Her Mother's Hope (35 page)

Mama helped after that. They worked in shifts. Mama’s face looked as white and cold as marble.

The smell of death filled the room. Hildie checked Papa’s pulse repeatedly, his breathing. She prayed softly under her breath as she ministered to him.
God, have mercy. God, let it end soon. God, take Papa home. Jesus, Jesus, I can’t do this. God, give me strength. Please . . . please, Lord.

Hildie changed the bed linens and changed his gown. She wondered if people felt pain in a coma. She didn’t know whether to give him an injection or not. When she called Dr. Whiting and asked, he said he didn’t know.

“It’s my turn, Mama.”

“No.” She spoke firmly. “You’ve done enough. Go rest. I’ll stay a little while longer.”

“I’ll wake you if—”

Mama shook her head. “Don’t argue with me now, Hildemara Rose.” She took Papa’s hand between hers and whispered raggedly, “Not now.”

* * *

Hildie entered the room and knew before she touched his forehead that Papa had gone home. His face looked so serene, all the muscles relaxed. He looked white now instead of gray, the skin taut against cheek and jawbone, eyes closed and sunken. She felt relief and then ashamed that she did. “He’s gone, Mama.”

“I know.”

“When?”

Mama didn’t answer. She just sat holding Papa’s hand in both of hers, staring down at him.

Hildemara put her hand on Papa’s brow and found it cold. She felt the rush of anguish rise up, catching her by the throat, but fought it down.

Papa had gone hours ago, and she couldn’t help wondering how much of Mama had gone with him.

* * *

Hildemara wrote to Boots the night after Papa had been taken away to the mortuary. Mama had gone to bed and stayed there all day. Cloe fed the chickens, milked the cow, and saw to the rabbits. When Bernie told Hildie she didn’t have to do the chores, she screamed at him that she had to do something or run mad, then fell sobbing into his arms. “Papa’s gone. He’s gone. I thought he’d live forever.”

Mama had already taken care of all the arrangements, of course. No open casket. Papa didn’t want it. A simple memorial service at the church for whoever wanted to come. The entire town showed up, along with the last person Hildie ever expected to see.

Trip stood outside the church after the memorial service. Hildie’s heart leaped and lodged in her throat. He looked so tall and handsome in a black suit, hat in his hands. He held it by the brim, turning it slowly. People clustered around Mama. Hildemara stayed close by her side, Bernie and Elizabeth on the other, Cloe and Rikka right behind. So many had come: Dr. Whiting and Mrs. King, teachers, school principals, store owners, farmers, the Musashi family. The Herkners came all the way from San Francisco, bringing Fritz with them. Everyone had a story to tell about Papa, memories they wanted to offer.

“Niclas helped plant my orchard . . .”

“. . . loved God . . .”

“. . . helped us out when we came here from Oklahoma . . .”

“. . . knew how to manage a crew of harvesters and let them go at the end of a season with a smile on their faces . . .”

“Always knew I could trust him . . .”

Mama frowned at Hildemara. “Stop squeezing my arm so tight.”

Hildie apologized and let her go. She couldn’t see Trip among the mourners and wondered if he had already left.

Mama nudged her. “Mr. Endicott is talking to you.”

Heat surged into Hildie’s cheeks and she thanked him for his kind words. She spotted Trip again on the outer edge of the gathering. “Excuse me, Mama. There’s someone I need to speak to, and then I’ll be right back.” She slipped away, letting Cloe take her place.

She wove her way through the throng of people, accepting condolences, trying to keep moving toward Trip. When she finally reached him, she couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth and closed it like a fish drowning in the air.

His eyes glistened with tears. “I’m sorry about your father, Hildemara. I would like to have met him.”

His words reminded her of her sin of omission. She had never once mentioned Trip to Papa. “Thank you for coming.” How had he known about the memorial service? Boots had taken a job in Los Angeles last month.

He seemed to read her mind. “Boots called and told me.”

Hildie glanced back at Mama, afraid Trip might see more in her face than she wanted him to know. She loved him so much, she wanted to cry out at the pain of seeing him again.

