Covering her face, Hildie burst into more tears. Embarrassed to have Trip see her so out of control, she turned away. She didn’t dare tell him how she felt. It would only make everything worse. When Trip touched her shoulder, she moved away. Wiping her face, she gulped. “It’s better if I go home alone. I’ll have time to think, time to get control of my emotions. I need to make some kind of plan for how to care for him.”
Trip came up behind her and ran his hands down her arms. He spoke gently, reasonably. “What are your mother and father going to think of me if you arrive on a bus?”
She bit her lip. “They won’t think anything.”
“I know what I’d think. My daughter is keeping company with an insensitive man who doesn’t care anything about her family. Not much of a recommendation there.” He turned her around. “Hildie?”
“They don’t know about you.”
He went still, his eyes flickering with confusion, then hurt. “You never told them about us?” When she didn’t answer, he let out his breath as though punched. He took his hands from her waist. “Well, I guess that makes it clear where I stand.”
“You don’t understand.”
He stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I get it.”
“Trip. Please.”
“Please what? You can’t love someone if you can’t trust him, Hildie, and you’ve never let yourself trust me.” Eyes moist, he turned away. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming. I’m just dense.” He picked up her two suitcases. “Is this it?” He didn’t meet her eyes. “Anything else you want to take home with you?”
Was he giving her one last chance?
“You’re right, Hildie. I don’t understand.” He went out the door. She had no choice but to follow, lock the door behind her, and get in his car.
Neither spoke on the drive to the bus station. He pulled up in front. When he started to open his door, she put her hand on his arm. “Don’t get out of the car. Please. I can make it on my own.” She tried to smile. She tried to tell him the last six months had been the happiest of her life. She tried to tell him she loved him and would never forget him as long as she lived. Instead, she gulped and said, “Don’t hate me, Trip.”
“I don’t hate you.”
So much for happily ever after. “Good-bye, Trip.” Trembling all over, she reached for the door handle.
Swearing softly, Trip reached for her. “Just one thing before you go.” He dug his fingers into her hair. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.” He kissed her. He wasn’t tentative or careful or even gentle. He drank her in and filled her up with sensations. When he drew back, they both sat breathing hard, stunned. He ran his thumb over her lips, tears filling his eyes. “Something to remember me by.” He let go, leaned across, and shoved the door open. “I’m sorry about your father, Hildie.”
Standing on the sidewalk with her two suitcases, Hildie watched Trip drive away. He didn’t look back. Not once.
She boarded the bus, found a seat in the last row by herself, and cried all the way to Murietta.
* * *
Mama stood waiting outside the bus station. She frowned when Hildie came down the steps, collected her luggage, and met her. They didn’t embrace. Mama shook her head. “You look awful. Are you going to be all right? I don’t want you going to pieces the minute you walk in the door and see your father. That will just make it worse for him. You understand me?”
Cover up. Pretend everything is all right. “I got it out of my system on the way home.”
“I hope so.”
Hildie had no intention of telling her mother she had just lost the love of her life. “How long have you known about the cancer?” She put her suitcases in the backseat and sat in front.
“It came on suddenly.” Mama started the car.
“No symptoms at all?”
“I’m not a nurse, Hildemara. He looked a little yellow to me, and I told him so, but your father said he didn’t have time for a doctor. Not then, anyway.” She ground the gears.
Yellow? Oh, God. “Is it in his liver?”
“Yes.”
Hildemara shut her eyes for a moment and then looked out the window, hoping Mama wouldn’t guess what she already knew. It wouldn’t be long.
Mama drove more slowly than usual. “I’m glad you’re home, Hildemara.”
“So am I, Mama. So am I.”
* * *
Papa sat in the living room, his Bible open on his lap. Hildie set her suitcases down and went to him, trying not to show the shock at his changed physical appearance. “Hello, Papa.”
He rose with difficulty. “Hildemara! Mama said she had a surprise for me.”
