What the Moon Said (10 page)

At last, when Esther could not bear the quiet another second, Ma spoke. “You have disobeyed me,” she said. She said it so sadly that Esther couldn't help it. She did cry then.

“I'm sorry, Ma,” she sobbed. “I didn't want to. I just couldn't do what you wanted. I tried, but I couldn't. She's my friend. She's been my friend for all these months and nothing bad has happened. Don't you think you could be wrong just this once?” Esther pleaded.

“Nu!”
Ma exclaimed. “How can you say nothing bad has happened? You disobey me. You become a sneaky child I cannot trust. Are these not bad things?” Ma shook her head as if it were suddenly too heavy for her shoulders. “When I tell you something, it is for your own good. You are not to question.”

Esther hung her head, too miserable to speak.

Ma sighed. “You must be punished,” she said more quietly. “So you will remember to obey the next time. Look at me.”

Esther looked at Ma. She saw disappointment and sadness on Ma's face that she hoped never to see there again. “You will not go to the party tonight,” Ma said. Esther heard a gasp from the kitchen. “And from now on, you will stay away from Bethany. Do you understand?”

Esther nodded blindly. Tears spilled down her cheeks and splashed onto her dress.

That night, the family drove off to the party without her. Esther ran to her room, clutched Margaret to her heart, and threw herself onto her bed. She cried so hard that Mickey howled in distress on the porch. She cried because she was missing the party. She cried because she could never be friends with Bethany again. But most of all, she cried because she had disappointed Ma so terribly. Maybe she would never love Esther now.

November 8, 1930

Dear Julia,

I did it. I told Bethany we cannot be friends anymore. I did not tell her why. I could not tell her Ma says she is marked and dangerous! I just said that Ma had forbidden it. Bethany looked so sad. She ran into the outhouse. And when she came out, her eyes were all red. I felt awful. I still do. Now I spend recess reading at my desk while Bethany and the other girls play outside. It is very lonely. The only thing that cheers me up is thinking about you and Kate and Howard and little Henry coming for Thanksgiving. Mickey and I will show you all around the farm. I just hope it is nicer weather than it is today.

Esther raised her head and watched raindrops dribble down the kitchen window. She'd planned to ride Bruno around the pasture today. She was going to pretend they were leading a circus parade. Then the rain had come.

Even Esther's walk to the mailbox had ended badly, since she'd been so excited to find a letter from Julia that she ran into the kitchen without wiping her feet. Ma, who had just finished mopping the floor, started to scold about muddy footprints. Then she spotted the open umbrella Esther still held in her hand.

“Nu!”
She shook her finger at Esther. “Close that umbrella right now! You know you call bad luck into our house when you bring an open umbrella inside.”

“I'm sorry, Ma!” Esther cried, dropping the letter on the table and struggling to snap the umbrella shut. Ma took it from Esther and marched over to the door. She put the umbrella on the back porch and then, for the second time that morning, scrubbed furiously at the patch of floor in front of it.

Esther slunk away to her bedroom to read Julia's letter about baby Henry, her job at the telephone company, and how they were all counting the days until Thanksgiving. But it was too chilly to stay up in her room for long, so now Esther was downstairs again, hoping against hope that the rain would stop before the entire day was wasted.

She watched Walter shoot a marble across the parlor floor, trying to get it inside a circle of string. She looked across the table at Violet sketching dresses on the backs of old envelopes. Everyone had something fun to do but her. If only there were a library in town. In Chicago, Esther always had books to read. A rainy day like this one was perfect for reading. Esther sighed. A moment later, her stomach rumbled.

“Can I have a slice of bread, Ma?” she asked. “I'm hungry.”

Ma was cutting off the tops of green peppers at the sink. She looked at Esther. “It will not be long until supper. Try to wait.”

Esther sighed again. Then she asked hopefully, “Are you making porcupines?”

“Almost porcupines,” Ma replied, lining the peppers upright in a pan.

“Almost?” Esther repeated. “How can they be ‘almost porcupines'?”

“They will have no meat inside, just rice and tomato,” Ma explained.

“Oh.” Esther didn't have to ask why. She already knew the answer. Money. The corn had indeed grown well, but prices had been low. The potatoes had done well, too, but some had to be kept for the family. And some were special seed potatoes to be planted in the spring. There were not as many potatoes left to sell as Pa would have liked.

