Bernie’s face twisted, anguished. “I couldn’t hate him. Not even when he told me. What right have I got to throw stones at anyone?” His eyes filled. “He’s dead, you know. Got blown to bits on some piece of crap island in the South Pacific. He used to tell me he wanted to go to the beach. ‘Let’s go over to Santa Cruz,’ he’d say. Well, he died on a beach.”
Hildie put her face in her hands and sobbed. All she could think about was Trip on his way to Europe. She’d told herself over and over he was a medic. Thank God, he wasn’t a Marine. They wouldn’t put him in the front lines. He would follow, picking up the pieces.
Bernie gripped her shoulder. “Go gentle on my wife. She’s eating herself up with guilt. And I love her; I love her so much. As far as I’m concerned, that baby she’s carrying is mine.”
Hildie raised her head. “Maybe you should tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“Everything.”
He shook his head. “She might leave me.”
She leaned over and cupped his face. “You haven’t left her.”
He pulled away and stood. “Two wrongs don’t make things right, Sis.”
“What good is love without trust?”
“What are you two talking about?” Elizabeth stood in the bedroom doorway, still in her nightgown, arms hugged around herself. She looked sick and frightened, pale and strained. She looked at Hildie and then Bernie, bereft. “Did you . . . ?”
“Did she tell me the baby isn’t mine? No, sugar. She didn’t. I already knew.”
Elizabeth made a choking sound and stepped back, hands covering her face.
Bernie pulled a chair back. “Come and sit down with me. We need to talk.”
Hildie couldn’t bear the pain she saw in both their faces, the guilt and shame, the heartbreak. She got up. “I love you both.” She went outside.
Sitting in Mrs. Musashi’s chair out front, she watched the sunrise while Bernie and Elizabeth talked inside the house. No screaming, no shouting like Mama and Papa. The silence worried her and she stood, looking through the window. Elizabeth sat on Bernie’s lap, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He held her firmly, stroking her back as both wept.
Relief filled Hildie. She envied the fact that they could be together through this war and not have to be separated. She didn’t like feeling that way. She went out for a long walk through the Musashis’ English walnut orchard, thanking God Bernie and Elizabeth would be all right. She prayed for Trip’s safety. She ran her hands over her abdomen, praying their baby would be born healthy and strong. She prayed the next battle would turn the tide of the war and it would end soon.
Thinking of Trip filled her with so many emotions: worry, fear, hope, hunger, an aching loneliness to have him back beside her. God, please bring him home to me. Bring him home in one piece.
* * *
As summer moved toward fall, townsfolk had another reason to resent Bernie and Mama and anyone else in their situation. Rationing kept people in want, but farmers had plenty. Mama’s forty acres of almonds and raisins and her half-acre vegetable garden, along with chickens and rabbits, produced enough to feed both families and have plenty to sell. Bernie kept up the walnut orchard, vineyard, and two acres of produce, making runs to Merced to sell tomatoes, squash, onions, and carrots. The Musashis had two cows, both healthy; a hundred chickens; a dozen rabbits; and four goats. Bernie added a dog. He called him Killer as a joke, though passersby believed it and kept their distance. Never lacking in food, Mama said they should give away whatever they could spare to neighbors and friends in town, keeping only enough for mortgage payments and taxes on the two places.
Hildemara blossomed with her pregnancy. So did Elizabeth. They laughed as they waddled around the place. Weeding became more difficult as the months passed. Bernie and Elizabeth’s son came in September. They named him Edward Niclas Waltert.
Mama checked the mailbox every day. Hildemara went across to get their mail. Mama would sift through the envelopes and sigh heavily.
When Hildemara’s labor started, Bernie went for Mama. Rather than drive to town for Dr. Whiting, Mama came across the street to help deliver the baby. Hildemara was too far along to argue. She had already told Elizabeth what to do to get ready.
Mama leaned over Hildie, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You scream if you want to.”
