Marta's Legacy Collection

by Francine Rivers

  Hildemara knew she wouldn’t be so lucky. She went back to the kitchen counter and made half a sandwich for herself.

  26

  1930

  Summers meant even more work for Hildemara. She helped Mama cook, kept the house swept clean of the dust and sand always blowing in, washed clothes. In the afternoon, while Clotilde looked at movie star magazines and dreamed up new clothing designs and Rikka sat on the porch swing daydreaming and drawing, Hildemara weeded the vegetable and flower gardens. Hildemara didn’t understand why Mama expected so much from her and so little from her sisters.

  Clotilde repaired shirts and pants and sleeping bags. Cloe loved to sew and she was good at it. Mama bought material for shirts for Papa and Bernie and dresses for Hildemara, Clotilde, and Rikka, two new ones each year. When Cloe finished, Mama gave her money to buy fabric remnants to piece together and make whatever she wanted. Cloe could sketch garments, make patterns from butcher paper, and sew a dress that didn’t look like one everyone else was wearing that year.

  Rikki wandered around in a dreamy state, always seeking a place to sit and draw whatever attracted her undivided attention. If she didn’t come in for dinner, Mama sent Hildemara out looking for her. Mama never asked Rikka to do chores. “She has other things to do.” Like draw birds or butterflies or the Musashi girls working in the rows of tomatoes.

  Sometimes Hildemara resented it. Especially on a hot day when she could feel the dust blow against her damp skin and feel the trickle of sweat between her growing breasts. Hildemara worked on her hands and knees, pulling weeds from the flower garden around the front of the house. Rikka lay on the porch swing, hands behind her head, gazing off at the clouds. Hildemara sat back on her heels, wiping perspiration from her forehead. “Would you like to help me, Rikki?”

  “Have you ever looked at the clouds, Hildie?” She pointed. “Children playing. A bird in flight. A kite.”

  “I don’t have time to look at clouds.”

  Mama came out and asked Rikki if she’d like a glass of lemonade. Hildemara sat back on her heels again. “Can’t Rikki take a turn weeding once in a while, Mama?”

  “She knows who she is and what she wants out of life. Besides, she has such fair skin, she’d burn to a crisp pulling weeds in the garden. You do the weeding. You haven’t got anything better to do. Have you?”

  “No, Mama.”

  “Then I guess you’d better get used to doing what you’re told.” She went back into the house.

  Rikka came to the porch railing and sat against a post. She had a sketchbook in her hand and started drawing. “You could say no, Hildemara.”

  “It has to get done, Rikki.”

  “What do you want to be when you grow up, Hildie?”

  Hildemara yanked another weed and threw it into the bucket. “A nurse.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. What’s the use of dreaming?”

  She picked up the weed bucket and moved to a row of carrots. “There will never be enough money for me to go to training.”

  “You could ask.”

  And have Mama say no? “The money Papa and Mama make off the farm and Summer Bedlam has to go to mortgage payments and taxes and farm equipment and vet bills for the horse.”

  “They’re doing well, aren’t they? Papa just extended the shelter he built off the barn.”

  “That’s so winter rains won’t rust his tractor.”

  Rikki wandered along the row of vegetables. “Mama buys sewing supplies for Clotilde.”

  Hildemara bent over and pulled another weed.

  Rikki put her arms out like a bird, dipping one way and then the other. “Mama buys me art supplies.”

  Hildemara threw weeds into the bucket. “I know.”

  Rikki turned. “Because we ask.”

  Hildemara sighed. “Tuition to a nursing school and textbooks cost more than sewing and art supplies, Rikki.”

  “If you don’t ask, you’ll never get anything.”

  “Maybe God has another plan.”

  “Oh, I already know what it is.”

  “What?”

  “Go on being a martyr.”

  Stung, Hildemara sat back on her heels, her mouth opening and closing as Rikki skipped up the back steps and went into the house.

