by Edna Dawes
In everything else, the young Kathryn was given exactly what a child should have; an excellent education, good-class clothes, a bedroom which was practically self-contained, and a busy social life. Unfortunately, none of the social contacts was connected with the arts in any way, so Kathryn found she had little in common with her mother’s friends. This had brought dreaded remarks like, “Look at her – absolutely tongue-tied. You’d never think she was my daughter, would you!” or “It’s no use asking Kathy, she lives in a dream world. Was your daughter as immature as this at twelve?”
Later had come the attempts to push her into an early marriage with a whole string of “suitable” people; a theology student, a housing inspector, and even a middle-aged welfare worker. After this last one, Kathryn had broken free and found a flat of her own, where things improved for a while.
Her writing career started with fillers for children’s magazines, and short pieces for schools’ broadcasts. Her first book was successful beyond her hopes and was due to the approach she used, because the stories were no better than hundreds of others. Ironically, the idea had been provided by the woman who derided all her daughter was aiming for.
“Why can’t you do something useful?” Mrs. Davis wailed. “I have been cheering the sick all the afternoon while you sat scribbling about magic castles. What use is that to people in hospital!”
The book, entitled Enchanted. Stories for Visiting Hours, contained tales of magic and fantasy for parents to read to their children during that awful hour by the hospital bedside when conversation proves so awkward and children become tearful. It was Kathryn’s answer to her mother’s accusation by pointing out that it was possible to cheer people in distress by a means other than hearty directives to “perk up and get well”. Kathryn may have felt she had scored, but Mrs. Davis in no way acknowledged her daughter’s success and never mentioned it to her friends.
Men came and went during the next two years, most of them being worthy relations of her mother’s friends, but much as she admired their principles, she couldn’t fall in love with one, however hard she tried! André, over whom she had such a row prior to this trip, had appealed to her very much until she discovered the “inner drive to paint masterpieces” only affected him when there was no possibility of his getting near a canvas and easel. By that time, the population of Bournemouth expected a wedding announcement at any time, due to Mrs. Davis’s overenthusiasm about her daughter’s friendship with the son of a French prison Governor.
And this trip was to enable me to get right away on my own and be free of dominance, she thought bitterly, punching the quilt yet again. What a terrible hash I have made of it! I can’t seem to handle any aspect with success. Inspector Schultz thinks I am a mentally-disturbed accident case with an ambition to write crime stories, and even Anton pooh-poohed the idea of Dr. Hallstein and Peter being involved in something shady. I am beginning to wonder if I am imagining it all. As for the romance angle of this trip, I don’t love the man who is so suitable, and am completely overwhelmed by the one who is quite out of the question. In addition, I have given them both the impression that I am a shallow pleasure-seeker. Perhaps I should listen to Mother and devote my life to good works, after all.
Luckily, the morning found her bouncing back with a fresh determination. She would concentrate on the real purpose of her visit to Austria and leave the police to sort out the mystery as best they could. As for Robert and Anton, a day free from both of them would be an excellent idea! Dressed warmly in black trousers, a yellow polo-necked jumper and a thick plaid jacket, Kathryn slipped into the kitchen of the Gasthaus with a notebook and supply of pencils in her large shoulder bag. Frau Petz looked up in surprise.
“Miss Davis, you are out early!”
The girl gave her a warm smile. “Yes, I am starting work on the story of Karl and Christel. I have come to tell you I shall be away all day. I would very much like to go up Karlstein but since the chairs are not working and I don’t seem able to hire a car, is there any other way I can go?”
“No. Only by the road, and it is too far.”
Kathryn’s face fell. “That settles it, then.”
“Wait a moment,” said the plump woman. “If you go to the café I could arrange with Tilly Koch that you travel with Helmut when he takes the bread to the restaurant.”
“Could you?” begged Kathryn. “It would be ideal. Tomorrow there will be too many people wandering about and I shan’t be able to concentrate. Frau Koch is the owner of the café?”
“Yes. Helmut is her son. Each day he drives up and will take you if Tilly agrees. So, I telephone while you walk to the café.”
“You are very kind,” said Kathryn feeling that luck was going her way at last. “There’s just one more thing. Would you mind not telling anyone where I am? I really do need to be on my own to work.”
“It shall be a secret, I promise.” The older woman smiled to show she understood why the girl might want to avoid young men for a while. She had been a girl herself, hadn’t she!
Frau Koch had anticipated her arrival by laying a place at the window and placing a basket of fresh rolls ready for her. Helmut would be leaving in forty-five minutes, she told Kathryn, then departed after serving the coffee. While she ate breakfast, Kathryn studied the shorthand notes she had made the previous evening, Time passed quickly, and when Frau Koch came to tell her Helmut was waiting she was thinking only of her work. The depression of the previous evening had vanished completely.
Helmut was a shy boy of around nineteen with a dark flop of hair and clear hazel eyes. His English was limited, but he was most eager to show her he could hold a conversation. Once more, Kathryn was conscious of her inadequacy as a linguist.
“I came to your country without knowing a single word of German,” she said, “and all the time there are people like you; we are too lazy to learn.”
