Marta's Legacy Collection (18 page)

“We’re not stealing them, Niclas. We’re borrowing them. Or do you expect us to walk back to Winnipeg, dragging our trunks behind us? Once we’re there, we’ll send word to Mr. Madson and he can send one of his other serfs to fetch them.”

Marta thanked God she had gone to Brandon with Niclas the last time. Knowing the contract was coming to a close, she had told Mr. Ingersoll he needed to settle the account with her. He hadn’t been happy about it, but she had cash enough to pay rent and buy what they would need to set up housekeeping in Winnipeg.

Dear Rosie,

Niclas found work at the locomotive works. His old supervisor, Rob MacPherson, transferred to Winnipeg. When he saw Niclas had applied, he hired him. And just in time. Our third child, Clotilde Anna, arrived a month after Niclas went back to work. She is as robust as Bernhard, and every bit as loud in her demands. Think of it, Rosie—two miracles in the very same month! We have finally seen an end to this awful war, and we have been blessed with little Clotilde.

Hildemara Rose has none of the sibling jealousy you talk about with your children. She adores her brother and sister, so much so she will give up anything if one of the others wants it, whether it’s a toy or food off her plate. They take advantage and she lets them. I will have to teach her otherwise.

Carleen and Nally Kildare bought my boardinghouse in Montreal. They couldn’t afford the full price, but they managed to get a loan from the Bank of Montreal. I don’t intend to touch the money unless Niclas loses his job again. God forbid that happens! I mentioned buying this house once, but he was adamant we should wait and see how things go. As far as I can see, things are going very well.

Rumors abounded as soldiers returned home from Europe. The locomotive works let some foreign workers go in order to rehire those who had served overseas. When she asked, Niclas said his job was secure as long as MacPherson was supervisor. Other than that, Niclas didn’t talk about much of anything. He came home from work each day and sat in the parlor, head back, eyes closed. He roused enough to play with Bernhard and Clotilde. Hildemara always stood back, waiting her turn.

After dinner, Niclas read Bible stories to the children before Marta settled them in bed. Then he would fall silent again, sitting in his chair, gazing out the window. He always seemed worn down when he came home from work. She wondered how he could be so tired all the time when he no longer had to get up before dawn and work until dusk. Surely working at a drafting desk was preferable to the backbreaking work of plowing forty acres.

Marta waited until they were alone in bed, the lamp extinguished, before she asked. “Will you stay angry with me forever, Niclas?”

He turned to her in the darkness. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because I insisted you work for the railroad.” She knew he had loved working the land. He loved seeing the wheat and barley grow. He had felt such pride in the crops he brought in. Would he become like Papa, blaming her for making him give up an impossible dream and eventually taking out his discontent on her and their children?

“I took the work available.”

“But you’re miserable.” Her voice broke.

He drew her into his arms. “A husband tries his best to make his wife happy.”

When he kissed her, she wanted to weep. She had seen little joy in him since they had moved to Winnipeg, and guilt tore at her. What if he tired of her? What if he began to see her as Papa always had: a homely, ill-tempered, selfish, and worthless girl? “How can a wife be happy when her husband is miserable?”

“You hated the wheat farm, and I hate my job.” He tilted her chin and cupped her cheek. “I promise I won’t take you back there, but I don’t know how long I can bear to stay here.”

“You’ll leave me someday.”

“Never.”

“Do you promise?”

He rolled her onto her back. “I promise.” She remembered what Rosie had said about him and drew his head down.

A long time later, she lay facing him again. She combed her fingers through his hair. “What are we going to do?”

“Wait.” He took her hand and kissed it. “God will show us a way.”

Niclas’s hours were cut the next day.

Marta knew something had happened when Niclas came in the door. He didn’t look tired this afternoon. His eyes glowed. “MacPherson is leaving.”

Her heart sank. “Is he going back to Montreal?”

“He’s going to California. He has a job lined up in Sacramento.” He hung up his coat and hat. “He told me my hours are being cut again.” Bernhard and Clotilde clamored for attention.

Marta shushed them and sent them in the parlor to play. Hildemara stood in the doorway, watching them with wide hazel eyes. “Go with Bernhard and Clotilde, Hildemara. Go on!”

