Chapter 20, part 1: Trip Begins

The next day, I couldn’t sit still while waiting for the rest of the tour group in the International terminal of Cleveland Hopkins Airport. As I paced, I wondered for the hundredth time how to handle things when I saw Brad. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about him.

On the long lonely flight from Los Angeles, I had tried to reassure myself that my prayers would be answered and all the feelings would come rushing back when I saw him. But that started me worrying about the possibility that our physical relationship would progress even further than it already had. Some witness to fellow travelers that would be.

One by one the others arrived in the waiting area, and each time I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding, relieved it wasn’t Brad.

Professor Eberhardt greeted me in German. I awkwardly formed a reply, amazed at how rusty new language skills had become after only three months of summer break.

Tom, Owen and Josh arrived next, chattering about the final, controversial play in the previous day’s Indians game. I nodded slightly in response to their greetings. I didn’t know them well, except as Brad’s friends.

Zoey Richardson sauntered up. “Talbert not here yet?”

“Figures,” Josh said. “That dude would be late for his own funeral.”

I brightened at this comment. Maybe he’ll miss the plane!

No such luck. I spotted Brad a moment later, his broad shoulders unmistakable even at a distance. His eyes lit up when he saw me. He broke into a little jog and slouched down to give me a tight hug, whispering how much he missed me.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I lied, wishing it were true.

Brad maneuvered me toward a row of seats. “This okay for you, babe?”

I suppressed a frown. Moments after we started officially dating, he started to call me that. Always babe. Did he even know my name? But of course, I never said anything about it.

As we sat down, Brad kept one arm around me and peppered me with kisses. My body immediately began responding. I had to find another way to spend the twenty minutes before our flight boarded.

I got up and stretched. “I’m going to kill time before the flight race-walking up and down the shopping concourse until the final boarding call,” I explained. “If I wear myself out now, it will be easier to sleep on the plane.”

“Oooh, I love window shopping,” said Zoey, the only other female in the tour group. “Think I’ll join you, Giselle. That okay?”

“Sure, it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”

All I knew about Zoey was that she liked to drink and flirt. The letters on her sweatshirt proclaimed her membership in the Delta Kappa Thetas, reputed to be one of Elk River’s most hedonistic sororities. As we walked, Zoey kept up a one-sided conversation, consisting largely of “hot or not” judgments on every thing and every person we saw.

“By the way,” Zoey said as we relaxed into massage chairs on display at a high-tech gadget store, “It’s like, so cute that you and Brad are on this trip together. How did someone like you manage to land a hunk like him anyway? I swear, every Delta has been after him for ages. If you weren’t so nice, I just might have to hate you.”

“Yeah, well …” What could I say to that?

“How’d you meet him anyway?”

“Remember that Pirates marathon they had in Warner Hall last semester?”

Zoey nodded.

“He sat next to me that night, cracking me up with his imitation of Jack Sparrow. I’m a sucker for a good sense of humor.”

“And guys like Brad are suckers for a girl who laughs at his jokes,” Zoey looked pointedly at me, “whether she’s hot or not. Just kidding! I’m taking notes here … go on.”

“Well, there’s not really more to tell. We started hanging out, and after a few weeks, he asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend.”

“Who’d turn down an offer like that! Was he already signed up for this trip when you met?”

“No – he actually surprised me right after I said yes, saying it was a good thing I did because he signed up for the trip too. ‘Think how romantic it will be,’ he said. ‘You thought it was going to be the best three weeks of your life before–I can guarantee it will be now!’”

“All those looks and a romantic too. Sorry chickie, but it’s getting harder not to hate you. How’d you get so lucky? Speaking of lucky – look at this magazine. How’d what’s-her-name end up with Johnny Depp?”

I counted my blessings when Zoey continued her chatter about celebrity gossip.

When the time came to board the plane, I chose a seat between Dr. Eberhardt and Zoey. For good measure, I slapped on the free headphones and buried my nose in a romance novel between naps. Brad was a few seats away with his buddies and didn’t seem to care or notice me one way or the other. To my surprise, his lack of attention stung a bit. But what did I expect? After all, wasn’t I doing my best to avoid him?

***

On the train from the Munich airport to the city center, Brad turned full attention back to me, helping with my bags, and leading me to a pair of seats a few rows away from the rest of the group.

“Can we talk?” he said. “Your last few emails sounded so cold, with all those big words and all. I felt like you were talking down to me. And now that we’re together, you seem farther away than ever. I wanted to give you some space on the plane, but now you’re really starting to scare me, babe. Are we okay?” He placed his hand over mine on the seat back in front of us.

I bit my lip and looked away while I tried to sort out my welter of emotions. Did I want to break up or just put on the brakes?

“What’s going on, babe?” Brad urged.

“Could you not call me babe?” At least that was a place to start.

“Why? Aren’t you still my babe?”

“It’s just, you never say my name. It makes me feel anonymous, like you could be talking to anyone.”

“Okay, Giselle. I’m sorry about that.” He put his hand on my leg, a little too high for comfort.

I moved his hand to my knee.

He winked. “Gotcha. I’ll save that for when we’re alone later.”

“Brad, no. The time apart let me think. I want to slow down that kind of stuff. It was too much.”

“I thought you were having fun. I never made you do anything you didn’t want to, did I?”

“Not exactly, but we were getting close. Can’t we cool off a little?”

“You’re hard to resist, but I’ll try.” He put his arm around me and I relaxed into him, hoping to enjoy the rest of the trip. He kissed my hair and adjusted the position of his arm, which caused his hand to brush across my breast.

The touch startled and angered me. I gasped, pushed his arm off of me and sprang to my feet.

“What did I do wrong?” Brad asked. He seemed confused. Could it have been an accident?

“Um, nothing. I just need to talk to Zoey for a minute,” I lied.

“What was that all about?” Zoey whispered.

“It’s nothing.”

