Her Mother's Hope (26 page)

Mr. Kutchner leaned against the car. “And the brakes. Don’t forget about the brakes.”

“I’ll give you a ride back to town.”

Mr. Kutchner grimaced. “Give me a minute.” He ran for the outhouse.

Bernie climbed into the car. “When can I learn to drive?”

Mama grabbed him by the ear and hauled him out yowling. “When you’re sixteen, and not a minute before.”

Hildemara felt queasy just thinking about riding in it. Papa came out of the barn, raked his hands through his hair, and went back in again.

Mr. Kutchner returned and smiled tightly. “I think I’ll walk, Marta. I don’t want to take you away from making dinner for your family.”

“Get in, you coward. I’ll have you in Murietta in a few minutes.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” When Papa came out of the barn again, Mr. Kutchner called out to him with a feeble grin. “Pray for me, Niclas.”

“You had to do it, didn’t you?” He said something in German.

“That’s no way to talk to a friend, Niclas.” Mama started the car. No lurching this time. She drove smoothly to the end of the driveway, stopped, and pulled out.

Hildemara counted the minutes, praying Mama wouldn’t have an accident. She heard the car coming. Mama made a wide turn into the yard, and another to the right, heading straight for the barn. Papa let out a stream of German. The horses screamed and kicked at their stalls. Papa shouted again. The car sputtered and died. A door slammed and Mama marched out of the barn, heading for the house. “You’re not parking that thing in the barn, Marta!”

“Fine! You move it!”

Mama hummed while making supper. “Bernhard, tell your father dinner is ready.”

Papa came in, washed, and sat, face grim. Bowing his head, he said a terse prayer, then carved the roast like a harried butcher. Mama poured milk for each, patted Papa on the shoulder, and took her seat. Papa passed the platter of mangled beef to Bernie. “I want that car out of the barn.”

“It’ll be out of the barn as soon as you build a shelter.”

“More expense.” He glared. “More work.”

“The Musashi boys will be happy to help. Just tell them I’ll take them for a ride. We’ll have a shelter up by Saturday afternoon.”

Hildemara watched the pulse throb in Papa’s temple. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

Papa read the Twenty-third Psalm that night and then said, “Bedtime.” He usually read for half an hour, at the very least.

Bernie came through the back door last, muttering. “Ring the bell. Round one starting.”

Hildemara lay on the top bunk, listening to Mama and Papa fight inside the house.

“What did you pay for that piece of junk?”

“Less than you did for that second horse!”

“The car stinks!”

“And horses smell like roses!”

“Manure is useful.”

“And plenty deep around here!”

Papa exploded in German.

“English!” Mama shouted back. “We’re in America, remember?”

“I’m going to tell Lucas to come and get that car and—”

“Over my dead body!”

“That’s what I’m trying to prevent!”

“Where’s your faith, Niclas?”

“This isn’t about faith!”

“God’s already counted our days. Isn’t that what Scripture says? I’ll die when God plans for me to die and not before. You’re just afraid of driving it!”

“I don’t see the sense in taking needless risks. People have gotten along without cars for this long—”

“Yes, and people died younger in those days, too. I’m exhausted most of the time, walking back and forth to town. With that car, I can be home in minutes. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have time one of these days to read a book just for the pure pleasure of it!” Her voice broke. She said something in German, her voice stressed and frustrated.

Papa spoke more quietly, his voice a gentle rumble, words low and indistinct.

Hildemara let out her breath slowly, knowing the war was over and they had negotiated a truce. Cloe snored loudly on the lower bunk. Rikka lay curled on her side looking like a little angel in blue flannel pajamas. They never worried about anything.

Mama and Papa talked for a long time, their voices muffled. No more clashing swords, no more cannons firing. Only the low drone of two people talking out their differences.

* * *

The car did make life easier. It opened up the world for Hildemara. Every Sunday after church, Mama took them for a ride, packing a picnic and sometimes going as far as the Merced River.

