Her Mother’s Hope

“No, but Bernhard’s got work to do. Go on now. Everything is fine.” He sounded as though nothing bad had happened. The boys called out their good-byes and left. Papa’s voice changed. “Into the house, Sohn. Keep the children in the house until I get back.”

“Where’s he going, Mama?”

“To the sheriff.”

* * *

Sheriff Brunner came to the house late in the afternoon. Bernie and Fritz were sent to the tree house, Clotilde and Rikka to the porch bedroom. Hildemara had to sit at the table and tell the sheriff what had happened at the ditch. He looked at the scratches on Hildie’s left leg, his face grim.

“I stopped by Kimball’s house on the way out here. He wasn’t there.”

Mama gave a hard laugh. “That doesn’t mean he won’t come back.”

Hildie’s heart tripped. Papa sat her on his lap and held her close.

“I’ll swear out a warrant for his arrest, but I can’t promise anything. He has a car. He’s probably miles from here by now.”

That night, Hildemara awakened to the smell of smoke. A fire bell clanged in the distance. Mama and Papa stood in the yard, talking in low voices. “Maybe lightning set the place on fire.” Mama sounded hopeful.

“There hasn’t been any lightning.” Papa spoke grimly.

“Let it burn, and him with it.” Mama came back inside the house.

The sheriff returned the next morning and spoke to Mama and Papa. “Kimball’s house and barn burned down last night.” He didn’t sound pleased. “You know anything about it?”

Papa answered simply. “No.”

Mama spoke her mind as usual. “I went after him with a butcher knife, Sheriff Brunner, with the full intent of killing him. I saw him driving off in his fancy black automobile. I may wish the man dead and in hell, but I wouldn’t have any reason to burn down a perfectly good house or barn. Unless he was in it. Was he?”

“No.”

“Now, there’s a real pity.”

Sheriff Brunner stood silent and then decided, “It must have been Providence.”

Bernie and Fritz didn’t come down from the tree house until Mama called them in for dinner. “What’d the sheriff want?”

Mama looked between the two of them. “He asked if we knew anything about the fire last night. If he finds the arsonists, he’ll arrest them. And before you ask what an arsonist is, Clotilde, it’s a person, or persons, who burn down houses and barns.”

Bernie and Fritz slunk down in their chairs. Papa stared hard at the two of them. “Whoever started that fire last night had better not brag about it. He’d better not breathe a single word about it, or he-or they-might grow up behind steel bars eating bread and drinking water.”

Mama piled potato dumplings on both their plates. “By the way, we’re having chocolate cake for dessert tonight.”

* * *

Dear Rosie,

One of our neighbors attempted to ravish Hildemara. If I’d been able to get my hands on him, he would be dead now. Niclas stopped me. We called the sheriff. Of course, by the time he made it out our way, Kimball had fled. If I could have torched his house with him inside, I would have watched him die and been satisfied. Instead he is loose like a mad dog and will harm some other child.

Hildemara is a frightened mouse, sitting in the corners of the house. I fight tears every time I look at her, remembering how difficult life was for Elise. Mama coddled her, and my sister became a prisoner of her own fears.

I could have taken a switch to Bernhard for leaving her alone at the canal, but what Kimball did is not my son’s fault and I will not lay the blame where it does not belong.

But what do I do now? What happened has happened and there is no undoing it. Life goes on. Somehow, I have to find a way to make Hildemara step out into the sunshine again and not fear every shadow.

* * *

Hildemara didn’t want to leave her room, let alone the house, but Mama insisted she do her usual chores. “You are not going to let that man turn you into a prisoner to your fears.”

When Hildie went outside, she felt light-headed and sick to her stomach. She kept looking around as she fed the chickens. She felt a little better weeding. The vegetable garden was closer to the house. Bernie came over and hunkered down next to her. “You want to go swimming again? I won’t leave you alone. I swear on a stack of Bibles.” She shook her head.

“We’re going to a movie tomorrow,” Mama announced at dinner that night. Everyone but Hildemara whooped with excitement. She didn’t want to walk by Kimball’s property.

“Maybe we’ll even have ice cream after, if you all behave.”

Hildemara walked beside Mama while the others ran ahead and then back. She came around to the other side of Mama when they crossed the irrigation ditch with the bamboo growing on the south side.

“No, you don’t.” Mama made her walk on that side of the road. “Take a good long look when we pass his place, Hildemara.” Two blackened piles of rubble sat where the house and barn used to be. “Abrecan Macy was a nice man. Remember the sheep? You loved the lambs, didn’t you? Abrecan Macy was our friend. Abrecan Macy was a gentleman.” Mama took her hand and squeezed it tight. “You let your mind dwell on the things that are right and true and lovely.” She squeezed again and let go. “You think about Abrecan Macy the next time you pass this property.”

* * *

Every week after that, Mama took the gang of kids to town for a matinee. The boys always raced down the aisle to grab front-row seats. Hildemara and Cloe sat a few rows behind them. Mama sat in back with Rikka on her lap, whispering to other mothers who kept watch over their children.

The boys talked through the short newsreels, laughed raucously through the slapstick comedy with pie- throwing antics or Our Gang mischief with Buster Brown. When the main feature came on, they howled and whooped, spending the next hour booing and hissing bad guys and cheering on the hero. They stamped their feet through chases and shouted, “Get ’em, get ’em, get ’em!” as the horse galloped across the scene. Hildemara developed her first crush, on Hollywood cowboy Tom Mix.

Papa decided they needed a dog on the farm. Everyone but Mama thought that was a good idea. “I’d rather have a gun.” Mama sniffed.

Papa chuckled. “A big, mean dog is safer than Mama with a gun!”

Everyone laughed.

Bernie and Fritz walked down to the Portola Dairy the next morning. Bernie came back carrying the covered tin of milk, a stray dog on his heels. Mama stood on the porch. “Where did you find that scrawny excuse for an animal?”

Fritz grinned, patting the black dog on the head. “He found us. We heard what Mr. Waltert said last night. God must have heard him, too.”

“God, my foot!” She came down the steps. “Just like that, you have a big dog follow you home from the dairy. More like you petted him. Did you let him stick his nose in our milk, too?”

“He’ll bark if anyone comes on the place, Mama.”

Mama stood on the lawn. “He’s no watchdog. Look at him, stirring up a cloud of dust with his tail.”