them. Two men. Two women. I assumed the men would do all the talking. I was prepared to be angry about that. I was wrong. Both women talked about properties they had managed, properties that had a clientele similar to mine, one in California, one in Florida. They talked about entertainment, they talked about marriage venues, they talked about staffing. If their point was to show me they knew what they were doing, they succeeded. If their point was to make me happy we were having this conversation, they failed.

I was grumpy. I was grumpy from all the traveling. I was grumpy from my conversation with Amy. I was grumpy because, at the heart of all this, I was disappointed with myself. Shakira had willed me a garden. I had done a lousy job of tending it.

They didn't push it. There were long silences. Food came. Medallions of pork. Pork. Did they have a bio of me? She lives in the German area of Switzerland. Get her pork. It was actually pretty good. I finished the bottle of water, and then had half a glass of white wine.

"What happens to my employees?" Nothing had been said for a while other than each of the Hyatt people saying how much they liked the food here in Galena.

"Everyone stays." One of the men spoke for the first time. I had heard names (and immediately forgotten them), but no one gave their title (we are all so informal here in the good old US). Yet I know a thousand dollar suit when I see one. My husband had a dozen. The guy talking now was the guy who was really in charge. Good. If he said it, it would happen. "We will do reviews in three months. Some people move up, some move down, and some people will leave. But we promise three months and reviews based on known performance metrics. No surprises. No gotchas."

"I assume you have worked out a price with Amy."

"We reserve the right to put two people in your office to perform due diligence. We ask a thirty day review. Assuming things are as we expect, the price will be five point one million."

I looked at the two women. "Did either of you ever meet Shakira?"

"We both did. Spending a weekend here was part of our training."

"And?"

"We are both fighting for the chance to manage her resort."

I looked at them both, maybe for the first time. Beautiful, in their thirties, and both had handled my grumpiness well.

"Tell me one thing you will keep, and one thing you will change."

Both had ready answers. They really had been here before, and they knew the place. They would probably manage the resort better than I had. I let them finish, then nodded and held out my hand. Both came around the table and hugged me.

So, I sold my resort. Shakira's resort. I cried as Amy drove me back to the resort. I was still crying as I got out of her car and crossed the lobby to my room. Standing outside my door was Penelope. She needed to talk.

Chapter 30

Penelope and Meghan

I had no interest in talking to this smirking "guru." I reached around her to open my door.

"This will have to wait until tomorrow. I have been traveling all day."

"No. We need to talk now." I took a good look at her face. If there had been one part of a smirk there, I would have slapped her, lawsuits be damned. I saw concern. I saw unhappiness. I thought I even saw confusion.

"If this is about resigning, it can wait."

"It is about Amberg." I let her into my room. I have two chairs at one end of my living room. We sat there.

"Did you go up and visit?"

"No. I wouldn't go up there on a bet." Penelope looked at me like I was crazy. Actually she was the one who looked odd. She was wearing red glasses with huge round frames that covered half her face. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans. Is this what she looked like when it was just her locked in a room with her computers?

"Okay, so what did you learn?" She wouldn't answer until she opened a notebook and pulled out several pages. Shit. I was going to get a lecture.

"I did a review and found over twenty sites with mentions of Amberg." I was right. I was going to get a lecture. My body was screaming at me. The local clock said ten p.m. My body said it was much later than that in Switzerland.

"Penelope, can we just jump to the main points?"

"This matters." She stopped and made me wait. Okay. I get the message. If I interrupt, this will all take longer. Fine. I sat and waited. "Most have the kind of traffic you might expect. Maybe a bit higher than you would get in a small town, but nothing off the charts." She stopped again. I nodded. Yes, I had heard, I am listening, please continue educating me. I was back to wanting to slap her.

"Then there are these two sites." She pulled yet another sheet from her case, and held it up. I saw two line graphs. Both lines were curving up. "As you can see, the message activity rises, starting about a year ago. There is slow and gradual growth for the first six months. It makes sense. People are getting more engaged. There is a certain amount of back and forth. The sites draw more attention, and people spend more time on the site each day. So far, all is normal. Now look at this."

She pulled out two new charts. "Six months ago, this site exploded. Look how sharply the line rises. It is almost vertical. And, once it rises to this new level, it stays there – until last month." I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask – and what happened last month? But I caught myself. She would tell her story at her own maddening pace.

"This other site jumps too, but it jumps four months ago. Same steep ascent. Same volume once it jumps. And, it too changes a month ago."

Okay, my turn. "What happened a month ago?"

"Each took another jump, practically into the stratosphere." She pulled out two more line graphs and you could see a large jump in both.

"Okay, so there is a lot activity in a little town, and it is increasing." I pointed to the lines on the paper so she could see I was paying attention. "I knew it was bad. But what are they saying, who is saying it, and what can I do about it?" If I sounded impatient, I was.

"They are saying terrible things. I think I know something about discussion behavior, and whatever you do to stop this, you better do it fast. If this were my town, I would already have called the cops."

"The cops?"

"I know it is late, and I know you are tired, but please let me tell you a story."

I nodded in reply. I was tired, but she had said "please," a word I thought I would never hear coming out of her mouth.

"Social media people have conferences like any other professional group. This winter I went to one in Florida. You probably don't remember, but you signed off on the travel." (Actually Amy would have signed off on her expenses, but I didn't interrupt.) "It was warm, it was nice, and the bigger vendors had one open bar after another. To be honest, mostly the conference was just a chance to see some sun and play. Except for one lunch. They brought in a guy from Homeland Security. I think his job was to scare the hell out of us, and he did a pretty good job. He talked for twenty minutes, and showed one slide. The slide looked like these two." She pointed to her two graphs.

"He said they have an algorithm that monitors jihadi sites. They could block the sites, but they don't want to. They want to monitor traffic. They have a metric they use that tells them when a terrorist event will occur. He wouldn't tell us exactly what the metric was, but he kept pointing to his slide and the final jump in traffic. He said the metric is one hundred percent predictive. When traffic hits the number, they know there will be an attack."

"But they wouldn't tell you what the number was?"

"They don't have to, Jess. Look. This is a community screaming for blood. Someone up there is going to die."

"First, I will give you a phone number, and I want you to call a Captain Kekkonen with the Marinette County Sherriff's office. Tell him what you just told me, and text him all your data. Second, you said you knew something about the leaders of this. What do you know?"

"There are two. Notice that each forum spiked at a different time. I am thinking one person got in six months ago, and another started four months ago. Two different people. Each has multiple accounts, but I can trace them back to a single IP address for each."

"Okay, where are they, and who are they?"

"I have an internet address, but not a physical address."

"Can you get it?"

"That wouldn't be legal."

"I didn't ask you that. I asked if you can get those addresses."

Long pause. Finally she nodded. "I have a friend of a friend who hacks. There would be a cost. Several thousand dollars I would guess. He can get the addresses."

"I will pay it. I am going up to Amberg in a couple days. I want to know who I am talking to when I get there."

While we were sitting there, I got out my phone and texted Dave Kekkonen's contact information to her. I thanked her. I even hugged her, a first for me. She promised me she would work through the night and get back to me as soon as she had what I needed.

Ten minutes later I was in bed. My "guru" had just scared the hell out of me, but my body was telling me the time in Bern, and that time was very late. At some point, exhaustion trumps fear.

I don't know what time it was, but later that night I realized I wasn't alone in bed. Meghan. I could have jumped up and fired whoever was working the front desk and gave her a key card, but I was too tired. And I didn't fight it when she moved me. I had been lying on my side. She was on her back, tight against me, and she pulled my upper arm until I was leaning over her, one thigh between hers, one arm across her chest, my head next to hers. She kissed me. I kissed her and went back to sleep.

I woke up at five. Jet lag is a bitch. I was still lying partially across Meghan. We looked like two lovers. But we weren't. Well, maybe only in part. I didn't try to pull away from her. And I didn't turn my face when she kissed me. She had a hand on my ass, and that felt good. I cupped a hand over one of her breasts, and she smiled. She pulled at me some more, and I slid fully over her, both my knees between hers, my face just above hers. Now she had both hands on my ass and held me tight to her.

"We will be lovers, Jess."

"We will be friends." We kissed. I started to get up off her, but she held me tight.

"You know you don't really want to get up off me."

"I do." I moved again, but she held tight. Was I going to have to wrestle her to get out of bed? I wondered if that's what she wanted.

"Kiss me long and hard, tell me you love me, and then take me into your shower."

I did all of that. We kissed and fondled each other, I told her I loved her, and we spent forever in the shower. And I won't deny I enjoyed what she did. We even stayed together for a while after the shower, slowly dressing, and then helping with each other's hair. When we were ready, I walked with her to my door. We stood kissing again.

"I will be back again tonight." She stood looking at me, I think daring me to tell her "no." I said nothing, and she left with a sly smile.

Chapter 31

I Sell My Hotels

It was barely seven when I went in to breakfast, but Amy, Bobbi, and Andy already had a booth. I joined them.

"Amy tells us you have some news you might want to share." Bobbi was asking. It's funny how she now so naturally led discussions. When they are kids, you can measure growth by height lines on a door frame. As adults? We have fewer ways of precisely measuring growth, but we know it when we see it. Can I admit to being proud of her?

"Last night we sold the resort to Hyatt. They are doing due diligence this month. We close October first." As I am saying this, I am watching for reactions. Might they be angry I didn't talk to them first? Apparently not.

"I knew it when I saw that video of you in the castle." Bobbi again, but Andy is nodding agreement. "You looked more at home than I have ever seen you."

We talked about Bern for a while, and my water plants, and even hiking trails in Switzerland. Breakfast came. We moved to updates on "my" hotels. They wanted me to know the latest successes and the latest plans. It occurred to me they might want me to stop by their office from time to time to hear the latest. I was the best audience they had for occasions when they wanted to brag a bit. And if anything was clear to the four of us at that table, it was that Bobbi and Andy would have great success. Watch out, Hilton. These two are going to eat your lunch.

Eventually we took two cars to the bank. The branch manager joined us, and we saw pieces of paper showing that lots of money had moved from one computer system to another. There never was a check for all those millions, just signatures on transfer documents. The computer at Minnesota National Bank connected to the computer at Northern Illinois State Bank, and two numbers changed, one account now showing a smaller number, one a bigger number. My bank now said I was rich, even though I stood up from the table without an extra dollar in my wallet.

We stood in the bank lobby for a while hugging. And then it was over. Bobbi and Andy drove off, promising to stay in touch. I hoped we would.

While we were at the bank, Amy wanted to show me something. We walked down a hallway, and there was a large office. Stenciled on the door were the words:

Amy Tippin

Financial Advising

CPA CFA

Hours 10-6

"Hyatt has a million accountants. I thought it was time for me to take a chance and see if I could make it on my own. I already have two clients."

"Would you like a third?"

"I was hoping you would say that."

"Do you do taxes?"

"And investments." She saw the look on my face. "I know. No risk. Safety first. At your age you should have 40% in bonds and 60% in stocks – and 0% just sitting in your checking account. How about this. 70% treasury bonds. 30% S&P 500 Index funds."

"Done."

