Chapter eleven: My brothers house --- 1906
Chapter eleven:
My brothers house --- 1907
Klara called out across the house, her voice tinged with excitement. "Adolf! Could you come here? Gustav sent us something!"
I set down my brush and hurried to her side, my eyes drawn to the open letter and the cracked wax seal.
"I formally invite Klara Hitler and Adolf Hitler to Gustav Hitler's Easter Gala. The event will be held at---"
Skimming to the bottom, I recognized his familiar handwriting.
"Sorry, you two, I had the invitation printed as a formality. P.S. The ferry tickets are inside the envelope---they're for Wilhelmshaven. With love, Gustav."
We have to visit him, Adolf. This is the first time he's invited us over since he moved out. I bet he's found a wife to be," Klara said, her smile full of hope.
I couldn't help but laugh. The Gustav I knew? He'd sooner marry a book than a women.
Klara frowned at my laughter. "Don't be rude---he's your brother."
"Of course, Mom---it was just a joke. Don't worry, we'll visit him."
Thinking quickly, I blurted out a plan.
"We should leave tomorrow evening, Mom. We'll catch the last train and sleep through the night, which will get us to the ferry before the nineteenth and avoid the holiday crowds."
When she didn't respond, I turned away and headed to my room. "I'm going to start packing," I called over my shoulder.
I was genuinely excited that Gustav had sent us a letter. Life at home had grown dull without him around---there's only so much you can do to keep yourself occupied.
The next evening, after locking up the house, we set off for London.
The journey itself was uneventful. We slept as much as possible on the train and the ferry. Things became more interesting once we reached the docks, where a man stood holding a sign with our names. Naturally, we approached him.
The man glanced at us, then at a piece of paper he pulled from his pocket, before speaking in broken German. "Are you Adolf and Klara?"
"Yes" I replied, thrown off by his phrasing.
"Show tickets for boat," he said, extending his hand expectantly.
We obliged, handing him our tickets. He scrutinized them carefully, pausing at our names as if to confirm our identities, before simply saying, "Follow me."
He led us to another train station, where we boarded a train bound for Rochester. Once there, our guide escorted us to an automobile waiting outside to take us to my brother's estate. I couldn't help but notice the only difference between the forests back home and those in Britain---the trees here were thinner.
Arriving
The iron gate bearing Gustav's initials was the only confirmation we needed that we'd arrived. Moments later, his manor came into view.
I'll never forget how the reality of Gustav's manor exceeded my expectations. I had imagined a large house---two, maybe three stories tall---but I hadn't anticipated its immense width. It looked as though it would take minutes to run around the perimeter.
It seemed unbelievable that Gustav could have earned enough from selling paper scripts to afford such a place---especially outright. For a moment, I wondered if he had simply rented it for the dinner. The sheer scale of it was hard to accept.
As we reached the door, the grandeur of the interior unfolded before us. To the left, an open staircase spiraled to the third floor, while the central hall soared to the ceiling, with walkways connecting the upper levels of the house. It was something truly unique.
Eventually, Gustav appeared, finding us standing there, still mesmerized by the view.
"I know," Gustav said, noticing our expressions. "I'm not a fan of how open the second and third floors are---it feels like wasted space. But it certainly impresses my guests. And for the price I paid at the auction? A real steal. Just five-thousand pounds, if you can believe it."
After a brief silence, Mother broke the awkward tension by stepping forward to hug him. "How are you doing, Gustav?" she asked warmly. "I mean... your personal life. I understand all this," she added, gesturing toward the towering ceiling.
"How are you doing Gustav, I mean your personal life, I understand, well this," Klara asked as she pointed to the extremely high ceiling.
Anticipating her next question, Gustav answered with a small mile. "No mom, I don't have a wife to be---or anyone I'm pursuing, for that matter."
Noticing the weariness in Mother's face---most likely from travel---Gustav gestured to one of his aides, who escorted her to a guest room upstairs.
I had questions of my own. "How did you manage to get this for only five-thousand pounds? It looks like it should've cost at least eight-thousand. Did you dig up some dirt on the previous owner or something?"
Knowing Gustav, it didn't seem far-fetched---so I had to ask.
He simply laughed at my joke before replying with something that caught me off guard. "No, Adolf---something even better: a factory!
"The mayor of Rochester had a friend in banking who recently passed away---no children, no heirs," Gustav explained.
"So, on the condition that I build a factory here and invest in some local property, I was able to buy this house at the auction for a fraction of its value."
He shrugged casually. "I'll probably sell it next year once I've fulfilled my end of the deal." he added, "Business is just Business."
"So, you're a capitalist now? I asked, my confusion evident.
I had always thought his dream was to trade stocks, to grow wealthy off the labor of our nation's enemies and retire comfortably---a quintessential nationalist's ambition.
"No, Adolf. I'm an entrepreneur. I've always been a capitalist---you should know that. Didn't I teach you how stocks work?"
He smiled. "I'm officially the owner of Hitler's Office Supply Incorporated."
"You make fountain pens?" I asked, confused for the higher purpose. As Gustav was want to aim for. After all, fountain pens and paper were the staples of any office.
Gustav rolled his eyes and continued, "I'll give you a tour of the factory later---it's hard to explain without showing you."
"It's downtown, only a ten-minute drive. But for now, if you're not hungry, let me show you to your room. It's on the second floor."
"Just so you know, if you get curious and decide to wander around the house, I don't mind," he added.
"Some of the rooms are still empty, but whatever you do, don't mess with anything in the basement. Cleaning all of it up would be an absolute nightmare."
Curious, I couldn't resist asking, "What's down there?"
Gustav sighed, clearly annoyed by my curiosity. "It's just liquor---rum, scotch, wine, whiskey, you name it," he said.
"I'm storing it for a future business venture with a man in America."
He shot me a pointed look. "And don't drink any of it---not that you would."
"Now, come on," he said, motioning for me to follow. "Pay attention---I'm not showing you the way again, little brother."
With that, he turned and led the way, and I followed.