“Niclas!” Mama half rose from her seat before lying down again, a hand over her eyes. Antsy after a few minutes, Bernhard wanted to know how long before the train reached California. “We’ll get there when we get there, and stop asking that same question over and over. I’m not so sick I can’t turn you over my knee!”
Clotilde poked at Hildemara, wanting to play, but Hildemara couldn’t open her eyes without feeling everything spinning around her.
“Leave your sister alone, Clotilde.”
Papa came back with bread, cheese, and a bottle of water. Hildemara sipped a little water, but the smell of the cheese made her stomach turn again.
“She’s not going to get better until we get off the train, Niclas.”
“What’s it going to be like in California?”
“Papa’s already told you, Bernhard.”
“Tell me again!”
“California has orchards of orange trees. You’ll be able to eat as many as you want. The sun shines all year. That’s why they can grow anything in California. We’ll find a nice house on some land, and you and your sisters will have space around you, too. You’ll be able to run and play in the orchards. No more having to stay inside a house all the time.”
Mama got a pinched look around her eyes. “You said Mr. MacPherson has a job waiting for you in Sacramento.”
“He said he would do what he could for me if I came.” Papa ruffled Bernhard’s thatch of blond hair and sat Clotilde on his lap. “We will go to Sacramento first. If there is no job, Papa knows where to find good farmland. Where would you rather be, children? In a house near the railroad with lots of dirt and smoke, or in a nice house in the sunshine in the middle of an orchard of orange trees?”
Hildemara heard her mother say something in German. Papa ignored her, listening to Bernhard and Clotilde shrieking about how many oranges they would eat when they got to California.
Papa laughed. “Farming is a job, Sohn. You’ll have to help me.”
“Be quiet!” Mama snarled. “There are other people around us.” She glared at Papa. “You’re filling their heads with fairy tales!”
“I’m only telling them what I was told, Marta.”
“Ja! And Robert Madson told you wheat farming was profitable, too, didn’t he?”
Papa set Clotilde beside Mama and got up. When he headed down the aisle toward the door that went to the dining car, Mama shooed Bernhard and Clotilde. “Go on with Papa. Hurry before he leaves you behind.” They both ran noisily down the aisle, catching up just before Papa went through the door.
Hildemara wished she felt well enough to scamper through the cars. She wished the world would stop spinning. She felt afraid when Papa and Mama spoke in German to one another. Would the train ever stop longer than a few minutes? “Are there really orange trees in California, Mama?”
Sighing heavily, Mama put her hand on Hildemara’s brow. “We’ll all find out when we get there.” Hildemara liked the coolness of Mama’s hand. “Try to sit up for a while. You have to try to eat something. A little bread, at least. You have little chicken legs.”
“I’ll be sick.”
“You won’t know unless you try. Now, come on. Sit up.”
When she did, the dizziness returned. She gagged when she tried to swallow a piece of bread.
“Hush now, Hildemara. Don’t cry. At least you tried. That’s something, at least.” Mama tucked a blanket around her again. “I was seasick for days crossing the Atlantic. You’ll get over it soon. You just have to set your mind on it.”
Setting her mind on it didn’t help one bit. By the time they reached Sacramento, Hildemara was too weak to stand, let alone walk off the train. Mama had to carry her while Papa collected the two trunks.
They stayed in a hotel near the train station. Hildemara ate her first meal in days in the dining room: a bowl of soup and some crackers.
It rained all night. Papa went out early the next morning and still wasn’t back when Mama said it was time for bed.
Hildemara awakened. “Don’t touch me!” Mama cried out. Papa spoke softly in German, but Mama answered angrily in English. “You lied to me, Niclas. That’s the truth.” Papa spoke quietly again. “English, Niclas, or I won’t answer you.” Mama dropped her voice. “Americans won’t like Germans any better than Canadians did.”
The sun didn’t shine for days. They didn’t see an orange tree until Mama took them for a walk to the capitol building. Mama spoke to a gardener and told them they could each have one orange. They thanked him politely before peeling the skins. The gardener leaned on his rake, frowning. “They’re still a little green, ma’am.”