"Thank you, Jess." And my accountant shocked the hell out of me. Not only did I get a hug, but she kissed my cheek. "I promise to be careful." She took me into her office, very proud of how well the decorating had gone. The walls were wainscoted with good quality paneling, and there were desk and floor lamps for illumination, none of that nasty florescent stuff in the ceiling. I sat beside her oak trimmed desk and signed some paper. I now had a personal accountant. I hoped she made some money for me, but if nothing else, I was sure she would keep my taxes paid.

Fifteen minutes later we were back at the resort.

Walking into the main office was a big jarring. Three offices were empty. Bonnie was gone. In her place sat Sara, one of the reservation clerks. She would handle my calendar and phone calls. I wished her luck.

What was my big job, this first day without the other ten hotels? I needed to meet with the two Hyatt people, and I needed to tell my employees what was going on.

First, my employees. I sat and wrote up an announcement. I was selling the resort to Hyatt. They assured me all employees would keep their current jobs. Some adjustments might be made after three months. I was grateful for all the hard work everyone had done to make the resort such a success. As thanks for that hard work, I would be giving each employee a bonus upon sale of the company. Employees in their first year would get a bonus of one month's pay. Employees who had been with the company one to five years would get three month's pay. Longer term employees would get six month's pay. I took the draft memo into Amy to get her reaction and find out how much the bonuses would cost me. She asked for a couple hours to grind out the numbers, but she thought the cost might approach a million dollars. I told her I was fine with that.

Next, I walked the resort. Rumors were already circulating. I started in the shop area and gave the same brief comment to all. I would send out an official announcement later in the day, but Hyatt wished to buy the resort, everyone would keep their jobs. I said nothing about bonuses. There were hugs and handshakes, and some concerns. I said "Thank you" about a million times.

It was hard to walk the resort that day. These were my friends, and I was leaving them. It felt like I was abandoning them. They would have some protection for three months. After that? These were tough conversations to have, but I had them from one end of the resort to the other.

Having shaken every hand I could find, I went back to the main office. Amy had a number for me \- $734,665. She also thought I was being more than fair. So I gave Sara her first job as my secretary – get the memo out.

Next, the Hyatt people. Both had been at the meeting the night before – Josselyn and Michael. Somehow they reminded me of Bobbi and Andy. Josselyn would probably be the initial manager of the place. Michael wanted time with Amy. He was the numbers guy. I gave them each one of the empty offices in the headquarters area.

Now what? It was well past lunch time. I took an empty table in our dining room and ate a cheeseburger. I ate it and some very cold French fries over the next six hours while I talked to any and all employees who came my way. I got some questions, I got some gratitude for the bonus, and I got some people who just wanted to wish me well. You can't imagine how good that made me feel. Dinner time came, and the room filled with guests, but I stayed where I was and talked with employees. Even with all the departures for Heritage, we still had ninety people working at the resort. I didn't get to all of them, but I did talk to most.

And that evening? I changed into a dance dress, worked the bars, and danced. I hugged every employee. I danced with many. I worked all three music venues. Josselyn joined me on the dance floor at one point. She was pretty good. I did some introductions. She worked the room like an expert. Eventually she left – Meghan at her side. I danced until two and helped close up the bars. Every room was empty as I walked back to my suite.

Chapter 32

Working the Amberg Mob

I had a long breakfast in the dining room, sitting by myself at a table so people had access to me. I needed to get up to Amberg, but I also needed to be available to employees with questions or concerns. I talked to six or seven. No major panics, but few people like change. They all thanked me for the bonus. Michael (the guy from Hyatt) stopped for a few minutes to tell me he was getting everything he needed from Amy, and so far things looked good. No sign of Josselyn – or Meghan.

I hit the road around ten. Don't tell the cops, but I had figured out Bluetooth, so I spent almost the whole drive talking on the phone. Speaking of cops, my first call was to Davey Kekkonen. He had been monitoring things for weeks because of all the cars being keyed. After the call from Penelope, he had paid a visit to the Kaminski boys. Every town has a few loose screws. They were our loosest. They said they certainly had never shot up the house of that lady in Wausaukee, and had never gone near the Hilton Resort. Davey said they were lying about the Wausaukee shooting, but were probably telling the truth about the Resort. But Facebook didn't seem to bring out the best in people, so he was approving a fair amount of overtime to run extra patrols in the area. I thanked him and said I would stay in touch.

Next call, Brenda Stark. Could I see her tonight at Dad's, and could I talk with the plant staff early tomorrow? She agreed and gave me a general update on the plant.

Britney was sweeping up at one of the laundromats (no one seems to be able to get the soap out of the box and into the washer without getting some on the floor), and Patti was in the midst of a complete meltdown over something, but Britney couldn't understand what it was, and Patti was screaming too loudly to tell her. So I hung up and called back in fifteen minutes. Patti had dropped her blanket between two washers, and was fine now that Britney had gotten it out for her. In fact Patti wanted to talk to "Gamma" now. We spent five minutes saying "Hi," and then I finally got to talk with Britney. Dad was better – at least somewhat. He was walking to the bar every afternoon. She would try to meet me at Dad's for dinner, but that depended on how naps went. Patti was currently a handful. If she couldn't get there, she would send Billy.

Final call, Dad. I was coming up, could I make dinner for him? He agreed. I could hear him breathing over the phone. Not good, but his voice didn't sound too bad. I told him to expect me, Brenda, and Billy around six.

I really wanted to call Penelope to see if she knew who our instigators were, but I suspected the call would irritate both of us. She would call me when she knew. So I drove. Some two lane, some four lane, eight hours.

I stopped in Wausaukee for groceries. Some for me, some for dinner at Dad's. What could I cook that would work for a group, and would not spike Dad's cholesterol and blood pressure? I couldn't think of anything. The hell with it. It was summer. I bought brats and potato salad.

I stopped at my trailer long enough to drop off my groceries and see the lawn was desperate for mowing, and then I went straight to Dad's. Billy and Brenda were already there. I guess I am driving slower in my old age.

How do I sum up that evening? I think Dad was moving better. But of course that might just be wishful thinking. Brenda and Billy were both happy about the two recycling engineers. They thought all our problems were over. I had to be Debbie Downer and explain they were just running a test, and the test might just prove recycling wouldn't work – at least not at a cost that kept us in business. I was not bringing smiles to the kitchen table.

Highlight of the night? I mentioned the two instigators. We sat over beers and tried to determine who would want to make a bad situation even worse. I added another element. These two had to have almost limitless time. They had faked multiple identities and were posting at a rate three or four times whoever was next for frequency. So, who in town is filled with hate, wants to start a fight, and has endless free time? We went through twenty names, but usually ended saying – "no, she's too lazy to put in that kind of time." Or, "No, if it was him, we could tell by all the misspellings." It was still a mystery when we broke up and all went home.

Next day? I wore a sun dress. Look at me. Casual lady. No threat to anyone. Relax around me. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but I was trying. I even skipped morning coffee. No caffeine for me. Mrs. Calm. Talking to the Township of Calm. I wish.

I started at the plant. Brenda gathered everyone down at the loading dock. Here's my talk:

"I hope you have all had a chance to meet Gunther and Mateus." I pointed to them, and they waved. "You know they are here to test recycling some bottles. Let me emphasize, this is a test. We don't know if they can source enough, if the old bottles can be shipped at a reasonable cost, and how much work would be required to use them once we get them here. We want to recycle. We don't want to end up in bankruptcy court. So be careful what promises you make around town. Maybe this will work, maybe it won't. We will find out." I paused there and looked around the room. I saw a few heads nod.

"Now, let me make a request. I don't know how many of you use FaceBook or Twitter, or something else better known to fifteen year olds." I paused for a chuckle. I thought I heard at least an effort. "We know lots of things are being said, all of them ugly. Some about us, some about the people at the resort. And it is getting worse. I have had an expert looking at it, and she said it is getting bad enough to be dangerous. And she says, it is getting worse because two people are pushing it."

"Fucking Russians." This from one of the new guys.

"We know they like to twist our tails, and it could be them, but I doubt it. Only about twenty people from Milwaukee can find Amberg on a map, so I doubt the Russians can." Another pause for a chuckle. I think I heard one or two people. "I think these two are local. My people are looking for them, and the cops are looking for them. We need to help them find a new hobby. In the meantime, here's my request. Use the internet for cat videos. Hell, use it for porn. Better yet, after work tonight go outside with your kids and play catch. We don't get many days of summer. Use them. Keep your kids off screens too. No insults going out. No response to insults coming in. Please." I stopped and looked.

"And those women?" This from Carly, a woman I had known all my life. I remember seeing her out on the playground, swinging high and laughing. I hated to see the look on her face this morning.

"Brenda and I are going to work on that, starting yet this morning."

That pretty much wrapped things up. Back to making plastic bottles and filling them with water.

Brenda and I went back to her office. She had gotten seven bills for paint jobs after cars had been keyed. We checked addresses. Five were around Chicago, but two had used addresses at the Hilton. We thought we would pay them a visit.

As we drove over, Brenda asked the obvious question. "Think this will do any good?"

"While I drove up, I dodged semis and thought a lot about old Westerns. I think I watched a thousand growing up. Lots of them had riots where the town would storm the jail to get the bad guys and hang them."

"Are we hanging anyone?"

"We're the sheriff. As best I recall, they did one of four things. Maybe the sheriff was fine with the hanging, and he just stepped aside. Sometimes he was a coward, and he just stood there while they took out the prisoners. A couple times he was a big hero. He stood in the door with a shotgun and stared everyone down."

"Which are we?"

"We're the fourth guy. He was smarter. As the crowd built, he worked the edges, talked to men he knew, and convinced them to go home. So by nightfall the crowd was smaller and didn't try anything. We are going to shrink the crowd. Or at least try."

"Two women?"

"Two women less is a start."

As it turned out, it was a slow start. We drove to the first condo and walked up to the door. The woman was home, and came to the door with a big smile. We introduced ourselves, and the smile vanished. She backed into the house and closed the door. We waited. At least ten minutes passed. A couple times I wanted to leave, and a couple times Brenda moved to leave, but each time, one of us held the other back. We waited. Finally she came out again.

"You keyed my car. You paid the bill. Now what?"

"We came to apologize." Brenda said it before I could. "It should never have happened. I don't know if you are one of the women who picketed the place on Sundays, but you have every right to do that. I am sorry you were bothered."

"I'm a Chicago libtard. I guess I should be lucky you didn't shoot me."

"There's been lots of nastiness on the Internet." My turn. "Lots of name calling. Some of it by people at the plant. Some of it by, well, we don't know who. All of it is wrong. We are sorry about it all, and we would like it to stop."

The woman is late thirties. Good hair. Designer jeans. I think I hear a kid or two in the background. Summer vacation at the condo. She is just staring at me.

"We wanted to get out of Chicago. Cooler temperatures. Less Traffic."

"If there's anything we've got up here, it's less traffic." I try to lighten things up. No smile. But she hasn't slammed the door again.

"We're not liberals. We are Republicans. But plastic water bottles are everywhere."

