Winter Passing (20 page)

“I’ve obviously not dated in a while, especially someone with manners,” Darby said apologetically, then laughed.

“You speak English—you sound American?” a young woman beside her asked.

“Yes, and you’re an American too?”

“We’re all Americans on this side of the table.” Three other women about Darby’s age said hello. “We also have a couple from Brazil.” The man and woman nodded. The American woman continued, “Our other couple is from Hungary, but they don’t speak English very well. So what about your guy?”

“He’s not really my guy, I mean, not my guy at all—,” Darby said, stuttering.

“I’m Austrian
and
American,” Brant replied. He smiled at Darby, seeming to enjoy her very red face. “Are you ladies here together?”

“Oh, yes. We are four married women on the loose.”

“That sounds dangerous. So how did you pick Salzburg?” Brant asked.

“Well, Lucee and I have always dreamed of coming to Europe.” She nudged a brunette beside her who was looking at a mural on the ceiling. “Oh, my name is Cate,” she said, extending her hand to them both. “Anyway, Lorna loves classical music and plays the violin—and of course, this is Mozartland. Bailey didn’t care where we went; she’ll travel anywhere. After a bit of research, pulling places out of a hat, finding babysitters for the mass of kids we have between us, and getting the guys to agree—well, here we are.”

Lorna, the musician, joined the conversation. “We decided that if you get the chance, sometimes you just have to go for it.”

“I agree,” Brant said, eyeing Darby. “Why else would I invite you here tonight?”

“Really?” Darby returned wryly. “You didn’t exactly invite me—at least not very well.”

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Brant put in with a grin.

Darby shook her head at him in mock chagrin and turned back toward Cate. The woman with pale skin and green eyes studied Brant, then Darby, evidently trying to figure out their relationship.

“So this is the trip of a lifetime?” Darby asked quickly.

“Or the first of many over our lifetimes,” Cate said, then leaned closer. “My friends are a bit strange at times, but I’m glad to be stuck with them.”

“We heard that,” Bailey said from a few seats over. She pointed a long, manicured finger toward Cate. “You’re stuck with us, so get used to it.”

Lorna added, playfully, “We need Cate for our journeys. This girl can strike up a conversation with anyone, whether they speak English or not.”

At that the four women laughed as only close friends can, as if behind a simple glance were jokes and memories no one but each other could understand. This evening felt right—with a man at one side and other women who understood friendship surrounding Darby. And all this in the magical setting of Mozart’s day.

A waiter arrived to take drink orders and Bailey announced, “Champagne for our entire table. This is a night to remember.”

“This is the best butter I’ve ever had,” Lucee said, taking a bite of her roll.

“And the bread and cheese,” Lorna added with a bright smile. “Except Bailey and I would pay fifty dollars for a Coke with ice.”

“I’ve been loving the ham—oh, the ham in Austria,” Cate said with a sigh.

Darby bent close. “Breakfasts here are the best. I love those rolls they serve at every hotel and bakery. And the jams.”

All five women noticed Brant’s humored expression, and they burst into laughter.

The champagne arrived and everyone toasted together. Suddenly, as if the clink of glasses was the cue, the doors in back burst open and the musicians entered the hall. All eyes were on their entrance as they carried their instruments to the small stage in front—several violins, a cello, and a bass. They sat, adjusted music in front of them and then, like a long-awaited exhale, the first violin began to play. A second later, the other strings joined, dipping and swaying in their individual steps that combined into a perfectly choreographed dance. From the entrance, a rich voice bellowed.

In dashed a dark-haired man in a red Mozart coat, wearing a black hat with white plumage. He moved toward the front of the stage with posture straight, arms out wide, and a slight smile upon his lips. His voice boomed above the strings in an Italian song.

The American women
oohed
and
aahed
enough for all of them, though Darby too felt the exuberance of such a night. The program continued with music and opera between dinner courses: cream of lemon soup with chicken slices, braised fillet of pork on applewine-horseradish sauce served with potatoes, and dessert,
Wespenneste
, a sweet surprise with a cocoa profile of Mozart’s face. Darby took in the stained-glass windows and the mural on the carved, coffered ceiling. The sophisticated ambiance was like nothing she’d experienced previously. Brant smiled at her when she looked his way. With their chairs turned during the music, Darby sometimes felt too strongly Brant’s presence so near her one side. Once, when he dropped his program, his warm breath brushed the side of her neck as he bent beside her. For one night she wanted to forget their differences. It seemed they both knew without speaking a word that they disagreed greatly, but were willing to put it aside for one evening together.

The musicians returned after the last course and were joined by a couple who pranced and sang around the tables. The man would reach for the woman, and she would teasingly run away. Around and around the tables they sang and chased until at last he captured the woman, drawing her into an irresistible embrace. The room roared with applause as the song ended. The couple skipped to the front and bowed, then turned and motioned toward the musicians, who stood and bowed. The applause thundered through the room. Darby’s hands hurt from clapping, but she continued to applaud as the entire entourage exited the hall.

