A Beauty Refined

by Tracie Peterson

  Of course, there were those times when she had heard him rail at Dieter, and other times when he’d been most grieved with peers. But, after all, weren’t all men given to those type of rages?

  The dining room was completely empty by the time Phoebe entered. She hoped it wasn’t too late for breakfast. She had slept quite late.

  “Table for one, Miss Von Bergen?” a waiter asked.

  Phoebe nodded and followed him to a table by one of the windows. From this vantage point she could look out on some of the beautifully manicured lawns. The waiter helped her with her chair, then handed her a menu.

  “I’ll have two poached eggs and toast,” she said, handing him back the paper. “And tea please.”

  The man gave a slight bow and started to leave, but Phoebe called him back. “Would Chef Michel be in the kitchen?”

  “I haven’t yet seen him,” the waiter replied.

  “Well, when he does come, would you ask him to come see me?”

  The man nodded and headed out of the dining room. In less than a minute he returned with a tray containing a teapot, sugar, and cream, as well as a plate with lemon slices. He placed the various pieces on the table, then poured tea into Phoebe’s cup. “Would you like anything else?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “This is fine.” He nodded and placed the teapot on the table before exiting once again.

  She glanced around the quiet dining room. It was the largest of the three and the place where she had taken all of her meals, except for last night. The tables were set with damask tablecloths, napkins, crystal, and silver, giving the room a refined appearance. The floors were highly polished, as were the tables and chairs. Only the strangely patterned curtains at the windows seemed out of place. Someone had mentioned they were from Mexico, and while they were colorful, Phoebe thought them garish.

  She turned her attention to the scene outside the window and sipped her tea. The place seemed deserted. She had heard from some of the guests the night before that the hotel had been a terrible failure from the beginning. When Mr. Broadwater had built it, he’d been certain it would attract the crowned heads of Europe. Sadly, however, the journey to get there was so arduous that few seemed inclined to endure it just to reach a large indoor swimming pool and isolated cottage hotel. Mr. Broadwater had died in the early nineties, and then his nephew had taken over the resort, only to close it a few years later. Now someone was once again attempting to breathe new life into it.

  The waiter brought her breakfast, checked to make certain her tea was still hot, and then departed. He said nothing about Chef Michel, and Phoebe decided that perhaps the man had taken the morning off in light of having worked quite late on the party. It didn’t matter. She would catch him at another time. But even as she settled on this thought, Chef Michel appeared. He looked most distraught.

  “May I ask if your father is with you?” He spoke in rapid French.

  Phoebe shook her head. “No, he has gone from the hotel and won’t return for at least two weeks.” She smiled. “Did you need to speak to him?”

  “No.” Chef Michel shook his head. “I have no desire to encounter that man ever again.” He pursed his lips as if to force back other words he might have said.

  “Whatever happened between the two of you?” Phoebe asked. She motioned to one of the chairs. “Please sit and tell me everything.”

  The man looked most uncomfortable. “No. Forgive me for my comment.”

  “Chef Michel, I asked for you in order to thank you for the wonderful food you created for us. The guests were quite impressed and did not stop talking about it throughout the evening. Won’t you please sit for just a moment and talk about it with me?”

  He squared his shoulders. “For you, mademoiselle. But only you.” He pulled out one of the beautiful wood chairs and sank onto it. He seemed weighed down—almost in despair.

  “Now, tell me what happened to cause you such unhappiness. Did someone complain about something?”

  “Your father was the one who complained. He was most unhappy with one of the wine choices and sought me out to voice his dissatisfaction. I defended the choice and told him it was exactly as you had requested. He told me I was being insolent. I protested, telling him that I had followed your instructions and had done a remarkable job, given the short notice. He was quite angry and he . . .” His words trailed off as he looked out the window. “He slapped me. Not once, but twice.”

  Phoebe gasped. “He didn’t!”

  “I assure you, mademoiselle, he did. When I spoke, he cursed at me and told me to be silent—that he would not be dealt with in such a rude manner by a servant. A servant! He called me a servant! Of course I protested, and he struck me once more.”

  Thoughts of her mother’s description of Vater’s violent nature flooded Phoebe’s mind. Along with this came other thoughts. Memories of times her father’s temper had gotten the best of him. Too many memories. How could she have ignored them? Phoebe frowned.

  “Chef Michel, I am so sorry. I apologize for my father’s behavior. He has been under a great deal of pressure.”

  “I turned in my resignation. I told the manager I could not honor our agreement under the present circumstances. Americans are rude enough, but I cannot bear such treatment from noblemen who were raised to be better.”

  “But you needn’t resign. Father will be gone for two weeks, and when he returns we will be able to go on our way.”

  The chef shook his head and touched his hand to his neckerchief. “I must. I am a man of my word, but I cannot honor my contract and endure this place any longer. You helped me to see that. I long for my homeland. The people there are refined and understand proper behavior and manners. I have been too long in this country. I will return to France and perhaps open a place of my own. It is time that I relax and enjoy my life.”

  Phoebe heard the determination in his voice. “I am sorry that my father brought all of that to a head for you. Obviously his behavior was uncalled for.”

