Her Mother’s Hope

Mama gave these to me before she died. I love you, Marta. I have asked God to forgive me. I hope you will, too.

Elise

Marta sat down heavily on the stool.

“Est-ce qu’il y a quelque chose de mal?” Herve stood looking at her.

What was wrong? Marta remembered the dream and felt her throat close tight with pain. Hands shaking, she put the earbobs onto the note and folded it back into the envelope. Slipping it into her apron pocket, she opened Felda Braun’s letter.

Dear Marta,

It is with greatest sorrow that I write this letter…

“Mademoiselle?”

Marta couldn’t see through her tears. While she was here helping Solange bring a baby into the world, her mother was dying. She dropped Felda’s letter and covered her face. “Ma mere est morte.”

Herve spoke quietly. She didn’t understand anything he said. He came around the worktable and put his hand on her shoulder. “I should’ve gone home.” Marta rocked back and forth, muffling her sobs with her apron. Herve squeezed gently and left the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Mama. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Trembling violently, she picked up Felda Braun’s letter, expecting further details of her mother’s passing and Elise’s move to Grindelwald.

Your mother wrote to me some months ago about her illness and asked if I might consider taking Elise to live with me when her time came. I went to Steffisburg immediately to speak with her in person. I hardly recognized Anna. The doctor confirmed her own belief that she had consumption. She did not want you to know she was dying because she knew you would come home. She said if you did, your father would never let you go again. She said the minister would write to me when it was time to come for Elise.

When I went home, I began to prepare her way. I told my friends about your mother’s illness and how your sister had lost her husband in a tragic accident. In this way, I could assure Elise that she could raise her baby without fear of scandal.

Marta went cold. Her baby? She read more quickly.

When I heard from the minister, I went immediately to Steffisburg, but Elise had already disappeared. Your father thought he would find her in Thun. Everyone was looking for her, but I grieve to tell you that we did not find her in time. Your friend Rosie found her body by a stream not far from the house.

Marta cried until she felt sick. She pulled herself together enough to set the table and serve dinner. Clearly, Herve had told the men about her mother, for they offered condolences and spoke in subdued voices. Marta did not mention Elise. Edmee stayed to help wash dishes and clean the kitchen, insisting Marta go upstairs to her attic bedroom and try to rest. Curling on her side, Marta cried as she remembered dreaming of Elise standing in the snow with her hands raised to heaven.

A few days later, Marta received a wire from her father.

Return immediately. Needed in shop.

Tears of fury filled Marta’s eyes. She shook with the power of her rage. Not one word about Mama or Elise. Crumpling the message, she threw it in the stove and watched it burn.

* * *

Solange sat in the kitchen with Marta, baby Jean sleeping contentedly in a basket on the worktable. “Je comprends.” She took Marta’s hand. “God brought you to us when we needed you most, and now you must go. C’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?”

Marta felt little guilt about leaving. Solange had healed quickly and was eager to resume her duties. Edmee had agreed to stay on full-time. She was a hard worker like Marta and would help with the baby while Solange resumed the cooking.

Solange lifted the baby from his warm nest. “Would you like to hold Jean one more time before you leave?”

“Yes. Please.” Marta held him close, pretending just for a moment he belonged to her. She sang a lullaby in German as she walked around the kitchen. Then she placed Jean in his mother’s arms. “Danke.”

Tears slipped down Solange’s cheeks. “Write to us, Marta. Herve and I want to know what becomes of you.”

Marta nodded, unable to speak. As she came out of the kitchen into the hallway, Herve and the bachelors stood waiting. Each wished her well as she passed by. When she reached the door, Herve gave her a brotherly kiss on each cheek and handed her an envelope. “A gift from all of us.”

She looked from him to the other men. Pressing her lips together so she wouldn’t cry, she gave a deep, respectful curtsy and left the house. Despair filled her as she walked to the train station. She looked up at the departure times. A dutiful daughter would return to Steffisburg, work in the shop without complaining, and take care of her father in his old age. Honor your father and mother, God commanded, that your days may be long in the land the Lord your God will give you.

Marta took a coach to Lausanne, where she boarded a train to Paris.

8

1906

Bern had invigorated Marta, but Paris overwhelmed her. She found her way to the Swiss Consulate. “I’m afraid no positions are open this week, Fraulein.” The clerk gave her directions to an inexpensive boardinghouse in the crowded streets of the Rive Droite. She paid for a week’s lodgings.

Early each morning, Marta went back to the consulate and then out to spend the day exploring the city and practicing her French. She asked directions and visited palaces and museums. She walked into evening along the Seine, lost among the crowds out enjoying the city of lights. She went to the Musee du Louvre and wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries. She sat in Notre Dame cathedral and prayed for her sister’s soul.

Prayers did not ease the grief consuming her.

Mama whispered in her dreams. “Fly, Marta. Don’t be afraid, mein kleiner Adler…” And Marta would awaken, weeping. She dreamed of Elise, too, disturbing dreams of her sister lost and trying to find her way home. Marta could hear the echo of her voice. “Marta, where are you? Marta, help me!” she cried out, as the swirling snow enfolded her.

After seven days, Marta gave up on finding a position in Paris and bought a coach ticket to Calais. She boarded a boat across the English Channel and spent most of the trip leaning over the side.

* * *

Rain came down in sheets over Dover. Weary, Marta continued by coach to Canterbury, part of her wishing she had traveled southeast to the warmth of Italy rather than come to England. She consoled herself that learning English would bring her closer to her goal. After one night in cheap lodgings, Marta took another coach to London.

By the time she arrived, her wool coat smelled like a wet sheep, her boots and the hem of her serviceable skirt felt like they were caked with ten pounds of mud, and she had a head cold. Stomping her feet, she tried to loosen the mud from her boots before going inside the Swiss Consulate to look for lodgings and work.

“Add your name to the list and fill out this form.” The harried clerk slid a paper across his desk and went back