Her Mother's Hope (6 page)

Tears streamed down Elise’s white cheeks, making the purple bruise stand out even more. “Can’t we go now, Marta?” Her body trembled violently. “Please.”

Frau Hoffman tossed the paring knife into the bowl and grabbed a towel. “I’ll get your sister’s things. You two wait here.”

Marta tried to calm Elise. “Tell me what happened,
Liebling
.”

“I want to die.” Elise covered her face, shoulders shaking. When she swayed, Marta made her sit. Sobbing, Elise pulled her apron up over her head and rocked back and forth. Marta held her tightly, her cheek against the top of her sister’s head. Anger grew inside her until she didn’t know who shook more. “We’ll leave soon, Elise. Here’s Frau Hoffman now.”

“I got everything.”

Everything but Elise’s wages.
“Where’s Frau Meyer?”

“In the parlor, but she won’t speak to you.”

“You sit right here.” She stood.

“Where are you going?” Elise grabbed Marta’s skirt. “Don’t leave me!”

She cupped Elise’s face. “Stay here in the kitchen with Frau Hoffman. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll go home. Now, let go so I can get your wages.”

“I wouldn’t go, Fräulein.”

“They’re not getting away with it!” Marta banged the kitchen door open, strode through the dining room and across the hall. As she entered the parlor, she saw a heavyset woman in a green day dress half-reclined on a settee near the windows overlooking the garden. Startled, the woman dropped her delicate china cup, shattering it on the saucer. Tea splashed down the front of her. Gasping, she rose and brushed frantically at the stain. “I don’t know you! What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m Elise’s older sister, Marta.” She didn’t stop in the door. “And I’ve come to collect her wages.”

“Eginhardt!” Frau Meyer cried out angrily. “I’ll have you thrown out! How dare you come in here demanding anything!” When Marta kept coming, the woman’s pale blue eyes widened, and she moved quickly behind a wide table strewn with books.
“Eginhardt!”
she screamed shrilly, then glared at Marta. “I’ll have you arrested.”

“Call the constable! I’d like to tell him how you cheat your staff! I wonder how many shop owners are waiting to be paid?”

Paling, Frau Meyer pointed. “Stand over there by the door and I’ll get her wages!”

“I’ll stand right here!”

Frau Meyer stepped cautiously around the table and hurried to a desk on the other side of the room. Fuming as she sorted through keys she had taken from her pocket, she finally managed to find the one to unlock the desk drawer. She removed some francs and locked the drawer before holding them out. “Take them!” She tossed the coins on the desk. “Take them and get that worthless girl out of my house!”

Marta gathered the coins and counted them. Raising her head, she glared. “Elise has been here three months. This barely covers two.”

Frau Meyer’s face turned red. She unlocked the drawer, yanked it open, and removed more francs, locking the drawer again. “Here’s the money! Now, get out!” She tossed the coins in Marta’s direction.

Pride made Marta want to storm out without the money, but fury over the abuse Elise had suffered kept her in the room, collecting each coin, and counting them. Frau Meyer shouted for Eginhardt again. Marta straightened and sneered. “Perhaps your Eginhardt doesn’t come because you haven’t paid him either.”

Stiffening, Frau Meyer lifted her chin, eyes flashing. “Your sister is a worthless slut.”

Marta dropped the coins into the pocket of her skirt and came around the desk. “One more thing I need before we leave, Frau Meyer.” Marta slapped the woman hard across the face. “That’s for the mark you left on my sister.” Gasping, Frau Meyer backed into the drapes. Marta slapped her across the other cheek. “And that’s for insulting her.” When she raised her fist, Frau Meyer shrank from her. “One more word against my sister, and I’ll let every father in Thun and Steffisburg know what your son and husband have done to my sister. What I just did to you is nothing compared to what will happen to them!”

* * *

Marta still shook with rage as she walked alongside Elise, holding her hand as she carried both their bundles. She didn’t need to ask any more questions. Elise walked with her head down, her hand clammy with sweat. Marta thanked God her sister had at least managed to stop crying. “Smile and say hello, Elise.”