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Sure looked like something to me.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Aw, c’mon. Give me the scoop. You know it’ll do you good to vent about him a little. That’s what always helps me when I’m mad at a guy.”

Before I could answer, Dr. Eberhardt stood in the aisle, gripping an overhead rail for balance. His baritone voice boomed over the click-clack of the train. “We will be getting off at the next stop, the München Hauptbahnhof, Grand Central Station to you non-German speakers on the trip. Please gather all your bags now so we can get off quickly and not risk getting separated.”

Further serious conversation with Zoey or Brad for that matter became impossible as we gathered our luggage and navigated through the crowded train. When I asked Brad to hand me the small rolling suitcase still on the luggage rack above the seats we had shared, his fraternity brothers gave him a hard time about being whipped. He turned beet red.  

Chapter 20, part 2: Alienation

The racket of schedule announcements combined with the echo of departing and arriving trains in the cavernous Hauptbahnhof made quite a contrast to the smooth efficiency of the Munich airport. We students followed like ducklings behind Dr. Eberhardt out the station’s south entrance onto a narrow street lined with hotels.

Brad walked beside me, but between Dr. Eberhardt’s pointing out sights and the dull roar of our luggage on the sidewalk, we didn’t have much of a chance to talk.

After a few blocks, we trundled into a shabbily elegant lobby. Dr. Eberhardt checked the group in, and we went up to drop off luggage and quickly change out of traveling clothes into something more appropriate for the muggy August heat.

“If we hurry, we might make it to Marienplatz in time to watch the famed Glockenspiel strike at five o’clock,” Dr. Eberhardt called after us.

While we changed, Zoey tried to continue our conversation. “You still didn’t tell me what’s up with you and Brad,” she said.

“I’m not sure,” I said, pausing to pop on a tank top.

“I didn’t hear what you said to him, but it looked to me like he tried to grope you and you got ticked. Not a fan of PDA?”

“I’m okay with public affection, mostly. Only I had just finished asking him if we could take things slower. I’m pretty sure it was all a misunderstanding now though. We just need to talk it through.”

“Guys like Brad are used to having girls fall all over them. Aren’t you worried that if you won’t put out, he’ll find someone else who will?”

“Do you really think Brad would do that?” It’s not like I hadn’t considered the possibility. Brad could have any girl at Elk River that he wanted. Why had he chosen me?

“Boys will be boys,” Zoey said. “You’re not that naive. Surely you’ve thought of that before?”

“I admit, I have. I even had a nightmare about him and some girl in bed laughing at me...” I left out the part about the girl being her.

“Ouch! Worried you might walk in on him, huh?” Zoey let out a low whistle.

My ears burned, and I concentrated on working the zipper to my daypack. I really wanted to stop talking about it.

Zoey snickered. “Hey chickie, why are you turning red? You really do need to loosen up, don’t you?”

I tried to laugh it off, but had a sinking feeling that it had been a mistake to confide in someone like Zoey. Especially when she didn’t let up on the teasing as we rode the elevator to the lobby. “I can’t wait to tell the guys about the look on your face,” she said. “It was priceless.”

“Zoey, I know you probably mean well, but can you ease up on me a bit? And please don’t tell the guys.”

“Right, right. Sorry, I just like to tease my friends,” she said. I looked at her with surprise. Did she really consider me a friend?

I gave Brad a quick kiss hello when we got off the elevator. As we walked to the subway station, Dr. Eberhardt insisted I practice conversational German with him. It took almost all my concentration to interpret his words and formulate responses, but I did notice Zoey and Brad ahead of us, deep in conversation.

Our group made it to the plaza in front of the neo-gothic city hall just in time for the Glockenspiel performance. Brad seemed to be trying to give me space again. I hoped we could reconnect later.

On the strike of five, the two-tiered carousel below the clock sprung into action. I didn’t find the show that impressive. Maybe growing up next to Disneyland did that to a person.

Still, it annoyed me when Brad and his cronies spent the whole fifteen minutes alternating between heckling the mechanized dancers and making lewd comments about women in the crowd. Zoey seemed to delight in topping whatever the others said with something more outrageous. She elbowed me at each punch line. “C’mon, why aren’t you laughing? Don’t be such a goody-two shoes!”

When the golden bird on the clock tower finally chirped to conclude the show, Dr. Eberhardt apologized instead of giving a reprimand, quite to my surprise.

“Ja, I know the Glockenspiel is a little, as you Americans might say, lame. I felt compelled to include it as a stop on the itinerary only because it is so famous.” He explained it had been built in 1908, so wasn’t even noteworthy as a marvel of medieval engineering. “I promise that the best is yet to come. Looking back, most of you will probably see this as the low point of the trip.”

At dinner, Zoey and the guys followed Dr. Eberhardt’s lead and ordered steins of beer to start off their meal. In an effort to live up to Ian’s suggestion to be a good witness, I had decided in advance to abstain from alcohol throughout the trip, even though the legal drinking age in Germany and Austria was eighteen.

Dr. Eberhardt took everyone’s drink orders so he could translate them for the waiter, who spoke only German. “Giselle? What will you have? Dunkel oder helles bier?”

“Haben Sie stilles wasser?” I asked the waiter directly. I hated mineral water, and didn’t relish the thought of lukewarm soda, since soft drinks in Europe are served without ice.

“Was?” Dr. Eberhardt drew out the short German word into three syllables, each rising in pitch, and I instantly thought of Mr. Bumble responding to Oliver’s request for more. As in the movie, all sound at the table ceased as all eyes turned to us. “Giselle, you surprise me. You have a German heritage, yes?”

I nodded.

“And yet, you don’t drink beer?”

“Sorry, but I’d rather not. I tried it once, and I don’t much like the taste.” I had actually never tried it, but I hadn’t liked the smell of it on Brad’s breath last spring.

“I assure you, German beer is nothing like that watery, urine-like substance they pass for beer in the States. Try it at least once; it will be like a revelation.”

