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 outsid
e 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.
Merciless, Bernie went on mocking the city boys as he headed out toward the orchard to help Papa dig irrigation ditches. “You’d better come if you want lunch.”
“I’m not a ditchdigger!” Ralph yelled after him.
“You will be!” Fritz called back.
“Hildemara!” Mama called. “There’s a basket of laundry. Take it out to the washhouse and get it started.” Pushing herself up, Hildemara grabbed it, propped it on her hip, and opened the screen door. Jimmy, Ralph, Gordon, and Billie wandered like lost souls looking for something to do.
Bernie and Fritz came in from the orchard just before Mama rang the lunch bell. They stepped into the back of the house and latched the screen door before the others could open it. “Read the sign, boys!” Bernie and Fritz laughed and went into the house while the others milled around outside, their defiance wilting in the Central Valley summer heat.
After lunch, Bernie and Fritz took off running for the big irrigation ditch at the back of the property. “Come on, boys!” The others didn’t run as fast, but forgot their hunger long enough to enjoy themselves. Hildemara could hear them shrieking and laughing and shouting while she weeded the vegetable garden. She knew how her summer would go, and it would not be filled with play. When Mama rang the dinner bell, the boys all came running. Bernie and Fritz dove under Mama’s arm and she closed the door, latching it again while Jimmy, Ralph, Gordon, and Billie gaped in misery.
“We’re going to starve to death.” Jimmy wiped tears away quickly.
“I gave you the rules last night, boys. I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. Tomorrow can be a fresh start. Depends on you.” Mama turned her back on them and went into the house.
Fritz shook his head as he took his seat at the table. “I’ve never heard such whimpering and whining.”
Hildemara glared at him. “Just like you last summer.” She felt pity for the starving masses outside the back door.
Papa looked grim. “Those boys are going to run away.”
“Let them run.” Mama held out a bowl of potato dumplings to Fritz. “They’ll find out soon enough they have no place to go.”
Hildemara worried anyway. “What if they don’t work tomorrow, Mama?” Would Mama end up handing her a shovel? Would she have to tend the chickens and rabbits and horses all by herself?
“Then they won’t eat.”
Mama went outside at six the next morning and rang the bell right under the tree house. “What do you say, boys? Are you ready to do your share of the work around here? For those who are, waffles with butter and hot maple syrup, crispy bacon, and steaming cocoa. Those who aren’t can have water from the hose and air to eat.”
All six boys came down the rope ladder and grabbed shovels.
An hour later, Hildemara poured cocoa and watched the new boys eat like starving wolf cubs. Mama held a platter of waffles in one hand and a fork in the other. “Anyone want a second helping?” Four hands shot into the air. “When you finish breakfast, take your shovels and report to Papa in the orchard. He’ll tell you what to do next.”
When Papa came in for lunch, he grinned at Mama. “Looks like you broke them.” All six boys filed in, washed their hands at the kitchen sink, and took their assigned seats at the dinner table.
Mama held two platters of ham and cheese sandwiches. “Show me your hands, boys.” They held them out. “Blisters! Good for you! You’ll have calluses to show off before you go home. No one will ever call you sissies.” She set the platters on the table. By the time Hildemara put out a bowl of grapes and apples, the platters were bare. Mama took her place at the foot of the table. “When you finish, the rest of the day is free time.”
Hildemara knew she wouldn’t be so lucky. She went back to the kitchen counter and made half a sandwich for herself.
26
1930
Summers meant even more work for Hildemara. She helped Mama cook, kept the house swept clean of the dust and sand always blowing in, washed clothes. In the afternoon, while Clotilde looked at movie star magazines and dreamed up new clothing designs and Rikka sat on the porch swing daydreaming and drawing, Hildemara weeded the vegetable and flower gardens. Hildemara didn’t understand why Mama expected so much from her and so little from her sisters.
Clotilde repaired shirts and pants and sleeping bags. Cloe loved to sew and she was good at it. Mama bought material for shirts for Papa and Bernie and dresses for Hildemara, Clotilde, and Rikka, two new ones each year. When Cloe finished, Mama gave her money to buy fabric remnants to piece together and make whatever she wanted. Cloe could sketch garments, make patterns from butcher paper, and sew a dress that didn’t look like one everyone else was wearing that year.
Rikki wandered around in a dreamy state, always seeking a place to sit and draw whatever attracted her undivided attention. If she didn’t come in for dinner, Mama sent Hildemara out looking for her. Mama never asked Rikka to do chores. “She has other things to do.” Like draw birds or butterflies or the Musashi girls working in the rows of tomatoes.
Sometimes Hildemara resented it. Especially on a hot day when she could feel the dust blow against her damp skin and feel the trickle of sweat between her growing breasts. Hildemara worked on her hands and knees, pulling weeds from the flower garden around the front of the house. Rikka lay on the porch swing, hands behind her head, gazing off at the clouds. Hildemara sat back on her heels, wiping perspiration from her forehead. “Would you like to help me, Rikki?”
“Have you ever looked at the clouds, Hildie?” She pointed. “Children playing. A bird in flight. A kite.”
“I don’t have time to look at clouds.”
Mama came out and asked Rikki if she’d like a glass of lemonade. Hildemara sat back on her heels again. “Can’t Rikki take a turn weeding once in a while, Mama?”
“She knows who she is and what she wants out of life. Besides, she has such fair skin, she’d burn to a crisp pulling weeds in the garden. You do the weeding. You haven’t got anything better to do. Have you?”
“No, Mama.”
“Then I guess you’d better get used to doing what you’re told.” She went back into the house.
Rikka came to the porch railing and sat against a post. She had a sketchbook in her hand and started drawing. “You could say no, Hildemara.”
“It has to get done, Rikki.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Hildie?”
Hildemara yanked another weed and threw it
into the bucket. “A nurse.”
“What?”
“Never mind. What’s the use of dreaming?”
She picked up the weed bucket and moved to a row of carrots. “There will never be enough money for me to go to training.”
“You could ask.”
And have Mama say no? “The money Papa and Mama make off the farm and Summer Bedlam has to go to mortgage payments and taxes and farm equipment and vet bills for the horse.”
“They’re doing well, aren’t they? Papa just extended the shelter he built off the barn.”
“That’s so winter rains won’t rust his tractor.”
Rikki wandered along the row of vegetables. “Mama buys sewing supplies for Clotilde.”
Hildemara bent over and pulled another weed.
Rikki put her arms out like a bird, dipping one way and then the other. “Mama buys me art supplies.”
Hildemara threw weeds into the bucket. “I know.”
Rikki turned. “Because we ask.”
Hildemara sighed. “Tuition to a nursing school and textbooks cost more than sewing and art supplies, Rikki.”
“If you don’t ask, you’ll never get anything.”
“Maybe God has another plan.”
“Oh, I already know what it is.”
“What?”
“Go on being a martyr.”
Stung, Hildemara sat back on her heels, her mouth opening and closing as Rikki skipped up the back steps and went into the house.
* * *
Mama continued pressing her about the future, though Hildemara didn’t see that she had one. “You’re about to enter high school. You need to start making plans.”
“Plans for what?”
“College. A career.”
“Bernie’s going to college. I heard you talking to Papa about how much that will cost.”
Her Mother's Hope Page 27
