The American Lady (37 page)

32

Wanda arrived in Bozen early that evening, and the train to Munich did not depart until the next day. Over the course of the day a mountain of clouds had appeared and hidden the sun, and the heat was almost unbearable. The birds had stopped singing—an unmistakable sign that bad weather was brewing.

Wanda looked up at the sky, concerned. A storm was the last thing she needed. Her fingers were damp as she shifted the bassinet from her right arm to her left, then shouldered her bag and picked up her suitcase again. After just a few paces she felt her strength failing once more. She couldn’t go on like this; she had to rest. She spotted a little patch of grass across the street in the shade of two huge chestnut trees. Wanda staggered to the lawn, where a marble monument and a bench stood. She put down the suitcase and her bag, then put the bassinet on the bench and sat next to it. She stared ahead, her eyes blank.

Only a week ago she had strolled through these streets with Richard as though they had all the time in the world, happy beyond measure. They had gone to dinner nearby and they had kissed in front of that fountain with the chubby cherubs. And then later that nigh
t . . .

Wanda’s feet burned as though she had been walking over hot coals. Her mouth and her lips were dry, and her stomach was so empty that she was dizzy with hunger. It was just a matter of time before Sylvie started to protest at being carried around town in this heat. But none of these challenges were her biggest problem.

She had trudged around town for more than two hours looking for a place to spend the night. She had been to three hotels and two smaller boarding houses, and every one of them had turned her away. Was it because she was so young, or because she looked rather bedraggled after the long train journey? Was it because she didn’t have a husband or her parents with her, or was it all because of the baby in her bassinet? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d had the same answer everywhere: they had no free rooms.

She had never missed her mother so much in her life. And Aunt Johanna too. Both of them were always so sure of themselves! Their problems seemed to solve themselves on their own. They wouldn’t end up sitting here like a sniveling heap of misery. No, they woul
d . . .
What would they do? Wanda had no idea. She would so much have liked to follow some example.

Her arms were tired as she lifted Sylvie from the bassinet and gave her the last bottle of milk that she had. The baby began to suckle at the rubber nipple. Her red cheeks pumped in and out and a little furrow of concentration appeared on her brow. Wanda smiled. Was she imagining things or had Marie’s daughter really grown in the last two days? The sight of the hungry little girl filled her with new strength.

She couldn’t just sit here! She had to find a pharmacy and buy some powdered milk for Sylvie. And she had to find a room for the night.

While she fed Sylvie she went over an inventory in her head of what she was carrying in her luggage. The travel bag was full of the presents she had brought from Lauscha—mostly baby things. She would be able to do without most of those, especially the clothes that were too big at the moment, but she would need all the diapers.

When Sylvie was full and back in her bassinet, Wanda got to work. She didn’t care that the passersby stared as she sorted methodically through her luggage, discarding everything that she did not need on the journey. Once she was finished, her traveling bag was almost bursting but she could leave the suitcase behind. Perhaps somebody would come by who needed it more than she did. She set out, her load lightened and her feet a little rested.

When she found a pharmacy after only five minutes, she could have almost cried with relief. Her voice shook as she asked, half in German, half in Italian, for something her baby could eat.

“I will have to go into the stockroom. If the young lady would be good enough to wai
t . . .
” the pharmacist answered in a melodious Austrian accent. Then he vanished through a door.

He came back with three cans, various glass flasks marked with white lines, and some bottles with rubber nipples. He arranged everything carefully on the counter and explained to Wanda how to prepare the milk.

A weight fell from Wanda’s heart. She had been worried that she wouldn’t be able to buy powdered milk in a little town like Bozen. Ever since she boarded the train in Genoa that morning, she had been scolding herself about not having bought milk for the journey. When the pharmacist asked if there was anything else he could do for her, Wanda felt another surge of panic. What else did a baby need? He was the first person she had met on her journey who had been friendly and polite, but she could hardly ask him for childcare advice. So she bought a little box of peppermints and thanked him for his help, then left.

The shop bell was still tinkling behind her as she opened the box and shoved one of the peppermints greedily into her mouth. Right away the cool taste of mint quenched the worst of her thirst.

A moment later, she had the idea.

It was such a simple idea—and it was wonderful.

It was exactly what her mother would do instead of tramping around the streets like a beggar. Wanda picked up her pace. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?

Wanda and Sylvie reached the entrance of the Grand Park Hotel just as the first raindrops started to fall. At reception she paid the wickedly high price for a room, and as she took the key she silently thanked her parents for their generosity, which allowed her to spend the night at such a fancy place. All manner of well-heeled and worldly guests came and went here, and the receptionist was far too discreet to ask how a woman happened to be traveling alone with a baby. It was house policy to welcome any guest who was ready and willing to pay the outrageous cost for the night.

