Mama looked tired, but happy. “It’s so good to have you home.” She coughed. Unable to stop, she sank into her chair, covering her mouth with a soiled rag. When the spasm finally ended, she looked drained and gray.

Elise looked at Marta. “It’s been worse the last month.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“She doesn’t go to the doctor.” Papa pulled the garment carefully from the machine. “Doctors cost money.”

Marta got up early the next morning and prepared coffee and Birchermüsli so Mama wouldn’t have to do it.

Mama came into the kitchen looking drawn and pale. “You’re up so early.”

“I wanted to talk with you before I go out.” She took Mama’s hand and folded the francs she’d earned into it.

Mama gasped. “How did you come by so much money?”

“I made the school uniforms.” She kissed her mother’s cold cheek and whispered. “I did spend a few francs on chocolate and pastries, Mama. I want you to see the doctor. Please…”

“It’s no use, Marta. I know what’s wrong.” Mama tried to press the money back into Marta’s hand. “I have consumption.”

“Oh, Mama.” She started to cry. “Surely he can do something.”

“They say the mountain air helps. You must put this away for your future.”

“No!” Marta tucked them deeply into Mama’s apron pocket. “See Dr. Zimmer. Please, Mama.”

“And what would Papa say if I went?”

“Papa doesn’t have to know everything. And don’t worry about his money. He’ll get it.” A little at a time.


* * *

Marta found a job in the kitchen of the Hotel auf dem Nissau, famed for its magnificent view of the mountains. A dining platform had been built above the hotel, and guests made the climb each morning, enjoying a sumptuous breakfast and the sunrise.

After less than a month, Chef Fischer told Marta to report to the supervisor for reassignment. Herr Lang told her she would carry trays of meals up and dirty dishes down the mountain. Her pay would also be lowered, and she would receive only a small share of the servers’ tips.

“What did I do wrong, Herr Lang?”

“I don’t know, but Chef Fischer was furious. She wanted you dismissed. What did you do yesterday?”

“I measured out the meats and spices for her sausage. I had everything-” She grew indignant. “Why are you laughing?”

“You were too helpful, Fräulein.” He snapped his fingers and motioned to a woman in the blue Dirndl costume of the restaurant. “Guida will show you what to do. You’ll need to change into a Dirndl before you can go up to the platform.”

As Guida searched through the rack of uniforms in a small dressing room, Marta grumbled about being kicked out of the kitchen. “I could make her sausages if she wanted to take a day off.”

“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you? You’re fortunate Chef Fischer didn’t stick a fork in your back! The old crone guards her recipes the way a banker guards his vault. No one is allowed to know what she puts in her sausage. She’s famous for it.”

“I wondered why my questions always annoyed her. I thought she expected me to figure out things for myself.” It had taken three weeks of watching before Marta finally figured out all the ingredients and proper portions. She recorded everything in the book Rosie had given her.

On her way home, she ordered beef, pork, and veal from the butcher, asking him to grind them and have everything ready on Saturday. She purchased the spices she would need, then worked late into the night so the family would have Fischer sausages, Rösti-fried potatoes-tomatoes Fribourg-style, and cherry bread pudding for dessert.

She set aside enough for Rosie to sample.

Pleased, she watched her family devour the meal. Mama and Elise complimented her cooking. Even Hermann had something nice to say. Papa paid her no compliments, but when Hermann reached for the last sausage, Papa got his fork into it first.


* * *

“I hope you like it, Rosie.” She bit her lip, watching her friend sample the sausage. “I didn’t use all of the spices Frau Fischer does, but I added some allspice.”

Rosie raised her head, eyes gleaming. “It’s wonderful!” She spoke with cheeks bulging. “Mama would die for this recipe.”

“I’ll write it out for her.” Marta flopped back on the spring grass and put her hands behind her head. “I have others, too, for Streusel, Jägerschnitzel, and Züricher Geschnetzeltes.”

Rosie licked her fingers. “Are you going to start a restaurant?”

Marta snickered. “And have Frau Fischer coming after me with her meat cleaver?” She looked up at the cloudless blue sky and allowed herself to dream. “No. I’m just collecting the best so that someday, when I have a hotel or boardinghouse, I’ll know how to cook well enough to keep my guests happy.”

