by Janette Oke
A flash of fear filled Berta. Her mother had never visited the library before. Was something wrong? But no, she didn’t appear to be disturbed.
“Hello, Mama,” she said in a soft voice, not just to greet her mother but to indicate that it was all right if they spoke to each other.
Her mother nodded, the feather on her bonnet waving gently. It reminded Berta that it had been a long time since her mother had purchased a new hat. Her father would have been chagrined.
“Come in to the side room,” invited Berta, rising and leading the way. Her mother followed wordlessly.
Apart from looking pale and drawn, her mother appeared to be fine. Perhaps it was just the long, cold winter, reasoned Berta. She likely hasn’t been out since—
“How are you, Mama?” she asked as she closed the door behind them and indicated a chair.
Her mother smiled for the first time. “It’s good to see you, dear,” she answered. “I hardly get to speak to you at church. Your uncle is always in such a hurry to get on home.”
Berta nodded. It had been a long time since they had really had a visit.
“How’s Granna?” asked Berta. Her grandmother had not been able to get out to church over the winter months.
“She’s doing quite well,” replied her mother. “Her arthritis bothers her. She doesn’t dare go out in the cold.”
“And Glenna?”
“She is well. Parker is terribly busy, but she keeps occupied with the church and friends.”
Berta took the other chair, relief coursing through her. It was not bad news that brought her mother to town.
Mrs. Berdette drew off her gloves and played with them absentmindedly. Berta did not know what to say next.
“We’ve just closed the deal on the farm,” her mother said suddenly. “Your uncle John and I just came from the bank.”
Berta could only stare. She had waited all winter for the news, and now that it had finally happened it caught her off guard and totally unprepared.
“I need to be out by the middle of the month,” her mother went on. “I guess that means I will need to get ready for a yard sale.”
She stopped for a breath, her eyes on Berta’s face. Berta still did not dare to speak.
“I was wondering if there is anything—furniture maybe—that you’d like. Anything for your new house? There’s no need for me to be selling it if you can find use for it.”
Berta nodded.
“I was wondering,” asked her mother, “if you’d mind—I know that it’s an imposition, but I was wondering if—just for a couple of weeks—if you’d consider coming on home—to help me sort through things. You know how dreadful I am at making hard decisions. … ”
Slowly Berta nodded as her mother’s voice trailed off. What a wonderful relief that would be. What a pleasure to be out of the stuffy little room and back out into the crisp country air—the open windows—the space to move about.
“I—I could do that,” she said calmly.
“I—don’t wish to—”
“No—no, that’s fine. I don’t mind. Really.”
Her mother smiled. “That’s such a relief, dear,” she said with tears in her eyes and reached out to run her hand down Berta’s cheek in her familiar way. “You don’t know how I’ve dreaded facing it alone.”
“I don’t mind,” Berta repeated.
“My dependable one,” Mrs. Berdette said softly. “What would I ever do without you?”
Berta could not reply. She felt confused. Choked with emotion.
———
The next weeks passed very quickly. Berta could hardly wait for each day at the library to end so she might get home. It was strange. In some ways it was almost like old times to be back in her own room—back with her mother in the little kitchen—back by the fireside as they sorted through another box of memories.
Yet it was so different. Glenna was missing. Glenna with her silvery laughter—her exuberance—her sparkle. The bedroom seemed so empty—almost lifeless without Glenna. Berta could hardly bear the silence.
And the clutter about them in the little house that had always been so neat and tidy was a constant reminder that things were changing. The sorting and packing was difficult to do—not just for Mrs. Berdette but for Berta, as well.
Berta did make decisions about pieces of furniture and kitchen items that she would like for her own little home—once her purchase had been made. It would have been so much easier to decide if she knew what her home would be like.
Mrs. Berdette also made decisions—on behalf of Glenna. “She always favored that bureau,” she said, or, “That was her favorite chair. Remember how she used to curl up in it?” And, “That is the one thing of her father’s that she said she would treasure most.”
And so evening by evening and room by room, they went through the house, sorting, saving, agonizing, discarding, until one by one each room was cleared and the day of the approaching sale came closer.
“I don’t think I want to be here, dear,” said Mrs. Berdette. “Do you mind? I think I’ll just have your uncle John take me back to Granna’s.”
Berta felt that she understood. She nodded in agreement. She really wasn’t sure if she wished to be there, either.
“Perhaps Uncle John can store your things until you have picked your house,” her mother went on. “I know that I’ve been unfair asking you to tend to my needs before looking after your own, but I don’t know how I ever could have done it alone.”
She lifted a hand to Berta’s cheek again.
“It’s fine,” murmured Berta. “I don’t mind. Really. I’ll find a place soon enough.”
But inwardly she was most anxious to get herself settled. She could hardly wait to have a home of her own.
———
Berta felt agitated. The summer was slipping by too quickly. She was having a difficult time finding just the right house. It appeared that none of the homeowners of the five little “possibilities” was interested in moving. Berta felt agitated. And then, just as she felt about ready to give up, a new opportunity presented itself. It was a home that she had walked by on countless occasions and had not even considered before. But when the sign announcing that it was for sale appeared on the front lawn, Berta decided to take a closer look.