Papa never came along, but he stopped worrying. Or said he did. “Be careful.” He’d brush Mama’s cheek. “And bring them all back in one piece.” Papa liked being alone. Sometimes he’d go out in the orchard and sit under one of the almond trees, and read his Bible all afternoon. Hildemara understood him. She liked to hide herself away in the chinaberry tree and listen to the bees hum in the blossoms.

The car came in handy when Cloe got sick. Mama loaded her in the car and took her to town. “She has mumps.” Hildemara and Rikki moved out of the bedroom, but not soon enough—they both came down with it, as did Bernie a few days later. He had it far worse than anyone. His face swelled so much, he didn’t look like Bernie anymore. When the pain moved down low in his body making him swell in places Mama wouldn’t talk about, Bernie screamed out in pain whenever moved or washed. He begged Mama to do something, anything, to make it stop. “Mama . . . Mama . . .” He cried and Hildie cried harder than he did, wishing she could take his suffering on herself. She climbed down from her bunk at night and prayed over him.

“Stop that!” Mama snarled, finding her there one night. “You want him to wake up and see you hovering over him like the angel of death? Leave your brother alone and get back to bed!”

Bernie got better, and Hildemara came down with a cold. It got worse, changing from sniffles and a sore throat to a chest cold. Mama moved Hildemara into Bernie’s room and Bernie into the living room. Mama made poultices, but they didn’t help. She made chicken soup, but Hildemara didn’t feel up to eating anything. “You have to try, Hildemara. You’re going to waste away if you don’t eat something.” It hurt to breathe.

Papa talked to Mama in the hallway. “I don’t think it’s a cold. She’d be getting better by now.”

Hildemara covered her head with a pillow. When Mama came in, she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Mama.” She didn’t want to be the cause of a quarrel. The cough started and she couldn’t stop it. The spasm lasted for a long time, deep, wracking, rattling.

Mama looked scared. When it finally passed, Hildemara fell limp, gasping for breath. Mama felt her skin. “Night sweats.” Her voice had a tremor. “Niclas!” Papa came running. “Help me get her in the car. I’m taking her to the doctor now.” Mama bundled Hildemara like a baby.

Papa carried her out to the car. “She weighs less than a sack of flour.”

“I hope it’s not what I think it is.”

Lying on the backseat, Hildemara bounced up and down as Mama drove to town. “Come on, now. Help me.” Mama pulled Hildemara into a sitting position and lifted her. “Put your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. Try, Hildemara Rose.” She didn’t have the strength.

She awakened on a table, Dr. Whiting bending over her, something cold pressed against her chest. Exhausted, Hildemara couldn’t keep her eyes open. She thought she could stop breathing and not even care. It would be so easy.

Someone took her hand and patted it. Hildemara opened her eyes to see a woman in white standing over her. She dabbed Hildemara’s forehead with a cool cloth and spoke in a sweet voice. She held Hildemara’s wrist. “I’m checking your pulse, sweetheart.” She kept talking, quietly. She had such a pleasant voice. Hildemara felt as though she heard from a distance. “You rest now.”

Hildemara felt better just listening to her. “Are you an angel?”

“I’m a nurse. My name is Mrs. King.”

Hildemara closed her eyes and smiled. Finally, she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.

25

“The doctor said to keep her warm and get soup into her. She’s thin as a rail.” Mama sounded so grim.

“I’ll set up a cot in the living room near the woodstove. We’ll leave the bedroom door open.”

Mama aired out the back porch bedrooms, changed all the linens, and moved Cloe and Rikka back into the small bedroom. Bernie got to return to his own bedroom. Mama made milk soup with a little sugar and flour. “Drink it, Hildemara. I don’t care if you don’t feel like it. Don’t give up!” Hildemara tried, but coughed so much, she threw up what little she ate.

Mama and Papa talked quietly in the bedroom. “I’ve done everything the doctor said and she’s still drowning in her own body fluids.”

“All we can do is pray, Marta.”

“
Pray!
Don’t you think I have?”

“Don’t stop.”