Pa looked up from the paper he'd been figuring on. “We made just enough to pay the bills, nothing extra.” His voice sounded tired. “Maybe I did wrong to bring us here.” The creases in Pa's face looked deeper than usual.

“It is just one harvest,” Ma said. “We will find ways to manage. You will see. Next year will be better. It was not wrong to come here.”

Pa had already sold Blossom, the new calf he had hoped to keep. And he had sold all but two of the grown-up piglets. He traded one of the remaining two pigs to Mr. Brummel for bushels of barley. The other pig had been turned into ham and bacon for the family.

“I will have to sell the sow,” he said, dropping his pencil onto the table. “And then there will be no pigs to sell next fall.”

“With good crops we will not need the extra money,” Ma said.

Pa bobbled his head twice, but his mouth was still turned down at the corners. “Three of the cows are going dry now, too. We will lose most of the milk money for a while.”

“You are worrying about spring. Worry about something much nearer,” Ma suggested. “Thanksgiving. It will be our family's first time together in months. It must be perfect. But how, when we have so little?”

“We could go to the church dinner,” Esther suggested. “Then we'd just have to bring a few pies or a big bowl of potatoes.”

Ma shook her head. “We could do that if it were just us. But to bring another whole family of outsiders, no. It would not be right.”

Pa smiled at Ma. “You will manage, Anna. You always do.”

And somehow Ma did. Over the weeks that followed, she traded with their neighbors to get the foods she did not have. Jars of plum jam were traded for yams. Walnuts and jars of raspberry preserves were exchanged for apples and pumpkins. And instead of a turkey, she decided—much to Esther's delight—they would roast one of the geese.

But the night before a goose was to be sacrificed, Mr. Brummel brought another message from Julia. This time he was not smiling. The baby was sick with diphtheria. They could not think of coming. They would call again when they knew more.

“Oh, no,” Ma said, sinking onto the nearest chair and covering her mouth with her hands.

Esther felt cold all over. Diphtheria! People
died
of diphtheria.

The holiday was forgotten. All anyone could think of was the tiny baby none of them had even seen yet. He was so little. Would he be strong enough to fight off such a terrible illness?

That night before they went to bed, they all gathered in the parlor. Ma took the precious iron cross from the fireplace mantel and held it while Pa said a prayer asking for Henry Christian's recovery. Esther had never prayed so hard before. But would their prayers be enough to save the baby? Could the iron cross's protection stretch all the way to Chicago?

• • •

The next day, for the first time ever, Esther did not want to go to school. She wanted to be home when the next message came, and so did Violet and Walter. Ma and Pa understood and allowed them to stay home with them.

That was the longest day Esther could remember. The house was quiet, like it was holding its breath. There was no laughter, no chatter, just dragging footsteps and worried faces. Even Walter went about with serious eyes and a hushed voice.

Thanksgiving morning arrived, and still there was no word. But Pa was determined to be cheerful. “The baby will be all right,” he said at breakfast. “I have faith all will be well. You must all have faith, too.”

Ma sighed softly but nodded. Esther nodded, too. Pa was right. It was Thanksgiving Day—a day to count blessings. The baby was one of their blessings. They had to believe he would not be taken from them.

Ma began to clear the table. “I never made the pies,” she said suddenly.

Pa laughed. “And I never butchered the goose. I suppose we could just have one of the chickens now, since it will only be the five of us.” He directed a questioning look at Ma.

She puckered her mouth as she considered. “Maybe we should go to the church dinner after all,” she said slowly.

Pa was quick to nod. “That is a good idea. We will be with our neighbors.”

Esther looked at Violet and Walter. She saw them sit up straighter in anticipation. Suddenly it felt like a holiday.

Even though it was morning and the middle of the week, Ma brought in the tub. Quickly, quickly everyone bathed and dressed. Quickly, quickly Ma boiled and beat potatoes until they were light and fluffy. She cooked carrots and topped them with the last of the fresh butter she had been saving. Then she wrapped everything well in thick layers of old newspaper to keep it hot.

Pa carried the food out to the buggy. “Time to go,” he said.

Esther was waiting her turn to get into the buggy when she noticed something odd. “Ma,” she said, pointing at the sky. “It's the moon! And it's daytime. How can that be?”