It wasn’t perfect—but Berta decided that it would do. It didn’t have a porch swing. In fact, it didn’t even have a porch. But perhaps she could have one built on, she decided.
She set in motion the purchasing of the little place, and when things were finally settled, she had Uncle John bring the furniture items from storage. Then she began her shopping to complete her “nest.”
Her mother seemed to take great interest in the purchase and insisted on coming to town to take a look at the new home. Then with renewed vigor, she insisted on becoming involved in curtain sewing and decorating. Berta was surprised at her own lack of resistance. She actually welcomed the assistance. She had so little time before another winter would be upon them, and she did want to have her little place homey by the time the weather shut her in again.
She ordered the porch—and the swing—and the builder promised her that he would have it done before the warm days of autumn left them.
“You’ll be swinging on your porch before the leaves turn,” he promised. “Able to enjoy the fall colors from right here.” He waved his hand to indicate the empty spot where he stood—where the new porch was assigned.
Berta nodded calmly, but inside she felt great excitement. She could hardly wait to get settled in her own place.
So she hired the carpenter, accepted the help of her mother, and spent her short lunch breaks busily combing the shops to make her final purchases.
Granna even got involved, sending in jars of homemade preserves from her pantry shelves to stock cupboards, and store from her garden produce to fill containers in the cool cellar. Aunt Cee sent a warm comforter and even Glenna mailed a lace runner for the buffet that had come from their shared farm ho
me.
Berta felt so much excitement that she could not refrain from sharing it—just a bit.
“I’ve found a little house,” she told Miss Phillips, her voice well controlled, “so I will be moving from Mrs. Cray’s.”
The older woman looked up from the book she was scanning and pushed her small glasses farther up on her nose.
“I do so appreciate your help in finding Mrs. Cray’s place. It was just what I needed,” Berta went on, as though that excused her breaking their silence.
Miss Phillips nodded.
Berta shifted to her other foot and picked up another library book. She was about to move on when Miss Phillips surprised her by asking, “A house?”
“Yes,” replied Berta. “A small one—on Cedar Street.”
Miss Phillips nodded.
“On your own?” she asked as Berta was about to move off again.
“Yes,” replied Berta as she hesitated for the second time. “On my own.”
Miss Phillips nodded again and pushed further at her glasses.
“That’s nice,” she commented and returned her eyes to her book.
Berta stepped away then.
They did not speak again until Miss Phillips was drawing on her gloves at the end of the day. Berta was tidying up the check-out desk and making a final assessment of the day’s lending.
“It must be nice—to have a whole house,” the older woman mused, almost to herself.
Berta nodded. “I am looking forward to it,” she said, and in spite of her firm control, her voice trembled with excitement.
The woman turned as though to go. “I envy you,” she said simply, then reached to pick up her latest reading material.
Just as she reached the door she turned back one last time. “Don’t forget to lock the door,” she cautioned, and she left Berta to do as bidden.
Chapter Eleven
The Missing Element
Glenna’s letter said things were going well. Parker was wonderful. But she missed her family. Still, she was so happy for Berta. So pleased that she was nicely settled in her own little house. Mama had written that it was so cozy—so convenient to the library. She could hardly wait to see it herself.
Berta read the letter, then reread it. She realized that she would enjoy showing her younger sister through her little domain. She pictured them sitting before the open fire, teacups in hand while she presided as hostess of the home. The picture pleased her. She did wish Parker had not taken Glenna so far away from home.
Berta missed her mother. Even though her visits to the family farm had been few, she still felt an emptiness knowing that her mother was not close enough for her to walk out for a chat if she felt the desire. Her grandmother’s farm home was too distant to make it a reasonable walk. And it seemed that her uncle John was too busy to make the trip into town for social visits only. Berta did wish that her mother was nearer at hand. She was even tempted to invite her mother to move in and occupy her guest bedroom, but each time the thought occurred she remembered that her mother was already busy caring for her grandmother.
One day after closing the library—and carefully locking the door—Berta did take a walk back out to their farm site. As she turned into the lane, what met her gaze filled her with dismay. Gone was the little barn—the hen house, the root cellar—even all traces of the country garden and the trees and shrubs her father had carefully planted and diligently tended. Gone was the country home with its curtained windows, its wide porch and welcoming door. The outside clothesline, the backyard playhouse—everything that Berta had known since a small child.
In place of all she had known was scarred earth and empty acres, waiting and ready to receive—something. Berta did not know what the developer envisioned for the space he had prepared. She did not wish to know. What did it matter? He had destroyed so much that was good.
Feeling sick, she turned from the scene and walked quickly away. She would never willingly pass that way again.
———
Berta gladly accepted the invitation to share Christmas with the family at her grandmother’s house. It would seem like old times—almost.
Of course Glenna would not be there. It was much too far for Glenna and Parker to travel during the short break he had from his classes.
