Her Daughter's Dream (49 page)

She got up early, packed, and kissed Faith on the forehead. Georgia walked her to the door. “I don’t know how to thank you and Mitch for flying me over here, Carolyn.”

Carolyn hugged her. “Jason’s our son, too. I’ll call tonight so you can tell me how our boy is doing.”

She caught the early train to Zurich. The scenery was glorious, the passengers friendly.
Hotel Schweizerhof
couldn’t have been more convenient. She checked in and asked where she might do some shopping. Her winter coat kept her warm in Sonoma County, California, but she knew after walking from the train station that it wouldn’t suffice in the Alpine country of Switzerland. And she’d need boots instead of walking shoes.

She hunted from store to store until she found a coat and boots at reasonable prices. After a late lunch in Old Town, she headed back toward
Hotel Schweizerhof
. She spotted the ornately beautiful Swiss National Museum, but it was too late in the day to visit. She went inside the Central Station and had dinner in a café where she could watch travelers come and go.

She called Georgia that evening.

“Jason was in a lot of pain today. Faith and I went out for a long walk.” Georgia laughed. “I needed to wear her out before we went back to the hospital.” Faith had crawled up into bed with Jason while Georgia was in the bathroom. “The nurse found her asleep next to her father, with Puppy Brown tucked under her chin. When she started to move her, Jason told her to leave her there.”

Before calling it a night, Carolyn e-mailed Mitch.

Hotel Schweizerhof is a grand, glorious old hotel right across from the train station where I dined this evening. I’m having dessert now—a bar of Lindt white chocolate with almonds, which was delivered, free of charge, to my room. Tell Mom I’ll bring her some. Off to Steffisburg tomorrow.

* * *

Carolyn caught the morning train to Thun. Resting her chin in her hand, she gazed out the window at one picture-perfect Christmas scene after another passing by. Small bursts of color, painted or natural, splashed against the white. The Alps rose like mighty sentinels on guard.

The two-hour train ride passed quickly, and she found herself standing once again in the crisp Swiss air, her breath steaming like a dragon’s. The station manager spoke English. Yes,
Hotel Edelweiss
was still in business, though it didn’t take in as many guests as it once had. He knew the family very well. “Ilse Bieler and I went to school together.” He made two calls. A room was available. A taxi was on its way.

While she waited, snow fell like goose down after a pillow fight. The driver took her along a small river, across a bridge, and along the main street of what had been Oma’s childhood hometown. A white church with a thick bell tower stood at the end before the road curved right. He drove up the hill overlooking Steffisburg and parked in front of a two-story Bernese-style house. A small sign with
Hotel Edelweiss
painted in red had been bolted to the dark wood of the house.

As Carolyn walked up the steps, a woman wearing ski pants and a heavy blue and red sweater opened the door. She had dark hair and brown eyes and looked to be in her late thirties, around the same age May Flower Dawn would be, had she lived. Carolyn felt a sudden welling sense of loss. She introduced herself. “Ludwig Gasel called earlier. He said you have a room.”

“Come in, please. I’m Ilse Bieler. My family owns the hotel.” The woman stepped back, leaving the doorway open.

Carolyn liked the cozy feel of the stained wood walls, red sofa and chairs, multicolored woven carpet, and fire ablaze and crackling. Ilse Bieler showed her to a room upstairs with a view of the church steeple among the trees. “We have coffee and cookies downstairs,” Ilse told her, then closed the door as she went out. Carolyn quickly unpacked and went downstairs. She hadn’t come all this way to hide in her room. Ilse Bieler offered coffee. “What brings you to Steffisburg?”

“My grandmother grew up here. I was curious to see if any family members might still be here. She had a special friend who lived here at the
Hotel Edelweiss
.”

“Really? What was your grandmother’s name?”

“Schneider.”

“A common name. Do you know anything about them?”

“Oma said her father was a tailor and her mother a dressmaker. She had an older brother, Hermann. I don’t know what happened to him. Her mother died young. And she had a younger sister, too. Her name was Elise.”