  The man smiled. “You are a gracious and beautiful young woman. I was honored to work with you.”

  “The guests were delighted by all of your creations. I didn’t lie when I said they spoke about it all throughout the evening.” She reached out and touched his hand. “Chef Michel, you did a magnificent job, and despite my father’s comments and despicable behavior toward you, everything was perfect.”

  He got to his feet and gave her a slight bow and smiled. “But of course it was perfect. I do nothing less.”

  Phoebe was glad to see him back to his proud and confident self. She laughed and rose. “I very much hope we will see each other again. If not here, then perhaps in France.”

  She picked up her straw hat. “Thank you again.” She exited the dining room without further ado, finding her thoughts jumbled and confused. How could her father have made such a scene? There was no need. If he didn’t like her choice of wine, all he needed to do was replace it. She knew he would find it offensive to have an employee of the hotel challenge him, but to strike the man was completely uncalled for. It was one thing to handle personal servants in such a manner—or was it?

  Outside, the brilliant Montana sun made Phoebe glad for her hat. She put it on and secured the ties just as the breeze picked up and threatened to pull it from her head. She held on to the brim with one hand and her skirts with the other as she made her way down the porch steps.

  “I must think this out or go mad.” She drew a deep breath and headed down one of the garden paths that would take her in the direction of her mother’s cottage.

  Mutter had challenged her to think back on events where her father had lost his temper. She had commented that Dieter would have experienced more than a few examples of their father’s violent behavior. Phoebe had recalled many times when she’d heard her father berate her brother. The arguments were usually behind closed doors but were always very noisy.

  “How have I lived this long and not acknowledged my vater’s temper? Could it be that he was tr
uly as violent as Mutter suggested, and I chose to look the other way?”

  But even as she posed the question, Phoebe began to remember additional examples of her father’s anger. She had once seen him raise his crop to one of the stableboys. He had struck the boy with such force that it had left a cut on his cheek.

  “Servants must be taught respect and obedience.” Her father had told her this on more than one occasion. He was quite clear on how much he expected, and many a worker had been let go because of substandard results. Phoebe bit her lower lip and paused in her walk. She didn’t like the way things were shaping up. And, of course, there was the fact that her father had lied to her and to Dieter. Not only lied, but threatened her mother’s life if she were to even try to reveal his deceit.

  “And he said he’d rather see me dead than with my mutter.” Would he have truly ended her life if Phoebe had found out about her mother being alive?

  That alone was reason enough to be angry and hurt. Phoebe had been so devastated after her mother’s disappearance. She had mourned the loss of her mother with such a broken heart that she desired death. Mutter had been most important in her life. She had been a friend, and Phoebe hadn’t had very many of those.

  She had always felt that her father understood. That his own heartbreak caused him to send her away. Now it seemed that perhaps the reason he’d sent her off to Switzerland was to conceal his true feelings and to hide her away.

  “How could you have done that to me?”

  She looked out across the lawn as tears blurred her vision. She felt so betrayed. Nothing was as she had thought it to be. Nothing. Her pampered and spoiled existence was nothing more than a veil to hide the truth.

  Her mother’s cottage was only a few hundred yards away, and so Phoebe moved on. She needed to talk this out. She needed to know more about the man her father had been then, and try to figure out exactly who he was now. It was surely possible he could have changed. But Chef Michel’s declaration came back to haunt her. If her father had changed, then how could he possibly be given over to striking a man he hardly knew? And all because the wine was not to his liking.

  Phoebe knocked on her mother’s door. When no one answered she felt at a loss as to what to do. She looked around for a few moments, then decided to walk on. She would walk around the lake and try to enjoy the beautiful day. After an hour or so, Phoebe tired of the outdoors and her despairing thoughts. She headed back to her mother’s cottage. It remained empty. There was no sense in waiting around. Her mother was obviously not home, and who could say when she might return? Without further thought, Phoebe headed to the hotel. All she wanted was to rest and put thoughts of her parents aside. She had no way to reason through the issues without speaking to them, and neither was available.

  She was halfway across the lobby when the hotel manager called her name. “Miss Von Bergen!”

  Phoebe paused and waited as the man dashed out to where she stood. “I have a telegram for your father. I realize he departed this morning and thought perhaps you would like to take it. It might be important, and I wouldn’t want to cause harm by delaying the delivery.”

  Phoebe took the envelope. She had no idea of anyone, save Dieter, knowing their whereabouts. Perhaps something was wrong at home, and Dieter had telegrammed to let Vater know.

  “Thank you. I’ll be certain to read it.”

  The man nodded and hurried back to the office. Phoebe opened the envelope and pulled out the telegram.

  Your daughter’s dowry is acceptable. Plans for the betrothal are under way, as well as the wedding. The civil union will take place on the thirteenth of December. The church ceremony to follow on the fifteenth as agreed upon.

  The name of the duke was one she recognized. The man was her father’s age and had been married before. His wife and unborn child had passed away the year before, and the two sons she had given him had died years before that. The duke was in much need of a son and no doubt felt that Phoebe could give him that prize.