A bellhop took Wanda’s bag and showed her to the room. Once he had unlocked the door, she asked him to bring her a pitcher of lemonade. He asked whether she would like him to bring something to eat as well or whether she would prefer to dine in the hotel’s restaurant, the Belle Époque. As soon as he asked, Wanda’s belly began to rumble in a most unladylike manner. She ordered the dish of the day and waved away his description of what the chef had prepared.

No sooner had the young man shut the door behind him than Wanda took Sylvie out of the bassinet. The baby began to wave her arms and legs immediately. Wanda spoke gently to the little one as she went into the bathroom, where she was pleased to find hot and cold running water. She ran lukewarm water into the elegant washbasin and added a pinch of the pink bath salts as well. If they were good enough for high-society ladies, they were good enough for her little princess!

“I think you already know just what you like, don’t you!” Wanda said as she washed the baby rather clumsily. “We’ll have to heat the stove every day in winter so that our little princess can have a bath! My word, that’ll take a lot of firewood! Richard will have to sell a few more glasses.”

Richar
d . . .
the thought of him was like an arrow to her heart. She was supposed to meet him at the Hotel Riviera today. She could already see him in her mind’s eye, pacing impatiently up and down and looking at a clock on the wall every few minutes.

A knock roused her from her thoughts. She wrapped Sylvie up in a thick towel and opened the door.

“
Madame
, your supper! Veal schnitzel in a lemon sauce, with butter noodles an
d . . .
”

As soon as Wanda saw the bellhop, she knew just what she had to do. She hastily pulled him into the room complete with the tray. Then she stood in front of the door, blocking his way.

“It smells wonderful—but all of a sudden I’m not hungry anymore. What a pit
y . . .
” She shrugged apologetically. “Perhaps you should eat it so that it doesn’t go to waste?”

“Me? Bu
t . . .
” The young man looked at her in astonishment.

“No buts! Sit down here at this table, right now, and have a good meal! I have something very important I have to do in the meantime. It’s a matter of life and death, so to speak,” Wanda pleaded. “And I need your help, or else all is lost!”

“Bu
t . . .
”

She pushed him farther into the room. She fumbled in her bag for money and said, “Nobody but us needs to know what happened here, that goes without saying. If your boss tries to tell you off for staying away from your post, just blame me! Tell hi
m . . .
oh, tell him anything you like! And while you eat, will you please keep an eye on my daughter? She’s just fallen asleep, and I’m sure she’ll be no trouble. I’ll be right back.”

“Bu
t . . .
”

“Please! Stay here and watch over my child, will you do that for me?” Without waiting to hear his objections, Wanda pushed some money into his hand. Then she ran from the room.

“It’s an emergency. I swear to you that it is!” she pleaded at the reception desk a few minutes later. “I need a connection to the Hotel Riviera in Venice, whatever it costs!”

“It is not a matter of cost, dear lady, rather it’s a technical problem,” the receptionist told her for the second time. “Even if you happened to know the number of the hotel—which clearly you don’t—I still couldn’t call it directly. We would need an operator to put us through. And the telephone exchanges are hardly ever manned at this time of night.”

Wanda wrung her hands. “But couldn’t you at least try? Perhap
s . . .
if luck’s on our sid
e . . .
please!”

She summoned the charming smile that she had worn so easily in a previous life.

The receptionist gave a resigned shrug, picked up the receiver, and began to dial.

33

“Wanda! I’ve been waiting for you for hours! I didn’t leave the hotel all afternoon because I thought perhaps you might arrive earlier than we planne
d . . .
Where are you? At the station? Should I come and meet you? That would be no problem, I know Venice like the back of my hand by now, even if all these canal
s . . .
”

It was so good to hear his voice! Wanda’s hand began to tremble as she held the receiver. She was close to tears.

“Richard, be quiet for a moment and listen! I’m not in Venice. I’m in Bozen.”

“You’re where? This connectio
n . . .
I don’t think I heard you right.”

Wanda smiled sadly.

“I’m in Bozen,” she repeated. “On my way back to Lauscha.” And before he could reply, she burst out with all the essential details. That Marie was dead. That she, Wanda, was traveling back to Lauscha with Marie’s newborn baby. She said as little as she could about Franco, and about Marie’s confinement. How she longed to be able to tell him all these dreadful things! But she didn’t feel comfortable explaining it all over the telephone. She also had to blow her nose, since she could hardly breathe through the tears.

