Bernie and Fritz slunk down in their chairs. Papa stared hard at the two of them. “Whoever started that fire last night had better not brag about it. He’d better not breathe a single word about it, or he—or they—might grow up behind steel bars eating bread and drinking water.”
Mama piled potato dumplings on both their plates. “By the way, we’re having chocolate cake for dessert tonight.”
* * *
Dear Rosie,
One of our neighbors attempted to ravish Hildemara. If I’d been able to get my hands on him, he would be dead now. Niclas stopped me. We called the sheriff. Of course, by the time he made it out our way, Kimball had fled. If I could have torched his house with him inside, I would have watched him die and been satisfied. Instead he is loose like a mad dog and will harm some other child.
Hildemara is a frightened mouse, sitting in the corners of the house. I fight tears every time I look at her, remembering how difficult life was for Elise. Mama coddled her, and my sister became a prisoner of her own fears.
I could have taken a switch to Bernhard for leaving her alone at the canal, but what Kimball did is not my son’s fault and I will not lay the blame where it does not belong.
But what do I do now? What happened has happened and there is no undoing it. Life goes on. Somehow, I have to find a way to make Hildemara step out into the sunshine again and not fear every shadow.
* * *
Hildemara didn’t want to leave her room, let alone the house, but Mama insisted she do her usual chores. “You are not going to let that man turn you into a prisoner to your fears.”
When Hildie went outside, she felt light-headed and sick to her stomach. She kept looking around as she fed the chickens. She felt a little better weeding. The vegetable garden was closer to the house. Bernie came over and hunkered down next to her. “You want to go swimming again? I won’t leave you alone. I swear on a stack of Bibles.” She shook her head.
“We’re going to a movie tomorrow,” Mama announced at dinner that night. Everyone but Hildemara whooped with excitement. She didn’t want to walk by Kimball’s property.
“Maybe we’ll even have ice cream after, if you all behave.”
Hildemara walked beside Mama while the others ran ahead and then back. She came around to the other side of Mama when they crossed the irrigation ditch with the bamboo growing on the south side.
“No, you don’t.” Mama made her walk on that side of the road. “Take a good long look when we pass his place, Hildemara.” Two blackened piles of rubble sat where the house and barn used to be. “Abrecan Macy was a nice man. Remember the sheep? You loved the lambs, didn’t you? Abrecan Macy was our friend. Abrecan Macy was a gentleman.” Mama took her hand and squeezed it tight. “You let your mind dwell on the things that are right and true and lovely.” She squeezed again and let go. “You think about Abrecan Macy the next time you pass this property.”
* * *
Every week after that, Mama took the gang of kids to town for a matinee. The boys always raced down the aisle to grab front-row seats. Hildemara and Cloe sat a few rows behind them. Mama sat in back with Rikka on her lap, whispering to other mothers who kept watch over their children.
The boys talked through the short newsreels, laughed raucously through the slapstick comedy with pie-throwing antics or Our Gang mischief with Buster Brown. When the main feature came on, they howled and whooped, spending the next hour booing and hissing bad guys and cheering on the hero. They stamped their feet through chases and shouted, “Get ’em, get ’em, get ’em!” as the horse galloped across the scene. Hildemara developed her first crush, on Hollywood cowboy Tom Mix.
Papa decided they needed a dog on the farm. Everyone but Mama thought that was a good idea. “I’d rather have a gun.” Mama sniffed.
Papa chuckled. “A big, mean dog is safer than Mama with a gun!”
Everyone laughed.
Bernie and Fritz walked down to the Portola Dairy the next morning. Bernie came back carrying the covered tin of milk, a stray dog on his heels. Mama stood on the porch. “Where did you find that scrawny excuse for an animal?”
Fritz grinned, patting the black dog on the head. “He found us. We heard what Mr. Waltert said last night. God must have heard him, too.”
“God, my foot!” She came down the steps. “Just like that, you have a big dog follow you home from the dairy. More like you petted him. Did you let him stick his nose in our milk, too?”