When he opened his arms, Hildie walked into them. She held him firmly, but gently, willing herself not to cry. “I’m home, Papa.” She ran her hands over his back, guessing at how much weight he had lost since Christmas. She could feel his vertebrae, his ribs.
Papa took her by the arms and stepped back. “There was a time when you couldn’t put your arms all the way around me.” He had always stood straight and tall with broad shoulders and thick biceps. Now he was bent from weariness and pain. He edged back toward his chair, reaching back with a tremulous hand. She wanted to step forward and help him, but the look on his face prevented her. He had his pride, and she had already damaged it with her quick tactile examination.
“He doesn’t have much appetite.” Mama stood in the middle of the room. “But I’ll get supper on the stove. I’m sure you’re hungry after your long trip, Hildemara.”
Hildie bent and picked up her suitcases so Papa wouldn’t see her tears. “I hope I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”
“Bernie’s room is empty, now that he and Elizabeth are settled in the new cottage. You can sleep in there. Bernie’s out in the orchard. Elizabeth loves farming as much as your brother. She grows flats of flowers for the nursery.”
“Wish she’d grow us some grandchildren,” Papa said with a laugh.
Hildie felt a wave of sadness. She had learned more than she wanted to know about some things while in the hospital. For Bernie to father a child, after the case of mumps he’d had as a boy, would take a miracle. She remembered him screaming in pain as the disease attacked his testicles. She hadn’t understood then what she knew now. She wondered if Dr. Whiting would ever tell them. Probably not, unless they asked. “Will they be eating with us?”
“No. She cooks for the two of them.”
Hildie set her suitcases in Bernie’s old room and looked out through the screen. The cottage her brother had built for his bride was white with yellow shutters. A flower box held purple pansies and white alyssum. A lattice shed had been built beyond the washhouse past the bay tree. Elizabeth stood inside it, working among flats of flowers.
“Rikka will be home from school soon,” Mama called out over the radio Papa always wanted turned on in the living room. Another radio music program had been interrupted with the increasingly dismal news in Europe. Germans were bombing Paris. Norway surrendered. In Italy, Mussolini declared war on Britain and France. As sick as he was, Papa still wanted to know what went on in the world.
Rikki had commencement exercises soon, Hildie remembered. Papa had already insisted he would attend the ceremony, even if he had to use a cane.
Hildie came back into the living room. “You want any help, Mama?”
“No. You just sit with Papa and visit.”
Hildie sat at the end of the sofa closest to Papa’s chair. He reminded her of the old gentlemen on the geriatric ward. Cancer aged a man. Her heart broke watching him lean back carefully, a hand resting lightly over his swollen abdomen. “Your baby sister is doing well in high school. Top grades in art.”
“No surprise there, Papa.”
Mama cut peeled potatoes into pieces over a pot. “She wanted to quit and get married a while back.”
“Married! To Paul?” Or was it Johnny? She couldn’t remember. Her baby sister went through boy
s faster than babies went through diapers.
Mama snorted. “She’s had two boyfriends since Paul. The new one is Melvin Walker. He’s an improvement over the others—five years older, has a good, steady job.”
Papa smiled. “She’ll know when the right one comes along, and I have a feeling it isn’t this one.”
Hildie thought of Trip. He’d been the right one. It just hadn’t been the right time.
Mama added water to the pot. “This one won’t be brushed off. He knows what he wants, and he’s sticking close until she sees his worth.”
Papa chuckled. “Sounds like what I had to do.” His eyes twinkled as he looked at Hildie. “There’s nothing wrong with a little romance. How about you, Hildemara? Have you met anyone special?”
“Would she be here if she had?” Mama set the pot on the stove.
“I’ve had a few dates.” Hildie wondered what they would say if she told them she had met and fallen in love with a man, that she had dreamed of marrying him and having his children. Better to have them think she had no luck with love than know she had given him up to take care of Papa. Papa would send her back, and she needed to be here. Now that she saw Papa, she knew how much.
