Chapter 18, part 2: Avoiding Temptation

As I spent the night going back and forth between the dorm bathroom and my bed, what happened and what almost happened with Brad that afternoon tormented me. How did I let things go so far? Some leader I was turning out to be. Never mind evangelizing the Greeks, I couldn’t even admit to Tonya that I was part of CSF.

What next?  When I went to Brad’s room next time, the same pattern would repeat itself. He’d probably want to go even farther. And my curiosity about what would happen if I let him scared me. I felt like Ado Annie from Oklahoma, the girl who “cain’t say no.” 

The only really safe thing to do would be to break up. Then again, what was I afraid of? If the laws condemning Breanne and Lori were possibly antiquated, maybe the no sex before marriage rules were outdated too. Anyway, we didn’t necessarily have to have sex. What was wrong with just fooling around?

Who was I kidding? Some leader I was turning out to be, questioning the inerrancy of scripture so I could have my own way. Maybe it would be better for me to resign.

But how could I quit CSF? What reason would I give? Phoebe and Ian were counting on me. Mom and Daddy had been so proud when I shared the news. Probably the only person who’d be happy about it would be Lacey, but it wasn’t like me quitting would get her spot on the team back.

So it was back to breaking up with Brad. That wouldn’t be easy to do. Maybe I didn’t have to? It might be safer to just avoid him for a while. After all, school would be out in less than two weeks, and then we’d be halfway across the country from one another all summer long. 

Either he’d forget about me and move on with Zoey or another “pal,” or we could continue our relationship, but this time with fresh new boundaries. By the time I saw him again on the Germany trip, I’d be stronger and have better self-control. Maybe then I could be a pillar of purity, the one who could lead Brad and all his fraternity brothers to give up their evil ways and join the ranks of CSF.

Sleep finally came, only to be interrupted by a nightmare of Brad and Zoey in bed together, laughing at me. 

***

The next morning, I skipped breakfast at the dining hall and just ate some granola bars in my room. Rob came to pick Lacey up and from their conversation I gathered they were planning to spend the day in Avondale. I was alone in my room studying for finals when Brad knocked.

“Feeling better, babe?”

“Yes, in fact I’m starved now. Must have been food poisoning or one of those 24-hour bugs.”

“You get those a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said as we headed to the dining hall for lunch. “My stomach has been more sensitive ever since I was on those antibiotics last semester. I’ll never know when a meal won’t agree with me.”

“So whatcha wanna do today?” Brad asked after lunch. “I was thinking we could snuggle up on your couch back in your room and watch Pirates for old times sake.”

That was a recipe for a major make out session if I ever heard one. “I’ve been cooped up in there studying all morning, and it’s so pretty out. How about we go for a walk?”

“That’s an awesome idea! My buddy Josh, the one you met last night, was just telling me about this neat spot he found upstream a bit. He said there’s even a waterfall. We could drive out and then hike around a bit.”

“Perfect!”

“We’ll just stop by my room first so I can grab my camera. For all intensive purposes I’m done with my photography project, but a few more shots can’t hurt.” 

I restrained myself from automatically saying “intents and purposes" to correct his grammar.  Though I didn't want to admit being so judgmental, errors like that drove me crazy.

After stops at both of our rooms for cameras, hats and sunscreen, we headed for the main entrance of Warner Hall.

Ian was playing pool by himself in the lobby. “You two look ready for adventure,” he said as we walked by. “Where are you off to?”

“Off to enjoy the great outdoors,” Brad said.

“We’re hoping to find some waterfalls,” I added.

“The ones up by Eddington?” Ian asked. “I’ve been meaning to make it out there.”

“Want to join us?” Brad asked.

“Sure!” Ian racked up the billiard balls and put the cue away. “What better way to spend a Sabbath afternoon than in God’s beautiful creation?”

We headed out to the parking lot. Ian started to climb in the backseat of Brad’s red hatchback.

I tapped him on the shoulder. “I can squeeze back there easier than you. Take shotgun,” I offered.

“Good idea, babe. I’d like to get to know your friend,” Brad said. “Ian, I’ve only met you twice, and both times you mentioned the Sabbath. I don’t get it. At first I thought you were Jewish, but now I know you’re in CSF with Giselle. I thought all Christians worshiped on Sunday. I asked Giselle about it but she said it was too hard to explain.”