"I have two engineers at the plant right now, trying to see if we can recycle some of those bottles." Brenda's turn. "We don't know if it will work, but we are trying. We don't like plastic pollution either."

"But you have a company to run."

"But we have a company to run, and a legal product, a product people are pretty happy to have after a storm."

"Point taken. Apology accepted." We all shook hands, and she went back into her condo. We walked back to the car.

"One less person in the mob?" Brenda asked.

"I hope so."

The second person in the mob wasn't home. I bought Brenda lunch at the resort, then she went back to work, and I went back to my trailer. I had grass to mow and thinking to do.

Chapter 33

Something Good, Something Really Bad

Funny how even an empty house gets dirty. Dust settles, spider webs appear. Britney stopped at my place every few days to bring in the mail. There was a large pile on my kitchen table. The yard looked awful. It took me two hours to get things under control. Two hours to think about what I should be doing. I should be up on Two Harbors to help Kayli. I should be in Galena answering questions from my employees. And I should be here trying to figure out how to get people to play nice with each other.

I got my chores done and pulled a kitchen chair out onto my deck, but even staring at my poplars didn't settle me down. I could barely sit still. Finally, for some reason, I decided I would go see my school house. Maybe it was still standing.

Have I mentioned how much respect I have for Billy? I liked him even after Britney dumped him in high school. I respected him when he attempted to join the Army even with a back injury. I liked how he made a career for himself with just a high school education. And of course, I thought he was doing a great job as father to my granddaughters. But I declared him man of the year when I saw the schoolhouse. It was straight! And it had all its windows. And he had not said a word the night before. He wanted it to be a surprise. Way to go, Billy.

I parked and climbed the steps to the door – a new door that actually fit in the frame. I went in to look at the room, and the first thing I saw was an envelope taped to the back of the door handle. Inside the envelope were the keys to the door. Outside was written – "Mom – Hope you like it. Billy, Britney, John, Ed, Sophie, Mike, Steve." Two of the five helpers worked at the plant. The other three didn't. They were just friends of Billy and Britney. Somehow that even meant a little more.

What had they done inside? They had braced the front and back walls. I don't know how they got the frame straight (tractor? bulldozer?), but once it was straight, they needed to brace the building so it would stay straight. They had pulled the broken plaster off the front and back walls and angled two by twelves from the lower corners to a midpoint above the back window, and above the front door. Once the brace beams had been screwed to the wall studs, this building wasn't going anywhere. Some day we might want to replaster the interior walls, but for the moment, we had what mattered – a tall, strong, school house that would be here another generation.

And they had cleaned up after themselves. I have no idea how many truckloads of old hay and cracked plaster had been trucked to the dump, but I bet it was a lot. The floor was swept, the windows were clean. I walked around that big room smiling. Finally I texted Billy and Britney a picture of the school house, and the words – "Thank you." There might be some stupid people in town, but there were also plenty of good people.

Speaking of good people, just then Kat drove up in her van. She unloaded her guests, and I walked out to meet them.

"Flowers tour?" I asked.

"No. We had great luck at a trout stream. We finished early so I thought I would stop by and see how work had gone." She had come around to the front of her van, and her five guests gathered around her.

"So you knew about this?"

"I don't know what was more fun, watching them work, or imagining the look on your face when you saw it." She turned to her guests – five women, mostly our age, dressed in jeans and all proudly wearing hats with fishing flies in the brims. "Ladies, this is Jessica. You probably saw her in the Oregon Trail movie. She owns this school house and half the hotels in the Midwest."

My turn with the guests. "Ladies, first, I have sold my hotels. Second, I was on camera for all of thirty two seconds, which I am sure you all know, and third, how many times has Kat shown you her Academy Award. I bet she passes Oscar around every night before dinner." That got a good laugh. Nice ladies.

"You sold your hotels?" Kat was almost whispering.

"Long story. Should we show them the school?" We took the group up the stairs to the school. In truth, it's just an empty room. Not much to see. And really hot. I gave the forty five second version of the school's history, and we were quickly back out on the stairs.

There were selfies out there. Each lady wanted to stand between me and Kat. And I got requests to do my lines from the movie. But I went in a different direction.

"Let me tell you a story even Kat hasn't heard." I paused. That's about all I know about building dramatic tension – I paused. Then I rushed on.

"Right now Lisa Lang – Kat's director - is shooting a movie in Alaska. It's about a woman and a bear. I was asked to be the star. That came after I flew up to Alaska with the cinematographer." I looked at Kat. "Yes, Jim. And we took a walk along the Yukon, him to look for possible shooting sites, me, just to be a moron. We are walking along a snowmobile trail, him hanging back to take a picture of yet another snow drift, me just minding my own business, when I come around a bend in the trail, and there is the world's largest bear. We had been warned. They are coming out of hibernation. They are hungry, and they are fast. Don't run. Stand still, make yourself tall, and shoot bear spray if you must.

"Well the guy with the bear spray is back up the trail. I am alone." Another pause. About as dramatic as I get. "Okay, time to make myself tall. What bullshit. I am five seven. I reach my arms up to be bigger. He stands up on his hind legs and gets tall too. He's like twenty feet tall. It's like looking up at a three story building. My hands are up, but I know he is thinking, 'oh good, she is surrendering'. Meanwhile, where is my camera man with the bear spray? He is behind me, filming the whole thing. I'm about to be eaten, he's getting great footage. I stand for like five minutes, trying not to wet my pants, and finally the bear leaves, I assume because I am too small to satisfy his hunger."

"We get back to Anchorage, Lisa flies up, looks at the video, and offers me the job. I will be the star of this new movie – Woman and a Bear. I drank half the beers in Anchorage, told them both to go to hell, and flew back to Amberg. True story."

It was a true story, and they liked it. There were more selfies, and many hugs. Kat got them back in the van. I rushed back to the school house and grabbed the envelope with the keys. Kat got one. Off she went, and I stood waving. I felt a whole lot better than I had earlier.

Next stop – Dad's bar. First I locked up the school (there was nothing inside, but I liked the idea that the door actually fit correctly and the locks worked). Then Dad's bar. He was in his usual seat. I took the one next to him. He was watching baseball, so he had plenty of time to talk. You could read War and Peace between pitches. What did we talk about? Nothing and everything. I avoided asking about his health, but we covered the weather, the Brewers, local businesses, the weather again, and things Patti had said (or tried to say) when Britney had them all over for lunch.

Eventually the game ended (I think. With baseball, it's hard to tell), and I walked with him back to his house. He hit me twice with his walking sticks, but he seemed to be moving a little faster, so I didn't mind. We sat in the kitchen, and I made us some spaghetti. I noticed he pushed some paper to one side of the table. As I put down his plate, I could see he had written notes from Britney's visit - cute things Patti had said, and an update on Britney and Billy – where they planned to go on vacation. He needed help remembering things, but he wanted to remember. I thought that was the main thing. I wondered what he wrote down after I left.

I was back in my trailer about seven, desperate to go to bed. My body just did not understand it was no longer in Bern. But I stuck it out, a book on my lap. I wasn't going anywhere near my bed until ten at the earliest.

It was about midnight when Davey Kekkonen woke me up.

"I knocked. When you didn't move, I thought I'd better check on you."

"Jet lag." I rubbed my eyes, tried to straighten my back, and waved toward a chair. He sat down and gave me a couple minutes to get myself fully awake.

"Do you know a Devon Gant?"

"I don't think so. Someone we went to school with?" Davey had been two years behind me in school. We had ridden the same bus together for years. Now he was the one county sheriff I trusted.

"No. He works for you. Or so he said."

"Describe him."

"Shorter, skinny, still has pimples on his forehead."

"Yes. A new guy. From Crivitz I think. Was he hurt?"

"No. Hilton security called. He has been cruising their condos for about a week. He goes up and back, slowly, they said. One of my deputies stopped him last night. Told him not to come back. He was back tonight. My turn to talk to the guy."

"And?"

"One of those guys with barbed wire between his ears. Absolute whack job. Hates all foreigners and minorities. Wanted to give me a lecture on 'race suicide.' When I stopped him, he called me a race traitor. All the time he is talking, I see a shotgun leaning against the passenger door of his truck. Back in the day, I could have taken it if it were uncased and loaded. These days... I just had to look at it while we talked."

"Bonnie must have a stroke very time you go to work." (Bonnie's his wife.)

"She's counting my days to retirement. Anyway, I called for backup, and we did a big show, two more cars, all with lights flashing. The point was to let him know we knew his name, knew his vehicle, and would be watching him. Basically we held him there for about an hour. Everyone in the condos could see him. Now they knew to watch for his truck too. Not much more we can do."

"I'll call Brenda, and we'll fire him in the morning."

"I'll have someone in the parking lot in case he touches his shotgun."

I hugged Davey and walked him out to his car. How do you thank a guy like that? And what the hell is 'race suicide'? I hated to call Brenda so late, but I wanted her to know, and well, I just felt like I had to talk to someone. She took the call pretty well. I can't say she even sounded that surprised. But she did surprise me. She asked if she could handle his firing. I agreed.

A couple hours earlier, I had found it impossible to stay awake. Now I found it impossible to sleep. It had to be three a.m. before I dropped off.

Chapter 34

A Very Bad Girl

I was up at six and at the plant at seven. Brenda was already there. We went through the HR manuals. We couldn't fire him for his race, age, religion, or gender. The best thing we could do was just fire him. We doubted he would sue us, but if he did, we could point to minimal performance, complaints from peers, above average absences. The company had pretty good lawyers. The best help we could give them was to say nothing. Brenda would just say "you're fired" and send him on his way.

She stood outside her office, waiting for him to come through. I stood by our receptionist. I have a purse gun – a small Smith and Wesson. I would use it if I had to. A county sheriff's squad was already in the parking lot. Unless Gant was a complete moron, he would know what was happening before he even entered the building.

We stood. We waited. We talked briefly to people as they came into work, but they could see we were watching the door. And they had seen the squad. If they asked, we just asked that they go in to the plant as normal. Sure. Like this was normal. But they all went through the office area and into the plant.

Gant was ten minutes late, but he finally arrived. He gave the squad a long look, then came into the office area, his head on a swivel. Nice thing about summer – not too many layers of clothing to hide a weapon. I didn't see anything on him as he walked by. Brenda called him into her office, her door still open. I heard her say, "You are fired. You will leave now. We will mail you your check for hours worked." He shot off his mouth for about ten minutes. Good. The receptionist and I were both witnesses. He was saving us legal fees with every profanity.

He left the building, turned and flipped us the bird once he reached the parking lot, then walked over to the county squad and shouted something. Then it was over. He got in his truck, spun his tires, and drove south. Some bar in Crivitz would have him soon.

Brenda and I walked the plant for a while. Most people were back to work. Here too, we had to be careful what we said. No defamation. I let Brenda do the talking. She held to the standard line – "He is pursuing other opportunities." It's a dumb line, but it works.

We walked the plant, then returned to her office. I sat with her for a while, then left. I asked if she wanted my Smith and Wesson. She just pointed to her own purse. When did it become normal for mothers to carry guns?

The squad was still out in the lot. Young guy. I stopped and thanked him. He said he wouldn't be surprised if there was a drunk driving arrest later. That might settle things down for a while. Leave it to Davey to have a solution.

