Her Mother’s Hope

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 As time passed, Elise would become more withdrawn, more frightened of the outside world, more dependent.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.