34
Each evening after Papa had gone to bed, Hildie sat at the kitchen table with Mama. She read her Bible while Mama wrote letters. She had been writing to Rosie Brechtwald for as long as Hildie could remember. All Hildie knew was Mama and Rosie had been schoolmates. Mama had written to others over the years, and she received responses, usually around Christmastime, from Felda Braun, Warner Brennholtz, and Solange and Herve Fournier, all in Switzerland. Mama used to cut off the stamps and give them to Bernie. Her brother asked once why Mama wrote to people she’d never see again. “I see them here.” She pointed to her head. “And here.” She touched her heart.
“And God willing, we’ll see them again when the last trumpet blows,” Papa added.
Hildie and Mama didn’t say much to one another. Before Hildie went to bed, she put her hand on Mama’s shoulder and said good night. Sometimes Mama answered.
Hildie got up early one morning after she’d been home for about a week and sat waiting for Mama at the breakfast table before the sun came up. “I’m going into town and see Dr. Whiting, Mama.”
“Why? He’ll be out the end of the week.”
“Papa needs pain medication.”
Mama poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “He won’t take it, Hildemara. He said he doesn’t want to spend his last months on earth too drugged to think clearly.”
“He may change his mind.”
Mama bowed her head. “You know your father.”
“I need to be ready, in case.”
“You can take the car.”
Hildie chuckled. “I would if I knew how to drive. I’ll walk.”
“Why didn’t you ever learn? A nurse makes good money, doesn’t she? Clotilde bought a car the first week she lived in Burbank and got that apprenticeship making costumes. Even Rikka knows how to drive.”
“I lived a block from the hospital, and if I wanted to go anywhere else, there was always a city bus going the same direction. One of these days, I’ll learn.”
“I could teach you.”
“Now isn’t the time.” Hildie clasped her cup in both hands, staring at her coffee as she spoke. “We’ll have to work together, Mama, and make him as comfortable as possible.”
Mama set her cup down forcefully. “I don’t want him comfortable. I want him to live.”
“I’m a nurse. Not God.”
“Did I say you were? Did I ask any more of you than what you’ve been trained to do?”
Hildie pushed her chair back, picked up her cup and saucer, and set them on the counter. “I’ll wash them later.” She headed for the back door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Dr. Whiting.”
“It’s not even light yet.”
“It’ll be light enough by the time I get there.”
“For heaven’s sake, sit down and I’ll fix you breakfast.”
“I’ll eat at the cafe.”
“You can be such a fool, Hildemara!”
Shaking, Hildie stopped and looked at her from the doorway. “Be angry, Mama. Be raging mad! But aim it at the cancer!” She closed the door as she went out.
Hugging her coat around her, Hildie walked to town. She took her time, drinking in the fresh morning air, the smell of damp sand and vineyards, the sound of water churning at Grand Junction, the scent of eucalyptus. She stopped by the site of the house her brother and Fritz had burned down. Someone had bought the property and built a new house and barn.
The cafe lights were on. She recognized the waitress. “You’re Dorothy Pietrowski, aren’t you? You graduated with my brother, Bernie Waltert.”
“Oh yeah.” The plump, dark-haired girl grinned. “I remember him: big, good-looking, blond guy with blue eyes. All the girls were crazy in love with him. Elizabeth Kenney has all the luck.” Her smile flattened. “I don’t remember you.”
“Few people do.” Hildie smiled, extended her hand, and introduced herself.
Dorothy seemed in no hurry to take her order. “Your father’s sick, isn’t he?”
“How did you know?”
“People talk. My dad has a lot of respect for him even if he is a-” She blushed crimson. “Sorry.”
“A Hun?” Hildie laughed it off. “We’re all naturalized Americans and proud of it. We even have little celebratory flags and documents to prove it.”
“People can be so stupid.” Clearly, Dorothy didn’t include herself. She shrugged again. “What can I get you this morning, Hildemara?”
“The farmer’s special.” Eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, orange juice, and plenty of hot coffee.
Dorothy laughed as she stuck her pencil behind her ear. “It’ll be right up.”
Hildie remembered Mama and Papa talking about the war to end all wars. She remembered the year the Herkners’ bakery burned to the ground. It hadn’t just been about business. People didn’t come home from fighting a war and get over it in a day or even a year. To some, it didn’t matter how long a family had been in the country or how long since they’d passed their citizens’ test. All that mattered was where they came from. And Papa came from Germany.
Dorothy came back with several plates and set them down in front of Hildie. “It’s a wonder how you can be so thin.” She came back to replenish Hildie’s coffee. They talked each time she did. Finally, Dorothy slipped into the booth and told her how Murietta never changed. Maybe that was good; maybe it was bad. Hildie told her about nurse’s training, her job at Samuel Merritt, and the people she had met. The only one she didn’t talk about was Trip Arundel. The bell jangled.
“This is when it gets busy.” Dorothy slipped out of the booth. “It’s been good talking with you.” She picked up the coffeepot. “I hope you’ll come in again.”
“I enjoyed it, too, but I think this is the last time I’ll be out of the house for a while.”
Dr. Whiting had tears in his eyes as he sat behind his desk. “He’s a proud man, Hildemara. And a stubborn one, too. Of course, I’ll give you whatever you need. The cancer is going faster than I expected, but maybe that’s a good thing, if you understand what I mean.”
Hildemara nodded. “It won’t be long, Dr. Whiting.”
“I imagine you’ve seen enough dying in the hospital to recognize the signs.” He tented his hands and sat silent, thinking. Hildemara didn’t press. The doctor got up and went out. He came back a few minutes later and put a small box on the desk between them. “Morphine. Enough dosages to last a week under normal circumstances. I’ll order more. Your father is going to refuse it at first, Hildemara. When he does, you ask him how he’d manage to watch someone he loves die slowly and in excruciating pain. Once he has the first injection, he’ll argue less the next time. He may even come to ask you. It’s one of the most addictive substances we know, but that doesn’t matter under these circumstances.”
Blinking back tears, Hildemara rose. “Thanks, Doctor.” She took the vials. “What dosage do you prescribe?”
“I’m leaving that up to you.” Dr. Whiting cleared his throat. “You give Niclas as much as you think he needs. I
