Her Mother's Hope

by Francine Rivers

  Marta lifted a stool and set it beside her mother’s chair. “Frau Keller always wants things done yesterday.”

  “She’s a good customer.” Mama laid a section of skirt carefully over Marta’s lap so they could work on it together.

  “Good is not a word I would use, Mama. The woman is a tyrant.”

  “It’s not wrong to know what you want.”

  “If you’re willing to pay for it.” Marta fumed. Yes, Papa would ask Frau Keller to pay for the additional work, but Frau Keller would refuse. If Papa pressed, Frau Keller would become indignant “at such treatment” and threaten to take her business “to someone more appreciative of my generosity.” She would remind Papa that she ordered six dresses a year, and he should be thankful for her business in these hard times. Papa would apologize profusely, then add what he could to the amount Herr Keller owed for the suits Papa made him. And Papa often had to wait six months for even partial payment. No wonder the Kellers were rich. They clung to their money like lichen to rock. “If I were Papa, I’d demand a portion of the money before beginning the work, and full payment before any garment left the shop.”

  Mama laughed softly. “So much fire from a twelve-year-old girl.”

  Marta wondered how Mama would ever finish the skirt on time. She threaded a needle with pink silk and set to work on flower petals. “Papa has hired me out, Mama.”

  Mama sighed. “I know, Liebling.” She quickly drew the cloth from her apron pocket to cover her mouth. When the spasm passed, she fought for breath as she pushed the cloth back into its hiding place.

  “Your cough is getting worse.”

  “I know. It comes from the years I worked in the cigar factory. It’ll get better when summer comes.” In summer, Mama could sit outside and work instead of sitting by a smoking fire.

  “It never goes away completely, Mama. You should see the doctor.” Perhaps when Marta worked for Frau Zimmer, she might speak with the doctor about what could be done to help Mama.

  “Let’s not worry about that now. Frau Keller must have her dress!”

  * * *

  Marta quickly became used to her work schedule. She got up while it was still dark, dressed quickly, and went up the street to the bakery. When Frau Becker let her in the front door, the room smelled of fresh baking bread. Marta went into the kitchen and chopped nuts for Nusstorten while Frau Becker stirred batter for Schokoladenkuchen.

  “We’re making Magenbrot today,” Herr Becker announced as he stretched out a long snake of dough and cut it into small pieces. “Marta, dip those in butter and roll them in cinnamon and raisins, and then arrange them in the angel cake tins.”

  Marta worked quickly, aware that both of the Beckers watched her. Frau Becker poured the dark batter into cake forms and handed the wooden spoon to Marta. “Go ahead. Lick it clean.”

  Herr Becker laughed. “Ah, see how the girl can smile, Fanny.” He punched dough down. “You learn quickly, Marta.” He winked at his wife. “We’ll have to teach her how to make Epiphany cakes this coming Christmas. Ja?”

  “And Lebkuchen.” Frau Becker winked at Marta. Mama loved the spicy gingerbread. “And Marzipan.” Frau Becker took the spoon and tossed it into the sink. “I’ll teach you how to make Butterplätzchen.” She set butter, flour, and sugar on the worktable. “And tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to make anise cookies.”

  When the bakery opened for business, Frau Becker gave Marta two breakfast loaves as payment. “You’re a good worker.”

  Marta took the bread to Mama and had a bowl of Müsli. After doing her chores and eating an early lunch, she headed down the road past the schoolhouses to the doctor’s house.

  Frau Zimmer looked distressed when she opened the door. “Here! Take him!” She thrust her screaming baby into Marta’s arms and grabbed her shawl. “I’m going to visit a friend.” She slipped around Marta and headed off without a backward glance.

  Marta went inside and closed the door so people wouldn’t hear the baby wailing. She paced, singing hymns. When that didn’t calm little Evrard, she tried rocking him. She checked his diaper. Finally, exasperated, she put him down on the rug. “Go ahead and scream your head off.”

  The baby stopped crying and rolled onto his stomach. Arching his back, he reached his arms out and kicked his feet. Marta laughed. “You just wanted a little freedom, didn’t you?” She collected scattered toys and dropped them in front of him. He kicked his legs harder, gurgling in delight. He squealed, his hands opening and closing. “Reach for it! I’m not giving it to you.” He managed to scoot a few inches and grasp a rattle. Marta clapped. “Good for you, Evrard!” He rolled onto his back.

