Winter Passing (24 page)

“I’ll be more cautious, I promise.”

Bruno left for hot water and returned with more food and tea. She hadn’t realized her hunger until she began eating. Outside, a car engine rumbled to life. On her way out, Bruno pointed the way to a bathroom down a hall. Photographs lined the wall, and Darby was shocked to see one portrayed a younger Bruno shaking hands with President Reagan. She didn’t linger long.

“Time to go,” Bruno said, extending both hands. As her hands were gathered into a tight embrace, they looked deeply at one another. Tears brimmed in Darby’s eyes. She knew they could never meet again.

“I will have a letter delivered to you from a certain ex-Nazi, Bruno Weiler. It will tell that Tatianna Hoffman died at Mauthausen Concentration Camp, not Celia Lange Müller. It will be your proof, I will make sure of that. Then, if you do find the Lange inheritance, it will be yours. But still, be careful, Darby Evans. Remember my words, for I insist that you hear me clearly. I know of others who desire what should be yours. I cannot be there for you.”

“Thank you. Know that you and your secret are safe with me.”

“I do not doubt it.”

Darby walked alone to the front door and glanced back toward Bruno as she stepped outside. He nodded as she closed the door. The same driver was in the car as she again sat in the back. The woman was not there. The driver only spoke when it was time for her to lay her head down and then again when she could rise. A touch of dawn lit the east as they arrived in front of Hotel Sacher. Weary in every inch of her body, Darby plodded toward the entrance. When she looked back, the gray sedan was already gone.

A desk clerk handed Darby messages from Brant, who had called throughout the night.
What could that be about
, she wondered but was too tired to care. Plus, it was too early to call him. Darby entered her room and dropped onto the bed without taking off her clothing. She closed her eyes.

Far away an insistent sound disturbed her. She awoke to the phone ringing and ringing beside her head. The hour hand on her watch had moved only a few times.

“Hello?” she said with her eyes still closed.

“Darby, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you. Didn’t you get my messages? Why didn’t you call?”

“It was too early.”

“Are you okay?”

“I was a few minutes ago and having a great dream—Brant, is that you?” she said, awakening a bit more.

“Where were you?”

She sat up in bed and noticed the light shining around the edges of the window shade. “I had some information to follow up.”

“And it took all night?”

“Brant, is there a reason I have to tell you where I’ve been?”

“No, no, I’ve just been worried. But if you don’t want to give me an explanation, that’s fine.”

“Why have you been worried? And wait a minute, how did you find me?”

“It’s a long story. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, Brant.”

“Well, you aren’t an experienced traveler, you could have made a naive mistake . . . I had all sorts of images going through my head.”

“Me naive, inexperienced?”
If he only knew
. “I’m learning rapidly.”

“Okay, okay. Now that I know you’re safe, you must get back here right away. Or I can come get you?”

“What is so desperate it can’t wait?”

“I need to speak to you in person—today. I went to . . . just get back to Salzburg.”

“All right. I’m sure there’s a morning train to Salzburg. I’ll be on it.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Darby flopped against the pillow. What could be so important it couldn’t wait? She imagined Brant worried and pacing in his apartment. The image made her smile. Suddenly Darby sat back up. Maybe he’d been with Professor Voss. Did that mean he believed her story?

Darby wondered about it all the way back to Salzburg. She found humor in Brant’s early-morning call. Mr. Serious worried about her? She could imagine his eyebrows pinched, jaw clenched, fingers anxiously punching telephone buttons. For some reason, Darby found that funny. Perhaps he had some new information? But she knew the story now, and soon she’d have proof in her hands. Darby didn’t know how she would explain her source, but if Brant pushed too far she’d tell the truth—“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” She laughed out loud, imagining Brant’s expression.

One mystery remained—the inheritance. But Darby was too tired to think of that—at last, her purpose was accomplished.

Darby leaned against the headrest as the train gently rocked back and forth. She hoped to catch some sleep as the Austrian countryside whirled by and she was delivered to Brant. Whatever he felt desperate to tell her would be no surprise to her. She was about to prove the facts to him.

Richter could not believe what he was hearing. “Could you say that again?” he said into the phone as he took a drag from his cigarette.

“You are freed from your debts,” the voice said. “And I want you to leave Darby Evans alone.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you simply cancel it all?” Richter didn’t know whether to be elated or suspicious. Suspicion rose higher because he knew no one simply canceled debts, especially this man.

