1 WALENSEE

August 22, 1843

Muhlehorn, Glarus, March 17, 1835

Amalia was thirteen when her parents took her to a wedding down by the Walensee. At the time, she had no dreams of marrying anyone. She felt awkward—too old to sit with the children yet too young to be considered an adult. Wandering among the wedding guests, looking for a place to belong, she noticed a tall teenager standing at the back of the crowd.

Her schoolmate Ursula noticed her staring and came over to whisper, “That’s Peter Britt, brother of the groom.”

The guests had just finished toasting the bride and groom when Peter and several other young men stepped forward to sing a song for the newlyweds. Amalia’s heart was thrilled to hear their harmony, but it was the young man in the middle who kept her attention. He turned his eyes away when she looked at him. His confidence, mixed with an awkward vulnerability, intrigued her.

She couldn’t imagine an older boy like him finding her attractive—she barely had breasts and wore her hair in two childlike braids hanging down to her waist. Her self-consciousness kept her from noticing that Peter was trying to grow a thin mustache in the hope of looking like a man.

The guests tapped spoons on the wine glasses for the newlyweds to kiss. Amalia looked at Peter to see how he would respond to his brother kissing the bride. She laughed when he wrinkled his nose like something in the room smelled rotten. Before she knew it, Peter was beside her, making jokes as if a wedding was not a solemn occasion.

The newly married couple danced in the golden light as the sun fell toward the horizon. The village folk flitted around them in laughter and song—until suddenly there was a skirmish, and somebody kidnapped the bride.

While the groom and his friends ran off to find her, an older man turned to Peter. “Aren’t you going to help your brother find his wife?”

Peter acted as if he hadn’t heard the man and turned to Amalia. “Would you like to go down to the lake?”

Amalia glanced toward her father before she agreed. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her walking toward the lake with a boy.

Across the lake, the nearly vertical cliffs of the mountains formed a formidable rock wall. The Walensee always wore turquoise in the sunshine—and this day was no exception. As one of the largest lakes in Switzerland, it carried the waters from three glacial rivers and deposited them into the Linth Canal. Boats from Obstalden traveled down the lake, into the Linth, and onto the larger world.

As the teenagers followed the short trail to the lake, the brisk March wind warned them that it was far too cold for swimming. Peter stopped to pick up a handful of rocks before they sat on the dock.

The teenagers skipped rocks across the water while each tried to think of something to say.

“I’ve never thought a wedding could be so much fun.” Peter’s voice was husky.

Amalia laughed. “This is the most interesting thing I’ve done all year.”

She wasn’t talking about the wedding. She meant talking to a boy beside the lake. She hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

“Well, if this is the most interesting thing you’ll do all year, I feel sorry for you. I’m planning to travel through France and Italy this summer.”

Amalia bit her lip. “The thought of getting on a boat and traveling down the Linth sounds frightening.”

“You just need the right traveling companion.”

Peter slid closer to Amalia, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice her cheeks growing warm.

As the winter sun slid below the horizon, the sounds of singing and laughter echoed across the lake as the party continued above them. That night, there was no moon, and as the shadows gathered around them, they could barely make out the Alps, guarding their simple and ancient way of life. The sky was cloudless, and the stars soon popped into view, one by one.

Peter motioned toward a falling star. “Ptolemy said the stars are a sign that God is listening to our wishes. Would you like to make one?”

Amalia smiled. “Can we both make a wish? Or is there only one wish per star?”

Peter sighed, “I don’t know, but the one thing you can’t do is tell me what you wish for.”

Amalia tossed the last rock from her hand into the water. “I wouldn’t do that—or it might never come true.”

“Smart girl!” Peter handed her a rock from his hand. He placed it in her palm and gently wrapped her fingers around it as if experimenting to see how much she’d allow him to touch her. Then he stretched out on his back to gaze at the stars. Amalia followed his example. They lay on their backs, comparing childhood stories of snow forts and ruined Christmas surprises from peeking behind their parents’ backs.

“Have you ever been to Quinten? It’s just across the lake. They have more sun than we have here in Glarus. They can even grow grapes over there.”

“No, I’ve never left the Canton.”

A large boat passed with lanterns swinging from both sides, and the dock began to rock in its wake. Peter reached out to hold her hand as if to steady her.

Amalia looked from the water to the sky. “I heard that a fisherman could get lost between the stars on the water and the stars in the sky on such a dark, moonless night as this.”

Her voice trailed off into a whisper. “And possibly drown.”

“I doubt that would happen if they just stayed on the boat.”

His common sense made her laugh. Something about this boy filled her with a sense of calm.

