Her Mother's Hope (25 page)

Wilhelm laughed. “Go ahead.” He pried Hedda off their son and held him at arm’s length. “Look how tan and fit he looks!” Hedda grabbed and hugged him again, tears running down her cheeks.

Fritz turned beet red. “Ah, Mama. Don’t call me Fritzie.”

Bernie laughed. “Fritzie! Hey, Fritzie!”

Mama took the Herkners inside for coffee and angel food cake. It had taken twelve egg whites to make it. Papa had wanted a slice, but Mama said he would have to wait. “It’s not polite to serve leftovers to guests.” She had made Papa custard with the yolks.

The Herkners didn’t stay long. Fritz looked as miserable as the first day he arrived, but at least he didn’t shed a tear. Bernie needled him mercilessly. “Fritzie. Oh, Fritzie.”

“See if I come back.”

“Who invited you in the first place?”

“Your mother.”

Cloe joined in the heckling. “Poor Mama didn’t know what she was getting.”

Hildemara laughed. “You’ve been nothing but a big pain in the neck.”

“And you’re nothing but a
girl
.”

Mr. Herkner put the car in gear. “We’d better get out of here!”

“Whiner!” Bernie called out, running alongside the car.

“Toad-faced pollywog!” Fritz yelled back.

The black car paused briefly at the end of the driveway and then pulled out onto the road. The car picked up speed. Fritz leaned out the window and waved.

Bernie scuffed his bare toes through the dust. “Summer’s over.” Shoulders hunched, he headed off to do his chores.

24

Sometimes Mama would invite a dusty, tired-looking salesman into the house. She’d make a sandwich, brew some coffee, and sit awhile listening to his sad story. Hildemara listened while studying the American history books Mama brought from the library. She and Papa had to pass a citizenship test, and Mama decided the children should learn everything too.

Mama made everyone but Rikka memorize the Bill of Rights and Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. She drilled them on the Constitution and the amendments. “Rikka doesn’t have to be naturalized. She’s a citizen by birth.” She poked Rikka’s nose. “But don’t think that gets you off the hook. You’re going to learn all this so when you’re older, you won’t be like most natural-born Americans taking their freedom for granted, not even bothering to vote and then complaining about everything.”

Sometimes, just to get away from Mama’s demands, Hildemara climbed the chinaberry tree in the front yard and hid among the leafy branches. Almost twelve years old, she liked to be high up where she could see her world.

Mama opened a window and Hildemara heard the rapid clicking as Cloe pumped the sewing machine. She had started another sewing project, a dress for Rikki this time. Rikki sat on the front steps, holding a jar with a captured butterfly inside. She studied it intently, a drawing pad and pencil beside her. Hildemara knew her sister would open the jar when she finished her drawing and release the butterfly. She hadn’t kept one more than a few hours after Papa told her some only lived a few days. Papa led the horses into the barn. Bernie went into the shower house. Across the street, the Musashi girls weeded among rows of strawberries.

Leaning back against the trunk, she listened to the hum of insects, rustling of leaves, and birdsong. Everyone seemed to have his place in life. Papa loved farming. Mama managed the house, bills, and kids. Bernie dreamed of grafting trees and improving plant production like Luther Burbank. Mama said Clotilde had the talent to be a better seamstress than her own mother. Rikki would be an artist.

Hildie felt content sitting in the tree, staying at home on the farm, being near Mama and Papa, even when Mama became annoyed that she didn’t “find something to do!”

Mama opened the front door. “Come on down from there, Hildemara. Time to stop daydreaming. There’s work to be done.”

Lucas Kutchner, another German immigrant, came to dinner again that evening. Papa had met him in town, where he made his living as a mechanic. He worked on bicycles and cars and anything else that broke down, including pumps and clocks. “He can fix anything,” Papa told Mama when introducing them for the first time. Mr. Kutchner didn’t have a wife and didn’t know many people in town.

Papa and he sat at the kitchen table and talked about politics and religion, railroads and cars replacing wagons, while Mama cooked dinner. Sometimes Mr. Kutchner would bring clothing that needed mending and let Clotilde sew on a button or stitch a seam back together.

Mr. Kutchner believed in the same rules Mama did and never came empty-handed. He brought a box of chocolates the first time, which endeared him to Mama. He brought a bag of licorice on the next visit. He had an automobile like the Herkners, and he let Bernie sit behind the steering wheel and pretend to drive. Mr. Kutchner took Papa out for a ride once. Papa wiped sweat and dust off his face when he got out. Mr. Kutchner slapped the hood. “So what do you think, Niclas? Are you ready to buy one? I could get you a good deal.”

“I have two good horses and two good feet. I don’t need a car.” Papa said it with such conviction, Mr. Kutchner didn’t bring up the subject again.

