Roses for Mama

by Janette Oke

  Angela chuckled. If Louise wanted recognition, word had certainly gotten to the right person. Angela was about to give Thane a nudge to caution him not to go too far. But Thane suddenly turned the compliment toward her, making Angela blush as red as Louise.

  “Well, she should be good,” he whispered into her ear; “she’s had the community’s best teacher.”

  Angela was eager to quiet Thane’s embarrassing comments, so she led him to the shade of tall poplar trees that bordered the school property. The Andrews family joined them, and their talk turned to a more comfortable topic than cakes and cooks.

  After dinner the games and races began. Thomas took part in everything for which he was eligible. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but he accepted both outcomes with good humor. He took first place in the woodcutting competition with no difficulty, retaining his title for the third year.

  Derek proved to be good at foot racing. But Derek entered only those events in which he felt he would make a fair show.

  Derek does not do very well at losing, Angela observed, noticing the intensity of his face.

  Louise scorned involvement in competition. She tossed her head, trying to look mature, but she wasn’t always able to quite manage it. Sara, on the other hand, had no inhibitions and would have raced with the boys had it been allowed.

  From one event to another the day progressed with everyone having a lot of fun. Then it was time for the ball game, and the Merrifield brothers were called on to choose up sides. Spectators moved their blankets to grassy spots near the diamond, and folks settled themselves for some cheering. Roger Merrifield chose Derek to be on his team, and his brother Peter chose Thomas.

  “Brother against brother,” Angela heard someone say, and the comment was followed by a laugh.

  About the time of the first pitch Angela saw Carter’s team of bays enter the schoolyard. By his side sat Trudie, proudly holding his arm with one hand and her hat with the other. The team came to a halt in a small cloud of dust, and Trudie descended like a queen. She leaned close to Carter as they walked toward the crowd and laughed noisily as he spread their blanket. Angela turned her eyes back to the game. It did bother her—a little.

  The game held her attention, though. The score remained even inning by inning. Derek’s team was ahead by a run—then Thomas’s team would lead—back and forth, back and forth. Angela hardly knew how to cheer, so she cheered for both.

  When they went into the ninth inning, the score was tied. Thomas’s team batted first. Peter struck out. Ernest hit the ball down the first base line, and Thane disposed of that batter. The third batter hit a long fly ball. Angela held her breath. It was heading straight toward Derek. No, it was going to his right. There was no one else who would be able to reach the ball. Derek raced toward it, and Angela squirmed and grimaced. She was sure he had no hope of getting to the fly ball and would be injured in the attempt. At the last possible second, Derek made a valiant dive, rolling head over heels in the grass. When he stopped tumbling he jumped to his feet to show that he had the ball in his gloved hand. The crowd cheered, and Angela started breathing again when she saw the grinning boy running in from left field.

  The score was still tied. Angela felt this would be a good time to end the game. No winners or losers. Then she noticed the look on Derek’s face. It was clear to Angela that his thinking did not match her own. Derek wanted to win. She watched as he swung the bat in preparation for his turn at the plate. On his face was a look of determination she had never seen before.

  Thane was the first batter. He hit the ball well, but Peter managed to catch it. Angela did not know the young man who batted in second place. His family was new to the community. He popped up a foul that was caught by the catcher. There was just one more chance for a win, and Derek stepped to the plate. Angela felt her stomach tighten. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t bear to turn away.

  To make matters worse, the pitcher was Thomas. Everyone talked about what a good pitcher he was. Angela knew little about baseball, but she was willing to take the word of the neighborhood young men. If they said Thomas was good, she concluded he must be.

  Brother faced brother. Thomas stood on the mound, his face relaxed, his eyes showing both humor at the situation and pride in his younger brother. Derek stared back, his jaw tight, his eyes intense, his whole frame flexed for action. He had faced Thomas many times before. They often filled vacant moments with a ball and bat in the farmyard. But Thomas had always thrown balls he wanted his brother to hit. This time, Derek knew, there would be no mercy.

