Her Mother’s Hope

When class ended, Countess Saintonge told her to remain behind. “Marta Schneider from Steffisburg, is that correct? What does your father do?”

“My father is a tailor and my mother is a dressmaker.”

“Ah!” She smiled. “That’s why you were staring…” She looked at Marta’s shirtwaist and black skirt. “Did you make what you’re wearing?”

Wondering at the woman’s change in manner, Marta dipped just to be cautious. “Yes, Countess.”

The countess’s mouth curved with an odd, pleased smile. “Wonderful. You can make the uniforms.”

Marta stiffened. “Will I have spare time?”

“Most of your evenings will be free.”

Her evenings might be free, but she wasn’t. “If you have the materials, we can discuss wages.”

The countess’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “What would you demand?”

Marta made a swift mental calculation and named an elevated sum for the uniforms.

“That’s outrageous!” The countess named a lower price.

Marta raised it. “And if I am expected to provide the materials, I will require the funds for that in advance, and the rest paid before I hand over the uniforms.”

“You’ve been cheated, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t, but my father and mother have.”

“Is that any reason not to trust me?”

“This is business, Countess.”

The countess’s eyes lit up with amusement. After several rounds, she agreed on a price slightly above what Marta had decided was fair. When everything had been settled between them, the countess laughed. “Fraulein Schneider, you are not like any girl we’ve ever had before.” She shook her head, eyes sparkling. “I doubt you will ever be a proper servant.”

Marta wrote to Rosie and received a swift answer.

What do you mean you doubt the Countess Saintonge is a countess?

Letters flew back and forth with the speed of the trains.

The countess sounds German one day and French the next. I heard C and C speaking English in the parlor yesterday, though they shut up fast enough when they saw me in the doorway. Actors, perhaps? Frau Yoder says it is impolite to ask. The pair of them could even be Swiss! I intend to take Mama’s good advice and learn all I can…

Perhaps they are just very good at languages and have absorbed the proper accents…

Did I forget to tell you C and C have parties every Friday and often have overnight guests on the weekend? C and C say everything is planned in order to train us. If that is true, then I am a cheesemaker’s daughter. I have said nothing of my suspicions in my letters home, but I will tell you. This house is large enough to need eight full-time maids to keep it clean and neat! C and C have taught us how to wash windows, floors, and chandeliers. Frau Yoder has taught us how to wax and polish banisters and floorboards. We dust figurines, beat dust from the drapes, clean rugs. We change beds. This place turns into a hotel from Friday night through Sunday afternoon. How can I not admire such audacity? C and C found a way to make servant girls pay for the privilege of maintaining their mansion!

Are you writing all this in your journal?

I’m saving the journal for better things.

She had filled only one page, with recipes of the Beckers’ best-selling bakery goods.

* * *

Marta never worked Sundays. She walked down the hill and across the bridge, into the old city to attend services at the Berner Munster, the most famous gothic cathedral in Switzerland. She loved to linger at the portal, studying the carved and painted figures. Green devils with red maws fell into hell while white and gilded angels flew to heaven. After church, Marta walked the Marktgasse, its arcades lined with shops bustling with customers. She bought chocolate and a pastry and sat near the Samson Fountain, thinking of Mama and Elise. She went to see the Bundeshaus and the Rathaus. She bought carrots and fed the brown bears at the Barengraben, along with a dozen other visitors to Bern who had come to see the city’s mascots. She liked to buy a cup of chocolate and stand beneath the western gate and clock tower, waiting for the show when the hour struck. By the end of two months, Marta knew every cobblestone street and fountain in the old city.

Mama and Elise sent a letter once a week. Nothing changed. Mama was making another dress for Frau Keller. Elise stitched the hem. Papa worked hard in the shop. Everyone was well.

We miss you, Marta, and we count the days until you come home…

Every Sunday, before going back up the hill to the school, Marta sat near the fountain depicting Samson breaking the jaws of a lion and wrote to Mama and Elise. She told them what she was learning about housekeeping, leaving out her suspicions of the so-called count and countess. She described the city.

I love Bern. Standing in the Marktgasse is like being inside one of Frau Fuchs’s hives…

Rosie suggested she stay.

Have you thought about living in Bern? Think of living in Zurich! Wherever you go, you must write and tell me everything!

Near the end of her six-month course, Papa wrote.

I expect you to return home as soon as you receive your certificate. Ask the count and countess for a recommendation.

He enclosed enough francs to buy a one-way ticket to Steffisburg and a notice. Schloss Thun had an opening for a maid.

4

On graduation day from the Haushaltungsschule Bern, Marta received a fancy diploma, a letter of recommendation signed by Count and Countess Saintonge, and a uniform with HB embroidered in black silk on the pocket of the white apron. She also had the francs she had earned tucked into the purse Mama had given her. She boarded the early train home. When she arrived in Thun, she went straight to the castle and asked to speak to the mistress of housekeeping.

When Frau Schmidt came into the office, Marta took an immediate, instinctive dislike to the woman as she looked down at Marta with disdain. “You asked to see me, Fraulein?”

Marta handed over her documents. The woman put on wire spectacles to read them. “You will have to do.” She handed the documents back to Marta. “You can start right away.”

“What pay do you offer?”

Frau Schmidt looked affronted. She took off her spectacles and tucked them into a small case on a chain around her neck. “Twenty francs.”

“A week?”

“A month.”

Marta forgot all the lessons Frau Yoder had taught on diplomacy. “An untrained dishwasher is paid more than twenty francs a month!”

Frau Schmidt harrumphed. “Everyone understands what a great honor it is to work in Schloss Thun, Fraulein!”

“As great an honor as working at the Haushaltungsschule Bern, I imagine.” She tucked her documents back into her knapsack. “No wonder the position is still open. Who but a fool would take it!”