Ma gazed up at the white circle in the bright blue sky. She frowned.

“What does it mean, Anna?” Pa asked anxiously.

“It means a change is coming,” she said.

“A good one or a bad one?” Violet asked.

Ma shook her head. “Just a change.” She looked at Pa. “It could be good or bad.”

Pa stood silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “Come,” he said, swinging Walter up into the front seat. “We don't want to be late.”

On the way to town, Esther tried not to think about the change that was coming. A sign that could mean a good or a bad thing seemed worse than no sign at all. You didn't know how to feel or what to think.

A change for little Henry could mean healing or . . . Esther would not let herself even think of what else it could mean. Instead, she looked at the empty fields. She remembered Pa walking through them last July before the rains finally came, clouds of dust rising from his footsteps. She remembered the long, hot days when the threshers had come. She remembered how she and Violet had carried in bushel after bushel of vegetables from the garden—food that Ma had planted and watered so all of them could eat through the winter.

Suddenly Esther understood how the pilgrims must have felt so long ago. Planting crops and harvesting them in a new land—that was what her family had done. Now the crops were safely gathered and, moon or no, it was time to give thanks.

Esther hardly recognized the church basement where Sunday school was always held. Today it was crammed with tables and people. At one end was the long serving table. On it there were four enormous turkeys. There were bowls and bowls of potatoes, vegetables, and stuffing. There were all kinds of rolls and breads. And best of all, there were pies of every description.

The babble of voices suddenly hushed. Reverend Phillips went to stand behind the serving table to say grace. He thanked God for a bountiful harvest and for friends, families, and health. Then he added, “And dear Father in heaven, we ask that you please watch over and heal the Vogels' new grandson, Henry Christian. Amen.”

Ma and Pa looked surprised but very, very pleased. “Brummel must have told the Reverend,” Pa said. “I will be sure to thank him. So many people's prayers added to ours!” He cleared his throat and shook his head. Then, with a quick wipe at his eyes, he gave a little laugh and said, “Enough. Let us eat.”

Esther followed Ma and Pa to the end of the food line. When it was their turn, Ma had to help Walter. But Esther and Violet could help themselves. Esther's mouth watered as she filled her plate with turkey, stuffing, vegetables, potatoes, gravy, and corn bread. Last of all she chose a big slice of apple pie. Then she followed Ma and Pa to one of the tables.

They were not really tables. They were long boards laid on top of sawhorses. Three or four families could fit around just one of them, they were so big. Ma and Pa went to the table where the Nielsons and Heggersmiths were sitting.

As she took her seat, Esther noticed Bethany and her family at the next table over. Automatically her heart gave a joyful leap that was followed at once by a sad thud. She had to stop thinking of Bethany as her friend. Esther was about to look away when Bethany glanced up and spotted her. Her dimples flashed in a grin that disappeared an instant later. It seemed that Bethany was having the same problem as Esther.

Esther sadly turned away. She spread her napkin on her lap. But then she couldn't help it. She stole another look at her old friend. Her eyes ran smack into Bethany's all over again. Esther flinched and looked away guiltily.

“So much good food,” Ma said to Mrs. Nielson.

“Yes. It truly is a Thanksgiving feast,” Mrs. Nielson agreed.

Wesley waggled his eyebrows at Esther and she grinned. She put a forkful of turkey into her mouth. Mmmm. It was delicious. She swallowed it quickly and took another, bigger forkful. Then she noticed Wesley stealthily spearing cherries from Thomas's pie and adding them to his own dessert plate. She giggled—and something horrible happened.

The turkey caught in Esther's throat. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. She opened her mouth and tried to gulp some air. But nothing happened. She grabbed at her throat. She tried to cough. She couldn't. Strangled choking sounds were all that would come from her throat.

Desperately Esther looked around for help. Didn't anyone see what was happening to her? But Ma and Pa were turned away, talking to the Nielsons. Violet was on the far side of Walter and didn't see her. And Walter had eyes only for his plate. Frantic, Esther shoved back her chair and staggered to her feet, clutching her throat.

She heard a faraway voice scream, “Help! Someone help Esther!” Then sound faded away. Esther's knees crumpled beneath her, and she floated away into velvety blackness . . .

• • •