  Derek whipped the bat in little flicking motions that Angela likened to the tail of a hunting cat. Thomas’s moves were slow, deliberate. He took his sign from the catcher, started his windup, then reared back and threw a sizzling fast ball. Derek swung—but too late.

  “Strike one,” called Mr. Andrews from behind his umpire’s mask.

  Derek shuffled, digging in his forward foot with determination.

  Thomas looked at the catcher and ground the ball in his mitt.

  Angela’s stomach was twisting now. Men had risen from their blankets, their eyes squinting against the afternoon sun. An occasional yell rent the stillness, but most leaned forward in silence, ready to explode should the drama intensify.

  Thomas threw two balls in succession. “Just nicked the plate,” Angela heard the man to her left exclaim. “Andrews missed that call.”

  But the count stood—two and one.

  Another pitch came spinning in. Angela wondered how Derek could even see it, but he swung, sending the ball reeling into the dirt at his feet.

  Two and two.

  The next pitch was in close. For one horrible moment Angela feared it would strike Derek, but it veered away and Derek jumped back, avoiding any contact.

  Three and two. Full count. The crowd leaned into the play. Even Carter had deserted Trudie to stand with the others, his jaw working, his eyes intense.

  Angela’s eyes shifted quickly back to her two brothers. The one on the mound, rubbing the ball in his glove, and the other at the plate, sweat beading on his forehead, his bat flicking, his muscles taut.

  Another pitch. Angela could not look. She closed her eyes just as the ball was about to reach the plate. Then she heard a sharp, loud crack.

  She jerked her head up again and was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. “Run, run!” she screamed as Derek headed for first base. The ball was still in the air. It was sailing farther and farther. Angela saw Thomas, his back to home plate. He was shading his eyes and watching the flight of the ball.

  When Angela’s eyes returned to Derek she was surprised to see him rounding second—then on to third. The ball had gone over the heads of the outfielders and was being chased by the centerfielder. The throw was coming in as Derek tagged third, but he kept running full speed toward home base.

  “Slide! Slide!” Angela heard someone yell, and she thought the voice sounded like Thomas’s.

  Derek dove head first beneath the catcher. The ball smacked into the glove just as Derek’s hand stretched forward to touch the plate. He had averted the tag. A cheer went up. The crowd surged forward as one. Derek’s team had won the game.

  Angela felt tears stinging her eyes. She knew how much the win would mean to her little brother. She had no fear that the loss would adversely affect Thomas.

  She fought her way back to her blanket against the pushing crowd, her face flushed at her lack of composure.

  A strange silence settled about her. She turned back to the diamond, bewildered. Something was wrong. Had Mr. Andrews called Derek out? But he was safe. He had slid.

  And then, through the gathering crowd, Angela saw the reason for the stillness. Derek was still on the ground. He had not picked himself up from the dirt. He lay—just where he had fallen. Thomas was bending over him, speaking his name, brushing his cheek. Angela saw fear in his eyes. Derek lay still. Very still.

  With a cry Angela grabbed up her skirts and ran
toward them. She tried to pray but the only words to come from her lips were “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  “Bring some water,” someone was saying.

  “He must have hit his head,” said another.

  Angela fell on her knees beside Thomas and reached out a hand to Derek.

  “Don’t move him,” cautioned Thomas, brushing her hand aside.

  Angela looked up at him, her eyes filled with terror.

  “Is he—?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” said Thomas. “But we can’t move him until we’re sure he hasn’t hurt his neck or something.”

  Angela nodded, tears spilling down her face. Oh, God, if anything happens to Derek—She couldn’t finish the thought.

  He was so still. So pale. Angela reached a hand to his cheek and gently brushed off a smudge of dust.

  “They’ve run for Doc,” someone said, and someone else knelt beside her and wiped Derek’s face with a water-soaked towel.