  When little Evrard wore himself out, Marta picked him up and rocked him to sleep. Frau Zimmer came in an hour later, looking refreshed. She stopped and listened, looking somewhat alarmed. “Is he all right?” She hurried over to the crib and peered in. “He’s sleeping! He never sleeps in the afternoon. What did you do?”

  “I let him play on the rug. He tried to crawl.”

  The following afternoon, Marta went up the hill to Hotel Edelweiss, where Frau Gilgan put her to work stripping beds and remaking them with fresh mattress sheets and duvets for the feather beds. Fluffing them full of air, she rolled them on the end of the bed, then took the laundry downstairs to the wash room. Frau Gilgan worked with her, sharing amusing stories of past guests. “Of course, you have some who are not pleased with anything you do and others who break their legs skiing.”

  Two of Rosie’s older sisters manned the washtubs and kept great pots of water boiling on the woodstove. Marta’s arms ached from stirring linen; pushing sheets and duvets down, around, and over; spreading folds; and stirring again. Kristen, the older girl, hooked a sheet and dragged it up, folding and wringing it into tight ropes, letting the water cascade back into the washtub. Then she shook the sheet out into a tub of steaming rinse water.

  Snowflakes caught on the window frames, but perspiration dripped from Marta’s face. She blotted it away with her sleeve.

  “Oh!” Frau Gilgan came over and held out her hands, strong and square, reddened and callused from years of washing. “Let me see your hands, Marta.” Frau Gilgan turned Marta’s hands palms up and clucked her tongue. “Blisters. I should not have worked you so hard on your first day, but you didn’t complain. Your hands will be so sore you won’t be able to make a stitch.”

  “But there’s a whole pile of sheets yet to do.”

  Frau Gilgan put her fists on her ample hips and laughed. “Ja, and that’s why I have daughters.” She put her arm around Marta. “Go on upstairs. Rosie will be back from school by now. She’ll want to have tea with you before you leave. And if you’ve time, she needs help with geography.”

  Marta said she’d be delighted.

  Rosie jumped from her chair. “Marta! I forgot you started work today. I’m so glad you’re here! I missed you at school. It’s not the same without you. No one to answer Herr Scholz’s difficult questions.”

  “Your mother says you need help with your geography.”

  “Oh, not now. I’ve so much to tell you. Let’s go for a walk.”

  Marta knew she’d have to listen to the latest escapades of Arik Brechtwald. Rosie had been in love with him since the day he fished her out of a creek. It did no good to remind her Arik had caused the fall in the first place. He’d dared her to cross the Zulg. She’d made it halfway across when she slipped on a rock and slithered down over a small waterfall before Arik could catch hold of her. He’d lifted her out and carried her to the bank. Ever since then, Arik had been Rosie’s knight in shining armor.

  Snow sifted softly from the clouds overhead, adding thickness to the blanket of white over Steffisburg. Smoke curled up like ghostly fingers from chimneys, dissipating in the chill afternoon air. While Rosie chattered on gaily, Marta trudged along beside her. White drifts covered the Alpine meadow, which would in a few months turn verdant green with splashes of red, yellow, and blue blossoms tempting and nourishing Frau F
uchs’s bees. Rosie brushed snow off a log and sat where they could look down on Hotel Edelweiss and Steffisburg below. If the day had been clear, they could have seen Schloss Thun and the Thunersee like a sheet of gray glass.

  Today, low clouds made the sun look like a white, blurred ball ready to bounce off the mountains beyond Interlaken.

  Marta’s breath made steam. Tears welled up as she listened to Rosie’s musings about Arik. Her friend didn’t have a care in the world other than whether Arik liked her or not. Pressing her mouth tight, Marta tried not to feel jealous. Maybe Papa was right. She and Rosie would be friends for a little while longer, and then their different situations would build a wall between them. Marta worked for the Gilgans now. She wasn’t the friend who came to call or have tea or sit and chat while Rosie’s mother put out anise cookies on a silver platter and hot chocolate in fine porcelain cups. Everything was about to change, and Marta couldn’t bear it.

