The Bluebird and the Sparrow (23 page)
“I’ll pop in to give a hand when I can,” she promised. But after a day at the library, there seemed so little time left to help out at Glenna’s.
Berta felt her life was whirling out of control. She also felt that she had lost all of the spiritual ground she had gained over the previous months. It troubled her deeply.
“I am who I am,” she said wearily one evening as she prepared for bed, trying to find an acceptable excuse, but in her heart she knew she felt defeated by another hard day.
Her spoken words did little to make her feel any better.
“Mama’s much better.” Glenna announced the good news to Berta as they stood on the steps of the church watching little Rosie and their mother hand in hand, chatting with the minister.
“Her mind seems much clearer. Parker says it may have been a little stroke. But I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure. Sometimes these things happen.”
Berta looked again toward their mother. She did seem better. It was a great relief.
“Perhaps I can take her with—”
“Not yet,” Glenna interrupted. “Parker says she shouldn’t be moved—shouldn’t face another change just yet. We don’t want a setback.”
Berta was a bit annoyed. Were they thinking that living with her would cause her mother to relapse? Was her company really that intolerable?
“In a week or so—perhaps,” Glenna explained. “Parker thinks the children are good for her right now. They seem to brighten her up. She does enjoy them so.”
Berta nodded. She certainly couldn’t offer her mother children. Clearly Glenna was taking care of that.
She knew her sister’s next baby was due in a few days. “What will Mama do while you’re—indisposed?” she asked, seeking to keep the rancor out of her voice.
“Mrs. Rudi will be living in. Mama will be just fine.”
Berta nodded.
Better to have her with an unknown housekeeper than her own daughter?
she felt like commenting, but she bit her tongue.
“I’m glad she’s getting better,” Berta said instead and turned to go.
————
Glenna’s new baby was a boy. Berta thought it likely that everyone would compare him to Jamie. But there was really little likeness. At least in appearance. For some reason unknown to her, Berta was relieved. It would have been so hard to look at a little reminder of Jamie day after day.
Mrs. Berdette seemed to take on a new glow as she fussed over the little one.
“I think having a baby to care for is good for Mama,” Glenna said.
I hope you don’t plan on keeping her supplied,
Berta thought dourly.
Glenna had already produced four babies. In Berta’s thinking, that was quite enough.
“She loves to sit and rock him—and sing to him. It’s the first I’ve heard some of those little songs since I was a child. It’s so sweet,” Glenna commented.
Berta nodded.
You had more songs than I did,
she wished to tell Glenna.
Mama never cuddled me like she did you.
But Berta turned away.
————
“Where’s Mama?” Berta asked as she hung her coat in the hall closet at Glenna’s house and moved toward the kitchen.
“She’s rocking Tyrone.”
“Where are the girls?” asked Berta.
“Rosie is reading to Anna. Parker brought them some new books.”
“And Parker?” asked Berta tersely.
“He’ll be home soon. He’s making a check at the hospital. He had an appendectomy last night.”
“He had an appendectomy? My—he’s doing well—to be home so soon.”
Glenna just smiled at Berta’s bit of sarcasm.
“You know what I mean,” she said and led the way to the kitchen.
“Sounds like we’re all accounted for,” said Berta dryly.
“Well—not quite all,” replied Glenna as she busied herself with Christmas cooking at the big range with its enameled front. Berta had never seen such a fancy stove.
“Thomas is coming,” said Glenna matter-of-factly
Berta stopped dishing out the pickles.
“I thought Christmas was a family affair,” she said.
“It is. Family and guests. Occasionally I like to include a guest. Folks who don’t have family near. Pastor has been preaching on opening your door of hospitality.”
Berta had shut off that sermon, arguing that a single woman could not easily follow through on it anyway.
“And Parker says … ” continued Glenna.
If I hear “Parker says” one more time, I think I’ll scream,
thought Berta.
“ … that we don’t really have folks in our home often enough. He says I can get all the help I need—and he’ll do his best to be here. He misses male companionship. He enjoys Thomas.”
