CHAPTER 18The train moved through a flat landscape covered with the blue-gray mist of dawn in autumn. These were tulip fields, perhaps, but mercifully hidden from Hubert's view.
The idea of a train ride across half of Europe had appealed to him until he'd arrived at the station and been faced with the ugly details of the journey. There was the unwieldy baggage, a trunk filled with medium-heavy clothes uncommitted to the season. The weight was increased by the addition of gifts: wooden shoes for Aunt Frieda and six porcelain tiles depicting the six classic styles of the windmill. (Each of the tiles was wrapped in paper covered with tiny blue windmills that strongly hinted at the contents inside.) There was the demeaning struggle to get a seat in the Speisewagen at breakfast and lunch, beca
