Marta's Legacy Collection (40 page)

“No.”

Hildie fell asleep on the couch. She awakened with the moonlight streaming through the window. She thought she heard someone screaming outside. She rose quickly and looked in on Mama. She wasn’t in her bed. Throwing on her coat, she flew out the back door. The screaming came from the orchard. Bernie stood in the yard. “Is it Mama?”

“Yes.” He caught her by the arm. “Leave her alone. She has to get it out someway.” She could see the sheen of tears on his face. “She’s held it in too long. Let her scream. Let her pound on the earth.”

Hildemara could hear her. “She’s cursing God.”

“For tonight, and then she’ll be holding on to Him when she’s finished. Go on back to the house. She’ll come in when she’s ready.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Papa told me to watch over her.”

35

1941

Papa hadn’t been in his grave a week before Mama went back to work. She got up at dawn and made the coffee, then went out to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and collect eggs. Cloe went back to Hollywood. Rikka went back to school. Bernie saw to the business of the farm. Elizabeth tended the flats of seedlings in the lattice nursery and kept the vegetable garden weeded and bug-free.

People continued to come to visit, and everyone brought something: casseroles; cakes; German potato salad; small jars of homemade jams and jellies; pickled watermelon rinds; large jars of apricots, peaches, and cherries. Over the years, Mama had taken gifts to families in need, and now she reaped what she had sowed in kindness.

Edgy with nothing to do, Hildemara set to work on the house. She scrubbed the kitchen floor, took everything out of the cabinets and scrubbed the shelves, scoured the stove and sink. She scraped peeling paint and decided it was time to freshen things up a little. She used some of her savings to buy a cheerful yellow paint, the same color Mama had originally chosen and which had faded over the years. Elizabeth had made pretty curtains for the cottage. Why shouldn’t Mama have some? Hildemara bought fabric and enlisted Elizabeth’s help in redoing the living room, kitchen, and bedroom curtains. She added lacy sheers so Mama could open the windows and not have dust blow in or sunlight fade the sofa after she and Elizabeth recovered it with a chintz slipcover. She made pretty decorative pillows of blue and yellow with lacy edges. Mama had never had any before.

Mama still cooked. Hildemara sent away for a Quaker lace tablecloth. She put a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table every few days.

If Mama noticed any of the changes, she never said. Hildemara didn’t know whether it lightened Mama’s grief or not.

She took out the ragbag and started work on an area rug. The mix of colors would brighten the living room. When she wrote to Cloe and told her what she planned, Cloe sent a box of fabric pieces. The work filled Hildemara’s long, quiet evenings. She had to work or she couldn’t sleep. She grieved over Papa, worried about Mama.

And she couldn’t get Trip out of her head.

Even when she fell exhausted into bed, she had trouble sleeping. She’d lie awake, wondering what he was doing, if he had met someone. Of course, he would. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t leave Mama by herself.

Mama put her book down one evening and shook her head. “That rug will take months to finish, Hildemara. Why did you start it?”

“Because it’ll brighten the living room. Look at all the colors, Mama. If we went to the movies, we’d see some of these fabrics in costumes. Rikka is going to paint a picture of the Alps for you. We’ll hang it right there on the wall. It’ll add—”

“This is my house, Hildemara. Not yours.”

Hildie gasped as she stabbed her finger with the needle. Wincing, she sucked at the wound. “I know, Mama. I’m only trying to fix things up a bit, make it more—”

“I like the yellow walls. I like the new curtains. But enough is enough.”

“You don’t want the rug?” Hildemara couldn’t stop the hurt from rising inside her. “What am I supposed to do with all this—?”

“Just leave it in the box.”

“The rug is—”

“Big enough for under the sink.”

Hildemara’s eyes flooded. “What are you trying to say, Mama?” She knew, but she wanted to hear it aloud. She wanted it out in the open.

“I don’t need a servant, Hildemara. And I certainly don’t need a nurse!”

