At the exact moment that Gavin Stuart was taking the eye test in the office of the Foreign Legion, Baron Manfred von Richthofen was making his solo flight. He had been a soldier in the German army for several years, but had quickly decided that the Cavalry, where he was assigned, was not going to win this war. He had been intrigued with the idea of airplanes and asked for a transfer to the Air Service. Instead, he had been transferred to the Supply Corps, whereupon he had written a haughty letter, beginning: “My Dear Excellency, I have not gone to war to collect cheese and eggs, but for another purpose.⦔ He had ended with another request for transfer to the Air Service and, to his complete astonishment, had been assigned to the air station at Cologne.
At this moment, however, von Richthofen was trying to remember a few of the instructions he had been given by his teacherâa man called Zeumerâwho had consumption and was determined to find an early grave by being shot down in the air. At least Manfred remembered enough to put the old plane through its paces and did so with some satisfaction.
What happened next was completely unexpected. Having cut his engine for the long ride that was supposed to end in a smooth landing, he felt his airplane move unexpectedly to one side. He overcorrected with the stick and pedals, and the biplane hit the ground hard, bounced, and nosed over.
As Zeumer pulled him out of the cockpit of the crumpled airplane, von Richthofen rushed to explain. “I lost my balance.” He was afraid that was the end of his career as a pilot, but crashes by beginners were common at Cologne. Two days later, with the laughter and sarcasm of his companions still ringing in his ears, he made a series of successful landings.
Zeumer met him after the last one and said grumpily, “Well, I guess you're not going to kill anybody. Any of
us,
anyway. Now, let's see if we can make a pilot out of you so you can kill the French and the English.”
O
h, Helen, it looks like a fairyland!”
Lylah turned from the window of her large bedroom to face Helen Ulric, her eyes bright with excitement. “I've always loved snow,” she confessed. “We never got much of it back home in Arkansas. But every time we had any at all, my father had to make me come in. I wanted to be out in it every minute of the day and night.”
Helen smiled and shrugged. “Well, you'll get enough of it here in Germany. It's already over a foot deep, and there's likely to be more by morning. Come along. We'll go outside and watch it fall, since you like it so much.”
The two had reached Helen's home at Schweivnitz, about forty miles southwest of Breslau, on December 22. They had arrived in a flurry of snow and for the next two days, Lylah went for long walks with her friend and sampled the rather dull German-style cooking served by Helen's mother. It was a placid setting and Lylah gradually unwound from the pressures of the nightly performances.
“We have a treat,” Helen said one day soon after their arrival. “At least, I
think
it's a treat. We're going to stay over Christmas with my relatives, the von Richthofens. Their place is only a half hour from here. I think you'll enjoy meeting them.”
The two women packed a few things and left later in the day. It was a thrill for Lylah to ride in the sleigh driven by Helen's family servant. The runners hissed sibilantly across the snow which still drifted in lazy flakes from a wintry sky.
By the time they arrived at the von Richthofen estate, the watery sun was out again, but it gave no heat. Hurrying inside out of the cold, Helen said, “I think the whole family's hereâ¦even Manfred.”
As they entered, a tall, attractive woman came to greet them. “We're so glad to have you,” she told Lylah warmly.
She put out her hand, and when Lylah shook it, she found it firm and strong. Indeed, everything about Kunigunde von Richthofen was strong. She had a strong full-bodied figure. Large bright blue eyes dominated an aristocratic face, offset only by her wealth of auburn hair, carefully done up.
“The boys have gone out hunting with their father,” she said, “so that will give us time to get acquainted.”
She took the two young ladies into the study, where they had coffee so thick that Lylah could hardly drink it. Mrs. von Richthofen plied her American guest with questions. She was interested, Lylah saw at once, in America's position on the war. All of Germany was interested, as were France and England. It was obvious that, sooner or later, the Allies would be drained dry of the machinery of war, while across the sea were strong young men by the millions and factories by the hundreds to turn out the guns and tanks needed to crush the German armies. The Germans looked with apprehension to America, while the Allies hungered for her entrance into the war. Carefully Frau von Richthofen steered the conversation, getting the information she wanted without being demanding in the least.