  Phoebe stood in stunned silence just looking at the piece of paper and trying to make sense of it all. Her father had told her many times on the trip that he would soon arrange a marriage for her, but that he would seek a husband whom she could approve. The duke was not someone she wished to wed. He was old and not at all handsome. Not only that, but he smelled bad and had a horrible reputation of womanizing.

  How could Vater go behind her back like this? He had promised to consult her. He had spoken on many occasions about the men who were available and met his approval. He had agreed they would meet each one and allow Phoebe time to get to know them.

  Phoebe shuddered, carefully folded the telegram, and slipped it back in the envelope. This entire trip had turned into such madness that she was actually beginning to question her sanity. She looked around the hotel lobby and found, thankfully, that she was alone. She didn’t want to have to interact with anyone. Not given this news.

  With a pretense of confidence, Phoebe made her way up the beautifully polished oak stairs. She had no idea what she should do, but one thing was quite certain. Her father had betrayed her trust in more than one way. It only caused her to wonder what else he had lied about.

  10

  But it’s Friday, Ian. Couldn’t we go to the hotel and go swimming? Or maybe fishing?”

  Ian looked at Kenny’s hopeful face. He had been cooped up in the shop all week, and the afternoon beckoned with promises of diversion. Elizabeth had been quite busy talking with the pastor and a lawyer. Her concerns were many, and while she had returned to the hotel in hopes of speaking with Phoebe, Kenny remained with the Harpers.

  “I suppose we might find something to do,” Ian said, putting aside an empty dop stick. He had to admit he was just as anxious to get outside. He had promised to take Phoebe Von Bergen riding, but the week hadn’t allowed for him to do so. His mother had been helping Elizabeth as well as working in the bakery at the hotel, so keeping Kenny was his responsibility. Of course, he could take Kenny along. The boy’s father was supposed to be gone for two weeks, so there was no risk of him seeing the child. The staff at the resort all knew Kenny was Elizabeth’s son, but just to be on the safe side, Ian was certain they could avoid the staff too.

  “You remember what your mama told you about keeping away from other people?” He untied his apron.

  “I’m keeping my name and who I am a secret,” Kenny replied. “I don’t have to lie, but I’m just not supposed to talk about it.”

  Ian nodded and hung his apron on a nearby hook. “The people at the hotel know who you are, but we still need to avoid them so they won’t accidentally say something that would cause your mother—or you—any problems.”

  An idea ran through his mind as Ian put away his tools. In spite of Elizabeth’s desire to keep Kenny hidden, perhaps it would be good for Kenny and Phoebe to spend some time together. They would be able to get to know each other, and maybe that would help when the truth finally came out. Ian could get to know her better as well. Of course, there were dangers. Phoebe could pry and press to know who Kenny was, and that could cause problems. With a little maneuvering, however, Ian felt certain he could keep Phoebe from asking too many questions.

  “We can send an invitation to our new friend Miss Phoebe and invite her to go riding with us. I’ll borrow some horses from one of my friends. Do you think you’d like that?”

  Kenny’s face lit up. “Yes! I like Miss Phoebe. She is so nice, and you can teach her to swim.”

  Ian laughed. “Well, she would have to want to learn, and so far I’ve not heard her express that desire. Besides, it might be best if we avoid the pool for a time.”

  “But you said everybody needed to know how to swim.” Kenny took off the apron Ian had cut down to size for him. He hung it on the hook beside Ian’s. “I think Miss Phoebe wants to learn. I’ll ask her when we see her. That way, when Mama figures everything out, we can go swimming again and teach Miss Phoebe.”

  “All right, but just remember, if Miss
Phoebe asks questions about your mother, say nothing.”

  “I know.” Kenny nodded and let go a sigh. “I’m supposed to say she’s not with me, and that way it will sound like she died.” The boy frowned. “But I don’t have to lie,” he reiterated once again.

  “Right,” Ian agreed. “No lies. That would not be pleasing to God.” He felt a momentary sense of concern. Phoebe might very well ask questions about Kenny and his family, and Ian was determined to tell no falsehoods. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. But before he could suggest otherwise, Kenny was already out the door.

  Ian decided the long walk to borrow the horses would do them both good. He hoped it would give Kenny some much-needed exercise, as well as an opportunity to talk all he wanted. Maybe if he chattered all the way to the resort, he’d be talked out by the time they got there. Of course, Ian had never known the boy to run out of things to say.

  As they walked, Ian listened to Kenny talk about the various houses they passed. The boy had quite a love of architecture, and Ian had given him a book on various house styles the previous Christmas. It was hardly more than a collection of drawings pointing out the details for each specific style, but Kenny had very much enjoyed it.

  Kenny pointed to one house. “I like the way the roof looks when it has a cross gable. And I like the way they put the vergeboards on the gables to decorate them. Don’t you?”

  Ian studied the house for a moment. “I do like that. It makes the house look like something out of a storybook. Don’t you think?”

  Kenny cocked his head to one side and looked again at the house. After a moment he nodded. “Especially the way they’ve painted it. Mama said that where she grew up, there were a lot of houses that had beautiful trim. She said it made the houses look so cheerful.”