“Just do what I said.”

The phone clicked, and Richter heard the dial tone. His debt, his fear for the last six months was canceled. It didn’t make sense. And why was he told to leave Darby Evans alone? Suddenly he knew. The inheritance. He tossed the phone on the couch.
She must be close. And I won’t be cheated now.

The trains were punctual, but never early. Still Brant came to the Bahnhof an hour before Darby’s arrival. He waited in the terminal and watched the schedule of incoming trains. Then his cell phone rang. He considered turning off the power, but wondered if it could be Peter.

“Hey, Brant! It’s Richter. Where you at?”

“I’m at the train station. Is there something you need?”

“I’m just in town and thought we’d get together.”

“I have plans. Next time, probably.”

“Hey, I’ve been trying to contact that American woman.”

“Why?”

“Since you weren’t moving on her, I thought I’d take a shot. Where’s she staying?”

Brant froze. “How did you know she was back in Austria?”

“You told me, remember?” Richter laughed. “You’re too young to lose your memory.”

Brant could not remember telling Richter, but perhaps he had. “I’m at the train station getting ready to pick her up. She’s returning from Vienna.”

“Really? Well, I can tell by your voice, I’ve jumped in a little too late. The two of you are finally connecting? I must be rubbing off on you.”

“I need to go, Richter.” A train arrived at the station, but not Darby’s.

“Okay, I’ll get ahold of you another time.”

Brant clicked his phone off and stuffed it into his jacket. Richter was looking for Darby? Why? No matter what, Richter had better stay away from her.

“Salzburg!” The conductor called over the speaker. Darby already waited in the narrow doorway with her bag. The train’s rocking slowed and the brakes screeched as the train pulled into the Bahnhof. She pushed the door lever before it opened automatically. Brant knew something, and finally she was going to discover what it was.

Darby saw him walking the length of train, searching the doorways. Their eyes met, and she felt a rush of emotion. If he opened his arms, she was sure she’d fall into them forever. Fatigue and the fear from the previous night had left her open, ready for Brant. But his hands were stuck hard into his coat. He reached only for her duffel bag, and his face held no joyous greeting.

“We need to talk.” Brant’s eyes spoke desperate words. “Alone.”

She was tired of mysterious games. All she wanted was a few more hours of sleep. She followed Brant from the train station in pants she’d worn twice and slept in once, a shirt that had been wrinkled at the bottom of her duffel, and a jacket that smelled slightly of smoke from her adventures in train stations and car rides. Brant stopped in front of a dark-blue sports car and dumped her bag into the trunk. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the station. He unlocked her door and closed it behind her.

“Brant, I’m tired, delirious, and I’ve had way too much coffee on the train. See, my hands are shaking.” Darby held up a hand. Brant gripped the steering wheel and didn’t look her way.

“Why are you so serious? What’s going on?” Then she saw that his eyebrows were creased into one, exactly as she’d imagined. She laughed. “Let me guess . . . in one day, you’ve decided that you can’t live without me—you’re crazy about me.” She leaned toward him, laughing more until she noticed his expression—still looking ahead, jaw set, hands on the wheel. “You were supposed to laugh.”

Brant started the car and zipped into traffic.

“Where are we going?” she asked in a whine, trying to relax against the headrest with eyes closed. After more silence from Brant, she opened her eyes and insisted, “Stop the car or talk to me or take me to my hotel. This is ridiculous.”

Brant made a sharp turn and maneuvered into a parking place. He shut off the engine and faced her. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this. Where would be the perfect place? Maybe we should go to my apartment or to your hotel.”

“This looks good to me. Now talk.”

His eyes studied her, as if memorizing every detail. Darby felt uncomfortable under his gaze, wondering what she looked like after a night of little sleep and the early train trip.

“I believe her, Darby. I believe Celia.”

His eyes watched her response, but Darby was uncertain. This was the news she’d hoped for on her return to Salzburg that morning. And did he really mean it? “You believe my grandmother really was Celia Müller?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Did you read the letters? What makes you believe now?”

“Where is your grandmother’s ring?”

“I’m wearing it.” Darby removed the gold chain from beneath her shirt and coat.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” She unclasped the back and handed it to Brant. What was he doing? she wondered as he slid the ring off and handed her the gold chain. This was not what she expected of him.

“Darby, I don’t know where to start. I’ve looked at it over and over again.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t believe her. I mean, how could I? But now—”

“Brant. I know.”