“He’ll bark if anyone comes on the place, Mama.”
Mama stood on the lawn. “He’s no watchdog. Look at him, stirring up a cloud of dust with his tail.”
“He’s just a pup right now. He’ll get bigger.”
“Who told you that? Aldo Portola?”
“He’s smart. We can train him. He was real hungry.”
“Was?” She took the milk tin from Bernie. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Hildemara sat on the porch, giggling. The dog trotted over and sat in front of Mama. He stared up at her with big, limpid brown eyes, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his wide canine grin. He edged closer, stretching out his neck, tail waving faster.
“Look, Mama!” Hildemara came down the steps. “He’s trying to lick your hand.”
“Balderdash!” Mama’s face softened. “He’s trying to get more milk.”
“Balderdash!” both boys shouted. “That’s his name!”
Mama shook her head, mouth twitching. “I doubt we can get rid of him now that you’ve given him food.” She headed for the steps. The dog followed on her heels. She stopped and pointed down at him. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Hildemara petted him. “Can he sleep in the house, Mama?”
“He can sleep in the tree with the boys, if they can get him up the ladder.”
The dog didn’t cooperate.
* * *
All through the rest of that summer, the family accumulated animals. Papa bought a second horse. Mama bought another rooster to “improve the flock.” Fritz caught a horned lizard and kept it in a box in the tree house. A tabby cat showed up and had kittens in the barn.
Papa wanted to get rid of them. “I don’t want my barn turning into a cathouse.”
Mama laughed so hard, tears ran down her cheeks. “You need to work more on your English, Niclas.” He asked what he had said. When she explained, his face turned bright red.
Last, Mama brought home a cow. “The children are growing so fast, we might as well have milk at hand, rather than have to walk a mile to get it.” Dash stood by the cow, panting and smiling. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your share.” Mama put a big bell around the cow’s neck. “Reminds me of Switzerland, where all the cows wore bells.”
Summer blazed by in a haze of heat. In late August, the almond harvest began. Papa and the boys stretched out canvas under the trees, using bamboo poles to knock the stubborn almonds that wouldn’t fall after shaking the branches.
Mama received a letter from the Herkners. “They’re coming on Friday.”
They arrived in a new black Ford Model A with sideboards. Hedda jumped out and ran straight to Fritz, hugging and kissing him until he protested.
Bernie stared at the car. “Holy cow! Will you look at this thing?” He walked around the Model A. “Can I sit in it, Mr. Herkner?”
Wilhelm laughed. “Go ahead.” He pried Hedda off their son and held him at arm’s length. “Look how tan and fit he looks!” Hedda grabbed and hugged him again, tears running down her cheeks.
Fritz turned beet red. “Ah, Mama. Don’t call me Fritzie.”
Bernie laughed. “Fritzie! Hey, Fritzie!”
Mama took the Herkners inside for coffee and angel food cake. It had taken twelve egg whites to make it. Papa had wanted a slice, but Mama said he would have to wait. “It’s not polite to serve leftovers to guests.” She had made Papa custard with the yolks.
The Herkners didn’t stay long. Fritz looked as miserable as the first day he arrived, but at least he didn’t shed a tear.
Bernie needled him mercilessly. “Fritzie. Oh, Fritzie.”
“See if I come back.”
“Who invited you in the first place?”
“Your mother.”
Cloe joined in the heckling. “Poor Mama didn’t know what she was getting.”
Hildemara laughed. “You’ve been nothing but a big pain in the neck.”
“And you’re nothing but a girl.”
Mr. Herkner put the car in gear. “We’d better get out of here!”
“Whiner!” Bernie called out, running alongside the car.
“Toad-faced pollywog!” Fritz yelled back.
The black car paused briefly at the end of the driveway and then pulled out onto the road. The car picked up speed. Fritz leaned out the window and waved.
Bernie scuffed his bare toes through the dust. “Summer’s over.” Shoulders hunched, he headed off to do his chores.
