The older two had gone off to Sonora a few weeks ago, leaving Karl and Hans to themselves. In complete honesty, this relieved Karl. He liked his elder niece and nephew fine, but he preferred his quiet open spaces being, well, quiet and open, as in empty. Hilda . . . was not quiet. Neither was she any good at English and every day was a battle just trying to get her to absorb a little more of the language of her new adopted home. Karl's English was fluent and understandable, if accented, but it didn't mean he enjoyed teaching it to a student who didn't want to learn. She was better than she had been, yes, but it was still an exercise in frustration and stubbornness just to communicate with her.
And Heinrich was always somehow awkwardly there every time he turned around. If Hilda was a chore to communicate with, Heinrich was a closed book. If he spoke in German, Hilda would gladly talk his ear off about nearly anything, but Heinrich was a tougher nut to crack, and Karl had never quite figured out how to click with his oldest nephew. This summer had been the first time he'd even dropped so much as a name of a school friend, and Karl still wasn't sure if the Evelyn in question was a girlfriend or a friend who happened to be a girl. That uncertainty had prompted him to feel it necessary to give some advice on how to properly treat a date, which had only made things more strained and awkward between them. Karl wasn't the kid's dad, but he was his guardian, but he just didn't have emotional background or shared history to feel like he was entirely welcome to take the role that should have been his brother's place with that one.
Of course, his brother hadn't really given either of them any choice in that matter, so they were stuck with it.
Hans didn't have the same issues. Hans soaked up English quickly and had been fluent before either of his older siblings. He learned to read English and German simultaneously. He'd been so young when they came to him, Karl wasn't sure Hans even remembered his parents as more than vague impressions. It was much easier to be a boy's sole parent when he had nothing to compare it to.
Plus, Hans knew when to be quiet. Hans knew how to be a part of the open spaces without filling them. Hans belonged here in a way neither Hilda nor Heinrich did. Hans was Karl's son in every way that mattered, and as much as he didn't like to admit to holding any bias between the three siblings he'd been given charge of, Karl could always breath so much easier once it was just him and his youngest.
Hans was the easy one. Hans . . . . was missing again. Sometimes he blended into the open spaces a little too well. But he always came back and Karl wasn't worried.