So it seemed to be settled. Berta turned back to the pickles. At least Glenna had not said she felt Thomas would make the perfect mate for Berta. For that Berta was thankful—but she still wondered if that wasn’t the plan.
———
“Mama would like to go out to the farm and pick up a few more things,” Glenna told Berta the next Sunday. “Parker is not free to go—and I hate to take little Tyrone out. Would you be free to help Mama?”
Berta nodded assent.
“Parker says the road right now is not to be trusted for an auto, but you are more than welcome to use his team and sleigh. Do you think Thomas would mind driving?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” retorted Berta.
Glenna smiled sweetly. “I’ll do that,” she said, seeming to take no offense.
It was a sunny, mild day in spite of the fact that the snow lay deep across the fields. Berta checked her mother to make sure that she was well bundled under the lap robes.
Parker’s team was spirited. Berta was glad she wasn’t doing the driving. Thomas held the reins with confidence and seemed to enjoy handling the team.
“This is nice,” Mrs. Berdette commented, looking about. “I miss the country.”
Berta soon realized what Parker meant by the road not being in any condition for a car. There were drifts of snow across the entire road in places, but they posed no problem to the team.
“I miss looking out at the fields,” mused Mrs. Berdette. “It isn’t the same to look at buildings. You can’t really see—anything.”
Berta could not help but be amused. Glenna’s home was in the best part of the city—with wide lawns and beautiful houses. What would her mother think if she was on one of the streets where the houses crowded in closely to one another?
The outing in the sharp country air seemed to loosen Mrs. Berdette’s tongue. She continued little discourses and comments the whole way. For the most part Berta just listened. Thomas and her mother seemed to be having a good chat about the neighbors who used to live at the various farms. Berta wondered how many of them were still inhabited by the original family members—and how many had been sold off to strangers.
“Glenna’s little ones are so sweet,” Mrs. Berdette suddenly interjected into the current topic.
Thomas nodded with a smile.
“You know, children can be so different,” went on Mrs. Berdette. “They each have their own personality from the day they are born.”
Thomas looked interested but said nothing.
“Rosie is such a little—mother. She busies herself looking after the two little ones. She fusses over little animals in the same way. Always taking care of things. Anna, now—she enjoys the fussing. She wants Rosie to wait on her hand and foot. Oh yes, she takes full advantage of Rosie’s willingness to do so.”
She chuckled, and Thomas joined her.
“Little Jamie was independent and outgoing right from the start. He picked his special people. Yes, he did. He favored certain folk—even certain family members. Little Tyrone now—he loves everyone—just like Glenna. I think he’ll be much like his mother. So warm and affectionate. A cuddler. I love to hold a cuddler. He just snuggles right down against you and seems to almost purr. Glenna was like that.”
Mrs. Berdette stopped and chuckled again.
“Not Berta,” she laughed. “Oh no, not Berta. Why, from the time she was newborn I couldn’t get her to cuddle. She wanted her independence. She’d rear back and push away from me and look around with those big eyes, just as though she was sizing up the world to determine exactly what she wanted from it. That was Berta.”
She laughed affectionately.
Berta stirred in her seat. Her mother’s comments were making her uncomfortable. She wondered if Thomas was feeling uncomfortable as well. He looked completely at ease. Berta wondered if she should speak or cough to remind her mother that she was still in the second seat of the sleigh.
“Well—I’ve always felt that you had to let a child be who he is. Oh, you try to shape him to be the best person he can be—and you pray—that God will help with the shaping. But you can’t force a child to be—like someone else. You can’t. And you can’t compare him to someone else, either. It’s like oranges and apples. You have to measure and love each child for who he is.”
Thomas nodded. “Sounds wise to me,” he responded.
“Take our two girls,” Mrs. Berdette continued, and Berta squirmed again. She was not enjoying her mother’s chatter.
“They were different from day one. And the same traits that I saw in them as infants, I still see now. Berta’s always been strong and independent. Capable. My—how many times I’ve leaned on Berta.”
Stop it,
Berta wanted to say.
Stop it, Mama. This whole rambling conversation is an embarrassment.