  A moan escaped Derek’s lips. It was the most beautiful sound Angela had ever heard. Then he stirred slightly.

  “Don’t move,” cautioned Thomas, holding the boy steady. “It’s all right, Derek. It’s all right. Just lie still. Lie still.”

  Derek moaned again.

  The doctor came from his shaded spot on the other side of the schoolyard, and the crowd receded while he knelt beside the young boy. Angela frantically watched his probing fingers as they felt Derek’s neck, shoulders, chest.

  “Just winded,” he said at last. “He got the breath knocked right out of him.”

  Derek’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up, bewildered, then embarrassed by all the attention.

  “Just lie still a minute, son,” the doctor said. “Just lie still. Here, Thomas—help me turn him onto his back.”

  An older man placed his hat on the ground for a pillow, while the Doc and Thomas turned Derek. Doc took over sponging the boy’s face, and Angela saw the color gradually return. The crowd started to breathe again.

  “That’s better,” said Doc. “That’s better.” Then with a twinkle in his eye he said to Derek, “Hear you won the game.”

  Derek grinned and the whole group erupted into a cheer. The tension broke. Derek was going to be fine.

  Angela felt her knees buckle beneath her. She had never fainted before, but she knew she was going down now. But someone caught her and helped her to the blanket she had earlier deserted. She heard a voice ask for a cup of water. She felt her head cradled against a shoulder, and she left it there until her world stopped spinning. She accepted the water offered to her and soon her equilibrium began to return.

  “I’m fine,” she finally muttered, embarrassed at her near collapse.

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded her head emphatically and looked up into the face of Thane.

  “I’m fine,” she said again. “It just sort of—sort of gave me a scare.”

  Thane nodded. Then his eyes began to twinkle. “He won,” he whispered. “He won. He beat Tom’s best pitch. You should see Thomas. Now that he’s over his fright—he’s fairly bursting his buttons.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Visitors

  Angela had just finished the morning laundry and Louise was hanging the last of the socks on the clothesline when Mrs. Blackwell arrived, panting from the effort of her walk. Angela ushered the woman into the coolness of the kitchen, fearing that she might suffer from heat exhaustion if she didn’t soon get in out of the summer sun.

  Angela pushed forward a chair and urged the woman to be seated. Mrs. Blackwell dropped into the chair with a glance toward the icebox.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” asked Angela.

  The woman nodded, and Angela hastened to produce a large glassful.

  After a lengthy drink, Mrs. Blackwell placed the glass on the table but did not release it.

  “I hear there’s to be a weddin’,” she announced.

  Angela raised her eyebrows.

  “Thet there Stratton fella is hitchin’ hisself to Trudie,” continued Mrs. Blackwell.

  “Really? I hadn’t heard,” responded Angela. She kept her voice even.

  “My man heard the news in town this mornin’. Says it’s to be soon—in the church. ’Course her folks wouldn’t be none too happy iffen she didn’t marry in the church.”

  Angela nodded.

  “Well, I don’t like the smell of it all,” went on the woman. “Seems awful fast work to me. He ain’t been here in the community fer thet long.”

  Angela wondered what the woman would say if she knew Carter Stratton had already been betrothed to another since his arrival in their community.

  Mrs. Blackwell took another long drink.

  “Some folks is sayin’ thet he’s jest out to spite his ma. He and her had ’em a big fight before he left home.” She spoke the last statement in a hushed, confidential tone.

  When Angela didn’t respond, Mrs. Blackwell continued. “His ma wants him to marry a city girl. Even had one all picked out fer him. He’s pickin’ his own jest to get back at her.”

  She finished the lemonade and pushed the empty glass toward Angela.

  Angela refilled it and passed it back.

  “His ma won’t even come to the weddin’.” She made a disapproving sound at this last bit of information.

  Angela wondered how much truth there was to the report. If true, if Carter was marrying just for spite—she herself could have been the unfortunate bride. But surely, surely he wouldn’t do that, she reasoned. Not to Trudie. Not to anyone. Angela forced the gossip from her mind and attempted to divert the conversation.