“How can they cut your hours again?” He only made seventy-five dollars a month, barely enough to keep a roof over their heads and good food on the table.

“It could get worse.”

She knew that meant he might lose his job after all. “I’ll start looking for property. We can open another boardinghouse. We could manage it together.”

“Railroad men are leaving. The company is giving away free tickets to California.”

California?
She tried to absorb the shock. “What would you do in California?”

“MacPherson said he will do what he can to help me find a job. If not, there’s good land in California.”

“You can’t mean you want to go back to farming!”

“I miss the plowing and planting. I miss harvesting crops I’ve sown with my own hands. I miss wide-open spaces and fresh air.”

She tried to remain calm. “I remember frigid winters. I remember thunderstorms and flashes of lightning that filled us both with fear because one strike could burn away a year’s work in minutes!”

“The weather is temperate in California. There’s no ice and snow in the Central Valley.”

She started to shake. “Please tell me you didn’t sign another contract.”

“No, but I applied for tickets. It’ll be a miracle if we get them. They’re going to men who have worked for the company five years or more. But I had to try. There won’t be any more in a week.”

Even having been warned of what might come, Marta wasn’t prepared when Niclas came home with train tickets to California. “This is the answer to my prayers,” he told her, holding them up in his hand. She hadn’t seen that look on his face since they left the wheat fields.

Marta remembered how much they had at the end of four years of farming. Nothing! She knew he wouldn’t listen to that reasoning, and she searched for excuses to delay. “We could wait until after Christmas, at least.”

He laughed. “We’ll spend Christmas in California!”

Bursting into tears, she fled into the kitchen. She thought Niclas would follow, but he didn’t. As she set the table, she heard him telling the children about California, the golden land of opportunity, the place where the sun was always shining. Even after she called everyone to dinner, he kept on about it. She picked at her food and tried not to glare at him and upset the children. Hildemara kept looking at her. “Eat!” she told her. Clotilde already looked like the older sister with her greater height and weight.

“When are we going, Papa?” Bernhard sounded like he’d been invited to a world’s fair.

“The end of the week. We’ll take only what we need.” His eyes met Marta’s. “We’ll sell the furniture and buy what we need when we get to California.”

“All of it?” she said faintly. “What about the new bedroom set we bought last year, and the couch, and—?”

“It would cost more to have them sent by freight than buying new when we get there.”

She lost her appetite completely. Niclas took seconds. “They say you can pick oranges off the trees all year long.”

Bernhard’s eyes grew big. He’d had his first orange for Christmas last year. “As many as we want?”

“If we end up with an orange tree on our property.”

“What property?” Marta said, steaming.

Niclas ruffled Bernhard’s hair. “We don’t have property, yet,
Sohn
. We’ll have to spend time looking around first.”

Marta cleared and washed the dishes while Niclas took the children into the parlor to read Bible stories.

“Off to bed.” Marta shooed them up the stairs and got them ready for bed. Niclas came up and kissed them each good night. When he headed for their bedroom, she headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not tired yet.” Her heart pounded fiercely.

He followed her downstairs and into the parlor. She wrapped her arms around herself and refused to look at him. She could feel him standing behind her, looking at her. She heard him sigh heavily.

“Talk to me, Marta.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve already made up your mind.”

“What better gift can we give our children than the chance of a better life? Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Isn’t that why you left home as young as you did?”

“I left because I wanted to make my own choices!”

He put his hands at her waist. “You chose me.”

For better or for worse, whether rich or poor . . .

Niclas drew her back against him. The feelings he stirred with a touch always defeated her. She wanted to resist, but found herself surrendering to him again. When she leaned into him, he turned her around and embraced her. When he raised his mouth from hers, she leaned her head against his chest. His heart beat hard and fast.

“Trust me.”

Marta closed her eyes and said nothing.

“If you can’t trust me, trust God. He opened the way.”

Marta wished she could believe it.

15

1921

The passenger car bumped and jerked, moving slowly down the track. On her knees, Hildemara looked out the window at the passing houses as the train picked up speed. She slid down onto the seat again, feeling dizzy, her stomach queasy. Mama had made her eat breakfast even though her appetite had waned with excitement over the trip south in the United States of America. Now, she felt her full stomach rolling as the wheels clicked along the track.

