Winter Passing

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  She laughed. “You never were a good liar, Brant. Even as a little boy, I could always tell. You look away and start doing something when you lie.”

  Brant gazed at the sharp contours on her wrinkled face as she propped a hip against the chair across from him. Was that pain in her smile?

  “Gunther didn’t love me like a wife. For a long time I thought it was because of my past. It’s hard to respect an ex-breeding cow for Nazi officers.”

  Brant clenched his jaw. These were things he had no desire to hear. He sought words but was left empty.

  “I should have known the reason. It was her.” Ingrid pointed at the envelope beside Brant’s chair. “He never got over her. I knew them both when we were younger. I’ll always remember how they looked at each other. I wanted him to look at me that way. But she had his heart, even in her death. He made his trek up that mountain to her grave at least once a year for their anniversary. We never once celebrated ours.”

  Brant watched Ingrid. What could he say to her? In all the years he’d known Gunther and Ingrid, she’d never spoken so openly to Brant. He was the little brat who she was glad only came to the neighboring cottage in the summer. She had called him that when her kitchen window had been shattered by a rock. Little did she know it had been her grandson, Richter, who had thrown the rock.

  “We lived under the same roof all of these years, but we never shared each other’s lives. So Gunther told you about her?”

  “A little.”

  “What did he say? He never spoke of her after our marriage.”

  Brant hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal too much, even such long-dead secrets. “Only that the Nazis got her. They were trying to escape Europe and had to separate. She got caught, went to Mauthausen, and was executed. I’m sure you know that.”

  “Yes. She came from a well-known family and was half Jewish. That’s why the Nazis took her.”

  “He didn’t tell me much.” Brant averted his eyes and picked up Gunther’s pipe from the desk beside him.

  Ingrid didn’t speak for several minutes. Her eyes pierced Brant with such intensity that he shifted self-consciously in the chair. Ingrid had always frightened him when he was a child, and some of that fear remained. While Gunther exuded warmth with his many rough hugs and slaps on the back, even in Ingrid’s smiles there was a coldness. Though she had probably been a beautiful woman in her youth, there was a look in her eyes he’d never liked. Gunther had once told him that Ingrid had, like everyone else, been through hell during the war. But Ingrid hadn’t been freed from the demons that trailed her path.

  “If you knew more, you wouldn’t tell me anyway. I know that.” Ingrid rose. “If you could move everything into the attic, I’m going to store it all there until I decide whether to sell the cottage or keep it for summer use. With Gunther’s health, he won’t be back.”

  “Don’t get rid of Gunther’s things.”

  “I won’t, Brant.” Her voice sounded condescending. “But I’m going to get my use from this room. I’ve always loved the deck and French doors and thought it a waste to be a smoke-filled study. I may make it a knitting or tea room. I’m staying in Munich over the winter, then I’ll decide. How long until you’ll have his things boxed up?”

  Brant stood. It took everything in him to bite his tongue. And Ingrid wondered why Gunther could never love her? “I’ll have everything moved this weekend.”

  Brant didn’t enjoy the idea of packing up this room. But, after all, he was closest to Gunther. Ingrid had called him in Salzburg every week for the past month to remind him that the job was his. Brant didn’t want anyone else going through Gunther’s books and papers, yet he still avoided the duty until Ingrid threatened to call the movers and ship everything away. He wished the room could remain forever. The idea of Ingrid turning it into some flowery tea room churned his stomach. No, he wouldn’t return to this house of so many boyhood memories. He’d probably even sell or rent out his cottage next door.

  “I have dinner waiting for you. It’s probably cold now.”

  “You didn’t have to. I brought some food to my house.” Brant didn’t relish the thought of spending dinner alone with Ingrid.

  “No, you can eat here. I’m making you do this work. Richter should arrive soon. I asked him to come for the weekend.”

