It was raining hard, crashing against the window. Frau Gabor sat stiffly in her rocking chair, trying to fight off the demons leaping through her memories, forcing her to remember.
Melchior had always hated these summer storms. As a child he would climb onto her lap and stay curled there until the thunder ceased while she read to him, keeping the rocking chair going at a soothing rhythm. By ten he wouldn't allow himself to show such weakness, but still kept close, sitting on the hearth at her feet and allowing her to rest a gentle hand on his head.
Frau Gabor sighed, resting her head in her hands. Who's comforting you now, Melchior? Is there someone there to understand, or will you be alone in that horrible school? Her tears began to fall as thickly as the rain outside. I'm so sorry, Melchi, I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have let him send you away...
A pounding on the door yanked her from her reverie. Wiping her eyes on a corner of her apron, she crossed the room and flung open the door. There, soaking wet and with blood mixing with rain and tears on her face, was Martha Bessel.
"Frau Gabor," whispered the girl, "I need your help."
"Dear God... Come in, Martha, right away!" Frau Gabor pulled the girl into the warm room and sat her down in her vacated chair. Under the lamplight she could see the full extent of Martha's injuries. Her nose and lip bled, her eye was swollen, and a bruise was quickly appearing on her cheekbone. "Stay here, I'll be right back."
Frau Gabor quickly filled a basin with warm water and got a bundle of clean rags, soaking one of then thoroughly with icy water from the pump. Back in the living room, she handed the cold rag to Martha. "Put it on your eye, dear, it will help with the swelling."
Martha did, whimpering softly as the rag touched her eye, while Frau Gabor gently cleaned her face. When all the blood had been washed away Frau Gabor sat back on her heels, trying to think of a way to delicately ask the question sitting on her tongue.
But there was no way to soften it, so she simply asked, "Martha, who did this to you?"
Martha's face crumpled and she bit her lip, chest heaving with the effort of controlling her emotions. "Papa," she forced out.
Herr Bessel? He was a man known for being unyielding and having a short temper, but what man would do this to his own daughter? "Why? What happened?"
Martha looked so pained, so conflicted; Frau Gabor reached out and took her hands. This small act seemed to decide Martha. "He... he was doing it again. But something more, something terrible. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was worse than what he usually did, more than just touch, so I tried to push him away. I was so scared... I started screaming and he hit me, and he wouldn't stop, and I got away and ran out the door and came here."
Nausea hit Frau Gabor like a wave, crashing over her and receding, then rising again. Years of tending to scrapes and sprains and smashed fingers couldn't prepare her for this kind of wound. That bastard... A good girl like Martha! She took the girl before her in her arms, holding her tightly.
"I'll have Herr Gabor speak to him," she whispered. "And I'll have a talk with your mother about it. He won't try it again."
But Martha simply looked terrified. Eyes wild, she pulled away. "He'd just keep hurting me worse, as punishment! Please, Frau Gabor, don't send me back there!"
"Child, I told you I'd speak to your parents! There is nothing else I can do!" Frau Gabor stood up and turned to look into the fire. There is nothing else I can do...
Fanny Gabor, you coward! What happened last time a child asked you for help? You ignored him, told him you couldn't do anything for him, said you'd write his parents... And he turned up dead, by his own hand. You might have been able to stop him, but you never tried, just said it wasn't your business. Moritz dead, Wendla Bergmann too, and you could have done something there as well. You could have stopped her mother taking her to that quack of an abortionist, you knew they'd try him... Melchior in a reform school when you could have kept fighting for him, and Ilse ran away because the goings on in her house were just like Martha's.... Two dead, two gone... No more!
"We'll... we'll file a complaint against your parents, prove them unfit."
"I'll be thrown out!" cried Martha
"No, you won't," Frau Gabor said firmly, "because you aren't going back there. You can stay with me. I've missed having another woman in the house since Brigitte got married." And Melchior was sent away.
"You're sure? My father might come here, and if he does-"
"We'll face that if and when we come to it. I've decided; you're staying here, so no good arguing," cut in Frau Gabor.
Martha gave her a watery smile. "Thank you, Frau Gabor."
"Don't think of it," she said with a shake of her head. "You'd better get into some dry clothes, and then bed. You can use Brigitte's things."
As she watched Martha make her way up the stairs, Frau Gabor smiled. The storm had died down; Melchior would be able to sleep now. She hadn't saved the other children, but she could save this girl. No more children will be hurt if I have anything to say about it.
She blew out the lamp.