Marta admonished herself. She had no patience for self-pity in others. She despised it in herself. She had started her journey alone, hadn’t she?
“Look at the birds, Liebling. An eagle flies alone,” Mama had told her so many years ago. All right. Life wasn’t fair. So what? Life was difficult. It didn’t mean she had to become a grumbling old woman dragging her feet all day. She would mount up with wings as an eagle. She would run and not grow weary; she would walk and not faint. She would fly alone and trust God to keep her spirit airborne. Consider it all joy.
She had plenty of blessings to count. Her children had grown strong and flown off to build their own nests and families. Bernhard and Elizabeth’s nursery in Sacramento was doing well. Movie companies pursued Clotilde for her expertise in costume design. Rikka, dreamy and lovely as ever, still had Melvin dangling. How long before that poor young man realized Rikka loved art more than any man?
Only Hildemara still troubled her. Marta had no peace about Hildemara. Her eldest daughter hadn’t looked well the last time Marta saw her. And how many months ago had that been? Of course, everything could have changed for the better by now. Of the four, Hildemara shared the least about her life. She kept a distance. Or did Marta just imagine that?
She missed Hildemara terribly, but if her daughter wanted to keep a distance, so be it. Marta wouldn’t poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. At least Hildemara knew how to take care of herself, especially if she’d learned keeping up a house wasn’t as important as taking care of her health.
Shaking her head, Marta chuckled, remembering how Hildemara had come home from nursing school and spent her vacation scouring and scrubbing everything in sight—floors, walls, counters, shelves. She’d been obsessed with ridding the farmhouse of germs, as if that were possible. Marta had been insulted at the time, annoyed past enduring.
Her mind often went back to the day Hildemara had left home. Marta had pushed her hard that day. She’d hurt her girl and made her good and angry. Hildemara had never done anything easily, and stirring her anger had served Marta well in motivating the girl. If she got Hildemara mad enough, her daughter forgot her fear. But now she wondered if the anger lingered, even after the blessings became apparent. She hoped that wasn’t true.
Hadn’t anger had its way with her as well? Would she have left Steffisburg if she hadn’t been raging mad at her father? Or had it been pride?
Her girl had been a godsend during Niclas’s illness. Hildemara had proven her great worth during those last difficult months. She’d been knowledgeable, efficient, overflowing with compassion. She hadn’t allowed her emotions to rule. She had been like the balm of Gilead in the house. Once or twice, she had stood up to Marta as she guarded her patient. It couldn’t have been easy on Hildemara to watch her papa die. Marta was proud of her.
It had been in the weeks that followed Niclas’s death that Marta had recognized the growing threat to both her and her daughter. Hildemara had remained to keep her company, to serve, and Marta had drawn comfort from it. She had become used to Hildemara doing for her. God had opened her eyes to it, and she’d been furious. Marta, who had sworn never to become a servant, was making her daughter into one. Her conscience rubbed her raw. Mama had set her free. Would she now cage Hildemara? What did an able-bodied woman need with a nurse? Mortified, she saw how Hildemara cooked and cleaned and fetched and carried. Only the constant activity and search for new things to do revealed the inner turmoil inside her girl. And it had come to Marta like a blow.
Hildemara doesn’t belong here! Cut her loose!
The more Marta considered the truth of it, the angrier she’d become—at herself, more than Hildemara. It shamed her now to remember how long it had taken to do what was right. She had pushed Hildemara right out the door. It broke her heart, but a good mother teaches her children to fly.
Some, like her sister, Elise, never even spread their wings. Others, like Hildemara, had to be shoved to the edge before they’d take wing. Marta regretted pressing her daughter so hard, but if she hadn’t, where would they be now? She, sitting like the queen of Sheba in her rocker, reading for the pure pleasure of it while Hildemara worked her fingers to the bone on that wretched rag rug? God forbid!
If only she’d been able to send Hildemara off in Mama’s gentle way, with words of blessing rather than a lie: “I don’t want you here.”