  Mama continued pressing her about the future, though Hildemara didn’t see that she had one. “You’re about to enter high school. You need to start making plans.”

  “Plans for what?”

  “College. A career.”

  “Bernie’s going to college. I heard you talking to Papa about how much that will cost.”

  “He might get a scholarship.”

  Might didn’t mean would. “I hope he does.” She wondered how one went about getting a scholarship and whether she might qualify.

  “Well?” Mama looked annoyed. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “What do you want me to say, Mama?”

  “What you have on your mind.”

  Hildemara chewed the inside of her lip, but lost her nerve. “Nothing.”

  Shaking her head, Mama took her purse and headed out the back door. “I have shopping to do in town. Do you need anything, Clotilde?” Red thread. “Rikka?” A box of pencils. She gave Hildemara an annoyed look. “I don’t have to ask you. You never want a thing, do you?”

  Nothing as inexpensive as red thread and a box of pencils, she wanted to say, but then Mama might ask the question of what she did want, and she’d have to hear why she couldn’t have it.

  Hildemara went to the library the next day and checked out a biography of Florence Nightingale. She read on the long walk home, taking her time, knowing she’d have chores to fill the rest of her afternoon and evening. She came in through the back screen door and shoved the book under her mattress before going in to help Mama with dinner. She set the table and made the salad, then later, cleared the table and heated water to wash the dishes. Cloe got out her folder of glossy pictures from movie magazines and studied dress designs, while Rikki sketched Papa reading in his chair. Mama set her box of writing materials on the table.

  Letters, letter, letters. Mama was always writing to someone. Sometimes Hildemara wondered if her mother loved all those people in other parts of the world more than she loved her own family.

  Papa went to bed early. Mama followed him. “Don’t stay up late, girls.”

  When Cloe and Rikka finished their game, Hildemara took the book out from under her mattress. “I’ll come to bed in a few minutes.”

  Mama stood at the work counter rolling out a piecrust when Hildemara came in the front door. The biography she had hidden lay on the kitchen table. Heat rushed into Hildemara’s cheeks when Mama glanced over her shoulder. “I saw your mattress sticking up and felt a book. I expected to find Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility. That’s what I thought you’d be reading.”

  “It’s a biography, Mama. Florence Nightingale was a nurse.”

  “I know what it is! I know who she was.”

  Hildemara picked up the book and headed for the back door.

  “Put that book back on the table, Hildemara.”

  “It belongs to the library, Mama. I have to return it.”

  “It’s not due until the end of the week, unless you’ve already finished it.” Mama laid the crust over a pie dish. “Have you?” She pressed it down and poured in a bowl of pitted cherries.

  “Yes, Mama.” Hildie stood watching Mama roll out the top crust. It took only seconds for her to lay it over the cherries, cut away the extra crust, pinch around the edges, and poke holes in the top. Mama opened the oven, slid the pie in, and banged the door shut.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make a pie as good or as fast as you, Mama.”

  “Probably not.” Flipping the towel over her shoulder, Mama stood, hands on her hips. “But then that’s not what you want to do, is it?”

  Hildemara hung her head.

  “Is it?” Mama raised her v
oice.

  “No, Mama.”

  “How many times have you read that book?” Mama jutted her chin toward the offending biography. “Two times, three?”

  Hildemara thought it best not to answer. She felt exposed enough without having her heart laid bare.

  “It’s not Florence Nightingale that fascinates you, is it? It’s nursing. I’ll bet you’ve been dreaming about it since Mrs. King came here with all her stories. Let me tell you something, Hildemara Rose. She filled your head with a lot of romantic nonsense. I’ll tell you what nursing really is. A nurse isn’t any better than a servant. I’ve spent most of my life scrubbing floors, cleaning kitchens, and washing clothes. I’d like to see you do something more with that brain of yours than spend the rest of your life emptying bedpans and changing sheets! If you want to know my opinion, I don’t see nursing as coming up in the world from where I started out!”