Hildie knew Mama expected her to be worse than Elizabeth, who had screamed and sobbed and begged for the pain to stop. Hildie had been in hospital delivery rooms. She knew what to expect. She had no intention of making it worse for all those around her. She didn’t look at Mama or listen to anything she said. She concentrated on the course of her labor, enduring the pain in silence and bearing down when her body told her it was time.
“You have a son, Hildemara Rose.” Mama washed and swaddled him and placed him in her arms. “What are you going to call him?”
Exhausted, Hildie smiled into his perfect face. “Trip likes the name Charles.”
She wrote to Trip the next day.
Our son arrived on December 15. Charles Cale Arundel has very healthy lungs! Mama says she can hear him across the street. He and Eddie are going to make quite a pair. . . .
She wrote every day, sometimes in a way to sound like Charles was writing the letter.
Daddy, come home soon. I can’t wait to meet you. You have to teach me how to play basketball and baseball. . . .
Giving birth took more of her strength than she expected. Or maybe it was the night feedings that seemed to sap her of strength. Elizabeth had been up and around a few days after giving birth, but Hildemara felt so tired all the time. She feared relapsing with tuberculosis.
Mama came over every day. “Get some sleep. Let me hold my grandson.”
* * *
Dear Rosie,
Hildemara Rose has given me a second grandson. She has named him Charles Cale Arundel. She did well. No screaming or carrying on. The only time she shed a tear was when she held her newborn son in her arms. Then she cried a river of joyful tears.
I remember giving birth to Hildemara on the floor of the cabin in that frozen Manitoba wheatland. I cried! I think I cursed Niclas when he came home and found me. Poor man. I have never been easy on anyone, especially those I love most.
My girl did better than I, but I’m worried. Hildemara has not bounced back to good health the way Elizabeth did. She looks so pale and worn down. Nursing every two hours is exhausting, and I fear my girl may get sick again. I offer to help, but she gives me a look that sends me home. So I bring dinner sometimes, just to give these two girls rest.
Hildemara Rose and I get along, but there is a wall between us. I know I built it. I doubt she’s forgiven me for my harsh words at the sanatorium, and I will not apologize for them. I may have to prod her again. I’ll do whatever I must to keep her spirits up. Oh, but it hurts me so to do it. I wonder if she will ever understand me.
* * *
After spending almost a month in bed, Hildie began to regain her strength. Mama made a sling for her so she could carry Charlie around while doing chores. He rode happily, cradled safely against Hildie’s chest. When he grew too big to ride in the sling, Mama designed a backpack. When he began to crawl, Hildie and Elizabeth took turns watching their “little explorers.”
Bernie laughed as the two boys crawled around the house. “They need sunshine, but I think we’re going to have to cage them.”
The Allies pressed on. Battles raged in Germany and in the South Pacific. Hildie wondered if the war would ever end and Trip come home.
40
1944
The war finally began to turn in the Allies’ favor, and every day brought new hope as they listened to the radio.
Bernie started making plans. “We’re not staying in Murietta. When the war ends, the Musashis will come back. Everything will be ready for them, and we’ll look for our own place. I made good money off those trees I grafted. Lemon-orange-lime trees.” He laughed. “I’d like to start my ow
n nursery, do some more grafting. Experiment a little and see what else I can come up with. I could do landscaping. Might be nice to live closer to Sacramento or San Jose or in sunny Southern California near all those movie stars Cloe writes about. They’d have money to spend.”
Hildemara didn’t know what to do. She had written to Trip every day and hadn’t received a letter in weeks. Every time a car came up the road, her heart lodged in her throat for fear it would stop and an Army officer would come to the door. Eddie Rinckel wasn’t the only hometown boy killed overseas. Tony Reboli had died on D-day. So had two of Mama’s Summer Bedlam boys, and Fritz had lost his leg when he stepped on a land mine on Guadalcanal.