“It’s a good lesson for them.”
Mama and Papa argued all the time. Papa wanted to look for land to buy. Mama said no. “You don’t know enough about farming to waste money on land.”
“What do you want me to do? We’re spending money staying in this hotel. I have to find work.”
“If I buy anything, it’ll be another boardinghouse.”
“And then what would I do? Strip beds? Do the laundry? No! I’m the head of this family!” He spoke German again, fast, furious.
“It’s in my name, Niclas. Not yours! You didn’t earn that money. I did!”
A neighbor pounded on the wall, shouting for them to shut up. Mama cried.
Papa came back to the hotel the next afternoon with train tickets. At the mention of another train ride, Hildemara started to cry. “Don’t worry, Liebling, this will only be a short ride—just eighty miles.”
Mama hunkered down and gripped her by the shoulders. “Stop it! If I can stand it, so can you.” Mama took her by the hand and pulled her along to the train station.
When Papa took his seat, Mama swung Hildemara up and planted her on his lap. “If she throws up, let it be all over you this time!” Mama sat on the other side of the aisle, face turned away, staring out the window.
“Schlaf, Kleine,” Papa said. A man in front of them turned around and stared coldly. Papa spoke English this time. “Go to sleep, little one.”
“German, are you?”
Mama got up and sat next to Papa. “Swiss! We came down from Canada. He still has some trouble with English. My husband is an engineer. Unfortunately, the supervisor who promised him a position moved to Southern California.”
The man looked between Mama and Papa. “Well, good luck to you folks.” He turned around again.
Papa set Hildemara on the seat with Bernhard and Clotilde. “Take care of your sisters, Sohn.” Papa took Mama’s hand and kissed it. Mama stared straight forward, her face pale and set.
Hildemara roused when a man came through the car announcing Murietta.
Bernhard pushed at her, and Clotilde slipped by and ran for the door until Mama told her to stop and wait. The air felt cool against Hildemara’s face when she climbed down the steps. Papa swung her onto the platform and gave her a light swat. Mama stood waiting beneath a big sign. She looked down a long, dusty street. She sighed heavily. “We left Winnipeg for this?”
“It’s not raining.” Papa hefted one trunk onto his shoulder and dragged the other toward an office.
Hildemara looked up at Mama’s stony face. “Where’s Papa going?”
“He’s going to have the trunks stored until we find a place to live.”
Papa came back empty-handed. “The station manager said there is only one place to stay in town.”
Bernhard and Clotilde skipped ahead while Hildemara reached for Mama’s hand. Mama wouldn’t let her take it. She patted Hildemara’s back. “Go on with your brother and sister.”
“I want to stay with you.”
“Go on, I said!”
Papa leaned down and tipped Hildemara’s trembling chin. “No need for tears, Liebling. We’re right behind you.”
Hildemara walked ahead, but kept checking back over her shoulder. Mama looked annoyed. Papa looked relaxed and happy. Hildemara stayed close enough to hear Papa say, “It is a fine town, Marta, everythin
g dressed up for Christmas.” When Bernhard called out, Hildemara ran to join them at a big window. She gasped at the beautiful glass Christmas ornaments in boxes.
“Come on, children.” Mama herded them along.
Across the street was a theater. They passed by a general store, a shoe repair and tack shop, a bakery, pool hall, and café. When they came to a two-story brown building with white-trimmed windows and a long wooden porch with four rocking chairs, Mama told them to stay with Papa, glancing at him. “You can take the children for a walk while I take care of business.” Lifting her long skirt, she went up the front steps.
Papa told Bernhard to run to the first intersection and back. He did it twice before he was settled enough to walk quietly and stop asking questions. Papa took them around the corner and down to another street lined with large trees. “We’re walking on Elm Street. What kind of trees do you suppose those are?”
“Elm!” Bernhard and Hildemara said at once. “I said it first!” Bernhard insisted.