Her words cut deeply. “You don’t need me. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

Emotion rippled across Mama’s face, like a storm over water, and then her face hardened. “All right, Hildemara Rose. If that’s what it takes, I will say it. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here. The sooner you leave, the better for both of us!”

Leave? And go where?
Hildemara’s face crumpled. “You were the one who asked me to come home!”

“To take care of Papa! And you did, and he’s gone now. I can take care of myself!”

“I only want to help.”

“No. You want to play the martyr.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what else could it be? Why stay two months, and do all the things you’ve always hated?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone!” She burst into tears.

“Last time I looked, Bernie and Elizabeth lived a few hundred feet from my back door.” Mama gripped the arms of her chair. “You trained to be a nurse. You told me that’s what you wanted to do with your life! So why are you still here? Why haven’t you gone back to nursing? You had your own life before I asked for your help. Your help isn’t needed anymore. Why are you still here?” She rose, face twisting.
“Go live your life and let me get on with mine!”
She went into the bedroom she had shared with Papa and slammed the door.

Dumping the rug into the remnant box, Hildemara ran out the back door and into Bernie’s old bedroom. Covering her head, she sobbed.
Go back? Go back to what?
She’d ended things with Trip. If there had ever been a chance for happiness, it had ended that day he came to the memorial service. If she went back to Merritt, she might see him again. Some other girl would have certainly said yes. How could she bear to see him again? And now Mama showed her true feelings. Mama couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

What had she expected?

Packing her suitcases, she took a shower and went over to talk to Bernie and Elizabeth. “I need a ride in the morning.”

“Where you going?”

“Back to Oakland.”

She couldn’t sleep that night. She went into the kitchen and fixed the coffee.

Mama came out. “You’re up early.”

“I’m leaving this morning.”

“You want something to eat before you go?”

If Hildie had hoped Mama would change her mind, she had her answer. “No, thank you.”

Mama poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’ll get dressed and drive you to the bus station.”

“Bernie’s taking me.”

“Oh.” She sat and let out a long breath. “Well, suit yourself.”

When it was time to leave, Hildemara stood in the back doorway. “Good-bye, Mama.”

“Write.”

As Bernie turned out on the road going by the front of the house, she saw Mama standing on the porch. She lifted her hand. Hildie felt little comfort in the small gesture.

“Sorry, Hildie.” Bernie drove like Mama—fast, confident, head up with eyes straight ahead. “Are you going to be okay?” He gave her a quick glance.

“Right as rain.” Miss Jones had said she would hold her job. As to the rest, she would have to wait and see how much suffering she could bear before she ran.

With Boots gone, Hildie had no place to live. Mrs. Kaufman gave her a place at Farrelly Hall. “You can stay as long as you need, Hildemara.” The sleeping porch was hardly a place to call home, but Hildie felt comfortable there. She would have to ask around and see if anyone needed a roommate.

Jones put her right to work. “We’ve been shorthanded, and it’ll get worse if we go to war. We can’t ignore Hitler forever, and the Army will need nurses.”

Hildie dove into work. She felt useful again. Mama may not need her, but plenty of others did. And she loved her work; she loved her patients; she took extra shifts and worked six days a week.

Boots called from Los Angeles. “What are you doing in Farrelly Hall? I thought you’d be married to Trip by now.”

“I haven’t seen Trip.”

“Are you hiding out on ward duty?”

“It’s been a long time, Boots. I doubt he remembers me.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

Standing at the nurses’ station a couple mornings later, Hildemara heard a thump as someone hit the double doors and swung them open. Her heart jumped when she saw Trip striding down the corridor. He looked mad. She hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him since returning to Merritt two weeks before. She had avoided the cafeteria for fear of running into him. “Hello, Trip. How are you?”

He caught her by the wrist and kept walking. “Excuse us, ladies.” He half dragged her down the hall, opened a linen closet, and pulled her inside.