“Lay off her, Dr. E,” Brad called from the end of the table. “She’s too embarrassed to tell you, but it’s against her religion to drink. Isn’t that right, Giselle?” It sounded almost like a taunt.

The rest of the group tittered.

“No, that’s not exactly true,” I protested. “It’s more a personal—”

Dr. Eberhardt waved a dismissive hand. “You Americans and your Victorian morality. Wake up; it’s the 21st century. Think of it this way— it’s just flavored water, albeit exquisitely flavored water.”

“It’s not a moral issue, I swear. The flavor is just a tad too, um, ‘exquisite’ for me.” Why did I say it wasn’t a moral issue? How exactly was this helping me be a good witness again?

“Well then, if beer’s too bitter, perhaps a Radler will do?” Before I could answer, he went ahead and ordered one.

Brad leaned over and pointed to the word on the menu. From the German description, I ascertained that a Radler was a mix of lemon-lime soda and beer. The waiter brought out both the room temperature tap water I had ordered and an oversized stein full of bubbling amber liquid. I took one sip, made a big show of being disgusted even though it wasn’t all that bad, and didn’t touch it the rest of the meal.

After dinner, a short ride on the underground train took our group back to the Hauptbahnhof, and from there we walked the few blocks to our hotel. Brad hung back with his frat brothers, and Zoey chatted with Dr. Eberhardt, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Dr. Eberhardt gave instructions to meet in the lobby at 8:00 a.m. in order to catch the first train to Dachau. “Be prepared. The memorial is quite moving. You will never forget what you see there. For now, you have free time. You are adults and I will not tell you what time you have to be in bed—as long as you are punctual in the morning. I promise you, I will not hesitate to leave stragglers behind.”

He collected the keys from the desk where he had dropped them off before dinner. Each one had a heavy brass fob inscribed with a room number—not exactly ideal for carrying around town. I took our room key and looked to see if Zoey was ready to go up.

Brad and his buddies sprawled across the two dainty sofas in the lobby’s sitting room. Zoey nudged Brad to make room for her to sit next to him. She laughed loudly as he bragged about how many beers he had downed at dinner.

“And I’m not even buzzing,” he said in a slurred voice.

When Zoey saw me holding up the key, she shook her head. “I’m going to hang here with the guys for a minute so we can decide what to do with our free time tonight. You go on up, and I’ll fill you in later.”

I looked over my shoulder one more time before I got on the elevator. Zoey had moved to the floor between Brad’s legs, and motioned for him to rub her shoulders. It hurt to see how readily he obliged. I remembered Zoey’s prediction that if I wouldn’t put out, Brad would move on to someone else who would. Someone like Zoey.

I had completely unpacked by the time Zoey knocked to be let in.

“Get on your dancing shoes,” she said breathlessly as she began rifling through her luggage. “Brad picked up a flyer from some guy outside the hotel. Apparently, there’s a nightclub a few blocks down. Cover’s only fifteen euros.”

“A nightclub?”

Zoey held up two barely-there blouses. “Which of these do you think will attract more German hunks?” She turned her glance to me from the scraps of fabric and burst into derisive laughter. “There’s that look again. Wait, don’t tell me. Dancing’s against your religion too?”

“No ...”

“So come with us.”

“Um … I can’t. I don’t have enough money.” Funds were limited. I wasn’t lying.

Zoey gaped, and I rushed to explain. “I’m paying for this trip myself, and I don’t want to go into too much debt over it.” I pulled a few euros out of my wallet. “See, I only have enough for the excursions Dr. Eberhardt has planned and a few souvenirs. Otherwise I’d love to go. Please believe me, I love to dance and it sounds like a ton of fun.”

“So just come on. It’ll be worth the cover, I promise. Don’t you want to go a little crazy for once in your life?”

My body was already responding at the thought of reconnecting with Brad, but I quickly suppressed the thought. “I think I’ll save my money for now.” I hoped God was giving out extra points for all the temptation I was successfully resisting.

“Okay, your loss. Could you set the alarm before you go to bed?”

“Okay.” I smiled, hoping I looked friendly and accepting. “Tell me all about it in the morning.”

Chapter 21, part 1: Somber Reflections

A night full of dreams of dancing and more with Brad left me feeling empty and ashamed. So much for getting brownie points in heaven for resisting temptation. I knew the routine, confess and repent and the shame would go away, at least temporarily. Today it didn’t seem worth it. Perhaps God was as tired of hearing the same old lines as I was of saying them. I didn’t want to pray. Instead, I gave into the lingering melancholy that flooded my soul, feeling it was a sort of penance.

Brad didn’t make it down to the lobby on time for our departure, and true to his word, Dr. Eberhardt left without him. I wondered when we would get our chance to talk.

The sun blazed hot that August day at the Dachau memorial, but the hard gravel and cement outlines of the barrack foundations stood under a perpetual chill. The very air hung heavy with dread and fear. The remnants of the train tracks that had once led into the camp seemed haunted. I could almost hear guards barking orders to the masses of people as they climbed from the overstuffed cars. In the center of the dank room where bodies had been piled for cremation, tears slid down my cheeks.

Finally, we made our way through the former administration building, which now housed a museum. Dr. Eberhardt said he would meet us at the museum exit. He mentioned the pastor of the Church of Reconciliation at the rear of the camp was a personal friend of his.

“I'll see if he's available to talk with us,” he added.

Indoors, I followed Zoey and the others through the exhibits. Zoey was flirting outrageously with the guys. From the sound of things, their evening at the nightclub had been quite eventful. Every other sentence was a cryptic comment or an inside joke. Once I asked what was so funny.

Zoey stared blankly at me. “I guess you had to have been there, right guys?”

Fine, I would just ignore Miss Queen Bee and her new entourage. It was easy with so much to take in at each exhibit. Fresh tears came as I absorbed the details of the tragedy that had occurred there and saw the faces of the victims.