24
Sometimes Mama would invite a dusty, tired-looking salesman into the house. She’d make a sandwich, brew some coffee, and sit awhile listening to his sad story. Hildemara listened while studying the American history books Mama brought from the library. She and Papa had to pass a citizenship test, and Mama decided the children should learn everything too.
Mama made everyone but Rikka memorize the Bill of Rights and Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. She drilled them on the Constitution and the amendments. “Rikka doesn’t have to be naturalized. She’s a citizen by birth.” She poked Rikka’s nose. “But don’t think that gets you off the hook. You’re going to learn all this so when you’re older, you won’t be like most natural-born Americans taking their freedom for granted, not even bothering to vote and then complaining about everything.”
Sometimes, just to get away from Mama’s demands, Hildemara climbed the chinaberry tree in the front yard and hid among the leafy branches. Almost twelve years old, she liked to be high up where she could see her world.
Mama opened a window and Hildemara heard the rapid clicking as Cloe pumped the sewing machine. She had started another sewing project, a dress for Rikki this time. Rikki sat on the front steps, holding a jar with a captured butterfly inside. She studied it intently, a drawing pad and pencil beside her. Hildemara knew her sister would open the jar when she finished her drawing and release the butterfly. She hadn’t kept one more than a few hours after Papa told her some only lived a few days. Papa led the horses into the barn. Bernie went into the shower house. Across the street, the Musashi girls weeded among rows of strawberries.
Leaning back against the trunk, she listened to the hum of insects, rustling of leaves, and birdsong. Everyone seemed to have his place in life. Papa loved farming. Mama managed the house, bills, and kids. Bernie dreamed of grafting trees and improving plant production like Luther Burbank. Mama said Clotilde had the talent to be a better seamstress than her own mother. Rikki would be an artist.
Hildie felt content sitting in the tree, staying at home on the farm, being near Mama and Papa, even when Mama became annoyed that she didn’t “find something to do!”
Mama opened the front door. “Come on down from there, Hildemara. Time to stop daydreaming. There’s work to be done.”
Lucas Kutchner, another German immigrant, came to dinner again that evening. Papa had met him in town, where he made his living as a mechanic. He worked on bicycles and cars and anything else that broke down, including pumps and clocks. “He can fix anything,” Papa told Mama when introducing them for the first time. Mr. Kutchner didn’t have a wife and didn’t know many people in town.
Papa and he sat at the kitchen table and talked about politics and religion, railroads and cars replacing wagons, while Mama cooked dinner. Sometimes Mr. Kutchner would bring clothing that needed mending and let Clotilde sew on a button or stitch a seam back together.
Mr. Kutchner believed in the same rules Mama did and never came empty-handed. He brought a box of chocolates the first time, which endeared him to Mama. He brought a bag of licorice on the next visit. He had an automobile like the Herkners, and he let Bernie sit behind the steering wheel and pretend to drive. Mr. Kutchner took Papa out for a ride once. Papa wiped sweat and dust off his face when he got out. Mr. Kutchner slapped the hood. “So what do you think, Niclas? Are you ready to buy one? I could get you a good deal.”
“I have two good horses and two good feet. I don’t need a car.” Papa said it with such conviction, Mr. Kutchner didn’t bring up the subject again.
Mama went to town one day and came back in the front seat of Lucas Kutchner’s car, Rikka sitting on her lap. She pushed the door open and got out, setting Rikka on the ground. Hildemara stood from where she had been working in the garden. Mama looked flushed, her eyes bright. “Hildemara! Come look after your sister.” Bernie stopped digging the big hole for the water reserve near the garden. He jammed the shovel in the ground and came out to take a look.
The car chugged several times, coughed once, and died.
Mr. Kutchner got out, a big grin on his face. “So what do you think of her, Marta?”
Mama’s expression changed. She shrugged as she faced him. “Not much. That thing wheezes and grunts more than any sick animal I’ve ever tended.”
Mr. Kutchner looked surprised. “She needs a little work, but I can fix her up. I’ll give you a good price.”
Hildie told Rikka to go in the house and get her sketchbook, then followed Bernie into the yard. “Are you buying that car, Mama?”
