Her Mother’s Hope

For once, no one laughed or even twittered.

“Go to your seat, Hildemara Waltert.”

When Papa finished reading the Bible that evening, Hildemara asked if he had fought in the war. He frowned. “Why do you ask such a question?”

“Mrs. Ransom’s brother died in the war.”

“I was in Canada when it started.”

Mama interrupted before he could go on reading the Bible. “Had your papa been in Germany, he might have been killed, too, Hildemara. Hundreds of thousands died: Frenchmen, Englishmen, Canadians, Americans, and Germans.”

Bernie asked who started it.

Papa closed the Bible. “It’s too complicated to explain, Sohn. One angry man shot a royal and two countries went to war. Then friends of those countries took sides, and soon the whole world was fighting.”

“Except Switzerland.” Mama went on sewing. “They were smart enough to stay out of it.”

Papa opened his Bible again. “Yes, but they made plenty of money on it.”

Hildemara couldn’t make sense of it. “Did anybody you know die, Papa?”

“My father. My brothers.”

Mama’s eyes went wide. “This is the first I’ve heard of them.”

Papa gave her a sad smile. “I wasn’t hatched, Marta. I had a mother and father and brothers and sisters. My mother died when I was Hildemara’s age. My sisters were much older and married. I don’t know what happened to any of them. I’ve written letters.” He shook his head, his eyes moist. “Only God knows what became of them.”

When Hildemara got up the next morning, she asked Mama if there would be another war. “I don’t know, Hildemara.” She sounded angry and impatient. She finished braiding Hildemara’s hair and turned her around. “Why all these questions about the war? The war is over!”

Not for some people. She didn’t want to tell Mama what Mrs. Ransom did to her every day because Mama would get mad, and if Mama got mad, Mrs. Ransom would have all the more reason to be angry with Germans.

Hildemara felt sorry for Mrs. Ransom. She must be very sad to be so angry all the time. Hildemara prayed Mrs. Ransom would find another way to get over her brother’s death, and not take it out on her.

Mama tipped Hildemara’s chin. “Who told you Mrs. Ransom’s brother was killed in the war?”

“Elizabeth Kenney.”

“Well, it’s no excuse. God says not to hold a grudge. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” When Mama’s eyes grew moist, she stood abruptly and turned away. “Don’t forget your lunch bucket. You’d better hurry, or Bernhard will be halfway to school before you catch up.”

When Hildemara looked back, she saw Mama standing outside the tent, her arms wrapped around herself, watching. Hildemara ran down the road.

18

A few days later, Papa came home, his blue eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve found a place for us.”

Mama stopped stirring the stew over the outside cookfire and straightened. “Where?”

“It’s west of Murietta, about two miles outside the town limits, across the big canal. Mrs. Miller lost her husband last year. She needs someone to work the place until her daughter finishes high school. She said she might sell the place then.”

“How long before the girl finishes school, Niclas?”

“Four years, I think.”

“You didn’t sign a contract, did you?”

“Well, I-”

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“Only two years. You told me to get experience! This is the best way to get it!”

Mama walked off toward the irrigation ditch. Papa followed her. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she shook him off. He talked for a long time, but Mama kept her back to him.

Bernie stood by Hildemara, watching them. “I hope Papa wins. At least we’d have a roof over our heads instead of living in a leaky tent.”

* * *

The one house on the property belonged to Mrs. Miller and her daughter, Charlotte, but Mrs. Miller gave Papa permission to build a temporary shelter on the property, with conditions. She didn’t want a shack. Mama wanted to speak to the woman herself when she heard Papa had to pay the expenses of building the structure, but Papa ordered her not to go near “the big house.”

Over the next few days, Papa built a wooden platform, half walls, and a framework over which he and Mama stretched tent canvas. The canvas sides could be rolled up on warm days, and rolled down in an attempt to keep rain and wind out. Cold air and water still managed to seep in. Papa stacked bricks and made a lean-to where Mama could cook without jeopardizing the tent-house.

Mrs. Miller and her daughter had running water inside the house, but Mama had to use a hose near the barn and carry it bucket by bucket for tent use. Mrs. Miller also had an indoor bathroom, but Papa had to dig a deep hole and build an outhouse over it. Mrs. Miller also told Papa the children were not allowed near her flower garden. “She has prize roses and shows them at the fair each year.” The widow didn’t want the children near the house. “She doesn’t like noise.”

“Mercy, Niclas, what does she expect?”

“Peace and quiet.”

“Why don’t you ask her where our children can play?”

Papa winked at them. “Anywhere out of sight of the house.”

Bernie climbed almond trees and caught frogs in the irrigation ditch and horned toads in the vineyard. Clotilde played with her pretty china doll. Hildemara stayed close to the tent-house and Mama.

The mulberry tree provided shade, but dropped fruit on the canvas roof, staining it with red and purple splotches. Mama grumbled about living like a vagabond. It seemed the bigger Mama’s belly grew, the more her temper soured. She had no patience with anyone. Even Papa couldn’t soothe her temper.

Summer came early. Mama gave Hildemara the broom and told her to keep the platform swept. Too uncomfortable to stoop, she showed Hildemara how to peel and cut vegetables, how to fry meat, how to make biscuits. Summer boiled and the ground dried up in the heat.

Mama sewed the tent seams tighter, but short of keeping the sides down all day, which made the tent like an oven, she had to leave the canvas rolled high, which allowed dust and sand to blow in all day. Buzzing flies flew circles around Mama, who sat with a swatter in her hand waiting for them to land. Hot August nights had everyone sweating on their cots.

When the baby started coming, Papa had already gone out to work the harvest. Mama called out softly. “Hildemara, go tell Mrs. Miller I’m having a baby. Maybe she’ll show some compassion.”

Hildemara ran to the back door and pounded. “Stop that racket!” Mrs. Miller peered out through the screen without unlocking it. “If your father needs something, tell him he’ll have to wait until it cools off. I’m not coming out in this heat.”

“Mama’s having the baby!”

“Oh. Well. Congratulations. Go find your father and tell him. He’ll have to put one of the men from the work crew in charge until he can see about your mother.” She closed the door.

Hildemara ran all over the ranch looking for Papa, then finally found him loading a truck at the far side of the property. When he heard Mama was having the baby, he said something to one of the Italian workers and ran back to the tent-house. Mama lay on the platform floor, sweat pouring from her beet red face. Hildemara stood in the