At the exit, Dr. Eberhardt’s eyes were bright, and a grin twitched at the corners of his golden moustache. “Good news. Wilhelm is here today, and he will be pleased to give you a short talk. I hope it will help you process what you have seen.”

We trudged once again across the gravel of the yard, past the 14 rectangles of cement that were all that remained of the former barracks. At the back corner of the camp, an austere concrete structure both rose and sank into the ground—a study in contrasts. Wide angled stairs led into a sunken courtyard. The thick swaths of ashen grey concrete were almost oppressive, but the curves and sweeps of the walls drew the eye upwards, toward the heavens.

Pastor Wilhelm spoke to us of reconciliation, redemption and hope. His words rang hollowly against the stark panels of concrete that formed the sanctuary. I tried and failed to suppress the question that had been rising like bile throughout the morning. Where was God when these things happened? Why didn’t He stop it?

And in modern times, why didn’t he stop me from repeating the same mistakes over and over even when I prayed for help? He hadn’t even answered my prayer for something as simple as having a pleasant trip. Doubts stubbornly circled. The senselessness of it all buzzed around the fringes of my mind like flies on a carcass.

The somber mood clung to me even as we rode the train back to Munich. Finally, during a late lunch at the Hofbrauhaus, the cheerful music of the oompah band ended my introspection.

While munching on a pretzel and white sausage and occasionally sipping a lukewarm Sprite, I waited for an opportune moment to join the group’s conversation. Across the table, Zoey leaned toward Tom and Owen, speaking in hushed tones, glancing at me, then giggling. I tried and failed to talk myself out of surging paranoia. Suddenly this felt far too much like junior high. Jet lag and the emotional workout of the concentration camp memorial had taken their toll.

In a last ditch effort to regain sanity, I tried to indirectly approach Zoey that afternoon when we got back to our hotel room.

“Hey, we didn’t get much of a chance to talk today. I hope you weren’t avoiding me or anything,” I said.

Zoey rolled her eyes. “Giselle, Giselle, Giselle. There you go again with your ‘poor me’ act.”

I laughed, thinking Zoey was joking. “You’ve got me. Miss Melodrama herself here.”

Zoey didn’t even crack a smile. “Tell me about it,” she said disdainfully. "Everything’s so serious with you. You didn’t have a bit of fun today, did you?”

“Wait a minute. How could anyone not take that place seriously?”

“Brad was right. You really do think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you?”

If Brad had really said that, something was very wrong between us. I excused myself and went to find him.

In response to my knock on the door to room 305, I heard a rustling behind the door and muffled voices.

At last the door opened. Instead of the bright smile I’d expected from Brad, it was Josh wearing a dark scowl. “What do you want, Giselle?”

“To talk to Brad.”

“Not going to happen.”

“He missed the outing today. Is he sick or something?”

“Yeah, sick of you,” he said, and slammed the door.

Back in the room, I hid in the bathroom for a while so Zoey wouldn’t see me crying.

I tried to keep to myself as much as possible for the remainder of our time in Munich. The excursion to the BMW factory and Olympic Park that afternoon, and the gorgeous architecture of the palaces and the spectacular art in the museums the next few days only partly distracted me from the hollow ache that lingered, a feeling of total rejection by both God and man. At meals, I sat stiffly in silence, worried that any comment could result in renewed scorn from the others. Better to disappear into the background, to let everyone forget I was there.

Zoey and Brad seemed to grow closer. She couldn’t keep her hands off of him and he didn’t seem to mind in the least.

As we boarded the train that would take us away from the Bavarian capital, I clung to one hopeful thought. Zoey’s parents had paid extra for her to have her own hotel room when possible, so I’d have a single too by default for the remainder of the trip. What a relief it would be to have my own space again!  

Chapter 21, part 2: Confrontation

As our group waited for the train, Dr. Eberhardt enthused about the charm and grandeur of our next stop: Vienna.

I got on the train first and selected a compartment. When Zoey and Brad joined me, I huddled into a window seat of the train compartment and turned my back to them. The lush Bavarian countryside rolled past in a blur. I spent too much time analyzing where I had gone wrong to notice much of it. I had to find a way to patch things up with Brad, Zoey and the others if I were to salvage what was left of the trip.

Dr. Eberhardt’s voice called me back to reality. “Giselle, can I speak with you privately for a moment?”

I followed him out to the hall outside the compartment. “I couldn’t help but notice, and the other young men in the compartment with me were remarking on it also,” he began. “It seems that you are having some trouble getting along with the other students. Is that true?”

I nodded. Where was this going?

“It appears to me that most of the tension is between you and the other young lady. Now, my idea is to have you two sit in a compartment and talk through your problems like civilized people. Will you agree to try it?” Without waiting for my response, he continued, “Yes, you’re a reasonable sort. I know you’ll give my methods a chance.”

“Dr. Eberhardt, I’m sorry, but—” I wanted to tell him that Brad was the one I really needed to talk to, but it was useless.

Before I could stop him, the professor had already ducked his head back in the compartment. “Excuse me, Mr. Talbert? I’m wondering if you might excuse yourself for awhile. Your friends in the next compartment miss you a great deal.”

“Uh, okay Dr. E, whatever you say.” Brad gave Zoey a quick peck on the cheek and loped out, giving me a wide berth.

“Now, Ms. Richardson, Ms. Gottlieb tells me that you two haven’t been getting along. What seems to be the trouble?”

Zoey narrowed her eyes and said nothing. I didn’t blame her; the way he said it made me look like a big fat tattletale. Just what I needed.

“Giselle, since Zoey seems to need time to think, why don’t you start?”

I cleared my throat. “Zoey, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not sure what you have against me, but—“

“Not even the slightest idea, huh?”

I wanted to scream the obvious at her. When the trip started, Brad was with me, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted it to stay that way. She had almost flat out told me she wanted him for herself. Somehow she had managed to steal him. But would saying that change anything? Mom’s self help books said to be the bigger person and be willing to admit fault first in confrontations. It was worth a try.

