BLYTHE DECIDED to return to England by way of Switzerland while it was still early enough in the year to avoid the extreme cold and snow of the Alpine country. This stop would give her an opportunity to tell Corin her decision on neutral territory.
Before they had left for Spain, Corin had urged Blythe to bring Jeff to the village where he spent his annual mountain-climbing vacation. He told her he would like to introduce the boy to the exhilarating sport. Of course, Blythe knew that Corin also wanted her to share a special part of his life she had never seen.
The train from Lucerne wound steeply through mountain valleys from which sparkling sun-crested, snow-capped peaks were visible. The view was awe-inspiring and a bit frightening as they chugged up the inclines, the train whistle tooting shrilly, sounding for all the world like the whistle on Jeff’s toy train set.
The train climbed steadily, hugging the mountainside, past deep valleys of soft purple shadows and clear mountain streams. Doll-house chalets dotted the floor of the valley and nestled snugly against the foothills. Herds of cows, their bells clanging in a strange kind of symphony, munched on the last of the sweet grasses.
When they finally came to a stop and Blythe and Jeff stepped out on the platform at the picturesque station, the air was crystal clear, so pure it almost hurt their lungs to draw it in.
Corin had made reservations for them at the same hotel where he always stayed, and they were greeted by one of its representatives who was attired in a braided, beribboned uniform resembling that of a military general. He quickly transferred their luggage to an open carriage, and they started up a mountain road, climbing higher and higher with each turn, their route marked by pine forests standing guard like tall sentinels on either side of the road.
The hotel overlooked a lake so blue it dazzled the eye. Built of natural woods, it had a sloping roof and dozens of balconies with decorative designs of birds and flowers and flower boxes brimming with pink and red geraniums. Although the building was very large, its architecture reminded Blythe of one of those amusing little carved clocks whose doors pop open on the hour to emit a tiny wooden cuckoo bird.
Welcomed as expected guests by the hotel staff at the desk in the lobby, Blythe and Jeff were escorted to their suite. The room was typically Swiss. Starched lace curtains hung at the windows. Alcoved beds were piled high with eiderdown quilts and fluffy pillows.
The scene from the window looked like a Christmas card—all frosted evergreens and soft mounded snowdrifts and tiny houses set into the hillside like the toy villages some people place beneath their Christmas tree.
After depositing their luggage, the uniformed bellboy told Blythe, “Herr Prescott left a message for you this morning before he went for his day’s mountain climb that he would meet you for dinner at seven.”
That evening in the lobby a smiling, sunburned Corin seemed so happy to see them that Blythe decided she could not spoil their first evening together by disappointing him with her answer. There would be a better, more appropriate time later, she procrastinated.
They spent a pleasant dinner hour together, Corin full of plans for their stay in the village he had visited a half-dozen times in as many years. He was eager to show and share its delights with Blythe and Jeff.
Though Blythe had every intention of seizing the very next opportunity to tell Corin of her decision, no such opportunity presented itself in the full agenda of the next few days. There was so much to see and do, and the hours passed quickly.
On the third day Corin had planned to take Jeff on a day’s hike. But first, the boy must be outfitted with sturdy boots and the traditional Alpine climber’s lederhosen and a jaunty brimmed hat with its feathered brush. Then the right size knapsack for Jeff to carry on his back must be selected and purchased.
Jeff awakened early, without being called, and could hardly be persuaded to eat a good breakfast, so eager was he to be off. Corin was waiting in the lobby, boyishly eager to initiate Jeff in the basics of the sport he himself enjoyed so much.
Blythe waved them off. Then, left on her own for the day, she took the twelve-mile train trip into Lucerne to shop. Armed with a guidebook, she did all the touristy things one does in Lucerne, visited the historic churches and other noteworthy sites.
In the shopping district she browsed in the many stores on either side of the long street, astonished at the variety of intriguing merchandise on display—the exquisite embroidery, the jewelry designed in vari-colored tiny mosaic stones, hand-painted wooden triptychs of religious subjects, toys of all kinds. In one store she debated long over a wonderful Noah’s ark, wondering if Jeff were too old for it, then on second thought decided against the purchase of all fifty pairs of animals! She went on to another gift store, lingering over a wide selection of music boxes, looking for just the right one to take back to Dotty.
As the afternoon wore on, Blythe’s feet began to tire; and after seemingly endless debate, the only purchase she ended up making in the last store was a small paperweight, a domed scene of skaters that produced a miniature blizzard when shaken. Wearily, she found a seat at the table in an outdoor garden restaurant facing a flower-bordered square, promising herself she would come back another day during her stay to do some serious shopping. While she waited to catch her train for the return trip to the village, she ordered an ice and chose a layered cake from the pyramid pastry stand, which proved too rich for her to finish.
An hour later she settled at last into the windowed compartment on the train returning to the village, marveling at the magnificent scenery along the route.
As Blythe came in, a tired but still enthusiastic Jeff was just entering the hotel lobby with Corin, both talking at once in their desire to share the events of their day. Jeff declared he had had a “capital time,” and Corin announced Jeff had the makings of a “real Alpine climber.”
