Winter Passing

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  “You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” she told herself. With all the hubbub at the airport, the fright of getting to the hotel, and not being able to speak the language, Darby could almost believe this Oz was the habitation of the Wicked Witch—not of the West, but of the East.

  She walked to the window and opened the shade. Beneath her, a muddy river flowed under a bridge and past tall church spires. The water’s surface was pecked with raindrops. Up the mountain, the Hohensalzburg fortress stared at her as if she were an intruder invading the land. When would she be brave enough to venture beyond the hotel window? Not today. Weariness sank into her bones. Her shoulders ached from hauling her luggage from airport to hotel. A headache formed on the rim of her temples and moved outward. No matter what Clarise said about the jet-lag cure, she needed rest. After all, there were lions, tigers, bears, and witches to face in this land far from home.

  Brant unlocked his door and met the familiar musty scent of his third-story apartment. Late October brought a deeper cold to the corners of every room, forecasting the coming winter even earlier than the leaves on the surrounding mountains donned their autumn coats. Brant awoke each morning to stale air and came home to it every night, even though he’d bought plants that were now dead and several room deodorizers. These mixed scents only made the smell worse. He had promised himself a year ago he’d look for a new place. But with most of his life spent at the office, he hadn’t taken the time.

  Brant tossed his briefcase onto the leather couch and scoped out the refrigerator. Nearly empty racks reminded him, as they had every day that week, that he needed to go grocery shopping. He picked up the end of a salami stick and a lone apple, smelled the cheese in deli wrap, left it there, and headed back for the couch.

  After a day of noise, the stillness of the apartment echoed in his ears. Every other sound—the rustle of leather as he rested his head, the hum of the furnace, the evening sounds of the city behind the single-paned windows—intensified the vacancy of the room. Usually Brant felt unnerved by silence. He’d turn on the TV or some music. But tonight he needed the quiet to think.

  For three years now, he’d juggled double careers. His technology advisory company had helped at least thirty Austrian companies make advancements into the age of technology, enabling them to compete with dominant European markets. And his work with the Austrian Holocaust Survivors’ network had helped numerous families, in many ways—except for the Aldrich fiasco. His work was important; essential—wasn’t it? At the end of the October evening, nothing of his work felt important, let alone essential. The financial world dipped up and down, often crumbling even strong businesses. And the Holocaust survivors—they were at the eve of an ending era. In the near future, not one would remain alive to tell the story. And Brant grieved that his work moved too slowly to help the majority of them.

  But tonight something else added to his musing. Richter and Ingrid. Since Brant had spent the weekend boxing up Gunther’s things a month earlier, Richter had decided they were now friends. He came down from Munich to Salzburg nearly every week and invited Brant to lunch or a soccer game. It felt obvious to Brant that nothing had changed between them, no sudden bonding had occurred. He didn’t feel Richter liked him any more than before, so why the continued charade? Brant suspected the two were up to something—yet since the Aldrich fraud perhaps he’d become too suspicious. He’d keep his eyes open until this all blew over. Then maybe he’d get back to normal life—whatever that was or whatever that needed to become.

  Brant tossed the heel of the salami onto the coffee table. What kind of a dinner was that? He rarely had a home-cooked meal or much social contact. Perhaps that was it. When he had first arrived in Salzburg, he’d dated, attended social events, and been considered one of the most sought-after bachelors in the area. But then he’d dived into work, way too deep.

  “You need to find yourself a good wife,” Gunther had told him on his last visit to Brant’s apartment. His old friend had looked into the refrigerator, shaking his head. “Yes, a good wife will keep your belly filled with warm food and your nights with warm love.” The older man had winked slyly.

  Brant would have loved to hear Gunther say those words tonight. He’d love to have an ear to help him wade through all the things bothering him. But the night Gunther had told him to “find yourself a good wife,” Brant hadn’t been amused. It had been an especially stressful day with the death of Avia Gerstein weighing heavily upon him. Her only wish, to receive her father’s Swiss bank funds, would never be granted. They had worked hard, but time had worked harder against them.

  “You say I should marry and what, then be as happy as you?” Brant had immediately regretted his harsh words. Gunther didn’t respond; he simply closed the refrigerator and turned toward him.

  “Gunther, I didn’t mean to make such a judgment. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, but you speak what you perceive to be truth. That can be a good quality at times, but honesty tempered with grace is a greater quality.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? And yet, you speak of my marriage to Ingrid. But after all these years, Ingrid isn’t my true wife. I was married once and will be married to her until I die. I did Ingrid a favor because we were friends at one time. And in grief and for her, I spoke vows I have done my best to follow. But she has never been my true wife.”

  Brant stood, speechless.

  “I am not sorry. I was granted more love in a short time than many people have in a lifetime—and that is a gift.”

  Brant shook his head. Gunther held no anger or bitterness, even though all he had left of his wife was a grave on a mountainside.

