Blue Glass

First Impressions

May, 1917

My cousin pulled the double doors to the hunting lodge open and let out a loud, unceremonious whoop when he saw me. He had stuffed his overweight self into a basic gray service uniform, clearly borrowed from a friend as the material hugged his midsection most unattractively, the gold buttons straining like they were going to pop off at any second. The smell of cigarette smoke, womens' perfume and mens' cologne—the smell of upperclass parties—hit me full in the face from behind him.
"It's good to see you, too, Heinrich," I said, kissing him on both cheeks, a gesture which never failed to make him turn red. "How's your father?"
"Not worse for the wear, I suppose." He ushered me in and gave me his arm, which I took. "How's your mother?"
"I haven't seen her since I came from Switzerland," I said, hastily checking my reflection in the mirror in the small hallway leading to the drawing room to see if my makeup had smudged in any way—which I hoped it didn't, as I had nothing on hand with which to fix it. Svetlana had done my makeup in such a way that I looked classy without looking ostentatious or artificial. All I had on was face powder, my eyes were lined, and my lips and cheeks were slightly rouged.
Satisfied that everything was in place, I turned to Heinrich and we walked into the drawing room together. One look at the women milling about the room and I began to feel I was horribly overdressed. These women had dresses with half sleeves, the bared sections of their arms piled high with bracelets that caught the light of the chandelier above, and wore their hair either in intricate designs or wore hats. Svetlana had piled my dark curly hair atop my head in a topknot, and squeezed me into a full sleeve burgundy dress with a scandalously low neckline.
"Your father really went all out, didn't he," I commented.
"Being seconded to the German Army is a big thing  to him," Heinrich explained. "Especially now, when Austria's army is so turbulent compared to theirs."
Heinrich walked over to the table he had ostensibly been sitting at and poured each of us a bubbling glass of champagne.
"To the war," he said, raising his glass.
"To the war." We were about to tap glasses and down the contents when a loud ahem nearby made the two of us look up.
My uncle looked at his son with a dour expression. "Why would you propose a toast to this war, boy? Have you no conscience?"
Heinrich dropped his gaze to the toes of his boots. "I'm sorry, father."
My uncle heaved a sigh. "See to it that you act accordingly. Get lost; do something productive." At his words, Heinrich threw me an apologetic glance and darted off with this glass of champagne. "You've had enough fun for one night," my uncle called after Heinrich's receding back.
"A pleasure to see you, uncle," I said tactfully. "You're looking well; the war certainly has been kind to you."
"My girl, we all have our fair share of woes from this conflict." He returned my handshake and pulled me towards him to kiss my cheeks. "How have you been?"
"I'm well enough. Mother is in the hospital again."
Major Reinhard Schwarz's eyes darkened. "Yet another result of my brother's...philandering?"
"So it seems," I said sourly. "I was in Switzerland when Mother overdosed; Svetlana told me."
My uncle clapped a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "What's important, my dear, is that you have a good time while you can. Life is short; you can't afford to waste it worrying and fretting over every little thing." He poured himself a glass of champagne and tapped it to mine. "To the momentous occasion of my seconding to the German Air Service."
I smiled and clinked glasses with him. My uncle never failed to lift my spirits, even if it was only temporary.
"While we're on the topic of momentous occasions, there are a few honored guests I'd like you to meet." He gave me his arm. "I trust your interest in aviation hasn't waned yet?"
I smirked. "Not yet."
Even during peacetime, I had always been fascinated by the zeppelins and occasional airplanes that flew over Vienna. Although I knew that it was unheard of for a woman to fly an airplane, I compensated by learning almost everything there was to know about them. I knew all the names of the airplane companies in Germany and in Austria, knew how they worked and what to do if, say, a motor malfunctioned—the whole nine yards.
We walked along, my uncle rambling about something he had had to do during his first day at Jasta 11, me lost in thought, until we stopped at a round table almost in the shadows of the room, around which my cousin and a blond man in a field gray service uniform were sitting.
"I trust the wine was to your liking?" My uncle yanked a chair out and gestured for me to sit on it.
"It was exquisite." The sarcasm in my cousin's voice was all too obvious.
"Your hosting never fails to impress, Reinhard." Heinrich's table companion gave me but a fleeting glance, his eyes focused on my uncle.
"May I introduce my niece," was the next thing out of my uncle's mouth, "Lea Schwarz."
Now he was looking straight at me, his lips pulling in a tiny smile.
"A pleasure," he said slowly. I couldn't place his slight accent exactly—he didn't sound Austrian, that I knew for sure.
Heinrich leaned forward ever so slightly, like he was about to divulge a huge secret. "My cousin wants to fly planes when she gets older."
