“Hildemara!” Mrs. Ransom called after them. “Wait!”
Hildemara and Clotilde kept running.
“Do we have to go back to school tomorrow?” Clotilde sat beside Hildemara. They had hidden in the first orchard after leaving town. Hildemara said they couldn’t go home. They had to go back when school let out, or Bernie would be looking for them.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Hildemara wiped tears away with the back of her hand.
“Is Mama going to be mad at me?”
“Mama put me in charge of you. Remember? She’ll be mad at me.”
“I’ll tell her why I kicked Mrs. Ransom.”
Hildemara sniffled. “That will just make everything worse.” When she pulled her legs up, her knees throbbed with pain. Sobbing, Hildie didn’t know what to do or where to go.
Clotilde snuggled close to her. “Don’t cry, Hildie. I’m sorry.”
They waited all morning and went back to school in the early afternoon. They stood at a distance, hiding behind the trunk of an old elm tree. The children came outside for their last recess. Mr. Loyola, the principal, stood on the playground. Mrs. Ransom was nowhere in sight. Whenever he looked their way, Hildemara and Clotilde ducked back behind the tree. Finally school let out, and Bernie came outside the fence.
“We’re over here, Bernie.” Hildemara waved from their hiding place.
Bernie ran to them. “Boy, are you two in trouble! People have been out looking for you all day. Where have you been?”
Hildemara shrugged.
Bernie looked at Clotilde. “I heard you attacked Mrs. Ransom.”
Hildemara and Clotilde looked at one another and didn’t say anything. They had already agreed to a pact of silence.
“Well, come on then. We’d better go home.”
The three of them hurried across the highway and walked through town, Hildemara dreading every step, wondering what Mama and Papa would say when Bernie told them what he had heard. They had just turned onto the road out of town when Mr. Loyola pulled up alongside them in his motorcar. “Climb in, children. I’ll take you home.”
Bernie jumped in. “This is my first time in an automobile!” Clotilde climbed in behind him just as eagerly. Hildemara didn’t want to get in. She didn’t want to go home either. She didn’t know what to do.
Mr. Loyola leaned forward, looking past Bernie and Clotilde. “You too, Hildemara.” Feeling doomed, Hildemara sat in back next to Clotilde. Bernie asked all kinds of questions about the car on the way home. Clotilde bounced excitedly, Mrs. Ransom forgotten.
Mama came out of the tent-house when Mr. Loyola pulled into Mrs. Miller’s yard. She looked surprised when Bernie jumped out of the motorcar, and then Clotilde. Hildemara climbed out last, dizzy and feeling sick to her stomach. She dared a glance at Mama.
The principal took his hat off and held it in both hands. “May I speak with you, Mrs. Waltert?”
Bernie had already run off for the orchard to find Papa, undoubtedly eager to tell him about the ride and what had happened at school. Clotilde stood beside Hildemara, looking from Mr. Loyola to Mama and back again.
“Go on and play, you two.” Clotilde didn’t need a second invitation. She took off after Bernie, leaving Hildemara standing alone and feeling exposed. Mama gave her an odd look and then forced a pleasant smile at Mr. Loyola. “Why don’t you come inside, Mr. Loyola? You’ll have to sit on a cot. We don’t have any furniture. Shall I fix some coffee?”
“No, ma’am. I won’t stay too long.”
Hildemara sat with her back against the wall of the pump house. Mama and Mr. Loyola talked for a long time. When the principal came outside, he looked around the yard. Raking his hand back through his hair, he put on his hat, got in his car, and drove away.
Mama didn’t come outside for a long time. Hildemara pushed herself up and crossed the yard. Mama sat on a cot, her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“What are you sorry about?” Mama sounded angry. She dropped her hands in her lap and raised her head. Eyes red, face blotchy, Mama winced. “What happened to your knees, Hildemara?”
“I fell on the road.”
“Where else are you hurting?”
Hildie showed her elbows and hands.
“And that’s all?”
Hildemara didn’t know what her mother wanted her to say.
“We’re going to have to clean those wounds or they’ll get infected.” Mama grabbed the water bucket and went out to fill it. Hildemara didn’t think her day could get any worse until Mama came back. “It’s going to hurt, Hildemara, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” She gave her Papa’s razor strop. “We have to get the pebbles and dirt out, then scrub with soap before putting on antiseptic. You bite down hard on that strop when you feel like screaming or Mrs. Miller will think I’m out here beating my children.”
When it was over, Hildemara lay limp on her cot, drained of tears; hands, knees, and elbows on fire.
“We’ll put on bandages when the wounds dry.”
Papa came in a few minutes later, Bernie and Clotilde trailing behind him. “How is she?”
“She’s a mess!” Mama’s voice broke. She tipped Clotilde’s head and leaned down to kiss her. “At least we have one girl who knows how to fight back!” Turning away, she went outside. Papa went outside and talked with her. When he came back, Mama wasn’t with him.
Hildemara lay on her cot, watching Mama walk away. She had disappointed her again.
Clotilde peered out the tent-house door. “Where’s Mama going?”
“She’s taking a walk. Don’t bother her. Go on outside for a while. Everything is fine. Bernhard, make certain she doesn’t get near Mrs. Miller’s roses.” Papa lifted Hildemara carefully onto his lap. He brushed the hair back from her face and kissed her cheeks. “Mrs. Ransom won’t be your teacher anymore. She went to Mr. Loyola after you and Clotilde ran away. She quit her job, Liebling.”
“She hates me, Papa. She’s always hated me.”
“I don’t think she hates you anymore.”
Hildie’s mouth wobbled and she burst out crying again. “I prayed for her, Papa. I wanted Mrs. Ransom to like me. I prayed and prayed and my prayers never changed anything.”
Papa pressed her head gently against his shoulder. “Prayers changed you, Hildemara. You learned to love your enemy.”
20
1924
Papa heard about a farm for sale on Hopper Road, two miles northwest of Murietta. When he went to town for supplies, he came back the long way to see it; he talked to Mama about it. After seeing it for herself, Mama bargained with the bank over the property, but-“They wouldn’t budge on the price, so I left.”
“Well, that’s it, then.” Papa despaired.
“We’re just getting started, Niclas. That place has stood fallow for two years. No one has made an offer. If we wait, they’ll come around.”
While they waited, Mama told Papa to make up a list of what he would need in the way of equipment and tools to work the farm, as Mama made up her own list of needed items. She went into town three times over the next week, but never set foot in the bank. She went again the following week, and the banker came outside to talk with her.
“He wanted to negotiate.” Mama laughed. “I told him I’d done my negotiating. The place isn’t worth any more than we offered.”
“So? What did he say?”
“We can have it.”
Both Mama and Papa went back two days later to sign the papers. They came home arguing. “We could’ve paid the full amount in cash and not had a mortgage.”
“You have to spend money to make it, Niclas. We’re not going to run up debt at the hardware store and the general store and the feed store. Let the bank carry the paper for a few years, not ordinary folks who work hard to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads.”