Mama got up before dawn every morning, made the fire, and fixed breakfast for Papa. Hildemara always awakened to their quiet voices. She felt easier with them talking to one another. When Mama yelled, Hildemara felt sick to her stomach.
“English, Niclas. You can’t keep falling back into German. They will wonder if you backed the Kaiser.”
“Mr. Musashi is teaching me to prune trees and vines. Mr. Pimentel has taught me a lot about the soil.”
“And what good is all that if you haven’t a place of your own; isn’t that what you want to say?”
“Marta…”
“Not yet. I’m not willing to gamble.”
Mama packed Papa cheese, bread, and two apples before he went off to work. Mama never ate until after Papa left, and most of the time, her breakfast didn’t stay down long. “Are you sick, Mama?”
“It’ll pass in a month or two.” She dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand. “And don’t say a word about it to Papa. He’ll know soon enough.”
Mama usually felt better by midday, but she had no patience with Bernhard or Clotilde, and even less for Hildemara. Everyone did his best to stay out of her way. Mama had Bernhard bring water, and she had Hildemara straighten up the sleeping bags she had sewn out of old blankets. Clotilde played with the doll. Bernhard went fishing in the irrigation canal, but never caught anything, and Hildemara peeled potatoes while Mama washed clothes in a big washtub and hung garments on a rope she strung between two trees.
When Papa came home dusty and dirty, she had warm water and soap so he could wash. Hildemara stayed close enough to hear. “I’m taking the children to school tomorrow and register them. It would be better for them if they had a permanent address.”
“Yes. And when you open your purse, we’ll have a permanent address.”
“Find a place to sharecrop. When you prove to me you know enough to make a living at farming, I’ll give you what you need.”
“I could take it, Marta. What’s yours became mine when we married.”
She stiffened. “We’re in America now, not Germany. What’s mine stays mine unless I say otherwise. Don’t think you can boss me around and I’ll sit quietly by as your slave!”
Papa looked sad, not angry. “I’m not your father.”
Mama winced. “No. You’re not. But you refused to listen to me once before, and look what happened.”
He wiped soap from the back of his neck. “Don’t keep reminding me.”
“You choose to forget.”
He threw the towel down. “I choose to try again!”
She stepped forward, chin jutting. “And I choose to wait and see if this is God’s will or man’s whim!” She headed back for the washtub.
“You get more ill-tempered by the day!”
Mama lifted her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Maybe it has something to do with crossing a continent and coming to this end-of-the-road town. Maybe it has to do with winter and being cold and no roof over our heads and expecting another baby!” She wadded up his shirt and threw it in the dirt. “Wash your own clothes!” She walked off toward the irrigation canal and sat with her back to him.
When Papa finished washing, he went out and sat beside her. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side.
They dressed in their finest before Mama ushered them to town the next morning. “Stay out of the puddles and try to stay clean!” Bernhard ran ahead, but Clotilde and Hildemara walked behind Mama like goslings behind a mama goose. They walked past fragrant willows, down Main Street with its spread of buildings, across State Highway 99, and past one small general store, ending up at a small white building with a bell tower and red shingle roof.
Mama ran her hands through Bernhard’s thick, blond, spiky hair and brushed down Hildemara’s gingham dress. She lifted Clotilde to a bench. “You sit right here, all three of you, and don’t move.” She gave Bernhard a stern look. “If you wander off, Bernhard, I’ll use Papa’s belt on you when we get home.” She had never used the belt on any of them, but the look in her eyes told them she meant business.
Bernhard fidgeted. He looked longingly at the teeter-totter and swings, the monkey bars and sandbox. Clotilde sat forward and swung her legs. Hildemara sat still, hands folded, praying she wouldn’t be accepted, praying she would be able to stay home with Mama.
Mama came back. “Christmas vacation will be over after New Year’s. Bernhard, you and Hildemara start school Monday next.”
Hildemara’s lip began to tremble.
Clotilde stuck her lower lip out. “I wanna go, too!”
“You’ll have to wait. You have to be five to go to school.”
“I’m not five, Mama.”
“You’ll be five before the end of January. That’s close enough.”
17
1922
Hildemara couldn’t sleep the night before school. She pretended to be asleep when Mama got up and made Papa’s breakfast. She roused Bernhard first and pulled the covers back from Hildemara’s shoulders. “I know you’re awake. Get up and get dressed.”
When Mama gave her a bowl of Müsli, Hildemara couldn’t eat it. Her stomach felt like something had gotten in and kept fluttering as it tried to get out. She looked up at Mama. “I’m sick. I can’t go to school.”
“You’re not sick, and you are going.”
“She is a little pale.” Papa put his palm against Hildie’s forehead. Hildie hoped he would say she had a fever. “She feels cool.”
“She’s scared, that’s all. As soon as she gets there, she’ll find she doesn’t need to be.” Mama jerked her head. “If you don’t eat something, everyone in your class is going to hear your stomach growling by ten in the morning.” Hildemara looked at Clotilde, still bundled in a sleeping bag.
Papa looked at Hildemara. “I can walk them to school.”
“No. They need to learn to stand on their own. They’ll be fine walking by themselves.”
Papa ruffled Bernhard’s slicked-back hair. While Mama ran a comb through it again, Papa kissed Hildemara. “You will meet lots of other little girls your age.” He patted her cheek. When he went out, Mama went with him. When Mama ducked back inside the tent, she didn’t look at Hildemara. She picked up the small buckets with their lunch and told them it was time to be off. She grabbed Bernhard by the shoulder before he went out. “You walk with your sister. You keep an eye on her.”
They hadn’t gone a quarter mile when Bernhard kicked the dust angrily. “Come on, Hildie! Stop dragging your feet!” When she didn’t walk much faster, he started to run. She cried out, but he shouted back at her that she’d have to catch up or walk alone.
Hildemara ran as fast as she could, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to catch him. A stitch in her side made her slow down. She cried out again, tears streaming down her cheeks.
He looked back over his shoulder. Stopping, he put his hands on his hips and waited until she caught up with him. “You’d better stop crying now or they’ll all call you a crybaby.” He stayed beside her the rest of the way.
Children played in the yard. Some stopped to stare when Bernhard and Hildemara came near. Bernhard pushed the gate open. When children came over, Bernhard did all the talking. Hildemara stood beside him, looking from one face to the other, her throat dry. One of the boys looked at her. “Is your sister dumb or something?”
Bernhard’s face turned red. “She’s not dumb.”
When the bell rang, everyone lined up and filed into the building. A slender, dark-haired woman in a navy blue skirt, long-sleeved white blouse, and dark blue knitted sweater told Hildemara to share a desk with Elizabeth Kenney, the pretty girl who had worn the red and green satin dress and shiny black shoes the night of the Christmas pageant. She wore a pretty green dress today. A matching green bow tied her two long, red pigtails back. Elizabeth smiled brightly. Hildemara tried to smile back.