Later that afternoon, the men came in from hunting. The head of the family, Albrecht von Richthofen, stood erect, with a soldierly stance and clicked his heels as he took Lylah's hand, bowed low and kissed it, welcoming her to his house. He introduced her to his two sons. “This is my younger son, Lothar,” he said, “and this is the eldest son of my house, Manfred.”
Both young men acknowledged the introduction with a slight bow, and then Albrecht von Richthofen took over, as was the custom of a Prussian father. In that time and in that place, the father was almost omnipotent in his own household.
As the visit passed, Lylah learned that these von Richthofens were Teutonic primitives, given to strength and muscle and keenness of eye, with no doubt about their skill or their proper place in the world.
Lylah observed that Manfred's mother was of the same stockârigid, conservative, getting the most out of the land, worshipful of order, and expected rights of small country nobility.
The von Richthofen estate was orderly and ran with precision and efficiency. Lylah had found the family home rather tasteless and grim, but clean. Since hunting was a way of life, the decor sported elk and deer horns in the hallways. Among the trophies of successful hunts hung portraits of solid thick faces, stern and unsmiling, turning black under old varnish, with not a masterpiece among them.
Manfred's father, half godhead of the family, followed the traditions established by these solemn ancestors and gave the code as a lover of order in the Schweivnitz tradition in which they lived.
On the second day of her visit, Lylah was surprised when Manfred approached her with an invitation to accompany him on a hunting trip just outside the estate.
Lylah beamed. “Why, thank you! That would be exciting.”
She put on her warmest clothesâa wool dress, heavy overcoat, and hat that pulled down over her earsâand met Manfred in the study. Pulling down a gun from the gunrack on the wall, he handed it to her. “This should be light enough for you,” he said, smiling. “Do you shoot?”
“When I was a girl I did,” Lylah said. She returned his smile, adding, “But I may need some lessons to bring me up to date.”
“Of course.”
The two left the house, bearing their weapons, and walked across the top of the snow, now frozen solid enough to support their weight. Manfred led her away from the manor, around the side, following a trail that went directly into the huge evergreens, rising up against the laden winter sky. Their feet made a grinding noise, for the snow was gritty beneath, and Manfred kept her entertained with stories of his past hunts.
Lylah had already been informed by Helen that Lothar was a womanizer, whereas Manfred took little interest in girls. He was, she knew, only twenty-three years old, and she felt a hundred years older than he. So as they walked along, enjoying the crisp, cold air and the wintry landscape, she was surprised to find him far more outgoing than she had expected.
“Quiet now,” he said when they reached a spot deep in the forest. “I think we may find something around that bend.”
He showed her how to load the gun, then carefully instructed her on the safety features that must be observed. Then the two of them moved slowly ahead as quietly as possible.
As they stepped into a clearing, there was a sudden whirring that startled Lylah, and she saw birds rising from the ground.
“Shoot!” Manfred cried.
Lylah raised the single-shot shotgun, followed the flight of the birds, and pulled the trigger. She heard the roar of Manfred's gun in her ear and then she felt his hand on her shoulder.
“Wonderful!” he cried. “You got him!”
Lylah turned, not knowing what a beautiful picture she madeâeyes shining, hair down around her shoulders, red lips parted in delight. “I haven't done that in a long time!” she exclaimed.
“You shoot very well,” Manfred gave an approving smile. “How did you learn?”
“Oh, my brothers taught me. We grew up on a farm, and everybody hunted. Most of the meat we had on the table we had to shootâdeer, birds of all kinds. My whole family loved to huntâ¦all the boys, anyway.”
Manfred walked over, picked up the birds, and shoved them into the game bag at his side. “Come,” he said, “we will try another place.”