“Elise.” Ilse lifted her shoulders. “Also a common name.”

The telephone rang and Ilse excused herself. She spoke German for several minutes and hung up. “The church may have information on your grandmother’s family.” Ilse suggested Carolyn check the public records as well, and she told her how to find the building where they were stored. “And you’ll meet my grandmother later. She’s napping right now. But she knows everyone in town.”

The church records gave the date of her great-grandparents’ wedding as well as her grandmother’s baptism. The town records office yielded drawers of family information that went back to the seventeen hundreds! Overwhelmed, Carolyn said thank you and left. Maybe she would just take lots of pictures around town and then return to Landstuhl. She headed up the hill to
Hotel Edelweiss
.

Ilse introduced her to her grandmother, Etta, a lovely, gray-haired lady around the age of Carolyn’s own mother. She switched from German to English and back again with enviable ease, while Ilse served cabbage soup, sausages and vegetables, fried potatoes and onion salad.

Ilse asked Carolyn if she’d found any information about her family at the church or records office.

“A few important dates at the church, and I practically ran out of the records office when I saw how much they had. I could spend the rest of my life going through all of it.” She shrugged. “My mother wanted me to take lots of pictures. I think that’s what I’ll do.”

Etta passed the plate of sausages around again. Carolyn told her they were delicious.

“An old family recipe,” Etta said with a smile. She cocked her head and studied Carolyn. “You mentioned that your grandmother had a friend here at
Hotel Edelweiss
. Do you know her name?”

“Yes. Rosie Brechtwald. Have you heard of her?”

Etta gasped. “Rosie Brechtwald was my mother! My granddaughter is named after her—Ilse Rose. My mother wrote letters to a friend who ended up in America, but her name was Waltert. Is that your grandmother?”

“Yes! Marta Schneider Waltert. I have your mother’s letters with me.” Carolyn went to her room, retrieved the bundle, and returned downstairs.

Etta looked delighted. “I grew up on stories of your
oma
. My mother used to read her letters aloud to us. They wrote back and forth for over fifty years! When Mama died, I wrote to Marta, but the letter came back. I would like to hear the end of the story.”

“I’d like to hear the beginning and the middle.” Carolyn smiled. “I have a hundred questions.”

“Do you still have Marta’s letters, Mama?” Ilse glanced at Carolyn. “She never throws anything away.”

“I’ll look in the family trunk after dinner is finished.”

* * *

Etta Bieler brought a box into the living room and set it on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. She took out bundles of letters, tied with faded ribbons. “My mother learned about organization from her father. When he died, she took over this little hotel. She kept perfect files.” The letters had been kept in chronological order.

When Carolyn started looking through Oma’s letters, her heart sank. “They’re written in German.” Why hadn’t she thought of that? All of Rosie’s letters to Oma had been in German.

“Ah, but look in the bottom of the box.” Carolyn removed the rest of the letters and found a thick sheaf of papers under them. Etta’s eyes twinkled. “My children found the story of their grandmother’s friend so fascinating, I encouraged them to translate the letters when they were studying English in school. They enjoyed the practice, and we all enjoyed reading through them again. I remember them very well. Marta’s father made her leave school. He sent her to Bern to become a servant.” She chuckled. “But your
oma
had bigger dreams than being someone’s maid. She wanted to learn French and English so she could have a hotel like this one. Mama said what Marta set out to do, Marta
did
.”

“She never had a hotel.”

“No, but she owned a boardinghouse in Montreal. That’s where she met her husband. They moved to the Canadian wheat fields and, later, to California. It’s all in the letters. I think the only thing she didn’t plan was meeting your
opa
. We all loved that romantic story. Marta didn’t think she would ever marry; then she met handsome Niclas, graduate of Berlin University, also an immigrant. Marta taught him to speak English.”

Ilse yawned and said she needed to get to bed. She had to get up early and have breakfast ready for some guests who wanted to go out cross-country skiing. Carolyn apologized for keeping them up so late. “Would you mind if I took these upstairs to read?”