Mama gave a sobbing breath. “If she wasn’t so timid and weak, she might have a chance. I might have some hope. But she hasn’t the courage to
fight
!”

“She’s not weak. She just doesn’t confront life the way you do.”

“She just lies there like a dying swan, and I want to shake her.”

Bernie, Clotilde, and Rikki went to school. Papa didn’t work outside all day like he usually did, but Mama went outside more. Sometimes she was gone for a long time. Papa sat in his chair, reading his Bible.

“Where’s Mama?”

“Walking. Praying.”

“Am I going to die, Papa?”

“God decides, Hildemara.” Papa rose and lifted Hildie from the cot. He sat in his chair again, settling her comfortably in his lap, her head resting against his chest. She listened to the steady beat of his heart. “Are you afraid,
Liebling
?”

“No, Papa.” She felt warm and protected with his arms around her. If only Mama loved her as much as he did.

Mrs. King came twice. Hildemara asked how she became a nurse. “I trained at Merritt Hospital in Oakland. I lived there and worked while studying.” She talked about the nurses she met and patients she tended. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, Hildie. Not one peep of complaint out of you, and I know pneumonia hurts. It’s still hard to breathe, isn’t it, honey?”

“I’m getting better.”

Mrs. Carlson, the seventh-grade teacher, came to visit, and she brought a get-well card signed by every member of the class. “Your friends miss you, Hildemara. You come back as soon as you can.”

Even her Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Jenson, and Pastor Michaelson came to visit. Mrs. Jenson said all the children were praying for her. Pastor put his hand on her head and prayed for her while Mama and Papa stood by, hands folded, heads bowed. He patted Mama’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope.”

“I won’t give up. It’s
her
I’m worried about.”

Hildemara didn’t know how many days passed, but one night everything had changed. A little spark flared inside her. Mama sat in Papa’s chair reading a book on American history, even though she’d already passed the citizenship test and received a certificate and small American flag to prove it. “Mama, I’m not going to die.”

Surprised, Mama lifted her head. She closed the book and set it aside. Leaning forward, she put her hand on Hildemara’s forehead and let it rest there, cool and firm, like a blessing. “It’s about time you made up your mind!”

* * *

It took two months to fully recover, and Mama didn’t allow her to waste a minute of it. “You may not be strong enough to do chores or run and play like the rest, but you can read. You can study.” Mrs. Carlson had brought out a list of assignments and tests Hildemara had missed, and Mama sat down and worked out a plan. “You’re not just going to catch up. You’re going to be ahead of the class before you go back.”

Mama didn’t just care about getting the right answers. She wanted penmanship that looked like artwork. She wanted spelling words written twenty times. She wanted sentences built around each and then an entire essay with every word woven in. She made up math problems that had Hildemara’s head spinning. “What kind of math is this, Mama?”

“Algebra. It makes you think.”

Hildemara hated being sick. Clotilde got to read magazines and cut out pictures of dresses. Rikka could doze by the radio, listening to classical music. Hildemara had to sit and read world history, American history, and ancient history. When she fell asleep reading, Mama prodded her. “Sit at the kitchen table. You won’t fall asleep there. Read the chapter again. Aloud this time.” Mama peeled potatoes while Hildemara read. Mama bought a world map and pinned it on the wall, drilling Hildemara in geography. “With cars and aeroplanes, the world is getting smaller. You’d better know your neighbors. Where’s Switzerland? No. That’s Austria! Do you need glasses? Where’s Germany? Show me England—England, not Australia!” She didn’t let up until Hildemara could point out every country without a second’s hesitation.

When Clotilde complained about how much homework she had to do, Hildemara huffed. “I can’t wait to go back to school! It’ll be a vacation after having Mama for a teacher.”

Mama kept Hildemara on a tight regimen, overseeing what she ate, how much she slept, and most of all, what she learned. She only balked once, and she earned Mama’s ire. “I don’t care if European history isn’t on the list of assignments. I don’t care if it isn’t in your textbook. You need to learn about the world. If we don’t know history, we’re doomed to repeat it.”