Brad’s frank question surprised me. Maybe he was searching after all.

“Your question reminds me of the story of the Samaritan woman at the well,” Ian answered.

“Don’t remember that one from catechism class, sorry,” Brad said.

“She asked Jesus where it was right to worship God: on a certain mountain in Samaria, or at the Temple in Jerusalem. Jesus told her neither … what counted was worshiping in Spirit and in Truth.”

“So the place didn’t matter; are you saying God doesn’t care which day we go to church either?” I asked.

“I’m not necessarily saying that. I do believe a day of rest from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday was ordained by God and still holds today, but it’s all meaningless without Jesus. Only by trusting in His completed work can you have a true Sabbath rest.”

“Do you think it is a sin to go to church on Sunday then?” Brad asked. “Not that I make it to Mass all that often, but if I did, I’d want to make sure it was on the right day.”

“Sunday is the Lord’s day, the day of resurrection. Both have meaning for me. Neither one would have meaning if I didn’t know Jesus the way I do. Do you know Him?”

Brad’s long silence unnerved me more than Ian’s boldness had. Had we offended him?

“Maybe not the way you and Giselle do,” Brad said at last. “But I have to admit, sometimes I wish I did. Meeting Giselle and now you might have been a blessing in the skies.”

In disguise, I silently corrected him.

Spiritual talk gave way to general chatter and silence as we enjoyed the tinkling laughter of the river and drunk in the beauty of the wildflowers carpeting the cathedral formed by the soaring trees. The falls were tiny compared to Yosemite, but still lovely.

The outing turned out to be quite romantic despite the company. When he wasn’t snapping pictures, Brad had his hand in mine or around my waist as much as the terrain would allow, and he stole a few kisses when Ian wasn’t looking.

Ian insisted on riding in back on the return trip. Brad drove with one hand, stroking the back of my hand or squeezing my knee with his other. Anticipation and dread built in my gut. It felt like we were leading up to something and I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop once we started.

“What next?” Brad asked after we said goodbye to Ian in the lobby. He pulled me into a deep kiss. “Want to go out to dinner?”

“Let’s just grab a quick bite in the dining hall. I’m sorry, but I really have to get back to studying for finals. I’m so glad we had this day together, though. It’s going to get crazy and we probably won’t have much of a chance to hang out between now and the last day of school.”

“Totally understand. Still want me to drive you to the airport when school gets out?”

“Isn’t it out of your way?” I asked.

“Not really. Besides, I want to spend all the time with you I can before you go all the way back to California. I’m going to miss you so much. At least we can keep in touch online.”

Chapter 19, part 1: Summer Job

On a gloomy June morning a few weeks after getting out of school, I sat at the kitchen table thumbing through the classified section of the Citrus Valley Gazette. If I was going to earn enough to pay off my credit card and have some spending money for the trip by the first week in August, I needed to find something that paid better than the minimum wage I had been earning so far working at the church bookstore. I’d be happy with a full-time job or possibly a second part-time one to bring my hours up.

A customer service position offering $15 per appointment caught my eye.

I dialed the number. A perky girl at the end of the line asked a few cursory questions before saying I was just the sort of candidate they were looking for. Could I come in for an interview that afternoon? I certainly could!

I wondered if I could catch a ride from Mom, or better yet, borrow the car. At least Kirsten wasn’t around to compete for the family Expedition – she was away on a post-graduation camping trip with her high school youth group and wouldn’t be back until the following weekend.

Mom gave permission to use the car, as long as I did the grocery shopping on my way back.

***

I came home from the interview on cloud nine. My new manager said that unlike most who applied, I had what it took to be a successful customer service representative for the fine cutlery the firm marketed. My three-day training would start on Monday, and then I’d be ready to start going on those $15 per hour service appointments and rake in the commissions.

“Giselle, is that you? Do you need help bringing in the groceries?” Mom yelled from the back of the house.

The groceries! Between the initial group interview and the second personal interview, I’d spent more than two hours at the offices of Velocity Marketing. With my head so full of dreams and goals for my new career, there was no room left for something so mundane as trip to the market.

