Her Mother’s Hope

get to know the people who would join my staff.”

Her daughter glowered and spoke again in English. Marta had no difficulty understanding her condescending tone or dismissive look.

Lady Stockhard said something to her daughter, then smiled and spoke to Marta. “I told her you have training as a dressmaker. That will please her.”

Millicent snapped her book shut and rose. A rustling of skirts announced her departure.

“Do you like gardens, Fraulein?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t know what to make of Lady Stockhard with her inviting attitude.

“Kew Gardens is a short walk away. I used to spend hours walking there. Now I can only just manage to walk around the house. Someone must take me to Kew Gardens in a wheelchair. Welton is too old, poor dear, and Ingrid met her handsome coachman. I have Melena, but she misses Greece and her family so much, I doubt she’ll stay long. Are you homesick for your family?”

Marta couldn’t hide her surprise that an English lady would talk to her as though passing time with a friend. “I’ve been away from home nearly two years, ma’am.”

“And your mother doesn’t miss you?”

She felt a stab of pain. “My mother died in January, ma’am.”

“Oh.” She looked dismayed. “Please accept my condolences. I don’t mean to pry.” The lady looked down at the documents on her lap. “Marta. A good Christian name. Mr. Reinhard writes you are a good worker, but Swiss girls always are.” Lady Stockhard raised her head and smiled. “I’ve had three in my employ over the years, and not one has disappointed me. I’m sure you won’t either.” She took a small silver bell from her side table and rang it.

A dark-haired, dark-eyed maid appeared. “Yes, Lady Daisy?”

“Honore, please show Marta to her quarters, and then introduce her to Enid and Melena.” She leaned over and put her hand on Marta’s knee. “English from now on, dear. It will be difficult at first, but you will learn more quickly that way.”

Enid, the rotund and loquacious cook, spoke German, English, and French. When Marta said she had never met anyone like Lady Stockhard, who treated a servant so kindly, Enid nodded. “Oh, our lady is someone very special. She’s not like so many others who look down their noses on those who serve them. Not like her daughter, who gives herself airs. Lady Daisy always hires foreign servants. She says it’s an inexpensive way to visit another country. Melena is from Greece, Honore comes from France, and I’m from Scotland. Now, we have you, our little Swiss maid. Lady Daisy says if people can get along, then countries can also.”

“And Welton?”

“British, of course. He served with Sir Clive in India. When Welton returned, he came to pay his respects to our lady. He had retired and needed work. Of course, Lady Daisy hired him immediately and gave him the room over the carriage house. Welton and my late husband, Ronald, became good friends. Enough talking in German. I find it exhausting. And we have much to do.” As they worked side by side, Enid pointed out objects, said the English word, and had Marta repeat it.

The next morning, the more reticent Honore taught Marta English phrases while they made beds, freshened rooms, and folded away clothing Miss Millicent had cast on chairs and floor that afternoon before going to call on a friend.

“Good morning, Miss Stockhard.” Marta repeated the phrase. “Do you wish the drapes drawn, Miss Stockhard? May I bring you breakfast in bed, Miss Stockhard?”

Even the taciturn Welton became Marta’s instructor. When Enid sent her out for fresh vegetables from the garden, Welton carried on with names posted at the ends of rows. “Lettuce, cucumber, string, pole, beans, gate,” he told her, then shouted, “Rabbit!” He followed the last word with a string of others Marta knew better than to repeat.

Every afternoon, Lady Stockhard rang her little silver bell, sat in her wheelchair, and waited for Melena to come and take her for an outing to Kew Gardens. Marta helped Enid prepare savories and sweets for high tea. As soon as Lady Stockhard and Melena returned, Marta wheeled the tea cart into the conservatory. She set a table with a silver pot of Ceylon or India tea spiced with cinnamon, ginger, and cloves and plates of cucumber sandwiches, Scotch eggs, and currant brioches.

“What would you like, Melena?”

Lady Stockhard never ceased to surprise Marta. “She’s serving tea to Melena, as though she’s a guest and not a servant,” she told Enid.

“She often does when Miss Millicent is out of the house. Sometimes, when her daughter goes traveling, Lady Daisy will even join us in the kitchen.”

Enid, like Warner Brennholtz, shared her culinary knowledge openly. She didn’t mind when Marta wrote notes in her book, even going so far as to read what she wrote and add tidbits Marta may have forgotten. Marta filled pages with recipes for crumbly scones, Scottish shortbread, Chelsea buns, Yorkshire pudding, steak and kidney pie, and Lancashire hotpot.

“I’ve got a dozen others to give you,” Enid told her. “Shepherd’s pie, toad-in-the-hole, and oxtail soup are a few of our lady’s favorites, but Miss Millicent would rather have rack of lamb and beef Wellington. When the young lady goes off on her next trip, we’ll have ourselves some plain English cooking again.” Enid rubbed seasonings into a hunk of meat.

“Miss Millicent must love to travel.”

Enid snorted. “She has her motives.” She shrugged and rolled the roast, rubbing more seasonings on the underside.

Marta received a letter from Rosie.

Elise is buried in our favorite meadow. Spring flowers are in bloom. I have not gone to church since Elise died, but I sit on our log and pray for her soul every day.

Father John came up yesterday afternoon. He told me he would rather lie beneath a blanket of flowers with a view of Thunersee and the mountains than be under six feet of dirt in the confines of stone walls inside town. When I cried, he held me.

He said the church must have rules, but God is Elise’s Maker and God is just and merciful. He said the Lord promised not to lose any of His children. His words helped me, Marta. I hope they will help you, too.

Marta wished she could feel at peace, but she couldn’t shake the guilt. Had she gone home, Mama might still have died, but surely Elise would have lived. How dared she go on making plans for herself when it had been her dream that made her leave them behind-vulnerable, unloved, and unprotected? Though she despised her father, perhaps he was right after all. She did think of herself first; she did think she could do better than her brother. She was ambitious and unrepentantly disobedient. Perhaps he was also right in saying she deserved nothing more than to serve in someone else’s household. But before God, she swore it would never be his.

When Melena went home to Greece, Marta found herself assigned to new responsibilities.

Dear Rosie,

I have become Lady Daisy’s companion. She is a most unusual lady. I have never known anyone to discuss so many interesting topics. She doesn’t treat her servants like slaves, but is genuinely interested in our lives. She had me sit with her in church last Sunday.

Often, during their outings to Kew Gardens, Lady Stockhard talked about books. “Feel free to use my library, Marta. I can only read one at a time, and books shouldn’t gather dust. It’s lovely in spring, isn’t it? Of course, the gardens are always lovely, even in winter. The holly leaves look greener and the red berries redder against the snow. You must need to rest by now. Let’s sit awhile by the pond.”

Waxy purple and yellow lilies rose on thick stems above the huge, green, plate-shaped leaves floating on the murky surface of the water. Mama would have loved Kew Gardens with all its varied beauty, birds flitting and fluttering from tree to tree, and rainbows in the misty spring rain.

Marta pushed the wheelchair along the walk through a wooded glen. It reminded her of the lush green of Switzerland. Flowers popped bright faces up among the green grasses. Marta felt suddenly homesick for the Alpine meadows covered with spring blossoms. Grief welled up as she thought of Elise sleeping beneath a blanket of spring green and flowers and Rosie sitting on the fallen tree, praying for her soul. Wiping away tears, she pushed Lady Daisy along in the wheelchair.

“Do you miss your mother?”