Dr. Whiting said Hildemara could return to school. Mama decided to keep her home another month. “She needs to put on five pounds or she’ll catch the next bug that goes around.”

Mama allowed Hildemara to go back to school in time to take tests. When the results came back, Hildemara found herself at the head of the class. Mama congratulated her. “We had to make good use of all that sick time, didn’t we? Now we both know you’re smart enough to do anything.”

* * *

A letter came from Hedda Herkner a few weeks before school let out.

“Good news? Bad news?” Papa raised his brows.

“Depends.” Mama folded the letter. “It seems Fritz talked so much about his summer with us that some of his friends now want to come with him.”

“He’s coming back?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Anyway, Hedda says the parents think it would be good for their sons to learn about life on a farm. Living in the city, those boys wouldn’t have any idea. What do you think, Niclas?”

“Now you ask.”

“More boys!” Clotilde groaned.

Papa sighed. “How many?”

“Counting Bernhard and Fritz, we’d have six.”

“Six? Do you think you can manage that many at once?”

“I wouldn’t do it alone. Hildemara can help.”

Hildemara closed her eyes and breathed slowly.

Mama dropped the letter as though she had stripped off gloves and cast a challenge at anyone who dared go against her. “I can make good money running a summer camp. And it’s as close to owning a hotel and restaurant as I’ll ever get. The parents want these boys to learn about farm life. So we’re going to teach them about farm life.”

“Oh, boy,” Bernie grumbled. “Sounds like fun.”

Hildemara could see her mother’s wheels turning. Mama voiced her thoughts aloud. “No one will work more than half a day. With six boys, Papa will have the irrigation ditches dug in no time. They can help harvest grapes and almonds. They’ll learn how to take care of horses, chickens, rabbits, milk a cow . . .” She drummed her fingers on the table. Hildemara wondered what part of all that she would have to help manage. “And it might not be a bad idea to have them build something.”

Papa lowered his newspaper. “Build what?”

“How about adding a bathroom to the house? Bernhard’s bedroom is big enough that four or five feet wouldn’t be missed.”

Bernie’s head shot up from his studies. “Mama!”

“You’ll be sleeping in the tree house all summer with the boys, making sure they don’t get into trouble.”

“An indoor bathroom?” Clotilde smiled broadly, dreamy-eyed. “With a real toilet? No more using the outhouse?”

“A toilet, a claw-foot tub, and a sink, I think.” Mama didn’t seem disturbed by the stormy look Papa gave her. “It’s about time. Everyone in Murietta has an indoor bathroom.”

“God, have mercy on me,” Papa said under his breath and raised the newspaper again.

“Niclas?”

“Yes, Marta?”

“Yea or nay?”

“You’re the money manager.”

“And a telephone, right there on the wall.”

“A telephone!” Clotilde beamed.

“For emergencies only,” Mama added, staring at her.

Papa shook his paper and turned a page. “Sounds like bedlam to me.”

* * *

June arrived in a haze of dust, blowing in Jimmy, Ralph, Gordon, Billie, and Fritz. Fritz had grown six inches in the past year, and he took relish in standing over Hildemara, who had grown barely two. Clotilde, however, could stare him in the eye. Fritz knew enough to bring only one small case with him. The other boys arrived with luggage unloaded from the back of family cars. “Rich boys,” Clotilde whispered to Hildemara.

Hildemara sighed. Just watching the boyish excitement hinted at the work ahead. “This isn’t going to be as easy as Mama thinks.”

Mama invited the parents into the living room while Papa, Bernie, and Fritz took the new boys on a tour of the property. Hildie served tea, coffee, and angel food cake, while Mama explained the chores, projects, and recreational activities planned for the boys’ “summer camp.”

One mother looked dubious. “It seems like you expect them to do a lot of work.”