"Heinrich!" I could feel my cheeks turning red as a blast of heat shot up my face.
Heinrich's table companion didn't seem fazed in the least. His smile widened a tiny bit more, but other than that it was as if he hadn't heard a word.
"How much do you know about aviation?"he asked me finally.
I turned to look at him. "A lot."
His voice felt like it was crawling beneath the fabric covering my body to caress my skin; to worm its way down my spine. It wasn't too deep to be severe or too high pitched to be effeminate; it rose and fell between the two.
"Who is Austria's highest scoring ace thus far?"
"Godwin von Brumowski." That was easy.
"Do you know Germany's?"
"Manfred von Richthofen."
Heinrich made a sound like he was stifling a laugh, and my questioner shot him a look.
"Very good," he said to me. "How many victories does Manfred von Richthofen have so far?"
I blinked at him. "You should incline your questions a bit toward Austria and not Germany. I'm more likely to know things about my own country than about the country we're allied with."
I hadn't meant to sound impudent or brash, but judging by the wince that crossed Heinrich's face, I had chosen the wrong words.
He, however, didn't bat an eyelash. "The same goes for us Germans."
I realized he had just turned my words against me.
Is he sparring with me?
I raised my head all the way to look at him. Big mistake.
He was boyishly handsome—there was no doubt about that. He had the squared off face of a German country squire with a jawline that looked like it had been sculpted by Michelangelo's chisel. His eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen, framed with dark lashes, his blonde eyebrows thick yet ending in the arch that girls find so attractive in men. His lips were full, like Heinrich's, although unlike Heinrich's bee stung ones, his were carefully drawn, with a prominent Cupid's bow. I was stunned—I rarely saw fine specimens like him in Vienna, and if by chance I were to zero in on one, I would be met with the disheartening news that he was either homosexual or had a serious girlfriend. Still, looking past his good looks, he looked familiar, almost like I had seen him before.
"I see you're wearing the uniform that German Uhlans wear," I said, trying to change the subject as fluidly as I could. "Isn't the cavalry obsolete these days?"
"Yes. Cavalry charges are only for newsreels now. I'm a fighter pilot."
"How many victories do you have so far?" I asked.
"41."
My jaw twitched. He had a higher number than our ace, von Brumowski. But that meant...
I studied his face once more, and it all fell into place. No wonder he looked familiar—I had seen that face so many times on Sanke cards Svetlana collected and taped to the wall of her room...
"Manfred von Richthofen," I said. "That's you, isn't it."
This time, his lips split so that his teeth showed when he smiled.
"Your assumption is correct."
I looked to my left, expecting to see Heinrich there, but finding only an empty chair. My heart sank. Here I was, alone at a table in the shadows with Germany's highest scoring ace and no one to back me up or prevent me from looking like a fool.
"My housekeeper adores you," I said in a feeble attempt to keep the conversation going. "She has so many Sanke cards with your face on them that I could use them as wallpaper for her room."
At that, he actually laughed. "Does she?"
I nodded emphatically. "Her name's Svetlana. She's a Russian from Petrograd."
Manfred von Richthofen smiled. "Very nice. And you? Do you collect Sanke cards as well?"
"I'm too busy for that," I said, trying to sound as flippant as possible. I knew women all over their home country literally threw themselves at these men's' knees in futile attempts to win their hearts. Despite the fact that I inwardly admitted Manfred had a lot more going for him than just his status as national hero, I wasn't going to let him see that.
"I work as a buyer for a wine importing firm, you see, so I'm constantly traveling Europe looking for new clients."
"Ah. I see. That must be refreshing for you. How does your father take it?"
"My father doesn't live with us anymore," I said nonchalantly. "He lives in Pomerania, and we don't have any business there."
"And your mother?"
"She's in the hospital."
"What for, may I ask?"
"She...um...she has heart problems." The last thing I needed Germany's top ace to know was that my mother abused drugs.
"My apologies. It must be so hard for you."
We were silent for a moment. I noticed with surprise that he didn't have a drink before him.
A German that doesn't drink?
"Well, then, I ought to go," I finally said, slowly rising to my feet. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Herr Richthofen."
He shook his head ever so slightly. "Please. Call me Manfred. And it was nice to talk to you...?"
"Just call me Lea." I had never been called Fraulein Schwarz my whole life, and had no intention for anyone to be the first.
We shook hands for the second time that night. I couldn't help mentally noting that his hands were uncharacteristically soft for a soldier, and dwarfed mine considerably.
"Guten abend," he said in that slight accent of his again.
He was gone before I could leave first or say anything else, leaving me alone at the table in the shadows.

A/N: Guten Abend is "Good evening" in German, by the way.
What are your thoughts so far?