“You look pale, Marta.” Papa frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”

“No better than I felt coming across the Atlantic.” Mama leaned her head back against the seat. “Watch the children.”

Bernhard and Clotilde ran up and down the aisle, until Papa told them to sit down and be quiet. Mama took one look at Hildemara and called Papa back. “You’d better take her to the washroom and quick.” Hildemara barely made it inside the little cubicle at the back of the car. She cried when nothing more came up, feeling no better for it. Papa brought her back to Mama.

“She lost her breakfast. She’s sweating and feels cold.”

“Lie down, Hildemara.” Mama stroked the hair back from her face. “Go to sleep.”

One day rolled miserably into the next as they traveled. Hildemara was too sick to care when they went through customs or changed trains. Bernhard and Clotilde chattered about every little thing they saw out the window while Hildemara couldn’t raise her head from the bench. Mama snapped at Papa. “You have to watch them, Niclas. I can’t. I don’t feel much better than Hildemara. I can’t get up and chase after Bernhard and Clotilde.”

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Keep them from annoying other passengers. And don’t let them out of your sight.”

“They can’t go anywhere.”

“They can fall between cars! They can get off the train when it stops! If you’re going to the dining car to talk with those men again, take them with you. I can’t run after them.”

“All right, Marta. Lie down and rest. You look worse than Hildemara.”

“I hate trains!”

Papa called Bernhard and Clotilde back and made them sit and look out the window. “Be good for your mama. She’s not feeling well. I’ll be back soon.”

“Niclas!” Mama half rose from her seat before lying down again, a hand over her eyes. Antsy after a few minutes, Bernhard wanted to know how long before the train reached California. “We’ll get there when we get there, and stop asking that same question over and over. I’m not so sick I can’t turn you over my knee!”

Clotilde poked at Hildemara, wanting to play, but Hildemara couldn’t open her eyes without feeling everything spinning around her.

“Leave your sister alone, Clotilde.”

Papa came back with bread, cheese, and a bottle of water. Hildemara sipped a little water, but the smell of the cheese made her stomach turn again.

“She’s not going to get better until we get off the train, Niclas.”

“What’s it going to be like in California?”

“Papa’s already told you, Bernhard.”

“Tell me again!”

“California has orchards of orange trees. You’ll be able to eat as many as you want. The sun shines all year. That’s why they can grow anything in California. We’ll find a nice house on some land, and you and your sisters will have space around you, too. You’ll be able to run and play in the orchards. No more having to stay inside a house all the time.”

Mama got a pinched look around her eyes. “You said Mr. MacPherson has a job waiting for you in Sacramento.”

“He said he would do what he could for me if I came.” Papa ruffled Bernhard’s thatch of blond hair and sat Clotilde on his lap. “We will go to Sacramento first. If there is no job, Papa knows where to find good farmland. Where would you rather be, children? In a house near the railroad with lots of dirt and smoke, or in a nice house in the sunshine in the middle of an orchard of orange trees?”

Hildemara heard her mother say something in German. Papa ignored her, listening to Bernhard and Clotilde shrieking about how many oranges they would eat when they got to California.

Papa laughed. “Farming is a job,
Sohn
. You’ll have to help me.”

“Be quiet!” Mama snarled. “There are other people around us.” She glared at Papa. “You’re filling their heads with fairy tales!”

“I’m only telling them what I was told, Marta.”

“
Ja!
And Robert Madson told you wheat farming was profitable, too, didn’t he?”

Papa set Clotilde beside Mama and got up. When he headed down the aisle toward the door that went to the dining car, Mama shooed Bernhard and Clotilde. “Go on with Papa. Hurry before he leaves you behind.” They both ran noisily down the aisle, catching up just before Papa went through the door.

Hildemara wished she felt well enough to scamper through the cars. She wished the world would stop spinning. She felt afraid when Papa and Mama spoke in German to one another. Would the train ever stop longer than a few minutes? “Are there really orange trees in California, Mama?”

Sighing heavily, Mama put her hand on Hildemara’s brow. “We’ll all find out when we get there.” Hildemara liked the coolness of Mama’s hand. “Try to sit up for a while. You have to try to eat something. A little bread, at least. You have little chicken legs.”

