Francine Rivers: Her Mother’s Hope

Marta decided to walk. She wanted to see some of the city, and who knew how many days would pass before she had free time to do whatever she pleased. Was the school in session on Saturday? She didn’t know. Knapsack over her shoulder, she hurried from the station and strolled along a cobblestone street, looking up at the high stone buildings with flags flying. She paused to watch the tower clock’s animated figures strike the hour. She passed by plazas and wandered in the crisscross of arcades lined with cafés, jewelers, clothiers, pastry shops, and shops with window displays of chocolate.

As the sun dipped, Marta hurried toward the bridge across the River Aare. She climbed the hill and found the street name on the letterhead. By the time she found the right address, she felt tired but exhilarated. No sign told her she’d come to the right place, and the house in front of her looked like a grand mansion rather than a school.

A woman in black dress, white apron, and cap answered the door.

Marta gave an awkward curtsy. “I’m Marta Schneider from Steffisburg.” She held out her documents.

“Never curtsy to the staff,” the woman said as she took the papers, glanced at them, and beckoned her in. “Welcome to the Haushaltungsschule Bern .”

She closed the door behind Marta. “I’m Frau Yoder. You’re the last to arrive, Fräulein Schneider. You look tired. You didn’t walk, did you?”

“From the train station.” Marta gaped at the grand staircase and the walls with portraits in gilded frames, the finely woven rugs, the porcelain figurines. This was a housekeeping school?

“Most people ride back up.”

“I wanted to see some of the city.” Marta stared up at the ceiling painted with angels. “I wasn’t sure when I would have a free day to see the sights.”

“You’ll have Sundays to yourself. Come. I’ll give you an orientation tour. The downstairs holds the parlor, living room, the count’s offices, and the countess’s conservatory. The kitchen is on the other side, next to the dining room. The second floor has a ballroom and several large bedrooms. The third floor has most of the guest rooms. You and the other girls will be in the fourth-floor dormitory. The classroom is there also.”

Frau Yoder walked head high, hands clasped in front of her. She extended her hand as she identified each room and allowed Marta a few seconds to glance around at the rich interiors. “The countess receives guests in this parlor. She had the walls repainted royal yellow after visiting the Schloss Schönbrunn in Vienna last year.” She lifted a hand before clasping both in front of her again. “That’s the countess’s portrait over the fireplace. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

A young woman with dark eyes and long, flowing black hair over bare shoulders seemed to stare down at her. The countess wore a necklace of diamonds and emeralds around her slender throat, and her dress looked like something from a history book Marta had read. “She looks like Marie Antoinette.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t end up the same way.”

It seemed a surprising thing to say, and especially with such a dry tone. Frau Yoder moved on. Marta followed, growing more curious. “Do the count and countess conduct the classes?”

“They will speak with you on occasion, but I do the teaching.”

“Saintonge. Are they French?”

“It’s not polite to ask, Fräulein.”

Marta blushed. “Oh.” And why not? she wanted to say, but Frau Yoder moved on down a hall. Marta felt like a duckling racing after its waddling mother. “How many other students are in attendance, Frau Yoder?”

“Seven.”

“Only seven?”

Frau Yoder paused and turned. She looked down her nose at Marta. “Only the most promising are accepted.” She looked Marta over. “Your coat is custom-made, is it not?”

She had made it herself, but didn’t feel inclined to tell the woman. “My mother is a dressmaker and my father is a tailor.”

Frau Yoder leaned closer and looked at the embroidery. “Beautiful work.” She smiled at Marta. “I’m surprised your parents sent you here. Come along.” Frau Yoder turned away again. “I want to show you the rest of the house. If you’re hungry, there is cabbage soup and bread in the kitchen. The count and countess are out for the evening. You’ll meet them tomorrow morning at ten in the upstairs classroom. However, I expect you there by eight for instructions.”

Marta’s curiosity grew even more with her first sight of Countess Saintonge standing in the bare-floor hallway outside the classroom door. She was very young to be a headmistress of anything, and she wore less-than-modest clothing. Her brows slanted over a pair of sly, dark eyes. She opened her mouth in a silent laugh, showing small, straight white teeth. She whispered something behind her hand and a man appeared. He had gray hair, pale eyes, and a thin, angular face. He looked old enough to be the lady’s father! When he leaned close, Marta thought he meant to kiss Countess Saintonge right there in the hallway. He said something in a low voice and disappeared. The countess looked annoyed, but lifting her head, she entered the room with an air of hauteur. “Good morning, students.”

Everyone shot to their feet and curtsied as they had been instructed to do.

“Countess.” Frau Yoder gave a graceful curtsy. Each girl curtsied again as her name was mentioned.

The countess clasped her hands delicately at her waist and began to talk about the fine reputation of the Haushaltungsschule Bern and the glowing reports she and the count had received from satisfied employers. “We select only the best.” Marta wondered at that, having spent the night with the others, most of whom had less schooling than she. We are the best?

“Those who make it through the first three months will be fitted for one of our uniforms.” When the countess raised one hand, Frau Yoder made a slow turn, showing off the ankle-length black wool skirt, white high-collared shirtwaist with long sleeves and cuffs, full-length white apron with HB embroidered on the right pocket, and white lace-trimmed cap. “Only those who graduate receive the honor of wearing our uniform.”

As the countess went on talking, Marta studied the translucent linen day dress with its tiny pin tucks, lace insertions, white embroidered flowers and leaves, and swirls of passementerie . She knew the hours and cost to make such a dress.

“Fräulein Schneider, stand.”

Marta rose, wondering why the countess had singled her out from among the others.

“I expect you to pay attention when I speak.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, Countess . And you will curtsy when you rise next time, and curtsy again before speaking.”

Marta felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks. One hundred and fifty francs to learn how to be treated like a slave! One hundred and fifty francs Papa would expect to be repaid whether she completed the course or not. Clenching her teeth, Marta curtsied. “Yes, Countess.” She curtsied again.

Countess Saintonge’s dark eyes surveyed her coolly. “Did you hear anything I said, or must I repeat it all?”

Marta dipped again. “Yes, Countess. I heard.” She began to tell her word for word until the countess lifted one of those delicate hands to stop the flow. The countess gave a slight nod for her to sit. Marta remained standing. The countess inclined her head lower this time. Marta stared back at her. The countess’s cheeks flushed pink. “Why are you still standing, Fräulein Schneider?”

Marta dipped more slowly this time and a few inches lower. “I awaited your command, Countess Saintonge.” She heard the nervous shifting of bodies around her. With another curtsy, Marta took her seat.