“He’s just a pup right now. He’ll get bigger.”
“Who told you that? Aldo Portola?”
“He’s smart. We can train him. He was real hungry.”
Hildemara sat on the porch, giggling. The dog trotted over and sat in front of Mama. He stared up at her with big, limpid brown eyes, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his wide canine grin. He edged closer, stretching out his neck, tail waving faster.
“Look, Mama!” Hildemara came down the steps. “He’s trying to lick your hand.”
“Balderdash!” Mama’s face softened. “He’s trying to get more milk.”
“Balderdash!” both boys shouted. “That’s his name!”
Mama shook her head, mouth twitching. “I doubt we can get rid of him now that you’ve given him food.” She headed for the steps. The dog followed on her heels. She stopped and pointed down at him. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Hildemara petted him. “Can he sleep in the house, Mama?”
“He can sleep in the tree with the boys, if they can get him up the ladder.”
The dog didn’t cooperate.
All through the rest of that summer, the family accumulated animals. Papa bought a second horse. Mama bought another rooster to “improve the flock.” Fritz caught a horned lizard and kept it in a box in the tree house. A tabby cat showed up and had kittens in the barn.
Papa wanted to get rid of them. “I don’t want my barn turning into a cathouse.”
Mama laughed so hard, tears ran down her cheeks. “You need to work more on your English, Niclas.” He asked what he had said. When she explained, his face turned bright red.
Last, Mama brought home a cow. “The children are growing so fast, we might as well have milk at hand, rather than have to walk a mile to get it.” Dash stood by the cow, panting and smiling. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your share.” Mama put a big bell around the cow’s neck. “Reminds me of Switzerland, where all the cows wore bells.”
Summer blazed by in a haze of heat. In late August, the almond harvest began. Papa and the boys stretched out canvas under the trees, using bamboo poles to knock the stubborn almonds that wouldn’t fall after shaking the branches.
Mama received a letter from the Herkners. “They’re coming on Friday.”
They arrived in a new black Ford Model A with sideboards. Hedda jumped out and ran straight to Fritz, hugging and kissing him until he protested.
Bernie stared at the car. “Holy cow! Will you look at this thing?” He walked around the Model A. “Can I sit in it, Mr. Herkner?”
Wilhelm laughed. “Go ahead.” He pried Hedda off their son and held him at arm’s length. “Look how tan and fit he looks!” Hedda grabbed and hugged him again, tears running down her cheeks.
Fritz turned beet red. “Ah, Mama. Don’t call me Fritzie.”
Bernie laughed. “Fritzie! Hey, Fritzie!”
Mama took the Herkners inside for coffee and angel food cake. It had taken twelve egg whites to make it. Papa had wanted a slice, but Mama said he would have to wait. “It’s not polite to serve leftovers to guests.” She had made Papa custard with the yolks.
The Herkners didn’t stay long. Fritz looked as miserable as the first day he arrived, but at least he didn’t shed a tear. Bernie needled him mercilessly. “Fritzie. Oh, Fritzie.”
“See if I come back.”
“Who invited you in the first place?”
“Your mother.”
Cloe joined in the heckling. “Poor Mama didn’t know what she was getting.”
Hildemara laughed. “You’ve been nothing but a big pain in the neck.”
“And you’re nothing but a
Mr. Herkner put the car in gear. “We’d better get out of here!”
“Whiner!” Bernie called out, running alongside the car.
“Toad-faced pollywog!” Fritz yelled back.
The black car paused briefly at the end of the driveway and then pulled out onto the road. The car picked up speed. Fritz leaned out the window and waved.
Bernie scuffed his bare toes through the dust. “Summer’s over.” Shoulders hunched, he headed off to do his chores.
24
Sometimes Mama would invite a dusty, tired-looking salesman into the house. She’d make a sandwich, brew some coffee, and sit awhile listening to his sad story. Hildemara listened while studying the American history books Mama brought from the library. She and Papa had to pass a citizenship test, and Mama decided the children should learn everything too.
Mama made everyone but Rikka memorize the Bill of Rights and Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. She drilled them on the Constitution and the amendments. “Rikka doesn’t have to be naturalized. She’s a citizen by birth.” She poked Rikka’s nose. “But don’t think that gets you off the hook. You’re going to learn all this so when you’re older, you won’t be like most natural-born Americans taking their freedom for granted, not even bothering to vote and then complaining about everything.”
Sometimes, just to get away from Mama’s demands, Hildemara climbed the chinaberry tree in the front yard and hid among the leafy branches. Almost twelve years old, she liked to be high up where she could see her world.
Mama opened a window and Hildemara heard the rapid clicking as Cloe pumped the sewing machine. She had started another sewing project, a dress for Rikki this time. Rikki sat on the front steps, holding a jar with a captured butterfly inside. She studied it intently, a drawing pad and pencil beside her. Hildemara knew her sister would open the jar when she finished her drawing and release the butterfly. She hadn’t kept one more than a few hours after Papa told her some only lived a few days. Papa led the horses into the barn. Bernie went into the shower house. Across the street, the Musashi girls weeded among rows of strawberries.
Leaning back against the trunk, she listened to the hum of insects, rustling of leaves, and birdsong. Everyone seemed to have his place in life. Papa loved farming. Mama managed the house, bills, and kids. Bernie dreamed of grafting trees and improving plant production like Luther Burbank. Mama said Clotilde had the talent to be a better seamstress than her own mother. Rikki would be an artist.
Hildie felt content sitting in the tree, staying at home on the farm, being near Mama and Papa, even when Mama became annoyed that she didn’t “find something to do!”
Mama opened the front door. “Come on down from there, Hildemara. Time to stop daydreaming. There’s work to be done.”
Lucas Kutchner, another German immigrant, came to dinner again that evening. Papa had met him in town, where he made his living as a mechanic. He worked on bicycles and cars and anything else that broke down, including pumps and clocks. “He can fix anything,” Papa told Mama when introducing them for the first time. Mr. Kutchner didn’t have a wife and didn’t know many people in town.
Papa and he sat at the kitchen table and talked about politics and religion, railroads and cars replacing wagons, while Mama cooked dinner. Sometimes Mr. Kutchner would bring clothing that needed mending and let Clotilde sew on a button or stitch a seam back together.
Mr. Kutchner believed in the same rules Mama did and never came empty-handed. He brought a box of chocolates the first time, which endeared him to Mama. He brought a bag of licorice on the next visit. He had an
