Chapter Text
“Are you quite done yet, lad? It’s time for dinner!” Mr Krauss hollered, from down below the roof Rozenmarine was standing on. And as always, it took her a moment to reply.
“Ah, yes, just a moment,” she said, remembering just in time to lower her voice as much as she could. Not as though that did her much good, if she was being honest. Try as she might, her voice was still much too high and girlish; at least, it seemed that way to her. It still shocked Rozenmarine that she had managed to pull this off for as long as she did. It’s been a few months now since she started working for Mr. Krauss as chimney sweeper, and Mr. Krauss still seemed none the wiser.
She hadn’t deceived the man on purpose, not really. It had been a bad couple weeks when she had arrived in Linz. She had been hungry and tired, and doors had been slammed in her face more often than she could count. Rozenmarine, as she always did, tried the Jewish quarters first. The people there were much kinder to someone like her, and more often in need of a helping hand doing some odd jobs. Chimney sweeping, especially, was something she would often be able to do for them, and it earned her good coin. But it seemed the people of Linz, even the Jewish folk, were all quite happy with their local chimney sweep, much to Rozenmarine’s dismay.
It had been a stroke of luck, really; maybe even fate. With one last door closed on her, even if they had been nice about it, she had turned to begging. It didn’t make her feel particularly good about herself; it was something most townspeople frowned upon, usually chasing her off and calling her any number of awful things. But in big cities like this she went by mostly ignored. The sight of someone begging was not as unusual here. That didn’t mean it was welcome by any means though, and Rozenmarine had been more than ready to make a run for it, when a stern looking woman had stomped her way. Before Rozenmarine could grab her things and hightail it through the alley, the woman had her by the scruff of her neck. The panic setting in had Rozenmarine frozen stiff, and she did not struggle against her captor. That usually made things worse.
The woman who would turn out to be Mrs. Krauss, the wife of the local chimney sweep, had let go of her not a moment later. “You’re that laddie who's been soliciting people, aren’t you?” she had asked and Rozenmarine, too scared to really speak, had just nodded. Only later, once she had been dragged all the way to Mrs. and Mr. Krauss’ house, Rozenmarine realised the horrible misunderstanding. But by that point she had a steaming bowl of stew in front of her and her stomach was twisting in pain.
They had thought she was some malnourished orphan boy, and technically the orphan part wasn’t wrong. Neither was the part about being malnourished, probably. For sweeping, Rozenmarine would wear shirts and trousers, all much too big on her, because just thinking about staining Elise’s apron with soot and ash made her feel ill. Rozenmarine could see why they thought her some hapless little lad with her hair cropped so short. It had not been the first time, and she really should have disabused them of that notion. But she hadn’t. Instead, when they had asked for her name, she had muttered “Rozen,” quietly and told herself that it wasn’t a lie , she had just left out a part of it.
Things played out from there. Mr. Krauss wasn’t the best at climbing anymore and someone so scrawny as Rozenmarine who could fit in the slimmest of shafts was just perfect to help him out. Their son was too young to help, and their elder daughter of a terribly weak constitution, not that Mr. Krauss would have let her help. Chimney sweeping wasn’t a girl’s job after all. It was a great arrangement for everyone, if you disregarded the constant sense of dread Rozenmarine felt about being found out.
They were kind, Mr. and Mrs. Krauss, and they proved it every dinner when they served her more than Rozenmarine could possibly eat. They even let her sleep in their son’s room, on an old mattress. It was the best sleep she had gotten in a while, and was just as comfortable as some of the beds she had paid precious coin for. Their son, Benedikt, was a sweet little bub, barely 7 years old and full of energy. Rozenmarine, who was quite good with children, didn’t mind sharing the room with him at all, even if she had to be quite careful about not being found out. Children were too curious for their own good, but he was well behaved enough as to not go through her things.
By now Rozenmarine was pretty good at hiding, she thought. She tried not to talk so much, still afraid her voice would give her away, but that just had the added bonus that she wouldn’t say anything weird as she was, admittedly, quite prone to do. From what she could tell, Mr. and Mrs. Krauss had chalked off her voice and everything else to starving through puberty, which Rozenmarine was not going to disagree with. She had never really starved as a child, she had gone hungry at times, yes , but this idea they had served Rozenmarine well. They also thought her much younger than she was; 16 at most, and seemed to hope if they only fed her enough she would hit another growth spurt.