Hildie knew Trip had survived D-day. By the time he reached Paris, he had become a captain. His letters, few and far between, were filled with words of love, what he remembered about their time together, how much he missed her. He didn’t write about the future.
The newspapers reported tens of thousands dying on battlefields in Europe, and previously unknown islands in the South Pacific. The prejudice got worse at home. Hildemara continued to go to church with Mama. She left Charlie at home with Bernie and Elizabeth, who had stopped going. Only a few people spoke to Hildemara, and only because they knew Trip served in the Army. Hardly anyone spoke to Mama. Old friends who had known them for years kept their distance, staring and whispering. Mama sat eyes straight ahead, listening to the sermon, Papa’s Bible open in her lap.
Hildemara was the one who got mad. After all the nice things Mama had done for people over the years, they turned on her now? “I thought they were our friends!”
“They were. They will be again, when the war is over. Assuming we win, of course. If we don’t, we’re all going to be in the same sinking boat.”
“Fair-weather friends, Mama. They’re not real friends.”
“They’re afraid. Fear makes people mean. Fear makes people act stupid.”
“Don’t make excuses for them!” Hildemara stared out the window, arms crossed over her chest, hurt and fuming.
Mama shrugged while driving. “When it’s all over, we won’t hold it against them.”
Hildemara turned in exasperation. “You won’t. I’m not going to have anything to do with those . . . those hypocrites!”
Mama’s face flamed. “Where do you get off judging, Hildemara Rose?” She turned sharply in to the drive. Hildemara bumped against the door. “Keep on as you are and you’re going to be just as mean-spirited and stupid as they are!” Mama slammed on the brake so hard Hildie had to grab the dash to keep from cracking her head on it.
“Mama! Are you trying to kill us?”
“Just shake a little sense into your head.” She shoved her door open and got out. “What do you suppose your father would say to you right now? Turn the other cheek! That’s what he’d say.”
Hildie jumped out and slammed her door. “I never thought I’d hear that come out of your mouth!”
Mama slammed her door harder. “Well, it did.” She stomped off toward the cottage.
Hildemara regretted adding fuel to the fire. “Why don’t we go to Atwater next Sunday?” she called after Mama. “No one knows us in Atwater! No one will be gossiping about us there!”
Mama swung around and planted her feet. “Don’t be so stupid, Hildemara. I still have a Swiss accent.”
Smarting under her criticism, Hildie shouted back. “Swiss, Mama! Not German! The Swiss are neutral!”
“Neutral!” She snorted in disgust. “A lot you know. Where do you think Germany gets it munitions? How do you think goods pass from Germany to Italy? If that isn’t bad enough, people around here don’t know the difference between a Swiss, German, or Swedish accent!”
Hildie’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not going back to church.”
“Well, fine! You run if you want. You hide! But I’m going back and I’m going to keep going back! And one of these days, I’ll be buried in their churchyard. You make sure of that! You hear me, Hildemara Rose?”
“I hear you, Mama! They’ll probably spit on your grave!”
“Let them spit. It’ll make the flowers grow!” She slammed the cottage door behind her.
Bernie stood in the yard across the street. “What was that all about? I could hear you and Mama shouting all the way over here.”
“She’s impossible!”
Bernie laughed as she stormed by. “I never thought I’d see the day that you’d shout back at Mama.”
“It didn’t get me anywhere, did it?”
41
1945
Franklin Roosevelt continued as president, starting his fourth term, with Harry Truman as the new vice president. London was bombarded by V-1 rocket bombs. Mama wrote letters to a friend in Kew Gardens. Rumors were confirmed about Nazi concentration camps exterminating Jews. German officers failed in an assassination attempt on Hitler and were hanged. American soldiers pushed toward Berlin.
Finally, Germany surrendered, though the war raged on against Japan. Thousands died as American troops fought to take back one Pacific island after another.
Trip wrote from Berlin.
I’m coming home.
