When she said it.
1948
Charlie, four years older, doted on his baby sister and liked to play with her. As Carolyn grew, she started climbing out of her crib at night and crawling into bed with Hildie and Trip. Hildie would have to get up and carry her back to her crib. “When is that child going to sleep through the night?”
Trip chuckled. “Maybe we should tie her in.”
They locked their bedroom door instead. Sometimes Hildie got up in the morning and found Carolyn curled up with her blanket outside the door.
1950
“You look pale, Hildie. You’ve got to get more rest.”
“I’m trying.” Still she couldn’t seem to catch up on sleep, even staying in bed on weekends.
Trip got a promotion. Now a lieutenant, he drew a higher salary. “Quit work. Stay home. We don’t need you getting sick again.”
She knew that better than he did. She might not make it out of the hospital this time. Heeding Trip’s appeal, Hildie resigned. She tried to get more sleep, but it seemed elusive in the face of rising fears.
As a nurse, she knew the signs, even if she’d tried to ignore them over the past months. She started losing weight again. It took a force of will to do even the easier household chores. She awakened with night sweats and fever. When the cough started, she gave up and told Trip she had to go back to Arroyo.
1951
Hildie had been at Arroyo two months and knew she wasn’t getting any better. Lying in bed at the sanatorium, she saw all of Trip’s dreams going down as her bills mounted. He had to hire a babysitter to watch Charlie and Carolyn until he got home from work each afternoon. He had to get Charlie off to school each day, cook and do the laundry, keep up the house, keep up the yard. Any time left over, he spent with her, leaving the children behind with LaVonne Haversal.
“If I’m going to die, Trip, I want to die at home.”
His face twisted in agony. “Don’t talk like that.”
The doctor had warned them both that depression would be her greatest enemy.
“I pray, Trip. I do. I keep crying out to God to give me answers.” And only one answer came again and again. It seemed a cruel joke.
Trip prayed and came up with the same solution Hildemara dreaded speaking aloud.
“She won’t come.”
“She’s your mother. Do you think she’d do nothing to help you?”
“I told her I’d never ask for her help.”
“It’s the only way to bring you home, Hildie. Or are you going to let your pride stand in the way?”
“She’s never helped me before. Why would she do it now, and under these circumstances?”
“We won’t know unless we ask.” He took her hands. “I think she’ll surprise you.”
Trip called Mama while Hildemara choked on her pride and wondered why God had brought her down so low. Trip thought she feared Mama might say no. Hildie feared Mama would say yes.
The moment Trip told Mama she was sick and asked for help, Hildemara knew whatever respect she had earned from her mother would be gone. Mama would think her a coward again, too weak to stand on her own feet, incapable of being a good wife and mother.
If Mama came, Hildemara would have to lie in bed and watch her mother take over her responsibilities. And Mama would do it all better than Hildemara ever had because Mama always managed everything perfectly. Even without Papa, the ranch ran like a well-oiled machine. Mama would be the one to give Charlie wings. She’d probably teach Carolyn to read before she turned four.
Sick and helpless, Hildemara would have to watch the life she loved be taken over by her mother. Even the one thing at which she excelled, the one area of her life where she had proven her worth, would be stripped away from her.
Mama would become the nurse.
Part Three
44
Marta stood in the almond orchard beneath the white blossom canopy, the heady scent of spring in the air. Overhead, bees hummed, gathering nectar and spreading pollen, promising a good crop this year. Petals drifted like snowfall around her, covering the sandy soil, reminding her of Switzerland. It wouldn’t be long before new-growth- green leaves deepened into darker shades and almonds began to form in tiny nubs.
Niclas used to stand in the orchard just as she did now, looking up through the white-clothed branches to blue sky. He had always been thankful to God for the land, the orchard, the vineyard, crediting the Almighty for providing for his family. He’d never taken anything for granted, not even her.
How she missed him! Marta had thought the years would dull the pain of losing him; and in part, they had, just not in a way she wanted. She couldn’t remember every detail of his face, the exact color of his blue eyes. She couldn’t remember the feel of his hands upon her, the abandon when they came together as man and wife. She couldn’t remember the sound of his voice.
She
Though he hadn’t feared death, he hadn’t wanted to leave her. When she realized his worry, she had told him she had done very well on her own and she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. His eyes had lit with laughter. “Oh, Marta, Marta…” When she had wept, he took her hand weakly in his. “You and I are not finished,” he whispered, his last words to her before he fell into a coma. She sat beside him until he stopped breathing.
Niclas had been so vigorous; she expected they would grow old together. The children had grown up and gone out on their own. She thought she and Niclas would have many happy years together, alone at last, with limitless time to talk, time together without interruption. Losing him was hard enough without the awful cruelty of how he died. She had told God in no uncertain terms what she thought of that. A good, God-fearing and God-loving man like Niclas shouldn’t suffer like that. She had come out here and stood in this orchard night after night crying out to God in anger, hurling her questions at Him in fury, pounding the ground in her grief.