It was a dangerous game she was playing, Rozenmarine knew that. People could turn around so quickly and viciously, but being welcomed by the Krauss family made her feel good in a way she had not in a while. It made her much more reckless. Eating dinner around a table with a hearth and smiles just as warm, it was hard to give up. Since leaving Kieferberg Rozenmarine had met many people, and had been welcomed by them as much as she had been turned away. Usually she had stayed for a few months at most before moving on. This was the longest she had stayed in one place for as long as she could remember.
Tonight’s dinner was not quite ready when Rozenmarine returned with Mr. Krauss, but by the time she had washed up and scrubbed off the last bit of soot she was greeted by a set table. Praying every night before dinner took a little to get used to, but it was the respectful thing to do, even though she suspected that the Krauss family knew she wasn’t exactly all that christian. As always she was seated right across Sophie. The Krauss’ family's only daughter was a couple years younger than Rozenmarine, and had been the least welcoming at first, before warming up to Rozenmarine quite rapidly.
After finding out that Rozenmarine was not the best at math or even reading for that matter, Mr Krauss had much to Sophie’s initial chagrin decided that the girl would tutor Rozenmarine. It was important to be able to do business, and he couldn’t let one of his apprentices be illiterate, he had claimed. Rozenmarine at the time had been too distracted, wondering when she had been made the man’s apprentice, to protest too much. Still, she was not at all illiterate and took some offence to being described as such. She had never attended a school, but her Granny had done her best to educate her despite that.
So most days after dinner, Rozenmarine would spend hours with Sophie doing basic math and reading. Which at this point had just evolved into the two of them reading whatever book Sophie liked at the time. It was a little strange Mr and Mrs. Krauss were so willing to let their only daughter spend so much time unsupervised with someone they thought was a boy, but Rozenmarine had too much fun spending time with her to interrogate that train of thought. She had an uncomfortable suspicion on why that was and it had a lot to do with the way Sophie had come to smile so sweetly at Rozen.
She was doing it over dinner right now as well, and it made Rozenmarine feel equal parts flustered and guilty.
“You need to eat more, my boy,” Mr. Krauss said as he dropped another slice of bread and cheese on her plate. “Put on some muscle,” he elaborated, pushing the platter with ham into her direction. Rozenmarine grimaced; she really didn’t want to eat more than her fair share, she was already indebted to them anyway.
“Leave him alone, Papa,” Sophie interjected on Rozen’s behalf. Rozenmarine smiled gratefully, but that smile was quite violently wiped off her face when Mr. Krauss slapped her on the back, making her jerk all the way forward until she almost had her face in her food.
“It’s all in good fun, right, Rozen?” Mr. Krauss said and Rozenmarine just nodded with a wince.
“Karl, behave, the poor lad looks like he is going to keel over,” Mrs. Krauss said with a sigh, she was a scary woman Rozenmarine thought, kind yes, but still scary. She was a strict looking woman, with strong arms and broad shoulders. She had streaks of grey hair running through her dark blonde hair, that she solely blamed on her husband.
“But that’s what I am talking about,” Mr. Krauss said with a dramatic sigh. “How would Rozen here sweep his sweetheart off her feet looking like he does.”
It had been a recurring topic Mr. Krauss couldn’t let go of. Rozenmarine had told them about a sweetheart waiting for her; at the time she had thought it was a good idea. Elise had always been her favourite topic, ever since she was a toddler. If her Granny were still alive, she would attest to it. Rozen, as Rozenmarine had spun the tale, had set out to seek his fortune so he could return to his sweetheart back in Kieferberg one day. It was pretty close to the truth, and it did seem a nice enough story. It also allowed her to talk about Elise once in a while, and not just that. Unlike her, unlike Rozenmarine, Rozen could talk about his sweetheart, his Elise, all he wanted. It was thrilling.
“Listen Benne,” Mr. Krauss leaned down to his son, “you are going to eat lots and grow big and strong so you can show Rozen how it’s done,” he said.
Benedikt giggled happily, and gulped down a whole slice of ham, eager for approval.