The compliment brought a blush to his pale face.
“Oh, I am not so good! For two years I do not go to school because I am in . . . because I am ill,” he substituted. “I do some lessons, but my English is forgotten.”
He swung round a tight bend at the foot of Karlstein and started the ascent. Kathryn hung on to the long handle beside her hoping they would slowdown as they progressed. This road was simply an access to the summit and she shuddered at thoughts of what would happen if they met a vehicle coming down.
“After I return home,” he continued, “I learn a lot from Herr Reiter.”
“Does he teach English?” she asked surprised.
A merry laugh greeted that. “No, no, but while he helps me to ski we talk together so that I remember all I have forgotten.” He hurtled round another bend. “You see, I could not walk after I was ill and Herr Reiter gave much time to ski-lessons for me. He is a very excellent skier. There are many cups he has won.”
“Yes, I know,” put in Kathryn hastily. “Several people have told me.”
“It is very sad about the accident, is it not? Once, he told me we are the same. I wished to be a driver of fast cars, and he was a great sportsman, but we both had to give up what we most wanted to do for other things.”
That thought affected them both enough to bring silence for the remainder of the journey, or maybe Helmut was merely concentrating on getting to the top in the manner of a frustrated racing driver. Patches of snow were now appearing through gaps in the tall trees as they climbed higher, yet the sun grew steadily warmer through the windows of the van. They had passed the first station of the chair-lift some minutes before and Kathryn concentrated on the view from her window. There were several well-defined paths cutting through the wooded areas and crossing numerous streams by means of rustic bridges. The streams were mere trickles at the moment, but she supposed they would look far more impressive in spring when melting snows would swell them with ice-cold torrents of racing water.
The road ran suddenly clear of the trees and the restaurant was there, in a clear meadow of incredible green, etched against t
he sky like a cardboard cut-out. Behind the dark wooden chalet, the summit of Karlstein reached to the heavens in a glisten of snow, the cross on the highest point catching the sun on its stark angles and instilling in Kathryn a feeling of humility. It stood proudly there through ice and snow, whistling winds, enveloping cloud and burning sunshine, unchanged and unchangeable – steadfast – while she fussed and worried over her ability to cope with life. Mountains were marvellous places for getting things into perspective, she discovered.
Helmut pulled up in the yard and came round to slide back the door. Outside the air was heady! Kathryn had not thought it possible to smell cleanness before, but a combination of pine needles, springy turf and altitude made her breathe deeply and blissfully the minute she stepped from the van. For a long while she gazed at Mosskirch way down in the valley, and at the circle of peaks surrounding her. From this new lofty position, another and yet another snow-covered range beyond was visible to the left of the restaurant, stretching as far as the eye could see like a giant meringue on top of an exotic pudding.
“I shall return now,” said a voice beside her, bringing her out of her reverie.
“Oh.” It suddenly dawned on her that she had given no thought to how she would get back to the village. Helmut simply delivered the stores and returned. “Will you be coming back later?” she asked.
“No, but the post bus will be here at sixteen hundred. He will take you to Mosskirch if you wish. Good-bye. Have a nice day on Karlstein.” Helmut swept round and attacked the descent like a Grand Prix circuit.
There goes a lad who has had to accept less than second best, she thought, and he makes light of it. I must learn a lesson from him and practise ignoring everything my mother says to me and stop her overshadowing my life.
A path led to the right where a specially-constructed platform afforded a superb view, which caught at her aching heart, and half an hour passed while she dreamt forbidden dreams. Boxes of geraniums hung along the wooden balcony of the restaurant and Kathryn made her way to a table by one, the only customer that morning. The proprietor in a green baize apron who brought her coffee was jolly and disposed to talk, and when she enthused about the view from the platform, said, “You will see as much from there as from the summit. It is only the showoffs with big boots who go to the top.”
She laughed. “Do you get many climbers at this time of the year?”
“Only when the chair-lift runs. Tomorrow we shall be very busy.”
It was beautifully warm in the sun, and Kathryn decided to sit there until lunchtime while she worked on her story. The proprietor had no objection, so she pulled out her notebook and pencils to make a start. Once she started, it absorbed her completely and delicious though it was, Kathryn was loath to stop for her lunch. The love story of Karl and Christel had so occupied her thoughts she felt part of their lives, and even imagined she might be sitting in the spot where the lovers had roamed all those years ago. The castle rose up in her imagination and a vision of the golden-haired Karl riding at the head of the army as it mounted the slopes towards the drawbridge was all too real.
After lunch, she decided to walk for a while to stretch her legs and get some pen-pictures of the scenery. When the proprietor came with her change she asked him, “Do you know the story of the two chamois who walk on Karlstein when the snow is pink?”
“You mean Karl and Christel?” he said with a broad wink. “I should know the story. My daughter talks of it all day long. This restaurant is supposed to be built on the site of the old castle which burnt down all those years ago.”
“Really? How exciting!” she exclaimed. “Do you happen to know the spot where the chamois can be seen?”