  Brant kept his expression the same, for he could see Ingrid was looking for a reaction. He wondered why she’d invited her grandson to Gosau. Richter and Brant had always disliked each other. Ingrid’s grandson stayed with Gunther and Ingrid many of the same summers Brant and his mother stayed in the house next door. Brant knew Richter resented the close relationship between Gunther and himself. Ingrid had to know the boys, now men, had never gotten along.

  She was up to something. He sensed it. Did she suspect he knew more about Gunther’s secrets? Brant knew only a little information. Gunther kept the most important details to himself. But Ingrid didn’t know how much he knew. If Ingrid suspected anything, perhaps she’d invited Richter to keep an eye on him. Yet why not go through Gunther’s things herself instead of insisting he do it? There were too many questions and too many suspicions.

  “I made that recipe your mother gave me.” Ingrid’s eyes searched his thoughts. “Fried chicken, isn’t it? An American dish for you.”

  Brant wondered about her thoughtfulness in fixing a meal from his birthplace. Was this Ingrid’s peace offering?

  “Thank you, I’ll be right there,” Brant called as Ingrid headed toward the kitchen. He picked up the manila envelope, walked to the bookcase, and placed the books back on the bottom shelf. It had been a surprise to find the envelope hidden behind this tall set of books. He decided to return it to its hiding place until he had more time to look through it. But when he felt the object at the bottom again, he couldn’t resist a peek.

  Just as he opened the top to look inside, Ingrid’s voice sounded down the hall. “Are you coming?”

  Brant shoved the envelope back into its hideaway. As he flipped off the light, he wondered if Ingrid already knew about the object and the envelope. The lovely features on the face of the woman in the picture returned to his thoughts. He hoped he was making the right decisions. He was determined to protect Gunther’s secrets, even if he didn’t fully know what those secrets were.

  He’d have to be careful.

  That is the mysterious safe? Darby thought as Fred Bishop, the family lawyer, set it on their dining room table. Any Walmart or hardware store carried a similar kind of steel “fireproof home safe.” Darby hadn’t expected a wooden treasure chest with a rusty lock, but this seemed a bit too commercial for the secrets inside.

  “Let’s open it,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

  Fred Bishop and her mother looked at each other, then back to Darby.

  “First, I’d like to go over a few things.” Fred extracted a folder from his briefcase.

  “Am I the only one in the dark about the contents?”

  “Neither of us knows,” her mother said. She carried three cups of coffee to the table.

  “What do you know?”

  “Patience, honey,” Carole said with a laugh. “You act like it’s Christmas Eve.”

  “No, this is worse.” Darby sat at the table. Why the wait?

  “First we’ll talk about monetary assets.” Fred shuffled through the papers. “We’ll look at her life insurance policy and investments.”

  “Grandma had investments? She was afraid of banking systems.”

  “Yes, for what she considered her base money—money she wanted to hold on to, whether inside the house or in the safe. But she enjoyed a bit of investing with her ‘extra money,’ as she called it. It wasn’t much. But in fact, she made some good choices in her finances. For one, she invested in Microsoft. Always said she had a good feeling about that Bill Gates.”

 
; “What?” Darby and her mother said in unison.

  “As in computers?” Carole asked.

  “You have to be joking.” Darby stared incredulously at the papers.

  “Yes, computers, and no, I’m not joking. In fact, she sold those stocks several months ago and made a fifty-thousand dollar profit even with the drop in stocks.”

  “What?” Carole and Darby said again in unison.

  “She was one sharp cookie, ladies.”

  “You didn’t know this?” Darby asked her mother.

  “I knew she played around with stocks and invested a bit. When she bought her computer, I never even learned how to turn it on. But she was on it all the time. Well, you knew that—she e-mailed you constantly. But I never expected this.”

  “She never mentioned a word of it to me, either.”

  “I think she wanted to surprise you both.” Fred took a sip of his coffee.

  “She succeeded.” Darby shook her head. Grandma Celia investing in Microsoft? The woman never ceased to amaze her.

