What the Moon Said

by Gayle Rosengren

  Pa looked up from the paper he’d been figuring on. “We made just enough to pay the bills, nothing extra.” His voice sounded tired. “Maybe I did wrong to bring us here.” The creases in Pa’s face looked deeper than usual.

  “It is just one harvest,” Ma said. “We will find ways to manage. You will see. Next year will be better. It was not wrong to come here.”

  Pa had already sold Blossom, the new calf he had hoped to keep. And he had sold all but two of the grown-up piglets. He traded one of the remaining two pigs to Mr. Brummel for bushels of barley. The other pig had been turned into ham and bacon for the family.

  “I will have to sell the sow,” he said, dropping his pencil onto the table. “And then there will be no pigs to sell next fall.”

  “With good crops we will not need the extra money,” Ma said.

  Pa bobbled his head twice, but his mouth was still turned down at the corners. “Three of the cows are going dry now, too. We will lose most of the milk money for a while.”

  “You are worrying about spring. Worry about something much nearer,” Ma suggested. “Thanksgiving. It will be our family’s first time together in months. It must be perfect. But how, when we have so little?”

  “We could go to the church dinner,” Esther suggested. “Then we’d just have to bring a few pies or a big bowl of potatoes.”

  Ma shook her head. “We could do that if it were just us. But to bring another whole family of outsiders, no. It would not be right.”

  Pa smiled at Ma. “You will manage, Anna. You always do.”

  And somehow Ma did. Over the weeks that followed, she traded with their neighbors to get the foods she did not have. Jars of plum jam were traded for yams. Walnuts and jars of raspberry preserves were exchanged for apples and pumpkins. And instead of a turkey, she decided—much to Esther’s delight—they would roast one of the geese.

  But the night before a goose was to be sacrificed, Mr. Brummel brought another message from Julia. This time he was not smiling. The baby was sick with diphtheria. They could not think of coming. They would call again when they knew more.

  “Oh, no,” Ma said, sinking onto the nearest chair and covering her mouth with her hands.

  Esther felt cold all over. Diphtheria! People died of diphtheria.

  The holiday was forgotten. All anyone could think of was the tiny baby none of them had even seen yet. He was so little. Would he be strong enough to fight off such a terrible illness?

  That night before they went to bed, they all gathered in the parlor. Ma took the precious iron cross from the fireplace mantel and held it while Pa said a prayer asking for Henry Christian’s recovery. Esther had never prayed so hard before. But would their prayers be enough to save the baby? Could the iron cross’s protection stretch all the way to Chicago?

  • • •

  The next day, for the first time ever, Esther did not want to go to school. She wanted to be home when the next message came, and so did Violet and Walter. Ma and Pa understood and allowed them to stay home with them.

  That was the longest day Esther could remember. The house was quiet, like it was holding its breath. There was no laughter, no chatter, just dragging footsteps and worried faces. Even Walter went about with serious eyes and a hushed voice.

  Thanksgiving morning arrived, and still there was no word. But Pa was determined to be cheerful. “The baby will be all right,” he said at breakfast. “I have faith all will be well. You must all have faith, too.”

  Ma sighed softly but nodded. Esther nodded, too. Pa was right. It was Thanksgiving Day—a day to count blessings. The baby was one of their blessings. They had to believe he would not be taken from them.

  Ma began to clear the table. “I never made the pies,” she said suddenly.

  Pa laughed. “And I never butchered the goose. I suppose we could just have one of the chickens now, since it will only be the five of us.” He directed a questioning look at Ma.

  She puckered her mouth as she considered. “Maybe we should go to the church dinner after all,” she said slowly.

  Pa was quick to nod. “That is a good idea. We will be with our neighbors.”

  Esther looked at Violet and Walter. She saw them sit up straighter in anticipation. Suddenly it felt like a holiday.

  Even though it was morning and the middle of the week, Ma brought in the tub. Quickly, quickly everyone bathed and dressed. Quickly, quickly Ma boiled and beat potatoes until they were light and fluffy. She cooked carrots and topped them with the last of the fresh butter she had been saving. Then she wrapped everything well in thick layers of old newspaper to keep it hot.