“You look tired, Hildie.”

“I am.”
Bone tired. Soul tired.
“So is Mama.”

“Can I meet her?” When Hildie hesitated, his mouth tipped. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything about us.”

Us.

The crowd thinned enough for them to make their way easily to where Mama stood with Bernie, Elizabeth, Cloe, and Rikka. “Mama, I’d like you to meet a friend from Merritt.” She introduced Trip as Cale Arundel. Trip extended his hand and spoke gently to Mama, holding hers in both of his. Mama thanked him for coming so far and looked at Hildemara, as though for further explanation in why he would.

“Come on, Mama.” Bernie took her hand and drew it through his arm while giving Hildemara a pointed glance. “We should go home.”

Trip touched Hildemara lightly on the arm. “Walk with me to my car?”

“I’ll be right there, Bernie.”

As Trip guided her, his hand slid down her arm and clasped her hand. She slipped free. When they stopped by his car, she raised her head. “It was very kind of you to come so far, Trip.”

“I could drive you home. It would give us a few minutes to talk.”

“I can’t.” Her voice broke.

“Are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and she impatiently brushed them away.

After the difficult months of watching Papa die, her emotions were in a state of confusion. She couldn’t go back to Oakland and pick up her life where she had left off. It seemed almost immoral to do such a thing when so many were dying, when Papa had only just been laid in his grave. She couldn’t leave Mama alone. Rikka would be off with Melvin. Cloe would be back in Hollywood, neck-deep in costume design and dating her producer. Bernie and Elizabeth couldn’t do all the work, could they? Someone had to stay and take care of Mama. But that wasn’t all that churned in her mind. The war! Everyone talked about the war. Men died in wars. Better not to love Trip any more than she already did. No one knew what tomorrow might bring.

“No. I don’t think I will. Not now. Mama needs me.” She couldn’t look at him, knowing everything she felt would be written across her face. She saw Mama staring at her from the front seat. “I have to go, Trip.” She stepped back. “Say hello to everyone. Tell them I miss them.”

When she slid into the car, Mama didn’t look at her. She sat, back straight, eyes staring forward in the front passenger seat. Bernie started the car. “Where’s Rikka?”

Cloe was staring at Hildie. “She’s riding home with Melvin.”

Bernie glanced back from the driver’s seat. “Is Cale following us to the house?”

“No.” Before anyone could ask if she had invited him, she went on quickly. “He has a long drive home to Oakland.” She looked out the window, hoping no one would see her tears or mention him again.

“Seemed like a nice guy, what little I could tell from the one minute he was with us.”

“He’s better-looking than most of the actors I’ve met,” Cloe added, not smiling, still staring, a faint frown on her face.

“All the women in the hospital were in love with him.”

“And he came all the way to Murietta—”

“Shut up, Bernie.” It was Cloe who said it.

Mama didn’t utter a sound.

When all the visitors left, Mama went to bed. When Hildie looked in on her later, Mama lay on her back, wide-awake, staring at the ceiling. “Do you want me to sit with you awhile, Mama?”

“No.”

Hildie fell asleep on the couch. She awakened with the moonlight streaming through the window. She thought she heard someone screaming outside. She rose quickly and looked in on Mama. She wasn’t in her bed. Throwing on her coat, she flew out the back door. The screaming came from the orchard. Bernie stood in the yard. “Is it Mama?”

“Yes.” He caught her by the arm. “Leave her alone. She has to get it out someway.” She could see the sheen of tears on his face. “She’s held it in too long. Let her scream. Let her pound on the earth.”

Hildemara could hear her. “She’s cursing God.”

“For tonight, and then she’ll be holding on to Him when she’s finished. Go on back to the house. She’ll come in when she’s ready.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Papa told me to watch over her.”

35

1941

Papa hadn’t been in his grave a week before Mama went back to work. She got up at dawn and made the coffee, then went out to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and collect eggs. Cloe went back to Hollywood. Rikka went back to school. Bernie saw to the business of the farm. Elizabeth tended the flats of seedlings in the lattice nursery and kept the vegetable garden weeded and bug-free.