My next stop? The Hilton. I still had a person I wanted to pull out of the mob.

I drove to the north side condos. The older ones. This is where we had been given three condos as part of the sale of the resort. We had them for about a year and sold them. A Mrs. Dinesh had the one next to Billy and Britney's. They had said something about her, but I was darned if I could remember what. Anyway, no one was home again.

Now what? I went to the hotel for an early lunch. I really did like the place. The golf cart ride to the hotel was fun, the grounds were beautiful, the hotel as fancy as the mob could make it. I liked the wind in my hair as the cart took me over there, and I loved walking through the hotel looking at places where Willie and I had danced.

Lunch? The place was nearly empty. The hostess and I talked a bit about the old days, and then I asked for a seat about in the middle of the room. Maybe someone would come talk to me. I was wearing a yellow sun dress, obviously a harmless lady, don't worry about me, I'm not the enemy, come sit and talk, I'll even buy a drink.

No takers, but no one threw anything at me either. Progress? I had the standard woman's meal – cup of soup and half a sandwich. I always wondered about who had the other half. Since we were sharing a sandwich, did that make us friends? I know. Pretty goofy. But after my morning, goofy seemed just fine.

It doesn't take long to eat half a sandwich and a cup of soup. I had made eye contact with a few people as they walked past, but they kept walking. This was not my day to make friends. But then Samantha Brown stopped at my table and asked if she could join me. We hadn't met, but I knew the name. And her name badge confirmed she was Hotel Manager.

"Thanks for dining with us today." Samantha Brown was maybe forty. African-American, light skinned, big eyes, shoulder length hair, just a bit heavier than she probably wished to be. I had heard Hilton managers did three year rotations, so she was getting near the end of hers.

"My pleasure. By the way, the food was very good."

"Thank you." She looked me over, then decided to continue with whatever agenda had brought her to my table. "I have always been curious. When you owned the place, what ideas did you have for the future?"

"I was thinking more wedding venues, and snowmobile trails in the winter. The condo idea I totally missed."

"It worked pretty well. Although sales are slower now than they used to be."

"Yes, I hear the town is getting a reputation."

"Last night didn't help. I hear he is one of yours."

"We fired him this morning." I paused and let her process that. "We have also paid to repaint any car that was keyed. And, if I can find the people, I am personally apologizing. What's going on here isn't good, and I want it stopped as much as you do."

We sat and looked at each other for a moment. I guess we were each checking for hostility or anger. I didn't see any. If anything, she just seemed thoughtful.

"I appreciate what you are doing. Any suggestions for me?"

"They used to come into town more, but I suppose that will be out for a while. But I think it would do them good to see things off the island. There's a local woman – Kat Johnson – who runs tours. She might get them to see another side of the county."

"I've met her. The fishing guide?"

"She does all kinds of activities. And she is an impressive woman. Retired army officer. Multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan."

"I did two tours in Iraq before Hilton hired me."

"Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. By the way, I saw her movie. I know she got an Oscar, but she always looked more like an officer than a sergeant. I could have told her how we really talk."

"I'll pass that along."

Okay, so we are now having a very comfortable conversation. I like her. I hope she does call Kat. I bet they would get along.

"Do you mind if I ask you a favor? I hear you managed the sports bar for several months. I have yet to figure out the beer order used. It makes no sense to me. I bet they are still using the same order as in your time. Could you take a look and explain it to me?"

"Sure." And we were off to the sports bar. I left a twenty for the food and a tip, and practically raced to the bar. The summer I had worked there had plenty of low points, but none of them happened in that bar. It was bright, attractive, and looked out over the golf course. It felt good to work there.

The odd part of the beer order? I should have guessed. Escanaba Eskimo Lager. We went into the storeroom and she handed me the clipboard with the regular order.

"What is this stuff, and why do we sell so much of it?"

"The Escanaba high school mascot is the Escanaba Eskimos, so that is where the name comes from. The attraction? 9.8% alcohol. Guys come off the course and slam back two of these, and they are really feeling it. They can tell their wives they just had two beers, and they have the alcohol of four. We could never keep it in stock."

"Well, that explains why some of the golf carts end up in the river. Any suggestions for a more reasonable microbrew?"

"There's a place up in Iron Mountain my father uses."

I gave her the name of the place, and we talked some more about the sports bar. It was bonding of a sort. Bottom line, battles are bad for business. We needed common ground. And if it was local brewery information, so be it. We yakked for another fifteen minutes, and she walked me back to the front entrance. We parted with a handshake – a handshake I was happy to see was visible to a fair number of guests.

So, things felt better. I decided to press my luck and try one more time to meet with Mrs. Dinesh.

Here things got odd very quickly. She was home. And so was her daughter. Two seconds after I knocked on their door, it was the daughter who took over. It began simply enough. I knocked on the door, introduced myself, and said I had come to apologize for the damage done to her car. Simple enough – until it wasn't.

"She's lying to you. She's not here for the car, she is here for me." I don't know which of us was more confused – me or her mother. Mrs. Dinesh stepped back from the door and turned to look at her daughter. I stepped into the condo. I saw two people who couldn't be dressed more differently. Mrs. Dinesh was wearing a pink sari with materials wrapped all around her and flowing over her shoulder. Her daughter was in full Goth, black jeans, long sleeve black t-shirt, enough dark makeup to put Maybelline production on overtime. Oh, and her hair was died jet black and combed over as much of her face as possible.

"Why is she here for you?" Good question, Mrs. Dinesh. We both stood and stared at the girl. She was maybe fifteen, and stood with her hands in fists, her arms straight at her sides.

"I'm the one you called an 'instigator.' It's all over the internet. You had people looking for me. Well, you found me. So what?"

"You did a lot of damage."

"What damage?" Mom was confused, and now angry. "You people damaged my car. Anika did nothing."

"Anika sent out hundreds of ugly messages on the Internet."

"She doesn't do that. She uses her computer for homework."

"Jesus, Mother. You are so dense." The two of them had a stare down.

"Anika." My turn. "You made a lot of people angry. There could have been violence because of your messages."

"There was already plenty of violence." Now I was getting her complete attention. It was odd looking at her eyes coming from behind strands of black hair. "You think I didn't know about those men shooting up that lady's house? People here are such morons, such rubes. Drunks in rusty pickup trucks. They want to work at that pathetic factory, let them, but don't expect me to say nice things about them. They deserve every insult I posted."

"They are bad men, but you should be polite." Mrs. Dinesh apparently decided now was a time for an etiquette lesson.

"No, now is the time for the truth, and not just about them. I posted just as many messages about the pathetic hypocrites who live here. Feeling like they made it big because they can afford to spend weekends at the Hilton. Bragging about BMWs when I bet they can barely make the payments. Beers with the boys and endless golf. Aren't we the great ones? Life's winners. How pathetic."

"Be kind, Anika."

"I told you to stop using that name. Call me Anna. Anika – the Goddess Durga. Really. You see me as some weird Indian goddess with what, eight arms? That's what's really weird. All this Indian crap. You wearing a sari all the time. Proud of your heritage? Proud of your green card? See how proud you are when Trump puts you on a plane with all the other foreigners with dark skin."

"Not. In. Front. Of. Our. Guest." Mom was on the verge of losing it.

"Anna." My turn again – I hoped. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Arrest me. I don't care. Get me out of this damn place."

"There's no law against nastiness." I let that sink in. "But I want you to think about what you did. You are old enough to do that." Another pause. "I hear there are computer programs where you can build your own world. Towns, people, farms and such." She nodded, her mouth twisted like I had just said, "I hear there is a sun, and a moon, and stars even." I kept going. "When you post to these local forums, you are also building your own world. This is where you live. This is the real world. And in the real world – your world, you decide how people treat each other. You decide. You are going to live in this world decades longer than me. You decide what people say to each other. How they treat each other."

And I left. I have no idea if she listened to a word I said. I was barely out the door when Mom closed it, and I could hear the two shouting at each other. They were at full screech-level by the time I got to my car. I gathered Anika – or Anna – wouldn't be posting anything for a while.

So, I had found one of the instigators. I drove back to my trailer and called Penelope while I was still sitting in my driveway.

"I found one of the instigators. 117 North Island Drive. She's one of them right?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean, 'yes.' You already knew? Why didn't you call me?"

"I'm sure you know why." I imagined the smirk on her face. I really was going to slap that girl.

"No, I don't know why. You tell me."

"Okay, we will act this out to the very end. Make sure you sound shocked when I tell you."

"Penelope, finish this."

"The other instigator is you. We traced the IP to your office in Bern. You started four months ago – when you first moved back to Bern and found your castle. I know it all. I know what you said. I know how many times you posted. I know you are not the lady you pretend to be."

"That's nuts."

"Maybe so, but here is what is going to happen. I am done working for you. You will send me that check for fifty thousand. It's a nice bribe. It will keep me quiet. But don't ever call me again." And she hung up.

What the hell? I sat in my car, unable to move. Finally I called Emil. I needed help. I explained the situation and asked the main question. "Who had access to my office?"

He didn't know, and it was after seven in Bern, so anyone who might know had gone home for the day. He would make some calls, but it might take days to identify the security breech. Lovely. In the meantime, "I" kept posting filth? Emil said all the right things. He was sorry someone had gotten access to my office. He would do all he could. He wished he was with me so he could hold me. I wished the same thing. We told each other we loved each other, then he got off the phone so he could start making calls to his security people.

And what did I do in the meantime? Why is there never a punching bag around when you need one?

I drove into town and took the bar stool next to my father. Baseball was on TV. Cubs today. No Brewers. Not that it mattered. Baseball is baseball. And Morgan is Morgan. It took her forever to bring me a beer. I had it drunk before she got back to her fan magazines.

"It says your lady friend is directing a new film about a woman fighting a bear."

"Yes, I heard that too. Can you bring me another beer?" She nodded, but didn't move. I walked around behind the bar and poured my own. That got my Dad's attention.

"I need the business, but not from you."

"I am having a real bad day. Someone has my office computer and is sending out endless nasty messages. We need to figure out who."

"How hard can it be? Someone who has access to your computer, wants to harm you, and has time to send out endless messages."

"Saanvi." She was senior enough to get into offices, she wanted this water plant to close, and time? She had three kids, but she also had a maid and a nanny. She had time. The bitch. "Okay, Dad. Next question. What do I do about it?"

"Nothing. Don't make it personal. Office equipment was stolen. Office security should deal with it."

"You sure?"

"No. I don't know how your company operates. But any good company cares about computer security. And I know having more beers isn't going to help anything. Sit and watch the game."

"The Cubs? Why?"

"I watch because I am too old to do anything else. You should watch so you learn patience. Any minute now, that pitcher will finally throw the damn ball. Wait for it. Eventually he will throw it again. It's in the rules. Sit. Sip your beer. Tell your old man what you are going to do with your schoolhouse."

"Did Billy take you out there?"

"Yes, he showed me. It needs a paint job, but at least it's straight now."

"What do you think I should do with it?"

"It's a school house. Find some old desks and a chalk board."

