Winter Passing (25 page)

Brant opened a drawer on the nightstand and handed Gunther a handkerchief. The old man wiped his face and blew his nose like a trumpet sounding. He chuckled as he turned and sat up. “I m-meet my granddaughter for the fir-irst time and act like a blubbering fool. I a-apologize, my dear.”

Darby sniffed. “Oh, don’t be sorry. You’ve lost her all over again. And you’ve been betrayed.”

“Yes. And I could have gone to my grave without ever meeting you. See, I should be thankful.” His smile was weak but sincere. “Please. Will you tell me about her?”

Darby smiled at the stranger she instantly loved. “She was absolutely amazing. Learned the computer before anyone in our household. She became an American citizen before I was born and never spoke German again.”

“She had to leave this all behind, perhaps,” Gunther said.

“On the outside, I know she did, except I grew up with tales of the Austrian Alps. So in a way, she contradicted herself. She did not speak of the difficult times to me. My mother had a long struggle, wanting her father—wanting you—so they quit speaking of you before I was born. Yet I know she didn’t leave you behind. She was a brave, independent woman who loved with a full heart.”

“That sounds like Ce-Celia. Though I ne-ever considered her brave or in-independent.”

“Oh, she was. She jogged in a senior citizen marathon and volunteered two days a week at the public-school kindergarten. Perhaps she had to become strong once she lost you. She also had a strong faith in God.”

“Then it is God who saved us both—made us to be strong without each other.”

“Yes,” Darby whispered. Her eyes found Brant’s dark, compassionate eyes. She could barely tear her gaze away from him as she continued to tell about her grandmother. Memories from childhood, Grandma Celia’s favorite American movies and books, her to-die-for New York cheesecake. Gunther took it in like a starving man tasting food once again. Darby talked, with Gunther asking questions, until night fell around them. “Grandma has a rose garden in our backyard. Her favorite flower bush in the center of the garden—”

“Yellow roses,” Gunther finished. He looked far away and infinitely sad. “I’ve been placing those flowers on her memorial for sixty years—and all that time she lived and breathed.”

“A few nights before she died, Grandma told me how much she loved you. She said you were her Prince Charming, and she never loved a man again. She wrote you letters, one every year. I have them with me.”

Darby found her long, black purse and took out the packet they’d picked up from Peter Voss before arriving at the nursing home. “We were trying to find information in them. But the last one has not been opened. It was written September 15 of last year. She died October 3.”

Gunther reached for the letter and held it against his chest. “October 3. W-what was I doing that day? Why did I not feel her, her spirit leave? Why did I not know she lived all these years?” Gunther caressed the neat cursive words on the envelope. “I would kn-know that writing anywhere.”

The door to Gunther’s room opened, and the nurse appeared surprised to see them still there. Brant talked to her, with Gunther adding a few words before Brant and the nurse exited the room.

“They think I’m old and need some rest,” Gunther said with a smile. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

“Brant will take care of it. But you could use some rest. And perhaps some time alone?” Darby motioned to the letters on the edge of the bed.

Brant returned. “They gave permission for us to stay awhile longer, maybe even the night, but only if Gunther is able to rest. They want to prepare him for bed and to eat his dinner.” Gunther frowned, and long creases furrowed his forehead. “I promise to bring her back. We’ll be in the cafeteria.”

Darby glanced back at Gunther before she walked out. He was already opening the letter from his bride.

They made small talk as they picked up trays in the cafeteria. Both chose a meat stew with dumplings. Darby could tell something was bothering Brant. They carried their trays to a quiet, indoor garden room.

Brant stirred his food and hardly ate. Darby gobbled hers down and ate both their breads. She asked him three times if he was feeling all right. After they had cleared their trays away, they walked to the end of the glass room. The stars twinkled above in the dark, cloudless sky.

“I need to ask you, Darby,” Brant said, his eyes troubled, “can you ever forgive me?”

“You have to know it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t lie to them. You were protecting Gunther. I’d have done the same thing.”

“I’ve spent my career trying to help people subjected to the evils of others. And my one chance to help the person I love most . . . They could have had her last months together.”

“They have eternity together.”

Brant turned his head toward her. “Yes, they do. Thank you.”

“No,” Darby whispered. “Thank you, for giving me my grandfather.”

