40

1944

The war finally began to turn in the Allies’ favor, and every day brought new hope as they listened to the radio.

Bernie started making plans. “We’re not staying in Murietta. When the war ends, the Musashis will come back. Everything will be ready for them, and we’ll look for our own place. I made good money off those trees I grafted. Lemon-orange-lime trees.” He laughed. “I’d like to start my own nursery, do some more grafting. Experiment a little and see what else I can come up with. I could do landscaping. Might be nice to live closer to Sacramento or San Jose or in sunny Southern California near all those movie stars Cloe writes about. They’d have money to spend.”

Hildemara didn’t know what to do. She had written to Trip every day and hadn’t received a letter in weeks. Every time a car came up the road, her heart lodged in her throat for fear it would stop and an Army officer would come to the door. Eddie Rinckel wasn’t the only hometown boy killed overseas. Tony Reboli had died on D-day. So had two of Mama’s Summer Bedlam boys, and Fritz had lost his leg when he stepped on a land mine on Guadalcanal.

Hildie knew Trip had survived D-day. By the time he reached Paris, he had become a captain. His letters, few and far between, were filled with words of love, what he remembered about their time together, how much he missed her. He didn’t write about the future.

The newspapers reported tens of thousands dying on battlefields in Europe, and previously unknown islands in the South Pacific. The prejudice got worse at home. Hildemara continued to go to church with Mama. She left Charlie at home with Bernie and Elizabeth, who had stopped going. Only a few people spoke to Hildemara, and only because they knew Trip served in the Army. Hardly anyone spoke to Mama. Old friends who had known them for years kept their distance, staring and whispering. Mama sat eyes straight ahead, listening to the sermon, Papa’s Bible open in her lap.

Hildemara was the one who got mad. After all the nice things Mama had done for people over the years, they turned on her now? “I thought they were our friends!”

“They were. They will be again, when the war is over. Assuming we win, of course. If we don’t, we’re all going to be in the same sinking boat.”

“Fair-weather friends, Mama. They’re not real friends.”

“They’re afraid. Fear makes people mean. Fear makes people act stupid.”

“Don’t make excuses for them!” Hildemara stared out the window, arms crossed over her chest, hurt and fuming.

Mama shrugged while driving. “When it’s all over, we won’t hold it against them.”

Hildemara turned in exasperation. “You won’t. I’m not going to have anything to do with those . . . those hypocrites!”

Mama’s face flamed. “Where do you get off judging, Hildemara Rose?” She turned sharply in to the drive. Hildemara bumped against the door. “Keep on as you are and you’re going to be just as mean-spirited and stupid as they are!” Mama slammed on the brake so hard Hildie had to grab the dash to keep from cracking her head on it.

“Mama! Are you trying to kill us?”

“Just shake a little sense into your head.” She shoved her door open and got out. “What do you suppose your father would say to you right now? Turn the other cheek! That’s what he’d say.”

Hildie jumped out and slammed her door. “I never thought I’d hear that come out of your mouth!”

Mama slammed her door harder. “Well, it did.” She stomped off toward the cottage.

Hildemara regretted adding fuel to the fire. “Why don’t we go to Atwater next Sunday?” she called after Mama. “No one knows us in Atwater! No one will be gossiping about us there!”

Mama swung around and planted her feet. “Don’t be so stupid, Hildemara. I still have a Swiss accent.”

Smarting under her criticism, Hildie shouted back. “Swiss, Mama! Not German! The Swiss are neutral!”

“Neutral!” She snorted in disgust. “A lot you know. Where do you think Germany gets it munitions? How do you think goods pass from Germany to Italy? If that isn’t bad enough, people around here don’t know the difference between a Swiss, German, or Swedish accent!”

Hildie’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not going back to church.”

“Well, fine! You run if you want. You hide! But I’m going back and I’m going to keep going back! And one of these days, I’ll be buried in their churchyard. You make sure of that! You hear me, Hildemara Rose?”

“I hear you, Mama! They’ll probably spit on your grave!”

“Let them spit. It’ll make the flowers grow!” She slammed the cottage door behind her.

Bernie stood in the yard across the street. “What was that all about? I could hear you and Mama shouting all the way over here.”

“She’s impossible!”

Bernie laughed as she stormed by. “I never thought I’d see the day that you’d shout back at Mama.”

“It didn’t get me anywhere, did it?”