Mom came out to the kitchen. “Giselle, what took you so long? I was getting worried. C’mon, walk with me out to the car. I bet the ice cream is melting.”

“Sorry, Mom. My interview took longer than I thought, and I didn’t actually get the groceries.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going on a job interview. What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy at the bookstore?”

“No, it’s fun working there, but it’s only open twenty hours a week, and I need to earn a lot more money than that if I’m going to pay off the trip expenses and other things I’ve racked up on my new credit card.” Not to mention the $150 for the knife demo kit I’d just shelled out.

“Sounds prudent. So how’d the interview go?”

“Great! I got the job!” I handed her a brochure.

Mom read the cover copy but didn’t open the brochure. “Velocity Marketing? Giselle, I thought you were wiser than this. Please tell me you haven’t given notice at the bookstore yet.”

“I haven’t. Why? What’s the problem?”

“This looks like a scam—”

Before she could continue, I interrupted. “The sales manager told me you might say that. When you see the product, I’m sure you’ll change your mind.” I sounded a lot more certain than I felt.

***

That weekend I took Mom and Daddy through the whole scripted demonstration I’d been taught during the interview/training. Daddy shocked both of us by buying the second largest set of knives. My parents even gave me the names and numbers of all their contacts from church.

We Gottliebs were a prominent family at Blessed Redeemer Lutheran, and I found it easy to set appointments with Mom’s affluent friends. By the end of the first full week, I had won the office award for top sales and earned my first promotion. Following the script Velocity provided, I even set an appointment with my boss from the bookstore when I gave notice.

Chapter 19, part 2: Shifting Relationships

I pulled up to the house after another successful sales appointment. The blue VW bug parked in front of the house let me know Kirsten must be back from her camping trip with her boyfriend Charlie and their friends.

Another car I didn’t recognize was also in the driveway. In the living room, Charlie and Kirsten sat on the love seat while my parents and Charlie’s sat across from them like an interview panel.

“Hi, Giselle,” said Charllie’s mom Mrs. Neal as I walked in. “We got our knives yesterday. I’m so glad we paid the extra for the rush shipping. We absolutely love them!”

“Didn’t I tell you? Just let me know when you want to go ahead and get the rest of the pieces in the set.”

Kirsten glared at me. “Gigi, can’t you see we’re in the middle of something? Get lost!”

“Kirsten, don’t talk to you sister like that. I’d actually like you to join us, Giselle,” Mom said. “This involves our whole family. You should hear it too.”

“Hear what?”

“Charlie and I are going to get married!” Kirsten boasted. Charlie squeezed her hand and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

The adults shifted in their seats and gave each other significant looks. I now understood why Kirsten had snapped before. Both sets of parents were undoubtedly leaving no holds barred to talk some sense into the starry-eyed couple.

“Congratulations,” I said as I pulled up a chair.

“Thank you, Giselle, but that might be a little premature,” said Mrs. Neal.

“Millie, Frank, don’t get us wrong,” Mrs. Neal continued. “You know we love Kirsten. We’d be happy to have her as a daughter-in-law – one day.”

Mom nodded. “Of course. And we feel the same about Charlie.”

“Kids,” Mr. Neal said as he leaned forward in his chair, “We hope you understand where we’re coming from. We support the idea of you getting married – eventually. I think we can all see that God has made you for each other.”

Everyone murmured agreement. Kirsten and Charlie had dated all through high school. I too thought it a foregone conclusion that Charlie would be my brother-in-law – someday. I just never expected them to rush into an engagement so soon. They were just kids! Heck, Kirsten still used cutesy animal paper for her stationery.

“Frank and I were talking,” Mr. Neal continued, “and we decided to hold this meeting, not to convince you to break the engagement, but to speak into your lives some of the wisdom we’ve learned from our marriages and to make some very strong suggestions about the timing of the blessed event.”

“What your father’s trying to say, Charlie, is that we want you to wait to get married until at least your junior year of college.” Mrs. Neal added.

“Or even better, wait until you both graduate,” said Daddy. He cocked an eyebrow. “In fact, I’m willing to offer a little incentive.”