  Pa carried the food out to the buggy. “Time to go,” he said.

  Esther was waiting her turn to get into the buggy when she noticed something odd. “Ma,” she said, pointing at the sky. “It’s the moon! And it’s daytime. How can that be?”

  Ma gazed up at the white circle in the bright blue sky. She frowned.

  “What does it mean, Anna?” Pa asked anxiously.

  “It means a change is coming,” she said.

  “A good one or a bad one?” Violet asked.

  Ma shook her head. “Just a change.” She looked at Pa. “It could be good or bad.”

  Pa stood silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “Come,” he said, swinging Walter up into the front seat. “We don’t want to be late.”

  On the way to town, Esther tried not to think about the change that was coming. A sign that could mean a good or a bad thing seemed worse than no sign at all. You didn’t know how to feel or what to think.

  A change for little Henry could mean healing or . . . Esther would not let herself even think of what else it could mean. Instead, she looked at the empty fields. She remembered Pa walking through them last July before the rains finally came, clouds of dust rising from his footsteps. She remembered the long, hot days when the threshers had come. She remembered how she and Violet had carried in bushel after bushel of vegetables from the garden—food that Ma had planted and watered so all of them could eat through the winter.

  Suddenly Esther understood how the pilgrims must have felt so long ago. Planting crops and harvesting them in a new land—that was what her family had done. Now the crops were safely gathered and, moon or no, it was time to give thanks.

  Esther hardly recognized the church basement where Sunday school was always held. Today it was crammed with tables and people. At one end was the long serving table. On it there were four enormous turkeys. There were bowls and bowls of potatoes, vegetables, and stuffing. There were all kinds of rolls and breads. And best of all, there were pies of every description.

  The babble of voices suddenly hushed. Reverend Phillips went to stand behind the serving table to say grace. He thanked God for a bountiful harvest and for friends, families, and health. Then he added, “And dear Father in heaven, we ask that you please watch over and heal the Vogels’ new grandson, Henry Christian. Amen.”

  Ma and Pa looked surprised but very, very pleased. “Brummel must have told the Reverend,” Pa said. “I will be sure to thank him. So many people’s prayers added to ours!” He cleared his throat and shook his head. Then, with a quick wipe at his eyes, he gave a little laugh and said, “Enough. Let us eat.”

  Esther followed Ma and Pa to the end of the food line. When it was their turn, Ma had to help Walter. But Esther and Violet could help themselves. Esther’s mouth watered as she filled her plate with turkey, stuffing, vegetables, potatoes, gravy, and corn bread. Last of all she chose a big slice of apple pie. Then she followed Ma and Pa to one of the tables.

  They were not really tables. They were long boards laid on top of sawhorses. Three or four families could fit around just one of them, they were so big. Ma and Pa went to the table where the Nielsons and Heggersmiths were sitting.

  As she took her seat, Esther noticed Bethany and her family at the next
table over. Automatically her heart gave a joyful leap that was followed at once by a sad thud. She had to stop thinking of Bethany as her friend. Esther was about to look away when Bethany glanced up and spotted her. Her dimples flashed in a grin that disappeared an instant later. It seemed that Bethany was having the same problem as Esther.

  Esther sadly turned away. She spread her napkin on her lap. But then she couldn’t help it. She stole another look at her old friend. Her eyes ran smack into Bethany’s all over again. Esther flinched and looked away guiltily.

  “So much good food,” Ma said to Mrs. Nielson.

  “Yes. It truly is a Thanksgiving feast,” Mrs. Nielson agreed.

  Wesley waggled his eyebrows at Esther and she grinned. She put a forkful of turkey into her mouth. Mmmm. It was delicious. She swallowed it quickly and took another, bigger forkful. Then she noticed Wesley stealthily spearing cherries from Thomas’s pie and adding them to his own dessert plate. She giggled—and something horrible happened.

