The Hardy Headmistress and the Cunning Countess

  And because a person is a person,

  they’ll need something to eat, please!

  They get tired of prattle,

  for it does not give them food.

  —Bertolt Brecht

  Germany. The great republic. The third-largest economy in the world. A nation that rose from the ashes of not one, but two catastrophic wars. It’s a story of political unrest, resilience, rebuilding, and becoming one of the richest countries in the world. Impressive, isn’t it? Too bad it’s a lie. Or at least, a half-truth.

  Why am I so cynical? Perhaps it’s because I refuse to turn a blind eye to the cracks in the system. Or maybe it’s because I work every day with those who have been abandoned by that system—left to fend for themselves in a country that boasts prosperity but fails to support the people who need it the most. As a headmistress of a children’s shelter, I receive thirty euros per child per month. Thirty euros. It’s barely enough to buy a shirt, let alone cover the essentials: food, school supplies, or the occasional treat to remind a child they’re valued. It feels like a cruel joke, a token gesture that highlights how little those in power truly understand—or care—about the realities of life for the most vulnerable. Granted, most of the essentials we receive from donations. There are still good Samaritans out there. It’s too bad that without them, this institution would cease to function.

  But what can I do? Sit around and complain? I don’t have the luxury of time for that. Besides, people don’t need much to survive. A roof over their heads and a warm meal—these are the basics. But to thrive? Kind words might not be enough. It’s a far more complicated question, and the answer is tricky to find.

  Being a caretaker isn’t glamorous. It’s emotional labour coppled the constant weight of responsibility. But it’s also deeply fulfilling. There’s something profoundly precious about a child—their potential, their resilience, their ability to find joy in the smallest things. Yet, there are moments when I feel the weight of what I can’t provide. Many of the children I care for come from broken homes—families torn apart by addiction, poverty, or abuse. They carry scars, both visible and invisible. Some need psychological help, stability, and the love of devoted parents. And while I do what I can, I know I can’t provide everything they need—not fully.

  For most of the year, I’ve been taking care of four children. Three of them are in primary school. One is still in daycare. And then there’s the newcomer, the fifth and oldest child. A rather concerning girl, this Charline.

  I’m not sure what to make of her. All I know is that she was transferred here from her previous shelter. The circumstances were rather mysterious. When asked, Charline answered that she doesn’t know. And indeed, her head injury might have suggested some form of abuse. But as is often the case, nothing was easy to uncover. Information included.

  Charline herself was a rather tall girl for her age—taller than most of the other children here—and her lanky frame makes her seem even more so. Her mid-length blonde hair is wavy, slightly unruly, and falls just past her shoulders. A few strands always seem to escape, framing her face in a way that makes her look both thoughtful and a little untamed. Her brown eyes are wide and observant. She wears a faded pastel pink jumper, the fabric stretched thin and the edges frayed, worn away by time and too many washes. The sleeves are a bit too long for her arms, but she seems to prefer it that way. Her jeans are too big for her, the hems frayed and the knees scuffed, as if she’s spent a lot of time on the ground. Her trainers are well-used but still serviceable, the laces frayed but tied neatly.

  Her appearance aside, Charline’s behaviour is surprisingly cheerful. While she has difficulties talking to the other children, she always tries to act the role of a more mature girl, rounding up the smaller children and keeping an eye on them. It’s as if she’s trying to prove something—to herself, to me, or maybe to something else. Additionally, there’s something about the way she carries herself, the way she always wears long sleeves and a scarf around her neck, even on warmer days, that makes me wonder. I have my suspicions, but for now, I keep them to myself. Charline seems to be doing well. If she wants to open up, I am here to help.

  However, Charline’s maturity seems to falter in many situations, quite comically as well. She is clumsy, inefficient, and unused to domestic tasks, especially in the kitchen. The latter, she seems to enjoy quite a lot and stubbornly tries to master. Another fascination of hers is all matters regarding tea. Technically, even the cheapest tea brands are luxury items for us. However, foraged herbs and plants are, well, free. Charline has definitely taken a liking to tea and especially likes the idea of a seemingly never-ending supply if one could forage. Not that I can fault her for it. I can still remember my time when I was little and went to the forest with my grandparents. They loved to forage mushrooms on Sundays; however, I was immediately fascinated with the possibilities of foraging all kinds of things. From herbs to mushrooms to nuts and berries. It was a rather engaging hobby, one that turned out to be rather useful later on. Granted, I wouldn’t need to rely on something like this to feed children, but when even buying school supplies is a struggle, small things like this count. However, foraging is dangerous if you are not careful. Suffice to say, I’ve taught the children to never, ever eat something from the forest without my supervision. Overall, Charline seems like a normal girl.

