“I’ll set up a cot in the living room near the woodstove. We’ll leave the bedroom door open.”
Mama aired out the back porch bedrooms, changed all the linens, and moved Cloe and Rikka back into the small bedroom. Bernie got to return to his own bedroom. Mama made milk soup with a little sugar and flour. “Drink it, Hildemara. I don’t care if you don’t feel like it. Don’t give up!” Hildemara tried, but coughed so much, she threw up what little she ate.
Mama and Papa talked quietly in the bedroom. “I’ve done everything the doctor said and she’s still drowning in her own body fluids.”
“All we can do is pray, Marta.”
“Pray! Don’t you think I have?”
“Don’t stop.”
Mama gave a sobbing breath. “If she wasn’t so timid and weak, she might have a chance. I might have some hope. But she hasn’t the courage to fight!”
“She’s not weak. She just doesn’t confront life the way you do.”
“She just lies there like a dying swan, and I want to shake her.”
Bernie, Clotilde, and Rikki went to school. Papa didn’t work outside all day like he usually did, but Mama went outside more. Sometimes she was gone for a long time. Papa sat in his chair, reading his Bible.
“Where’s Mama?”
“Walking. Praying.”
“Am I going to die, Papa?”
“God decides, Hildemara.” Papa rose and lifted Hildie from the cot. He sat in his chair again, settling her comfortably in his lap, her head resting against his chest. She listened to the steady beat of his heart. “Are you afraid, Liebling?”
“No, Papa.” She felt warm and protected with his arms around her. If only Mama loved her as much as he did.
Mrs. King came twice. Hildemara asked how she became a nurse. “I trained at Merritt Hospital in Oakland. I lived there and worked while studying.” She talked about the nurses she met and patients she tended. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, Hildie. Not one peep of complaint out of you, and I know pneumonia hurts. It’s still hard to breathe, isn’t it, honey?”
“I’m getting better.”
Mrs. Carlson, the seventh-grade teacher, came to visit, and she brought a get-well card signed by every member of the class. “Your friends miss you, Hildemara. You come back as soon as you can.”
Even her Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Jenson, and Pastor Michaelson came to visit. Mrs. Jenson said all the children were praying for her. Pastor put his hand on her head and prayed for her while Mama and Papa stood by, hands folded, heads bowed. He patted Mama’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope.”
“I won’t give up. It’s her I’m worried about.”
Hildemara didn’t know how many days passed, but one night everything had changed. A little spark flared inside her. Mama sat in Papa’s chair reading a book on American history, even though she’d already passed the citizenship test and received a certificate and small American flag to prove it. “Mama, I’m not going to die.”
Surprised, Mama lifted her head. She closed the book and set it aside. Leaning forward, she put her hand on Hildemara’s forehead and let it rest there, cool and firm, like a blessing. “It’s about time you made up your mind!”
It took two months to fully recover, and Mama didn’t allow her to waste a minute of it. “You may not be strong enough to do chores or run and play like the rest, but you can read. You can study.” Mrs. Carlson had brought out a list of assignments and tests Hildemara had missed, and Mama sat down and worked out a plan. “You’re not just going to catch up. You’re going to be ahead of the class before you go back.”
Mama didn’t just care about getting the right answers. She wanted penmanship that looked like artwork. She wanted spelling words written twenty times. She wanted sentences built around each and then an entire essay with every word woven in. She made up math problems that had Hildemara’s head spinning. “What kind of math is this, Mama?”
“Algebra. It makes you think.”
Hildemara hated being sick. Clotilde got to read magazines and cut out pictures of dresses. Rikka could doze by the radio, listening to classical music. Hildemara had to sit and read world history, American history, and ancient history. When she fell asleep reading, Mama prodded her. “Sit at the kitchen table. You won’t fall asleep there. Read the chapter again. Aloud this time.” Mama peeled potatoes while Hildemara read. Mama bought a world map and pinned it on the wall, drilling Hildemara in geography. “With cars and aeroplanes, the world is getting smaller. You’d better know your neighbors. Where’s Switzerland? No. That’s Austria! Do you need glasses? Where’s Germany? Show me England-England, not Australia!” She didn’t let up until Hildemara could point out every country without a second’s hesitation.
When Clotilde complained about how much homework she had to do, Hildemara huffed. “I can’t wait to go back to school! It’ll be a vacation after having Mama for a teacher.”
Mama kept Hildemara on a tight regimen, overseeing what she ate, how much she slept, and most of all, what she learned. She only balked once, and she earned Mama’s ire. “I don’t care if European history isn’t on the list of assignments. I don’t care if it isn’t in your textbook. You need to learn about the world. If we don’t know history, we’re doomed to repeat it.”
Dr. Whiting said Hildemara could return to school. Mama decided to keep her home another month. “She needs to put on five pounds or she’ll catch the next bug that goes around.”
Mama allowed Hildemara to go back to school in time to take tests. When the results came back, Hildemara found herself at the head of the class. Mama congratulated her. “We had to make good use of all that sick time, didn’t we? Now we both know you’re smart enough to do anything.”
A letter came from Hedda Herkner a few weeks before school let out.
“Good news? Bad news?” Papa raised his brows.
“Depends.” Mama folded the letter. “It seems Fritz talked so much about his summer with us that some of his friends now want to come with him.”
“He’s coming back?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Anyway, Hedda says the parents think it would be good for their sons to learn about life on a farm. Living in the city, those boys wouldn’t have any idea. What do you think, Niclas?”
“Now you ask.”
“More boys!” Clotilde groaned.
Papa sighed. “How many?”
“Counting Bernhard and Fritz, we’d have six.”
“Six? Do you think you can manage that many at once?”
“I wouldn’t do it alone. Hildemara can help.”
Hildemara closed her eyes and breathed slowly.
Mama dropped the letter as though she had stripped off gloves and cast a challenge at anyone who dared go against her. “I can make good money running a summer camp. And it’s as close to owning a hotel and restaurant as I’ll ever get. The parents want these boys to learn about farm life. So we’re going to teach them about farm life.”
“Oh, boy,” Bernie grumbled. “Sounds like fun.”
Hildemara could see her mother’s wheels turning. Mama voiced her thoughts aloud. “No one will work more than half a day. With six boys, Papa will have the irrigation ditches dug in no time. They can help harvest grapes and almonds. They’ll learn how to take care of horses, chickens, rabbits, milk a cow…” She drummed her fingers on the table. Hildemara wondered what part of all that she would have to help manage. “And it might not be a bad idea to have them build something.”
Papa lowered his newspaper. “Build what?”
“How about adding a bathroom to the house? Bernhard’s bedroom is big enough that four or five feet wouldn’t be missed.”
Bernie’s head shot up from his studies. “Mama!”