“Trip, I . . .”

He kicked the door shut behind him, hugged her to him, and then kissed her. Her nursing cap came askew, dangling by a bobby pin. When he lifted his head, she tried to say something, and he kissed her again, deeper this time. He held her so close she didn’t have to wonder what he was feeling. Her toes curled in her white oxfords. They bumped against a shelf. He drew back. “Sorry.”

Breathless, he looked down at her. He was about to kiss her again when someone tapped on the door. “Careful of the linen in there!” Jones’s rubber soles squeaked down the hall.

“Marry me.”

“Okay.”

His breath came out sharply. “Okay?”

“Yes.” She stepped forward and dug her hands into his hair. “Yes. Please.” She pulled his head down. “Don’t stop.”

He caught her wrists and pulled her hands down. “I hoped to get this welcome in Murietta.” His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin. “You gave me the impression you weren’t coming back at all.” His eyes darkened. “Boots called.”

“I’ll have to thank her.”

“Mama doesn’t need you anymore?” He taunted her gently, putting her cap back on her head, trying to make repairs. Her heart hammered.

“Mama kicked me out.”

“God bless Mama.” He cupped her cheek tenderly, then ran his thumb lightly over her swollen lips. “I’m going to write her a thank-you letter.” He kissed her again, as though he couldn’t help himself.

No tap this time, but a firm rap of hard knuckles. “That’s enough, Mr. Arundel. We have work to do around here.”

Trip opened the door. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Get that cheeky grin off your face and get off my ward.” She looked Hildemara over. “Fix your hair. What? No ring?” She called after Trip. “You do have honorable intentions, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Laughing, he hit the door again and disappeared.

Hildie laughed, too, exultant.

Trip wanted to buy a diamond solitaire, but Hildie talked him out of it. “I can’t wear it to work. Fancy rings carry bacteria, and a solitaire would catch on linens when I change beds.” He picked a platinum wedding band lined with tiny diamonds instead. They would have a small church wedding in Oakland right after school let out in June.

Trip took another part-time job washing windows to save money for a house. Hildemara took extra shifts. They hardly saw one another, except when they went to church together every Sunday.

As the weeks passed, Hildie began to feel lethargic. She had chills during the day and bundled into a sweater. She had night sweats. Trip put his hand against her forehead one evening. “You’re hot.”

“I’m probably getting a cold or something.”

Trip took her back to the apartment she shared with a pulmonary ward nurse. He insisted she stop working so hard and take at least two days off a week. She cut back on her hours, but still didn’t seem to feel rested. When Trip took her bowling, Hildie could hardly lift the ball and roll it down the alley. Twice, she dumped it and watched it roll slow motion down the gutter. “Sorry. I’m just too tired tonight.”

“Taking care of your father took a lot out of you, Hildie.” Trip wove his fingers with hers. “You’ve lost more weight since you got back.”

She knew and had been trying to eat more. Her chest ached. She couldn’t seem to get a full breath. Depressed, she took a few days off. Trip came by and opened cans of chicken soup. “No more extra shifts, Hildie. Promise me. You look exhausted.”

“Stop worrying, Trip.”

Jones scowled when she came on ward after a few days’ rest. “Go downstairs right now and see the staff physician.” She picked up the telephone. “Go on, Hildemara. I’m calling him right now and telling him you’re on the way.”

The doctor put his stethoscope against her chest. He reviewed her symptoms. She found it difficult to fill her lungs with air. It hurt to breathe. He thumped her chest and listened again, looking grim. “Pleural effusion.” Fluid on the lungs.

“Pneumonia?”

He wouldn’t answer, and Hildemara felt cold shock race through her body. When he checked her into the hospital and ordered X-rays, she didn’t protest. She couldn’t get Mr. Douglas off her mind, and there had been two other patients she had tended since then who had been transferred out of the medical ward into quarantine.