  “How is your garden doing?”

  “See thet man out hoein’ yours ’most every time I go by,” the woman stated instead of answering the question. “You really think yer ma would have been happy with an old man livin’ with ya?”

  “He doesn’t live with us,” corrected Angela. “He lives all alone—in his little cabin.”

  “Same thing,” said the woman with a dark look. “He comes an’ goes like he lives here. An’ you with two innocent young girls an’ all. Yer mama—”

  “My mama was a charitable woman,” Angela stated flatly. “And she did not look for dirt on a polished table. Charlie needed a place for his cabin—and Thomas appreciates an older, wiser head for farming advice. And as for me and the girls, Charlie is like a—like a grandfather—and we need all the family we can muster.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped at Angela’s frankness. Her eyes flashed, but she held her tongue and reached for another drink from the glass.

  Angela spun away from her. The idea that anyone would even hint there was anything wrong with Charlie sharing their yard made her tremble with anger.

  But she had only taken two steps before she turned again. She stood for a moment in silence and then dipped her head. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, lifting her chin again. “My mama would not be proud of my sharp tongue. Charlie is a dear friend of the family and we are—are happy to have him living here. But Mama—Mama would never tolerate sass or disrespect of our elders. For that, I apologize.”

  The older woman did not decline or accept the apology, and Angela went for some sugar cookies to accompany the lemonade. When she returned, the incident seemed to have been forgotten.

  The very next day Trudie came calling. Angela was in the kitchen kneading dough for a batch of bread. Louise worked over the ironing board, and Sara labored over stitching a torn pocket on one of her frocks.

  Trudie bustled into the kitchen without waiting to be invited. Her eyes shone and her mass of red hair, carelessly piled on top of her bouncing head, danced in rhythm to her enthusiasm.

  “Guess what?” she squealed, holding out her arms to Angela. Angela did not have to guess, but she remained silent.

  “Oh, guess what?” Trudie repeated. “I’m going to be married!” She threw herself at Angela with an excited squeal, and Angela returned the embrace even though her heart was not in
it. The young woman’s face glowed and her eyes shone.

  “Oh, look!” Angela exclaimed when they backed away from each other. “I’ve smeared flour all over your shoulder.”

  Trudie just laughed as though the flour was part of the exciting world she inhabited. Angela grabbed a towel and tried to brush Trudie’s dress, but Trudie just laughed harder.

  “Don’t fret. Don’t fret,” she giggled. “Carter is taking me shopping in the city anyway. I’m to have all new clothes. Everything. He said so.”

  Angela tossed the towel down on the seat of a nearby chair. “In that case,” she responded with a laugh, “another hug.” Angela was surprised that she could enjoy this moment with her friend. She sincerely hoped Trudie would be happy with Carter.

  Trudie accepted the second hug with the same enthusiasm she had given the first, and Angela did not try to keep her floured hands from the shoulders of the blue dress.

  “Now sit—and tell me all about it,” Angela invited.

  “We are getting married in two weeks—on Sunday afternoon in the church. We will have the dinner at the farm. We have a big yard there as you know, so just—just everyone will be able to come. Do pray that it will be a nice day. I’ll just die if it rains—or is windy.

  “Carter is arranging for flowers—they have flowers in the city for their weddings—and I am wearing a gown right from a city shop. Carter has it already, but he won’t let me see it until the wedding morning.”

  “Well, that is a turn,” mused Angela. I thought the groom was the one who was not to see it.

  “Carter is paying for everything. He has told Mama exactly what he wants for the ceremony and the dinner and everything.”

  Angela said nothing.

  “But he is letting me choose my own attendant,” Trudie continued. Then she squealed again and held out her arms to Angela as before. “I picked you.”

  Angela felt the blood draining from her face. “Oh, but I—”

  “No, don’t you try to say no. You are my best friend.”