A Beauty Refined

by Tracie Peterson

  Phoebe drew off her gloves and glanced around. The restaurant appeared to be doing quite well, filled mostly with businessmen and a lady or two in addition to the noisy bunch to her right.

  When their roast beef and Yorkshire pudding arrived, Phoebe wasted no time in sampling the fare. Finding it very tasty, she dug in wholeheartedly. Gerda ate in silence, but Phoebe could see that she was just as curious to watch the people around them.

  “They all seem to be in such a hurry,” Phoebe commented in hushed German as several groups of men exited. The staff barely had time to clean the tables before a new group arrived.

  “Ja. It makes me breathless,” Gerda agreed in her native tongue.

  Phoebe nodded. Americans definitely seemed always in a hurry. In New York City, they had rushed from one event to another. And yet Phoebe found this American style of life most exhilarating.

  “It’s almost contagious,” she marveled. “I feel myself hurrying to eat my meal.”

  Gerda nodded. “Americans must suffer terrible indigestion.”

  Phoebe laughed lightly, but it was enough to draw the attention of the arguing women. They looked over as if to ascertain who dared laugh when matters of such grave disagreement were at hand. It took but a moment, however, for them to turn back to their own interests.

  Phoebe and Gerda drank their tea in a leisurely manner, despite the waitress coming over constantly to see if they had finished. Apparently she was in a hurry to bring in another customer. When Phoebe could take the pestering no longer, she signaled the young woman and paid the bill.

  Outside once again, she and Gerda found the same constant flow of people. They considered a few more shops where Phoebe made several purchases. She couldn’t resist buying an American-designed ladies riding outfit. The split skirt would allow her to ride astride if she so chose. Gerda carried the packages as they made their way back to catch the trolley. The maid seemed unimpressed by the town, but Phoebe had to admit that she rather liked Helena. The people seemed friendly, even if they were in a rush.

  When they reached the hotel grounds, Phoebe dismissed Gerda so she could enjoy the beauty of the day alone. “Please see to these packages. Find Vater if he’s around and see what he plans for the evening.”

  Gerda nodded and headed toward the hotel while Phoebe took a seat on one of the garden benches. She breathed in deeply and lifted her face toward the sun. Even as she did this, Phoebe was reminded of her mother. Mutter had always loved the outdoors and had insisted they maintain acres of beautiful gardens on their grounds. Often she and Phoebe had strolled among the well-tended flower beds, enjoying the shade of towering trees and the musical twittering of the birds that had taken up residence there. Sometimes they would sit together, and Mutter would raise her face to the sun, marveling at its warmth and brilliance.

  “God has made His earth so beautiful,” she would say. “I can scarcely imagine what heaven will be like.”

  Phoebe felt a deep aching in her heart. She missed her mother very nearly as much today as she had that horrible moment ten years earlier when Vater had called her into his study to announce her mother’s death. Phoebe hadn’t even known her mother had taken a trip, but Vater declared that although he had advised against it, the trip had been a last-minute arrangement. An ill-fated one, just as he had feared. The ship she’d taken to America had sunk, and all had been lost at sea.

  Phoebe was only twelve, and the loss had been almost insurmountable. Her older brother, Dieter, seemed to take it all in stride, but Phoebe spent hours each day sobbing, praying that it was all a mistake and her mother would come home. Her father soon tired of her brooding, tears, and questions and whisked Phoebe off to a boarding school in Switzerland. He assured her the change in scenery would help her with her grief. It didn’t. Instead it seemed like she had been abandoned by all who had once loved her.