“You accused me of thinking I’m better than you. I can see how you would have gotten that impression, and I’m sorry. Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, there is.” She hurled an ugly name. “And you’re a liar too.”

“Ms. Richardson, please watch your language. Can you explain what it is you think Giselle lied about?”

“She told me she caught Brad, you know, doing it with another girl.”

My mouth hung open in shock. Had Zoey really misinterpreted my comments that first day in the hotel that badly? If the game of telephone had gotten back to Brad, I could see why he would be so angry with me. But what did it say about him that he was so ready to ditch me and move on with Zoey without even talking to me about it?

Dr. Eberhardt stroked his mustache and cleared his throat. “Go on.”

“Well, it’s not true. Brad told me everything, how you are a nothing but a tease and that you freaked out and pushed him away when things went a little farther than your saintly reputation would allow.”

I tried to clarify. “I never said that. I told you, in confidence I might add, that I was afraid he’d end up with another girl and had a dream about it.”

Zoey’s face remained painted with hostile skepticism.

The explanation sounded so feeble, like I was trying to weasel out of a lie now that I’d been caught. How could I fix it? “It’s the truth, though I see you don’t believe me. I’ll let God be my judge.” Now I did sound like I thought I was better than her. I immediately wish I hadn’t said the last part out loud.

“Oh spare me. You’re such a hypocrite. You go around campus saying ‘Oh, look at me, I’m a Christian, I don’t drink, I don’t dance, I never so much as think about sex,’ but I saw you gobbling up that romance novel on the plane, and I saw you salivating over the chance to go to nightclub the other night. You’re no better than the rest of us, and I don’t see where you get off acting so high and mighty.”

I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. “You’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not better than you or anybody. I’m the worst of sinners and sometimes I wonder if God might not be real. And to be honest, probably the biggest reason why I don’t drink or dance or have sex or whatever you said is not because I think it’s wrong.”

“Right, and now you’re going to tell me you’re just afraid. Poor little repressed Giselle, right?”

I stared at the floor, then glanced up at Zoey. “Maybe I am scared,” I said.

“Oh really? What could you possibly be afraid of?”

I stared out the window, lost in thought. “I don’t know what I’m scared of exactly … of losing control? Of being judged?” I sighed again. “I’m sorry, Zoey. It sounds like I’ve been really awful to deal with. Can we call a truce?”

Zoey furrowed her brow and didn’t respond until Dr. Eberhardt prompted her.

“Giselle, listen to me,” she said in a softer voice. “I grew up going to church too, and I’m telling you, the sooner you get away from that crazy Christian guilt stuff, the better for you it’s going to be. It’s all a mishmash of made up stories and old cultural taboos anyway, like they said in Religion 101. The best way to get rid of the fear and shame and guilt is to break a few of those taboos and realize that you didn’t die; you weren’t struck by lightning, or anything. I say if there is a God, he doesn’t really care what we do, as long as we aren’t hurting anyone.”

“I believe God does care about us,” I said without much conviction.

At Dr. Eberhardt’s prompting, I smiled politely and shook hands with Zoey. Then he suggested that the seating arrangements be adjusted. I switched to the other compartment, and Brad took Josh back to Zoey. When we were settled in to the new arrangements, Dr. Eberhardt asked me, Tom and Owen to share what of the remaining itinerary we were most looking forward to.

I knew my answer: Vienna’s Ringstrasse. Oma loved to talk about the capital of her home country, building it up until it sounded like a fairyland.

As a small child, I had counted the days between visits to Oma and Opa. Oma would let me help roll out the dough for the famous apple strudel, and as we worked, Oma would tell one of her endless funny stories about Austria. In one, Oma danced with Mozart on a cloud over Salzburg. In the other, she dined with Strauss on the stage of the Wien Opera House.

I tried to imitate Oma’s funny accent. “Where is “veen,” Oma?” I asked one day with a young child’s insatiable curiosity.

“You’d call it Vienna, liebchen. It’s the grandest city in Austria, the most elegant city in all of Europe.”

“Then it’s a real place? Can we go there?”

My grandmother’s rich laughter echoed in the kitchen. “Yes, Wien is a real place, only it is very far away, across the ocean. To go there would be sehr kostspielig, very expensive. You will have to save the quarters your Opa gives you.”

“Oma, why don’t you live there anymore?”

“Well, liebchen, one day, when I was not very much older than you are now, my Mutter and Vater decided we should come to live in this country.”

“And then you came to this house?”

Oma laughed again. “Nein. No. We lived first in Chicago, then Ohio. Eventually I went to college where God gave me your Opa. After we married and our boys had grown, we came here to California. The land of opportunity. Then one day, God gave me a surprise gift, our little Franz.” Giselle already knew Franz was what Oma called Daddy, even though everyone else called him Frank. “And then seven years ago, he gave me the best gift of all.”

“What gift, Oma?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“You, liebchen.” I felt floured hands squeeze my thin shoulders, and she kissed my forehead. “You have been such a good little helper. Look, the strudel is almost ready. Kirsten is outside with Opa. You go now. Play with them until your parents come.”

I gave my audience in the compartment a summary of times baking strudel with Oma and, when they prompted, a short version of the Mozart story.

I smiled wistfully, finding it felt good to talk and share after so many days of self-imposed isolation, even about a sad subject. “My grandmother died not too long ago,” I said, “just after Spring Break. I guess you could say she’s the reason I decided to come to Elk River. I looked up to her so much, and it was her alma mater. When you announced this trip, Dr. E, I jumped at the chance to see some more of the places she talked about.” I laughed and decided to say something lighter to break the reflective mood I’d conjured up. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that it also gets me closer to a German minor.”

“Why stop with a minor?” said Dr. Eberhardt. “Think of what an honor to your grossmutter it would be if you became fluent in her mother tongue.”