For a moment Wanda heard nothing but the crackle of the line. Then Richard said, “
I . . .
I don’t know what to say. Wanda, my darling Wanda, it must have been dreadful for you! I can hardly believe that Mari
e . . .
I’m so terribly sorry—”

Richard fell silent. But his honest sympathy said more to comfort her than a thousand words.

Then he seemed to pull himself together. He asked how Wanda was holding up. And how Sylvie was. She noticed gratefully that he had remembered Sylvie’s name without prompting.

“I’ll pack my things tonight. Then I’ll catch the first train to Bozen in the morning. You stay right where you are, and we’ll go back to Lauscha together. I’ll take care of everything from now on. You needn’t worry about anything, all right? We’ll make it.”

It was so tempting! It would be so easy, so simple. Wanda took a deep breath.

“No, Richard, I want you to stay in Venice. It’s important for you. I’ve made it this far; I can go the rest of the way as well,” she answered with more confidence in her voice than she truly felt.

“Forget the exhibition! I’ve already made a few useful contacts. And the whole thing’s happening again in two years anyway. But you need me
now
! Great heavens, when I think that you are on your own there with Sylvi
e—”
He stopped abruptly, then started again hesitantly. “It’s just tha
t . . .
tomorrow’s not the best time to leave, but I can certainly come the day after tomorrow. No later than that. And then we—”

“No!” Wanda broke in. “Please don’t say another word. I miss you dreadfully, of course I do! But right now all I want is to get back to Lauscha as fast as I can. That’s where Johanna and Eva are, and they’ll help me. Don’t you understand? I’m not entirely comfortable looking after her on my own. What do I know about babies, after all?” She laughed awkwardly.

Richard took a while to digest what she had said. Then he heaved a deep sigh.

“Wel
l . . .
to tell the truth I do have some appointments over the next few days; there are some people who want to look at my work. And now that there are three of us, we’ll need every penny I can earn, won’t we?”

“We will indeed!” Wanda said through her tears.

“But I won’t stay all the way through till Sunday, that’s for sure. I’ll leave as soon as I can.
I . . .
I miss you so much! Poor Wand
a . . .
I want to be with you and hold you tight. Forever.”

Which was just what she wanted too. “I love you,” she whispered into the receiver.

“And I love you too,” his voice came back over the crackling line.

The next morning Wanda’s eyes were rimmed red and sore with weeping. Talking to Richard had unleashed the tears all over again. But this time she found that it did her good to cry, that it washed away the pain, and afterward she felt exhausted but healed. It was as though the worst of her grief had been blunted.

Richard would be there for her. His love would heal her pain; she knew that now. As the Tyrolean landscape sped by outside the train window, she thanked whatever fates had smiled upon her last night and allowed a telephone connection. However, she was still dreading having to break the terrible news to Johanna and the others. At least
she
had had the chance to say good-bye to Marie, difficult though it had been. Wouldn’t the others find it almost impossible to accept their loss? Nevertheless, she had to tell them and the sooner the better. And tell her mother as well. Perhaps she would be able to call New York tonight from Munich.

Richard had said that they would look after Sylvie just as if they were her own father and mother. Father and mother—it sounded strange coming from him.
Would every man be so quick to take in the child of strangers?
Wanda wondered.
How would Harold have reacted?
She had no doubt that he would have hesitated, that he would have had a thousand questions. But what had Richard said, in that practical way of his?
“Now that there are three of us, we’ll need every penny I can earn, won’t we?”
Wanda smiled. She suddenly felt that she could face her future with confidence.

Confidence. Wanda thought for a while about what that word meant. It might be the best name for the tiny, warming flame that she felt deep within her, the flame that had not been there yesterday.

After Wanda had made sure that Sylvie was sleeping peacefully in her bassinet, she shut her own eyes too. The rhythmic rattle of the train along the tracks lulled her into a half sleep. When she awoke a little while later, the first thing she did was look at Sylvie. Everything was all right.

When they arrived in Munich, Wanda hailed a cab to take them to the best hotel in the city. She had just enough money left to pay for one night in a luxurious suite. Her last night away from home, Wanda told herself with relief as she followed the bellhop into the room. She eyed the heavy silk curtains, the vast bed with its royal-blue linens where a whole family could easily have slept, the magnificent Persian carpets on the gleaming parquet flooring. But there was no time to enjoy her surroundings. She unpacked hastily and counted her money. Then she washed Sylvie and fed her. Once the baby was lying happily in the middle of the bed with a light towel over her, Wanda rang for the concierge. She was surprised to see how young the woman was. She explained what she needed, and a few minutes later an older chambermaid appeared at the door. Reassured that she was leaving Sylvie in good hands rather than with a surprised and nervous bellhop, Wanda set out to find the nearest post office. As she walked through the crowded streets, she counted time zones in her head; it was nine o’clock in the morning in New York. If she were lucky, her mother was still sitting at breakfast, having a second cup of coffee.

