Her Mother’s Hope

“I didn’t ask for anything! Hedda insisted! I lost my job when the bakery burned down, and she didn’t think I should be paying to take care of her son. She wouldn’t leave Fritz otherwise!”

Bernie stabbed a hunk of beef. “Five months.” He grumbled, slumping in his seat as he poked the meat in his mouth and chewed with a sullen scowl.

Mama turned on him. “They won’t lower themselves to living in a tent and then slaving for some lazy widow. You watch, Bernhard. The Herkners will have a city apartment and successful business going before the end of the summer!”

Papa shoved his chair back and left the table.

Mama paled. “Niclas…”

Hildemara watched Papa go out the front door. She knew how hard he worked, how hard he tried to make Mama happy. And then Mama said some thoughtless thing to crush him. Hildie’s sorrow burned away in white-hot anger. She glared at Mama through her tears, wondering why she couldn’t be thankful instead of resentful. Hildie knew what it was like to try to please Mama, never measuring up to expectations. For once, she didn’t care. “Why do you have to be so mean to him?”

Mama slapped her across the face. Jolted back, Hildemara put a shaking hand to her burning cheek, too shocked to utter a sound. Mama had never hit her before; her face went white. When she reached out, Hildemara drew back from her and Bernie shot out of his seat. “Don’t hit her again! She didn’t do anything wrong!”

Mama stood, too. “Get out of this house right now, Bernhard Waltert!”

He slammed out the front door and pounded down the steps.

Clotilde stared at Mama, openmouthed. Rikka cried softly, her napkin covering her face. Blinking back tears, Hildemara hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Don’t apologize, Hildemara! Why do you always apologize, no matter what people do to you?” Her voice sounded ragged. “You clear up. You can wash the dishes and put everything away, too. You might as well get used to people walking all over you for the rest of your life!” Mama uttered a choking sound and went into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Clotilde gathered the bowls. “I’ll help you, Hildie.”

“Mama might not like it.”

“She’s sorry she hit you.”

“Play with Rikki, then. Give her the crayons. Anything. Just make her stop crying.” Gulping down her own tears, Hildemara took over clearing the table.

Papa still hadn’t returned by the time Hildemara finished clearing the table and washing, drying, and putting away the dishes. Bernie came back inside. “He’s sitting outside on the porch.”

Hildemara tried to lighten the heaviness in the house. “If it was daylight, he’d be currying the horse.”

Papa always curried the horse when something preyed on his mind.

* * *

It has been a bad time all around, Rosie. Someone burned down the Herkner Bakery and I am out of work. Niclas works hard, but it will be months yet before we see any money from this year’s crop. Thus is a farmer’s life. Drudgery and clinging to hope.

But that is not the worst of what’s happened. After all this time, my girl speaks up to me and what do I do? I slap her across the face. I did it without even thinking. I had said something hurtful to Niclas, and he left the table, and Hildemara Rose exposed my shame.

I have never slapped any of my children in such a manner, and for me to do it to Hildemara appalled me. I wanted to cut my hand off, but the damage was already done. When I reached out to her, Bernhard told me not to hit her again, as if I would, and I sent him out of the house. Clotilde looked at me like I had grown horns. Perhaps I have. Rikka cried as though her heart had broken. Mine had.

And all Hildemara did was sit there with my handprint on her cheek. She said nothing. I could see the hurt in her eyes. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to tell her she had every right to scream at me. She doesn’t have to sit there and take it! She would have turned the other cheek if I’d raised my hand to her again.

I have not cried so much in years, Rosie. Not since Mama and Elise died. I could hear Hildemara working in the kitchen, like a good little slave.

I have failed her in every way.

22

Mama went to town the next morning, pushing Rikki in the wheelbarrow. Fritz Herkner didn’t show up at school. When Hildemara came home that afternoon, she found Fritz sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies in front of him. He looked sallow and miserable, his brown hair a little too long and a little too much meat on his bones. Hildemara felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to sit at the table and have Mama within arm’s reach.

“I’m sorry about your home burning down, Fritz.” Fritz didn’t look up. His mouth worked and tears spilled down his cheeks. Mama patted his hand and gave Hildemara a jerk of the head, enough to tell her she wasn’t wanted. She went to her bedroom and did her homework on the top bunk.

Mama called Bernie inside and told him to take Fritz out for a look around the place. “Show him the orchard and vineyard. Take him over to the irrigation ditch. Do you like chickens, Fritz? No? How about rabbits?” Bernie led Fritz through the porch screen door, letting it bang behind him. Clotilde went out after them.

Hildie overheard Mama talking to Papa in the kitchen later. “Hedda said he’s very intelligent.”

“Is he?”

“I don’t know yet. She said he likes books. So I picked up a few at the library. I couldn’t get him to talk about anything on the way home. He cried all the way. He’s worse than Hildemara with the tears. Of course, Hedda wasn’t much better. She cried harder than he did when we saw them off at the train station. We need to toughen up this boy.”

“If Hedda was that upset, they’ll probably come back for him in a week.”

Fritz ate hardly anything the first three days, even though Mama fixed Hasenpfeffer, Sauerbraten, and Wiener Schnitzel. Bernie said Fritz cried himself to sleep at night. “I hope he stops pretty soon or I’m going to strangle him!”

Hildemara defended him. “How would you feel if our house burned down and Mama and Papa had to leave you behind while they went away to San Francisco?”

“Let me think.” Bernie grinned. “I’d be free of chores and could do anything I wanted!”

“I know what it’s like not to have a friend, Bernie. It’s even worse when someone is always picking on you. He’s our summer brother. We have to be nice to him.”

A letter arrived from San Francisco a week after the Herkners left. Fritz cried when he opened it. He cried all through dinner. Bernie rolled his eyes and ate Fritz’s share of potato dumplings.

When Hildemara leaned over to say some comforting words, Mama shook her head and looked so fierce, Hildie left Fritz alone. Papa called everyone into the living room and read the Bible. Fritz sat on the sofa, staring out the window until the sun went down.

Letters flew back and forth every few days. Every letter brought Fritz down into the doldrums again. “He needs chores to take his mind off his troubles.” Mama sent Fritz out with Hildemara to feed the chickens. When the rooster came after him, Fritz ran screaming from the henhouse, leaving the door open long enough for the rooster to slip through and have three hens chasing after him. It took Hildemara an hour to catch them, and then she had to walk to school alone and explain to Miss Hinkle what happened.

“He can muck the stable,” Bernie suggested to Mama. “Might get rid of some of that baby fat he’s carrying around.”

Mama put Fritz in charge of the rabbits instead. Fritz stopped crying. He stopped waiting at the mailbox for his mother’s letters. Hildemara worried about what would happen when Mama decided to make