Her Mother's Hope

by Francine Rivers

  Her hands tightened when Marta opened her mouth to protest.

  “Hush, Marta, and listen to me. Listen carefully. It doesn’t matter what your father plans, nor what his motives might be. God will prevail. God will use everything to His good purpose if you love and trust Him.”

  Marta went cold. She saw something in her mother’s expression that warned her. “Papa’s made plans for me, hasn’t he? What plans, Mama?”

  Mama’s blue eyes grew moist. “You must search out the usefulness in every situation.”

  Marta snatched her hands from Mama’s. “Tell me, Mama.”

  “I can’t. It’s for your father to explain.” She took up her sewing and said nothing more.

  Papa laid out his plans for Marta the next morning. “You will be pleased to know I’m sending you to school. I would’ve sent you sooner, but Haushaltungsschule Bern only takes girls fourteen and older. Count and Countess Saintonge are the instructors. Royalty! You should be happy! I’ve been assured that any girl who graduates from their housekeeping school will have no difficulty in finding a good position. You’ll be in Bern six months. You can pay me back when you come home and find a position.”

  “Pay you back?”

  His eyes cooled. “The tuition cost me 120 francs and another 30 francs for books. You should be pleased. You wanted to go to school.” His voice hardened. “You’re going!”

  “This isn’t the kind of school I had in mind, Papa.” As well he knew!

  “You’re so smart; let’s see you make the most of the opportunity I’m giving you. This is my thanks for Hermann passing his examinations. Who knows? If you do well enough in Bern, you might end up working at Schloss Thun!” The idea seemed to please him. “That would be something to boast about! You leave in three days.”

  “But what about the Beckers, Papa? and the Zimmers and Gilgans?”

  “I told them yesterday I was sending you to school. They said to wish you well.”

  School! Marta fumed. Training to be a better servant was more like it.

  Mama sat silent at the end of the table, hands in her lap. Angry, Marta looked at her. How could Mama look so serene? She remembered Mama’s plea. “Search out the usefulness . . . Count your blessings. . . .”

  She would be away from home for the first time. She would live in Bern. She wouldn’t have to look at Papa or listen to his constant complaints.

  “Thank you, Papa. I look forward to it.”

  Elise gave a soft cry and fled the table.

  “What’s wrong with that girl now?” Papa muttered.

  “Marta’s leaving home, Johann.”

  “She’s coming back!” He waved his hand in exasperation. “It’s not as though she’s leaving for good. She’ll only be gone six months and then she’ll be home forever.”

  The hair on the back of Marta’s neck rose. Forever.

  As soon as Papa left the table, Mama asked Marta to find Elise. “She’ll probably be down by the creek. You know how she loves to listen to the water.”

  Marta found her where the creek ran into the Zulg. She sat down beside her. “I have to go sometime, Elise.”

  Elise clasped her knees against her chest and stared at the shimmering ripples below. “But Bern is so far away.” Her blue eyes filled with tears. “Do you want to go?”

  “I’d rather be going to the university, but housekeeping school will have to do.”

  “What will I do without you?” Tears slipped down Elise’s pale cheeks.

  “What you always do.” Marta wiped the tears away. “Help Mama.”

  “But I’ll be alone in our room at night. You know I’m afraid of the dark.”

  “Let the cat sleep with you.”

  Elise started to cry. “Why can’t things stay as they are? Why can’t Papa let you stay here?”

  “Things can’t stay the same.” She pushed a blonde curl behind Elise’s ear. “Someday, you’ll marry, Elise. You’ll have a husband who loves you. You’ll have a home of your own. You’ll have children.” She gave Elise a rueful smile. “When you go, Elise, where will I be?” Papa said no man would ever want such a plain, ill-tempered girl.

  Elise blinked, like a child waking to a bad dream. “I thought you’d always be here.”

  In Steffisburg, in Papa’s tailor shop, under Papa’s thumb, doing Papa’s will. “That’s what Papa thinks. Is that what you wish for me, Elise?”