“I’ll be sick.”

“You won’t know unless you try. Now, come on. Sit up.”

When she did, the dizziness returned. She gagged when she tried to swallow a piece of bread.

“Hush now, Hildemara. Don’t cry. At least you tried. That’s something, at least.” Mama tucked a blanket around her again. “I was seasick for days crossing the Atlantic. You’ll get over it soon. You just have to set your mind on it.”

Setting her mind on it didn’t help one bit. By the time they reached Sacramento, Hildemara was too weak to stand, let alone walk off the train. Mama had to carry her while Papa collected the two trunks.

They stayed in a hotel near the train station. Hildemara ate her first meal in days in the dining room: a bowl of soup and some crackers.

It rained all night. Papa went out early the next morning and still wasn’t back when Mama said it was time for bed.

Hildemara awakened. “Don’t touch me!” Mama cried out. Papa spoke softly in German, but Mama answered angrily in English. “You lied to me, Niclas. That’s the truth.” Papa spoke quietly again. “English, Niclas, or I won’t answer you.” Mama dropped her voice. “Americans won’t like Germans any better than Canadians did.”

The sun didn’t shine for days. They didn’t see an orange tree until Mama took them for a walk to the capitol building. Mama spoke to a gardener and told them they could each have one orange. They thanked him politely before peeling the skins. The gardener leaned on his rake, frowning. “They’re still a little green, ma’am.”

“It’s a good lesson for them.”

Mama and Papa argued all the time. Papa wanted to look for land to buy. Mama said no. “You don’t know enough about farming to waste money on land.”

“What do you want me to do? We’re spending money staying in this hotel. I have to find work.”

“If I buy anything, it’ll be another boardinghouse.”

“And then what would I do? Strip beds? Do the laundry? No! I’m the head of this family!” He spoke German again, fast, furious.

“It’s in my name, Niclas. Not yours! You didn’t earn that money. I did!”

A neighbor pounded on the wall, shouting for them to shut up. Mama cried.

Papa came back to the hotel the next afternoon with train tickets. At the mention of another train ride, Hildemara started to cry. “Don’t worry,
Liebling
, this will only be a short ride—just eighty miles.”

Mama hunkered down and gripped her by the shoulders. “Stop it! If I can stand it, so can you.” Mama took her by the hand and pulled her along to the train station.

When Papa took his seat, Mama swung Hildemara up and planted her on his lap. “If she throws up, let it be all over you this time!” Mama sat on the other side of the aisle, face turned away, staring out the window.

“Schlaf, Kleine,”
Papa said. A man in front of them turned around and stared coldly. Papa spoke English this time. “Go to sleep, little one.”

“German, are you?”

Mama got up and sat next to Papa. “Swiss! We came down from Canada. He still has some trouble with English. My husband is an engineer. Unfortunately, the supervisor who promised him a position moved to Southern California.”

The man looked between Mama and Papa. “Well, good luck to you folks.” He turned around again.

Papa set Hildemara on the seat with Bernhard and Clotilde. “Take care of your sisters,
Sohn
.” Papa took Mama’s hand and kissed it. Mama stared straight forward, her face pale and set.

Hildemara roused when a man came through the car announcing Murietta.

Bernhard pushed at her, and Clotilde slipped by and ran for the door until Mama told her to stop and wait. The air felt cool against Hildemara’s face when she climbed down the steps. Papa swung her onto the platform and gave her a light swat. Mama stood waiting beneath a big sign. She looked down a long, dusty street. She sighed heavily. “We left Winnipeg for this?”

“It’s not raining.” Papa hefted one trunk onto his shoulder and dragged the other toward an office.

Hildemara looked up at Mama’s stony face. “Where’s Papa going?”

“He’s going to have the trunks stored until we find a place to live.”

Papa came back empty-handed. “The station manager said there is only one place to stay in town.”

Bernhard and Clotilde skipped ahead while Hildemara reached for Mama’s hand. Mama wouldn’t let her take it. She patted Hildemara’s back. “Go on with your brother and sister.”

“I want to stay with you.”

“Go on, I said!”

Papa leaned down and tipped Hildemara’s trembling chin. “No need for tears,
Liebling
. We’re right behind you.”