It was not difficult to get a connection to America, though the clerk did insist on being paid for five minutes in advance, explaining that if he could not put her through she would, of course, get her money back.

Five minute
s . . .
What could she tell her mother in such a short time? Wanda wondered as the clerk plugged and unplugged cables, threw switches, and tested the connection several times through his headphones. Where should she even begin?

“Miss, your connection.”

Wanda’s hand trembled as she took the receiver. The line crackled and hissed; then she heard, “Hello, Mrs. Steven Miles here.” That cool, familiar voice!

“Mother!” Wanda blinked rapidly so that she did not cry. Five minutes was so little tim
e . . .

“Wanda?” her mother asked incredulously. “Are you already back from Italy? I thought that today was—”

“Mother, I have dreadful news!” Wanda broke in breathlessly. Her heart was in her throat. And before Ruth could say anything, she went on, “Marie is dead. She died after she gave birth to her daughter. I held her hand. She wasn’t alone, do you understand me? She was buried two days ago, it was awful.” She heard her mother take a breath at the other end of the line. Then she heard a soft moaning. Wanda didn’t want to imagine the blow she had dealt her mother with her words.

“Sylvie, that’s her daughter, is well. Marie’s last wish was that I should take her back to Lauscha. That’s what I’m doing now. I’m in Munic
h . . .
”

All at once she didn’t know what else to say.

“Mother?” she whispered when the silence at the other end of the line stretched on and on. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.
I . . .
pardon me, please,
I . . .
” There was a sound as though Ruth was blowing her nose, and then she said, “I can’t believe it. It’
s . . .
did she suffer very much?”

Wanda bit her lip. Should she tell the truth—o
r . . . 
?

“No. She wasn’t in any pain,” she answered. “She had a fever, do you see?”

“Feve
r . . .
Does Johanna know ye
t . . . 
?”

Wanda shook her head. Then she remembered that her mother couldn’t see her. “No. How could I even have told her? It will be a dreadful shock for them when I get home tomorrow with the baby in a bassine
t . . .
”

“Have I heard you right? You have Marie’s daughter there with you? You’re traveling alone with a newborn baby, such a long wa
y . . .
Ho
w . . .
how did Franco even agree to let you take his daughter away?”

“Franco? I didn’t even see him, but that’s another story. Mother, don’t worry about me, I’ll manage. I’ll call again when I get back to Lauscha. And I’ll write as well!” Wanda felt a surge of love and tenderness. She would have given anything to ease her mother’s pain!

At last Ruth recovered her voice.

“Believe it or not, I had such
a . . .
strange feeling these last few weeks whenever I thought of Marie. When Johanna told me that she hadn’t been in touch for such a long tim
e . . .
My Mari
e . . .
all the sam
e . . .
after the birt
h . . .
I can hardly believe that sh
e . . .
” she sobbed. “I’m glad that she wasn’t alone when it happened. It must have been such a comfort to her to have you there at her side. I’m proud of you,” she whispered.

“Oh, Mother, the things that happened in Geno
a . . .
I can’t tell you about them, not yet! But I did everything I could, and I—”

Wanda took a deep breath. This was no time to lose track of her thoughts.

“But there’s one thing I have to tell you now—I promised Marie I would look after her daughter. Richard and I will do that. Sylvie needs me. She’s such a sweet little thing! Marie said she looks like your mothe
r . . .
Mother, please understand, I can’t come back to New York, not now!” Wanda held her breath.

“Yes, I . . . understand that,” Ruth said in a hollow voice. The next moment a crackle drowned out her words. “
. . .
can’t com
e . . .
journe
y . . .
”

How could that happen now, of all times! “What did you say, Mother? The connectio
n . . .
Mother, I have to go soon,” Wanda yelled into the receiver.

“I said if you can’t come, then I’ll just have to make the journey myself!”

Wanda couldn’t believe her ears. Mother wanted to come to Lauscha—after all these years?

“As soon as we hang up, I’ll call and reserve a cabin on the next ship out. Perhap
s . . .
Steven will come with me. If not, then I’ll come on my own.” Ruth’s voice was much stronger now, decisive. “We Steinmann girls have to stick together, don’t we?”