Uncle John and Aunt Cee would be there. So would the married Ada and her husband Peter who farmed nearby. They would bring with them little Peter, Henry, and baby Mirabelle. Berta still found it hard to believe that her cousin already was the mother of three little ones.
William and his new bride would also be there. Berta did not know Constance well.
Dorcas would be absent. Much to Aunt Cee’s regret, her new son-in-law had decided that a move was in the best interest of his family, and he had led Dorcas off to the big city many miles away where he was employed in sales for a furniture store. The move had been hard on Aunt Cee. She did not have the future hope of a return of her youngest, as Mrs. Berdette did of Glenna.
The day turned out to be quite different than Berta had expected. Her grandmother was no longer able to take over the meal preparation. She supervised and gave instructions from her chair by the large kitchen table.
Ada was much too busy with her three little ones to be able to assist the other ladies, and William’s new bride still felt uncertain and bashful and held back. Aunt Cee was having some difficulty with a bothersome back—so it turned out that Berta and her mother had to cook most of the dinner and then clean it all up. Berta did not mind, but she was weary by day’s end and only too happy to retire early.
As she undressed and slipped into her warm flannel gown, she felt a nagging worry in the back of her mind. Was her mother ill or was she simply showing her age? Was caring for her grandmother too much for the slight woman? Mrs. Berdette seemed devoid of her past energy. Her face had looked so drawn by the end of the tiring day. Was it just normal weariness—or was something else the matter with her mother?
She wondered if she should write Glenna about her concern, and then quickly dismissed the thought. It would only trouble Glenna, and there was nothing the girl could do for the situation. Besides, Berta might be wrong. Her mother might be totally renewed after a good night’s sleep. After all, she was tired herself. It had been a long, hard day. It was normal to feel weary.
Berta forced herself to dismiss her worrisome thoughts—but she determined that in her two remaining days at her grandmother’s, she would keep a close eye on her mother.
———
Berta discovered that Mrs. Berdette still seemed to be weary even after her night’s sleep. Berta had asked her mother about it as they prepared cold turkey sandwiches in the kitchen the next day.
“I’m fine,” her mother maintained. “Just a bit tired. Granna has trouble sleeping, and I often need to get up with her in the night.”
“ To do what?” asked Berta frankly.
Her mother shrugged. “That’s the sad thing,” she replied with a little shrug of her shoulders. “There isn’t much that I can do. Sometimes I make her some herb tea or rub her limbs. Or rearrange her pillows. But there really is not much I can do for her. I feel so sorry for Mama. She does suffer dreadfully.”
Berta looked at the rather frail-looking woman before her. She loved her grandmother dearly, but she feared what constant care of the elderly woman was doing to her mother.
She opened her mouth to broach the subject and then changed her mind. Instead she turned their attention to her sister. “I thought you were planning a trip to see Glenna,” she said.
Her mother’s face brightened. “Oh, I’d love to, if only—”
“Surely Aunt Cee can see to Granna for a short time. They live right in the yard.”
Her mother still hesitated.
“I’ll speak to Aunt Cee and Uncle John,” Berta volunteered. “We’ll see what can be arranged.”
Mrs. Berdette still did not answer, but her eyes held a look of hope and deep gratitude. She reached out and ran a hand down th
e cheek of her eldest daughter.
———
Berta was happy to return to the peace and quiet of her own little house. It was so nice to be on her own. To have no one else to demand her attention or trouble her thoughts. But, she had to admit, it was also dreadfully quiet and somewhat empty as well.
She had talked with Uncle John and Aunt Cee, and they shared her concern about her mother. Readily they agreed that a trip to see Glenna would be good for her and give her a chance to get some much-needed rest. They assured Berta that they would take care of Granna.
———
And so arrangements were made and Berta saw her mother off on the eastbound train. Excitement filled Mrs. Berdette’s eyes and flushed her pale cheeks as she waved goodbye from the train window.
But with the departure of her mother for the planned two months with Glenna, Berta’s world seemed even more empty and forlorn. She hadn’t realized what it meant just to know that her mother was close-by. Just to be able to greet her casually on Sunday morning—even if they didn’t have time to really chat.
“Maybe Glenna’s right,” Berta said reluctantly to herself one day. “Maybe it helps to be more involved with the church.”
Berta determined to pay a visit to the pastor of the small congregation to find some place of service.
“I have a good deal of time to offer,” she informed him when they met. “My evenings are quite free. I have only myself to care for, and as I’m an organized person it really doesn’t take me much time to tend to my daily tasks.”
Pastor Jenkins smiled and welcomed Berta. He said there was a need for a worker with the children. Berta was glad to be actively involved again. She had taught Sunday school as a teenager and had enjoyed the experience. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the children until she began to work with them again. She diligently prepared for each class, using books from the library for additional background and occasionally bringing an appropriate story to read to the children. Soon she could hardly wait for Sunday morning so she might welcome and be welcomed by newly scrubbed, smiling faces.
