Free Winter Passing by Cindy Martinusen Coloma

entered. Though she allowed little time to give it a fair chance, Darby felt a foreboding, down to her bones. Get on the next flight to the United States, back to English and baseball and apple pie—back to home, her mind said frantically. Why had she come in the first place? All her reasons were instantly blurred by the desire to go home.
    Darby continued to follow lines of people and signs toward the airport exit. Rain poured upon the historic city of Salzburg. Taxis waited outside the airport doors, so Darby hopped into one and gave the driver the name of her hotel. Angry clouds and an annoying drizzle made it hard to see beyond the windows as the car shot from the parking space. But once she was in the taxi, she had no interest in the city except for surviving the ride. The cab lurched forward, then slammed on its brakes behind a truck, narrowly missing it, then jerked forward again. It reminded her of the New York cab stories, something she’d never cared to experience. The driver was friendly enough, greeting her with a hearty “ Grüß Gott .” She wasn’t sure what that meant but said it back anyway.
    “Zee,” he said, pointing to a tall church.
    Darby barely glanced away from the road. The cabbie spoke what she thought was a history of the city, but his broken English was beyond her distinguishing except for a Mozart reference. She remembered that this cold, wet city had birthed the talent of the great musician, and probably every corner shop would have Mozart memorabilia as a marketing scheme to prove it.
    “Here, your hotel.” The cab came to a hard stop. He hopped outside and opened her door. “Eighty schilling, bitte , uh, please.”
    “Schillings?” How could she have been so stupid? Of course, she couldn’t pay in United States dollars. She’d meant to change some currency at the airport, but with the bustle of customs and getting her luggage and finding the exit, she’d forgotten. “I’m so sorry, I don’t have—”
    The cabbie’s expression changed, becoming thunderous. “I have money, but it’s American dollars.”
    “No, no American dollars,” he said, his face stern. “Eighty schilling, or you has euros?”
    “No, I don’t have euros or schillings. Is there a bank or exchange or something?”
    “There, you get schilling or euro.” He pointed to what appeared to be an ATM machine at the end of the block. Darby hurried toward it, checking behind her to make sure her luggage didn’t disappear from where the cabbie was stacking it at the doorway of the Salzburg Cozy Hotels International. The green-and-yellow cubby was an ATM. An English version helped, but how much should she get out? She punched in three thousand schillings since cab fare was eighty. With a few pushes of the button, Darby had Osterreich schillings from her United States bank, hoping she hadn’t just drained her account.
    “ Danke ,” the cabbie said before hopping into the car and speeding off.
    Darby wiped a wet strand of hair from her eyes as she picked up her bags on the hotel doorstep and walked inside. A young woman dressed in the traditional Austrian dirndl greeted her at the front desk. “ Grüß Gott .”
    “ Grüß Gott ,” Darby replied. “I have a reservation. My name is Darby Evans.”
    “Yes, here you are. Breakfast is included, you know. Your room is number 14.” The woman smiled and handed Darby the room key and some papers. “Payment is when you check out, and please let us know if you need anything or if your room is not to your approval.”
    “Thank you,” Darby said, relieved that the woman’s voice reminded her of the soft German accent Grandma Celia had tried to hide. It calmed her frazzled emotions—a little.
    She balanced her luggage and peered around for a hallway to the first-floor rooms. The simple yet elegant lobby was connected to a restaurant and sitting room.
    “You can take the lift to your room, if you like,” the woman continued.
    Darby noticed the elevator, or