“They’ll be happy and fat!” Rosie laughed. She flopped back beside Marta. “It’s good to have you home, and not just because you’ve learned how to make the best sausage I’ve ever tasted!”

“I’m not going to stay long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every muscle in my body aches. I’m nothing more than a pack mule carrying trays up and down the mountain. I need to find another job where I can learn more. And there are none in Steffisburg or Thun.”

Rosie grinned. “Think of the honor of working inside the walls of Schloss Thun!”

“Very funny.”

“Go to Interlaken, then. It’s not so far away you couldn’t come home every few weeks to visit. We could still have our walks in the hills. My father could help you. He knows the manager of the Germania Hotel.”

Herr Gilgan was more than willing. He wrote Marta a letter of recommendation. “Derry Weib always needs good workers. I’ll send him a wire.” A few days later, he told Marta that Herr Weib needed an assistant cook. “He’ll pay fifty francs a month, and you’ll have a room off the kitchen.”

Mama congratulated Marta on her good fortune. Papa didn’t care where she worked as long as she paid him twenty francs a month. Elise took the news poorly. “How long will you be gone this time? And don’t tell me to sleep with the cat. She purrs and keeps me awake.”

“Grow up, Elise!”

Her sister burst into tears and turned to Mama for comfort, then felt too sick to attend church the next day.

“Mama, you can’t keep coddling her.”

“She has such a tender heart. She’s easily bruised.”

When services ended, Papa stood talking with other business owners, discussing hard times. Hermann went off with his friends. Mama tucked Marta’s hand into the crook of her arm. “Let’s take a walk. It’s been a while since I’ve gone up the hill to the meadow. Remember how we used to walk there when you were a little girl?” They stopped several times along the way. “You’ve been restless all week, Marta. Something’s on your mind.”

“I’m worried about you, Mama. You work too hard.”

She patted Marta’s hand. “I do what needs to be done, and I enjoy it.”

She sighed. “So you’re going to Interlaken. I think this will be the beginning of a long journey for you.” She walked more and more slowly, each breath more difficult. When they came to the bench near the road to Hotel Edelweiss, Mama could go no further. “When I was a girl, I walked all day in the hills.” Her lips had turned a faint tinge of blue despite the warmth of the afternoon.

“We should go back, Mama.”

“Not yet. Let me sit awhile in the sunshine.” Mama didn’t look down over Steffisburg, but up at the heavens. A dozen finches flew by, chittering as they landed among the branches of a nearby tree. A crow had come too near a nest and smaller birds attacked wildly, driving it away. Mama’s eyes shone with tears. “Papa called you a cuckoo bird, once.”

“I remember.”

She had been five or six at the time, and Papa had flown into one of his drunken rages. He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her across the room to the mirror. “Look at you! You’re nothing like your mother! You’re nothing like me! Dark hair and muddy eyes. It’s like some cuckoo laid her egg in our nest and left us stuck with her ugly chick. Who will be fool enough to take you off my hands?” Papa had let go of her so abruptly, Marta fell against the mirror and cracked it. “And now bad luck on top of everything else!”

Tears slipped down Mama’s cheeks. “You cried for hours. I tried to explain he’d been drinking and didn’t know what he was saying.”

“He knew, Mama. That’s what hurt so much.”

Mama sighed. She took Marta’s hand firmly. “You have my mother’s eyes. She didn’t like your father. She didn’t want me to marry him.”

“Maybe you should have listened.”

“Then I wouldn’t have had Hermann or you or Elise. The three of you are my greatest blessings in life. I’ve never been sorry.”

“Never?”

“God permits suffering. He permits injustice. I know your father can be cruel and selfish at times. But there were tender moments in the beginning. He lives with bitter disappointment. He’s never learned to count his blessings. If you are to rise above your circumstances, you must learn that, Liebling.” She took Marta’s hand again. “Don’t worry so much about me. I learned a long time ago to take my pain to Christ, who understands suffering so much more than I.” She closed her eyes. “I imagine Jesus gathering me in His arms and lifting me onto His lap and holding me there like a child cradled against a mother’s heart. His words are full of comfort. He strengthens me in my weakness.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at Marta. “You won’t welcome this, Marta. But you are more like your father than you are like me. You have his passion and ambition. You want more than life has given you.” She sighed deeply. “And I love him. I have always loved him and always will, despite his faults and frailties.”