  There was one curious change in the girl’s demeanour. She was a well-behaved girl, if a bit quiet about herself. But after taking her on her first excursion to the forest, Charline asked me if she could visit the local library in her spare time. I answered with an immediate “no.” Maybe I’ve been too hasty in my answer, but thinking about it more reinforced my stance on it. Charline was not only young but also had an uncertain past. She seems trustworthy, but I need more time to determine that. Maybe in a year or so, she can take care of herself outside. In the coming days, after she took my answer with an adorable pout, no less, something changed. She started to read a lot more. She tried to engage more with the other children and tried to learn everything from domestic skills to herbology and foraging. She seemed inspired by something. I took these changes with a mental shrug. Oh well, we were all young once. One surprise was when she mentioned how she won a prize. Charline was beaming as she told me how she won an English youth poetry contest in Saxony. I was happy for her, even though I myself wasn’t interested in poetry or English or books. But like with any other child, I encouraged her and praised her efforts.

  And one day, I had a curious visit knocking at our door.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  A man who appeared to be in his thirties stood behind the door.

  ?Yes??

  ?Hello. I am Martin Schulz from the newsletter *Dresden Informed*. I hope I haven’t interrupted you at a bad time??

  ?No, not really. I am Anastasia Klein, the headmistress here.?

  ?Great! So, may I come in??

  ?Sure, we haven’t had any reporters for a while. I think the last one was two years ago.?

  ?Really? I assumed that orphanages get a bit more attention in the news.?

  I raised an eyebrow. Orphanages aren’t really interesting in the news. Sure, they’re covered in a report, but nothing much changes, so replaying an old report is good enough—for better and worse. As I made tea and bid him to take a seat, we continued our talk.

  ?So, I assume you want to make a report about our shelter??

  I put a cup of hot blackberry tea in front of him, which he took a careful sip from.

  ?Yes and no. I am actually responsible for interviewing the student and the school that won the Saxon Literary Prize for the youth category. Charline agreed to do an interview; however, she said that she wouldn’t do it without approval from her guardian, which was indeed a surprise after hearing her story. In the end, I decided to postpone my interview and ask you for permission.?

  I took a sip from my own cup as I digested his words. It seems like this Mr. Schulz plans to embellish his report with a more dramatic undertone of an orphan. I nearly scoffed. Most of the children here aren’t true orphans. They mostly come from problematic homes. Their parents are still alive, to the disappointment of journalists.

  ?I see. And I assume the school gave you our address??

  ?Heavens no, that would violate some privacy laws! Charline just mentioned that she lived at a children’s shelter in Dresden. And well, there aren’t many of those in this city, you know? Besides, I’d rather not involve the school too much.?

  That was good to hear. Schools can be trusted to at least keep quiet when they need to. Charline also didn’t act out of line by telling strangers our address. However, journalists seem to be pretty resourceful. Yet, him not involving the school was strange.

  ?How so??

  ?Oh, Charline mentioned that she didn’t like the school too much.?

  I was a bit confused. Charline never complained about school, and she was doing very well there. She was destined to ace her A-levels if she continued attending her current school.

  ?Well, I will talk to Charline, and if she still wants to do the interview, I see no reason to refuse you.?

  ?That’s all I wanted to hear! Here is my card. You can call me, and we can arrange a date for the interview. If you don’t mind, I was planning to do a little report, but only if that’s alright with you. Anyway, it was a pleasure!?

  ?Yes. Happy to be of help.?

  I bid him farewell and looked for Charline. I found her in the kitchen, currently drinking tea with little Laura.

  ?There you are, girls!?

  Laura just nodded her head. She was a rather shy girl. Charline, in contrast, seemed more confident.

  ?Hello, Mrs. Klein,? answered Charline with a hint of curiosity.

  ?I heard you wanted to do an interview about your poetry prize??

  ?Yes! But I was hoping to do it at home. I could prepare a bit.?

  ?That’s true. However, the journalist asked to make it a full report about you and the shelter. It’s nice to get attention for us, but you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.?