Darby’s face felt flushed as they entered the night’s chill. She said good-bye to the American foursome, who laughed and chattered as they strolled away. Suddenly she was alone with Brant after one of the most remarkable evenings of her life. She who loved the song of the mountains had found love in Mozart’s strings. Better yet, she could tell that Brant understood how awed she was by this night.

“Do you go to these events often?” she asked as he slid her coat around her.

“I’ve lived in Salzburg for years, but that’s the first time I’ve gone there.” They made their way across the small square where taxis picked up patrons.

Darby stopped after they stepped through an archway. “Thank you for taking me. I feel like a child on her first trip to Disneyland.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, looking down at her. Brant glanced behind them and pulled her away from the street and close to him.

“A bike was coming,” was all he said before the familiar jingle of chain and metal passed by. Darby drank in his closeness, getting a quick scent of aftershave. Just as she was about to move away after the bike passed, Brant’s fingers encircled hers.

They walked the cobblestoned street without speaking a word. Their hands spoke in turns, tracing palms and fingers. Their fingers folded together, then slid apart, and together again. Darby’s breath was stolen, and her eyes closed at her pounding insides.

Then he stopped and drew her toward him. Darby’s back touched the stucco wall, her hands fell to her side. Brant took a step toward her, their eyes locked together in the darkened corner. He lifted a hand and touched her hair, then ran a finger along her cheek and onto her lips.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then instead bent to kiss her. He hesitated a moment before their lips gently touched. His hands rested on the wall beside her face, his body came closer until every inch of her felt his closeness and wanted him even closer. Brant kissed her softly, then longer and deeper. She felt herself melting away. Then a nagging voice spoke inside her head.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Wait. Or I-I don’t know what will happen to me.”

Brant took a shaky breath and stepped back. He gazed at Darby tenderly, then turned away, running a hand through his hair. Neither spoke as he took her hand, and they began to walk again.

This time Darby stopped. She took both his hands.

“If you could only believe?” Darby pleaded with her eyes. He had to have some faith in her or she could not do this, or allow herself to feel this.

“I do believe—I believe you.” His eyes became sad.

“But you don’t believe my grandmother.” Darby shook her head as he looked away.

“It’s not as simple as you think,” he said. “Next week I testify in a trial because I trusted without being sure. And I’m already sure about your grandmother. I don’t know why you can’t face the truth.”

“Truth? I know the truth. Professor Voss and Katrine believe it also, so why don’t you talk to them? I don’t understand why you aren’t willing to try—to be open to the possibility. Otherwise, everything I seek is fighting against you.”

“There’s so much I want to tell you, but—”

“Brant, thank you for giving me the best night of my life,” she said, then fled, leaving him standing in the shadows.

Brant counted the floors and saw a light turn on in Darby’s room. She was right up there so close, yet so far from his reach. He stood in a darkened shop entrance across from her hotel and sagged against the doorway. He cared for Darby Evans, could even fall in love with her. But he ached for he knew she was the one person he could not have—at least, not now. Perhaps not ever.

She wanted him to believe in something he could never believe. Was he doomed to the fate of Gunther—to never have love that would last?

Brant saw a shadow pass the window. He wasn’t giving up without a fight. He’d find out who Darby’s grandmother really was. Once she accepted the fact, perhaps they’d have a chance. Or would she resent the truth coming from him? First he’d get the answers. She was too close to let go of now.

Darby knew her motives weren’t completely clear, but her determination was renewed after a night of very little sleep. The time had come to pull out the stops and begin digging. She needed proof of her grandmother’s identity, and Darby hoped Bruno Weiler would be that proof. She had met other dead ends and the SS guard might be another, but Darby was ready to find out. If it went badly, she’d try something new.

A taxi took her to the train station, where Darby purchased a ticket for Hallstatt. As she rode the white ferry across the dark waters of Hallstattersee, the memory returned that her grandfather had driven the ferry—perhaps this very one. She gazed at the driver and tried to imagine what her grandfather had looked like. She’d never seen a photograph of him.

Darby rang the bell on the desk of Gasthaus Gerringer and heard footsteps upstairs. Sophie exclaimed as she saw Darby and rushed to hug her tightly.

“I so happy to see you again,” Sophie said. “You still in Austria, I see.”

“I went back to California but had to return,” Darby said happily, as if they were old friends.

“I believe your same room available today.” Sophie reached for a book under the counter.

“I don’t need a room,” Darby said, wondering what response she was about to receive. “I came to talk to your grandmother again.”

“I think she will see you.” Sophie’s eyes sparkled, much to Darby’s relief. “She is much changed since you last came. My mother and I think it because she got her past in open and she know we still love her. Please, give me moment and I will be back.”

A few minutes later, Darby stood before the old woman. She looked the same as last time, except there was no
hmmp
greeting. Instead the old woman nodded at Darby’s “
Grüß Gott
.”

Darby sat in the chair across from Frau Gerringer. “Bruno Weiler,” Darby said, watching for any changed expression. “You gave me his name, and I thank you. I’ve found that Herr Weiler was at Mauthausen as an SS guard, like you said. I’m asking if you will tell me everything you know about him.”

Sophie spoke to her grandmother, then back to Darby. “What have you found, she asks?”

