Her Mother’s Hope

Francais.

Now, all she could do was pray Papa wouldn’t take out his anger on Elise.

Marta lifted the letter and continued reading.

Please don’t be angry with her. I know it was your money wasted, but Elise did try. She managed to stay three weeks before she wrote the first time. And she suffers now. Papa hasn’t spoken a word to her since he brought her home.

Elise helps me as much as she can. Her stitches are as fine as mine now. She will learn to work faster with more experience. She also helps Frau Zimmer with little Evrard. He is so dear, but he’s at that age when he’s into everything. He got away from her for a few minutes the other day. She is keeping closer watch now.

Write soon, Liebling. Your letters are a great comfort to us all. May the Lord bless you and keep you. May His face shine upon you. I love you.

Mama

Marta folded the letter and tucked it back into her apron pocket. She would write and tell Mama to make Elise go to the market. She needed to learn to talk with people. She could buy the bread from the Beckers and talk with Frau Fuchs about more honey. Elise needed to learn to stand on her own. She wouldn’t always have Mama.

The clatter of china went on in the other room. Warner Brennholtz shouted an impatient order to someone. Her door banged open and the chef stepped into her room. She had long since learned not to be surprised or offended when someone barged in. The heat of the kitchen made escape necessary, and her small bedroom was convenient. All day from breakfast through dinner, workers danced around one another, and someone would regularly slide in for a few minutes of cool respite before facing the stoves and ovens again. Only after the last customers had gone and the last dishes had been washed and put away did Marta have any privacy.

Brennholtz stood taller than Papa and several stones heavier. He liked his beer, too, but became jolly when he overimbibed, rather than moody or violent like her father. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you ate bad Sauerkraut.” The chef wiped perspiration from his red face and neck.

“My sister wasn’t able to finish housekeeping school.”

“Is she ill?”

“She’s fine, now that she’s home with our mother.”

“Ah. Is she a good worker? She could come here and live in this room with you. We could use another dishwasher.”

“You’d frighten her to death.” Brennholtz could shout louder than Papa. Even his laughter boomed enough to rattle crockery. Elise would probably break half the dishes before the end of her first week.

“A pity Derry doesn’t need another maid.”

“He would if he rented rooms to the English.”

Warner wiped the towel over his thinning blond hair. “He did a few years ago, but the English and Germans are like oil and water, and Derry doesn’t speak enough English to sort things out. When he couldn’t bring peace, customers didn’t want to pay. So now he caters to Swiss and Germans.”

“And makes less money.”

“And has fewer headaches.” Warner slapped the towel over his shoulder. “Money isn’t everything.”

“People who have it always say that.”

He laughed. “You’d know how to stop a ruckus, ja? Bang two heads together. Derry should train you to manage and take a long vacation.”

She knew he meant it as a joke, but she pushed herself up and faced him. “If I could speak French and English, I’d figure out a way to fill every room in this hotel.”

He laughed. “Then learn, Fraulein.”

“In a basement kitchen?” She put her hands on her hips. “Do you speak French?”

“Nein.”

“English?”

“Not a word.”

“Then I should quit and go to Geneva or London.” She brushed past him.

“I don’t like your joke!” He followed her.

“Do you think I plan to remain an assistant cook for the rest of my life?”

Warner snatched a pot off a hook and slammed it on the worktable. Everyone jumped except Marta. “This is the thanks I get for training you!”

How many times did she have to say it? Marta bared her teeth in a smile and dipped in an exaggerated curtsy. “Vielen Dank, Herr Brennholtz.” She spoke with cloying sweetness. “Danke. Danke. Danke.”

He laughed. “That’s better.”

Her anger evaporated. Why take out her frustrations on Warner when he had been nothing but kind? “I told you I wouldn’t stay here forever.”

“Ja. I know. You have big dreams! Too big, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

His hands worked quickly, coating pieces of meat in flour and seasonings. “It takes years to become a chef.”

She tossed flour on her work area and grabbed a hunk of dough from a bowl. “I don’t have to become a chef, Herr Brennholtz, just a good cook.”

“Ha! Then you’re not as ambitious as I thought!”

She felt a fierce rush inside her. “I’m more ambitious than you’ll ever know.”

* * *

Mama wrote again. Papa had found a position for Elise in Thun.

The family is wealthy. They come from Zurich and spend the summer. Elise has room and board, and she can come home on her day off.

When will we see you? You haven’t been home since Elise returned from Bern. Papa told her you’re probably upset over the wasted money.

Marta wrote back right away.

Mama, please tell Elise not to be distressed. I work fourteen hours a day, six days a week, and spend Sunday mornings in church. When summer ends, the Germania will have fewer patrons. I’ll come home then. In the meantime, give our little barn swallow my love.

Mama’s next letter gave Marta some hope that Elise would do better.

Elise seems well settled. She hasn’t been home for two weeks. Herr Meyer told a friend what a lovely child she is. Their son Derrick changed his plans to return to Zurich…

Marta wondered if Derrick might be the reason Elise didn’t feel the need to come home.

Rosie wrote, too, filling two pages about Arik Brechtwald dancing with her at a summer festival, and wouldn’t her father lock her up if he knew she’d received her first kiss! She filled another page with news of her sisters and brothers and mother and father, and town gossip.

Marta wrote back and asked Rosie if her father knew any hotel managers in Geneva.

Warner speaks High German, but not a word of French…

Rosie responded quickly.

Father has only acquaintances in Geneva; unfortunately, no one upon whom he could prevail for a favor. Mama has an older second cousin in Montreux. Luisa von Olman is a widow with six children, only two left at home. Her eldest son is the commander of a fortress, but I’ve forgotten where. Mama says he married a lovely little Swiss-Italian girl and they have ten children, but since it was too far for the children to go to a valley school, the government built one right there on the mountain where they live. Mama will write Cousin Luisa…

Marta wrote to Frau Gilgan to thank her, and then to Rosie.

I plan to come home for a week the middle of September, then go to Montreux. If Cousin Luisa cannot help, I will haunt the hotels along the lakeshore. I’ll find something. I would like to speak some French