“I needed Berta—so many times over the years—and I’ve thanked God for her so often. A no-nonsense child. A no-nonsense woman. She always was able—”
She stopped. Berta fervently hoped she would not go on.
“Now, Glenna,” said her mother and her voice took on sparkle. “Glenna was my sunshine. She made life better by just being there. Everyone loved Glenna.”
“She must have been a beautiful child,” commented Thomas.
“Oh—she was. No one could deny that. But it was more than her—cuteness. You know, I’ve seen some pretty children that one couldn’t stand to even be around. No—it wasn’t the prettiness. It was the—attitude. Yes, attitude. Even a child can have an attitude.” She paused a moment, then said, “I’ve never really thought of it that way before—but, of course, they have an attitude. That’s what makes us all different, don’t you think? Our attitude.”
“I guess that’s a good part of it, all right,” agreed Thomas.
“Yes,” mused Mrs. Berdette. “That’s it. Tw o people could look just alike—yet be different. I knew a set of twins once—couldn’t have looked more alike. One was bright and cheery—the other sullen and—and cross all the time. Then she couldn’t figure out why the other twin had all the friends.”
Mrs. Berdette chuckled again.
“As a child, I wondered about it, too,” she went on. “Now I know.”
“Attitude,” said Thomas.
“You know,” said Mrs. Berdette, her voice and expression alive with excitement that she had hit on one of the secrets of life. “I’ll wager—no, I wouldn’t wager—what does one say in place of that word? Anyway, I’m sure—quite sure—that it really doesn’t matter that much what one has—or even how one looks—it’s attitude that determines what your life will be.”
Thomas nodded.
“How one sees God,” said Mrs. Berdette softly. It was as though she had forgotten both Thomas and Berta and was working things through for herself. “How one sees God—that’s so important. We have to see things as God sees them. We have to learn how to—to agree with Him—on everything.”
She paused, then said, “And how one thinks of others. We have to see others as God sees them. That’s it. If you get that all straightened out—then you’ll have the right attitude about yourself. That’s it.”
She turned to Thomas. “You know,” she said, “I think that’s a much easier lesson for some people than for others.”
Thomas nodded again. Berta was thankful they were turning in at the farm gate.
———
It didn’t take long for Berta to help her mother gather up the things she had come to collect. The unused house was cold, and they were all anxious to get back to town. A slight wind had come up and the day was getting more blustery.
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Berdette as they were about to leave. “I need my medicine.”
“What medicine?” asked Berta. “I didn’t know you were taking medicine.”
“Oh—not real medicine. Just herbs,” said her mother and went off to the medicine chest to pick up what she wanted.
Berta tucked the bottles in the bag with the knitting materials and hurried her mother out the door to the waiting sleigh.
Much to Berta’s relief, the trip back to town was a quieter one.
In spite of her determination to push the thoughts from her mind, Berta could not help but ponder her mother’s comments to Thomas on their trip to the farm. In the days that followed, questions kept coming to the surface of her mind. Was it really attitude? Or was it circumstances that shaped a life? She had always felt her attitude had been formed by the fact that she had been born plain, while her baby sister had been born beautiful. Wasn’t that the issue? Wasn’t that why she’d had to fight her way through life? People just gravitated to attractive things. And to attractive persons. People shunned her. Well, no. They didn’t shun her, but they certainly didn’t make over her like they had over her baby sister.
Dependable. That’s what her mother had said of her. Well, she’d really had no choice. That’s all there was left for her to be. She couldn’t change her plain looks. She couldn’t become sparkly and bright like Glenna.
Wasn’t that part of what her mother had said? You were who you were. Even parents couldn’t change that.
Yes—she was Berta. Shaped by her circumstance.
Or was it by her attitude toward her circumstance? She couldn’t seem to sort it out.
“Do you think our past shapes us?” she asked Thomas as they walked home from the morning service together.
“Shapes us?”
“Influences who we become?”
There was silence while Thomas worked through his answer.
“Yes—of course—but not totally,” he responded at last.
“What do you mean?” He didn’t sound any more conclusive than she had been. Berta had wanted some solid answers.