Darby stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He gathered her in to his arms and she rested her face against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

“Darby, I think I’m beginning to need you in my life.”

“You do need me.”

He pulled away slightly and saw her smile. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. Because I think I’m beginning to need you too.”

“You already need me. You need me terribly.”

“Oh, really?” Inside, every part of her agreed with him. “One thing about this forgiveness . . . can I take it back the next time you infuriate me?”

“You think you’ll keep seeing me in the future?”

“Well, since we love the same man, I’m sure our paths will cross.”

She laughed as he drew her close again.

Someone cleared a throat, and Brant quickly dropped his arms from around Darby. A nurse stood, looking embarrassed, at the entrance to the indoor garden. Brant took Darby’s hand and led her toward the older woman. They discussed Gunther, and then the woman hurried away.

“He’s ready for us. But we have strict instructions.”

“As long as we can stay with him.”

Gunther waited in the room lit with only a small lamp. His arms were folded over a sharp line of white sheet and blanket. Suddenly Darby wanted to take him away, far away—all the way back to Grandma’s home in California. He needed rest, and it showed in his eyes, though his smile was joyful at their return. But she hoped it would happen, that he could be in the house his wife had made into a home.

“We can’t talk anymore, or they’ll kick me out,” Darby said as she grasped outstretched hands. “You must sleep, and I’ll be here when you awaken.”

“I st-still find it hard to believe. My granddaughter.”

“Yes, I almost fear I’ll wake up to find it untrue. But you must get strong. You have a daughter—what a wonderful surprise you will be to her. She waited and hoped until it destroyed a place within her. She needs you to be strong for her. And you have another granddaughter and some energetic twin great-granddaughters.”

“The family I believed to be dead. I will rest and get strong for th-them.”

“Yes, so sleep. Sleep.”

“Will you?” Gunther patted the bed beside him and moved over. “I’ve never had my child so near.”

Darby glanced at Brant, who was sitting in a chair in the corner. She felt her lip twitch and nose burn. “And I’ve never had my grandfather so near.”

The bed groaned as she moved the metal railing down. Darby remembered only months before she had rested with her grandmother. Carefully she sat on the bed and stretched out. Her arms were awkward, looking for their place. She rested her head on the pillow, moved and squirmed until it felt right. Not long ago, Darby had circled Grandma’s body. Now her grandfather cradled her tightly, her head beneath his chin, his arms on hers. She breathed medicine, age, and a hint of deep spice. He touched her hair and spoke soft words in German that needed no interpretation. Wet drops, not her own, fell upon the pillow. Warm breath rustled her hair. She couldn’t move, afraid it wouldn’t be true. There were no memories of a father’s arms, no bear hugs or loving pats. That longing had never entered her consciousness until now. Darby moved closer yet until she heard the patter of her grandfather’s heart. It wrapped around her, beating and beating like a rocking chair with gentle pats upon her back. She could stay here forever.

“Darby, wake up.” Someone touched her hair and cheek. Her mouth felt dry, her eyes sticky, her arms tenderly held and tangled. She turned toward the voice—Brant’s.

“Darby, it’s morning.”

The arms were her grandfather’s, and his breath continued to lull and call her back into rest. It hadn’t been a dream. She had a grandfather. She couldn’t wait to call her mother and sister. They’d fly there in a day or two, and their lives would be changed forever.

“I have to leave, Darby,” Brant whispered.

“Why? What’s wrong?” She gently untangled herself, and Brant helped her from the bed.

“My secretary called. I’m not sure how they tracked me down since I turned off my phone, but a nurse woke me and said it was important. I’ll be gone until late afternoon. Unless you want to come with me now.”

“No, I’ll stay.”

“That’s what I thought.” Brant took a step closer and touched her hair. “Take care of him.”

“I will.”

Darby spent an hour dozing in Brant’s chair, against the pillow he’d used. Finally Gunther stirred and woke. A morning of activity began. They ate breakfast and later lunch, played several hands of cards, and Darby pushed him in his wheelchair around the hospital and through the indoor garden. They never stopped talking until Darby worried she was letting him do too much. Brant hadn’t returned by afternoon, and Darby felt a terrible need for a shower. The nurse gave strict instructions for Gunther to have an afternoon nap.

“I need to leave, but I’ll be back tonight or early in the morning,” Darby said. She’d only met him the day before, but felt she’d known him a lifetime. “I need a shower, or you won’t want me back.”

