Her Mother’s Hope

Marta felt the shock of alarm. Was she destined to die like Mama? Nothing Dr. Zimmer had done had prevented Mama from drowning in her own blood.

“Do you know of a good doctor who speaks German?”

* * *

A nurse helped Marta dress after the examination and showed her into Dr. Smythe’s office. He rose when Marta entered and told her to sit. “I’ve seen this often before, Fraulein. Swiss girls are used to good, clean mountain air, not heavy smoke and damp fog. You should go back to Switzerland. Go home to your family and rest.”

Fighting tears, Marta imagined how her father would greet her. “I’ll get more rest in England.” If Papa’s heart had not softened over Mama’s illness, he certainly would show her no kindness. She coughed into her handkerchief, thankful when she didn’t see spots of red against the white. “What I need is work in a smaller house with fewer stairs and a kitchen with a door or window.” The pain built in her chest until she couldn’t hold back another cough. When the spasm eased, she raised her head.

“Rest is what you need, not work.”

Gathering her courage, she looked him in the face. “Do I have consumption?”

“You are as pale and thin as a consumptive, but no. Frankly, Fraulein, if you don’t take better care of yourself, this can kill you quicker than consumption. Do you understand me?”

Disheartened, Marta relented. “How much rest do I need?”

“A month at the least.”

“A month?”

“Six weeks would be preferable.”

“Six weeks?” Marta coughed until she felt light-headed.

The doctor gave her a bottle of elixir and ordered her to take a spoonful every four hours. “Rest is the best cure, Fraulein. Your body can’t fight infection when exhausted.”

Sick and depressed, Marta went back to the Swiss Home for Girls. Frau Alger took one look at her and assigned her a bed in a quiet corner of a street-level dorm room. Too tired to undress, Marta flopped down onto the cot, her coat still on.

Frau Alger came with a pitcher of warm water and a bowl. “That won’t do.”

Marta shivered as the woman helped her undress and put on her nightgown. She felt an unbearable longing for Mama. When she burst into tears, Frau Alger helped her get into bed. She took the bottle of elixir and read the directions. She went for a spoon and gave Marta her first dose of laudanum, then covered her with thick blankets and tucked them snugly around her. She put her hand on Marta’s head. “Schlaf, Kind.” Marta whispered a bleak thank-you. Already, her eyelids grew heavy.

She awakened at Frau Alger’s touch. “Drink.” She helped Marta sit up enough to drink a cup of thick soup, take another dose of medicine, and sink back into bed. She dreamed of climbing stairs up and up, flights turning right and left and disappearing into the clouds. She held a heavy tray balanced on her shoulder, then paused to rest. Her legs ached so terribly, she knew she would never make it to heaven. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.” Mama stood above her dressed in white. “Don’t give up, Liebling.”

She awakened to the sound of church bells and fell asleep again, dreaming Mama held her hand as they walked up the road to St. Stephen’s Church. Rosie called out to her, and Marta found herself in the Alpine meadow above Steffisburg, picking spring flowers with Rosie.

Rain battered the windows, awakening her briefly. Shivering, Marta pulled the blankets up again. She wanted to dream of Mama and Rosie, but instead dreamed of being lost in the snow. She heard Elise crying out her name over and over. Marta tried to run to her, but her feet kept sinking into the snow. Crawling on her hands and knees, she looked down at the rushing water of the Zulg and saw Elise lying asleep, a baby in her arms, and a blanket of snow covering them both. “No.” She moaned. “No. No.” Frau Alger put cool cloths on her brow and spoke to her. Mama sat in the graveyard, embroidering another dress. She looked up with sunken eyes. “Don’t come back, Marta. Fly, Liebling. Fly away and live.”

Marta awakened to the sound of coach wheels rolling by. She cried, afraid if she went back to sleep, she would dream again. She heard girls come and go, and she pretended to be asleep. Frau Alger came in with a tray. “You’re awake.” She set the tray aside and put a hand on Marta’s forehead. “Good. Your fever has broken.” She helped Marta sit up.

“I’m sorry to be so much trouble.” Marta felt the tears come and couldn’t stop them.

Frau Alger patted her shoulder. “Hush now, Marta. You’re no trouble. And you will be well soon. It’s hard to be so far from home, ja?”

Marta covered her face, feeling the loss of Mama and Elise more acutely than ever. “I have no home.”

Frau Alger sat on the bed and gathered Marta close, murmuring to her as she would a hurting child. Giving in to her grief, Marta clung to her, pretending for just for a moment this kind, older woman was Mama.

* * *

After a week in bed, Marta felt able to get up. The house was empty, so she fixed herself a bowl of hot porridge. Why had she come to England? She felt lost and at odds with herself. Perhaps she should have stayed in Steffisburg and helped Mama. She could have watched over Elise. Too late now to think about those things. What sort of future would she have now if she obeyed Papa and went back? Mama had known. Mama had warned her to stay away.

She gathered her courage and wrote to Rosie.

I am in England. Papa sent a wire telling me to come home. He said nothing about either Elise or Mama, and I knew he would expect me to spend the rest of my life in the shop. If I had not received a letter from Mama’s cousin, Felda Braun, I would not have known Elise had died.

I fled, Rosie. I will never return to Steffisburg. The last time I saw Mama, she said I had to go. In truth, I would rather die a stranger in a foreign land than spend another day under my father’s roof.

Cousin Felda said it was you who found Elise. I dream of her every night. She cries out to me and disappears before I can reach her. I pray God forgives me for being such a poor sister. I pray God will forgive her for what she did to herself and her child. And I pray you will forgive us, too. I will be forever in your debt.

Marta

* * *

After another week of convalescence, Marta grew restless and discontented. Mama had told her to fly, not perch inside the walls of the Swiss Home for Girls. Rest, the doctor had said, but rest wasn’t just lying in bed tucked beneath a mound of covers. Marta leaned her forehead against the glass, feeling the walls of her prison close in around her. She imagined what Mama would say if she stood in the room right now.

“God is my strength, Marta. He is my help in times of trouble… God has a plan for your life… Perhaps it is God who has put this dream in your heart… God is the one driving you away… An eagle flies alone…”

She thought of Elise, too. Mama’s little barn swallow spoke to her. “I gave in to despair, Marta. If you give up, you’re giving in, too.”

Marta dressed and buttoned up her wool coat.

Frau Alger intercepted her at the front door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out for a walk.”

Each day, determined to regain her strength, Marta went a little farther, pushed herself a little harder. At first, she could barely walk more than a block without finding a place to sit and rest. Gradually, she went two, then three. She found a small park and sat surrounded by trees and grass, spring flowers beginning to emerge, slivers of sunlight slicing through the clouds. Sometimes she rose and stood in a spear of light, closing her eyes and imagining