  “Aren’t you afraid to leave?” Tears slipped down her white cheeks. “I want to stay home with Mama.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Elise.” Marta lay back in the spring grass and flung an arm over her head. “And I’m only going to be away six months.”

  Elise lay back and rested her head against Marta’s shoulder. “I wish you could stay here and not go at all.”

  Marta put her arm around her sister and stared up at the darkening sky. “Every time you think of me, Elise, pray. Pray I learn something useful. Pray I learn more in Bern than how to be someone’s maid.”

  * * *

  Marta went by to thank the Beckers and Zimmers and to say good-bye. And she went to the Gilgans’ the day before she left. Frau Gilgan served tea and cookies. Herr Gilgan gave her twenty francs. “This is for you, Marta.” He closed her fingers around it. Marta couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

  Frau Gilgan suggested Marta and Rosie go for a nice walk up to the meadow. Rosie took her hand. “Mama doesn’t think you’ll come back. She thinks you’ll find a job in Bern and stay there, that I’ll have to wait until our family goes up there before I see you again.” The Gilgans went up every few months to buy things for the hotel. Sometimes Rosie and her sisters came back with ready-made dresses from one of the shops along the Marktgasse.

  When they sat on their favorite fallen log, Rosie lifted her white apron and dug into the deep pocket of her skirt. “I have something for you.”

  “A book!” Marta took it with pleasure. Finding no title on the spine, she opened it. “Blank pages.”

  “So you can write all your adventures.” Rosie grinned. “I expect you to let me read it when I see you. I want to know about all the handsome city boys you meet, the places you see, all the wonderful things you’re going to do.”

  Blinking back tears, Marta ran her hand over the fine leather. “I’ve never had anything so fine.”

  “I wish I were going with you. There’s so much to see and do. What fun we’d have! When you’ve finished school, you’ll be hired by a handsome aristocrat who’ll fall in love with you, and—”

  “Don’t be silly. No one will ever want to marry me.”

  Rosie took Marta’s hand and wove their fingers tightly together. “You may not be as beautiful as Elise, but you have fine qualities. Everyone thinks so. My mother and father think you could do anything you set your mind to.”

  “Did you tell them about my dream?” Marta pulled her hand away.

  “In a weak moment, and go ahead and scowl at me, but I’m not sorry I did. Why do you think Mama told you so much about what it takes to run a hotel?”

  As they walked down the hill toward Steffisburg, Rosie took Marta’s hand again. “Promise you’ll write and tell me everything.”

  Marta wove her fingers with Rosie’s. “Only if you promise to write back and not fill every line with dribble about Arik Brechtwald.”

  They both laughed.

  3

  Mama awakened her before dawn the next morning. Papa gave Marta just enough money to buy a one-way train ticket to Bern. “I’ll send you enough to get you home when you graduate.” He handed her the letter of acceptance, proof of tuition payment, and a map of Bern with the address of the housekeeping school. “You better start now. The train leaves Thun in two hours.”

  “I thought you might go with me.”

  “Why? You can make it on your own.” He went into the shop to start work early.

  “Don’t look so worried.”

  “I’ve never been on a train, Mama.”

  Mama gave h
er a teasing smile. “It goes faster than a coach.” Mama hugged her tightly and handed over the knapsack she had packed with a spare skirt, two shirtwaists, undergarments, a hairbrush, and toiletries.

  Marta tried not to show how nervous she felt going off on her own. She was thankful Elise hadn’t awakened, for if her sister had started crying, Marta would have given in to tears, too. She kissed Mama’s cool cheek and thanked her. “Good-bye, Papa!” she called out.

  “You’d better hurry!” he shouted back.

  Mama went out the door with her. She took a small purse from her pocket and gave it to Marta. “A few francs for paper, envelopes, and postage stamps.” She cupped Marta’s face and kissed her twice, then whispered in her ear. “And buy yourself a cup of chocolate. Then find the Samson Fountain. It was my favorite.” She kept an arm around Marta and walked with her a little ways. “When you get up each morning, you will know I’m praying for you. And every evening when you go to bed, I’ll be praying then, too.” If God listened to anyone in the family, surely He listened to Mama, who loved Him so much. “In whatever you do, Marta, do it as unto the Lord.”