He lifted a finger to her chin, then touched her lips. Darby knew she should back away; there was too much to work out. But she couldn’t move. His hand lingered against her cheek, then suddenly pulled away. Brant turned and gripped his fist on the steering wheel. What was he tormented by? Darby wondered. He straightened up as if in decision and took something from a box inside his coat pocket. It was a ring. The two slid together, and the curved settings snapped into place.

Darby froze inside. She took the rings, now one. “Where did you get the other half?”

“I told you about the mentor who changed my life? That man was Gunther Müller.”

“Gunther Müller. My grandfather? My grandfather was alive after the war?”

“Darby, your grandfather is alive
now
.”

“My grandfather is alive. You’re certain?”

“Yes. He’s been very sick, has had a stroke, and wasn’t supposed to survive. When I was going through his things, I found the ring.”

Darby shook her head, drew her feet onto the seat, and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes stared out at the noon traffic and shoppers as her mind fought to comprehend Brant’s words. “Where is he?”

“Here, in Salzburg.”

“Here!” She put her hand over her mouth.

“His stroke was last fall, and he’s been at a rehab clinic in Munich for months. Then, right after Christmas, his wife moved him to a nursing home in Salzburg. He’s been here ever since. I visit several times a week, but only in the last month has he made real progress with his speech.”

“His wife? He remarried?”

“Darby, I take all the blame for this. If I had better investigated when your grandmother wrote me—but I had no idea. They could have been together—your grandparents. But I sent that letter back. I didn’t tell Gunther—didn’t want to put him through something like that.”

“No, Brant,” Darby said slowly. “This isn’t your fault, it’s his. He never came for her. She mourned her whole life. He remarried and got on with his life while my grandmother was writing him letters every year.”

“Gunther only married to help a friend of theirs. I promise you, he never got over Celia. But he truly thought she was dead. He was at the Hungarian border when he got word Celia had been caught. He stayed for months, and then the notice of death came from Mauthausen. Of course, he believed them. He paid all the money he had to try to get her body. All he received was this half of the ring, which was a miracle in itself. With that ring, he had no doubts that his wife and child were dead.”

Darby’s body shook, and tears fell in streams down her cheeks. Of course, it made sense. But the horror pulsed through her. The two of them could have been together—all of them could have been together. It would have changed everything, their entire lives. Her mother would have had the daddy she so longed for. Suddenly Darby was struck by the realization: Her mother did have the father she sought. Gunther Müller was alive.

The questions, accusations, truths, and lies pounded in her head. “I have to see him.”

“We’ll go right now.”

Brant immediately started the car and took off.

“Wait,” Darby said. “Take me to my hotel first. I’m meeting my grandfather for the first time. I need to clean up.” She turned to him. “Does he know—about me, my mom, and sister?”

“No. I haven’t seen him since I saw the copy of the ring. I wanted to tell you first. Perhaps I should have prepared him. He’s weak, not well. I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t either. We’ll decide when we get there. I just need to see him.” She laid her head against the side window and watched the world zip past. Somewhere in that city her grandfather lived and breathed. The missing link in the family, the missing link in her life.

Brant sat on the edge of the bed as Darby showered. He looked at a shoe she’d left on the floor and picked it up. It was the black dress shoe with the chunky heel she’d worn the night they’d gone to the dinner concert. The side of the bed closest to the window was rumpled. So that was the side she slept on. The same one he liked. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the shower.

Brant shook himself. He needed to think of other things and not get himself too caught up with Darby Evans. She was in shock. But how would she feel after that shock wore off? Would she be angry at him?

And what of Gunther? He knew the old man would understand. He’d know Brant had been protecting him. But would meeting Darby be too much?

He wished Darby would hurry so they could go see his old friend.

Darby grabbed Brant’s arm. “Wait,” she whispered before he opened the large oak door to the care facility. She pivoted, taking in a breath as she gazed down the cement walkway lined with landscaped trees and grass and then toward Brant’s car in the parking lot.

Brant put his hand on hers. “Ready?”

She exhaled with her entire body. “I think so.”

Brant opened the door and Darby entered. The white floors looked cold and clean. Their footsteps echoed down the long hallway. She heard groans and laughter in different rooms as they walked. After a turn down a long hallway, Brant stopped at a closed door. “This is it.”

“You go first.”