Marta had often been amazed at the differences between herself and her eldest daughter. Marta had set her mind long ago against ever being anyone’s servant. Hildemara made a career of it. Serving others seemed to come naturally to her. Marta had dreaded being pulled home again by Mama’s illness and Elise’s dependency. Hildemara had come willingly, pouring her heart into caring for her papa—and mama, as it turned out.
Marta’s father had clipped her mother’s wings and caged her. He’d worked Mama until her health gave out. Had he the opportunity, he would have done the same to Marta. Mama knew it as well as Marta. Marta had fretted constantly, her conscience plaguing her. How could she leave Mama, ill as she was, and go after her dream? How dare she take her freedom at the cost to others she loved so dearly! Mama had understood the guilt that imprisoned Marta and lifted it.
“You have my blessing, Marta. I give it to you wholeheartedly and without reservation.”
So many years had passed and Marta held fast to those words.
“You have my love.”
Words had power. Papa’s crushed. Mama’s lifted and sent her out free to find her way in the world. Perhaps, had Mama known how far from home Marta would go, she might’ve had second thoughts. Perhaps that had been an added reason for holding Elise so close, inadvertently clipping her wings and making her unable to fly.
Marta had so often been tempted to hold Hildemara as close. Sickly from birth, a tiny, homely baby prone to sickness, Hildemara Rose had torn at Marta’s heartstrings. She had wanted to protect and shower love on her girl. What a tragic waste if she’d given in and done it! No, Marta told herself firmly, she would’ve crippled her. She had done the right thing in stifling those yearnings.
Bernhard, Clotilde, and Rikka had all been born with an independent spirit. Hildemara Rose came into the world dependent. If it were left up to her, Hildemara might still be here, working for Mama, forgetting she had a life of her own to live. Marta hadn’t been willing to wait and watch the years pass, or to see an old pattern be reborn. Mama had done the right thing by her, but the wrong thing for Elise. Marta couldn’t allow herself to make the same mistake with Hildemara Rose.
Why was the girl so much on her mind lately? Why couldn’t she find any peace about her?
It was time to stop second-guessing whether she had done things right or not. She had done her best by all her children. She had other decisions to make. She had her own life to consider.
As much as she had come to love the orchard and vineyard, this ranch had been Niclas’s dream, not hers. She felt restless here. What of her plans set aside so long ago? Was she past the age where she could go back and pursue them? Or had they been too big? She’d wanted to own a hotel. She couldn’t care less about that now, but what about getting an education? She sniffed, imagining what people would say if a woman her age showed up for a college lecture. Then again, why should she care what anyone thought about it? Had she ever cared what others said?
Would she be allowed in without a high school diploma? They would undoubtedly want to test her. Let them. She knew more than any eighteen-year-old she had met in a dozen years. Hadn’t she read and reread her children’s textbooks while they slept?
Maybe she was just being an old fool. Did having a high school diploma matter anymore? She should just get over not having one and be done with it. She could keep going down the shelves in the library, reading one book after another, until she lost her eyesight or dropped dead.
Self-pity again. Lord, don’t let me get into that disgusting habit. And while we’re about it, God, I don’t know what to do. But it seems an unholy waste
of time to stay here and go on as I am. I pay the Martins a fair wage and have more than enough to get by, but I feel . . . What? What do I feel? I don’t even know anymore, what I want, why I’m still breathing air. Everything used to be so fixed in my mind.
Hildemara.
Her mind’s eye saw her daughter again. What about her? There was unfinished business between them, but Marta didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t even sure what it was, and she had no intention of apologizing for being hard on her when that hardness had been necessary.
What about Hildemara, Lord? What’re You trying to tell me? Just spell it out!
“Mrs. Waltert!” Hitch Martin came striding toward her. Niclas had been right about the Okie being a hard, dependable worker. Hitch kept up the place the way Niclas would have wanted, and Marta didn’t mind paying him wages above the going rate. “Donna and me was going to town for supplies and wondered if you’d be needing anything.”