People continued to come to visit, and everyone brought something: casseroles; cakes; German potato salad; small jars of homemade jams and jellies; pickled watermelon rinds; large jars of apricots, peaches, and cherries. Over the years, Mama had taken gifts to families in need, and now she reaped what she had sowed in kindness.

Edgy with nothing to do, Hildemara set to work on the house. She scrubbed the kitchen floor, took everything out of the cabinets and scrubbed the shelves, scoured the stove and sink. She scraped peeling paint and decided it was time to freshen things up a little. She used some of her savings to buy a cheerful yellow paint, the same color Mama had originally chosen and which had faded over the years. Elizabeth had made pretty curtains for the cottage. Why shouldn’t Mama have some? Hildemara bought fabric and enlisted Elizabeth’s help in redoing the living room, kitchen, and bedroom curtains. She added lacy sheers so Mama could open the windows and not have dust blow in or sunlight fade the sofa after she and Elizabeth recovered it with a chintz slipcover. She made pretty decorative pillows of blue and yellow with lacy edges. Mama had never had any before.

Mama still cooked. Hildemara sent away for a Quaker lace tablecloth. She put a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table every few days.

If Mama noticed any of the changes, she never said. Hildemara didn’t know whether it lightened Mama’s grief or not.

She took out the ragbag and started work on an area rug. The mix of colors would brighten the living room. When she wrote to Cloe and told her what she planned, Cloe sent a box of fabric pieces. The work filled Hildemara’s long, quiet evenings. She had to work or she couldn’t sleep. She grieved over Papa, worried about Mama.

And she couldn’t get Trip out of her head.

Even when she fell exhausted into bed, she had trouble sleeping. She’d lie awake, wondering what he was doing, if he had met someone. Of course, he would. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t leave Mama by herself.

Mama put her book down one evening and shook her head. “That rug will take months to finish, Hildemara. Why did you start it?”

“Because it’ll brighten the living room. Look at all the colors, Mama. If we went to the movies, we’d see some of these fabrics in costumes. Rikka is going to paint a picture of the Alps for you. We’ll hang it right there on the wall. It’ll add—”

“This is my house, Hildemara. Not yours.”

Hildie gasped as she stabbed her finger with the needle. Wincing, she sucked at the wound. “I know, Mama. I’m only trying to fix things up a bit, make it more—”

“I like the yellow walls. I like the new curtains. But enough is enough.”

“You don’t want the rug?” Hildemara couldn’t stop the hurt from rising inside her. “What am I supposed to do with all this—?”

“Just leave it in the box.”

“The rug is—”

“Big enough for under the sink.”

Hildemara’s eyes flooded. “What are you trying to say, Mama?” She knew, but she wanted to hear it aloud. She wanted it out in the open.

“I don’t need a servant, Hildemara. And I certainly don’t need a nurse!”

Her words cut deeply. “You don’t need me. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

Emotion rippled across Mama’s face, like a storm over water, and then her face hardened. “All right, Hildemara Rose. If that’s what it takes, I will say it. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here. The sooner you leave, the better for both of us!”

Leave? And go where?
Hildemara’s face crumpled. “You were the one who asked me to come home!”

“To take care of Papa! And you did, and he’s gone now. I can take care of myself!”

“I only want to help.”

“No. You want to play the martyr.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what else could it be? Why stay two months, and do all the things you’ve always hated?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone!” She burst into tears.

“Last time I looked, Bernie and Elizabeth lived a few hundred feet from my back door.” Mama gripped the arms of her chair. “You trained to be a nurse. You told me that’s what you wanted to do with you life! So why are you still here? Why haven’t you gone back to nursing? You had your own life before I asked for your help. Your help isn’t needed anymore. Why are you still here?” She rose, face twisting.
“Go live your life and let me get on with mine!”
She went into the bedroom she had shared with Papa and slammed the door.