And that started us off. I forgot about Saanvi for a while. We talked about the school house, the Cubs game (he was right – the pitcher did eventually throw the ball), the bar, the weather, the price of pulp wood... We covered a lot of ground. I think the pitcher eventually threw the ball several more times, but we walked back to Dad's house and had dinner.

I drove home and made no effort to compensate for the time change. I was tired, so I went to bed and slept like the dead.

Chapter 35

Highway 2 Again

Emil called me at seven. I was still asleep. Either I was exhausted, or I was finally adjusted to my current time zone. He told me what I had already guessed. It was Saanvi. I had two computers – a desktop model and a laptop. My laptop was gone. Everyone assumed I had taken it with me. Security checked. It was logged into a network at Saanvi and Mattieu's home. She had made no effort to mask her location.

Now what? He would deal with it. I was fine with that. I wanted nothing to do with her. We moved on to other matters. It got personal. I told him I would get there by mid-October. He told me he would take me hiking. I told him I would take him to bed and what I would do there. He asked if I could come back earlier. Good man.

I thought it would be earlier, but I did have things to do first. The obvious event was October first when I signed away Galena. Before then, I had water plants that needed my attention.

First, Amberg. I resolved to stay here four more days. If Gant was going to do something stupid, I figured he would do stupid fast. Davey did get him for drunk driving. Gant had gone straight to some bar in Crivitz where they apparently knew what "race suicide" meant. He did beers and shots for about six hours. A good bartender would have taken his car keys, but maybe that would have made him a "race traitor." Who knew with these guys? So, Gant, too drunk to do more than shout about foreigners and stagger to his car, backed straight into two cars owned by his race brothers. The cops were on the spot remarkably fast, and while drunk driving is not a serious offense in Wisconsin, it does get you a visit to the jail where they take your picture and your finger prints, almost like you had just committed a real crime. Gant's mother got him out in a couple hours, but we all hoped the visit to the station (or his mother) would settle him down. I would wait four days to be sure.

While I waited, I spent time with the engineers. They had visited various recycling facilities, checking on volume and quality. None of this was going to be easy. Bottles had to be cleaned and have their labels removed. They had to be transported. They had to be ground up. You get the idea. There were lots of reasons why recycled bottles were going to cost much more than a truck load of poly beads from Dow. But the engineers' job was to grind out the numbers. Our job was to make the decision. They promised the numbers by the end of the month.

After four days of peace, I had a big family dinner, but out at the school house. I wanted everyone to see Billy's work. I brought up some chicken and potato salad from the Wausaukee IGA, and we sat at a large picnic table I had bought at Wausaukee Hardware on condition they deliver it. The surprise for me was the girls brought up hostas they had separated from their gardens, and we (with some "help" from the little ones) planted them on the shady side of the building. It was a great way to spend an evening. As for the question, "Now what will you do with it," I still had no idea.

The next morning I started north. I thought I might spend a couple days getting to Poplar. I wanted to explore every town on Highway 2. There were three towns that had slightly larger populations – Iron Mountain, Crystal Falls, and Iron River. Was there anyone left who was still working age? I had a meal in all three, spent the night in Crystal Falls, walked the streets, and checked neighborhoods for backyard playsets. Maybe. I saw enough swing sets to take a chance. I bought forty acres outside Crystal Falls and another forty outside Iron River. I didn't pay much over a thousand dollars an acre. We would put an exploratory well in each forty in the spring.

I spent two days in Poplar. Ted was doing fine, but I wanted his ideas on labor. Which jobs were the most physically demanding? He had two guys who had to be sixty. What jobs could they do? What jobs couldn't they do? Initially these questions made everyone nervous. Was I going to get rid of the old guys? And if I was going to change things, was it to make guys work faster? Actually faster was a good idea, but I thought it would happen on its own if we could reduce places that were stressing men – of any age. Did we have any brilliant insights? Well, everyone agreed the conveyor belt was too low. It hurt them to bend so much. We measured up various heights and decided eight inches higher would work. We called the belt people and scheduled the work. Suddenly I was less scary.

At the end of my first day I drove to Duluth for a room – at my old hotel. It felt really odd to pay for a room. And the place was not cheap. I could have saved fifty bucks a night by staying at a Super 8 on the edge of town. But I had a good time talking to Andrea – now in her second week under new ownership. So far, so good. She bought me a glass of wine. That was it. I paid for all my meals and my room. I figured I could afford it.

When I got up to Two Harbors a couple days later, I saw Kayli had been busy. The break room looked even better, and the sign with the production graph was now printed out twice the former size and hung where it was the first thing you saw when you walked up there. I saw one down day. Every other day showed a gradual increase. Of the six people I had hired weeks before, the five women were still there. The man was gone. Was I going to end up with an all-woman crew? There were three men left, and I had a short talk with each of them. Problems? No, the guy who had left was a drunk. No loss. Two of the men were married to women in the plant, so they were fine with the situation. The third guy? He seemed really interested in the woman running the labeling machine. So, I guess we didn't have any serious gender issues.

I was up there almost a week (and I stayed in a local motel – sorry Bobbi), and we started work on the biggest problem the place faced – room. What we really needed was a large expansion, but the factory was surrounded by other buildings. We were squeezed. I extended lunch one day, and we brainstormed ideas for internal adjustments. Could we add a third line? And even if we just stayed with two, could we move things so it would be easier to get around? They had all been bruising their shins as they moved around the floor, so they knew the problem. We drew lots of pictures on the breakroom wall. The big change? We decided to move some of the machines closer to each other, thereby shortening the lines. It gave us more room at the start and the end of the line. No great innovation, but more elbow room and fewer bruised shins.

That done, my next stop was St Paul. I wanted to see how Bobbi and Andy were doing. I also wanted to talk with our marketing consultants.

Bobbi and Andy? I never saw either of them. According to the guy at the desk, they were visiting other properties. He suggested I make an appointment next time. It was obvious from his face, he had no idea who I was. I guess I was going to have to get used to that. I took a room anyway.

The marketing experts? They had an office near the airport. Large open space, endless blowups showing screen shots of commercials they had done, or print ads, or web sites. They apparently had a huge budget for large pictures.

We were not a major client, but they gave me time with a guy who at least looked like he was a couple years past his internship. My question – if we boosted production by four or five hundred percent, was there a market for it? His return question made me feel much better about the firm. Would we continue with our own brand, or would we produce water that was bottled – and branded – by other companies? Good question – and one I hadn't thought of. Before I could answer, he brought up a YouTube video showing the women picketing the Amberg plant, and two of our guys giving them the finger as they drove past. His point was obvious. We had a brand, but it might not be a brand we wanted to keep.

He was making good points. And he knew it. While barely pausing for breath he told me he would have two proposals for us in a month. One would be to rebrand and then promote our line of water. The other proposal would be for sales materials our people might use for direct sales to resellers. The meeting was now over. In case I was too dense to know that, he smiled, put out his hand, and quickly backed his chair away from the table. I found the front door on my own. I guess our account was even smaller than I had thought.

I went back to the hotel, had dinner and a drink or two more than I should have, and went to bed early. Galena was waiting in the morning.

Chapter 36

Final Days in Galena

I don't remember what movie it was in, but I remember someone quoting Napoleon – "graveyards are full of irreplaceable men." Given how many men he put in graveyards, he should know. But if his point was that no one is irreplaceable, that life goes on without us, I knew just what he meant when I got to Galena. I had only been gone two weeks, and I still owned the place for two weeks more, but I had been replaced. Josselyn wasn't just there to review the place, she was there to make the transition to Hyatt. How did I know? Sara – my admin assistant – smiled and waved as I walked into the main offices, but she was standing in Josselyn's doorway and kept standing there talking even after I walked past her and into my office. Any calls or messages for me apparently could wait until Josselyn had gotten what she needed. Hmm.

I got some version of that treatment pretty constantly over the next two weeks. A few employees stopped me in the hall to talk about this or that, mostly pleasant comments. One guy wanted to argue his bonus – he was three days shy of one year, and his buddy was just two days past one year, did it seem fair that his buddy should get three times as much as he did? The longer he talked, the more fair it seemed to me. I told him I would be sure to mention him to the Hyatt people. Mostly, though, it was just "Hi" and they kept walking.

What did I do with my time? I spent about an hour each morning with Amy and Michael. It turned out they were each in love with checklists. We would hit one or two items a morning. They would check their boxes. Sometimes I had to initial Michael's list. Amy assured me things were going well.

The rest of the day? I hit the spa, I walked the gardens, I packed my bags. Mostly I was slowly becoming a ghost. I adjusted to that, but it seemed funny at meal time. The first evening I went to work the bar and dining room, Josselyn and Meghan were already hard at it. Did I join them? How would that work? Did I introduce them? Explain the sale? Josselyn and Meghan seemed to be explaining things just fine. They were all smiles, hugs, and kisses on the cheek. I was confused, and stood feeling pretty stupid. Finally I just took an empty table and ordered dinner like everyone else. Josselyn and Meghan smiled as they walked past my table to a group of new arrivals. Hmm.

Nights were even more disconcerting. My first night back, I had just dropped off to sleep when Meghan climbed in with me. I needed to deal with that keycard. She slid up against me and said, "After all we have meant to each other, I thought we should have a more personal and private time to say good bye." After all we had meant to each other? I could only remember one night – and she had snuck in that time too. She had more to say.

"Josselyn told me you had always been the wife, so you probably liked it if your partner took the lead." At this point she pushed me onto my back and climbed on. Given what she then did with her hands and mouth, apparently Jossylyn had taught her more than identifying sexual preferences. She was pretty busy on me for an hour, leaving us both soaked in sweat. When she finally finished, I wrapped my arms around her, thinking we would get some sleep. That lasted all of five minutes. She was up, put on her robe, gave me a final kiss, and then, after checking to see if the hallway was clear, left my room. No final words after all we had meant to each other? No. It was slam, bam, thank you mam. Not even a good bye.

The next night it was Josselyn. So, she had a master key. I guess I wasn't too surprised. But she didn't jump into my bed. She stood alongside, waiting for me to fully waken, and then slowly dropped her satin robe. Her nightgown was black, satin, short, and skin tight. It looked glued to her. Apparently I was to see – and appreciate – her before she joined me. She even raised a hand and played with her hair a bit, just in case I had yet to notice how her hair flowed over her shoulders. Convinced that I must finally be in awe of her, she pulled back my covers, sat on the edge of the bed, and then slowly leaned over me. It looked like she wanted to kiss me, but first she positioned my arms at my sides. Her elbows went outside my elbows, and then her knees went between mine. She didn't just want to lead, she wanted to control.

I'll give her credit. At least she stayed all night. She did what she came to do, and then we just held each other, and we slept. In the morning she showered with me, and was pretty good there too. When we were done, she sat in front of my mirror and asked for some help with her hair. As I combed it out, she gave me the orders she had waited all night to deliver.