“I will ta-ake you, even if you smell badly.” He chuckled and pinched his nose. “I do this w-when you come close.”

Darby laughed, loving his smile and hearty chuckle. “We both have work to do. You must get better. I must give the best news to my family and make arrangements for them to come.”

“Yes. Yes.” Gunther beamed. “Bring my family. But fi-irst, I must tell you one, one thing. I hid it. I hid your in-heritance. I m-must tell you where it is.”

Darby stared out the window as the taxi zipped through traffic. It seemed the world should be a different color or perhaps lost its gravitational pull overnight with all the changes she’d experienced in the last days. But people continued to walk with their feet on the same sidewalks as they had yesterday, and wisps of clouds still drifted in a blue sky.

She leaned her head against the cool window and closed her eyes. Her newfound joy mingled with gentle sorrow like oil mixed with water. One emotion would rise to the surface, then the other would bubble through. Her grandfather was alive! Her mother had a father. Her nieces a great-grandfather. Yet Grandma Celia, who had yearned a lifetime for her lost love, had missed him by only months. The smile and stories of Grandma’s life had sheltered the sorrow she’d never been freed from. And her joy lived only a plane ride away. What if it had happened to Darby and her love—to her and Brant?

The taxi proceeded down tiny Goldgasse, and Darby was struck with a wave of exhaustion. For some reason, behind closed eyelids she thought of Maureen. Her sister was tucked away asleep at home, and her life was about to be changed along with all of theirs. Darby missed her sister as she hadn’t since childhood. They’d been closer then, and Darby didn’t know why she’d allowed them to drift so deeply into their own lives. She vowed to turn that around. She’d also call Tristie in Montana—perhaps fly up for a visit. Her woman friendships were essential to life. She knew that not just from Tatianna and Grandma Celia, but it rang true within her. She’d missed a lot in the last years, but no more.

Darby’s head remained against the window, hair cascading across her face. Her feet felt too heavy to move when the car stopped, though her mind continued its race around the discoveries of the last two days. She moved away from the window as the cab driver prepared to open the door, but he was looking somewhere else. Across the car, through the other back window, she could see a man’s slacks, belt, and tucked-in shirt. It had to be Brant. She’d be able to see on his face the completion of decades of trials. She’d fall into his arms and find spring after a long winter. The heaviness upon her shoulders would lighten, even leave. Brant. The man she knew she loved, as Grandma Celia had loved Gunther Müller.

The opposite door opened.

“Darby Evans.” The face was not Brant’s. “Remember me? Richter Hauer. We met in a restaurant when you were with Brant.” It took a second for her mind to match this man with bloodshot eyes and a few days’ stubble to the arrogant man she’d met months before.

“Ah, I think so. Yes. I remember.” Why was this man closing the door and the taxi driver returning to the front seat? “I’m getting out here.”

“Brant called me and asked that I escort you to his office. He had a meeting he couldn’t get away from.” The cab driver hadn’t moved. “Go ahead.”

“Wait.” Darby reached for the door handle. “I have some calls to make and need a shower, some rest.”

“Brant said it was urgent. I tried to catch you with Gunther, but you’d left. Gunther told me you were coming here. On my word, what a shock to discover we are related in a way, right? My step-grandfather is your grandfather.” He smiled at her with an incredulous look. “Miracles do still happen.”

Darby hesitated. This man must have talked to Brant and Gunther to know these details.

“Go ahead!” Richter called again. The driver glanced questioningly at her in the rearview mirror, then the car moved forward down the dark street. Darby didn’t speak as her thoughts tried to slog through a molasses of tiredness, facts, and suspicions. Brant didn’t like Richter, she remembered. So why . . .

Darby eyed Richter as he peered anxiously behind them. His hands were grasped together strangely. Suddenly, she realized she shouldn’t be with him. He looked at her quickly, and she saw danger in his eyes.

Richter grabbed her hand. “I need you to come with me. Everything will be all right. Just do as I ask.” When Darby’s mouth opened to cry out, he squeezed her hand in warning. “My grandmother, Ingrid, kept her lover’s Lüger collection after the war. She passed them down to me.” Richter forced her hand against his jacket. She could feel something . . . a gun?