  “Now, her life insurance was not particularly high. She always did fear the companies would fail, especially in the new millennium, so she had medium coverage, also of fifty thousand. But since she paid for her own funeral expenses, this is a nice sum also.”

  “Grandma knew how to prepare,” Darby said. She imagined her grandmother making all these plans and provisions for her family, knowing they’d be sitting here with Fred someday soon.

  “Now, your mother gets the house, of course, and twenty-five thousand cash. Darby, you and Maureen were given several heirlooms that are detailed on page 18. And Maureen will also receive twenty-five thousand. But the rest of the money, as your mother already knows, goes to you, Darby.”

  “To me? Why?”

  “That’s what Celia wanted.”

  “But that’s, what, fifty thousand?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I don’t understand. Why didn’t she give me the same as Maureen?”

  “I think there are several reasons,” Fred replied. “First, your grandmother told me she was asking you to accomplish a task she was unable to complete. Perhaps because of that, she felt she owed you some help. Those are my words; Celia really didn’t specify why. But she also knew that both your mother and Maureen are already taken care of.”

  “Did Grandma tell you what she asked of me?”

  “No.” The lawyer settled back in the chair and adjusted his tie. Fred seemed ageless to Darby. The patch of gray in his sideburns had grown larger and his stomach now filled out his dark suit jacket more fully, but other than that, he was the same Fred she’d always known. “Your grandmother wanted the details of her request kept private until she could speak to you. However, she was concerned about any hard feelings arising with the money. I wanted some precautions against family lawsuits—I’ve seen that happen quite often. So your grandmother and mother discussed this, and your sister has a letter of explanation.”

  “Honey, I also don’t know what Grandma asked of you,” Carole said. “But whatever it is, you don’t have to do it. I respect your grandmother’s wishes, but she’s gone now. I don’t like the idea of you digging up the past when you have your own life to lead. Don’t feel pressured to put your life on hold to figure out what happened a long time ago, especially now with this financial backing. You can go back to Redding, put the extra money into your studio, and there’ll be nothing tying you down. Grandma would understand if that’s what you choose.”

  Darby nodded. She couldn’t help but consider what that kind of money could do for the studio. She could pay her half of the business off and buy new equipment. But she’d made a promise to her grandmother.

  “I agree with Carole.” Fred closed his folder. “There are no stipulations with this money. Your grandmother knew your mother has sufficient retirement and her real-estate investments. Maureen, John, and the twins will receive some stock she still has invested. So accept this as a gift, free and clear.”

  “I’ll think it over.”

  “Can you tell us what Grandma asked of you?” Carole queried.

  “To be honest, I’m not exactly sure. I hope there’s something inside the safe to tell me. She told me about Tatianna, her best friend, and that Tatianna needed her name. She asked me to give Tatianna her name—but I have no idea what that means.”

  Fred looked at her strangely. “Really? That’s not at all what I suspected. I assumed your grandmother wanted you to take up the search for the Lange family inheritance.”

  “Tatianna?” Carole queried. “That’s the person Mother’s been calling for during her bad spells. I too thought she wanted you to search for the lost heirlooms.”

  “The Lange heirlooms were real?” Darby asked.

  Fred shrugged. “I have no idea. Celia’s been on a crusade to find them, especially in the last year. I think she’s written to every organization on the planet.”

  Darby remembered the letter from Brant Collins of the Austrian Holocaust Survivors’ Organization that she’d kept from everyone. “I know, but she didn’t ask me to continue that search. We had little time to talk before she passed away. Perhaps that was part of what she wanted and never asked.”

  “Did Grandma tell you who Tatianna was?”

  “No. She gave me no last name or any information—only that she was Grandma’s best friend. I hope the safe will have more information.”

  “Whatever we find inside,” Carole said, putting a hand on Darby’s, “as I said earlier, you need to live for today, honey. Don’t get too wrapped up in yesterday that you miss out on that.”