  “I will, Mama.”

  Mama let her go. When Marta looked back, she saw tears in her mother’s eyes. She looked so frail. “Don’t forget us.”

  “Never.” Marta wanted to run back and hold on to her.

  “Go on now.” Mama waved.

  Afraid she might lose her courage, Marta turned away quickly and started off down the street at a brisk walk.

  The farther she went, the more her excitement grew. She ran part of the way and arrived at the train station just as the ticket office opened. Her heart leaped when the train arrived. She watched to see what other passengers did, then handed her ticket to the conductor before climbing aboard. She made her way down the narrow aisle, passing a man in a ready-made business suit shuffling through papers from his case. Another sat two rows behind him, reading a book. A woman told her three children to stop fussing at one another.

  Marta took a seat near the back. She put her knapsack between her feet and looked out the window. She jumped in fright when the train jolted. She caught hold of the seat in front of her and hung on, fighting down panic. How fast would this train move? Would it jump the tracks? Could she reach the door and get off before the train left the station? The thought of what Papa would say and do if she showed up at the front door stopped her. She looked at the other passengers and saw that no one else seemed alarmed at the jolting and creaking, or the loud whistle. She leaned back and watched Thun pass by outside her window.

  As the train picked up speed, her heart did, too. Every minute took her farther away from Mama and Rosie and Elise. When tears came, silent and hot, she wiped them away.

  The Aare River ran alongside the train tracks. She watched out the window as she rode through hills dotted with plump, broad-boxed farmhouses topped with roofs curving almost to the ground. The train stopped at every town, and she leaned this way and that to see as much of the squares and markets as she could. She saw old covered bridges not yet replaced with stone. Every village had a clock tower, even if it didn’t have a train station.

  The wheels clickity-clicked as the train sped toward Bern. When the outskirts of the city came into view, Marta picked up her knapsack and held it on her lap. She could see great stone buildings and a bridge across the green Aare as it curved around the old city. Houses stood in rows above the river on the other side. She looked at her map and out the window again, not sure which direction she would have to go to find the Saintonges’ housekeeping school. She would have to ask directions.

  When the train stopped inside the station, Marta followed the others down the steps. She felt as though she had stepped into one of Frau Fuchs’s beehives with its constant, churning movement of bodies and the hum of voices. Conductors called out train numbers. Steam hissed. Someone bumped into her and excused himself quickly, hurrying on to catch his train. She spotted a tall man in black uniform and red cap and headed toward him. When she showed her map, he pointed out the route she would have to take and told her how much time it would take to ride the short distance. “You can take the tram.”

  Marta decided to walk. She wanted to see some of the city, and who knew how many days would pass before she had free time to do whatever she pleased. Was the school in session on Saturday? She didn’t know. Knapsack over her shoulder, she hurried from the station and strolled along a cobblestone street, looking up at the high stone buildings with flags flying. She paused to watch the tower clock’s animated figures strike the hour. She passed by plazas and wandered in the crisscross of arcades lined with cafés, jewelers, clothiers, pastry shops, and shops with window displays of chocolate.

  As the sun dipped, Marta hurried toward the bridge across the River Aare. She climbed the hill and found the street name on the letterhead. By the time she found the right address, she felt tired but exhilarated. No sign told her she’d come to the right place, and the house in front of her looked like a grand mansion rather than a school.

  A woman in black dress, white apron, and cap answered the door.

  Marta gave an awkward curtsy. “I’m Marta Schneider from Steffisburg.” She held out her documents.

  “Never curtsy to the staff,” the woman said as she took the papers, glanced at them, and beckoned her in. “Welcome to the Haushaltungsschule Bern.”

  She closed the door behind Marta. “I’m Frau Yoder. You’re the last to arrive, Fräulein Schneider. You look tired. You didn’t walk, did you?”