Richter glanced behind them again, leaned forward to instruct the driver, then sat back. The car stopped, waiting for traffic. Darby looked back toward her hotel, where she’d been going a moment before. A moment before she had been safe, ready to call her mother and sister and then rest and see Brant and Gunther, and now . . .

“I’m in a difficult position, Darby.” His face hovered too close to hers. “I must have something that I have long sought. Only you can help me. I have no doubt that Gunther told you where he hid the Lange inheritance.”

Darby’s mouth opened, but she could not speak.

“Please, Darby. I have little time.”

The cab turned onto Residenzplatz. Life seemed so normal. People strolled, carriages waited to give rides, artists hawked their paintings on the street. “What do you want?”

But she knew. Richter raised one eyebrow, knowing she understood. Was this why Ingrid had deceived her grandmother so long ago? Had the greed for the Lange inheritance not only cost many lives, but also enticed deception long after the Nazis had been destroyed?

The taxi halted, and Richter tossed a bill forward. Darby realized they’d only gone a few blocks from her hotel when Richter grabbed her hand and yanked her outside. Panic raced wildly through Darby. Should she scream? Run into one of the shops? Then Richter pinned her close to him.

Richter had parked his car near the restaurant where she’d first met him, the day she’d first met Brant. The more she sought an escape the more trapped she realized she was—like a butterfly in a jar.

“Just show me where it is, and nothing will happen to you. I promise.” He walked her beside a white BMW and almost dropped his keys as he unlocked the door.

“No.” She planted her feet, remembering too well her foolish impulse to jump in the car that took her to Bruno Weiler’s house. And this was different. All the television shows said to never, ever be forced into a car. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You are. Get in.” He pushed her toward the open door. She tried to get away, but Richter grabbed her with a fierce hold. “I have a gun, right here in my pocket. Come with me, and you’ll be safe. But I can’t let you walk away.”

She hesitated a minute too long so Richter pushed her inside. “Move across. You’re driving. Take the keys.”

“Where am I going?”

“You tell me.” Richter shut his door firmly.

Darby searched the tourists and carriages and shopkeepers for anyone to help.
This can’t be happening!

“So tell me where we’re going,” he insisted.

Darby didn’t say anything. He pulled out the gun and rested it on his lap.

It really was an antique Lüger. It appeared almost ridiculous pointing toward her instead of resting inside a museum case.

“I’ll tell you where it is, and you’ll let me get out.”

“You tell me where it is, I’ll get it, then I’ll let you go.” He stared at her as she carefully moved through traffic. She could see him from the corner of her eye.

“It’s in Hallstatt.”

“Hallstatt?” Richter thought for a moment. “You mean the grave?”

Darby nodded.

He looked surprised. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” When Richter glanced at her, Darby knew they thought the same thing. “I wish you had,” she said.

Brant had just convinced himself that he had not seen Darby with Richter in a taxi, leaving Goldgasse together. Then Richter’s car had pulled from a side street down the one-way exit. Darby was driving. Brant was on his way to see her, to watch her sleep, to share her phone calls. His important meeting had been nothing—another frustrating interruption. Frau Halder didn’t know who the urgent message had come from, but she’d taken it seriously. Brant sometimes had mysterious clients meet with him secretly, but this time, no one showed up at his office.

He had parked beneath a tree on one of the streets surrounding the plaza, then begun walking when he saw Darby inside the taxi from across the street. He wondered why she was leaving Goldgasse. Then he saw Richter beside her.

Shocks of denial pounded through him as his mind tried to decipher what he’d seen. He should have followed them when they passed in Richter’s car, but he sat too long. It couldn’t be.

Brant suddenly remembered the “coincidental” meeting the first day he’d met Darby. Richter had come to the restaurant by chance. Then something had happened in Vienna two days before, or someone. Darby hadn’t explained why she disappeared for the night. Was everything a lie? His mind brought up all sorts of ideas. Perhaps she wasn’t even an American, but someone Richter and Ingrid had recruited to finally get the Lange inheritance while Gunther was recovering.

And this morning. He had been called away from the hospital. Did it give opportunity for Darby to ask Gunther where he’d hidden it? Only Brant knew Gunther had hidden the heirlooms at all. Gunther had only withheld the location.

Brant looked back toward his car and wondered what to do, and how this could be true. But it seemed the truth was before his eyes. He’d been betrayed once again.