I didn’t take Dr. Eberhardt’s comment too seriously. He could turn any passing remark into an advertisement for the benefits of studying the German language. Besides, a German major required a semester abroad. I’d enjoyed the sightseeing aspects of the trip so far, but could I really live in Germany for that long?

“You’ll love Vienna, Giselle.” Dr. Eberhardt added. “Your grandmother’s description, as beautiful as it was, doesn’t do that grand city justice.”

Relief flooded into a smile so big I could barely see. Things with Brad seemed to be over, but at least I’d made some sort of peace with Zoey. Hopefully now I would be able to enjoy every last second in Austria’s capital. 

Chapter 21, part 3: Intoxication

We arrived in Vienna’s Altstadt in time for a late lunch. At a table in a tiny café, I continued talking with Tom and Owen, enjoying their competition to impress me with tales of their feats on the baseball diamond. At the next table, Dr. Eberhardt and Josh debated the merits of malts versus lagers. Zoey and Brad seemed wrapped up in their own little world. I offered a silent thank you to God for the new lack of verbal sniping.

Dr. Eberhardt gave us free time for the rest of the afternoon. After settling into my new room and taking a short nap, I wandered the cobbled streets that led from our hotel to the plaza in front of St. Stephan’s Dom. I sat on a bench, considering all Zoey had said. Although I rejected her theory on God’s existence or character, I did question the wisdom and purpose of abstaining from alcohol. What harm would one drink do?

At dinner, I ordered my first glass of wine.

“Giselle’s taking a walk on the wild side,” Brad said, and his buddies reacted with similar facetious expressions of shock. Choosing to believe it was all good-natured, I took no offense.

The deep glass arrived long before the food. I sipped the dark red liquid, and it burned all the way down to my empty stomach. The more I drank, the better it tasted. The waiter soon brought another, and another. I smiled warmly at my traveling companions. They were such lovely people. What sharp wits they had! Everything they said was hilarious.

“Hey guys,” I blurted. “Guess what happened to me this afternoon?”

“You got a message from God that drinking is now okay?” Zoey called out.

At least a minute passed before my giggles subsided enough to continue. “No, sillies, listen. Something really funny happened. I walked over to the bakery next door to grab a snack. I tried to order “ein glass milch, bitte” to go with one of those huge chocolate covered croissants. I totally screwed it up, because they brought me an enormous glass of mutterbilk. I mean buttermilk.” I slipped into another fit of giggles. “I’ve never seen such a tall glass. It was like this big.” My broad gesture to indicate the size knocked over the nearly-empty fourth glass of wine.

“Best watch how much you drink there, Giselle, dearie, ‘cause I don’t think anyone here wants to hold your hair back if you get sick,” Zoey said.

I smiled dreamily back at her and fell silent. Reclining in the high-backed chair, I enjoyed the warm glow of the candle-lit room and basked in the charming conversation that swirled around. Tom and Owen ordered Jagermeister and asked if I wanted to try some.

“Sure, why not?”

By the time the food arrived, a vague sense of vertigo had set in. I ate a few bites of the wienerschnitzel with noodles, and then pushed the plate back. I asked the waiter to bring a glass of dreaded mineral water. It would be worth choking down if it could settle my stomach.

No such luck. I barely made it to the restaurant’s restroom before the wine, Jagermeister and few bites of dinner came back out. After the room stopped spinning, I stumbled back to the table.

Dr. Eberhardt asked Zoey to walk me the few blocks back to the hotel. She reluctantly agreed. I retched into a bush, and true to her word, Zoey did not hold my hair back. The next thing I remembered was waking up on the floor of the hotel bathroom with another bout of nausea. I staggered to bed.

I woke up the next morning, temples in a vise. I groaned when I saw it was already 11:00 a.m. I had missed the departure time for our excursion to Schoenbrunn palace. The chiming of the clock tower of the cathedral rang in my ears. I sat up, but a dizzy spell sent me back to the bathroom. After I spent myself, I sank back onto the bed with a groan, flooded with guilt. I’d broken yet another vow to God and for what? It had been frighteningly easy to turn against Him to fit in with the world. What would Ian and the other CSF leaders think if they knew what I’d been up to on this trip?

I knelt beside the bed and prayed as if for the first time. In the regret of that morning after, I cried out to God as though my life depended on it, using none of the right words. Everything came spilling out in a jumble of confession — selfishness, pride, sexual fantasies, my foolish choice to poison my body with alcohol.

Most of all, though, I kept repeating variations on one theme. “I don’t know you as well as people think I do. I’m tired of being a fake, just a goody-good,” I whispered between sobs. “Please, I beg you, strip everything that looks good but is just a façade. Give me real knowledge of you. Knock me down and rebuild me from the ground up.”

It was the most honest, most dangerous thing I ever prayed.

And yet, nothing much changed that day, or the rest of the trip for that matter. I made a special effort to get along with Zoey while avoiding contact with Brad as much as possible. I continued to order wine or even beer with dinner but took only a few sips. As predicted, I loved Vienna, and found Prague to be an unexpected treasure. Salzburg, a little disappointing. By the end of the trip, I had chalked up that sobbing conversation with God to a wicked combination of a hangover and the overwrought emotions that always preceded my period, which had started two days later.

Chapter 22, part 1: Road Trip

When I got back from Europe, among the junk email in my inbox was a message from Ian. “We had an impromptu CSF leaders’ retreat while you were gone. Hope you don’t mind, but I signed us up to run the first Soulfire of the year –that’s what we renamed our weekly meetings. Isn’t it cool? I want it to be a gospel presentation. Talking about Jesus is my passion, and with all your stage experience, I know you’ll do great.”

As much as I loved being on stage, I dreaded public speaking. It was different without the spotlight between me and the audience. The few times I'd had to do it in high school, adrenaline got the best of me and I ended up trembling so hard that even my voice shook.  What was I going to do?