Mama went to town one day and came back in the front seat of Lucas Kutchner’s car, Rikka sitting on her lap. She pushed the door open and got out, setting Rikka on the ground. Hildemara stood from where she had been working in the garden. Mama looked flushed, her eyes bright. “Hildemara! Come look after your sister.” Bernie stopped digging the big hole for the water reserve near the garden. He jammed the shovel in the ground and came out to take a look.

The car chugged several times, coughed once, and died.

Mr. Kutchner got out, a big grin on his face. “So what do you think of her, Marta?”

Mama’s expression changed. She shrugged as she faced him. “Not much. That thing wheezes and grunts more than any sick animal I’ve ever tended.”

Mr. Kutchner looked surprised. “She needs a little work, but I can fix her up. I’ll give you a good price.”

Hildie told Rikka to go in the house and get her sketchbook, then followed Bernie into the yard. “Are you buying that car, Mama?”

“A horse runs better!”

“A car runs faster and goes longer!”

Mama gave Bernie a quelling glance, but his eyes were fixed on the shiny black Tin Lizzie. “Did I ask for your opinion, Bernhard Waltert?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Go on back to your digging.”

Bernie let out a deep sigh of suffering and headed back. Rikka and Cloe came out the back door and sat on the step.

Mama put her hands on her hips. “I don’t like the look of those tires either.”

“They just need more air.”

“I wouldn’t buy a car without new tires.”

“Tires cost money.”

“So does tailoring and mending. So do roast beef dinners. Not that you’re not always welcome, of course.”

Mr. Kutchner scratched his head and looked befuddled. Mama smirked, but quickly covered it. She walked over to the car and ran her hand over the hood the same way she ran her hand over a sick cow. Hildie knew Mama had already made up her mind. She just had more whittling to do on the price. Mr. Kutchner saw the way she stroked the car and knew he had a buyer. “I’ll have her purring like a kitten.”

Mama took her hand away and looked him straight in the eye. “Get her to work like a Swiss watch and we’ll talk about it. And another thing, Lucas. You and I both know that car isn’t worth what you’re asking for it. Maybe you should try selling this car to Niclas again. See what he says about your offer.” She headed for the house. “Thank you for the ride, Lucas. Nice you just happened to see me walking home. Providential, wasn’t it?”

“All right!” Mr. Kutchner called out. “Wait a minute!” He started after her. “Let’s talk about it now.”

Mama stopped and turned slowly, cocking her head. “Go get potatoes and carrots for dinner, Hildemara.”

Hildemara took her time pulling up potatoes and carrots while keeping an eye on Mama, wondering what Papa would have to say about her conversation with Lucas Kutchner. When they shook hands, Hildemara knew what that meant. Mr. Kutchner headed back for the car, kicking the dust before he got in and started the engine. Mama waved. When he pulled out onto the road, she danced a little jig and laughed.

Lifting the basket of dirty potatoes and carrots, Hildemara met her at the back door. Cloe stood up from the step where she’d been sitting. “Papa’s going to kill you.”

“Not if I kill myself first.”

“Did you do it?” Bernie yelled.

Bernie just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. As soon as Papa took his seat, Bernie grinned. “Have you told him about the car yet?”

Papa’s head came up. “What car?”

“Lucas Kutchner gave Mama a ride home in his car today. He was trying to sell it to her.” He took a helping of potatoes
au gratin
. “It can go up to twenty-five miles an hour!”

“I don’t think Lucas was driving anywhere near that fast when he brought me and Rikka home.”

Red climbed up Papa’s neck into his face. He put his knife and fork down and stared at Mama while she cut meat off her chicken thigh. Hildemara bit her lip and looked between them.

“We don’t need a car, Marta. We don’t have the money for one.”

“You said we didn’t need a washing machine. I’d still be using that bucket if I hadn’t saved the two dollars myself.”

“A washing machine doesn’t need gas and tires!”

“Just elbow grease.”

“A washing machine doesn’t need a mechanic to keep it working.”

“You know how to repair locomotives.”

Papa’s voice kept rising. “A washing machine won’t run you into a tree or a ditch or turn over and crush you to death in a pile of twisted metal!”

Rikka started to cry. “Mama, don’t buy that car.”

Mama told Bernie to pass the carrots. “Not one dollar has passed from my hand into Lucas’s.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Papa sounded relieved, but not fully convinced. He kept a cautious eye on her as he ate.

Mama tucked a forkful of potatoes
au gratin
into her mouth and chewed, looking at the ceiling. Papa frowned. “I had one ride in that contraption of his and saw my life passing before my eyes.”

Mama sniffed. “I grant you, Lucas isn’t much of a driver. Maybe if he watched the road more and talked less . . .”

Papa froze. “What do you know about driving?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She picked up a roll and began buttering it. “Yet.” She lifted the roll toward her mouth. “It doesn’t look all that difficult.”

“I hear it feels like you’re riding the wind!” Bernie couldn’t help himself.