Each house had a lawn. When Papa came to another street, he turned back toward Main. “Look over there at that big pink-brick building. It’s a library. That should put a smile on Mama’s face.” He led them across Main Street and kept walking. They hadn’t gone far when they came to orchards and vineyards. Exhausted, Hildemara lagged behind. When she cried out for him to wait, he came back and swung her up onto his shoulders.
Bernhard never seemed to tire. “Are those orange trees, Papa?”
“No. I don’t know what they are. Why don’t we ask?” He swung Hildemara down and told her to watch out for Clotilde while he talked to the farmer digging a ditch between two rows of vines. Almond trees, the man said, and wine grapes across the road.
“Thirsty,” Clotilde said. Hildemara took her by the hand and led her under the shade of one of the trees. Bernhard asked if he could dig. The man handed over the shovel. The two men went on talking while Bernhard tried to scoop more sandy dirt from the ditch the man had been digging. Clotilde got up and went over to Papa, tugging at his pants. “Hungry, Papa.” He patted her on the head and kept asking questions. Clotilde tugged again, harder. When Papa ignored her, she cried. Papa shook the man’s hand, then asked if he could come back tomorrow and talk some more.
Face flushed, Mama got up from a rocking chair on the porch. “Where have you been?”
“We met a farmer!” Bernhard bounded up the steps. “He let me dig a ditch!”
When Papa put Clotilde down, she tugged at Mama’s skirt. “Hungry, Mama.”
Hildemara was too tired and parched to say anything.
“Did you give a thought to how weak Hildemara is after that awful train ride from Winnipeg? She looks ready to faint.”
“You told me to take them for a walk.”
Mama took Hildemara’s hand and started across the street. “Around the block, not out into the countryside. It’s past three! They haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Time got away from me.”
Mama went into the café. They took seats by the window looking out onto Main Street. Papa asked what they wanted to eat, and Mama told the waitress everyone would have “the special.” Mama folded her hands on the table. “The town is having a Christmas pageant tonight. That’s something, at least.”
“There’s a library one street over and two blocks down.”
Mama brightened, but her expression clouded over quickly enough. “Mrs. Cavanaugh would only come down twenty-five cents a night if I guaranteed a week.”
“Stop worrying. God will lead me to work.” When the waitress brought the plates, Papa said grace.
Hildemara didn’t like the thick, greasy stew. After a few bites, she put her spoon down. Mama frowned. “You have to eat, Hildemara.”
“She hasn’t eaten much of anything for a long time. Maybe her stomach isn’t up to it. Would you like something else, Hildemara? some soup?”
“Don’t baby her!” Mama leaned forward. “You’re down to skin and bones. You eat that food or you’ll be sitting in the hotel room while the rest of us go to the Christmas pageant.”
Head down, fighting tears, Hildemara picked up her spoon. Bernhard and Clotilde finished their dinner quickly and wanted to play. Hildemara still had half a bowl of stew left to eat. Papa took Bernhard and Clotilde outside. Mama sat watching her. “The meat, at least, Hildemara.” Leaning across the table, she poked through the bowl of stew, separating bits of meat and a few vegetables. “Eat this much and drink all of the milk.” Other families came in and ordered meals.
“It’ll be dark before you’re finished.” Mama sounded annoyed. “But we’re not leaving this table until you do. You won’t grow stronger otherwise.” Leaning back in her chair, Mama grimaced.
“Are you mad, Mama?”
Mama stared off down the street. “Not at you.”
When Hildemara finally managed to swallow the last piece of carrot, Mama took some coins from her purse and gave them to the waitress. Hildemara’s legs ached after the long walk with Papa, but she didn’t complain. She clutched Mama’s hand more tightly when they came near a crowd gathering at the center of town. Other children stood with their parents, and everyone looked at them as they walked through the crowd. Hildemara stayed as close to Mama’s side as she could without stepping on her hem. Mama kept craning her neck. “There’s Papa.” He stood with the man who had been digging a ditch, and several others had joined them. “Where’s Bernhard? Where’s Clotilde?” Mama looked around.
“Over there.” Papa pointed toward a group of children standing near a platform. He grinned. “Santa Claus is coming.” He returned his attention to the men.
“Go on, Hildemara.”