As his face grew closer to hers, Amalia held her breath. Her face had never been so close to a boy before. She was shutting her eyes, hoping that he might kiss her, when the door to the house above them opened.

Her father’s gruff voice broke into her thoughts. “Amalia! Where are you? Let’s go!”

Peter dropped her hand and vanished, leaving Amalia alone on the dock. Puzzled by his abrupt departure, her eyes searched the shoreline and peered into the starry depths, but the water and the trees remained still.

For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined this encounter. Her eyes searched for a sign that this wasn’t a dream. Hadn’t they breathed the same air and stared at the same stars? Hadn’t he touched her hand and leaned in close enough that she could smell the farm on him? Or had she just imagined it? Then her fingers felt the smooth rock in her hand, and she knew it was true.

Herr Grob impatiently called again. “Amalia, where are you? I hope you’re not alone with that boy.”

Amalia stood up and steadied herself against the pier before answering.

“Of course not. Coming, Vater!”

The Alpenhaus © 2025 Cherilyn Christen Clough All rights reserved.

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Step Into The Alpenhaus

I saw your smile, I felt your warmth
I sensed your spirit before I ever felt your touch.
Even then I knew,
The scent of your hair,
The sound of your voice echoing off these hills,
Would never be too much.

Glarus, Switzerland, August 22, 1843

Amalia took a deep breath and glanced up at the Romanesque church tower pointing toward the azure sky. Built five hundred years earlier, it was the tallest building in the village. Inside, she could hear the organ playing her favorite hymn, “Now Thank We All Our God.” She nervously touched the wreath of wildflowers resting atop her exquisitely braided brown hair—just a quick check to make sure it was still in place. Then, holding a bouquet of yellow violets in one hand, she reached for her father’s arm with the other and took the step that would change her life forever.

It was the wedding she’d always dreamed about—flowers, food, music. Everything was perfect, except for one thing—she was marrying the wrong man.

This wasn’t her original plan, but she wanted more than anything to be good—and good daughters were expected to obey their fathers. Despite her lack of affection, Herr Grob had assured his daughter that she would learn to love her new husband.

Along with submitting to her father, she was getting something in return—a good provider who would ensure a stable home to raise her children.

It was a small wedding, and the guests didn’t begin to fill the austere church—but Amalia’s family and friends came to wish her well. Many of the guests—along with her parents—believed she was making a good match because the groom was a carpenter and shouldn’t lack for work.

In the Canton of Glarus, Switzerland, in 1843, the small farming community of Obstalden was struggling. Famines, sickness, and weather patterns had destroyed crops and disrupted life for over a decade. Despite hard times, the community came out to celebrate the union—bringing their best cheese, wine, and potato dishes.

While the minister rambled on about the duties of marriage, Amalia’s eyes wandered to the washed-out mural on the tower’s wall. Painted by the church fathers three centuries earlier, it was a fading reminder that human lives are short—while God alone is eternal.

She lowered her eyes in shame as she imagined a cloud of holy witnesses watching her make this solemn promise—to marry one man while she loved another.

In those moments before she said, “I do,” she pondered which was the greater sin—to disobey her father or marry a man she didn’t love.

Did she even have a choice?

As soon as the preacher declared them man and wife, the new couple stepped outside to light the bride’s wreath. The groom lifted the wildflowers from Amalia’s head and handed the symbol of her virginity to his bride. Swiss tradition predicted that the faster the wreath burned, the better the bride’s luck. They smiled at each other while the groom’s cousin Anton held up the torch.

Afterward, rumors spread that Anton had been distracted by an eagle flying overhead and took too long to light the torch, while others wondered if the torch had ever been adequately lit. Regardless, a strong wind came up from behind and snuffed out the flame.

Women gasped, men groaned, and gossips turned to each other, asking what it meant.

Unflustered, Amalia looked up at the sky. She figured it was a reminder that God was sovereign. If she were going to have good luck, it would depend on divine timing—and she must remain patient.

The shocked villagers remained silent, staring at the unlit wreath, until someone shouted, “Throw the bouquet!”

Ever compliant, Amalia turned her back to the crowd. She imagined that some young girl would catch it and put it under her pillow to dream about her future husband, as she had once done.

Tossing the flowers over her shoulder, she caught sight of turquoise Lake Walensee far below the village and winced as a pang of regret hit her stomach.

She ached not only for what was—but for what might have been.

The Alpenhaus © 2025 Cherilyn Christen Clough All rights reserved.

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Listen to the Prologue and Chapter 1, Walensee:

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Step Into the Alpenhaus