Brant opened the door, and Darby peered over his shoulder. The bed was covered with a blue bedspread, but no one was in it. Brant entered first and checked the small bathroom.

“What does that mean?” Darby asked, her pulse pounding. “Is he all right?”

“He was starting to get around last time I was here.” Brant checked his watch. “It’s too early for dinner. I’m sure he’s fine, or I’d have heard something.”

They heard footsteps from the room next door. A cleaning woman entered, and Brant spoke to her in German.

“She said he’s in the chapel.”

The woman glanced at the wall clock and spoke again. “I guess chapel is over. He’s probably in the game area.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t well.”

“He’s been improving. And Gunther’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”

Darby was about to leave the room when something caught her eye. A miniature rosebush on a small table in the corner of the room. It blossomed with yellow roses. She touched a petal the size of her fingernail.

“Yes, this must be my grandfather’s room,” she said quietly.

“I wanted you to find the memorial your grandfather made for Celia in Hallstatt. I hadn’t seen it in years and forgot that the nameplate is covered. You have to open it to see her name. But there is a rosebush growing at the base. It blossoms yellow roses.”

“My grandmother’s favorite flower.”

“At least once a year, under the cover of night, Gunther would take his own yellow roses from his garden to her grave. He never missed a year.”

“And all the while, my grandmother was living and missing him on the other side of the world, tending her yellow roses.”

Brant turned Darby toward him and drew her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay. Somehow, it’s going to be okay.”

Darby rested against his chest for a minute, then slowly pulled away. “Let’s find him.”

They left the room and headed back down the hall, turning right. Above the sound of their footsteps, Darby heard a deep, steady voice speaking as they reached the doorway.

“That’s Gunther,” Brant said, sounding surprised as they stopped. “He sounds much better than just a week ago.” Darby’s eyes moved to a table with chess figures and two men sitting on opposite ends. The man speaking had his back to them.

“Wait.” Darby grabbed Brant’s arm. She looked at the thick, peppered-gray hair, a little in need of a comb in the back where a fuzzy piece stood up. Her eyes caressed a wool sweater over his wide back. Her grandfather. His voice was only slightly slurred, but she caught a hint of laughter within. “What is he saying?”

Brant whispered close to her ear. “He’s teasing the other guy, and, as typical for Gunther, is giving the man a Bible lesson. He said that when we take communion and say we partake of Jesus’ body and blood, we accept that we may face the sufferings and trials that Jesus faced. But God has conquered all things, and so we have nothing to fear. He just asked the man, ‘Have you partaken? Perhaps that is why you are losing?’ I can’t believe he’s talking so well.”

“So what do we do?” Darby asked softly. “Perhaps we should have a doctor tell him. What if we set him back? What—what if . . . what if he doesn’t want a granddaughter after all these years?”

“He wants you, Darby. Don’t be afraid of that. I don’t know what we’ll tell him or not tell him. Let’s meet him and go from there.” Brant slid his hand around hers reassuringly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“I’m with you, every step.” He led her forward. “Gunther?”

“Brant.”

Gunther turned slowly. A smile beamed from his face and Darby noticed light blue eyes that might resemble her mother’s, but there was no immediate recognition of other features. Gunther smiled at her, even raised an eyebrow at their hands, but nothing would have told them who they were to each other. She could have bumped into him anywhere and never known this man had some of her same blood.

The two men spoke German, so Darby was only able to understand a word or two that indicated Brant’s surprise over Gunther’s health. Then Gunther turned his attention back to her, saying something and extending a hand.

“American,” Darby heard from Brant in another round of German.

“Ah, an A-American?” Gunther said, interested. “Bend down here.”

He reached for her hands, and she wondered if he’d notice her trembling within his own unsteady fingers. Darby bent down and looked up at him, extending her hands.

“You w-watch for this man. He very disturbed at times.” He winked and grinned up at Brant. Darby’s tears began to flow. “Is there something wrong, my child?”

The words
my child
brought a surge of emotion. Darby saw her grandmother’s dreamy eyes as she spoke of this man. She remembered the letters of love, so deep and youthful and full of tomorrow. She saw her mother, waiting and searching the Times Square crowd, hoping, hoping that he’d appear. And the ghost who haunted their family was right in front of her—alive and breathing.

A sob broke in her chest as she looked down at the floor. She heard Gunther’s chess partner wheel away in his chair, and she tried to force herself to stop crying, but the tears only flowed harder. The hand holding hers tightened, and she felt a gentle pat on her back. He spoke to Brant in German and waited for an answer.