  “From the train station.” Marta gaped at the grand staircase and the walls with portraits in gilded frames, the finely woven rugs, the porcelain figurines. This was a housekeeping school?

  “Most people ride back up.”

  “I wanted to see some of the city.” Marta stared up at the ceiling painted with angels. “I wasn’t sure when I would have a free day to see the sights.”

  “You’ll have Sundays to yourself. Come. I’ll give you an orientation tour. The downstairs holds the parlor, living room, the count’s offices, and the countess’s conservatory. The kitchen is on the other side, next to the dining room. The second floor has a ballroom and several large bedrooms. The third floor has most of the guest rooms. You and the other girls will be in the fourth-floor dormitory. The classroom is there also.”

  Frau Yoder walked head high, hands clasped in front of her. She extended her hand as she identified each room and allowed Marta a few seconds to glance around at the rich interiors. “The countess receives guests in this parlor. She had the walls repainted royal yellow after visiting the Schloss Schönbrunn in Vienna last year.” She lifted a hand before clasping both in front of her again. “That’s the countess’s portrait over the fireplace. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

  A young woman with dark eyes and long, flowing black hair over bare shoulders seemed to stare down at her. The countess wore a necklace of diamonds and emeralds around her slender throat, and her dress looked like something from a history book Marta had read. “She looks like Marie Antoinette.”

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t end up the same way.”

  It seemed a surprising thing to say, and especially with such a dry tone. Frau Yoder moved on. Marta followed, growing more curious. “Do the count and countess conduct the classes?”

  “They will speak with you on occasion, but I do the teaching.”

  “Saintonge. Are they French?”

  “It’s not polite to ask, Fräulein.”

  Marta blushed. “Oh.” And why not? she wanted to say, but Frau Yoder moved on down a hall. Marta felt like a duckling racing after its waddling mother. “How many other students are in attendance, Frau Yoder?”

  “Seven.”

  “Only seven?”

  Frau Yoder paused and turned. She looked down her nose at Marta. “Only the most promising are accepted.” She looked Marta over. “Your coat is custom-made, is it not?”

  She had made it herself, but didn’t feel inclined to tell
the woman. “My mother is a dressmaker and my father is a tailor.”

  Frau Yoder leaned closer and looked at the embroidery. “Beautiful work.” She smiled at Marta. “I’m surprised your parents sent you here. Come along.” Frau Yoder turned away again. “I want to show you the rest of the house. If you’re hungry, there is cabbage soup and bread in the kitchen. The count and countess are out for the evening. You’ll meet them tomorrow morning at ten in the upstairs classroom. However, I expect you there by eight for instructions.”

  Marta’s curiosity grew even more with her first sight of Countess Saintonge standing in the bare-floor hallway outside the classroom door. She was very young to be a headmistress of anything, and she wore less-than-modest clothing. Her brows slanted over a pair of sly, dark eyes. She opened her mouth in a silent laugh, showing small, straight white teeth. She whispered something behind her hand and a man appeared. He had gray hair, pale eyes, and a thin, angular face. He looked old enough to be the lady’s father! When he leaned close, Marta thought he meant to kiss Countess Saintonge right there in the hallway. He said something in a low voice and disappeared. The countess looked annoyed, but lifting her head, she entered the room with an air of hauteur. “Good morning, students.”

  Everyone shot to their feet and curtsied as they had been instructed to do.

  “Countess.” Frau Yoder gave a graceful curtsy. Each girl curtsied again as her name was mentioned.

  The countess clasped her hands delicately at her waist and began to talk about the fine reputation of the Haushaltungsschule Bern and the glowing reports she and the count had received from satisfied employers. “We select only the best.” Marta wondered at that, having spent the night with the others, most of whom had less schooling than she. We are the best?

  “Those who make it through the first three months will be fitted for one of our uniforms.” When the countess raised one hand, Frau Yoder made a slow turn, showing off the ankle-length black wool skirt, white high-collared shirtwaist with long sleeves and cuffs, full-length white apron with HB embroidered on the right pocket, and white lace-trimmed cap. “Only those who graduate receive the honor of wearing our uniform.”