Pleasantly exhausted, they had an early dinner and retired early, even Jeff willing to call it a day. Blythe’s last thought before drifting off to sleep was that she really must make the opportunity to talk with Corin privately. She had only arranged to stay in Switzerland for a week, and time was passing quickly. At the end of the week she and Jeff would be returning to England.
The next morning at breakfast Corin announced plans for a picnic, and Blythe felt a childlike anticipation. She had not been on a picnic for ages!
Outside the hotel, two open carriages waited to transport a congenial group of guests to the picnic site. Blythe and Jeff, assisted by Corin, climbed in and found seats along the sides while heavy wicker hampers containing the picnic food were brought out, lifted into the back of the wagon and secured with straps.
Drawn by the largest, sturdiest-looking horses Blythe had ever seen, the carriages rumbled off, leaving the hotel grounds and turning onto forest-lined roads where they climbed into the foothills.
The air was fresh and sweet as they rode by the pungent pines along the steep, narrow roads. The meadows were colorful with golden, blue, and orange wildflowers, the sun slanting through the thick, sweeping pine boughs.
Enjoyment of the outing was a universal language bridging the various backgrounds, and communication flowed easily among the guests. There was an easy camaraderie that left Blythe feeling happier than she had felt since her return from America, and she relaxed in the glow of pleasant companionship and the beauty of the day.
As they rode along, Blythe had a flash of insight about herself. The little ranch girl she had been, naïve and uneducated, had become a woman who spoke at least a smattering of four languages, had traveled two continents, and was comfortable in any setting. How much she had learned! How she had changed!
She looked over at Jeff who had quickly made friends with a small Italian boy and was carrying on some kind of “international” conversation. Corin caught her glance, and they exchanged a mutual message of amusement and understanding.
At length, they arrived at a broad, high meadow where the carriage wagons stopped, and the drivers unhitched the horses and led them away to graze. Two members of the hotel staff spread rugs and cushions and crisp checkered cloths down upon the flower-strewn grass, then unloaded the huge hampers of food.
The mountain air had given everyone an appetite, and the picnic provided by the hotel was bountiful and delicious. Blythe forgot that she had consumed a huge breakfast before leaving and ate as heartily as if she had fasted. There was thin sliced ham, crumbly goat cheese, freshly baked bread, creamy butter, chilled fruit, wine and coffee to drink, and a variety of desserts—flaky pastries filled with apples or berries, and rich chocolate cake. A feast “fit for a king” in any language!
Blythe’s heart was suddenly filled with gratitude for the gift of this perfect day. She closed her eyes briefly, lifting up a little prayer, relishing the sound of rushing wind in the tops of the pines, the far-off tinkle of cowbells in the valley below, the warmth of the sun on her back. One of the hotel employees had brought his zither and began to play, and the wistful music spun a spell over the drowsy listeners.
When the shadows lengthened, the staff packed up what was left of the lunch and the picnickers reluctantly climbed back into the wagons for the return trip to the hotel.
The following evening, Corin took Blythe to the weekly band concert held in the main town square. It was an interesting event because, besides the lively music for folk dancing, there were also bellringers dressed in colorful traditional Swiss costumes.
They walked back to the hotel in the silvery glow of the moon rising over the lake below, sending luminous mother-of-pearl streamers out over the glassy surface of the water. Blythe realized guiltily that she had not yet brought up the subject of her decision—the decision that would alter Corin’s hopes dramatically.
But the silence and serenity of the night seemed far too magical to shatter by such a declaration. Blaming herself for cowardice, Blythe simply thanked Corin for a lovely evening and bid him good night.
Perhaps, she rationalized, her last night in Switzerland would be the best time to break the news that she could not accept his proposal of marriage. That way, since Corin had planned to remain another few weeks to do some more strenuous climbing, he would have time to get over whatever disappointment Blythe’s answer might cause. By the time he returned to England, they would be able to resume the relationship that had been so satisfactory, at least to her.
However, even her last night in Switzerland did not present the right opportunity. Quite unexpectedly, it was announced at breakfast that morning that the hotel owner and his wife were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary, and all the hotel guests were invited to a gala party.
It was an unforgettable evening of gaiety, music, dancing, laughter, and entertainment of all kinds, and when the next morning Corin saw Blythe and Jeff off on their train to Zurich and Calais for the Channel crossing to England, there was time only for last-minute wishes for a safe journey and pleasant trip.
When the train whistle signaled imminent departure, Corin leaned forward and kissed Blythe lightly, thrusting a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates into her hands, cheerfully telling them he would see them within a month’s time.
As the train clattered down the tracks, Blythe followed Jeffs example, pressing her face against the window for a last look at the towering mountain peaks, the forested hills, and the sight of Corin’s tall figure on the train platform waving his Tyrolean hat.
In her heart Blythe wondered if perhaps Corin himself had suspected and dreaded her decision, and so had delayed hearing it for as long as possible.