  “Can we please open the safe? The suspense is killing me.”

  “Certainly.” Fred closed the folder.

  “I have the keys.” Carole went to a desk drawer and took out two keys on a wire ring. “Here you go.”

  Darby moved the safe over in front of her. It was heavier than it appeared. The key turned, and the lid opened easily. She peered inside and carefully removed papers and folders, lining them up on the table. Fred and Carole drew their chairs closer.

  Darby took a rubber band from a pack of envelopes. The postmarks were from the late forties and early fifties—addressed to different people. One was addressed to Tatianna Hoffman.

  “Now we know her last name.” Darby opened it. “Anyone know German?”

  “Your Uncle Marc does, but he won’t be here until Christmas.” Carole reached for the letter. “I’m shocked Grandma would write something in her forbidden native tongue.”

  “It’s written November 1945, perhaps before her vow?” Darby pointed to the date at the top. She examined the words that might hold all the answers she sought. “I think we need to find someone who can translate for us.”

  “What else is there?” Fred asked. “Oh, I guess this isn’t any of my business and I should be going.”

  “You can stay—please do.” Carole lifted his coffee cup. “I’ll fill you back up.”

  “I have been staring at that safe with curiosity about killing me. If you both don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” Darby said. She handed him a pile of papers wrapped in a plastic bag. “We’ll put you to work.”

  “Thanks. This does feel like Christmas Eve.” And Celia was Santa Claus.

  Darby flipped through several photographs. She didn’t recognize the faces, and nothing was written on their backs. The documents she found also were written in German.

  “What is this?” Darby moved around the table beside Fred.

  Carole returned with a coffee filter in hand and looked over their shoulders.

  “It looks like travel documents—a passport would be my guess.”

  “Look at the name.” Darby pointed to a line on top. “These are Tatianna Hoffman’s documents.”

  “The iss
uing date says 1939.”

  “So this is Tatianna.” Darby studied the black-and-white passport photo of the young woman. By her birthdate and the 1939 stamp, Darby knew the girl was about nineteen at the time. She was pretty with dark eyes and hair. There was no smile on her face, but humor glinted on the edges of her lips and within her eyes. Darby had seen that expression a dozen times when she’d taken a serious photo of a client and someone beyond the camera was trying to make the person laugh.

  Carole bent in close. “Why would my mother have this person’s passport?”

  “I don’t know.” Fred stroked his chin in thought. “Unless they came to the United States together. Perhaps some of these other papers will tell us that. Darby, here’s a letter addressed to you.”

  Darby set down the passport of Tatianna Hoffman.

  The letter wasn’t weathered by time like the other papers. Darby carefully opened the envelope, read it to herself, then aloud.

  My dearest Darby,

  I have given you a lifetime of stories and words I’m tempted to repeat, for I know these are my last words to you. The rest are already in your memory. But you don’t need a Sunday school lesson, and I’m far from perfect enough to give you a life map to follow. God has his own course for you. But my many prayers for my Darby-girl have helped with the boldness I’m about to express. I know I’m asking a lot of you. But sometimes the past cannot be buried. Sometimes the past must be put to rest for the future to be clear. I cannot tell you for certain what you must do; you must decide. There is so much right beyond my vision that I do not know. But I feel one thing so strongly, and so this I ask. Go to Austria.

  I can see your shocked expression. I can really see your mother’s. Yes, Darby, go to Austria. I send you on a mission. What I hope I was able to ask before I died was that you give my closest friend, Tatianna Hoffman, her name back. That will make no sense until you get there. Then you will know. Also, if in your search you discover our family heirlooms, guard them well. Many have died because of them. I hoped to retrieve them myself, but I cannot ask you to take up that search, for I do not know the danger behind such an endeavor. But Tatianna deserves what I ask you to return to her—her name. Yet in all of this, I know you are going for more than the quest I send you on. I feel so deeply that God has something for you there. He wants you to find him again.