  Hildemara felt hurt and angry at the same time. “There’s more to nursing than bedpans and sheets, Mama. It’s an honorable profession. I would be helping people.”

  “That’s what you do best, isn’t it? Help people. Serve people. You’re already good at being a servant. God knows, you’ve been mine for the last six years. No matter how hard I’ve pushed, you never once complained.” She sounded angry about it.

  “You and Papa work so hard. Why would I complain about doing my share?”

  “Your share! You’ve done more than your share.”

  “You needed help, Mama.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  She blinked back tears, knowing that crying would annoy Mama even more. “I never please you, no matter what I do. I don’t know why I try so hard.”

  “I don’t either! What do you want? A badge for being a martyr?”

  “No, but a little approval from you would be nice.”

  Mama’s eyes flickered. Sighing, she pushed her hands into her apron pockets. “Life isn’t about pleasing other people, Hildemara. It’s about deciding who you are and what you want out of life and then going after it.”

  How could she make Mama understand? “For me, it’s about doing what God wants, Mama. It’s about loving one another. It’s about serving.”

  Mama blinked. “That’s the first straightforward thing you’ve ever said to me, Hildemara Rose.” Her mouth curved in a sad smile. “A pity we can’t agree.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  Her eyes flashed. “There you go again, apologizing. You’d better learn right now not to say you’re sorry for being who you are.”

  She picked up a dishrag, wiped the counter, and tossed it into the sink. “If you want to go to nurses’ training, you had better find work and start saving your money because I’m not paying for it.”

  Somehow the rejection didn’t hurt as much as Hildemara had expected it would. “I didn’t ask.”

  “No, you didn’t. But then, you wouldn’t, would you? You wouldn’t believe you had any right to expect anything.” She slid the book across the table. “Take it!”

  Hildie picked up the book and looked at it for a long moment. When she looked up, she saw Mama staring at her strangely.

  “One thing good has come out of this conversation, Hildemara Rose. At least I know now you won’t be clinging to my apron strings or living under my roof for the rest of your life. You won’t end up running away or sitting out in the cold until you freeze. You’re on the edge of the nest right now, my girl. You’ll fly out of here soon.” She smiled, eyes gleaming. “And that pleases me. That pleases me very, very much!”

  Hildemara climbed onto her bunk, hugged the book against her chest, and cried. Whatever she had thought before, Hildemara saw now Mama couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

  Hildemara lost her pal Elizabeth to Bernie the first day of high school. She’d always suspected Elizabeth had a secret crush on Bernie, but Bernie had never shown interest in Elizabeth. He’d been too caught up in playing sports and making mischief with his friends to care much about girls. On the first day of freshman year, Hildie sat on the grass with Elizabeth, talking about the second session of Summer Bedlam, as Papa called it, and her dreams of going to nursing school. Bernie stood over them with an odd look on his face.

  “Hey, Bernie.” Hildemara shielded the sun from her eyes. “What’re you doing in the freshmen area?”

  “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend, Hildie?”

  She thought he must be kidding, but played along. “Elizabeth Kenney, this is my older brother, Bernhard Niclas Waltert. Bernie, this is Elizabeth. Now, what do you want? We’re talking and you’re interrupting.”

  Bernie hunkered down, eyes fixed on Elizabeth. “You sure changed over the summer.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks turned dark pink. She ducked her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “In a good way, I hope.”

  He grinned. “Oh yeah.”

  Annoyed, Hildemara glared at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go, Bernie? I can see Eddie and Wallie over there, playing basketball.”

  He sat and leaned on his elbow. “Don’t you have studying to do, Hildie? or someplace else to go?” He didn’t look at her as he talked, and Elizabeth didn’t look away from him either. Bernie might as well have said, “Get lost!”

  “We were talking, Bernie.”

  His mouth tipped, his gaze never leaving Elizabeth’s face. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “No.” Elizabeth sounded breathless. “Of course not.”

