Her Mother's Hope by Francine Rivers Page B

where they live. Mama will write Cousin Luisa. . . .
    Marta wrote to Frau Gilgan to thank her, and then to Rosie.
I plan to come home for a week the middle of September, then go to Montreux. If Cousin Luisa cannot help, I will haunt the hotels along the lakeshore. I’ll find something. I would like to speak some French before my eighteenth birthday! Something more than bonjour and merci beaucoup!
    Toward the end of summer, Marta received a letter from Elise. Surprised and pleased, Marta tore it open immediately rather than wait for a quiet moment alone.
Dearest Marta,
Please help me. I’m afraid of Herr Meyer. He won’t leave me alone. Papa will be angry if I come home without any money, but I haven’t been paid anything at all and I’m terrified of Frau Meyer. She hates me because of her horrible son. I thanked God when he left for Zurich. I would ask Mama to come, but she is not well enough. Please. I’m begging you. Come and help me get away from here.
Your loving little sister,
Elise
    “What’s wrong?” Warner was slicing veal. “You look ill.”
    “My sister needs me.” She shoved the letter into her skirt pocket. “I have to go.”
    “Now?”
    She raced into her small bedroom and threw a few things into her shoulder bag. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    “Go tomorrow.” Warner blocked her way. “I need you here.”
    “Elise needs me more, and you have Della and Arlene.”
    “I could dismiss you!”
    “Go ahead! That would give me the excuse I need to go to Montreux! Now, get out of my way!”
    He caught her by the shoulders when she tried to push past him. “It won’t be the last time your sister needs you. When your mother is gone, you’ll be the one she leans on. . . .”
    “I have to go.”
    With a sigh, Warner released her.
    Marta raced up the stairs and out of the hotel, boarding a hired coach to Thun.
    After asking directions, she found her way to the huge chalet at the end of a street on the edge of town. A man trimming roses in the front garden straightened as she approached. “Can I help you, Fräulein?”
    “I’ve come to see my sister, Elise Schneider.”
    “Go around back to the kitchen. Frau Hoffman will help you.”
    An old woman with a crown of white braids answered the door. Marta quickly introduced herself and stated her business. The woman looked relieved. “Come in, Fräulein. I’ll fetch Elise for you.”
    The kitchen smelled of baking bread. Apples, nuts, raisins, and oats had been set out on the worktable. The floors looked freshly washed, the copper pots polished, the counter surfaces clean. Marta paced, agitated.
    Elisa flew through the kitchen door. “Marta!” She threw herself into Marta’s startled embrace and burst into tears. “You came. I was so afraid you wouldn’t. . . .”
    Marta could feel how thin she was. “Don’t they feed you?”
    “She’s been too upset to eat.” The cook closed the door behind her and went to the worktable.
    Marta saw a purple bruise on her sister’s cheek. Heat surged through her body. “Who struck you?”
    Elise gulped sobs, leaving Frau Hoffman to answer grimly. “Frau Meyer.” The cook picked up another apple and sliced through it cleanly. “And she’s not the only one in this family who’s done harm to your poor sister.”
    Marta’s body went cold. She pressed Elise away, holding her by the arms. “Tell me what’s been going on, Elise.” She spoke gently, but her sister cried harder, her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. She seemed incapable of uttering even a single distinguishable word.
    Frau Hoffman cut an apple into four pieces and began removing the core from each section with quick gouges. “A father has no business putting a pretty young girl like Elise in this house. Not with the young man and his father. I could’ve told him!”
    Marta stared at her, stomach turning over.
    Frau Hoffman sliced apple into the bowl. “I risk losing my job if I say more.” She gave Elise a