Polite, always respectful, considerate, too, he and Donna never failed to ask, even knowing the answer would always be the same. “Not a thing, Hitch.” Marta liked having ready excuses to get in her car and take a drive.
Hitch stood arms akimbo, admiring the trees. “Looks to be a good crop coming, don’t it?” The hives they had set out were busy.
“It does, indeed.” Barring a strong wind or late driving rain to ruin it. The bees were certainly doing their work.
“Someday I hope to have a place of my own like this.” He gave her a quick, shy glance. “In case I haven’t said it lately, Mrs. Waltert, I surely do appreciate you hiring me and letting us use the big house.” Hitch looked more fit than when she’d hired him—plenty of good food, a decent roof over his head, and fewer worries about how he was going to take care of his four children brought change.
“It’s as much to my benefit as yours.” Maybe more so. She had hours to herself these days to do what she pleased, which made her grateful. She remembered what it had been like to live in a drafty tent with four children and only a barn for respites of privacy with her husband. She remembered spending three years slaving through blistering summers and arctic winters for a man who cheated them of their fair share of profits. She swore she’d never treat anyone who worked for her that way. The Martins were good people and she intended to see they did well.
Hitch seemed in no hurry to leave. “Listen to them bees.”
“We’ll have plenty of honey to sell.” She would smoke the hives and steal the honey soon. Donna spun the rich sweetness from the combs and filled and labeled the jars for market.
“Nothing tastier than honey from almond blossoms, ma’am. Oh, by the way, I heard your phone ringing on the way out.”
Probably one of her friends from church needed something cooked for someone sick or bereaved. “They’ll call back.”
Marta and Hitch talked farm business on the walk back to the wide drive. The windmill needed repairs. They’d have to start digging the irrigation ditches soon, get a head start. Now that they had a bathroom with a shower in the house, the small building with a water tank on top could be converted to something more useful. The barn would need repainting in another year. She could hire extra help if he wanted it for that project. “I don’t want to see you up on an extension ladder, Hitch.” He laughed and said he’d send one of his sons up to do the high work.
Hitch told her the tractor was acting up again, but he felt sure he could fix it, if he had a few parts. Marta gave him the go-ahead to buy whatever he needed. She always had a list of chores, but he’d begun anticipating her requests and getting the work done before she needed to ask. He was a good man, a good farmer.
After the Martins drove off in their old truck, Marta wandered the place. The fruit trees alongside the big house had grown. She and Donna would be canning peaches and pears together. The plums would make good prunes and jam. Plenty of apples for Donna’s growing children and a few neighbor kids to pluck and eat. And there would be lots of oranges and lemons, too.
Now that Donna tended the chickens and rabbits and kept up the vegetable garden, Marta had little work to do. She’d done laundry yesterday and baked bread this morning, enough for herself and the Martins. She could always spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up that five-thousand-piece puzzle Bernhard and Elizabeth had given her for Christmas last year. Bernhard had laughed and said that ought to keep her busy and out of Hitch Martin’s hair for a while. She calculated how many hours she’d already spent on it and groaned. All that work for what? To break it up when she finished, put it back in the box, and give it away to someone else with time on their hands.
God, help me. I do not want to spend my life working puzzles and watching game shows. Time enough for that when I’m really old. At eighty-five or ninety.
The telephone rang.
Marta let the screen door slam behind her. She answered on the fourth ring.
“It’s Trip, Mama.”
She knew by his voice he hadn’t called with good news. “Hildemara’s sick again, isn’t she?” She eased herself onto a kitchen chair. Maybe there had been a reason she’d been thinking so much about her eldest daughter lately.
“She’s back in the hospital.”
“She should start getting better then.”
“She’s been there two months and no improvement.”
Two months! “And you’re just telling me about it now?”
“Hildie thought she’d be home in a few weeks. She didn’t want to worry you. We both hoped . . .” He fell silent again.