  Not only that, but the girls at the school were cruel and teased her mercilessly for her tears. Even the teachers admonished her to comport herself in a more staid and ladylike manner befitting a nobleman’s daughter. Once again, the lesson was to refrain from showing one’s feelings. Phoebe thought them all heartless and buried herself in her studies, as well as art and music. By the time she completed school and returned home, she had learned quite well what was expected of her as the proper daughter of a graf. It didn’t stop her, however, from asking her father for more details about her mother’s death and why there wasn’t at least a memorial stone erected in the cemetery. Her father thought it foolish to erect a stone when there wasn’t a body buried beneath it. Not only that, but he did not want to think about her mother. In Phoebe’s absence he had taken down the large oil painting of her mother and had moved it to the attic. Phoebe found it there and secreted it away in her room, where she could look at the portrait daily and remember a happier time. Losing Mutter had created an emptiness in her that could not be filled, no matter how hard Phoebe tried.

  The loss remained acute even now. Phoebe looked out across the lawn and sighed. It all seemed so unfair. She knew that she favored her mother in appearance and perhaps even in her inquisitive spirit. Her mother was not one to let a matter lie if she found it of interest. Vater said this stemmed from the American side of the family. Apparently her mother’s mother had been an American who had married into English nobility. However, Phoebe knew nothing of her mother’s English or American relatives, and when she asked her father about them, he insisted they had all passed away. It seemed strange to imagine there was no one left.

  Two days later, after hiding in her cottage on the hotel grounds with Kenny, Elizabeth found herself having to face her best friend.

  “You’re going to have to talk about this sooner or later,” Georgia told Elizabeth. “You might have fooled Kenny with that excuse that you were overly tired, but you and I both know that something is wrong. Even Ian knows, which is why he took Kenny to town with him just now.”

  “I’m grateful for that. My poor little boy. He was practically beside himself when I made him stay inside with me these last two days.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t even able to look her good friend in the eye and kept her face lowered. Georgia deserved the truth. But the truth could put an end to the happy life Elizabeth had finally managed to eke out for herself managing the cleaning staff at the Broadwater Hotel. She had thought herself perfectly isolated from her past in this far western retreat in the Montana mountains.

  “I promise you, Elizabeth, I will help you no matter what you tell me.”

  Elizabeth finally lifted her head, but she still didn’t know what to say. She had maintained the lie about her life in America for so long, she had actually convinced herself that her former life and connections no longer existed. How could she possibly explain any of this to her dearest friend in all the world?

  She got up and went to the stove for the pot of coffee she’d made earlier. Her mind was made up. She had to be truthful and hoped that Georgia would keep her secret. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  Georgia waited as Elizabeth filled their cups and then nodded. “Go on.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “My name isn’t Elizabeth Bergen. It’s actually Von Bergen.” She looked at her friend and shook her head. “I hardly know where to start.” She sank into her chair opposite Georgia at the tiny kitchen table.

  “I find the beginning is always best,” Georgia said with a sympathetic smile. She reached out to pat Elizabeth’s hand.

  Elizabeth nodded, took a big breath, and began. “I was raised in England, as my accent attests. My father was a wealthy Englishman of noble birth, and my mother was an American. I was an only child, and when my father grew ill it was decided I would marry a German graf—that’s the equivalent of an English count. You see, my English family members were intermingled with German relatives, and we spoke German fluently. It was all a very natural process. My father arranged for me to marry Graf Frederick Von Bergen. I was only nineteen, and he was . . . is fifteen years my senior. There was no thoug
ht that I might do anything but obey. Arranged marriages in titled families are quite expected, and I had been brought up with the understanding that my parents would choose my husband.”

  She drew another deep breath. “In the beginning things didn’t seem too bad. I was lonely at times, but I had a household to run and that took a great deal of my time. Not only that, but Frederick liked to entertain and did so often. Our parties were lavish and extensive. The year following our wedding, I bore a son, and Frederick was the happiest man in the world. At least for a short time.”

  “So what happened to change that?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I suppose I changed. I had been raised to be most obedient, and as long as I did nothing to question Frederick’s choices, our marriage was quite amiable. Unfortunately, I started to confront him about concerns I had. He was often gone on business, but no one seemed to know where he had gone. Our son was rather sickly as a baby, and I worried constantly. Frederick, however, refused to even acknowledge there were problems. He dismissed it as something all babies endured and assured me our son would outgrow his problems. When Dieter was three I gave birth again—this time a daughter.”