  Charline vehemently shook her head.

  ?That’s alright with me. I’d like to do it.?

  ?Very well, I’ll discuss a date with the journalist.?

  I left both girls alone. I could still hear Charline pretending to be a countess, ranting about her master plan. In contrast, Laura just listened while sipping from her cup. They were adorable.

  As I was contemplating when to best call this Martin Schulz, the telephone rang.

  ?Hello, this is Children’s Home New Beginning Dresden, Anastasia Klein speaking. How can I help you??

  ?Good evening, this is Barbara Schmidt from the Harmonia Academia. I was hoping to discuss something with you.?

  ?Sure, but I must admit, I haven’t heard much about your school, but how can I help you??

  I was slightly confused. If my memory serves me correctly, none of the children are from this school.

  ?In essence, we are an international school that specialises in creating an English-speaking environment for our students. We also specialise in music and other languages. You may have heard of the Saxon English Poetry Competition for students, correct??

  ?Yes, one of our wards won, apparently.?

  ?Exactly, one of our students achieved second place. We usually pride ourselves on our language skills among our students. Normally, our students have to pay a small fee to attend our school, with the exception of sponsored students. Another exception is for those who win certain competitions. Usually, winning the prize for English poetry was seen as an opportunity to waive the school fee, similar to a sponsorship, which is not going to happen for one of our students this year.?

  This lady sure loves to hear herself talk.

  ?I understand. But other than telling us that, is there any actual reason for this call??

  ?Well, we received an anonymous tip about the fact that there are plans to interview the prize winner but also the school of the second-place holder. There were some details mentioned about promoting the local children’s shelter as well as our school. And since everything seemed to be organised, we would be interested in being part of the report. Our school makes these promotions regularly, and I was asking for the authenticity of this tip.?

  ?This is odd...?

  What the fuck.

  I took a sharp intake of breath. Wait a minute. We just received an offer for a report. Including another school should be possible, but again, this seems very weird.

  ?Well, it’s true that we were planning to do a report, but I’m still not sure why we should include you in it.?

  ?Oh, you’re completely correct. I forgot to mention that we were willing to sponsor the prize winner. If she can speak English fluently, she can transfer to our school if she wants. I assure you, our school is a cut above the public schools, with better equipment, teachers, and a lot more extracurricular activities compared to your average school. And obviously, such a talented student might be a hidden gem.?

  ?That sounds interesting. I think I need to talk with her about all of this first.?

  ?Sure! By all means, take your time. We hope to hear from you again soon. Goodbye.?

  ?Goodbye.?

  I put the phone down. I was thinking about these strange events. Sure, a lot of these things are plausible. The school heard of Charline, the unlikely winner of a competition the school specialises in. This Harmonia Academia probably wanted to make a publicity stunt by helping out an orphan girl and looking good while also saving face if they recruited her and her accomplishments were de facto theirs. All plausible. The journalist was previously tasked with interviewing Charline and came here to also make it a little report because ?poor orphan girl who won a poetry competition“ sounds better than “random girl from rich, educated parents won something“. However, who sent the school this “anonymous tip“? It could be the journalist himself. Maybe one of the parents of the children here who wanted to help their child from afar?

  It surely wasn’t just a coincidence! Basically, if everything works out, Charline gets a scholarship to some school for rich kids. The timing was too perfect as well. But who would plan all of this? Could it have been Charline herself?

  I thought back to the girl in question. How clumsy she was while trying to help with cooking. Or how petulant she pouted when she didn’t get what she wanted. And even today, she is being silly while having a tea party.

  I shook my head. Charline was a normal girl. Only her circumstances are a bit out of the norm. But whose aren’t?

  Thinking back to my conversation with the school, the woman seemed a bit too casual during our talk. After contemplating her words, I finally realised what was strange. She probably knew that Charline was only eleven years old, way too young to speak English fluently. Even if they let her into the school without much English skills, they would probably kick her out in no time. If they let her in to begin with. In essence, it was just a free opportunity to promote their own school. Humans are always the same, aren’t they? Oh well, there’s no harm in trying. Better let Charline know what is going on here. It’s better to make her understand the reality of her situation, it’s her decision in the end. Sure, there might even be a chance that she enrols there, but how good could her English be at her age anyway?

  I went back to the kitchen to talk with Charline yet again.