Winter Passing by Cindy Martinusen Coloma Read Free Book Online Page B

Brant’s chair. “He never got over her. I knew them both when we were younger. I’ll always remember how they looked at each other. I wanted him to look at me that way. But she had his heart, even in her death. He made his trek up that mountain to her grave at least once a year for their anniversary. We never once celebrated ours.”
    Brant watched Ingrid. What could he say to her? In all the years he’d known Gunther and Ingrid, she’d never spoken so openly to Brant. He was the little brat who she was glad only came to the neighboring cottage in the summer. She had called him that when her kitchen window had been shattered by a rock. Little did she know it had been her grandson, Richter, who had thrown the rock.
    “We lived under the same roof all of these years, but we never shared each other’s lives. So Gunther told you about her?”
    “A little.”
    “What did he say? He never spoke of her after our marriage.”
    Brant hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal too much, even such long-dead secrets. “Only that the Nazis got her. They were trying to escape Europe and had to separate. She got caught, went to Mauthausen, and was executed. I’m sure you know that.”
    “Yes. She came from a well-known family and was half Jewish. That’s why the Nazis took her.”
    “He didn’t tell me much.” Brant averted his eyes and picked up Gunther’s pipe from the desk beside him.
    Ingrid didn’t speak for several minutes. Her eyes pierced Brant with such intensity that he shifted self-consciously in the chair. Ingrid had always frightened him when he was a child, and some of that fear remained. While Gunther exuded warmth with his many rough hugs and slaps on the back, even in Ingrid’s smiles there was a coldness. Though she had probably been a beautiful woman in her youth, there was a look in her eyes he’d never liked. Gunther had once told him that Ingrid had, like everyone else, been through hell during the war. But Ingrid hadn’t been freed from the demons that trailed her path.
    “If you knew more, you wouldn’t tell me anyway. I know that.” Ingrid rose. “If you could move everything into the attic, I’m going to store it all there until I decide whether to sell the cottage or keep it for summer use. With Gunther’s health, he won’t be back.”
    “Don’t get rid of Gunther’s things.”
    “I won’t, Brant.” Her voice sounded condescending. “But I’m going to get my use from this room. I’ve always loved the deck and French doors and thought it a waste to be a smoke-filled study. I may make it a knitting or tea room. I’m staying in Munich over the winter, then I’ll decide. How long until you’ll have his things boxed up?”
    Brant stood. It took everything in him to bite his tongue. And Ingrid wondered why Gunther could never love her? “I’ll have everything moved this weekend.”
    Brant didn’t enjoy the idea of packing up this room. But, after all, he was closest to Gunther. Ingrid had called him in Salzburg every week for the past month to remind him that the job was his. Brant didn’t want anyone else going through Gunther’s books and papers, yet he still avoided the duty until Ingrid threatened to call the movers and ship everything away. He wished the room could remain forever. The idea of Ingrid turning it into some flowery tea room churned his stomach. No, he wouldn’t return to this house of so many boyhood memories. He’d probably even sell or rent out his cottage next door.
    “I have dinner waiting for you. It’s probably cold now.”
    “You didn’t have to. I brought some food to my house.” Brant didn’t relish the thought of spending dinner alone with Ingrid.
    “No, you can eat here. I’m making you do this work. Richter should arrive soon. I asked him to come for the weekend.”
    Brant kept his expression the same, for he could see Ingrid was looking for a reaction. He wondered why she’d invited her grandson to Gosau. Richter and Brant had always