  Hildemara rolled her eyes. She looked between her brother and best friend and knew everything had changed in a split second. When she got up, neither noticed. When she walked away, neither called her back. When school let out, she saw Bernie walking beside Elizabeth, her book bag slung over his shoulder. When she called out to them, neither heard her.

  Bernie had the entire school following on his heels. Why did he have to set his sights on Elizabeth? “Thanks,” she muttered under her breath. “Thanks for taking my one and only friend.”

  She met Cloe and Rikki on the other side of the highway, near the grade school. “You two go on ahead. I have something to do.” Mama said she’d have to earn her own money for nursing school, and what better time to start than now? As soon as her sisters headed off for home, Hildemara rubbed her perspiring palms against her skirt and went into Pitt’s Drug Store. It took her a few minutes of browsing around before she could gather the courage to ask Mrs. Pitt if she might hire someone to work behind the counter, serving root beer floats and milk shakes.

  Mrs. Pitt was drying a glass. “Did you have someone in mind?”

  Hildie gulped. “Me.”

  Mrs. Pitt laughed. “You can start tomorrow. I’ve got plenty of other things I’d rather do around here than serve teenagers root beer floats and milk shakes.” She called out loudly. “You hear that, Howard? Hildemara Waltert is coming to work for us tomorrow.” She winked at Hildemara. “I’ll show you what’s what. It’s pretty simple. Having you work here might draw some more teenagers.”

  Hildemara didn’t want to tell her not to get her hopes up.

  On the long walk home, Hildie felt flushed with success. She relished her secret as she raced through her chores.

  Hildie set the table and sat down to dinner, eager to make her announcement, but everyone else had plenty to say. Bernie said he was late because he’d walked Elizabeth Kenney home and her mother invited him in for cookies and milk. Clotilde asked Mama if she could have a dollar to buy some fabric. Rikka stared off into space, undoubtedly thinking about some new drawing she wanted to do, until Mama told her to get busy and eat.

  Dinner was almost over before there was enough lull in the conversation for Hildie to make her announcement. “I have a job.”

  Papa’s head came up. “A job?”

  “I start work tomorrow after school at the soda fountain inside Pitt’s Drug Store.”

  Mama smiled slightly. “Is that so?”

  Papa wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t like the idea.
You have your studies, and what about Mama? She needs your help around the house.”

  “I do not.” Mama tossed her napkin on the table. “And if I did, I have two other daughters who can pitch in.”

  Clotilde squinted a look at Hildemara. “Thanks.” Rikka went on eating, her mind still off in the wild blue yonder.

  Papa frowned at Mama. “Did you know about this?”

  She stood up and started clearing dishes. “It had to happen sooner or later, didn’t it? Children don’t live off their parents forever. Or shouldn’t.”

  “How come I’m going to have to work and Bernie doesn’t?” Clotilde griped.

  Bernie put his fork down. “We can trade anytime you want. I’ll feed the chickens and set the table. You can help Papa with the plowing and planting and harvesting.”

  “I work! I made that shirt you’re wearing!”

  Papa slammed his fist on the table. “Enough!” Mama’s mouth twitched into a smile that smoothed out when Papa looked down the table at her. “Did you know Hildemara was looking for a job?”

  “I told her she’d better.”

  “Why?”

  “Ask her. She can speak for herself.” She gave Hildie a cool look, brows raised in challenge. “Can’t you?” It didn’t sound like a question.

  Papa stared at Hildemara. “Well?”

  She took a deep breath, hoping to slow her racing heart, and laid out her plans for the future. When she finished, everyone sat staring at her.

  Papa broke the silence. “Oh. Well. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Since you’re not working yet, you can help clear the table, Hildemara.” Mama didn’t say anything else until she handed her the last dish to dry. “When do you plan to study? You’ll have to keep your grades up.”

  “Between classes. During lunch break. I’ll only work until six.”