Mom and Daddy drove Kirsten and I across country to Elk River soon after, leaving Ruthie with Aunt Martha.

“We just entered New Mexico, ladies,” Daddy announced the second morning of the trip.

“Ugh,” said Mom. “I always hate this part of the drive. Nothing to see.” She turned as much as the seat belt would allow her and touched my knee. “Gigi--I mean, Giselle--why don’t you keep us entertained? Tell us more about your trip. You’ve been home almost two days and yet we’ve hardly heard anything about it. Didn’t you have a good time?”

“I did have a good time. I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you about it, I guess. Besides, it was kind of hard to come up with entertaining anecdotes while zonked out by jet lag. And then when I was awake, we were all so busy packing and loading Kirsten’s endless suitcases—”

“Don’t exaggerate Giselle,” Kirsten protested. “Anyway, I don’t believe in traveling light. Is it my fault I got all the fashion sense in the family?”

“Now, Kirsten, be kind,” Mom scolded. “Giselle may not be a clotheshorse like you, but she always looks reasonably well put together.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks for the rave review, Mom.”

Kirsten giggled. “I wasn’t necessarily talking about Giselle – although, no offense sis, you could stand to watch a few episodes of What Not to Wear. But even Giselle knows better than to go out in public in corduroy slippers – Daddy. And Mom, the eighties called, and they want their big hair back.”

Mom clutched her silvery waves in mock horror. “Very funny, Kirsten. But what’s this program you’re referring to?”

“Oh, you know, it’s on cable. I watch it sometimes when I’m over at Heidi’s.”

Mom’s voice flattened, all joking gone. “You know I don’t like you girls watching the smut on cable.”

“Mo-o-o-o-m, for your information, not everything on cable is smut,” Kirsten protested.

It was too late. Mom had already launched into her oft-repeated rants on modesty and the decaying morals of today’s youth, and there would be no stopping her until she reached the end of it.

I didn’t mind — I still needed to process what had happened in Germany before I wanted to talk too much about it. The more time I had to carefully consider how to describe each moment of the trip without pinging Mom’s vice police radar, the better. Even the slightest allusion to the misunderstood accusations of sexual misconduct, the episodes of public drunkenness and especially the questions and doubts about my faith would inevitably lead to a flurry of questions worse than the Spanish Inquisition.

Daddy caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. “Millie, as relevant as your comments always are, I think Giselle was about to tell us about her trip. I for one am very interested to hear all about it. Did you get your money’s worth?” I winced at the implied condemnation – in the months leading up to my departure he made it abundantly clear he considered the entire trip a foolish waste of money, the pinnacle of bad stewardship.

I cleared my throat to buy precious seconds of more time. The topic was now unavoidable, and faced with Daddy’s challenge, I couldn’t afford to make it sound anything less than spectacular.

“Giselle, it sounds like you had an absolutely wonderful time,” Mom said when the censored and slightly embellished tale was finished. “I’m so proud of you for using that time away to reflect and grow closer to God. Frank, maybe now you’ll listen to me when I tell you we should visit Europe. I’ve always wanted to go, and our twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up next summer.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Mom’s campaign to get Daddy across the Atlantic was one she wouldn’t easily drop once she got hold of it. I was off the hook. My parents would never have to know the truth. Hopefully the other CSF leaders wouldn’t either.

Chapter 22, part 2: Missed Opportunity

A few days later, Kirsten complained for the hundredth time about the sweat dripping down her back as we unloaded the car outside yet another motel room. After three days of driving, we were now in some flat, oppressively hot place in the middle of Indiana. She pulled me aside as our parents disappeared into the room.

“Giselle, tell me you were kidding when you said the humidity was not that bad. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Trust me, it may not seem like it now, but you’ll adjust.” Or maybe she wouldn’t. How could I know how uncomfortable she really was?

“How can I, when each day we drive takes me further from Charlie?” She shouldered past me through the door. “Great. Another dump,” she said to no one in particular, plopping her bag in the middle of the bed closest to the door.

“Frank, do something,” Mom said. “I’ve had it up to here with Kirsten’s attitude.”

“As if I care,” Kirsten snapped. 

I busied myself with my bags, hoping not to get involved.

“Watch your tone, young lady,” Daddy said. He rarely intervened between them, but after three long days on the road, I think all our nerves were frayed. “Your mother and I are entitled to your respect.”

“Then how ‘bout you show me some? I told you two hours ago that I was hungry, but you drove on like you could care less.”

Daddy heaved a big sigh. “No one forced you to be a vegetarian. We’re not always going to be able to stop at a place with salads, nor would I want to. There are four of us on this trip, and in this family, majority rules.”

“Maybe if you stopped at the farmer’s market we passed this morning like I asked—”

Mom talked over her. “You’re going to have to get used to compromise if you’re going to get along with a roommate.”

“Whatever. I know Lisa will be cool. She called me last week, remember? We’re going to get along fine. Even if we don’t, anything would be better than living under the same roof with you.” The intensity of Kirsten’s glare matched her vehement tone.

“For the last time, you are not to speak about or to your mother that way. If you even so much as roll your eyes at her one more time— “

“What are you going to do, Dad, spank me? Huh? Don’t you think I’m a little old for that? I’m eighteen, an adult.”

“Don’t I wish,” Daddy said. “It’s times like this I wish I’d never listened to your mother when she went in for all this positive discipline malarkey. Maybe then you’d know how to act like the adult you claim to be.”

“Maybe if you let me make my own decisions, I’d know how.” She sounded bitter.

Maybe that was the root of her resentment. She had applied to Elk River on her own, but it was our parents who wouldn’t let her change her mind after she got engaged to Charlie.

The argument continued to escalate to name-calling. Finally, I couldn’t take it any more.

“Stop it! Just stop it!” I sprung to my feet, hands balled in fists. Kirsten looked at me as though she were shocked I could be so loud. “Have a little consideration. I can’t stand to hear you all being so hateful to each other.”

