“Yes, and people died younger in those days, too. I’m exhausted most of the time, walking back and forth to town. With that car, I can be home in minutes. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have time one of these days to read a book just for the pure pleasure of it!” Her voice broke. She said something in German, her voice stressed and frustrated.
Papa spoke more quietly, his voice a gentle rumble, words low and indistinct.
Hildemara let out her breath slowly, knowing the war was over and they had negotiated a truce. Cloe snored loudly on the lower bunk. Rikka lay curled on her side looking like a little angel in blue flannel pajamas. They never worried about anything.
Mama and Papa talked for a long time, their voices muffled. No more clashing swords, no more cannons firing. Only the low drone of two people talking out their differences.
The car did make life easier. It opened up the world for Hildemara. Every Sunday after church, Mama took them for a ride, packing a picnic and sometimes going as far as the Merced River.
Papa never came along, but he stopped worrying. Or said he did. “Be careful.” He’d brush Mama’s cheek. “And bring them all back in one piece.” Papa liked being alone. Sometimes he’d go out in the orchard and sit under one of the almond trees, and read his Bible all afternoon. Hildemara understood him. She liked to hide herself away in the chinaberry tree and listen to the bees hum in the blossoms.
The car came in handy when Cloe got sick. Mama loaded her in the car and took her to town. “She has mumps.” Hildemara and Rikki moved out of the bedroom, but not soon enough-they both came down with it, as did Bernie a few days later. He had it far worse than anyone. His face swelled so much, he didn’t look like Bernie anymore. When the pain moved down low in his body making him swell in places Mama wouldn’t talk about, Bernie screamed out in pain whenever moved or washed. He begged Mama to do something, anything, to make it stop. “Mama… Mama…” He cried and Hildie cried harder than he did, wishing she could take his suffering on herself. She climbed down from her bunk at night and prayed over him.
“Stop that!” Mama snarled, finding her there one night. “You want him to wake up and see you hovering over him like the angel of death? Leave your brother alone and get back to bed!”
Bernie got better, and Hildemara came down with a cold. It got worse, changing from sniffles and a sore throat to a chest cold. Mama moved Hildemara into Bernie’s room and Bernie into the living room. Mama made poultices, but they didn’t help. She made chicken soup, but Hildemara didn’t feel up to eating anything. “You have to try, Hildemara. You’re going to waste away if you don’t eat something.” It hurt to breathe.
Papa talked to Mama in the hallway. “I don’t think it’s a cold. She’d be getting better by now.”
Hildemara covered her head with a pillow. When Mama came in, she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Mama.” She didn’t want to be the cause of a quarrel. The cough started and she couldn’t stop it. The spasm lasted for a long time, deep, wracking, rattling.
Mama looked scared. When it finally passed, Hildemara fell limp, gasping for breath. Mama felt her skin. “Night sweats.” Her voice had a tremor. “Niclas!” Papa came running. “Help me get her in the car. I’m taking her to the doctor now.” Mama bundled Hildemara like a baby.
Papa carried her out to the car. “She weighs less than a sack of flour.”
“I hope it’s not what I think it is.”
Lying on the backseat, Hildemara bounced up and down as Mama drove to town. “Come on, now. Help me.” Mama pulled Hildemara into a sitting position and lifted her. “Put your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. Try, Hildemara Rose.” She didn’t have the strength.
She awakened on a table, Dr. Whiting bending over her, something cold pressed against her chest. Exhausted, Hildemara couldn’t keep her eyes open. She thought she could stop breathing and not even care. It would be so easy.
Someone took her hand and patted it. Hildemara opened her eyes to see a woman in white standing over her. She dabbed Hildemara’s forehead with a cool cloth and spoke in a sweet voice. She held Hildemara’s wrist. “I’m checking your pulse, sweetheart.” She kept talking, quietly. She had such a pleasant voice. Hildemara felt as though she heard from a distance. “You rest now.”
Hildemara felt better just listening to her. “Are you an angel?”
“I’m a nurse. My name is Mrs. King.”
Hildemara closed her eyes and smiled. Finally, she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.
25
“The doctor said to keep her warm and get soup into her. She’s thin as a rail.” Mama sounded so grim.
“I’ll set up a cot in the living room near the woodstove. We’ll leave the bedroom door open.”
Mama aired out the back porch bedrooms, changed all the linens, and moved Cloe and Rikka back into the small bedroom. Bernie got to return to his own bedroom. Mama made milk soup with a little sugar and flour. “Drink it, Hildemara. I don’t care if you don’t feel like it. Don’t give up!” Hildemara tried, but coughed so much, she threw up what little she ate.
Mama and Papa talked quietly in the bedroom. “I’ve done everything the doctor said and she’s still drowning in her own body fluids.”
“All we can do is pray, Marta.”
“
“Don’t stop.”
Mama gave a sobbing breath. “If she wasn’t so timid and weak, she might have a chance. I might have some hope. But she hasn’t the courage to
“She’s not weak. She just doesn’t confront life the way you do.”
“She just lies there like a dying swan, and I want to shake her.”
Bernie, Clotilde, and Rikki went to school. Papa didn’t work outside all day like he usually did, but Mama went outside more. Sometimes she was gone for a long time. Papa sat in his chair, reading his Bible.
“Where’s Mama?”
“Walking. Praying.”
“Am I going to die, Papa?”
“God decides, Hildemara.” Papa rose and lifted Hildie from the cot. He sat in his chair again, settling her comfortably in his lap, her head resting against his chest. She listened to the steady beat of his heart. “Are you afraid,
“No, Papa.” She felt warm and protected with his arms around her. If only Mama loved her as much as he did.
Mrs. King came twice. Hildemara asked how she became a nurse. “I trained at Merritt Hospital in Oakland. I lived there and worked while studying.” She talked about the nurses she met and patients she tended. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, Hildie. Not one peep of complaint out of you, and I know pneumonia hurts. It’s still hard to breathe, isn’t it, honey?”
“I’m getting better.”
Mrs. Carlson, the seventh-grade teacher, came to visit, and she brought a get-well card signed by every member of the class. “Your friends miss you, Hildemara. You come back as soon as you can.”
Even her Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Jenson, and Pastor Michaelson came to visit. Mrs. Jenson said all the children were praying for her. Pastor put his hand on her head and prayed for her while Mama and Papa stood by, hands folded, heads bowed. He patted Mama’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope.”
“I won’t give up. It’s
Hildemara didn’t know how many days passed, but one night everything had changed. A little spark flared inside her. Mama sat in Papa’s chair reading a book on American history, even though she’d already passed the citizenship test and received a certificate and small American flag to prove it. “Mama, I’m not going to die.”
Surprised, Mama lifted her head. She closed the book and set it aside. Leaning forward, she put her hand on