“Not every girl wants to be swept off her feet,” Sophie groused. Benedikt began snickering even harder, choking a little on the food he was stuffing his face with. There was a scuffle under the table, the distinct sounds of feet meeting shins, and a small yelp.
“Mama! Sophie kicked me!”
With that the attention was finally moving away from Rozenmarine, as Mrs. Krauss tried to mediate the bickering siblings seated next to each other. That was just fine with Rozenmarine, who took a careful sip from the beer jug Mr. Krauss had shoved into her hands earlier, as reward for a day of good work.
The taste was okay and as long as Mr. Krauss didn’t try to force her into drinking competitions; she didn’t mind joining him drinking a beer or two with him.
“Say laddie, when's your birthday again?”
“Uhm,” Rozenmarine stuttered. She had not told them, and had not really thought of doing so. It was something precious and private to her. “It was sometime last month,” she lied. Rozen did not share her fate;, he was born under a different star, she decided.
“What!?” squawked Benedikt, “But we didn’t have a party!”
Oh, and how offput little Benedikt looked. Like Rozenmarine had just betrayed him so, like a party was the most important thing. She wondered if she should tell them that Rozenmarine never really had a birthday party before. Of course, she had celebrated with her granny, but was it a party with just the two of them? Maybe. By the look on Benedikt’s face, birthday parties were a matter of great importance, perhaps even a matter of life or death, so Rozenmarine decided it was best he did not know.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sophie asked and looked a little distressed, “I would have gotten you something!”
Mr. Krauss, who was seated at the head of the table, groaned. “Laddie, what are we to do with you…?”
“I am sorry,” Rozenmarine mumbled.
“No use apologising now,” he said. “Well then, we have no choice but to visit the hat maker first thing tomorrow.
Mrs. Krauss chuckled, “And then once the hat is done we will have a party?” she asked her husband. Benedikt nodded his head moving his whole body, up and down, up and down.
“Of course,” he agreed. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“What hat?” Rozenmarine interjected, after Mr and Mrs Krauss began going back and forth on the birthday planning.
“Your own top hat, of course,” Mr. Krauss said. “You can’t keep wearing my old ones, they are way too big on you,” he explained.
It was true, Mr. Krauss’ old hats were quite large, they would sink all the way down to her eyebrows and bother her, so she mostly carried them around. But it was part of the uniform, so of course she couldn’t go without it. Rozenmarine had not even known there could be a uniform, but there had been many things about chimney sweeping she had not known. For one that you weren’t allowed to go around soliciting and sweeping people’s chimneys without permission. It was a regulated and very serious business in the bigger cities, and if you stepped on the wrong person’s toes and territory you could be in a world of trouble. That she had avoided such trouble must have been because she had kept mostly to the Jewish quarters or poorer areas of the cities she had visited.
It had been tremendous luck that she had stumbled into Mrs. Krauss and not some competitor less kind two blocks down the road. They would have handed her to the authorities in a heartbeat. She had so many reasons to be grateful to the Krauss family. Maybe the star Rozen was born under really was a lot more lucky than Rozenmarine’s had been.
“That really isn’t necessary, Mr. Krauss,” Rozenmarine insisted.
“Nonsense, nonsense,” he repeated and shook his head disapprovingly.
“Lad, just indulge him, will you? He won’t give up,” Mrs. Krauss said. She reached over and patted Rozenmarine kindly on the shoulder. “You know how he gets, stubborn oaf,” she said.
And of course, Mrs. Krauss' prediction did come true. The very next morning despite protests Rozenmarine was escorted all the way to the hat maker. Mr. Krauss had threatened to pull her by her ears, and being kind of attached to those, Rozenmarine abided.
So it was that Rozenmarine got her very own top hat. And a birthday party. Both firsts in her life.
Thankfully the birthday party was a small affair. Mrs. Krauss had managed to convince her husband that they did not need to invite the whole neighbourhood after all. Rozenmarine had almost cried with relief, the idea of so much attention made her throat constrict and heart pound.
That, of course, almost turned into full blown sniffling when she had held her hat in her hands for the first time. She had tried very hard not to cry, crunched up her face, jaws clenched because boys weren’t supposed to cry but instead of being scolded, all Mr. Krauss had done was ruffle her hair. His hand was heavy and warm.
For the whole night, Rozenmarine kept the hat on. Ah, Rozen was truly born under a lucky star.