Hildemara felt queasy just thinking about riding in it. Papa came out of the barn, raked his hands through his hair, and went back in again.
Mr. Kutchner returned and smiled tightly. “I think I’ll walk, Marta. I don’t want to take you away from making dinner for your family.”
“Get in, you coward. I’ll have you in Murietta in a few minutes.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” When Papa came out of the barn again, Mr. Kutchner called out to him with a feeble grin. “Pray for me, Niclas.”
“You had to do it, didn’t you?” He said something in German.
“That’s no way to talk to a friend, Niclas.” Mama started the car. No lurching this time. She drove smoothly to the end of the driveway, stopped, and pulled out.
Hildemara counted the minutes, praying Mama wouldn’t have an accident. She heard the car coming. Mama made a wide turn into the yard, and another to the right, heading straight for the barn. Papa let out a stream of German. The horses screamed and kicked at their stalls. Papa shouted again. The car sputtered and died. A door slammed and Mama marched out of the barn, heading for the house. “You’re not parking that thing in the barn, Marta!”
“Fine! You move it!”
Mama hummed while making supper. “Bernhard, tell your father dinner is ready.”
Papa came in, washed, and sat, face grim. Bowing his head, he said a terse prayer, then carved the roast like a harried butcher. Mama poured milk for each, patted Papa on the shoulder, and took her seat. Papa passed the platter of mangled beef to Bernie. “I want that car out of the barn.”
“It’ll be out of the barn as soon as you build a shelter.”
“More expense.” He glared. “More work.”
“The Musashi boys will be happy to help. Just tell them I’ll take them for a ride. We’ll have a shelter up by Saturday afternoon.”
Hildemara watched the pulse throb in Papa’s temple. “We’ll talk more about this later.”
Papa read the Twenty-third Psalm that night and then said, “Bedtime.” He usually read for half an hour, at the very least.
Bernie came through the back door last, muttering. “Ring the bell. Round one starting.”
Hildemara lay on the top bunk, listening to Mama and Papa fight inside the house.
“What did you pay for that piece of junk?”
“Less than you did for that second horse!”
“The car stinks!”
“And horses smell like roses!”
“Manure is useful.”
“And plenty deep around here!”
Papa exploded in German.
“English!” Mama shouted back. “We’re in America, remember?”
“I’m going to tell Lucas to come and get that car and-”
“Over my dead body!”
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent!”
“Where’s your faith, Niclas?”
“This isn’t about faith!”
“God’s already counted our days. Isn’t that what Scripture says? I’ll die when God plans for me to die and not before. You’re just afraid of driving it!”
“I don’t see the sense in taking needless risks. People have gotten along without cars for this long-”
“Yes, and people died younger in those days, too. I’m exhausted most of the time, walking back and forth to town. With that car, I can be home in minutes. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have time one of these days to read a book just for the pure pleasure of it!” Her voice broke. She said something in German, her voice stressed and frustrated.
Papa spoke more quietly, his voice a gentle rumble, words low and indistinct.
Hildemara let out her breath slowly, knowing the war was over and they had negotiated a truce. Cloe snored loudly on the lower bunk. Rikka lay curled on her side looking like a little angel in blue flannel pajamas. They never worried about anything.
Mama and Papa talked for a long time, their voices muffled. No more clashing swords, no more cannons firing. Only the low drone of two people talking out their differences.
The car did make life easier. It opened up the world for Hildemara. Every Sunday after church, Mama took them for a ride, packing a picnic and sometimes going as far as the Merced River.
Papa never came along, but he stopped worrying. Or said he did. “Be careful.” He’d brush Mama’s cheek. “And bring them all back in one piece.” Papa liked being alone. Sometimes he’d go out in the orchard and sit under one of the almond trees, and read his Bible all afternoon. Hildemara understood him. She liked to hide herself away in the chinaberry tree and listen to the bees hum in the blossoms.
The car came in handy when Cloe got sick. Mama loaded her in the car and took her to town. “She has mumps.” Hildemara and Rikki moved out of the bedroom, but not soon enough-they both came down with it, as did Bernie a few days later. He had it far worse than anyone. His face swelled so much, he didn’t look like Bernie anymore. When the pain moved down low in his body making him swell in places Mama wouldn’t talk about, Bernie screamed out in pain whenever moved or washed. He begged Mama to do something, anything, to make it stop. “Mama… Mama…” He cried and Hildie cried harder than he did, wishing she could take his suffering on herself. She climbed down from her bunk at night and prayed over him.
“Stop that!” Mama snarled, finding her there one night. “You want him to wake up and see you hovering over him like the angel of death? Leave your brother alone and get back to bed!”
Bernie got better, and Hildemara came down with a cold. It got worse, changing from sniffles and a sore throat to a chest cold. Mama moved Hildemara into Bernie’s room and Bernie into the living room. Mama made poultices, but they didn’t help. She made chicken soup, but Hildemara didn’t feel up to eating anything. “You have to try, Hildemara. You’re going to waste away if you don’t eat something.” It hurt to breathe.
Papa talked to Mama in the hallway. “I don’t think it’s a cold. She’d be getting better by now.”
Hildemara covered her head with a pillow. When Mama came in, she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Mama.” She didn’t want to be the cause of a quarrel. The cough started and she couldn’t stop it. The spasm lasted for a long time, deep, wracking, rattling.
Mama looked scared. When it finally passed, Hildemara fell limp, gasping for breath. Mama felt her skin. “Night sweats.” Her voice had a tremor. “Niclas!” Papa came running. “Help me get her in the car. I’m taking her to the doctor now.” Mama bundled Hildemara like a baby.
Papa carried her out to the car. “She weighs less than a sack of flour.”
“I hope it’s not what I think it is.”
Lying on the backseat, Hildemara bounced up and down as Mama drove to town. “Come on, now. Help me.” Mama pulled Hildemara into a sitting position and lifted her. “Put your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. Try, Hildemara Rose.” She didn’t have the strength.
She awakened on a table, Dr. Whiting bending over her, something cold pressed against her chest. Exhausted, Hildemara couldn’t keep her eyes open. She thought she could stop breathing and not even care. It would be so easy.
Someone took her hand and patted it. Hildemara opened her eyes to see a woman in white standing over her. She dabbed Hildemara’s forehead with a cool cloth and spoke in a sweet voice. She held Hildemara’s wrist. “I’m checking your pulse, sweetheart.” She kept talking, quietly. She had such a pleasant voice. Hildemara felt as though she heard from a distance. “You rest now.”
Hildemara felt better just listening to her. “Are you an angel?”
“I’m a nurse. My name is Mrs. King.”
Hildemara closed her eyes and smiled. Finally, she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.
25
“The doctor said to keep her warm and get soup into her. She’s thin as a rail.” Mama sounded so grim.