Her Mother’s Hope

a job. She’d said no to college and gone off to nurses’ training. She’d followed Trip from one base to another, finding housing in strange cities, making new friends. She’d crossed the country by herself and come home to help Bernhard and Elizabeth hold on to the Musashis’ land despite threats and fire and bricks through their windows.

My daughter has courage, Lord!

Despite appearances, and though Marta loathed to admit it, she’d always favored Hildemara a little above the others. From the moment her daughter came into the world, Marta had bonded fast to her. “She looks like her mother,” Niclas had said, unwittingly setting things in motion. All the cruel words her father had said about her appearance rose up inside her when she saw Hildemara Rose was plain. And like Elise, she was frail.

But she wouldn’t stay that way. Marta decided that first frightening week she wouldn’t cripple Hildemara Rose the way Mama had crippled Elise.

Now she wondered if she hadn’t pushed Hildemara too hard, and in doing so, pushed her away.

Oh, Lord, can I bring her close again?

Hildemara had Mama’s constitution. And now, it seemed she had Mama’s disease. Would she share Mama’s fate as well?

Please, Lord, give me time.

She covered her face and prayed. Oh, God, I wish I’d been more like Mama with her and less like Papa. Maybe I could’ve made Hildemara strong without wounding her. But I can’t go back now and undo the past. Hildemara Rose has no faith in me, no understanding. And that’s my fault, not hers. Does she understand I’m proud of her and her accomplishments? Does she know me at all?

She can.

Marta lowered her hands, drew back the curtains, and looked up at the stars. “Jesus,” she whispered, “will she be willing to meet me halfway?”

What does that matter?

Marta bowed her head. It was just her pride butting in again.

Hildemara had worked hard and done well. She’d had her moments of despair when she’d wanted to give up, but she’d grasped hold when hope was offered and rose again. She wasn’t Elise. She might be depressed, but she wouldn’t give up. Not if Marta had anything to say about it.

Hildemara might be quieter than Bernhard, who thought he could tackle the world, less self-possessed than fiery Clotilde with her quest for fame and fortune, not as intuitive and gifted as Rikka, who saw the world through angel eyes. Nevertheless, Hildemara had spunk. She had her own special gifts.

Marta lifted her chin again.

My daughter has a servant’s heart that should please You, Lord. Like Your Son, she’s meek, but no coward. She might be a broken reed now with the cold wind of death in her face, but You won’t allow her spirit to be crushed. You said it and I believe it. But give me time with her, Lord. I beg You. Help me mend my relationship with her. You know how I’ve fought against being a servant all my life. I confess it. I’ve always hated the very idea of it!

A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window, as though God whispered to her. Marta wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Lord,” she whispered back, “teach me how to serve my daughter.”

* * *

Marta got up early the next morning and prayed. She went out the side door toward the garden, leaving her journal open on the kitchen table. Walking around to the front of the big house, she knocked on the front door. When Donna opened the door, Marta asked to speak to her and Hitch together about something important. They both looked nervous as they invited her to sit at their table and share a cup of fresh coffee. Marta told them about Hildemara and that she had been thinking about the ranch and making some changes. Hitch’s expression fell.

Donna gave him a sorry look and then offered a pained smile to Marta. “With your husband passing on and all, and your daughter needing you, it’s understandable you’d want to sell.”

“I’m not selling. I’d like to offer you a contract to run the place. You tell me what you want. I’ll tell you what I need. And we’ll have Charles Landau put it all in writing so there will be no question about it.”

Hitch’s head came up. “You’re not selling?”

“That’s what I said.” She gave Donna a teasing look. “Better see that he cleans his ears.” She looked at Hitch again. “It may come to that, but if it does, you’ll get first shot at buying it. If you want it, that is.”

“We don’t have the money,” he said glumly.

“Knowing how hard you work, I might even be willing to hold the paper rather than have some banker come out the winner in the deal.” She looked between the two of them. “So?”

“Yes!” Hitch grinned.

“Please,” Donna added, face aglow.

That settled, Marta drove to town to take care of the rest of the details.

Then, on impulse, she drove to Merced and went shopping.

* * *

She wrote to Rosie that night and told her about Hildemara.

I started thinking about Lady Daisy and our afternoons at Kew and tea in the conservatory. I think it’s about time I shared some of these experiences with Hildemara Rose. So I went to Merced and looked through all the stores and couldn’t find anything as fine as what I wanted.

After hours of searching, I was discouraged. Actually, I was annoyed. I ended up in a little shop, but one look around and I was ready to walk out the front door. Fortunately, the proprietor cut me off. Gertrude! Swiss, from Bern! We talked for an hour.

I’d completely forgotten why I’d come to Merced in the first place until we both noticed the time. She needed to close the shop, and I needed to drive home to Murietta. Before leaving, I finally got around to telling her what I’d been looking for and why. G went into her back room and came out with an old, dusty box filled with dishes. She said she’d forgotten all about them until that very moment.

I am now the proud owner of a Royal Albert Lady Carlyle tea service-four plates, four teacups, and saucers! G also sold me some dainty spoons and forks, well worth every dollar she extracted from me. I will make all the wonderful sweets and savories for Hildemara Rose that I once served to Lady Daisy. I will pour India tea and lace it with cream and conversation.

God willing, I will win back my daughter.

A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

Since I became a Christian, my stories have begun with struggles I’m having in my own faith walk, or issues that I haven’t worked out. That’s how this two-book series started. I wanted to explore what caused the rift between my grandma and my mom during the last years of my grandmother’s life. Was it a simple misunderstanding that they never had time to work out? or something deeper that had grown over the years?

Many of the events of this story were inspired by family history that I researched and events I read about in my mother’s journals or experienced in my own life. For instance, when I was three, my mother had tuberculosis, just like Hildie did. Dad brought her home from the sanatorium and Grandma Wulff came to live with us and help out. It was difficult for everyone. A child doesn’t understand communicable disease. For a long time, I didn’t think my mother loved me. She never held or kissed me. She kept her distance to protect her children, but it took years before I understood what felt like rejection was actually evidence of sacrificial love.