  “Phoebe?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes.” Tears came to her eyes. “Phoebe was a delightful baby and never sick. Dieter did eventually outgrow his sickliness, just as Frederick had assured, but it was very difficult for him in those early years. It was difficult for all of us. I learned that my husband was gambling, and quite heavily. He had gone through most of his inheritance yet had a public image to uphold. To be known as a gambler and someone who held debts, Frederick would have suffered great humiliation. By this time my parents had died, and a portion of the fortune was settled on me. My husband began to go through it quickly. When he started selling off some of my mother’s jewelry, I protested, and . . . he . . . beat me.”

  “Oh my,” Georgia said, shaking her head. She added a spoonful of sugar to her coffee and stirred it in silence.

  “It became a routine after that. If I questioned him about his spending or approached the subject of his gambling, he became violent. After a time, he seemed to need no excuse and would hit me whenever the notion took him. He beat me so badly on several occasions that I . . . I . . . miscarried. I lost three unborn children that way.” Tears streamed down her face, but Elizabeth didn’t even attempt to wipe them away.

  “Was he only harsh with you?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “He was most demanding of the servants and often resorted to striking them. I once saw him beat a groomsman who had been unable to control my husband’s horse. When Frederick attempted to mount, the horse reared and the groomsman lost control. My husband beat him and then had the horse brought to him. He killed the animal on the spot, and even after it lay dead, Frederick kicked the poor beast over and over.” She paused a moment to regain her thoughts. “It was horrifying, and even the other servants were alarmed at his abuse.

  “He was also quite hard on our son, Dieter. I believe this came in part from Dieter being small and sickly. I tried more than once to intercede, but Frederick only turned more violent. He seemed to get pleasure out of hurting people. The only person he held any kindness for was our daughter, Phoebe. But then, she was always a most compliant child and gave him no reason to be severe. He actually went out of his way to shield her from his violent temper.”

  “So what happened to make you flee to America?”

  “I learned I was expecting Kenny. I wanted nothing more than to protect my unborn child, so I tried my best to stay out of Frederick’s way and be always in agreement with whatever he wanted. But one night he flew into a rage when a neighboring landowner dammed up one of the streams. Phoebe was twelve and Dieter fifteen. Dieter was hard like his father by this time. My son could act quite ugly; in fact, he suggested that he and his father simply have the neighbor beaten. Without thinking, I protested. Frederick gave me a look that left me little doubt I would pay for my interference. To his credit, however, he never struck me in front of the children.”

  “How very considerate,” Georgia said, her tone full of sarcasm.

  Elizabeth remembered the night as if it were yesterday. “I knew Frederick would confront me later when we were alone. I had no doubt that he would beat me unmercifully, and I knew I would have to leave before that happened or risk losing my baby. So while Dieter and his father were sequestered away in the library trying to figure out how to make our neighbor pay, I slipped upstairs and gathered my things. I couldn’t take much, obviously. To do so would alert the entire staff. I had managed to save back money from the household expenses, and I still had some of my jewelry, so I knew I could get as far as England. I had planned to take Phoebe with me, but when I was ready to leave, I couldn’t find her. My time was running out and I knew that if I didn’t hurry, someone would figure out what I was doing and report to Frederick. So I decided I would send for her later.”

  “It must have been very hard to leave her behind,” Georgia sympathized. “I couldn’t imagine having to leave any of my children.”

  “I had hoped it wouldn’t be forever. I thought, prayed really, that Frederick would realize the harm he’d caused and change. I even left him a letter saying as much. Of course, it didn’t matter to him. He lied to the children and told them I was dead.”