“I haven’t found a lot of facts.” Darby sighed and looked straightforwardly into the old woman’s eyes. “I haven’t found the facts I need. But I’m learning a lot about my grandmother and about myself. When I was here before, I came because my grandmother asked me to. I did not tell you that the records say my grandmother was not Celia Müller. They say Celia Müller died at Mauthausen. But I know that Tatianna Hoffman died under Celia’s name, instead of her. Now I am here for myself. I want to prove what happened so I can change the memorials and give Tatianna the honor she deserves. If possible, I also want to find what happened to my family inheritance.”

The old woman didn’t speak for a few moments. Then Sophie translated for her. “She say you are learning many things, as even this old woman is. But your family inheritance. Many people seek such things today, but they are only objects, not lives.”

“Yes. And if they are not recovered, it is God’s will. But Tatianna gave up her life, and I’m alive because of it. I must at least try to do my part. If I fail, I’ll know that at least I’ve tried.”

“She will tell you what she know about Bruno Weiler.”

Darby felt she’d just passed some kind of test. She relaxed against the back of her chair and thanked the old woman.

Sophie listened to her grandmother. “She say they all were in school together. Bruno was younger. He was a funny boy, always joking and laughing. But father very stern. Bruno not like to go home when father not working. He ate dinner at her family’s house many times. He and younger brother were friends, also good friends with your grandmother’s brother. My grandmother married young, but she still live in village and see this.” Sophie paused and listened again. “Very near same time of marriage, Bruno leave for Vienna to stay with aunt. He keep in contact with her brother and visit sometime—he cut off communication with Celia’s brother; Warner was his name. I’m sure because he was part Jewish. One winter, Bruno comes with Nazi youth information. He try to get village boys to join and go to Vienna, but her father not let brother.”

The back-and-forth dialogue continued as Darby took quick notes. “They hear nothing for long time. Then brother get letter about Bruno’s position at Mauthausen. Later, her brother join war and was killed first week in battle. They not hear from Bruno again. Then after the war, she read he was charged with crimes and sent to prison. Nothing else after that.”

Darby glanced up from her paper. “I found out he went to university in Vienna after he was released from prison in 1957.”

“She say his mother moved to Vienna after his father die. She live with her sister there. Mother name was Dorthe Schumacher Weiler and her sister was Heike Schumacher. Heike was not married.”

“When was the last time she heard anything about them?” Darby asked.

The old woman shrugged and scratched her chin before speaking again.

“She say it had to be around 1950 or 1955. Long time ago.”

“Can you remember anything else?” Darby wrote down the information as the old woman shook her head.

“She say that is all she know of family and of Bruno.” Frau Gerringer put a hand on Darby’s arm. “She say she hope you discover all that you seek.”

Darby nodded and clasped the old woman’s hand, placing her other hand on top. “
Danke
. I hope so too.”

A distant roll of thunder echoed through the mountains to the village.

“Oh, I hear that storm coming tonight,” Sophie said. She opened the curtain, and Darby could see the rain already beginning to fall.

“Perhaps I’ll stay tonight after all,” Darby said. She had brought a duffel bag with extra clothes just in case she found some lead to follow.

“I’ll give you your room, then,” Sophie said with a bright smile. “And you will eat dinner with our family.”

The mountain storm crashed in quickly, and Darby was glad she’d decided to stay. She loved the fearful sound of thunder in the mountains as it rolled down peaks and ridges, echoing through crevasse and saddleback. Sophie gave her the key to her second-story lakeside room without showing it to her, since Darby wasn’t a customer but a guest now. She came down for dinner with the Gerringer family of three women that reminded her of her own family. Later she carried up an electric heater to use until the water radiator that was warmed by a woodstove downstairs grew hot enough to heat the rooms above. Darby fell asleep bundled within the thick feather comforter while winter howled and beat its fist against the windows.

But late in the night, something woke her. Silence. Darby wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and stepped onto the balcony. Her bare feet touched cold snow. She slipped her feet into her boots without tying the laces and returned outside. The moon through the puffy, after-storm clouds had turned the lake and air and snow and trees into a deep winter blue.

Darby had never cared much for winter. The season came and stripped the land of life. It disguised itself in purest white, but destroyed all it touched.

“I’m sorry I’m a traitor,” Darby whispered to the broken, limp sticks that last fall had probably held bright flowers. “But I can’t hate winter tonight.”

As she looked into the blue world so still and full of magic, she wondered about the winter that stole life from the land. But perhaps winter was not the end, but actually the beginning. The harsh conditions stripped away all that was hidden in the summer months. It beat and seemed nearly to destroy until the essence of all things was made visible. Both good and bad could not hide from the cutting winds and tempest storms. And only through a winter passing could life be brought to its knees in surrender and prepared for rebirth.

Darby stared into the deep winter sky.

This is your winter
, she could hear Grandma say.
We all pass through times of winter. But winter will pass. And as you heal, you find yourself stronger, richer, more alive than ever before.
Darby imagined the gentle hand, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The sky called to her, and Grandma’s voice disappeared. Instead she heard a voice from deeper within her soul, a voice she’d only begun to know:
This is your winter, Darby. Embrace it as I bring life in you again.