  Now that Papa had removed her from school, she would only be qualified to be a servant or tend someone’s fractious baby. She could help Mama with dressmaking, but Mama made so little money when one considered how many hours she worked for women like Frau Keller, who expected perfection for a pittance. And Mama never saw a franc of what she made. Papa held the purse strings and complained bitterly about how little they had, though he always managed to find enough for beer.

  Rosie put her arm around Marta’s shoulders. “Don’t look so sad.”

  Marta stood abruptly and moved away. “Herr Scholz was going to teach me French. I could’ve continued with Latin. If I knew even one more language, I might be able to find a decent job someday in a nice shop in Interlaken. If my father has his way, I’ll never be more than a servant.” As soon as the bitter words poured out, shame filled her. How could she say such things to Rosie? “I’m not ungrateful to your parents. Your mother was so kind to me today. . . .”

  “They love you like a daughter.”

  “Because you’ve loved me like a sister.”

  “That’s not going to change just because you’re not in school. I wish I could quit. I’d rather stay home and help my mother than try to cram facts into my head.”

  “Oh, Rosie.” Marta covered her face. “I would’ve given anything to stay, through high school at least.”

  “I could give you books.”

  “I’ve no time now. Papa’s seen to that.” Marta stared off at the cloud-shrouded mountains that stood like prison walls. Her father intended to keep her captive. She was stronger and healthier than Mama. She could learn faster than Hermann or Elise. Hermann would go off to university. Elise would marry. Marta would be kept at home. After all, someone would have to do the work when Mama couldn’t.

  “I have to go home. I need to help Mama.”

  As they walked down the hill, Rosie took Marta’s hand. “Maybe when Hermann makes it into high school, your father will allow you to come back to school.”

  “Hermann will fail again. He has no head for books.” At least, the next time, Papa would not be able to blame her.

  2

  Marta spent two years working for the Beckers, Zimmers, and Gilgans. During the winters, she worked for Frau Fuchs as well, smoking the bees into a stupor so she could rob the hives. Marta cranked the handle to spin the honey from the combs. After days and days of hard work, Frau Fuchs paid her in honey, only two small jars. When Papa saw them, he went into a rage and threw one against the wall.

  At least, Mama and Elise appreciated the fresh breakfast loaves Marta brought home from the bakery, and sometimes she brought cookies. At Christmas, the Beckers gave her Marzipan and Schokoladenkuchen. Dr. Zimmer came to see Mama every few weeks, although Papa preferred francs in his pocket to the poultices and elixirs the doctor gave Mama. All through spring and summer, Frau Zimmer paid in fresh vegetables and flowers from her garden. Mama didn’t have to purchase anything from the market.

  Only the Gilgans paid in francs, but Marta never saw any of them.

  “Herr Gilgan says you’re smart enough to run your own hotel someday.” Papa gave a derisive laugh as he dipped bread into hot cheese. “Since you’re so smart, you can make sure Hermann passes the examinations next time.”

  “And how can I do that, Papa?” Marta bristled. “Hermann has to want to learn.”

  His face flushed in anger. “Listen to her, Hermann. She thinks you’re stupid. She thinks you can’t learn. She still thinks she’s better than you.”

  “I never said I was better!” Marta shoved her chair back. “I was just more interested!”

  Papa stood and loomed over her. “Make Hermann interested and maybe I’ll send you to school. If he fails again, you’ll answer to me!” He leaned across the table and shoved her back into her chair. “Do you understand me?”

  Angry tears filled her eyes. “I understand you, Papa.” She understood him all too well.

  He grabbed his coat and went out the door. Elise didn’t raise her head, and Mama didn’t ask where he was going.

  “I’m sorry, Marta.” Hermann spoke glumly from across the table.

  * * *

  Marta worked with Hermann every evening to no avail. “It’s all so boring!” Hermann groaned. “And it’s nice outside.”

  Marta slapped him across the back of his head. “That’s nothing to what I’ll get if you don’t concentrate.”

  He pushed his chair back. “As soon as I’m old enough, I’m quitting and going into the Army.”