"Jess, I think the transition is going really well. You have done a great job with this resort, and I know it will be a big success for us. Could you do something for me?" I didn't answer, and she didn't need me to. I kept combing. "When you see me enter a room would you come to me? Smile. Maybe put a hand on me. If I take your hand, would you kiss my cheek? I think it would be good for people to see that relationship between us." I didn't answer. She didn't need me to. She had me comb her hair for a while longer, then stood and put on her robe. She led me to the door, opened it, and stood there with me. I was wearing a towel. She was wearing a robe. A few people walked the hall, and she wanted them to see. She gave me a long kiss, smiled at a couple down the hall, and walked away. I closed the door.

Did I do as she asked? Yes. But I'm not proud of it. Not because I helped her. She was new, she was trying to establish herself, she deserved any help I could give her. I'm not proud because I thought she was going about things in the wrong way, and I didn't try to change her approach. She might not have listened, but I didn't even try.

So for the remainder of my time at the resort, if I saw her, I walked to her, smiled, put a hand on her shoulder, or on her waist, maybe even in her hair. And we would kiss. Sometimes on her cheek, but often her mouth. We would exchange a few words, and then I would go back to what I was doing. What was wrong with that? The flaw was fundamental. Shakira had taught me a very different approach. She didn't wait for people to come to her – she went to them. It was not their job to praise her beauty, it was her job to make them feel good about themselves. It was she who put a hand on them, she who kissed their cheek, she who smiled and told them how lovely they were. She went to them – and she made them feel good.

Josselyn absorbed praise, absorbed smiles, absorbed kisses. She expected employees to come to her. I saw it time and again. How long before she expected guests to come to her as well? I was certain of the impact it would have on her employees and upon her guests. Over time, it would slowly eat at this place. And I said nothing. I also double locked my door from the inside. For the remainder of my time in Galena, I would be sleeping alone.

Well, almost. I did have two friends at the resort who would remain my friends, no matter who signed their paycheck – Keisha and Michelle. It got so after a morning in the office with Amy and Michael, I would wander down the hall to the resort shops. We would order lunch in, and just catch up on things between customers. Keisha and Michelle had gotten married while I was in Switzerland, and they were in the midst of remodeling their kitchen. I got to see color wheels and counter back splash patterns. Work would begin next month (no doubt after they got their bonus checks).

I showed them pictures of my castle, and they had all kinds of ideas for gowns I should buy in their shop (why not? They were free to me until the end of the month). So we spent some time in back in one of the changing rooms, half dressed, kissing, fondling, and laughing.

They had me over for dinner one night – a last chance to use the kitchen before it was all torn up for the remodel. We ended up on the living room couch, the three of us under a big blanket working our way through a second bottle of wine and three romcoms on Netflicks. By the third movie there was more action on the couch than on the film, and I spent the night.

They had one day off a week, and we decided on a road trip - the Mall of America in Minneapolis. They wanted to see if there were any interesting fashions, but ended up laughing at almost everything we saw. They had a great time with "fast fashion" and loved showing me the seams that would fail by the third wearing, and the zipper that would pull out the first night. We laughed a lot. We ate more than we should have. We spent the night back home in their king bed. We tried out multiple night gowns, debating between silk and satin, long and short, lace and plain. We were all over each other, and it was great fun. Best, I was pretty sure, these were friends I would keep seeing. These were women I would Christmas shop with and exchange long, goofy emails. These were friends. Not really lovers, but really good friends.

My last morning, it was they who helped me do my final packing and helped carry all those bags to my car. It took over an hour, and completely packed my SUV. They were the ones I stood and hugged in the entrance. Yes, Josselyn and Meghan and several others were there, waiting for me to come to them – to smile, hug, kiss, and say how much I would miss them. Then I hugged Keisha and Michelle again, cried on their shoulders, and drove to the bank.

Apparently getting five mill out of Hyatt requires three vice presidents, all of whom were happy they had "come all this way" to meet me and complete our "transaction." Had I met these stiffs earlier, I would have raised the price. Fortunately Amy was there to push papers around the table. I am not stupid. I had copies of all these papers the night before, and spoke with Amy about any questions. I also checked to see if the papers on the table were the same papers I had seen the night before. Just because they are boring doesn't mean they can't be crooks. But eventually it was all over.

They flew back to wherever vice presidents live, and I walked to Amy's office to complete our paperwork. Two more signatures and this new money went to the same investments as the last money. She had estimates of my taxes petty well worked out. She expected even with my very conservative investments I would have an annual investment income of about half a million. But there would be taxes on that income too. What would I really get after taxes? About thirty thousand a month. My reaction? Oh good. Now I can get my kitchen done.

I embarrassed the hell out of her by kissing her on the mouth. But she looked up from her shoes long enough to smile. I gave her another hug and then hit the road for Amberg. I had kitchen money to spend.

Chapter 37

I Smile a Lot in Amberg

It's a long drive to Amberg, so I had plenty of time to Bluetooth a call to Emil. I summarized the latest from Galena. I said I needed a few days to check on his engineers and spend time with my grandbabies. Could I come home in a few days? He said the plane would come for me on the fifth. A car would be at my door midmorning. We said a lot more about what would happen later in the fifth, but you can figure that out on your own.

As it turned out, the plane arrived the next day, and the car that pulled into my drive was driven by Emil. I wish I had been there. But I was up at the plant. I needed an update from the engineers, so I was deep in discussions with them, and frankly a little annoyed after the third time Brenda told me to go home and rest. Finally she just said, "Jess, go home. Someone is waiting." The look on her face made it pretty clear she wasn't talking about the propane delivery guy.

I found Emil sitting on my front porch. My Emil, my gray statue, was sitting on the edge of the porch, wearing khakis, a blue shirt, and a blue blazer – no tie. It looked like he had read a magazine about Americans and heard this was how they dressed. I was certain it was a thousand dollar, tailor made blazer, but otherwise, he was actually pretty close.

I ran for him, ecstatic to see him, but also thinking, shit, I never mowed the grass, I have a sink full of dishes, all the clothing I brought up from Galena is all over the trailer, when was the last time I dusted, hell, I didn't even make my bed. And then I kissed him. I was also thinking, if I got any factory grease on this dress, and got it on his blazer, he is going to kill me. Well, maybe not kill me, but why take the chance, let me get this damn thing off. So I'm kissing him, and unzipping my dress, and dropping it on the front porch. Call it Amberg foreplay.

Two hours later, he was every bit as responsible for the messy bedroom, messy bathroom, and messy kitchen as I was. We were showered, half dressed, and most of the way through some eggs.

"I'm going to redo the kitchen. I am thinking birch cabinets and granite counter tops."

"That would be nice."

"This town used to be famous for granite."

"I'm sure it was."

"You didn't wear a suit."

"I know you don't like gray."

"You didn't rent a Beemer."

"No."

"I love you, Emil."

"I love you too."

I was all over him again. Did I tell you he had great hair? Thick. A bit long. I had one hand in it. I was sitting on his lap with my face against his neck. He had one arm holding me to him while the other hand explored my thighs. How had I ever thought of him as a gray statue?

He spent a week in Amberg. I am going to skip most of that time other than to say we spent lots of it in the trailer, and I spent lots of time smiling. He looked plenty happy too.

Outside the trailer?

We paid several visits to the plant to meet the employees and to talk with the engineers. Actually I thought he was pretty good about talking to everyone, including one of the guys on the loading dock who didn't have much to say to anybody. Nice guy, just quiet. He and Emil talked fishing, for maybe three sentences, probably a lifetime record for the guy.

As for the engineers, they were getting close, but still getting some figures and evaluating some equipment. Emil made it clear, when the final numbers were in, the go-no go decision was mine.

Emil met the family. We drove up to Niagara one night to meet Britney's brood, and then did Green Bay the next night. Saturday we had everyone up to the school house for a picnic. Billy walked him through it and explained what had been done to save the place. Emil's reaction? He looked at me and said, "See, you are Swiss. We all love our history."

We ate at the Hilton one night, the Wausaukee Diner another, and the Wausaukee Supper Club our last night. I had to laugh at the supper club. After we were seated, the hostess spoke with our server, and she brought us each an additional fork. Elias might be dead, but he had not been forgotten.

Conversations went well at all three places. I knew people at the diner and the supper club, and we had brief, but pleasant conversations. Even though it was chilly, Emil had left his blazer in the car, so he looked pretty much like the other guys. He even thought to ask about the best local streams for trout fishing. In short, two good meals.

The Hilton went well too, and in fact it might have been the best visit. This time he wore the blazer, and I wore silk, so we looked good, but I still was worried we might catch some noise from one of the picketers. We did have several people make a point of ignoring us, but the manager spoke to us for a while, as did the hostess, so it didn't feel like we were in quarantine, and then Mrs. Dinesh approached. She gave me a short apology for her daughter's actions, but it was Emil who surprised both of us.

"Mrs. Dinesh, I love your sari. I wonder about the style. Could it be from Delhi?" What the hell? Men never comment on women's clothes, and how would he even know what a sari is, much less its style? Mrs. Dinesh began a dissertation of the color and fabric she had wrapped around her, then the pattern, and the way it was gathered at the waist. I guess that was her way of finally saying "yes. Delhi." How did my husband know?

"When we were first married, my wife and I spent several years working in India. I think my wife had ten saris. She just loved them. Our girls have them now. They love the Delhi style, but also Kerala."

Okay, that started Mrs. Dinesh again. Something about Kerala communists, but the main point was someone in the resort had finally paid attention to her sari, and she was beside herself. Eventually she took a table, and her husband came in to join her. She immediately brought her husband over for introductions and another twenty minutes went by. We did finally eat dinner, and we did finally leave. As we left, I thought several people looked up as we passed, and maybe even gave us a slight nod. Maybe just my imagination. Maybe.

Afternoons? We spent every afternoon in Dad's bar. Dad and Emil shot pool (they were both terrible), talked "football" (weird conversation since Dad was talking American football, and Emil was talking soccer, and neither of them knew it), moaned about currency exchange rates (I knew Emil exported a lot of juice and water. What I didn't know was that Dad imported rum for some distributor he had met on one of his Florida trips), and slowly drank their beers. Eventually we walked Dad home. Dad claimed, by the way, that his walking sticks were hiking sticks, and he liked to still walk through some of the local parks – great history to see there, too bad so few people get out to see it.

How do I sum up that week? My husband came for me. He said the right things, he did the right things, he even wore the right things and rented the right car. All of that is very nice. What really mattered? He came for me. I spent every night thanking him for that.

Chapter 38

Back to the Castle

If you ever have a chance to spend October in Switzerland, do it. Every way you turn is a hillside, and every hillside is on fire with color. And every hillside leads to yet another hillside or mountain peak. It is overwhelming. Emil and I walked to the top of our hill every evening. We would stand and watch the setting sun deepen colors in every direction. I would wrap my arms around him so tightly I was surprised he could breathe. But I held him. And I watched the colors change. And I was grateful for every minute on our mountain.

The rest of the day was pretty good too. The wedding planner must have been working sixty hour weeks. She had every detail worked out. She had even coordinated the color of the candle sticks. Her one problem? We would be feeding three hundred guests at the castle. Our great hall is great, but still, she showed me drawing after drawing as she worked out the seating. Tables for three hundred, plus dancing after dinner? It took some imagination, but she produced a plan. I signed off and got a nervous smile in response. She hoped it would work. I guessed her first full night's sleep would come the day after the wedding.