  The turkey caught in Esther’s throat. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth and tried to gulp some air. But nothing happened. She grabbed at her throat. She tried to cough. She couldn’t. Strangled choking sounds were all that would come from her throat.

  Desperately Esther looked around for help. Didn’t anyone see what was happening to her? But Ma and Pa were turned away, talking to the Nielsons. Violet was on the far side of Walter and didn’t see her. And Walter had eyes only for his plate. Frantic, Esther shoved back her chair and staggered to her feet, clutching her throat.

  She heard a faraway voice scream, “Help! Someone help Esther!” Then sound faded away. Esther’s knees crumpled beneath her, and she floated away into velvety blackness . . .

  • • •

  Excited voices shattered the stillness.

  “She’s breathing!”

  “Thank the Lord!”

  Esther’s eyes flickered open. Dazed, she sucked in a deep, glorious breath of air. Then another. Blurry faces were all around her. She blinked and the nearest face came clear. Pa. He was kneeling beside her, holding tight to her hand. She was back on her chair. But hadn’t she fallen? Her thoughts were fuzzy. Pa must have picked her up.

  “Are you all right now, Liebling?” he asked in a shaky voice.

  Esther nodded weakly. “I-I think so.”

  Ma was next to Pa. She had one hand over her eyes. Was she crying? No, of course not. Ma did not cry. Not even when she hurt her ankle and her face turned chalk white. She was probably just embarrassed by the fuss Esther had caused. Suddenly Esther was embarrassed, too. Everywhere she looked, people were staring at her. They were crowded all around her. Even Mr. Klause.

  She was very glad when someone called, “Turkey’s gettin’ cold!” and everyone laughed and moved back to their tables. But first they smiled at Esther. They patted her on her back or on her head if they were near enough. Chairs squealed and scraped across the floor as they sat down again. Silverware clinked against dishes as they went back to eating. Conversations hummed.

  Mr. Klause was the last one to go. Esther watched in confusion as Pa gave him a hearty handshake before he went back to his table. Then Ma and Pa sat down, too. But their eyes watched Esther. At first she was afraid to eat. Cautiously she sipped some milk. Then she tried a tiny taste of mashed potatoes, a nibble of stuffing. But it all tasted so good that soon she was eating almost as if nothing had happened.

  After dinner, the ladies cleared the tables while the men drank coffee. The children gathered in clusters around the room. The youngest played cave under the serving table, ducking behind its long tablecloth. Esther stared wistfully at Bethany and the rest of her classmates in a knot across the room.

  “You should go thank her,” Ma said behind her.

  Startled, Esther whirled around. “What do you mean? Thank who?”

  “The Klause girl,” Ma said. “Bethany. She was the first one to see that you were choking. She screamed for someone to help you. And when nothing Pa or I did helped, Bethany said to her father, ‘Do like you did when Rose was choking. Save her, Papa!’ So he picked you up and turned you upside down. He held you by your ankles and gave you a good shake. The food fell out and you breathed again.” Ma shook her head as if she still couldn’t quite believe it.

  Esther was embarrassed to think Mr. Klause had turned her upside down. Wesley and everyone else must have seen her underwear! Still, she was very grateful to Mr. Klause. He had saved her life. He and Bethany. And now Ma was telling her she should thank Bethany. Could Esther have misunderstood her? She looked the question at Ma.

  “I was wrong about the mark,” Ma said. “She is a good girl.”

  Esther’s heart pounded. “Does this mean . . . ?”

  “Yes.” Ma nodded and gave her a little push. “Go, play with your friend.”

  “Oh! Thank you, Ma!” Esther cried. Then she ran across the room. Bethany’s back was to her. Esther tapped her on the shoulder and Bethany spun around. When she saw Esther, she looked surprised, then happy, then surprised all over again.

  “Ma sent me,” Esther said simply.

  Bethany’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Esther nodded vigorously. “We can be friends again—if you still want to.” Suddenly Esther felt uncertain. After the way she’d had to break off their friendship, maybe Bethany wouldn’t want her as a friend again. Maybe—

  “If I want to!” Bethany shrieked, throwing her arms around Esther. “Of course I want to be friends again. And this time we’ll be friends forever.”