“I can’t.”

When they came in sight of the house, Elise let go of Marta’s hand and ran as though pursued by demons. By the time Marta entered the house, Mama had Elise in her arms and Papa had come in from the workroom in back. He stood in the middle of the room, glowering at Marta. “What’s going on here? Why did you bring her home?”

“Because she wrote and begged me to come and get her.”

“It was none of your business!”

“You always blame me! But you’re right this time, Papa! This is
your
business! You put her there in that house with those wretched people!”

“Come,
Engel
.” Mama put her arms around Elise and helped her up. “We’ll go upstairs.”

“She can’t quit a job without notice, Anna!” Papa shouted after them. “She has to go back!”

Marta came all the way inside the house, threw the bundles down, and closed the door firmly behind her. “You are not sending her back, Papa.”

He turned on her. “Who are you to say whether she comes or goes? I’m her father! She’ll do what I tell her!”

“She’s not going back!”

“It’s time she grew up!”

“That may be so, Papa, but next time, check her employers’ references! Make sure they pay their servants! They didn’t give her a single franc! Worse, they ravished her.”

“Ravished her!” he sneered. Waving his hand, he dismissed the accusation. “Elise cries over spilt milk.”

Marta hated him in that moment. “Did you see the bruise on her cheek?” She came farther into the room, hands balling into fists. “Frau Meyer called
your daughter
a slut because Herr Meyer can’t keep his hands off Elise! And the son did worse before going back to Zurich!”

“Nonsense! It’s all nonsense! You ruined everything by taking Elise out of that house!”

“I have ruined nothing. You have helped them ruin
her
!”

“Herr Meyer told me Elise is exactly the kind of girl he wants for his son.”

Could her father be such a fool? “And you thought he meant marriage?” Marta cried out in fury. “A tailor’s daughter and an aristocrat’s son?”

“Her beauty is worth something.”

Sickened, Marta swept by him and headed for the stairs.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Papa raged.

“God forgive you, Papa!” She flew upstairs. A moment later, she heard a door slam below. Mama sat on the bed Marta had shared with Elise. Her sister lay with her head in their mother’s lap. Mama stroked her like she would a pet dog. “You’re home now, my darling. Everything will be all right.”

Marta came into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. “No, it won’t, Mama. It’ll never be right.”

“Hush, Marta!”

Hush?
Marta took the coins from her pocket. “This money belongs to Elise.”

Elise rose up, eyes wild. “I don’t want the money! I don’t want anything
he
touched.”

Mama looked shocked and frightened. “Who is she talking about?”

“Herr Meyer. And he wasn’t the only one.” When Marta told her what the cook had said, Mama’s face crumpled.

“Oh, God . . .” Mama put her arms around Elise. “Oh, God, oh, God. I’m so sorry,
Engel
.” She rocked Elise, sobbing into her hair. “Throw the money away, Marta. It’s filthy lucre!”

“It’s not mine to dispose of.” Marta left the coins on the bed. “Let Elise do it.” Maybe it would give her sister some small bit of satisfaction after what had been done to her. “At least, Papa won’t profit from his mistake.”

Mama raised her head. “Do it for her. She’s too distressed.”

“Oh, Mama!” Marta wept. “Papa is right about one thing. You’ve crippled her. She can’t even defend herself!”

Mama looked stricken.

Unable to bear more, Marta turned away.

“Where are you going?” Mama spoke in a broken voice.

“Back to Interlaken. I have responsibilities.”

“There are no coaches until morning.”

“There will be less trouble if I go. I seem to bring out the worst in Papa.” With her gone, he might think over what she had told him and regret the part he had played in this tragedy. “I’ll ask the Gilgans if I can stay for a night.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Mama stroked Elise’s head, buried in her lap. “I’m sorry, Marta.”

“I’m sorry, too, Mama. More sorry than I can express.”

Elise sat up. “Please don’t leave, Marta. Stay here with me.”