When would the wedding occur? December first. It was a Saturday, and the cathedral was available at three – prime time. I wondered what size donation we were making. As for such an early date in December, it put pressure on the poor wedding planner, but it seemed to be important to every musical group and church in Bern. They all wanted to hold some castle event prior to Christmas. Basically, we were marrying early to get out of their way. I started getting inquiries the day after we got back to Bern. Emil said all decisions were up to me. Sounds good in theory, but since I knew little about any of these groups, and some didn't speak English, I relied on Johann for help. He assisted with the schedule for the month. I noticed that somehow the historical society ended up with three nights. Oh well. At least I knew those people.

The tours continued. We were now well past tourist season, but we still got two busses a day. And I enjoyed them. Johann brought back my tiara, and between that and my long gowns, I did feel like mistress of the castle. Speaking of gowns, I brought back eight bags of clothing from Amberg and Galena. Turns out even private jets have weight limits. We just barely made it. But when I laid out my clothes in Amberg, I asked – am I more likely to wear this here, or in Bern? Simple question and easy answer for almost my entire wardrobe. But it also meant another connection to Bern, another declaration that this was now my home. And yes, it meant I filled a second closet in an empty bedroom, but it also meant some of the gowns I wore on the tour or in the evening were mine. That mattered to me.

Two or three afternoons a week, Emil would send a car for me, and I would spend some time at the office. They got used to seeing me in long gowns. As the fall progressed, I sometimes thought I was the only woman in a meeting who didn't have cold legs. And the meetings? We had technical planning to do over permits and drilling in the new locations, and we had marketing efforts to assess our brand. Ted Evans from Poplar drove over to Crystal Falls and Iron River to get the permits, and we hired the drillers we needed to start in the spring. As for our brand, I hated to see Dave's Falls come off the label, but we became "Superior Springs" water. Given the promotions contract we signed, I suspected the marketing firm in Minneapolis would have more time for me next time I visited.

Recycling was still a question mark, but there were some efforts going on in Germany that we thought we would watch and learn from.

So, to sum up, if you saw me around the castle, you saw a well dressed lady who never stopped smiling. Life was marvelous.

And then Saanvi walked in. I was stunned to see her. Hadn't she and Mattieu been fired for what she did? Why would she be here – in my castle? And dressed in sleeveless silk with a flared skirt and four inch stilettoes like she was going to a party. What the hell? I was standing at the door hugging the last of the afternoon tour group when she walked in, and then just stood there smiling like I had invited her over for drinks.

I couldn't help myself. There were still several people standing by the door, but I had to say it.

"I hope you are here to apologize."

She just cocked her head to one side, and still smiling said, "We should talk." She took my hand and started for the stairs. No way I was going up to a bedroom with her. I pulled the other direction, toward the great hall and away from the tourists. She followed along. I hesitated in the great hall, but there were no doors to close, so I went farther and pulled her into the library.

I had just closed the door when she grabbed the back of my dress up at the top, and pulled down and back. She must have tripped me at the same time. I went down hard on the flag stone flooring, my ass hitting first, then my shoulders. She had a hand at the back of my head, or it would have shattered on the stone. I was barely on my back when she was all over me, her knees between mine, one hand on my head, the other on my neck. Not this time. I grabbed her fingers with both hands and pulled then back from my neck. I could have dislocated or broken all of them. It was tempting. But she ignored what I was doing to her hand. She lowered her face and kissed me.

"Get off of me. You have two seconds to apologize and then leave."

"I'm sorry." She smiled at me.

"Are you crazy? I want a real apology. What you did on those websites was terrible. It made people angry. Four months of ugliness – all from you. There was a guy with a shotgun looking to kill people. And you stole my computer. You should have been fired."

"I am a stockholder, not an employee. And Mattieu is family. So, no firing. We are being exiled instead. Dubai." Her face was an inch from mine, and her smile was huge. Dubai. She was going home. "Mattieu is now president of our Middle East Division. He has named me vice president. I will help him with sales. And I will help, you know that." She was having the time of her life, telling me this. She was running victory laps in her mind. She pushed my knees farther apart and lowered her hips onto mine, I think just so she could feel my frustration.

"This isn't right."

"This is better than right. This leads exactly where you and I want it to go. Maybe it takes longer than I hoped, but it works. We both married old men. Six or eight years from now they will retire. I will be president of the Middle East Division, you will be president of the North American Division. One of us will be the next president. It will be me. My sales will be five or ten times yours, and I speak German. And..." Here her smile flickered for just a moment. "I am the one person in this company who really understands what it takes to be successful in this world."

"There are many people in the company who would make good presidents. They will all be successful – when Emil retires in twenty years."

"I like your loyalty." She leaned down again and kissed me. This time she kept her lips on mine for a long time. "I will take care of you, Jess. You'll be okay. I'll make you my vice president, or my wife, or my maid. Maybe all three. I'll buy you pretty dresses, and we will throw parties. We will dance together."

"I will still be with Emil."

"You will be with me. It won't be that long. Men wear out. It will be just us again."

"No."

"Yes." She paused. Still smiling. Her face was so close. She kissed me before continuing. "Tonight in bed, I want you to look over his shoulder." Another pause. Another kiss. "See the room as it will be for us. No more white bed curtains. You will hang silk, colored for each season. We will have a carpet on the floor so we can stand and hold each other in our bare feet. You will have vases along the window, and I will bring you flowers every day."

"None of that is going to happen."

"It will happen – and you want it to happen." Wow, I hated her smile right then. And her kisses. I let go of her hand and reached for her hips to push her off me. She just pushed her knees wider so I couldn't move her.

"You need to leave."

"Are you sure? I think your hands are saying something different." Maybe they were. They had started on her hips, but were now on her ass. Her hands were on the side of my face, gently pushing the hair off my forehead and back from my cheeks. She slowly kissed me. She was in full seduction mode, and she knew what she was doing.

"Saanvi, no. Just leave."

"It's autumn now. Tell me the color of our bed curtains, and I will go." She's a witch. She was painting pictures in my mind.

"Orange."

"Solid color, or print?"

"Print. A pattern of fall leaves." I could see that print in every detail. Dammit.

"I am going to like that. Thank you for hanging it. We will lie together, holding each other, and see the room through it."

I could see the room through it now. And I could feel her in my arms. She would be on me then as she was now. And I would be holding her tight. She was watching me. Was she reading my mind? Slowly she lowered her head and whispered.

"Jess, I will do what I need to do to succeed, but I never want to hurt you. I know you love me. I love you. When the time comes, I will take care of you. We will be together again. You and me, sheltered in our bed."

"We aren't lovers anymore." My turn to watch her. I thought I saw sadness.

"We will be, Jess. We will be." We kissed. Yes, I kissed her too. I held her against me. But I think her spell was broken. Well, maybe weakened. We laid together for a very long time. In some ways, I think I was holding a memory. I had loved her once. I liked holding her now. But our love was over.

Maybe she finally sensed that. Slowly she got to her feet. She reached down and helped me stand. One more kiss, and then I led the way back to the front entrance. When we got to the door, I turned and saw she had rearranged her clothes. Both her shoulder straps were down. It looked like I had molested her. What was she doing?

"Pull your straps up."

"Not yet." She took my hands and put them on her upper arms, holding my hands to her dress straps.

"When we are together, we will meet here at the door every night. You will be wait for me. You will dress for me. You will kiss me, and pull my dress lower." She slid my hands down her arms, so her straps dropped down her arms. The she put one arm around my back and another behind my head. She bent me back to kiss me. As she did, her hand took the zipper of my dress and slowly lowered it several inches.

"I will hold you. Right here. Like this. This will be the favorite moment of your day - the moment I am home, and we are together." She kissed me again, and lowered my zipper several more inches, watching my face as she did so. "We will do this every night, Jess. Right here. Just like this."

"You can feel my heat against you, can't you, Jess? And I can feel yours." I didn't say anything, but yes, I could feel how warm her hips were, and her chest as she leaned over me. She waited, watched me, then took my zipper down the rest of the way.

"I will bring you flowers. Which do you prefer?"

"Daffodils." I could see a small bouquet of yellow daffodils in my hand. The witch was putting images in my mind again.

"We will go up to our bedroom with them. You will put them in a vase along the windows. Your back will be turned to me while you are doing it, but you will feel my hands on you, and my eyes on you, and your heart will race knowing what I will do with you when you turn back toward me." And yes, I could feel myself standing in our room, her behind me with her hands on my waist and her hot breath on my neck. "You already know what it will feel like when I put you in our bed and make love to you."

She smiled, kissed me, and held me. "You want that. You know it. It will happen. And it will be wonderful." She held me tight. She was unbelievable warm. My arms came around her neck, and I kissed her. She smiled, and waited for me to kiss her again. "Every night, Jess. You and me, right here. I will hold you tight." She held me tight, my body warming to hers. I kissed her again. I think I said "yes."

She finished with me then. She stood me up and took my hands again, sliding them gently down her body, holding them against her hips. She watched my face. When she saw what she wanted, she said, "Soon, Jess. We will be together soon." She turned and walked out the door. I watched her silk skirt float from side to side as she crossed the courtyard.

When I had watched her out of sight, I closed that huge door, zipped up my dress, and then turned. Greta was standing on the landing, looking at me. I climbed the steps to her. It was time to change for dinner. When I reached the second floor landing, she asked.

"Do you love her?"

"No."

"Good. She is a bad woman."

Over the next hour Greta combed floor dust out of my hair, and washed Saanvi's kisses off my face. She was none too gentle about it. She put a new layer of lipstick on me, careful to say, "Herr Gruber will like this." Then we went looking for a new dress. I would keep the petticoats on. They were warm. But over them I wore a pink satin gown with short sleeves and a deeply scooped neckline. My chest would be cool, but, well, I wanted help with the conversation I would have with Emil.

I asked for a shawl and waited for him outside. It was too cool to sit outside, but cool or not, I was determined we would have this conversation on our glider. So I wrapped the shawl tightly around me, rocked back and forth, and waited. Half an hour later, he was home.

I stood while he parked his car, dropped my shawl, and waited for him to come to me. I liked how quickly he moved. A minute later we were in the position I wanted, his arm around me, my skirts mounded up against his legs, my head on his shoulder. We rocked. He told me how good I looked. I waited. He lifted my chin up to kiss me. It was a good kiss. Still I waited. Then I started.

"Saanvi was here. She and Mattieu are going to Dubai?"

"Yes. Sales have been bad since Elias was killed."

"She is dangerous."

"Yes. But she knows the people and the language. And. She will be thousands of miles away."

"She told me you and Mattieu are old. In six or eight years you will retire and she will be the next president. She means it, Emil, she will force you out as soon as she can, whether she is in Dubai or here. If anything, she will be more dangerous there."

"She will be there, you will be here. In six years, you will be president."

"Of course not. It will be you. At least another fifteen years." I was sitting up now, backing away from him, but he held my shoulders tightly. He kept me close.