  Gunther always seemed to read his mind. “Listen to me. You fill your life with work—worthy work, don’t get me wrong. Much has been accomplished for survivors due to your dedication. And Austria will be a stronger nation as it enters a new age. You are taking our country there. But though this work is worthy, don’t forget to live. Cherish each day as a blessing, no matter what doors God opens or closes in your life. People want to thank God for the good days, then accuse him for the bad. Everything in life is for a reason, to fulfill a purpose, even when it’s beyond what our mortal eyes can see. But you need to live, to breathe, to love, even when it hurts and causes pain. But to have love for a moment is greater than never to have it at all. So don’t forget to live, to breathe, to love.”

  Those words haunted him tonight. He was supposed to be figuring out what Richter was up to, or at least consider what to do with his careers. Perhaps he needed to choose between his dual roles. Either he could keep the lower paying and highly stressful job of helping Holocaust survivors reclaim their heritage and record their stories, stories that would soon be lost as the survivor list dwindled. Or he could resign from his CEO position at the Austrian firm that helped the emerging country compete in the age of computer chips and mega-hertz.

  Tonight Brant wished more than anything to have his old friend sitting beside him. He missed the man who’d helped with every major decision since his mother’s death when he was in high school. He missed the one person he loved the most, the person who loved him the most. Instead, Brant heard Gunther’s words again: “Don’t forget to live, to breathe, to love.”

  Chapter Eight

  Darby awoke to darkness and reached to turn the clock face toward her. It took until her hand grasped for the lamp to remember she wasn’t in her Redding apartment or in her grandmother’s home, but in a Cozy Hotel International in Salzburg, Austria.

  It was midnight, and her body was refreshed and ready to go. The streetlight outside shone foggily through the closed blinds, and Darby heard the occasional slush and fade of a car on wet roads. She dug into her purse for the pack of airline pretzels. The salty snack did little to placate her stomach.

  After a hot shower, she sat on the bed in an oversized T-shirt and flipped through the TV channels. At
last something resembled home, a Magnum, P.I. rerun. But then handsome Tom Selleck was oddly matched with a German-speaking voice. She continued through the round of channels, then returned to the German Magnum, P.I.

  She still wasn’t sleepy and finally picked up the telephone. It took several tries to use her calling card with the international access code before she finally got her mother.

  “I’m here!” Darby said in a cheerful voice that sounded strange in the quiet of the night.

  “Darby! I was just thinking about you. It must be late over there.”

  “Actually, it’s early. 12:30 A.M. I wanted you to know I arrived safely.” She noticed a slight delay between their voices.

  “I’ve watched for airline crashes or terrorist activity. So what do you think?”

  “About airline crashes and terrorists? I don’t like them at all.”

  “All right, smarty-pants.” Carole chuckled. “I meant, what do you think of our family’s homeland?”

  “It was raining when I arrived and I haven’t ventured out, so not much to tell. I’ll have many stories soon enough and a ton of postcards.”

  “I’ll look for them. But don’t talk too long—I’m sure these are expensive calls. Just please be careful. There are men who prey on young women, you know.”

  “How was today—or the last few days? With the time change I’m confused as to how long ago I left you.” Darby tried to sidetrack her mom from her fears.

  “It was just yesterday, though it seems longer. But I’m fine, thank you. Maureen checked on me and the pastor called too. I somehow volunteered to get more involved at the church, which actually sounds nice. I may even start working on Grandma’s room this week. But with you so far away, that’s keeping my mind busy enough.”

  “It’s only a place, Mom, like L.A. or New York. Well, those are bad examples because Salzburg is small for a city—only 144,000 people. It’s not all that far from home, really, just a hop in the plane. And I read tonight that the greeting here, ‘Grüß Gott,’ means ‘Greet God.’ So I’m safe in a country like that.”

  The line was silent for a moment. “I just don’t like my girl there all alone. If you weren’t an adult, I would have grounded you home.”

  “I’ll be back, I promise. Clarise only gave me three weeks to return to the studio or she’ll be completely bald from pulling her hair out.”

  “That Clarise needs to take a chill pill.”

  “Agreed.” Darby paused, feeling so very, very far from her mother. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “For what?”

  “I never asked about your father and never even thought to wonder about him. Grandma told me a little before she died, but I’m sure it was hard having a hero father you never met.”

  “He was always a legend.” Then, after a slight hesitation, Carole continued, “Now your bill is really getting high. Be sure to check in every four or five days, so I know you’re okay. And call collect next time.”

  “I’ll call.”

  “Take extra precautions. I heard that train stations can be dangerous if you act like an inexperienced traveler.”

  “Me, an inexperienced traveler?” Darby bit her lip to keep from laughing. She sat on the bed and bunched up a pillow behind her neck. “Any other travel tips?”

  “Keep your wallet deep inside your purse or in the inside pocket of your jacket. Don’t walk alone after dark—”

  “I was kidding, Mom.”