“What incentive?” Charlie said.

"I’ll explain. I’m willing to put ten grand toward your wedding. If you wait until you’re both at least seniors in college, I’ll let you keep whatever money you don’t spend on the ceremony and reception as a wedding present.”

“I like the way you think, Frank,” said Mr. Neal. “I’m willing to add five grand to that deal.”

“Sold!” Charlie shouted, and everyone laughed. He continued, “Thanks – Mom, Pop, Mr. and Mrs. Gottlieb. I get where you’re coming from. We don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve already been thinking that I’d really like to be out of school and in a job before we tie the knot.”

Kirsten furrowed her brow but didn’t say anything. Did she have a reason to want to rush into a wedding? I quickly put the idea out of my head. I rarely saw them hold hands. The peck on the cheek may have been the first kiss I’d seen between them.

“Wise thinking, Charlie. I’ll be proud to have you as a son-in-law one day,” said Daddy. “Kirsten and Giselle both know how much their mother and I value education. Every member of our family for the past three generations has put themselves through college, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

***

After the Neals said their goodbyes, I retreated to my room, ostensibly to make some appointment-setting calls. The external activity would be a welcome distraction from the confusing swirl of emotion sparked by Kirsten’s news.

Something about it didn’t sit right with me, and it wasn’t even that they were too young. For some reason I had never pictured them getting married. Charlie was more like Kirsten’s best friend than a boyfriend. But maybe that was a good thing?

Maybe my misgivings were really just some sort of jealousy talking. I tried and failed to imagine being in Kirsten’s shoes, so certain of her path in life and the partner she’d chosen to travel it with. By contrast, the length of all my romantic relationships could be measured in months, and from the way I’d been feeling recently, the fling with Brad would end up as no exception. Was there something wrong with me?

Maybe I just wasn’t meant for love. It seemed I did have a knack for sales though. Maybe in five years, when Kirsten was at home barefoot and pregnant, I’d be out there raking in the big bucks with Velocity or some other company.

Finding fresh motivation in the thought, I got on the phone for real and didn’t stop dialing until I had booked five appointments. In my focus, I ignored a series of texts from Brad. That was nothing new though. He had been texting me all week, but I hadn’t responded much since I was so busy with making my presentations.

I felt shallow to admit it even to myself, but without his bright smile and rippling muscles right there to dazzle, it was more obvious how little we had in common. I had trouble wading through the bad grammar and worse spelling of his messages. I somehow forgot to write back five times out of ten. The times when I did write, I couldn’t find much to say.

As the summer went on and the departure date for Germany approached, I began to pray for a pleasant trip and renewed feelings for Brad. After all, the only reason I was a CSF leader was because of my relationship with him. He had even told Ian that being with me had started him thinking about God more. How was I supposed to help win the Greeks for Christ if we broke up?

***

Then, during an online chat session the day before I left for Germany, Ian asked me to prayerfully consider what I could do to be a good witness to my fellow travelers.

“As leaders in CSF,” he typed, “we have a greater responsibility to be good examples. You thought people were watching us before, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. God is going to be moving on campus this year. We need to purify ourselves so we are fully ready to work alongside him.”

Ian’s talk about “God moving” and “purity” made me uncomfortable. I was nervous enough about being a leader, and it felt like just one more standard I was sure to fail to meet.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I typed back.

“You and Brad are going on this trip together, right? You need to be very careful to avoid even the hint of anything inappropriate, or tongues will wag.”

Though I’d been cooling toward Brad over the summer, my prayers for renewed feelings seemed to be answered the closer we got to the day of the trip. I was very much looking forward to renewing at least part of our physical relationship. But what did Ian mean by inappropriate? Could we hold hands? Kiss? Obviously spending the night in his hotel room was out, but did that mean I couldn’t spend any time alone with him?

I remembered how quickly things escalated that day in his dorm room. A jolt shot through me at the memory of Brad’s hand on my stomach, cupping my bra. It was only by avoiding time alone with him that I’d stopped things from going further last semester, and now I was sure to have many opportunities to be alone with him and not many reasons to get away.

How was I ever going to live up to Ian’s standard?  

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.