"In six years you will have put in most of the North American wells. It will be time to start them elsewhere. You will work from here. I will still be young enough to help you. But you need to establish your place in the company. You need to hold to our agenda, while I am here, and after I am gone. You will spend the next thirty years making sure the mission of this company is drilling wells and getting water to people who need it."

"I don't even speak German."

"You know what to do about that."

"I'll need help."

"Johann has volunteered. He wanted to start weeks ago. He is a good choice. He speaks classical German. Learn his words, and mimic his accent. It will help you in business."

"Make it ten years. Better yet, fifteen."

"You could run this company tomorrow. Study German, make friends in the company, make friends in town. By the end of the Christmas season you will have a bigger network than Saanvi's. People love being around you. Use the castle. Go to mass with me. We will have parties. That tiara you wear on tours says who you really are – or soon will be – the leading lady of Bern."

"The only thing I want to be right now is your wife."

I got us swinging again, and we rocked in silence. He wanted to plan out thirty years. I just wanted to hold my man for the next hour. I needed his arms around me. Tonight in bed, I would look at the white bed curtains. And I would turn my face to my man. My husband.

Chapter 39

The Wedding was Amazing

Yes, I know, several people (and both my daughters) said I looked like an iceberg floating down the aisle at the cathedral. The skirt was huge, the puffed sleeves were gigantic, and the Irish lace veil covered my head and arms down past my waist. Until Emil raised my veil and kissed me, it was hard to know there was a woman under all those yards of fabric.

Walking alongside the iceberg was a very old man in a new tux. He refused to use walking sticks, so we did what we could to shorten his walk. We put him in the last pew at the back of the cathedral, where he could sit and rest until it was time to take my arm. It was still a long way to the front of the church, but he would have my arm to lean on. And that worked. He seemed perfectly comfortable walking down the aisle, and in fact he wanted to joke the whole time.

"Nice church. Catholic?"

"Yes."

"What saint is it named after?"

"It's just Bern Cathedral."

"Are you sure? I thought they were all named after saints."

"Not this one."

"Oh. When you marry him, will you be a countess?"

"No. He has no title."

"He has a castle."

"But no title."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, you are so beautiful, you should at least be a duchess or something."

At this point I hugged him, partly in thanks, partly I think just to quiet him down. Finally I got him to the front pew, and went to my husband.

When I came to him, he took my hand – which was nice – and he smiled at me. There was a warmth in that smile you would never have guessed could come from a gray statue. By the way, he was also wearing a tux, and looked very dapper in it.

Once he took my hand, I felt everything really important had already happened. We were together. But there were two items that had kept me on edge for weeks. First, Catholics do a lot of kneeling. We had rehearsed in the church, and I had rehearsed alone in my room, but I still had some concerns getting up without stepping on the hem of my skirt. The satin might be beautiful, but it went on forever, and got under foot if I was not careful. I had nightmares where I fell on my face or tore my skirt.

Second item? I promised to say my vows in German. Johann was helping me. He worked on my German for an hour each morning before tours started. We worked on the crucial things first - greetings. How did I greet the people who came for the tour, and of course, how would I greet three hundred people at the wedding? That done (mostly), we moved on to the ceremony and my vows. I decided I would give the old Christian vow for women. Johann loved it. So did the priest. I visited him several times, and we practiced at an altar. But that vow goes on forever. And you know the German word that drove me crazy? "Ich." I this, and I that. Simple in English. In German? The "ch" is not quite a "ch" and not quite a "k" and the damn syllable is everywhere. I bet I repeated "ich" a hundred times a day. Sometimes I got it, sometimes I didn't. I would see Johann wince every time I missed. And my wedding vow? "Ich" was in there about a thousand times.

But we made it through. I didn't trip and fall on my face, I remembered all my vows, I knelt at the right times, prayed at the right times, and walked back up the aisle in triumph. I had my husband, and I hadn't done anything too stupid. Yea me.

As you know with a wedding, the ceremony is just the middle of a much larger sandwich. It starts days before, and goes on for days after. In our case, it started two days earlier when the company plane brought my whole family over, plus Kat, Keisha, and Michelle. I wanted family there, but I also wanted girlfriends. The plane went back for Emil's kids and grandkids, and pretty soon that old castle was filled with kid-sound – laughs, cries, shouts, whines, and even more shouts when they learned they could make echoes in the great hall. I don't know whose grandkids made the most noise. We were fine with it (at least for a few days).

Pre-events? We had a rehearsal at the cathedral the first night (I don't know who was more impressed with the cathedral – the American kids or the American adults), then back to the castle for a formal dinner. We filled the dining hall. Aside from the babies wanting to grab the candles, and all the young ones being fussy over the food, it was a good meal. All four daughters immediately bonded over noisy fussy kids.

But it was the next night we all enjoyed. The men spent the evening in the wine cellar playing darts and drinking far too much. I sent the butler down with food to make sure they didn't get too drunk. He never came back up, so I just left them to find their own limits.

The women and kids spent the evening in the library. We had a couple laptops with videos for the kids, and they eventually just collapsed on the couch. We ladies (my two step daughters, two daughters, and three girlfriends), filled the area in front of the fireplace with pillows and blankets and had our own excessive amount of wine. Emil's daughters talked about growing up in the castle (they swore there were ghosts), but by the fourth glass of wine we had moved on to standard ice breakers like "first kiss." When my turn came, I cheated. I was never going to mention Tiny and how stupid I was, so I talked about my first kiss with Emil. His daughters loved that I had kissed him on the cheek one night, and on the mouth the next. They decided their father moved pretty fast. I wasn't sure he was ever going to move at all, had I not gotten things going, but I wasn't going to tell his daughters that.

Eventually we just all collapsed where we were.

The night of the wedding ceremony, it felt like the entire population of Bern was at the castle. There was a lot of milling around, and I felt sorry for the servers who had to bring all those plates to all those tables with almost no room between them. Back in my waitress days, it would have driven me crazy. These days, my bigger problem was keeping my German greetings straight, and hoping I could understand one or two words while we shook hands. By and large, I think I did okay.

Dinner went on forever, and there were toasts (in English and in German) that everyone politely applauded. But eventually we got that out of the way, and then moved ourselves to the entrance area for yet more drinks while the tables were taken down and the great hall refitted for dancing. A twelve piece band – mostly strings – played waltzes, some folk music, and even some American show tunes. No "YMCA" or "Chicken dance" here. They cleared the floor for Emil and me to do the Blue Danube waltz (and he really did get my feet off the floor on a couple turns as the guests applauded.) My father and I also got the floor to ourselves as the band played "Moon River," a song he said my mother had loved.

Everyone danced past one. Emil and I worked the area near the door as people left with final hugs and best wishes. Eventually the band quit, the babies went to bed, and the room cleared. Emil and I did a final waltz while the staff cleaned.

People started leaving already the next day. Emil's daughters were first. They took their families home that afternoon. My brood left the day after that. Keisha and Michelle had never been to Europe before, so they took a train down to Italy for a few days. Kat went with my family on the company plane. We stood at the airport for a time hugging, but babies have limited patience, so it didn't take too long for them to all load up and fly off.

That left Emil and me and an empty castle.

He decided we should take a hike. It was cold – not Amberg cold, but cold. But there was no snow on the ground yet. So the trails were open. We put on insulated pants, boots, and two layers of down coats, and started out. It was already noon, so I thought he might just take us to the view behind the castle, but no, he kept walking. Once he started along the mountain ridge, I knew where he was going.

I should describe the mountains. There were patches of snow here and there, but the trails were dry. The sun was out, and seemed very warm. We were wearing one layer of down while carrying the other in our packs for later. The leaves were all down, of course, which took much of the color away, but it also let us see much farther as we walked. There were some pines, so there was some color, but mostly it was a black and white world – a large one.

My overall feeling was space – openness. I could see so far now. And the sun seemed to be brighter somehow. It was like it was shining a spotlight all around me. Emil had to be patient with me since I kept stopping to look in every direction. I would turn a full circle. I could see so much. It would not have surprised me if I had seen London, or even Chicago in the distance. This had to be the top of the world.

Several times we stopped and drank some water from our packs. I stood close to Emil, and even tried to explain what I was seeing, but I know I couldn't. I found myself repeating "It's so big." I sounded like a third grader, but that was the best I could do. Emil just said "yes," and put an arm around me.

When we got to his glacier valley, it too was larger. Areas that had been hidden by trees now stood out clear. The valley was suddenly wider. The pond at the base of the valley was larger, and somehow not yet iced over – a pool of deep blue in the bright sunlight. We paused at our usual resting place for a few minutes, then Emil picked a trail that led down to the valley. For the first time, we would walk to the lake.

We found some matted grass near the water. A place where deer had laid? We sat, ate sandwiches, and drank more water.

"Did you ever bring your girls here?"

"Yes. They complained about the walk, but I bought them ice cream later. The pond was bigger then. We always had lunch somewhere near here. Maybe under that tree in the summer. I liked it best in the summer. It was warm, and green, and there was a small creek that brought water down from the glacier. I tried to teach them trout fishing. Mostly they just liked to have snowball fights."

"The glacier was closer?"

"Yes, even twenty years ago, it was closer."

"Show me."

It turned out to be a long walk. It was a gradual climb up through what was now a wide pasture, but it was still uphill all the way. Easily a mile, maybe two. Along the way we saw ridges where the glacier had stopped for a while (decades?), and large rocks just sitting in the middle of a grass field. Glacial debris.

Finally we could see the glacier itself. There were piles of snow and ice along its base, and then a wall maybe thirty feet high. I wanted to get right up to the glacial wall, so we worked our way through the snow piles, climbing over small snow banks, and finally got right to the wall of ice. It was white, with hints of pale blue – ice blue. I reached out and put my hand on it. Obviously it was cold. It was also very solid.

"How much longer will this be here?"

"Your grandchildren will never see it."

"Sure they will." I took out my phone and took a dozen pictures. I stood with Emil in one of them, the ice face towering over us. I took lots of pictures of Emil, then I walked maybe twenty yards back down the alley and took more pictures of the glacier. I had trouble showing its width across the valley, but with Emil in the picture, it was easy to gauge its height. The clean edge of the face also added drama. It wasn't just a pile of snow. It had form and substance.

Emil walked down to me. "Five years, Jess. Ten at the outside. There will be a snow pile for a while, then nothing. Our grandkids are going to live in a very different world."

"Have you noticed how smart our grandkids are?" I let that line hang for a minute. "Geniuses, right?" He had to smile and nod. What other choice did he have? "So here's the deal. You and I do what we can. Then our very talented daughters and husbands do their share. Then our genius grandkids finish the job."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely." I said nothing more. Nothing more needed to be said. Emil looked at me, then wrapped his arms around me.

"Okay. That's the plan. We do what we can, they do what they can. Our grandkids make things right."

"Good plan. Now. I have walked a long way and I am cold. Take me down to that little café and buy me some warm wine."

"Ask for it in German."

"Ich mochte rotwein."

"That's red wine. Warm wine is 'gluh wein.'"

"You can work on my vocabulary once we are in front of a fire." I took his hand and led him down the valley. Gluhwein or rotwein, we had several glasses in that little café, and went back to our castle, and well, you know.