Papa snorted. “It’s more like death breathing in your face.”

Mama laughed.

“What did Mr. Kutchner want for the car, Mama?”

Papa glared at Bernie. “Eat your supper! It doesn’t matter what Lucas wants. We’re not buying! We have two good horses and a wagon! That’s all we need.” Papa looked angry.

Mama lifted her hands in a light gesture. “Why don’t we take a vote?”

“Aye!” Bernie called out. Cloe and Rikka raised their hands, not looking at Papa’s face.

“What about you, Hildemara?”

She looked at her father. “I’ll abstain.”

“You would.” Mama glowered at her. Sawing off another piece of meat from the chicken thigh, she lifted it toward her mouth. “Doesn’t matter. Ayes win without you.”

“It’s only a democracy around here when you know which way the vote will go,” Papa grumbled. “I hope you don’t kill yourself or any of our children driving that thing.”

* * *

Lucas Kutchner came out to the farm after school on Friday, Mama in the passenger seat. Rikka climbed down from the front seat. Bernie and Hildemara ran into the yard to hear what Mama might say. Papa came out of the barn and stood watching, arms akimbo. Mr. Kutchner called out a hello, but Papa turned and went back into the barn. Wincing, Mr. Kutchner turned back to Mama as she walked around the car. “Well? What do you think?”

“Niclas said you were a good mechanic.”

“New tires, too.” He kicked one.

“So I see.”

“The price is good.”

“The price is fair.”

“It’s better than fair. This is the best deal you’ll ever make in your whole life.”

“I doubt that. Just one last thing, Lucas.”

Mr. Kutchner looked dubious and put-upon. “What now?”

“You have to teach me to drive.”

“Oh!” Mr. Kutchner laughed loudly. “Well, get behind the wheel! There’s nothing to it.”

Papa came back out. “Marta!” he called in sharp warning.

She slid into the driver’s seat and put her hands on the wheel. “Watch out for your sister, Hildemara, and stay back. I don’t want to drive over anyone.”

“Marta!”

“Go curry your horses!” Mama started the car.

Cloe charged out the back door. “Is she going to do it? Is she?”

“Stay back!” Papa shouted.

The Tin Lizzie screeched in protest. Startled, Rikka covered her ears and screamed. Mr. Kutchner yelled something. The car jerked forward a couple of times and died. Papa laughed. “I hope you didn’t buy it!”

Mama’s face reddened. She started the car again—more screeching and grinding. Mr. Kutchner called out more instructions. “Easy now. Let your foot off the clutch and give her some gas!” The car lurched forward and bounded toward the road like a jackrabbit. “Brake!” The car skidded to a stop at the end of the drive.

Hildemara had never heard Papa swear before. “Marta! Stop! You’re going to kill yourself!”

Mama stuck her arm out the window, waved, and turned right. The car lurched down the road; Papa, Bernie, Clotilde, and Rikka ran to the end of the driveway. Hildemara climbed the chinaberry tree, where she could keep watch. The car picked up speed. “She’s all right, Papa! They’re going over the hill right now. They’re still on the road.”

Papa dragged both hands through his hair. He walked in a circle, muttering in German. “Pray your mother doesn’t kill herself!” He headed back for the barn.

Bernie and the girls sat on the front steps, waiting.

“Here they come!” Hildemara shouted from the top of the tree. Bernie and the girls ran to the edge of the lawn. Hildemara came down the tree fast and joined the others.

Mama whizzed by, waving her hand out the window, Mr. Kutchner shouting. “Slow down! Slow down!” And off they went in the opposite direction.

Hildemara raced up the tree again while Bernie and Cloe jumped up and down, cheering. “We have a car! We have a car!” Dash, confused, barked wildly.

Standing on tiptoes on a high branch, Hildemara craned her neck, trying to keep the car in sight, afraid any minute Mama would drive off the road and Papa’s prophecy might prove true. “Here she comes again!” Hildemara made it down the tree and ran with the others to the edge of the grass.

The car raced toward them. Mr. Kutchner, face white, was yelling instructions. Slowing, Mama turned in to the driveway, a wide grin on her face. Hildemara joined Bernie and the girls running for the yard.

“Don’t get in her way!” Papa shouted. “Give her room!”

Dash gave chase until Mama honked the horn. He let out a yip and ran for the barn, tail between his legs. The chickens squawked and fluttered wildly in the henhouse.

“Brake!” Mr. Kutchner yelled.
“Push the brake!”
The car jerked to a stop, shook violently like an animal run hard and worn-out. Sputtering, it coughed once and died.

Mama got out with a grin broader than Bernie’s. Mr. Kutchner got out on wobbly legs, wiped his perspiring face with a handkerchief, and shook his head. He swore in German.

Mama laughed. “Well, there isn’t much to it, is there? Once you learn how to use the clutch, the rest is easy. Just push down hard on the gas pedal.”