Her Mother’s Hope

“Seemed like a nice guy, what little I could tell from the one minute he was with us.”

“He’s better-looking than most of the actors I’ve met,” Cloe added, not smiling, still staring, a faint frown on her face.

“All the women in the hospital were in love with him.”

“And he came all the way to Murietta-”

“Shut up, Bernie.” It was Cloe who said it.

Mama didn’t utter a sound.

When all the visitors left, Mama went to bed. When Hildie looked in on her later, Mama lay on her back, wide- awake, staring at the ceiling. “Do you want me to sit with you awhile, Mama?”

“No.”

Hildie fell asleep on the couch. She awakened with the moonlight streaming through the window. She thought she heard someone screaming outside. She rose quickly and looked in on Mama. She wasn’t in her bed. Throwing on her coat, she flew out the back door. The screaming came from the orchard. Bernie stood in the yard. “Is it Mama?”

“Yes.” He caught her by the arm. “Leave her alone. She has to get it out someway.” She could see the sheen of tears on his face. “She’s held it in too long. Let her scream. Let her pound on the earth.”

Hildemara could hear her. “She’s cursing God.”

“For tonight, and then she’ll be holding on to Him when she’s finished. Go on back to the house. She’ll come in when she’s ready.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Papa told me to watch over her.”

35

1941

Papa hadn’t been in his grave a week before Mama went back to work. She got up at dawn and made the coffee, then went out to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and collect eggs. Cloe went back to Hollywood. Rikka went back to school. Bernie saw to the business of the farm. Elizabeth tended the flats of seedlings in the lattice nursery and kept the vegetable garden weeded and bug-free.

People continued to come to visit, and everyone brought something: casseroles; cakes; German potato salad; small jars of homemade jams and jellies; pickled watermelon rinds; large jars of apricots, peaches, and cherries. Over the years, Mama had taken gifts to families in need, and now she reaped what she had sowed in kindness.

Edgy with nothing to do, Hildemara set to work on the house. She scrubbed the kitchen floor, took everything out of the cabinets and scrubbed the shelves, scoured the stove and sink. She scraped peeling paint and decided it was time to freshen things up a little. She used some of her savings to buy a cheerful yellow paint, the same color Mama had originally chosen and which had faded over the years. Elizabeth had made pretty curtains for the cottage. Why shouldn’t Mama have some? Hildemara bought fabric and enlisted Elizabeth’s help in redoing the living room, kitchen, and bedroom curtains. She added lacy sheers so Mama could open the windows and not have dust blow in or sunlight fade the sofa after she and Elizabeth recovered it with a chintz slipcover. She made pretty decorative pillows of blue and yellow with lacy edges. Mama had never had any before.

Mama still cooked. Hildemara sent away for a Quaker lace tablecloth. She put a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table every few days.

If Mama noticed any of the changes, she never said. Hildemara didn’t know whether it lightened Mama’s grief or not.

She took out the ragbag and started work on an area rug. The mix of colors would brighten the living room. When she wrote to Cloe and told her what she planned, Cloe sent a box of fabric pieces. The work filled Hildemara’s long, quiet evenings. She had to work or she couldn’t sleep. She grieved over Papa, worried about Mama.

And she couldn’t get Trip out of her head.

Even when she fell exhausted into bed, she had trouble sleeping. She’d lie awake, wondering what he was doing, if he had met someone. Of course, he would. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t leave Mama by herself.

Mama put her book down one evening and shook her head. “That rug will take months to finish, Hildemara. Why did you start it?”

“Because it’ll brighten the living room. Look at all the colors, Mama. If we went to the movies, we’d see some of these fabrics in costumes. Rikka is going to paint a picture of the Alps for you. We’ll hang it right there on the wall. It’ll add-”

“This is my house, Hildemara. Not yours.”

Hildie gasped as she stabbed her finger with the needle. Wincing, she sucked at the wound. “I know, Mama. I’m only trying to fix things up a bit, make it more-”

“I like the yellow walls. I like the new curtains. But enough is enough.”

“You don’t want the rug?” Hildemara couldn’t stop the hurt from rising inside her. “What am I supposed to do with all this-?”

“Just leave it in the box.”

“The rug is-”

“Big enough for under the sink.”

Hildemara’s eyes flooded. “What are you trying to say, Mama?” She knew, but she wanted to hear it aloud. She wanted it out in the open.

“I don’t need a servant, Hildemara. And I certainly don’t need a nurse!”

Her words cut deeply. “You don’t need me. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

Emotion rippled across Mama’s face, like a storm over water, and then her face hardened. “All right, Hildemara Rose. If that’s what it takes, I will say it. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here. The sooner you leave, the better for both of us!”

Leave? And go where? Hildemara’s face crumpled. “You were the one who asked me to come home!”

“To take care of Papa! And you did, and he’s gone now. I can take care of myself!”

“I only want to help.”

“No. You want to play the martyr.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what else could it be? Why stay two months, and do all the things you’ve always hated?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone!” She burst into tears.

“Last time I looked, Bernie and Elizabeth lived a few hundred feet from my back door.” Mama gripped the arms of her chair. “You trained to be a nurse. You told me that’s what you wanted to do with you life! So why are you still here? Why haven’t you gone back to nursing? You had your own life before I asked for your help. Your help isn’t needed anymore. Why are you still here?” She rose, face twisting. “Go live your life and let me get on with mine!” She went into the bedroom she had shared with Papa and slammed the door.

Dumping the rug into the remnant box, Hildemara ran out the back door and into Bernie’s old bedroom. Covering her head, she sobbed. Go back? Go back to what? She’d ended things with Trip. If there had ever been a chance for happiness, it had ended that day he came to the memorial service. If she went back to Merritt, she might see him again. Some other girl would have certainly said yes. How could she bear to see him again? And now Mama showed her true feelings. Mama couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

What had she expected?

Packing her suitcases, she took a shower and went over to talk to Bernie and Elizabeth. “I need a ride in the morning.”

“Where you going?”

“Back to Oakland.”

She couldn’t sleep that night. She went into the kitchen and fixed the coffee.