“A horse runs better!”
“A car runs faster and goes longer!”
Mama gave Bernie a quelling glance, but his eyes were fixed on the shiny black Tin Lizzie. “Did I ask for your opinion, Bernhard Waltert?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Go on back to your digging.”
Bernie let out a deep sigh of suffering and headed back. Rikka and Cloe came out the back door and sat on the step.
Mama put her hands on her hips. “I don’t like the look of those tires either.”
“They just need more air.”
“I wouldn’t buy a car without new tires.”
“Tires cost money.”
“So does tailoring and mending. So do roast beef dinners. Not that you’re not always welcome, of course.”
Mr. Kutchner scratched his head and looked befuddled. Mama smirked, but quickly covered it. She walked over to the car and ran her hand over the hood the same way she ran her hand over a sick cow. Hildie knew Mama had already made up her mind. She just had more whittling to do on the price. Mr. Kutchner saw the way she stroked the car and knew he had a buyer. “I’ll have her purring like a kitten.”
Mama took her hand away and looked him straight in the eye. “Get her to work like a Swiss watch and we’ll talk about it. And another thing, Lucas. You and I both know that car isn’t worth what you’re asking for it. Maybe you should try selling this car to Niclas again. See what he says about your offer.” She headed for the house. “Thank you for the ride, Lucas. Nice you just happened to see me walking home. Providential, wasn’t it?”
“All right!” Mr. Kutchner called out. “Wait a minute!” He started after her. “Let’s talk about it now.”
Mama stopped and turned slowly, cocking her head. “Go get potatoes and carrots for dinner, Hildemara.”
Hildemara took her time pulling up potatoes and carrots while keeping an eye on Mama, wondering what Papa would have to say about her conversation with Lucas Kutchner. When they shook hands, Hildemara knew what that meant. Mr. Kutchner headed back for the car, kicking the dust before he got in and started the engine. Mama waved. When he pulled out onto the road, she danced a little jig and laughed.
Lifting the basket of dirty potatoes and carrots, Hildemara met her at the back door. Cloe stood up from the step where she’d been sitting. “Papa’s going to kill you.”
“Not if I kill myself first.”
“Did you do it?” Bernie yelled.
Bernie just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. As soon as Papa took his seat, Bernie
grinned. “Have you told him about the car yet?”
Papa’s head came up. “What car?”
“Lucas Kutchner gave Mama a ride home in his car today. He was trying to sell it to her.” He took a helping of potatoes au gratin. “It can go up to twenty-five miles an hour!”
“I don’t think Lucas was driving anywhere near that fast when he brought me and Rikka home.”
Red climbed up Papa’s neck into his face. He put his knife and fork down and stared at Mama while she cut meat off her chicken thigh. Hildemara bit her lip and looked between them.
“We don’t need a car, Marta. We don’t have the money for one.”
“You said we didn’t need a washing machine. I’d still be using that bucket if I hadn’t saved the two dollars myself.”
“A washing machine doesn’t need gas and tires!”
“Just elbow grease.”
“A washing machine doesn’t need a mechanic to keep it working.”
“You know how to repair locomotives.”
Papa’s voice kept rising. “A washing machine won’t run you into a tree or a ditch or turn over and crush you to death in a pile of twisted metal!”
Rikka started to cry. “Mama, don’t buy that car.”
Mama told Bernie to pass the carrots. “Not one dollar has passed from my hand into Lucas’s.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Papa sounded relieved, but not fully convinced. He kept a cautious eye on her as he ate.
Mama tucked a forkful of potatoes au gratin into her mouth and chewed, looking at the ceiling. Papa frowned. “I had one ride in that contraption of his and saw my life passing before my eyes.”
Mama sniffed. “I grant you, Lucas isn’t much of a driver. Maybe if he watched the road more and talked less . . .”
Papa froze. “What do you know about driving?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She picked up a roll and began buttering it. “Yet.” She lifted the roll toward her mouth. “It doesn’t look all that difficult.”
Her Mother's Hope Page 25