  “Dead?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I didn’t know this at first. I went to stay with an elderly aunt in London. She was the last of my family still living. Once established there, I sent a friend of the family to speak with Frederick on my behalf and to bring Phoebe back to England when he returned. But Frederick had already sent Phoebe off to a boarding school and told the children that I had died. He told them I had been determined to take an emergency trip to America and that, despite his protests, I insisted and went anyway. He told them my ship sank and I was dead. He told our friend that if I knew what was good for me, I’d disappear and never try to see any of them again . . . or . . . he would ruin my reputation, perhaps even divorce me. He told our friend he wished I would have died.”

  “How ghastly! The horrible little man.” Georgia shook her head. “I’ve never known anyone to be so heartless.”

  “I wasn’t all that concerned; after all, I was out of that house and Frederick would have had a difficult time getting to me on my aunt’s estate. When I learned where Phoebe was I sent her numerous letters. All of them were returned to me without her ever seeing them. I thought to threaten Frederick with some information I knew about his less-than-honorable business dealings. But before I could, I received a letter from Frederick telling me all the horrible things he would do if I ever tried to reach either of the children again. He threatened to have me killed and said he would rather see Phoebe dead than living with me.

  “I feared for my children, and my aunt and I decided I would leave England for America. She gave me money and booked me passage on the next ship available. I was then four months along in my pregnancy. I gave up any hope of ever seeing my older children and decided it would be best for my baby if I simply focused on a new life here in America. I was determined to put the past behind me.”

  “But now the past has come to you. Phoebe is here.”

  “Yes. And I don’t know for certain, but I would imagine that means her father is here as well. Possibly her brother too.”

  “Oh dear,” Georgia said, seeming to fully understand the situation. “We must find out for certain that this Phoebe is your daughter and learn whether or not your . . . husband is in residence at the hotel.”

  “If he is, I cannot go back there. Even if he realizes I’m here . . . and Phoebe learns the truth, I can’t risk Frederick learning about Kenny.”

  “I will find out for you.” Georgia got to her feet. “I need to get up to the kitchen anyway. It’s obvious you aren’t feeling well, so when I go to work, I’ll simply tell them as much. That way, you can remain here. Then I’ll check with the manager and see if Phoebe is indeed Phoebe Von Bergen and who else is
in her party. After that, we will know better how to approach this matter.”

  Elizabeth felt certain that, given Kenny and Ian’s description, Phoebe was no doubt her daughter, and while it was always possible she was here with someone else, even a husband, Elizabeth feared otherwise.

  “I suppose all I can do is wait until we know for certain. No matter what, Georgia, we must say nothing of this to anyone—especially Kenny.”

  3

  It was late afternoon before Georgia had a chance to return to the cottage. Elizabeth could tell by the look on her friend’s face that the news wasn’t good.

  “Your husband is here with Phoebe and at least two servants. He has some sort of business going on and will be here for an indefinite stay.”

  Elizabeth felt her knees buckle and grabbed hold of the rocking chair. She swallowed, but her throat was dry and the action sent her into a coughing fit. Georgia guided her to sit in the rocker, then fetched her a glass of water. Elizabeth took it and drank as if she’d been without fluids for days. It did nothing to settle her nerves.

  “I’m sorry that the news is as you feared. Still, I think it would be wonderful for you to reunite with your daughter and tell her the truth of what happened.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know whether Phoebe would immediately run to her father with the news.”

  “Even if she did, Kenny is in town with Ian. I can certainly see that he stays with us a few days while you figure this out. Perhaps this is God’s way of working out the past for you, Elizabeth. You have to see that there is the possibility for good to come out of this.”

  “There’s an even greater probability for harm.” Elizabeth took another drink.

  “Well, I’ve been praying a great deal about this. All day since learning the truth, I’ve known that we would need to seek the Lord on what direction you should take.”

  “I’ll have to quit my job and leave.”

  “That seems rather rash, don’t you think?”