Dumping the rug into the remnant box, Hildemara ran out the back door and into Bernie’s old bedroom. Covering her head, she sobbed.
Go back? Go back to what?
She’d ended things with Trip. If there had ever been a chance for happiness, it had ended that day he came to the memorial service. If she went back to Merritt, she might see him again. Some other girl would have certainly said yes. How could she bear to see him again? And now Mama showed her true feelings. Mama couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

What had she expected?

Packing her suitcases, she took a shower and went over to talk to Bernie and Elizabeth. “I need a ride in the morning.”

“Where you going?”

“Back to Oakland.”

She couldn’t sleep that night. She went into the kitchen and fixed the coffee.

Mama came out. “You’re up early.”

“I’m leaving this morning.”

“You want something to eat before you go?”

If Hildie had hoped Mama would change her mind, she had her answer. “No, thank you.”

Mama poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’ll get dressed and drive you to the bus station.”

“Bernie’s taking me.”

“Oh.” She sat and let out a long breath. “Well, suit yourself.”

When it was time to leave, Hildemara stood in the back doorway. “Good-bye, Mama.”

“Write.”

As Bernie turned out on the road going by the front of the house, she saw Mama standing on the porch. She lifted her hand. Hildie felt little comfort in the small gesture.

“Sorry, Hildie.” Bernie drove like Mama—fast, confident, head up with eyes straight ahead. “Are you going to be okay?” He gave her a quick glance.

“Right as rain.” Miss Jones had said she would hold her job. As to the rest, she would have to wait and see how much suffering she could bear before she ran.

* * *

With Boots gone, Hildie had no place to live. Mrs. Kaufman gave her a place at Farrelly Hall. “You can stay as long as you need, Hildemara.” The sleeping porch was hardly a place to call home, but Hildie felt comfortable there. She would have to ask around and see if anyone needed a roommate.

Jones put her right to work. “We’ve been shorthanded, and it’ll get worse if we go to war. We can’t ignore Hitler forever, and the Army will need nurses.”

Hildie dove into work. She felt useful again. Mama may not need her, but plenty of others did. And she loved her work; she loved her patients; she took extra shifts and worked six days a week.

Boots called from Los Angeles. “What are you doing in Farrelly Hall? I thought you’d be married to Trip by now.”

“I haven’t seen Trip.”

“Are you hiding out on ward duty?”

“It’s been a long time, Boots. I doubt he remembers me.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

Standing at the nurses’ station a couple mornings later, Hildemara heard a thump as someone hit the double doors and swung them open. Her heart jumped when she saw Trip striding down the corridor. He looked mad. She hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him since returning to Merritt two weeks before. She had avoided the cafeteria for fear of running into him. “Hello, Trip. How are you?”

He caught her by the wrist and kept walking. “Excuse us, ladies.” He half dragged her down the hall, opened a linen closet, and pulled her inside.

“Trip, I . . .”

He kicked the door shut behind him, hugged her to him, and then kissed her. Her nursing cap came askew, dangling by a bobby pin. When he lifted his head, she tried to say something, and he kissed her again, deeper this time. He held her so close she didn’t have to wonder what he was feeling. Her toes curled in her white oxfords. They bumped against a shelf. He drew back. “Sorry.”

Breathless, he looked down at her. He was about to kiss her again when someone tapped on the door. “Careful of the linen in there!” Jones’s rubber soles squeaked down the hall.

“Marry me.”

“Okay.”

His breath came out sharply. “Okay?”

“Yes.” She stepped forward and dug her hands into his hair. “Yes. Please.” She pulled his head down. “Don’t stop.”

He caught her wrists and pulled her hands down. “I hoped to get this welcome in Murietta.” His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin. “You gave me the impression you weren’t coming back at all.” His eyes darkened. “Boots called.”

“I’ll have to thank her.”

“Mama doesn’t need you anymore?” He taunted her gently, putting her cap back on her head, trying to make repairs. Her heart hammered.

“Mama kicked me out.”

“God bless Mama.” He cupped her cheek tenderly, then ran his thumb lightly over her swollen lips. “I’m going to write her a thank-you letter.” He kissed her again, as though he couldn’t help himself.