  She went to Mama. “Please speak to him, Mama. He won’t listen to me.” Maybe if Mama pleaded with Hermann, he might try harder. “What hope have I of going back to school when that dolt refuses to use the brain God gave him?”

  Dr. Zimmer’s poultices and elixirs had done little to help Mama’s cough. She looked drawn and pale; her clothes hung loosely on her thin frame. The bones of her wrists looked as fragile as birds’ wings.

  “There’s not a thing I can do, Marta. You can’t change a dog into a cat.”

  Marta flung herself into a chair and put her head in her hands. “Because he’s hopeless, I have no hope.”

  Mama left her needle tucked into an embroidery stitch as she reached over to cover Marta’s hand. “You’re learning new things every day, from the Beckers and Gilgans. You must wait and see what God will do.”

  Sighing, Marta threaded a needle to help Mama. “Every franc I earn will be used to pay Hermann’s school expenses. And he doesn’t care, Mama. Not a bit.” Her voice broke. “It’s not fair!”

  “God has plans for you, too, Marta.”

  “It’s Papa who makes the plans.” She stabbed her needle into the wool.

  “God says to trust and obey.”

  “So I must submit to one who despises me and crushes every hope I have?”

  “God does not despise you.”

  “I meant Papa.”

  Mama didn’t disagree. Marta stopped and watched her mother’s slender fingers dip the needle in and out of the black wool. A delicate white edelweiss began to take form. Tying off and snipping the white thread, Mama took up another with yellow and made tiny French knots at the center of the flower. When she finished, she smiled at Marta. “You can find pleasure in work well done.”

  Marta’s chest squeezed tight with pain. “I’m not like you, Mama. You see the world through different eyes.” Mama found blessings everywhere because she searched diligently for them. How often had Marta seen Mama leaning against the work counter in the kitchen, bent with exhaustion, sweat pouring from her brow as she watched the mountain finches flitting from branch to branch in the linden tree outside the window? A soft word from Papa would bring a tender smile. Despite his cruelty, his selfishness, Mama found something to love in him. Sometimes Marta would see a look of pity come into her mother’s face when she looked at Papa.

  “Do you know what you want?”

  “To make something of my life. To be more than someone’s servant.” Her eyes grew hot and grainy. “I knew it was too much to dream of going to the unive
rsity, Mama, but I would’ve liked to finish high school.”

  “What about now?”

  “Now? I’d like to learn French. I’d like to learn English and Italian, too.” She stabbed her needle through the black wool. “Anyone who can speak multiple languages can find a good job.” She pulled the thread through too quickly and it tangled. “But I’ll never have the—”

  “Stop, Marta.” Mama reached over and touched her gently. “You’re making it worse.”

  Turning the black wool over, Marta plucked at the loops, loosening them.

  “If the opportunity arose for you to learn more . . . ?” Mama looked at her in question.

  “I’d find a good job and save money until I had enough to buy a chalet.”

  “You want a place like Hotel Edelweiss, don’t you?” Mama began on another flower.

  “I’ll never dream of having anything as grand as that. I’d be happy with a boardinghouse.” She gave a bleak laugh. “I’d be happy to work in a nice shop in Interlaken selling Dirndln to tourists!” She yanked the thread through. “But that’s not likely, is it? What’s the use of dreaming?” She thrust the wool aside and rose. If she sat another minute, she’d suffocate.

  “Perhaps God put the dream in your head.”

  “Why?”

  “To teach you patience.”

  “Oh, Mama . . .” Marta groaned. “Don’t I show patience teaching that mulish brother of mine? Haven’t I shown patience hoping Papa might change his mind and let me go back to school? It’s been two years, Mama! I’ve done everything he’s told me to do. I’m fourteen! Rosie doesn’t ask me to help her anymore. I grow more stupid every year! What good is patience when nothing will ever change?”

  “Nonsense. Come and sit, Bärchen.” Mama put her work aside and took Marta’s hands firmly. “Look at what you’ve gained through the Beckers, Frau Fuchs and Frau Zimmer, and the Gilgans. You’ve learned to bake, tend bees and children, and you’ve seen what it takes to run a fine hotel. Doesn’t that show you God is preparing you—?”