“Yes. It is quite a distance along the path you can see there. You are not the first pretty girl to ask that question. They all hope to meet a tall fair lover like Captain Karl, and some of them do — but it is only if the chamois are seen at sunset, and two together, that the magic works.” He chuckled. “You must go down with the post bus, but you must come another time at sunset.”
Much as she would love to see the chamois in pink snow, Kathryn felt that tall fair lovers were not quite her scene at present, so she merely smiled and asked him for directions.
“Follow this red route until you reach the signpost which tells you to go down to Mosskirch or up to Tierenspitze. You go up for ten minutes, then you will see a clear space on the left which stretches some distance along. At the end of this place is a clump of trees. That is where the animals appear.” He looked at the sky. ‘I don’t think we shall have pink snow tonight. There is too much cloud, but it will stay fine while you are there. It will take you about forty-five minutes to walk there, so keep looking at your watch. If you miss the post bus you will have to stay for the night and go down with the first chairs in the morning.”
With a promise not to be late, she took the path which ran from the restaurant in a slight downward direction. The sun was losing a little of its warmth and she was glad of her thick jacket as she walked between the tall trees. The man had called this the red route because all the tracker marks and seats along this particular path were painted red so that walkers wouldn’t stray from the paths and get lost. It was a feature of all the planned walks in Austria and the footways were beautifully maintained. Maria had said her father did this sort of work, which was why he was away all day, Kathryn supposed.
According to the restaurateur, it was a forty-five minute walk to the “chamois spot”, but surely it depended on how fast a person was walking? The temptation to stop from time to time was too great for her and she sat for five minutes at a time while she wrote brief descriptions of the feel, the smell and the sound of the place. One thing which struck her was the silence, broken only by her footsteps and running water here and there. No birds sang! It struck her as odd and she wondered whether birds shunned woods at that altitude. It was something she would ask when she got back to the village.
An hour had passed before the signpost came into view, so she hurried her steps. There would be only time for a quick look at the lovers’ trysting-place. She would have to carry the image in her mind until there was time to jot it down. The upward path made her pant at her increased pace, but she bravely strode on telling herself it must be the rarefied air and not the large lunch which was making her breathless.
At last, there on the left was the clearing; there could be no mistaking it. It was truly an enchanted place! The westering sun sent oblique rays through the branches of the trees grouped at the far end, putting a warm glow on the austere grey of the rocks which lined the clearing. Snow lingered in spots where the sun could not penetrate, gleaming whitely against the green of the alpine turf. It was not difficult to imagine the young, beautiful Christel in white furs waiting for her Captain to come riding up, and then for the two lovers to wander with arms around each other in a feverish desire to make the stolen moments last. It was no wonder the chamois chose to haunt the spot; the site of those precious meetings.
Only then did she realize that here, also, Christel witnessed the death of her lover, killed before the entire assembled company by her husband as a fitting punishment for his betrayal. She shivered. The chill of the advancing afternoon suddenly became apparent, and the complete and utter solitude of her situation changed from being peaceful to vaguely disturbing.
Heavens, it was three-thirty already and she had all that way to go back! The downhill section to the signpost she took at a trot and continued at that pace for a few hundred yards along the flat until she was breathless. The exercise had warmed her, so when clouds covered the sun she was not particularly dismayed.
Another burst of trotting helped the time factor along nicely, but it was when she slowed to a walk that the noises began to disturb her. At first, the sounds seemed the sort one would expect in an area like this, then she remembered the silence of the outward journey. Surely it was her over-active imagination still caught up in the betrayal of Captain Karl which made her feel frightened.
A quick glance back along the deserted path strengthened this belief, but she hurried her pace, nevertheless.
There it was again! A heavy tread, a cracking twig, as though something or someone was coming at a steady pace behind her. She ran, and the noises increased! The faster she ran, the more noise her pursuer made, as if he had sacrificed stealth for speed. A pain in her side and rasping breath forced her to slow down as she covered a section where the path narrowed and would round a rocky formation.
Still doubting the evidence of her ears, she turned to look back at a point where the path curved in a concave bend. Too late, a man stood behind a tree. For a mad moment she toyed with the idea of turning round to challenge him, but the memory of those strong hands pushing her down into the trough of water at the trout farm put extra fleetness into her feet. No matter how fast she ran, the man would catch her; it was one of the laws of nature that the male of the species should outrun the female, but fear forced her to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. He had had one defeat at her hands, she would give him a good run for his money this time.
While she stood regaining her breath he remained hidden, so she took her time. When the thudding of her heart had steadied she made a sudden dash, hoping to take him by surprise, but a hasty glance over her shoulder told her he was keeping up with her progress. The uneven ground was making it even more difficult to get along and she was so exhausted by now, she was almost sobbing. Why not give in, she thought? It’s only a matter of time.
Another look over her shoulder confirmed that he was hot on her heels, but at that moment she collided with something around the corner and sank to the ground in tears, sure that her last hope had gone.
“Mein Gott! Das Fräulein vom Gasthaus!” said a voice, and Kathryn looked through blurred eyes at the Braun family. There they all stood on the path, huge rucksacks on their backs, eyes wide with distress at their condition, and all talking at once in sentences she couldn’t understand.