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, everything 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 cafe. 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 cafe. 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.