“You have Mama to take care of you, Elise. You don’t need both of us.”

Elise looked at Mama. “Tell her to stay!”

Mama cupped Elise’s face. “You can’t ask for more than she’s done already, Elise. She brought you home,
Engel
. But she doesn’t belong here anymore. God has other plans for your sister.” Mama gathered Elise close and looked at Marta. “She has to go.”

* * *

The Gilgans welcomed Marta and asked no questions. Perhaps they assumed she had fought with her father again. She couldn’t tell them what had happened to Elise, though rumors would spread soon enough. She told Rosie when they went to bed, knowing Elise would have terrible days ahead.

“I can’t bear to stay. I can’t stand by and watch Papa sulk and grumble about his ruined plans or see Mama coddle her. But Elise will need a friend.” She wept.

Rosie put an arm around her. “You needn’t say more. I’ll offer my friendship, Marta. I’ll invite Elise to tea. I’ll invite her for walks in the hills. If she wants to talk, I’ll listen and never repeat a word. I swear on my life.”

“I’ll try not to be jealous.”

Moonlight came in through the window, making Rosie’s face white and angelic. “I’m doing it for you.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I’ll do my best. You know I will. But Elise has to want a friend.”

“I know. What I don’t know is what will happen to her now. It would’ve been better if Mama hadn’t protected her so much.” Marta rubbed tears away angrily. “If anyone tried to rape me, I’d scream and claw and kick!”

“Maybe she did.”

Marta doubted it. “I swear before God, Rosie, if I’m ever fortunate enough to have a daughter, I’ll make sure she’s strong enough to stand up for herself!”

When Rosie fell asleep, Marta lay awake staring at the beamed ceiling. What would become of Elise? How long before the Meyers’ cook told someone what happened in that house? Rumors spread like mold on the damp wall of Marta’s
Germania
basement bedroom. What if Herr Meyer or his son Derrick bragged to friends about the beautiful little angel they had used over the summer? Papa would not likely have the courage to confront Herr Meyer!

If only her little sister could walk to market, head up in the knowledge that she was not to blame for any of it. But that would never happen. More likely, a word from Papa, and Elise would take the shame onto herself, absorbing it, plagued by it. And Mama, filled with pity, would allow her to hide inside the house. If Elise didn’t show her face, people might even begin to wonder if she had been culpable, which would only distress Elise even further. Her sister would hide away and help Mama sew fine seams and hems. As time passed, Elise would become more withdrawn, more frightened of the outside world, more dependent. Walls would give Elise the illusion of safety, just as Mama’s arms had seemed to. Papa might allow it to happen just to make things easy on himself. After all, two women working day and night and neither asking for nor expecting anything would be to his benefit!

Marta pressed fists against her eyes and prayed.
Lord, You say blessed are the meek. Please bless my sister. You say blessed are those who are gentle and pure in heart. Please bless Mama. Lord, You say blessed are the peacemakers. Please bless Rosie. I ask nothing for myself because I’m a sinner. You know me better than I know myself. You knit me in my mother’s womb. You know how I burn. My head pounds. My hands sweat for vengeance. Oh, God, had I strength and means, I would send Herr Meyer and his son to the depths of hell for what they did to my sister, and Papa right after them for letting it happen!

Turning away from Rosie, Marta covered her head with the blanket and wept silently.

She got up early the next morning and thanked the Gilgans for their kind hospitality. Rosie walked with her down the hill. “Are you going to see your family before you leave?”

“No. And I’m not coming back.”

Her mother had already given her permission to fly.

6

Marta received a letter from Rosie ten days later.

I saw your mother and father in church. Hermann came, too. Elise didn’t. Most people think she went back to Thun. Of course, she hasn’t. I asked your mother if I might come to call on Elise. She asked how much you had told me and I said everything. She seemed upset about that, but I reassured her. She said Elise isn’t ready to see anyone. I’ll try again next week. . . .

Mama wrote a week later.