Kirsten scoffed. "Get over it. That’s what being a part of this family means,” she snapped, and stormed out of the room into the humid night.

Mom started to cry into Daddy’s chest. I slipped out of the room and left them wrapped in their own little world of worry.

Ahead of me, Kirsten stalked over to a bench bolted to the sidewalk outside the entrance of a Denny’s across the parking lot from the motel.

Scenes like this had been going on all summer. As soon as the ring was on her finger, Kirsten had started her campaign to convince Mom and Daddy to let her live at home and go to community college while she waited to transfer to UC Berkeley to be with Charlie. Yet somehow, they managed to convince her to stick with the original plan and go to Elk River—that the temporary separation would be worth it. Didn’t she want a real college experience of her own, like me? I hated to be used as the bar of comparison, but there it was.

Kirsten once told me that she had only applied to Elk River in the first place because the enthusiastic letters and emails I sent her last year had made the tiny school sound so appealing. The timing of Oma’s death probably had something to do with it too.

I did hope she would come to share my deep appreciation for the friendly community of students and lovely campus—its tidy ivy-covered brick academic buildings, the picturesque rolling hills. Growing up in Southern California, we kids had always wondered together what it would be like to live through real seasons, and I wanted her to share the gorgeous fall colors, crisp late autumn air, the hush of falling snow and the glory of a new spring day in person with me.

I decided I had better go out and talk to her. She was turned away from the motel and didn’t seem to notice me sit next to her.  I cleared my throat to get her attention, ducking my head with a wry smile when she looked my way. “So, you gonna sleep out here or what?”

“I just need to cool down a bit.”

“There’s air conditioning in the room, you know. Or maybe we could go for a swim …” Okay, it was a lame joke, but it made her laugh. 

“Cut it out. You know what I mean,” she said.

After a bit of silence, Kirsten stood and said, "Actually, I was thinking about going in Denny’s to get something to eat. Want to join me?"

We sisters settled into a booth. Kirsten ordered a salad and I asked for apple pie. Neither of us said much as we ate.

“What was all that about back there?” I asked as we lingered over empty plates.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. I’m not as perfect as you think.”

The waitress brought back change for my twenty, and I stood as if to go. Kirsten patted the seat next to her. “I really don’t want to go back to the room until I’m sure Mom and Daddy are asleep. Can you stick around?”

“Sure. But only if you tell me what’s really bothering you.”

Kirsten sighed and looked away. “I don’t know what's wrong exactly. I’m so confused—”

I interrupted. “Wait, I have a guess.”

“You do?” Kirsten looked terrified and grateful all at once.

“Sure, it’s probably just nerves … you’re worried about being in a strange place on your own, right? So was I. But I’ll be there.”

“I guess that could be part of it. But I don’t want to be the tagalong baby sister this time.”

“I’m sure everyone will love you. I mean, it’s a given that the guys will fall all over you. They always do.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m with Charlie, remember?”

“Never mind. The point is, you’ll be fine.” I patted her leg. “You know what you should do. Come to CSF with me.”

She murmured an agreement, staring out the window to the highway in the distance. We headed back across the parking lot.

Kirsten stopped me just as I was about to slide the card key in the motel room door. “Giselle, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

"Do you ever, you know, have sexual thoughts?”

I froze. "Why do you ask?” I wasn’t as perfect as she thought, but I wasn’t ready to talk about this now.

But you need to.

I needed to? Before I could process where that voice came from, Kirsten was talking again.

“Well, we can’t control them right? But they don’t have to mean anything either, right?”

“That sounds right. Um, what’s that Luther saying? You can’t stop a bird from flying past but you don’t have to build it a nest.” I again ignored a strange impulse to tell her about my own struggles with “bird nests.”

“Ok, I guess that’s all I wanted to know. Thanks.”

“What are big sisters for?” I gave her a hug. “Can we go inside now? Mosquitoes are eating us alive out here. Mom and Daddy were getting ready for bed when I left. I bet they’re asleep already.”

We stayed up whispering excitedly about what the next day would hold, giggling softly late into the night as we had when we shared a room as children. The last thing Kirsten said before she drifted off to sleep was how much she was looking forward to our arrival on campus the next day.

We left Terre Haute at nine. Our talk seemed to have done nothing to improve Kirsten’s disposition. If anything, she was more surly. Kirsten and Mom spent the morning bickering over how long it should take to get ready and where to eat breakfast. Daddy and I rolled our eyes at each other when they weren’t looking. I was glad when Kirsten decided to give Mom the silent treatment. Tense quiet was far preferable to the alternative.

We stopped for lunch in Columbus. We all seemed more relaxed with food in our bellies, and spent the last hour of the trip in easy conversation. I told story after story from last year and what Kirsten could look forward to. I couldn’t wait to see my friends again.

We all helped Kirsten settle into her room in Warner Hall. I was glad we were both on the East Hill. We were about done unpacking when Lisa and her parents showed up. We quickly got out of their way. I led my family on a tour of campus, starting with my room in the German program house. After a dinner in Paxton Dining Hall, Kirsten and I walked our parents back to the van.

Mom walked over to Kirsten, arms open for a hug.

Kirsten backed away, refusing contact. “Bye Mom, bye Daddy. You better get going if you’re going to make it back to Terre Haute tonight.”

Mom looked sadly at Daddy and dropped her arms. “Bye sweetie. Have a wonderful semester. We’ll see you girls at Christmas.”

Kirsten and I stood in silence for a moment, watching the tail lights shrink then disappear over the hill at the campus entrance. She told me she was late for a freshman orientation meeting in the dorm and hurried off.

She turned back when she heard me call, “What time do you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Who said we were meeting for breakfast?” She kept walking backwards. “You don’t have to babysit me, Giselle. Just pretend I’m not here, okay?”

With that, she turned and ran up the steps of Warner Hall.