“Gunther,” Brant said tenderly, “this is Darby Evans. She is your granddaughter.”

The hands pulled away, and Darby heard his gasp. Her tears stopped, but she could not look up.

“Her grandmother’s name was Celia Müller.”

Gunther spoke hoarsely in German. Brant began an explanation in Gunther’s native tongue. Brant knelt beside her, speaking upwardly, with his arm around her. Darby remained before him, unable to look up from the floor, like a child waiting for either stark rejection or arms of love. She heard Gunther exhale, long and deep like the final breath had left his lungs.

A hand touched her hair as Brant stopped speaking. The shaking fingers lifted her chin. Their eyes met, both with tears.

“My grandchild. I never had a child, never thought . . .”

Gunther’s fingers touched her cheek, a strand of hair, her forehead.

“When did she die?”

“Four months ago.”

Gunther’s mouth dropped, and his light eyes looked away. He put his hand upon his head and shook it slowly as if not able to believe his ears. He exhaled another long, deathly breath, and Darby could feel him shiver from deep within.

“Gunther?” Brant asked. “Are you all right?”

“No. This is worst, and best, of days.” His hands shook violently, and he clasped them together.

“I think we should take you to your room.”

Brant pushed the wheelchair. Gunther held Darby’s hand the entire way and glanced up often, as if to be sure she was still there.

They entered behind a nurse who spoke to Gunther and examined him closely. Gunther disagreed with the woman. Darby wished she could understand them.

“Are you sure?” Brant asked. “If you need rest, we can come back in a few hours. I don’t want you having a setback.”

“I don’t want y-you to go. I want you here. I want her, Darby, here. My granddaughter. I w-waited my entire life to see her.”

Brant helped Gunther into the bed and carefully removed the older man’s shoes. He pushed a button to elevate the bed to a sitting position, then covered Gunther’s legs with the blue bedspread. Gunther reached a hand toward her, and Darby moved a chair close.

“I still cannot understand. How?”

“Tatianna Hoffman died at Mauthausen. Somehow she took Grandma’s place. My grandmother was told you were dead, and when you never came to your meeting place, she believed it.”

“I believed she was dead,” Gunther said, shaking his head. Suddenly, he sat up straighter. “Oh, dear Lord. She didn’t. She could not have!”

“What is it?” Brant asked.

“Ingrid. Ingrid was with them.”

“Who is Ingrid?” Darby asked.

“My wife. Ingrid went with Tatianna and Celia to Swiss border. She was with them the night the Nazis met them. Ingrid knew everything.”

Brant sat in the chair beside Darby. “Ingrid knew Celia escaped and Tatianna was taken by the Nazis? And she never told you?”

“Never. She told me Ce-Celia was taken.”

“What did she say happened to Tatianna?” Darby asked.

“She say Tatianna was so close to border and after Nazis took Celia she decided to leave Austria.”

“When did she tell you all of this?”

“The night she beg me to marry her. The war had just ended, the c-country was mess, divided by A-Americans, British, Soviets. Ingrid’s children were Nazi babies, and she need protection. I had been in resistance, injured for the cause—a perfect c-cover for her. I a-asked everything about night of Celia’s capture. She could have said truth. I would have g-gone to America and found Celia.”

“But she needed you for her own safety.” Brant stood up swiftly in anger.

“You know what?” Darby sat forward. “Grandma’s letters. One was from a woman with ‘I’ initials. The letter was from 1942, three years before the war ended. She told Grandma Celia about Tatianna’s death and also that you had died. The woman told Celia to quit writing and get on with her life in America. The woman also said she had a Nazi friend she might marry.”

Brant and Gunther eyed one another. “Ingrid,” Brant said.

Gunther began to shake again. “I have tried my whole life to do good. How can this happen? How?” Tears burst from his eyes. He moaned and curled onto his side. Darby jumped up and leaned over him, wishing to protect him from all he must feel. All she could do was wait.

His wide back continued to shake with years of lost sobs. Darby looked at Brant and saw the fear in his eyes.

“It’s all right, Gunther,” Brant said, cradling the old man in his arms. He spoke softly in German. Darby couldn’t stop her own scattered tears and saw Brant wipe his face from time to time as he rocked his old mentor. Finally, Gunther’s sobs slowed, and she believed he was asleep until he reached for her hand. His thick hand held hers and stroked it gently.