Rosie said you told her and no one else. Rosie is a good girl who can keep a confidence. She is kind. Papa went to Thun. The Meyers had closed up the house and gone back to Zurich. A man asked if he had come to look at the house. The Meyers plan to sell.

Marta sent a brief letter in reply.

Perhaps now that the Meyers have fled, you will help Elise come out of exile. Rosie wants to be a friend to her, Mama. Please encourage Elise to allow it.

Mama wrote back.

Elise is doing better. She helps me in the shop. Papa agrees the best place for her is here with me. She cries so easily.

Marta tried to put it all from her mind, but she couldn’t. She dreamed about Elise at night. She dreamed of burning the Meyers’ house down with them inside.

“Go out for a walk.” Warner brushed her aside. “If you knead the dough any more, we’ll have bricks instead of loaves!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t been yourself since you came back from Steffisburg. You helped your sister,
ja
? It’s been a month. Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

“No.” She made a decision in that split second. “I’m done here. I’m going to Montreux.”

Warner’s head jerked up. “Just because I won’t let you knead dough?”

“The dough has nothing to do with anything.”

“Then why?”

“I have to get away!” She burst into tears.

The only sound in the kitchen was the burbling soup. Everyone stared at her. “Get back to work!” Warner shouted. He pushed Marta into the cold room off the kitchen. “Are you leaving or running away?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. “What does it matter?” She wiped her face. She thought of Elise staying in the same place, remaining a child for the rest of her life. “I know what I want in life, and I’m going after it. I’m not going to let things happen to me. I’m going to make things happen!”

Warner sat beside her. “Why are you in such a hurry? You’re only sixteen. You have time.”

“You don’t understand, Warner.” Sometimes
she
didn’t understand. One day she wanted to run as far away and as fast as she could, and then the guilt would set in and she wondered if she shouldn’t go home, take care of Mama and Elise, and forget all about her dreams of making a better life for herself.

“You want to own a hotel,
ja
?” He snorted. “You think life will be good then. Work, work, and more work. That’s all you’ll ever do if you get what you want.”

“Work, work, and more work is what I have now.” If she went home, Papa would rule her life forever. “I’d rather work for myself than work to put money in someone else’s pocket!”

“Pigheaded girl.” When she tried to stand up, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down again. “You still have much to learn from me about German cooking.”

“You’ve taught me enough, Warner.” She gave him a watery smile. “And I am grateful. But I’m going to Montreux.”

“What will your family have to say about that?”

“Nothing.” Hermann had followed his dream and joined the Army. Mama would always have Elise, and Elise would have Mama. Let Papa shoulder the responsibility for those God had given into his care.

“I see the pain in you, Marta.”

She wrenched free and went back into the kitchen to work.

Warner Brennholtz came to the train station as Marta left. She hadn’t expected to see him again. When she tried to thank him for coming to see her off, no words would come.

“You didn’t tell your family, did you?”

She shook her head.

Stepping close, Warner took her hand and pressed several heavy coins into her palm, closing her fingers around them.

“Marta, don’t cry. Enjoy this money; don’t hoard it.” He planted his hands firmly on her shoulders. “I’m going to speak to you like a father. You’re young. Have some fun when you get to Montreux. Go dancing! Laugh! Sing!” He kissed her on both cheeks and let her go.

Marta stepped up behind the last man boarding the train.

Warner called out to her before she went inside the passenger car. “When you have that hotel, write to me.” He grinned broadly. “Maybe I’ll come cook for you!”

* * *

Luisa von Olman invited Marta to stay until she could find work in one of the Montreux hotels or restaurants. Marta thought it would be easy. Montreux sat perched on the mountainside, Bernese-style houses, mansions, and grand hotels tucked like elaborate nests into winding cliff roads. Wealthy patrons strolled along cobbled pathways lined with linden trees and scented with lavender and lilacs, or sat on lawn chairs enjoying the view of cerulean Lake Geneva. Servants offered cake and melted chocolate for dipping.