“Yes, we do. And if you agree, I have a contract for you to sign. The boys won’t be able to quibble if they know you back me up. Farming is very hard work. Your boys will learn to respect the people who provide food for the marketplace. And by the end of summer, they’ll all want to be doctors and lawyers.”

Smiling, the parents signed, kissed their sons good-bye for the summer, said they’d be back the end of August, and left.

No one cried.

Not on the first day.

Mama had the boys move their things into the tree house. “Stack your clothes under the bench and put those suitcases in the shed for storage.” She let them play all afternoon. Hildemara listened to them whoop and holler, and she wondered how soon that noise would turn to petulant protests and whining. When Mama rang the dinner bell, they washed and ran for the house, taking their assigned seats at the table. Mama served a feast of beef Wellington and steamed garden vegetables soaked in butter. She announced dessert would be chocolate cake.

“Wow!” Ralph whispered to Fritz. “You said she’s a good cook. You were right!”

While everyone ate, Mama laid out the rules and explained the daily schedule of chores and activities. “They’re posted on the back door in case you forget.” Hildemara knew they would. None of the new boys bothered to listen closely. Fritz looked at Bernie and grinned with malicious delight.

The next morning, Mama awakened Hildemara before dawn. Resigned, Hildie got up without protest, put on her clothes, and went out to feed the chickens and collect enough eggs to feed their small army. Papa ate early and left “before the pandemonium starts.” Mama rang the triangle at six.

The boys stirred, but no one rose. Mama went down the steps and leaned six shovels against the base of the tree and called up to the boys. “Come on down. You have chores to do.” Only Bernie and Fritz did.

Mama rang the breakfast bell at eight. Bernie and Fritz came running. The new boys quickly came down the rope ladder and ran for the house. When they reached the back door, they found it latched. Jimmy tugged, then tugged again. “Hey, I think it’s locked.” They ran around to the front of the house and found that door locked. They stood on the porch, peering through the window at Bernie and Fritz eating a sumptuous breakfast of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and blueberry muffins.

“Hey!” Ralph called through the glass. “What about our breakfast?”

Mama poured hot chocolate into Fritz’s mug. “Read the sign over the back door, boys.” Their feet pounded down the steps. Hildemara watched their heads bob up and down as they ran around the side of the house. She knew what they’d find.
Those who don’t work, don’t eat.

Rebellion came swiftly.

“My folks paid for me to have fun! Not work!”

“I’ll write to my parents and tell them she’s making us work!”

“You can’t do this.”

Though Hildemara cringed at their begging, Mama paid no attention. “They’ll learn.”

Replete and smirking, Bernie and Fritz went out the back door. Hildemara went to her room to rest for the next shift of work Mama would assign. The boys argued outside the screen windows. “You guys still whining?” Bernie rubbed his stomach. “You sure missed a good breakfast!”

“We didn’t come here to work!”

“Then don’t. Starve. It’s your choice.”

“I’m going to call my mother.” Gordon’s voice wobbled. Tears would come soon.

“Go ahead and call her, but you’ll have to walk to town to use a telephone. The one on the wall inside is for emergencies only.”

“What sort of a place is this?” Ralph yelled in anger. “We’re not slave labor.”

Bernie laughed. “Your parents signed you over to Mama. She owns you for the whole summer. Better get used to it, boys.”

“Hey!” Jimmy shoved Fritz. “You told us we’d have fun!”

“I said
I
had fun.” Fritz shoved back harder. “What a baby! It’s only a couple hours a day, and the rest of the time we do what we want.”

Bernie couldn’t resist. “As long as we don’t burn down any houses or barns.”

Hildemara sat up and looked out through the screen. “Bernie!”

“Okay! Okay!”

“You didn’t say anything about chores, Fritz! I don’t have any at home. Why do I have to do them here?”

Hildemara flopped down on her high bunk and shut her eyes, wishing they would stop squabbling. Cloe pumped away on the sewing machine on the other side of the wall in the living room. Somehow, Rikki had such an ability to concentrate, she didn’t hear the chaos outside as she lay on her bed, going through a library book on Rembrandt.