No tap this time, but a firm rap of hard knuckles. “That’s enough, Mr. Arundel. We have work to do around here.”

Trip opened the door. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Get that cheeky grin off your face and get off my ward.” She looked Hildemara over. “Fix your hair. What? No ring?” She called after Trip. “You do have honorable intentions, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Laughing, he hit the door again and disappeared.

Hildie laughed, too, exultant.

* * *

Trip wanted to buy a diamond solitaire, but Hildie talked him out of it. “I can’t wear it to work. Fancy rings carry bacteria, and a solitaire would catch on linens when I change beds.” He picked a platinum wedding band lined with tiny diamonds instead. They would have a small church wedding in Oakland right after school let out in June.

Trip took another part-time job washing windows to save money for a house. Hildemara took extra shifts. They hardly saw one another, except when they went to church together every Sunday.

As the weeks passed, Hildie began to feel lethargic. She had chills during the day and bundled into a sweater. She had night sweats. Trip put his hand against her forehead one evening. “You’re hot.”

“I’m probably getting a cold or something.”

Trip took her back to the apartment she shared with a pulmonary ward nurse. He insisted she stop working so hard and take at least two days off a week. She cut back on her hours, but still didn’t seem to feel rested. When Trip took her bowling, Hildie could hardly lift the ball and roll it down the alley. Twice, she dumped it and watched it roll slow motion down the gutter. “Sorry. I’m just too tired tonight.”

“Taking care of your father took a lot out of you, Hildie.” Trip wove his fingers with hers. “You’ve lost more weight since you got back.”

She knew and had been trying to eat more. Her chest ached. She couldn’t seem to get a full breath. Depressed, she took a few days off. Trip came by and opened cans of chicken soup. “No more extra shifts, Hildie. Promise me. You look exhausted.”

“Stop worrying, Trip.”

Jones scowled when she came on ward after a few days’ rest. “Go downstairs right now and see the staff physician.” She picked up the telephone. “Go on, Hildemara. I’m calling him right now and telling him you’re on the way.”

The doctor put his stethoscope against her chest. He reviewed her symptoms. She found it difficult to fill her lungs with air. It hurt to breathe. He thumped her chest and listened again, looking grim. “Pleural effusion.” Fluid on the lungs.

“Pneumonia?”

He wouldn’t answer, and Hildemara felt cold shock race through her body. When he checked her into the hospital and ordered X-rays, she didn’t protest. She couldn’t get Mr. Douglas off her mind, and there had been two other patients she had tended since then who had been transferred out of the medical ward into quarantine.

Trip came in before she could leave orders that she didn’t want visitors. She hadn’t stopped crying since being checked into the hospital. When she saw him, she put out her hand. “Stay away from me.”

“What?”

“Get out of here, Trip.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

She held a sheet up over her mouth. “I think I have tuberculosis.”

He went white. Both of them knew a student nurse had died the year before. Two other bronchitis patients turned out to have active TB.

Trip kept coming. She grabbed the cord and pressed the button over and over. A nurse came running.

“Get him out of here. Now!”

“Hildie!”

Sobbing, pulling the sheet over her head, she turned away.

The nurse escorted Trip from the room, then came back. “Shouldn’t you wait until the test results come back before—?”

“And risk exposing someone? You should wear a mask! And keep people out of here!”

She didn’t have to ask the doctor what the X-rays showed. She could see it plainly on his face.

“We need to send fluid to the lab before we can be sure.”

Small comfort. He aspirated fluid from her infected lung and sent it to the lab, where it would be injected into a rat. The doctor ordered her to the contagion unit.

Trip came immediately. She refused to see him. He wrote a note and gave it to a nurse.

We’ve kissed a hundred times, Hildie. I’ve already been exposed! Let me come in and see you. Let me sit with you. Let me hold your hand. . . .

Crying, she insisted on plastic gloves and a mask before she wrote back to him.

I didn’t know I had TB! You cannot come in. Don’t ask me again. This is hard enough as it is. I love you. Go away!