One Year Later
The pains came hard and fast, with mother guiding daughter as the next generation emerged. The infant’s squall whooshed through the parsonage like the month of March—a little lion entering and then quieting into a sleeping lamb.
After sixteen hours, Maila finally held her beautiful son. She tickled the tufts of freshly washed dark hair sprinkling the newborn’s tiny head. “Och, you’re beautiful,” she whispered and then kissed the tiniest ear she’d ever seen.
“Mama, he’s so precious.” Maila held her newborn son tight to her chest. “I could never send him away.” She caught her mother’s hand as she tucked in the fresh sheets. “Why, Mama? Why did you do it?” If Maila could understand, then maybe she’d be able to put the sense of being unwanted to rest even as the swell of maternal protection sang in her heart.
“Do what, mine lilla flicka?”
The shocked expression on her mother’s face surprised Maila. “Mama, you gave me this pitcher.” She gestured at the amethyst water pitcher on the nightstand. “You told me it was my inheritance, that you had too many mouths to feed, and I must make my way in the world. And then you sent me away from you.”
“You are so wrong. How could you think it so?”
Maila looked down at the peaceful babe, his eyelids fluttering in sleep. She pressed on. She had to find a way to forgive her mother. “How could I not feel abandoned? You sent me away, but you kept everyone else.” Never would she allow that to happen to her child. Never!
Mama threw a hand across her heart. “Nej, lilla flicka. Nej!” She crossed herself then, before continuing, “That Gud would strike me down before I would send you so.” Tears brimmed and spilled over her mother’s round cheeks, finding rivulets in the crinkles baked into her skin by farming in the sun.
“Then help me understand why you threw me into the wild.”
“Oh, that all of mine children were so smart. That I could give them the same chance I wanted for you.” She picked up the purple tumbler, filled it with clean water from the ornate pitcher, and handed it to Maila. “Drink, you need to make milk.”
Maila drank, if only to fill her mouth with something other than accusations. Sweet water that would help her body nourish this child of her prayers.
Mama took the cup and set it back on the stand. “Maila, I gave you this inheritance to sell. I never expect you keep it. But to hjälpa you pay for the school you wanted.”
“School?”
“I know it’s very valuable. My mama bring it from the Old Country.” She fingered the toll painting, tracing the little white flowers above the blue floral and curlicue design. “It was all I had. I want you become this nurse you talk so much about.” She sighed and splayed a hand toward the handblown glassware. “But here it is.”
“You didn’t tell me.” The tears coursed down her face now, too. “Mama, how could I know?”
“I had no more words.” Mama bowed her head. “It was too hard to let you go. I watched you walk down the road. When you disappeared, I stayed at mine door. I wait. Maybe she comes back, I said. Maybe she changes her mind, I said.” A tiny tremor shook her shoulders. “But not mine Maila. Not mine lilla flicka who is smart as she is so stubborn. Such a girl can be something more than a farmwife like her mama, ja? I’d have been an artist, if I could.”
Maila gasped. Her mother wanted to be more than a farmwife? The beautiful decorations in their home were handmade. But Maila had taken those for granted. They’d just always been there. Mama had sent her daughter away in order to give her the chance she didn’t have? “Mama, you were willing to give up the last thing you had from your mother? Why?”
Mama looked squarely into Maila’s eyes. “There is no thing more important than your Gud-given dreams. Ja?” Her eyes radiated a sacrificial wisdom. “It could not be in my life, but I could do this for you.” She raised both hands in dismay. “Who would think a girl would carry such a thing all over? You always do things the hard way, daughter. Always.” She stroked the baby’s cheek and then laid her palm against Maila’s cheek. “I give it to you and think.” She tapped her temple. “You know inheritance is to hjälpa you. But you don’t think to sell?”
Maila smiled through misty eyes as if seeing the sunshine on the other side of a waterfall. Her mother hadn’t thrown her away. She’d been trying to support her dream but didn’t have the words to say it. “Oh Mama.” She raised an arm to invite a hug while balancing her newborn against her shoulder. “It helped me so much. It helped me remember the people I love and to value my heritage. No, I never thought to sell it.”
“Oh well, maybe I was wrong on the smart part.” Mama lifted an eyebrow and delivered the line with a deadpan shrug. Then her lips twitched.
A laugh started deep in Maila’s soul, rolling out of her like bells peeling in the belfry. “Yes,” she chortled. “Evidently. Luckily, Dr. Baker thinks I am.”
“I’m proud of you, daughter. You did it. You are a nurse.” She hugged Maila. “And now a mama, too. I think you will soon understand wanting to give your son all you have, ja?”
“Ja, Mama.” Maila curled her arms around the little boy. “What do you suppose he will be?”
“Smart like his mama and a good man like his papa. Anything else is for Gud to show when the time comes.”
Burton pushed the door a smidgeon farther open. “Is it safe for a father to see his wife and son?”
“Ja, ja. Komma hit.” The new grandmother waved him over. The bed creaked as she stood. “Now, you two, when do we baptize this mite at the church?”
Maila held out her hand for Burton. “We’ll be sending you an invitation to the christening over at our church soon.”
“But it is our tradition—”
“I realize now that I’m a follower of Christ, regardless of the building I’m in.” Maila tugged her husband down beside her. “I choose to be in agreement with Burton and to raise our children living out our faith.”
“Mama Holmes, I promise that as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Burton leaned toward Maila for a kiss. Then he touched the tip of his son’s nose. “You’re a dream come true, little man.”