Papa held out his hand. When she took it, she felt the bones through his rough skin. “I was surprised when Mama said you wanted to come home.” She realized with some surprise that Papa didn’t know Mama had called and asked her to come. Hildie felt guilty for not knowing how sick he was before this. If she had come home sometime during the last few months, she might have seen signs and given warning. Instead, she had been so caught up in her own life, in Trip, in love that she hadn’t bothered.
“Well, it’s about time, isn’t it, Niclas?” Mama grabbed a towel. “I could use a little help around here.” She tossed the towel on the counter and put her hands on her hips.
Hildie took the cue. “I’ve missed you both. I’ve wanted to come home for quite a while. I hope you won’t mind having me around for a month or two.”
“I know what’s going on.” Papa’s voice had an edge of anger in it. “How could you do this, Marta? Hildemara’s got a life of her own.”
“Working. That’s her life. She’s a nurse, and a good one. She led the class procession as the Lady with the Lamp. She had to be the top student to do that. She knows what’s what, and we need a nurse. Why not one who loves you?”
“Oh, Marta.” Papa sounded so weary and defeated. He couldn’t fight back anymore.
Mama’s arms dropped to her sides. “It’s what she’s always wanted to do, Niclas. You said it was what God called her to do. Maybe it was for such a time as this. Tell him, Hildemara.”
Hildie heard the pleading in Mama’s voice and saw the telltale brightness in her hazel eyes. Papa looked crushed in spirit. “I didn’t want to become a burden, Marta.”
“You’re not a burden, Papa, and I’d have been hurt if Mama hadn’t called and someone else tended you. Life is short enough as it is for all of us. Time is the most precious thing we have, isn’t it?” She took his hand between hers. “There’s no place I’d rather be than right here.” On the bus ride to Murietta, she had buried and mourned all the might-have-beens.
He looked into her eyes and went very still, comprehending. “We don’t have much time, do we?”
“No, Papa. We don’t.”
Turning away, Mama gripped the sink. Her shoulders sagged and shook, but she didn’t make a noise.
* * *
Hildemara lay awake inside the screened porch bedroom, listening to the crickets and a hoot owl in the bay tree near the tree house. She prayed for her father. She prayed for Trip. She prayed God would give her the strength she would need, knowing each day would become more difficult.
When she finally slept, she dreamed of long, polished corridors. Someone stood in the open doorway at the end, surrounded by light. She ran toward him and felt his arms go around her. She heard his whisper against her hair, inside her heart, not in words but in rest.
She awakened when a rooster crowed. The back door opened and closed, then the screen door. Sitting up, Hildie watched Mama cross the yard to feed the chickens.
Hildie went into the bathroom built by the Summer Bedlam boys and showered, brushed her teeth and hair, dressed, and went into the kitchen. She poured coffee and sat at the kitchen table reading her Bible. Covering her face, she prayed for Mama and Papa and the days ahead. Then she thought about Papa standing beneath the white almond blossom canopy in spring, singing a German hymn. She thought of him sharpening tools in the barn, digging irrigation ditches, sitting in his wagon loaded with vegetables from Mama’s garden.
Today, Lord, she prayed. Give me strength for the day. This is a day You have made and I will rejoice in it. I will. God, give me strength.
When Hildie heard Papa groan, she went to him, prepared to play the role God had given her.
* * *
Dear Rosie,
I do not know if you will receive this letter with all that is happening in Europe, but I must write. Niclas has cancer. He is dying. I can do nothing for him but sit and try to make him more comfortable.
I had no choice but to ask Hildemara to give up her life and come home. He needs a nurse. He worsens by the day and I can’t bear to see him in such pain. She is a great comfort to us both.
Niclas still insists on listening to the radio, and all the news is depressing and frightening. As you know better than I, Hitler has gone mad with power. He will not stop until he has the whole of Europe in his hands. My old friend, Chef Warner Brennholtz, returned to Berlin several years ago. No word from him for two Christmases. And now London is being bombed. I fear for Lady Daisy. I pray the mountains will protect you and yours.