As they walked, he asked about her family and what she was doing in England. “My cousin tells me you are a wonderful actress,” he said. “I've known no other actresses besides my cousin. Tell me, how does one get into that world?”
Continuing over the crystalline white snow, Lylah spoke cautiously of her past life, leaving out parts and editing others. When she was finished, Manfred shook his head. “It is strange for a woman to be on the stage. I am worried about my cousin Helen.”
Lylah said quickly, “She's a wonderful girl, Baron. You must not worry about her. Helen is well able to take care of herself.” Then she smiled and changed the subject. “Now, tell me about yourself. You're in the army?”
“Yes, of course,” von Richthofen said. He began to tell her of his life, relating how he had gone through school preparing to be a soldier, and how he had joined the Cavalry. “But,” he said, “this war will not be won by horses. It will take more than that. So I put in for a transfer into the aviation branch of our service.”
“It must be wonderful to fly,” Lylah said wistfully. “I saw my brother go up in an airplane just before I left America. I think I'd be frightened.”
“No, I think you would not be frightened of anything,” Manfred said seriously. “You are not the kind of woman given to fear.”
Lylah was curious. “How do you know that?” she asked. “You haven't spent much time observing women, or so I hear.”
Manfred smiled. “You heard that from my cousin. Or perhaps from my mother. And it is true enough. I've been too busy preparing myself for my destiny.”
The words sounded pompous to Lylah, but she ignored them saying, “Tell me about it, Baron von Richthofen.”
“Please,” he said, “call me Manfred. And I may call you Lylah?”
“Of course. Now, tell me about yourself.”
As they walked along, Lylah quickly discovered that to Manfred von Richthofen, the game of the hunt was the thing, with the kill the prize of skill and knowledge. Winning and losing. He had spent his life hunting the animals that filled the forest around his home. He had traveled with an uncle to Africa to hunt big game and, for him, the hunt had become a way of life. Finally, as they walked back toward the house, he said simply, “It is my life, Lylah. I am a hunter. There is in me, as there is in many of my people, a pure love of the hunt. Sometimes I think it's the only emotion I haveâthe love of conquering some other living thing.”
Lylah was silent. She had watched his faceâa handsome face, yet somehow coldâand had wondered what he was really like on the inside. Now she felt that she knew something about him. “Isn't that dangerous?” she asked quietly. “I mean, there's so much more to life than hunting and killing.”
He listened to her question and seemed to consider it. With eyes constantly scanning the horizon, unconsciously seeking for gain, some movement that would betray an animal or a bird that would fall beneath his gun, he finally replied, “Perhaps you're right. There
is
more than hunting. There's my mother,” he said warmly, turning to face Lylah. She saw that for the first time there was a genuine light in his eyes. “I love my mother very dearly.”
Lylah thought that a little odd and yet, remembering the stern face of Albrecht von Richthofen, Manfred's father, she could see how difficult it would be to love such a man. He was no doubt generous and upright, but he was not a man one could easily love. On the other hand, Manfred's mother was a handsome woman with an unexpected tenderness a boy might admire, failing to find it in his father.
“Your mother is lovely,” she said. “And I'm glad you do have a love for her. I hope you always will.”
They continued walking until Manfred said suddenly, “You are a very beautiful woman, Lylah.”
His observation startled her, and she stopped on the path, turning to face him. She could not resist flirting a little. “Will you make me the object of one of your hunts?” Her smile softened her features, and there was a dimple in her right cheek that intrigued him.
“If I did,” he said, “I would catch you. I always get my quarry.”
Lylah laughed and, without thinking, reached up and touched his cheek. “I'm afraid you might at that,” she said, “so I'd better go in at once, lest I be brought down by your Teutonic charm.”
The days passed quickly. Christmas came and went, and still Lylah lingered. Several times Helen had mentioned going home, and once she had even said, “I think you're paying too much attention to Manfred.”
“Oh, he's just a boy,” Lylah had quickly replied. “But I do so enjoy the hunting. Let's stay one more day.”