Marta walked the steep streets for days. She found all the grand hotels and restaurants uninterested in a girl who could speak only German. Broadening her search to lesser neighborhoods, she spotted a Help Wanted sign in the window of Ludwig’s Eatery. From the unkempt exterior, Marta could understand why.

The owner, Frau Gunnel, gave Marta a curt nod. “You’ll have a week to prove yourself. Room and board and thirty francs a month.” Marta held her tongue about the paltry pay. “Hedda!” Frau Gunnel called out. A pretty blonde setting beer steins on a tray glanced their way. Two other girls older than Marta worked with heads down, silent. “Show this new girl upstairs. Quickly! We have a lot to do before the dinner crowd arrives.” Frau Gunnel looked at Marta again and shook her head. “I hope you’re as good as all your fine papers claim.” She held a bowl locked in one arm as she stirred fiercely with the other.

Hedda led Marta upstairs. Glancing back, she raised her brows. “I’m surprised you came here with all your qualifications, Fräulein.”

She looked at the drab stairwell walls. “Unfortunately, I don’t speak French or English.”

“Neither do I.” Hedda opened a door and stepped aside. “This is where we sleep. It’s small, but comfortable. I hope you aren’t afraid of mice. We have a nest of them somewhere in the wall. You can hear them scratching at night. Take that bed over there.”

Marta saw a row of plank platforms with uninviting graying feather beds rolled at the end. The room was cold. The small, narrow windows faced east, leaving the room dimly lit in the afternoon. No curtains to keep out the dawn. When Marta peered out, she could see only empty window boxes and the street below.

“I’m leaving soon,” Hedda announced from the doorway. “I’m marrying Arnalt Falken. Have you heard of him?”

“I’m new to Montreux.”

“His father is very rich. They live in a mansion up the road from here. Arnalt came one evening by himself and ordered beer and sausage. He says he took one look at me and fell in love.”

Marta thought of Elise. Hedda had periwinkle eyes and long blonde hair, too. She hoped the girl had good sense.

Hedda nodded toward the window. “Frau Gunnel will expect you to plant flowers soon. She made me pay for them last year.”

“Why should either one of us pay for them?”

She shrugged. “Frau Gunnel says we’re the ones who get to enjoy them.”

Marta dumped her knapsack on the bed. “If Frau Gunnel wants to dress up the outside of this place, she’ll have to pay, or there’ll be no flowers.”

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Fräulein, not if you want to keep your job. Flowers don’t cost too much, and the patrons give good tips.” She laughed. “Analt droppped a ten franc coin down my bodice the first time he came.”

Marta turned away from the window. “No one is going to drop anything down my bodice.”

“They will if you’re friendly.” The gleam in Hedda’s eyes told Marta the girl valued money more than reputation.

* * *

By the end of the first week, Marta saw ways to improve the eatery. When she overheard Frau Gunnel complaining about poor business, Marta shared her thoughts.

“With a few changes, your business would improve.”

Frau Gunnel turned. “Changes? What changes?”

“It wouldn’t cost much if you repainted the front window boxes with bright colors and filled them with flowers that would attract the eye. The menus you have now are greasy. You could reprint them and put them in sturdy folders. Vary your menu occasionally.”

Plump face reddening, Frau Gunnel put her hands on her ample hips. She looked Marta up and down in contempt. “You’re sixteen and you think you know so much with your fancy certificate and recommendations. You know nothing!” She jerked her head. “Go back to the kitchen!”

Marta went. She hadn’t meant to insult the woman.

Frau Gunnel came in a few minutes later and went back to work on a hunk of beef, using a mallet as though attempting to kill a live animal. “I know why customers don’t come. I have one pretty waitress who used to attract customers before she decided to marry one of them. And I have little Fräulein Marta as plain as bread and as friendly as
Sauerkraut
!”

No one in the kitchen looked up. Marta felt the heat rush into her face. “No one wants to eat in a dirty restaurant.” Marta barely managed to dodge the flying mallet. Stripping off her apron, she tossed it like a shroud over the embattled beef and headed for the stairs. She threw her few things into a bag, marched downstairs and out onto the street. People up and down the block turned when Frau Gunnel stood in the doorway cursing her.