  “Forever,” Esther agreed, hugging Bethany back.

  That evening, just before they went to bed, Mr. Brummel came by. “Good news! Good news!” he said. “Your daughter called. The baby is much better. They’ll write soon, but you are not to worry.”

  Sometimes Esther forgot to say her prayers, but not that night. “Thank you, God,” she prayed as she shivered under the cold covers. “Thank you for the harvest. Thank you for saving me and little Henry. And thank you for letting me be friends with Bethany again. Amen.”

  12 Christmas

  THE WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS WERE strange ones for Esther. At school everyone chattered about the coming holiday and the presents they hoped for. Bethany shared sugar-sprinkled Christmas cookies with her. And Mrs. Davies was reading them a thrilling book called A Christmas Carol. But at home there was hardly any mention of the holiday. Ma, when she talked at all, talked about how the hens were laying fewer eggs, and how fast the supplies were going.

  “You will need to bring more wood from the woodpile again,” Ma told Pa one cold morning a week into December. She had just carried in the last of the wood stored on the porch.

  Pa nodded and set a crock of milk on the table as he did every morning. “Even Daisy is giving less milk now,” he said, blowing on his cold fingers.

  “Take that back then and sell it with the rest,” Ma said. “If we do without for a few days, we can buy more flour. We are nearly out.”

  “The children need milk,” Pa protested.

  “They need bread more,” Ma said, and Pa had to agree.

  Fewer eggs meant an end to the hard-boiled eggs Esther and Violet and Walter usually took in their lunches. Less flour meant one slice of jam-covered bread instead of two. A few children at school had even less. Most had more. Still, Esther didn’t worry. They might have to scrimp, but Ma and Pa would take care of them. It didn’t promise to be much of a Christmas, though.

  One morning, Esther went out to do her chores and discovered snow had fallen in the night. “Ohhh . . . ,” she whispered, staring at the scene before her. White, white, everywhere white. And above everything was a sky of such a brilliant blue it almost hurt to look at it. It was all so beautiful, Esther’s throat ached as if she were going to cry.

  Then Mickey came running. His coat was covered with snow. When he stopped on the s
teps in front of Esther, he shook himself and the cold wetness flew at her. She sputtered with laughter.

  After breakfast, the children bundled up well and were ready to leave when Ma said, “Wait.” Esther saw her look out the frost-edged window toward the barn. “All right. Yes. You can go now.”

  Esther and Violet were baffled by Ma’s odd behavior. They raised their eyebrows at each other as they stepped out onto the porch. Then they stopped. What was that tinkling, jingling sound?

  “Santa Claus!” Walter shrieked, hurtling past the girls.

  “Pa!” Esther and Violet chorused as Pa came driving up, not in the buggy or the wagon but in a big old-fashioned sleigh. Esther clapped her mittened hands in delight. Then she jumped into the sleigh and snuggled under one of the blankets Pa had put there.

  “It is much colder today,” Pa said, “so you get to ride.”

  “I saw this sleigh a hundred times in the corner of the barn,” Esther marveled. “But I thought it was a broken wagon because I couldn’t see any wheels.” She laughed and Violet and Pa joined her. Then she sat back and sighed happily. “I never, ever imagined riding to school in a sleigh.” She couldn’t wait to tell Julia.

  It was the first of many sleigh rides to and from school. But that first ride was the best one, the one Esther would always remember. Such a smooth, free feeling it was to glide over the snow. Not like the bouncy buggy or the bumpy wagon. No, this was like flying. And in the background there was the steady jring-jring-jring of the bells on Fritz and Bruno’s harness.

  On the way home from school each day, Pa stopped at the mailbox and Esther hopped out to get the mail. There was usually something, if only a few circulars. But one afternoon a few days before Christmas, the box was empty. Esther was disappointed. She’d hoped for a letter from Julia. When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, though, she saw a little stack of mail on the table.

  “How come the mail wasn’t in the box?” Esther asked, sorting through the envelopes. Oh, good! There was a letter from Julia after all.