Free Her Mother's Hope by Francine Rivers Page B

somewhere in the wall. You can hear them scratching at night. Take that bed over there.”
    Marta saw a row of plank platforms with uninviting graying feather beds rolled at the end. The room was cold. The small, narrow windows faced east, leaving the room dimly lit in the afternoon. No curtains to keep out the dawn. When Marta peered out, she could see only empty window boxes and the street below.
    “I’m leaving soon,” Hedda announced from the doorway. “I’m marrying Arnalt Falken. Have you heard of him?”
    “I’m new to Montreux.”
    “His father is very rich. They live in a mansion up the road from here. Arnalt came one evening by himself and ordered beer and sausage. He says he took one look at me and fell in love.”
    Marta thought of Elise. Hedda had periwinkle eyes and long blonde hair, too. She hoped the girl had good sense.
    Hedda nodded toward the window. “Frau Gunnel will expect you to plant flowers soon. She made me pay for them last year.”
    “Why should either one of us pay for them?”
    She shrugged. “Frau Gunnel says we’re the ones who get to enjoy them.”
    Marta dumped her knapsack on the bed. “If Frau Gunnel wants to dress up the outside of this place, she’ll have to pay, or there’ll be no flowers.”
    “I wouldn’t argue with her, Fräulein, not if you want to keep your job. Flowers don’t cost too much, and the patrons give good tips.” She laughed. “Analt droppped a ten franc coin down my bodice the first time he came.”
    Marta turned away from the window. “No one is going to drop anything down my bodice.”
    “They will if you’re friendly.” The gleam in Hedda’s eyes told Marta the girl valued money more than reputation.
    * * *
    By the end of the first week, Marta saw ways to improve the eatery. When she overheard Frau Gunnel complaining about poor business, Marta shared her thoughts.
    “With a few changes, your business would improve.”
    Frau Gunnel turned. “Changes? What changes?”
    “It wouldn’t cost much if you repainted the front window boxes with bright colors and filled them with flowers that would attract the eye. The menus you have now are greasy. You could reprint them and put them in sturdy folders. Vary your menu occasionally.”
    Plump face reddening, Frau Gunnel put her hands on her ample hips. She looked Marta up and down in contempt. “You’re sixteen and you think you know so much with your fancy certificate and recommendations. You know nothing!” She jerked her head. “Go back to the kitchen!”
    Marta went. She hadn’t meant to insult the woman.
    Frau Gunnel came in a few minutes later and went back to work on a hunk of beef, using a mallet as though attempting to kill a live animal. “I know why customers don’t come. I have one pretty waitress who used to attract customers before she decided to marry one of them. And I have little Fräulein Marta as plain as bread and as friendly as Sauerkraut !”
    No one in the kitchen looked up. Marta felt the heat rush into her face. “No one wants to eat in a dirty restaurant.” Marta barely managed to dodge the flying mallet. Stripping off her apron, she tossed it like a shroud over the embattled beef and headed for the stairs. She threw her few things into a bag, marched downstairs and out onto the street. People up and down the block turned when Frau Gunnel stood in the doorway cursing her.
    By the time the woman slammed the door, Marta’s body felt so hot, she was sure steam came off her. She walked uphill rather than down. She pounded on one door after another, making inquiries. The first few opened the door, took one look out, and ducked back inside their houses, closing the door quickly in her face. Still fuming, Marta realized what a sight she must be and tried to calm down.
    Now what? No job. No place to live. Her prospects were dimmer than when she had arrived in Montreux a month ago. She didn’t want to go back to Luisa von Olman’s and be a burden. She didn’t want to go