All these terrible things that are happening only deepen my worries over Niclas. I must be strong for him! Bernhard and I must continue the work around the ranch or Niclas worries everything will fall apart. I tell him that will not happen, not while I have strength in my body. But he has always been able to read my thoughts. He understands me too well. He sees too much.
A world at war mirrors the state of my heart, Rosie. I am at war with God. My soul cries out to Him, but He does not hear. Where is God’s mercy? Where is His justice? Niclas does not deserve such suffering. . . .
34
Each evening after Papa had gone to bed, Hildie sat at the kitchen table with Mama. She read her Bible while Mama wrote letters. She had been writing to Rosie Brechtwald for as long as Hildie could remember. All Hildie knew was Mama and Rosie had been schoolmates. Mama had written to others over the years, and she received responses, usually around Christmastime, from Felda Braun, Warner Brennholtz, and Solange and Herve Fournier, all in Switzerland. Mama used to cut off the stamps and give them to Bernie. Her brother asked once why Mama wrote to people she’d never see again. “I see them here.” She pointed to her head. “And here.” She touched her heart.
“And God willing, we’ll see them again when the last trumpet blows,” Papa added.
Hildie and Mama didn’t say much to one another. Before Hildie went to bed, she put her hand on Mama’s shoulder and said good night. Sometimes Mama answered.
Hildie got up early one morning after she’d been home for about a week and sat waiting for Mama at the breakfast table before the sun came up. “I’m going into town and see Dr. Whiting, Mama.”
“Why? He’ll be out the end of the week.”
“Papa needs pain medication.”
Mama poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “He won’t take it, Hildemara. He said he doesn’t want to spend his last months on earth too drugged to think clearly.”
“He may change his mind.”
Mama bowed her head. “You know your father.”
“I need to be ready, in case.”
“You can take the car.”
Hildie chuckled. “I would if I knew how to drive. I’ll walk.”
“Why didn’t you ever learn? A nurse makes good money, doesn’t she? Clo
tilde bought a car the first week she lived in Burbank and got that apprenticeship making costumes. Even Rikka knows how to drive.”
“I lived a block from the hospital, and if I wanted to go anywhere else, there was always a city bus going the same direction. One of these days, I’ll learn.”
“I could teach you.”
“Now isn’t the time.” Hildie clasped her cup in both hands, staring at her coffee as she spoke. “We’ll have to work together, Mama, and make him as comfortable as possible.”
Mama set her cup down forcefully. “I don’t want him comfortable. I want him to live.”
“I’m a nurse. Not God.”
“Did I say you were? Did I ask any more of you than what you’ve been trained to do?”
Hildie pushed her chair back, picked up her cup and saucer, and set them on the counter. “I’ll wash them later.” She headed for the back door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Dr. Whiting.”
“It’s not even light yet.”
“It’ll be light enough by the time I get there.”
“For heaven’s sake, sit down and I’ll fix you breakfast.”
“I’ll eat at the café.”
“You can be such a fool, Hildemara!”
Shaking, Hildie stopped and looked at her from the doorway. “Be angry, Mama. Be raging mad! But aim it at the cancer!” She closed the door as she went out.
Hugging her coat around her, Hildie walked to town. She took her time, drinking in the fresh morning air, the smell of damp sand and vineyards, the sound of water churning at Grand Junction, the scent of eucalyptus. She stopped by the site of the house her brother and Fritz had burned down. Someone had bought the property and built a new house and barn.
The café lights were on. She recognized the waitress. “You’re Dorothy Pietrowski, aren’t you? You graduated with my brother, Bernie Waltert.”
“Oh yeah.” The plump, dark-haired girl grinned. “I remember him: big, good-looking, blond guy with blue eyes. All the girls were crazy in love with him. Elizabeth Kenney has all the luck.” Her smile flattened. “I don’t remember you.”
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