Lies, all of it, but Marta could imagine the worry on his face and calmed herself. “How are you managing alone with the children?”
“A neighbor lady takes care of them while I’m at work.”
A neighbor lady. Well, wasn’t that just grand. Hildemara and Trip would rather have a stranger taking care of their children than call her for help. How had this happened? Marta rested her elbows on the table. Holding the phone in one hand, she rubbed her forehead with the other. She could feel a headache coming on. She’d better speak before she couldn’t. “She needs time, I suppose.”
“Time.” His voice choked up. “All she does is worry about hospital bills and leaving me in debt.” He cleared his throat. “She says if she’s going to die, she wants to die at home.”
Marta felt the heat rise up inside her. So Hildemara had given up again. “You remind her she has a husband and two children to live for. She’s not done with this life yet.”
“It’s worse this time. Wanting to live isn’t always enough.”
It seemed Hildemara wasn’t the only one who had given up. Marta thought of her mother. Had she wanted to live? Or had she given up, too? Had she become so tired of the struggle to hold on to life, even for Elise, that she gave up?
“We could use your help, Mama.”
“If you’re asking me to come up and help bury her, the answer is no.”
He drew in a sharp breath and swore. His tone hardened. “Hildie said you wouldn’t help her.”
The words stabbed deep. Marta wanted to say she’d helped Hildemara more than the girl would ever understand, but that wouldn’t help Trip handle what was happening or make Hildemara get better.
Squaring her shoulders, Marta scraped her chair back and stood. “If my daughter can hold on so tight to old grievances, with God’s help, she can hold on to life, too, Trip Arundel.”
“I shouldn’t have called.” He sounded defeated.
“No. You should’ve called sooner! The trouble is I can’t do anything right this minute.” She had things to settle, and she’d have to work quickly. She and Hitch Martin had made a gentleman’s agreement. Maybe it was time to put things into writing. She’d need to talk to Hitch first and then a lawyer. She wanted to make certain things were spelled out good and properly so both she and the Martins benefited.
“I’m sorry,” Trip mumbled, voice tear-soaked.
Her son-in-law sounded so tired, so out of hope, Marta felt the sorrow rise up in
her. Would she lose her daughter after all? Would she have to watch Hildemara suffer as Mama had, gasping for breath, coughing up blood into a handkerchief?
“We’re talking now. And we’re going to pray hard and get others praying with us. I’ve got a whole group of women with plenty of time for that kind of work. Come down to Murietta, Trip. I’ll have to get busy and sort out a few things here. But you come. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. We can sit under the bay tree and talk about what I can and can’t do.”
Trip said he’d drive down with the children on Saturday.
Marta sat down and wrote a list in her journal. First things first. Talk to Hitch and Donna about taking over the ranch. Hitch had said today he’d like to have a place of his own someday. Running this place in her absence would move him toward that goal. They’d need a legal contract to protect both of them. Charles Landau had a good reputation as a lawyer. She had accounts at the hardware store and feed and grain. She’d add Hitch to them so he could get what he needed without having to clear everything through her. She needed to copy the ranch maintenance schedule from her journal and give that to Hitch as well, though he seemed to know it already. Niclas had wanted to be sure she knew what needed to be done and when throughout the year.
Marta spent all day thinking over ranch business and things she’d need to get settled. Concerns buzzed like flies in her head, and she swatted them with prayers. Finally exhausted, Marta went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. She’d talk to Hitch and Donna first thing in the morning, then go to town, set up an appointment with Charles Landau, and take care of the store accounts. Annoyed, she told herself to let go of it all and get some sleep.
Hildemara hadn’t wanted Trip to call. “Hildie said you wouldn’t help her.” Did her daughter really believe that?
Lying in the darkening room, Marta weighed her actions from the past. She prayed God would help her see through Hildemara’s eyes, and as she did, she wondered. Does Hildemara Rose even know how much I love her?
Marta's Legacy Collection Page 43