Her Mother’s Hope

wanted to pay him, but Papa refused.

The next time Papa pruned the trees, Mr. Musashi showed up with his boys and equipment.

Determined to break down the rest of the barriers, Mama made apple Streusel and crossed the street for a visit. She came home resigned. “I give up. She can’t speak English and I haven’t time to learn Japanese. And I think she’s too afraid of me to say much of anything anyway.”

Only the “town kids” had time to play during the week, and when Saturday rolled around, the Musashi children had to spend all day at Japanese school. “I learn to read and write Japanese,” Betsy told Hildemara on the way to school. “I learn old country customs, courtesies, and games.”

“May I go with you sometime?”

“Oh no.” Betsy looked embarrassed. “So sorry. Just for Japanese.”

Bernie had no better luck getting the Musashi boys to teach him Japanese fencing.

Mr. Musashi struggled to sell his vegetables in the valley. One morning, he loaded his truck with crates of broccoli, squash, beans, and onions and drove away. He didn’t return that evening. Mama told Hildemara to ask Betsy if the family needed any help. “No, thank you. My father is taking the produce to the Monterey markets. He won’t be back for two more days. My brothers will manage.” Mr. Musashi left Andrew in charge over Patrick, Ulysses, and George. Problems cropped up like fast-growing weeds. A grass fire started down the road, threatening their orchard. Papa and Bernie ran with shovels to help put it out. When the water pump broke the next day, Andrew asked Papa for help. While Papa worked on the pump, Bernie asked if Patrick would show him how Mr. Musashi grafted the fruit trees.

“You should see them, Papa. They have three types of apples on the same tree! I’ll bet we could do the same thing with the orange tree; graft in lemon and have lemonade!”

* * *

On the way to school, Hildemara saw Mama coming up the road from Murietta. She never came home this early. She always worked until two. “Is something wrong, Mama?” Face like stone, Mama walked right past Hildemara and the other children without saying a word. Hildemara ran after her. “Mama? Are you all right?”

“If I wanted to talk about it, I would have answered you. Go to school, Hildemara! You’ll see what’s wrong with me when you walk through town!”

She was right. “Holy cow!” Bernie uttered and half whispered to Hildemara, “You think Mama did it?” The Herkners’ bakery had burned to the ground.

“Why would she? Mrs. Herkner is her friend.” The children stood staring at the pile of blackened boards, broken windows, and ash.

Not even the town children knew what happened other than there had been a fire the night before. Hildemara spent the day wondering. Hurrying home, she found Mama in the washhouse.

“What happened to the Herkners’ bakery, Mama?”

“You saw what happened. Someone burned it down!”

“Who?”

“Go feed the chickens.”

“Mama!”

“Put feed in for the horses. And if you ask me one more question, Hildemara, you’ll be cleaning the stalls.”

Mama was finally ready to talk when everyone sat down to dinner that evening. “Hedda said someone threw something through the front window, and the next thing they knew, the place was going up in flames. They were lucky to get down the back stairs alive. Wilhelm thinks he knows who did it, but the sheriff needs proof.”

Papa didn’t say any names, but he looked as though he knew as well as Mama who would want to put the Herkners out of business.

“Hedda says they’ve had enough. They’re leaving.”

“Are they all right?”

“About as all right as they can be after seeing everything they’ve worked for go up in flames.” Mama scooped beef stew into bowls. She served Papa first, then Bernie, Hildemara, Clotilde, and finally Rikka. She served herself last and sat at the foot of the table.

Papa said grace and then glanced at Mama. “There’s a blessing even in the hardest things, Marta. Last harvest put us ahead. We have enough set by that you don’t have to work anymore. We have enough to make payments and pay taxes.” He forked a piece of juicy beef into his mouth. “Hmmmm…” He smiled. “I can tell when you’ve had more time to cook.”

“That’s all a man thinks about, his stomach.”

Papa chuckled, but didn’t add anything to Mama’s comment.

Mama dipped her spoon in the stew. “Hedda and Wilhelm are going to San Francisco. They have friends there who can help them get started again. She’s worried about Fritz missing more school.” Hildie knew Mrs. Ransom had given Fritz a hard time, too. Unlike Mama, Mrs. Herkner had allowed her son to stay home from school whenever he felt sick.

Papa stopped chewing and lifted his head, sensing something in the wind. Hildie went on eating, pretending she wasn’t all ears as Mama went on talking casually. “He was out of school for over a month with pneumonia. He’s just catching up. If they take him out now, he’ll lose the whole year. I told her we’d keep him.”

Papa swallowed. “Keep him?”

“Bernhard has a big bedroom.”

“Mama! He’s not moving in with me, is he?”

Mama ignored Bernie’s protest and spoke to Papa. “You’ll have to build bunk beds like in the girls’ room. We have enough wood left over, haven’t we? I already ordered a mattress. It’ll be delivered in a few days. He can sleep on the couch until then.” She took a piece of bread and buttered it lightly.

Papa glowered. “I don’t remember saying yes to this idea.”

“You take care of the orchard and vineyard. I take care of the children, the house, and the animals, except the horse.”

Hildemara felt the storm threatening family harmony. “It would be a good deed, wouldn’t it, Papa? It would help the Herkners.”

Bernie’s face flushed in anger. “It’s my room! Shouldn’t I have a say if someone lives in it?”

Hildemara gaped at him. “His home just burned down, Bernie.”

“I didn’t burn it down!”

“They just lost everything!”

“Fritz Herkner can’t even make a base hit! Last time he played basketball, he sprained an ankle. He has less coordination than you do! He’s going to be about as much help around the farm as Clotilde and Rikka!”

“That’s enough, Bernhard!” Mama slammed a fist on the table, making everyone except Papa jump. “Who do you think you are? If you don’t make Fritz Herkner welcome in my house, he’ll be sleeping alone in your room and you’ll be living in the barn!”

Bernie stuck out his chin. “It’s Papa’s house, too.”

“That’s enough, Sohn.” Papa spoke quietly.

Bernie looked suitably cowed, but Hildemara’s stomach sank at the look on Papa’s face. She knew Mama’s money had bought the farm, but Papa worked hard and brought in the crops that made it all a success. Mama talked as though he hadn’t contributed anything. She could feel tears welling at the hurt look in his eyes. She looked at Mama and saw the shame she tried to hide.

“Our house.” Mama amended, but it was too late. The damage had been done. When Papa pushed his plate away, her eyes glistened. “She wasn’t just my employer, Niclas.”

Papa said something in German and pain flickered across her face. Tears slipped down Hildemara’s cheeks. She hated it when her parents fought. She hated to see the hurt in Papa’s eyes and the stubborn tilt of Mama’s chin.

“When is he coming?” Papa asked.

“Tomorrow.” Mama seemed to prepare herself before saying more. “Hedda is paying us. He’ll stay with us through summer.”

Papa’s eyes flashed. “Is everything always about money, Marta? Is that all that’s important to you?”