By the time the woman slammed the door, Marta’s body felt so hot, she was sure steam came off her. She walked uphill rather than down. She pounded on one door after another, making inquiries. The first few opened the door, took one look out, and ducked back inside their houses, closing the door quickly in her face. Still fuming, Marta realized what a sight she must be and tried to calm down.

Now what? No job. No place to live. Her prospects were dimmer than when she had arrived in Montreux a month ago. She didn’t want to go back to Luisa von Olman’s and be a burden. She didn’t want to go home and admit defeat. Bending over, she covered her face with her hands. “God, I know I’m impossible, but I work hard!” She fought back tears. “What do I do now?”

Someone spoke to her. “Mademoiselle?”

She burst into frustrated tears. “I came here to learn French!”

The man switched to German as easily as someone might strip off a glove and toss it aside. “Are you unwell, Fräulein?”

“No. I’m unemployed. I’m looking for work.” She apologized and wiped her face. The man standing in front of her looked to be in his eighties. He wore an expensive suit and leaned heavily on a cane.

“I’ve been out walking. Do you mind if I sit, Fräulein?”

“No, of course not.” She moved to give him room, wondering if he expected her to leave.

“I passed a house with a sign in the window in German, French, and Italian.” He sank gratefully onto the bench. Lifting his cane, he pointed. “If you go up that way three or four streets, I think you will find the house.”

Thanking him, she began a search that took her the rest of the afternoon. Just as she was about to give up, she saw the sign in the window of a three-story house. No chipped paint here, and the eaves had been painted red. She heard muted laughter when she approached the front door. Brushing down her skirt and pushing the straggling damp tendrils of hair back from her face, she said a quick and desperate prayer before rapping the doorknocker. Clasping her hands in front of her, she forced a smile as she waited, hoping she looked presentable and not like some worn-down, bedraggled waif who had been walking up and down the mountain all afternoon.

Someone spoke French behind her. Marta jumped as a man reached past her and opened the door. “Excuse me?”

He spoke German this time. “Just go in. They won’t hear you out here. They’re already serving.”

Marta entered behind him. “Would you please tell the proprietor I’m here to answer the sign in the window?”

He walked quickly down the hall and disappeared into another room.

Smells inside the house made Marta’s stomach growl with hunger. She hadn’t eaten since early morning, and then, only a small bowl of
Müsli
. Men’s laughter swelled, startling her. She heard mumbled conversation and more laughter, less loud this time.

A young and attractive dark-haired woman came into the hallway. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved blue dress covered with a white apron that accentuated her advanced pregnancy. Cheeks flushed, she dabbed her forehead with the back of her hand as she came toward Marta. “Mademoiselle?”

“Fräulein Marta Schneider, madame.” She dipped in a curtsy. “I’ve come to apply for a position.” She scrambled for her documents.

“I’m serving dinner now.” She spoke fluent German, glancing back over her shoulder as someone called out.

“I can help you now, if you’ll allow. I worked in the kitchen of
Hotel Germania
in Interlaken. We can talk about the position later.”

“
Merci!
Just leave your things there by the door. We have a room full of hungry lions to feed.”

The dining room had a long table, its straight-backed chairs filled with men on both sides, most young and professional by the look of their clothing. The room reverberated with loud talk, laughter, the clink of wineglasses, and the call for bread being passed in a large basket. Pitchers of wine moved from hand to hand.

“Solange!” the handsome man at the head of the table called out. Solange went to him and put her arm around his shoulder, whispering in his ear. He looked at Marta and nodded.

Solange clapped her hands. The men around the table fell silent. She waved her hand toward Marta while speaking rapid French. The men gave Marta a cursory glance before returning to their conversations. Solange pointed to a large tureen at the end of the table; Marta hastened to it and tried to pick up the heavy bowl. “No, mademoiselle,” Solange protested quickly. “Too heavy. Let them pass their bowls to you.”