He didn’t know when he would arrive, but he would be sent to his city of enlistment, which meant if she wanted to be at the train station to meet him, she needed to return to Colorado. Hildie’s joy turned to panic when she saw the letter had taken twelve days to reach her.
Bernie took her to the train station to buy tickets. She prayed she would be able to ride in a Pullman so she and two-year-old Charlie could rest on the three-day trip to Colorado.
By the time they arrived, Hildie had lost weight from motion sickness and was exhausted. The train pulled into Denver midafternoon, and she had to transfer to the Eagle streamliner to Colorado Springs. Carrying Charles on her hip and struggling with her suitcase, she made it just in time. Every muscle in her body ached. She shifted Charles in her arms.
Mom and Dad Arundel stood on the train platform waiting for her in Colorado Springs. Hildemara cried in relief when she saw them. Mom gave her a quick hug and took Charlie. “Oh, he’s beautiful! Just like his daddy at this age.” She kissed Charlie’s plump cheeks while Dad hugged Hildie.
“Any word?” Hildie had dreamed of seeing Trip with them.
“Not yet, but he’ll be home any day now.” Dad picked up the suitcase. “Only one?”
“Bernie will ship everything as soon as we know where we’re going to live.”
She felt dead on her feet; she stumbled. Dad caught her beneath the elbow and looked her over with concern. “You’re going straight to bed when we get to the house. You look like you haven’t slept in three days.”
“Charlie didn’t sleep much on the train.”
Dad smiled. “Well, you’ve got reinforcements now, so you can rest up before Trip gets here.”
Hildie fell asleep the moment her head touched Trip’s pillow in the porch bedroom. She awakened to someone stroking her face. When she opened her eyes, she saw Trip leaning over her, smiling. She thought she was dreaming until he spoke.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
She reached up and touched his face. Sobbing, she threw her arms around him. He held on to her. Gripping her hair, he drew her head back and kissed her. She tasted salt and realized they were both crying.
Embarrassed, he whispered against her hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Hildie.” She heard the tears in his voice.
She pressed closer, nestling into the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent. “You’re home. Thank God, you’re home.” She could feel the tremor in his hands. If not for his parents in the other room or for Charlie, who was crying again, she might have been bolder. She drew back, smiling, drinking in the sight of her husband. He looked tired. His face hadn’t changed, but his eyes looked older, battle-worn. “What do you think of your son?”
“He’s perfect. He’s sitting on the kitchen rug playing with some of Mom’s wooden spoons. Or he was. I tried to pick him up, but he didn’t th
ink much of the idea.”
“He doesn’t know you yet. He will.” She kept touching him, running her hands over him, her heart squeezing tight at the signs of fatigue, sorrow, joy, all mixed together. His eyes darkened.
“Better stop.” He took her hands and kissed them. “I want you so much I hurt, Hildie.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I know what I’d like to do with you right now, but I don’t want to shock the life out of my parents.”
Mom prepared a wonderful lunch. They all sat around the table, giving thanks to God for Trip’s safe return. Trip fed Charlie. “They say food is the quickest way to a man’s heart.” Trip made airplane sounds and told Charlie to open the hangar. Everyone laughed. Hildie couldn’t take her eyes off Trip.
Dad got up. “Why don’t we take this little fellow on a stroll, Mom?”
Mom stacked dishes and put them in the sink. “The fresh air would do him good. Leave the dishes, Hildie. You and Trip have a lot of catching up to do.”
They went out with the stroller they’d bought before Hildie arrived and settled Charlie into it. The sun was warm as Trip and his dad carried the stroller down the front steps, Mom following.
“We’re going down and around Prospect Lake,” Dad called out. “Charlie might like to watch the kids playing.”
“The Harts haven’t seen him yet,” Mom called. “We’ll probably stop there while we’re out.”
“Don’t you two worry if we’re gone for a couple of hours.” Dad winked at Trip. “We’ll take care of Charlie. You take care of your wife.”
Her Mother's Hope Page 40