Hildemara walked ahead, but kept checking back over her shoulder. Mama looked annoyed. Papa looked relaxed and happy. Hildemara stayed close enough to hear Papa say, “It is a fine town, Marta, everything dressed up for Christmas.” When Bernhard called out, Hildemara ran to join them at a big window. She gasped at the beautiful glass Christmas ornaments in boxes.

“Come on, children.” Mama herded them along.

Across the street was a theater. They passed by a general store, a shoe repair and tack shop, a bakery, pool hall, and café. When they came to a two-story brown building with white-trimmed windows and a long wooden porch with four rocking chairs, Mama told them to stay with Papa, glancing at him. “You can take the children for a walk while I take care of business.” Lifting her long skirt, she went up the front steps.

Papa told Bernhard to run to the first intersection and back. He did it twice before he was settled enough to walk quietly and stop asking questions. Papa took them around the corner and down to another street lined with large trees. “We’re walking on Elm Street. What kind of trees do you suppose those are?”

“Elm!” Bernhard and Hildemara said at once. “I said it first!” Bernhard insisted.

Each house had a lawn. When Papa came to another street, he turned back toward Main. “Look over there at that big pink-brick building. It’s a library. That should put a smile on Mama’s face.” He led them across Main Street and kept walking. They hadn’t gone far when they came to orchards and vineyards. Exhausted, Hildemara lagged behind. When she cried out for him to wait, he came back and swung her up onto his shoulders.

Bernhard never seemed to tire. “Are those orange trees, Papa?”

“No. I don’t know what they are. Why don’t we ask?” He swung Hildemara down and told her to watch out for Clotilde while he talked to the farmer digging a ditch between two rows of vines. Almond trees, the man said, and wine grapes across the road.

“Thirsty,” Clotilde said. Hildemara took her by the hand and led her under the shade of one of the trees. Bernhard asked if he could dig. The man handed over the shovel. The two men went on talking while Bernhard tried to scoop more sandy dirt from the ditch the man had been digging. Clotilde got up and went over to Papa, tugging at his pants. “Hungry, Papa.” He patted her on the head and kept asking questions. Clotilde tugged again, harder. When Papa ignored her, she cried. Papa shook the man’s hand, then asked if he could come back tomorrow and talk some more.

Face flushed, Mama got up from a rocking chair on the porch. “Where have you been?”

“We met a farmer!” Bernhard bounded up the steps. “He let me dig a ditch!”

When Papa put Clotilde down, she tugged at Mama’s skirt. “Hungry, Mama.”

Hildemara was too tired and parched to say anything.

“Did you give a thought to how weak Hildemara is after that awful train ride from Winnipeg? She looks ready to faint.”

“You told me to take them for a walk.”

Mama took Hildemara’s hand and started across the street. “Around the block, not out into the countryside. It’s past three! They haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Time got away from me.”

Mama went into the café. They took seats by the window looking out onto Main Street. Papa asked what they wanted to eat, and Mama told the waitress everyone would have “the special.” Mama folded her hands on the table. “The town is having a Christmas pageant tonight. That’s something, at least.”

“There’s a library one street over and two blocks down.”

Mama brightened, but her expression clouded over quickly enough. “Mrs. Cavanaugh would only come down twenty-five cents a night if I guaranteed a week.”

“Stop worrying. God will lead me to work.” When the waitress brought the plates, Papa said grace.

Hildemara didn’t like the thick, greasy stew. After a few bites, she put her spoon down. Mama frowned. “You have to eat, Hildemara.”

“She hasn’t eaten much of anything for a long time. Maybe her stomach isn’t up to it. Would you like something else, Hildemara? some soup?”

“Don’t baby her!” Mama leaned forward. “You’re down to skin and bones. You eat that food or you’ll be sitting in the hotel room while the rest of us go to the Christmas pageant.”

Head down, fighting tears, Hildemara picked up her spoon. Bernhard and Clotilde finished their dinner quickly and wanted to play. Hildemara still had half a bowl of stew left to eat. Papa took Bernhard and Clotilde outside. Mama sat watching her. “The meat, at least, Hildemara.” Leaning across the table, she poked through the bowl of stew, separating bits of meat and a few vegetables. “Eat this much and drink all of the milk.” Other families came in and ordered meals.