Outside the window, a light drizzle fell as spring marched boldly toward the Sanctuary. Today was a day off. Emma sat on the edge of the bed nursing their child while Lübeck lazed on her bed behind her. His face pressed against her hips, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding their son's small hand, he savored his double happiness.
“I heard from Ruth that you went back to see her as a child. What was she like back then?” Emma chatted idly with Lübeck behind her.
“Thin, just like in my childhood memories.”
“Ah, she was so thin. That's why you wanted to send her money to buy food, right?”
“Yeah, money can do so many things.”
“Hmm, did you have anyone give you money when you were little?”
“No, that's why I want to help them now. I don't want them to live in the same poverty Ruth and I did as children.”
“So? The money you gave wasn't for this current Ruth?”
“No, not her.”
“Then the ones you went back to see—were they you and this Ruth?”
“I can only say they were the Ruth and me from back then.”
“Alright, so you're helping both Ruth and yourself.”
“Yes.”
Though the child didn't quite grasp the conversation, he kept interacting with Emma and Lübeck—making sounds or gestures, excited as if he wanted to join the discussion too.
“Look at our son—he must be as smart as you,” Emma said happily.
“Actually, boys tend to take after their mothers more, while daughters take after their fathers. It's you who's smart,” Lübeck explained.
“Oh, so you wanted a daughter?” Emma asked with some hesitation.
“No, I want a son. Because in the future, you'll need to rely on him. In this era, it's still primarily men who must strive in society to support the family.”
“Oh.”
Amid Lübeck and Emma's casual chat, the open bedroom door carried the babbling conversation of Clara and Ruth from the kitchen.
As the voices drifted into Emma's bedroom, Ida wandered in blankly, her small body seeming to drift aimlessly through the room. Her eyes flickered as she peered inside from the doorway.
Seeing this, Lübeck felt a pang of sorrow—the child had just lost her father, and now her mother had to leave them for work. He hurriedly called out,
“Come here, Ida. It's cold outside.” She lifted the quilt.
Ida said nothing, still dazed, but took a few clumsy steps and climbed onto the bed.
Lübeck covered her icy little feet with his hands while urging her to snuggle against Emma's thigh. With his other hand, he gave Emma's butt a playful pinch.
Emma turned her head, and Lübeck shot her a knowing look. Emma smiled, instantly understanding, then turned back to Ada, gently stroking her head.
After breakfast, Lübeck glanced out the window. The drizzle persisted, showing no sign of letting up. By now, he had decided what to do.
Spotting the orderly's carriage arriving, Lübeck bid farewell to his family. He helped Clara and Ada into the carriage, personally wrapping them in his raincoat before setting off together.
As the carriage rolled through the spring rain, the damp earth along the road glowed with fresh greens and purplish-brown hues. Tender leaves and new shoots of various plants pushed through the soil, mingling with the rain droplets in the air to bring a refreshing, heartwarming scent of spring.
To surprise the sisters, Lübeck kept their destination secret. As the carriage passed through the market district, passersby greeted him warmly, and the children aboard naturally became the talk of the town.
Without lingering, Lübeck bought a bag of eggs at the market and continued onward. In the fields beside the road, people toiled—it was the season for spring wheat sowing. The fine rain moistened the earth and distant hills, saturating the landscape as far as the eye could see.
The winding country lanes, though not as smooth and broad as the city roads, offered no need for haste. With each stretch traveled and bend rounded, a fresh vista seemed to unfold, making the journey endlessly captivating.
The carriage arrived at Doris's new home, where no one was present. The neighboring house ahead seemed livelier, with women working together to prepare food for the farmers.
Stepping outside the courtyard, Lübeck spotted Doris there too. He turned to ask Clara and Ida,
“Look, who's that?”
Clara seemed to recognize her mother. She looked up at Lübeck without speaking, as if seeking his permission.
“Go on, take your sister.”
Clara's petite frame deftly pulled her sister down from the carriage. She stepped off herself, caught her sister, and the two walked into the courtyard.
The women in the yard noticed the visitors and turned to look. Lübeck waved at them.
Doris turned toward them too. Light rain dampened her hair, sticking it clammy to her face. Seeing her children, then glancing at Lübeck in the distance, she understood his intention.
Watching Doris and her children embrace and share the longing and thoughts that had filled them since their separation, Lübeck felt a quiet sadness welling up inside. When would her happiness arrive?
Doris was a petite woman of considerable beauty, though fate had dealt her a harsh hand. Perhaps it was her very beauty that had driven her former husband to desperate measures. Was this truly her destiny? Lübeck silently pondered fate's cruel deprivations and unexpected gifts.
As noon approached, the sky seemed to brighten slightly. The drizzle that had begun at dawn had ceased. The women had prepared food to take to the fields. Since Lübeck's cart happened to be there, they loaded the pots and jars onto it. The group walked alongside the cart, heading toward the fields.
Not only men toiled in the fields; strong women worked alongside them. Those left at home preparing food were the less robust women. Lübeck observed Clara and her mother's figures, thinking the little girl might inherit her mother's petite frame. Yet the child was gentle and sensible, already old enough at her young age to help distribute food to the laborers alongside the other women.
At noon, everyone gathered around the cart to eat and chat. Inevitably, the conversation turned to Doris and her children. Some praised her children for being clever and helpful to the adults, while others reassured her that with Lübeck watching over them, she had nothing to worry about.
In Dorothea's eyes, Lübeck seemed to catch a flicker of relief—perhaps she acknowledged her earlier decision. It appeared ordinary laborers held little control over their own destinies.
On the return journey, Ida, wrapped in her coat, had fallen asleep leaning against her sister. For her, the day's exertions outdoors had been exhausting. Throughout the journey, Lübeck pondered: Perhaps she should push for scientific and technological progress in the sanctuary. Boosting productivity could create more non-agricultural jobs—work no longer demanding physical strength. This could improve women's employment opportunities and their social standing.
In a world where women could participate in society as actively as men, where they could fully utilize their talents, wouldn't they live happier lives?
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