“No.” She didn’t want to let go of Mama’s hand.
Mama leaned down. “Clotilde is almost two years younger than you and she’s not afraid. Now, go on.” She looked into Hildemara’s eyes and her expression softened. “I’m right here. I can see you, and you can see me.” She turned Hildemara around and gave her a gentle push.
Hildemara looked for her brother and sister. She could see them toward the front, near the platform. Biting her lip, Hildemara stayed near the back, afraid to make her way between the others.
A man mounted the wooden platform and gave a speech. Then four men came up in vests, one with a harmonica, and they sang. Everyone clapped so loudly, they sang another. A little girl in a short green and red satin dress, black tights, and an embroidered vest came up onto the platform. While someone played a fiddle, the girl’s feet tapped, her red curls bouncing up and down. Hildemara stared in fascination. When the song ended, the girl held out her skirt and curtsied, then ran down the steps to her proud mother.
“Santa’s coming!” someone shouted, and bells jingled as a big man dressed in a red suit fringed with white appeared. He wore high black boots and carried a big sack on his back and called out “Ho! Ho! Ho!” to the excited laughter of children.
Terrified, Hildemara looked back. Mama was laughing. When Papa put his arm around her, she didn’t try to pull away. Hildemara turned back to the platform and watched her brother and sister swarming onto the platform with the other children. Hildemara didn’t move.
The man in red raised his head and called out in a booming voice. “It’s a stampede!” Laughing with the crowd, he bent down and pulled out a small bag, handing it to the little girl in the green and red dress with the shiny black shoes. More bags appeared, clutched by excited hands.
When Bernhard came down from the platform, he had already opened his. It was filled with hard candy with flowery designs, peanuts covered in chocolate, and candy-covered almonds. Clotilde had a paper sack, too. “Can I have one?” Hildemara asked. Clotilde jerked her sack away and turned her back.
“Hildemara!” Mama called. She waved her hand. Hildemara understood. She was to go up on that platform and get a sack, too. Only she couldn’t. When she looked up at the big man and all those children surrounding him, she couldn’t move.
“Aren’
t you going?” Bernhard jutted his chin. When she shook her head, he thrust his sack into her hand and dashed up the steps.
“Back again?” Santa shook his head. “One sack per customer, sonny.”
“It’s for my sister.” Bernhard called out and pointed at her.
Santa looked down at her. “Come on up here, little girl. I won’t bite you.” People laughed all around her. Someone pushed her. Hildemara dug her heels in and started to cry. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Mama frown and close her eyes.
Bernhard returned to Hildemara’s side. “Stop crying like a baby!” Bernhard growled, thrusting the sack of candy into her hand. Clotilde shrieked and ran toward Mama and Papa, holding her sack high. Head down, Hildemara followed Bernhard back to where Mama and Papa waited.
Mama stared at her. It wasn’t the first time Hildemara had seen disappointment in her mother’s eyes.
16
Papa went out every day to look for work. He met another nice man who said they could live temporarily on his property near an irrigation canal. Mama and Papa argued about it, and then Mama bought canvas to make a tent. Her fingers bled before she finished it, but she kept on, jaw set tight. “I used to dream about living with you in a bedouin tent, Niclas. Now I know it for romantic nonsense!”
Papa said Mama knew how to make all kinds of things. “Her papa was a tailor.”
Later that night, Hildemara awakened to shouting. Mama had spoken loudly many times since leaving Canada, but this time Papa shouted back. Hildemara scooted closer to Bernhard and they huddled in the darkness as Mama and Papa argued loudly in German.
“Enough!” Papa caught hold of Mama and gave her a hard shake. “Enough!” He spoke in a low, intense voice, but Hildemara didn’t understand the words. Crying, Mama tried to break free. He wouldn’t let her go. He said more and she started to cry, not soft, broken cries of defeat, but harsh, sobbing sounds that frightened Hildemara even more than Mama’s anger had. Papa’s hands fell away from her. He said something more and walked away.
Bernhard jumped to his feet and ran after him. “Papa! Don’t go, Papa!”
Marta's Legacy Collection Page 17