Etta had already begun opening Rosie’s letters. “They’re yours to keep. Our family enjoyed them, but you must have them. They’re part of your family history.”

“I can’t wait to read them. There is so much I’d like to know about my grandparents. Maybe she wrote about her sister, Elise, too. She sometimes mentioned her to me—even used to tell me I looked like her. But she’d never tell me anything more than that.”

Etta looked troubled. “My mother told me the story. It’s in the early letters—references to it, not details. You may not want to know.”

“I think it’s important I do.”

“Mama said Elise was very beautiful. I’m sure you do look like her. She was very quiet and painfully shy. She stayed in the shop with her mother while Marta was sent out to work. Mama didn’t say much about what went on in your grandmother’s family, just that Marta did not have an easy life. Her father sent her to Bern.”

“To housekeeping school.”

“
Ja
, but Mama said Marta wanted more than that. She went to Interlaken.”

“And worked at the
Hotel Germania
.”

“That’s when her father sent Elise to work for a wealthy family in Thun. It turned out very badly.”

Carolyn saw how Etta hesitated. “How badly?”

“The master of the house and his son abused her.” She lowered her eyes and Carolyn understood. “Marta took her sister out of that house and brought her home, but Elise was already pregnant. No one knew yet, but the girl never went out after she was brought home. She stayed inside the house. Everyone assumed she was taking care of her mother, who was very ill with consumption. Marta confided in my mother that she feared for Elise. Apparently the girl was very dependent on her mother, whom Marta felt coddled her all too much. Then when her mother died, Elise disappeared. Everyone went searching for her. It was my mother who found Marta’s sister by the river. She had frozen to death. And she was heavy with child.”

Carolyn closed her eyes. Oma had kept secrets, too. Her sister’s rape, an unwed pregnancy, suicide.

Etta went on with the rest of what her mother had told her about a plain girl wounded by a father who didn’t love her, but used her as a source of income for the family while her mother languished with consumption and her exquisitely beautiful and delicate sister remained hidden away like Rapunzel inside a tower. When Marta went away to work, her father had demanded a portion of her wages, and Marta capitulated until Rosie Brechtwald had written the truth. “Mama knew Marta would never come back after her mother and sister died.”

Carolyn ached for Oma.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should not have told you.”

“I’m glad you did. It explains so much.” No wonder Oma had been so determined to make sure her own children could stand on their own two feet. Cloistered by fear, weakened by a needy mother’s coddling, Elise had been unprepared for the world. In the end, she gave up her life without a fight.

How many times had Carolyn considered doing the same thing? Once she had almost walked into the sea. God had used a man wounded by war to draw her back. He’d used an unexpected pregnancy to give her reason to keep on living, to work hard, to accept consequences and blessings along the way. But she had kept silent, too, keeping the pain locked in and pressed down.

“You look like Elise. She was my little sister, and she was very, very pretty, just like you,”
Oma once said, but wouldn’t explain. Yet, Oma hadn’t treated Carolyn the same way she had treated Mom. Oma had held her close, told her repeatedly she loved her, encouraged her to step out in faith. Oma had learned that withholding love might make a daughter strong, but also left deep wounds. On both sides.

* * *

Carolyn read the letters translated by Etta’s children and tucked them into the corresponding originals written by Oma in German. She read until her eyes blurred.

I am in England. Papa sent a wire telling me to come home. He said nothing about either Elise or Mama, and I knew he would expect me to spend the rest of my life in the shop. . . .

Cousin Felda said it was you who found Elise. I dream of her every night. . . .

Later, Oma moved away from London to “better air” and lived and worked in the “fine Tudor home” of Lady Daisy Stockhard, who loved high tea every afternoon at four o’clock. When one of the other servants left to get married, Oma replaced her as Lady Daisy’s companion.

She is a most unusual lady. I have never known anyone to discuss so many interesting topics. She doesn’t treat her servants like slaves, but is genuinely interested in our lives. She had me sit with her in church last Sunday.