  “I know I’m overreacting, but you feel so far from me. I look at the globe and can’t believe my daughter is way over there. And I’m reading too much of the newspaper with all the terrible things that are happening—terrorists, kidnappings, disappearances. I miss you already and wish Grandma would have left this alone and not involved you.”

  Darby smiled. How often had she heard her mother say this in hints or nuances since the day Carole gave her the key to the safe and Darby had decided to come here? Perhaps she should have backed out after all. Her mom wanted to leave the past buried probably because of her own years of relentlessly pursuing her father, finding only disappointment time and time again. But it was different for Darby. She was seeking answers for her grandmother, not trying to fill in the pieces of her own life.

  “Here are my suggestions. Put the globe away and quit watching the news. I miss you too, and it won’t be long until I’m home. Clarise will hunt me down if I don’t return in a few weeks. And Mom, if you aren’t ready to go through Grandma’s things, wait till I get back.”

  “Thank you, honey. Remember I’m praying for you.”

  “Okay.” There it was again—newly religious Mom.

  They said their good-byes, and Darby hung up the phone. She snuggled down against the pillows, her eyes watching a fistfight between Magnum and the “bad guy.” No matter how much she told her body to sleep, she was wide awake.

  If she wasn’t going to sleep, she could refine her strategy. Once Darby had decided to come to Austria, she’d been so busy preparing for the trip that she’d had little time to figure out what she’d do when she actually arrived. Clarise was her toughest obstacle. Her partner in the photography studio did not encourage her decision.

  “You’ve missed three weeks because of your grandmother’s illness. I understood that, of course, but why do you have to go to Austria now?”

  “I’m trying to get there before winter settles in and I have to worry about storms and driving in the snow. Or I could wait till spring when we have our wedding assignments.”

  Clarise finally agreed, though not happily. Darby ignored her comments in the following weeks. After all, she never took vacations, while Clarise took time off every month to do things with her family. It seemed the unspoken rule that since Darby wasn’t married and didn’t have children, she naturally should work more than Clarise. She thought of mentioning this, but at the time she hadn’t minded the extra hours. Darby dated sporadically, hadn’t had a boyfriend in years since she and Derek had broken up, and she worked most weekends. So why not make the studio her life? But since Grandma Celia’s death, Darby had been seeing things differently—and Clarise wasn’t looking for change.

  The weeks before the trip evaporated quickly with long hours at the studio and driving the four hours down to her mother’s on her Monday and Tuesday days off. Now here she was in Austria with hardly a plan. Well, there was no time like the present, she decided.

  She’d made copies of the documents from Grandma Celia’s safe. She’d put one copy back in the safe at home, and another set was safely tucked into the inside pocket of her suitcase. The originals were carried at her side in a long, black purse. She’d almost left the originals at home, but many of the letters were still unopened, and she hoped to find an expert who could examine and translate them.

  Grandma had said the safe would give her information. Instead, the contents brought more questions. Darby now knew what the coins and brooch looked like by documents she’d found. She had the engagement half of a ring, enough money to live abroad for a long time if necessary, and other documents that didn’t make a lot of sense.

  She parted the window shade and looked at the dark, deserted street below. Over the bridge, spotlights shone on the church spires and toward the white monster fortress on the mountain. How could she open and run a business and backpack into the wilderness, but feel so intimidated by foreign travel? People did it all the time. Grandma had escaped this country during the Nazi occupation, and she was alone, pregnant, and facing real danger. If Grandma could do that, then Darby could play tourist and ask a few questions in the process. But perhaps that was part of it. Sure, it was the Nazis who had sent her grandmother fleeing for her life to the States. But this was still the same country.

  I came here to seek answers for Grandma Celia. I’m not giving up. This isn’t some Third World country. Austria is develo
ped and cultured with many English-speaking people.

  She sighed and turned from the window. Even if I don’t know a soul for thousands of miles, I can do this.

  Darby spotted the letter she disliked the most—the letter from Brant Collins. He worked here in Salzburg, perhaps even slept somewhere nearby. He had accused her grandmother of being an imposter when the elderly woman lived thousands of miles away. It would be different now that Darby was here. Corporations easily shrugged off individuals as if they were wiping mud from their shoes. But she wasn’t so quickly scraped away, not when it came to defending Grandma Celia. Yes, she could face Brant Collins. Darby awaited the chance. And in the process, perhaps she’d find out why her grandmother had contacted him in the first place.

  “Well, Mr. Brant Collins, you may write your letters to old women, but I’m not letting you get away with it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Brant turned away from the computer screen. He’d spent the morning staring into the humming business world via e-mail and videophone that lived and breathed within the computer. After weeks of working with Osterreich Forest Products, the company had entered the technological age with full capacity to compete with other European lumber companies. One more down, and only a few thousand Austrian companies to join the new millennium.