Mom took extra shifts at the VA hospital so they could buy more lumber and supplies for building. Daddy finally finished the master bedroom and added a step-down utility porch off the back of the house, with hookups for a washing machine and dryer. He bought Mom a mangle for Christmas so she could iron the tablecloths, sheets, and pillowcases like his mother had. She also ironed Daddy’s shirts, slacks, and boxer shorts and her nurse’s uniforms. The only clothes she didn’t iron were the brown polyester pants and flower-print blouses she wore after work every day.
As soon as Daddy finished the utility porch, he started work on a larger addition at the front of the house.
Oma came over to take a look around. Daddy proudly laid out the living room plans: fourteen by twenty feet, twelve-foot wood-beamed ceiling, skylights, stone fireplace, wall-to-wall carpeting, and picture windows looking out on the orchard in front. He showed her the plans he had drawn. “We’ll put in a pool with a patio all around and terrace that back hill, plant a garden, have a waterfall over there in the corner.”
Oma looked as though she had swallowed something that didn’t taste good. “Your own private paradise.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, it’s better than building a bomb shelter like most of the people in the neighborhood.”
“Actually, I was thinking about renting a backhoe to dig one in the hill. . . .”
The next time Oma invited Mommy over for afternoon tea, she wouldn’t take “Sorry, maybe another time” for an answer.
“I can’t stay long. I have to start dinner soon.”
“Things won’t fall apart if it’s not on the table at six on the dot, Hildemara.” Oma sounded irritated. She poured tea in a pretty pink rose china cup and offered cream and sugar.
Mommy looked at the platter of spicy chicken sandwiches and egg salad sandwiches with dill and the apple streusel cake. “What is all this? I didn’t forget my birthday, did I?”
“I wanted to treat my daughter to an English afternoon tea, the kind I used to prepare for Lady Daisy in London.”
Mommy gave her an odd smile. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
Oma took one seat, Carolyn the other. “If you’d like, we can do this every afternoon when you get home from work. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, the three of us sipping tea and taking time to sit and talk awhile?”
“I can’t stay more than half an hour.”
“If you had a Dutch oven, you could start dinner in the morning before you left for work.” Oma sipped her tea. “You’d have an hour to relax when you got home. All you’d have to do is steam some vegetables and set the table. Carolyn could help.”
“You always made a four-course dinner, Mama, and dessert, even after you’d worked all day in town. And you walked there and back.”
“Until I drove.” Oma chuckled as she lifted her teacup. “Papa didn’t think much of that idea at first, did he?”
Mom smiled. “We all thought you’d kill yourself in that Model T. You drove like a maniac.”
“Probably still do. I felt free. And no one was going to take that away from me.” She cut slices of apple streusel and gave Mom a sly smile. “You know, there’s no sin in taking advantage of the conveniences available: a car to drive to work, a washer and dryer in the house, an old-fashioned Dutch oven. It buys you time for other things.”
“There’s always too much to do, Mama. I wish there were more hours in a day.”
“And if there were, what would you and Trip do with them?”
Mommy gave a bleak laugh. “Finish building the house.”
Carolyn finished a last bite of streusel. Oma cleared away her teacup and saucer and plate. “Why don’t you play outside for a while, Carolyn?”
She didn’t want to go outside. She wanted to stay inside and listen. “Can I finish the puzzle?”
“I finished it this morning. There’s a new one on the coffee table. You can bring it out here and start sorting the pieces, if you like.”
Carolyn ran to get the box, dumped the pieces on the table, and began turning them over, sorting colors and searching for edge pieces and corners the way Oma had showed her. Oma and Mommy kept talking.
“You and Trip and the kids ought to take a family vacation.”
“There’s no money for a vacation.”
“There’s money for a bomb shelter.”
“With the way the world is going right now, a bomb shelter would be more practical than wasting money on a vacation.”
“Waste? Let’s talk about being practical, shall we? How long would you have to stay inside a bomb shelter before you could come out into the open again, assuming radiation lasts as long as they say it does? I’d rather die in a split second out here in the open and be in heaven in the twinkling of an eye than live underground like a gopher. No sunlight. No garden. Nothing to do. How do you even get fresh air to breathe without letting in the radiation?”
“Everybody’s building them.”
“People are like lemmings, Hildemara Rose. Yell ‘Fire!’ and they’ll run.” They talked about how everyone these days seemed to be worried about spies lurking everywhere, like moles burrowing into the government and science labs, all looking for a way to bring America down. Koreans could brainwash captives and turn them into Manchurian candidates. Russians were spreading Communism all over Eastern Europe. “Everyone is going a little crazy.” Oma shook her head in disgust.
“The bomb shelter is Trip’s idea, Mama, not mine.”
“Plant another idea in his head. I know; I know! The man’s only happy when he’s working on a project. But I’ve heard him talk about how he used to hike and camp and fish back in Colorado. Think of the fun you could have with a tent, sleeping bags, and a couple of fishing poles.” Oma sipped her tea. “Charlie is thirteen already. He’s always off somewhere with his friends. In another six years, he’ll go away to college. And Carolyn’s going to be nine soon.” Oma lowered her voice. “She needs her mother.”
“Like I needed you, Mama?” A quiet edge of bitterness crept into her mother’s voice.
“Yes. And where was I? Working, always working. If anyone has a right to talk about this, I do!” Oma turned the teacup in its saucer. “Just so you know, I came up here to tear down walls, not help you build them.”
Mom fidgeted. “I don’t know what to make of this.”
“Make of what?”
“Sitting in your kitchen, having tea.”
Oma scowled at her. “I’ve invited you over every day for weeks. You wouldn’t come!”
“I’ve spent most of my life trying to live up to your standards and failing.”
“So you’re going to punish me in my old age. Is that it?”
“I still don’t come up to your standards, do I? I’m not a good mother. Trip’s too busy to be a father. There’s no pleasing you.”
“Now, you listen to me, Hildemara Rose. And you listen good. You never failed me, not once. Nor did I fail you, if it comes to that. You were small and sickly when you were born. Was that your fault? You had the most to overcome. I was afraid you wouldn’t even survive that first winter out there in the frozen wheat fields. I almost lost you again when you had pneumonia. Do you remember? And I could still lose you if you keep on as you are. Yes! I was harder on you than the others. I wanted you to grow up strong so no one would be able to hold you down. So I pushed you. I pushed hard. And, thank God, you pushed back. Now look at you.”
“You sound proud.” Mom sounded surprised.
“I am.” She raised her teacup and smiled. “I’m proud of both of us.”
6
After several heated discussions muffled by the master bedroom door, Dad threw away his plans for the bomb shelter and bought an Airstream trailer instead. One weekend a month, Mom and Dad packed the trailer and took off with Carolyn and Charlie in the backseat of the sedan. Carolyn found herself looking forward to the weekends away, even though Oma never went along. “Someone has to feed Bullet and pick up the mail.” She would wave as
they drove away. “Bring me back a souvenir!”
Pigeon Point was Carolyn’s favorite place. Dad parked the trailer on the strip of land north of the lighthouse. They set up camp and ate Chef Boyardee spaghetti, sweet corn, and white bread with butter and jam off paper plates. After dinner, they played Chinese checkers, Scrabble, or hearts. When it was bedtime, Mom folded the table down, and the booth seats made a double bed for Carolyn and Charlie. Carolyn liked having Charlie, Mom, and Dad close by. She loved the sound of the foghorn going off every few minutes and surf crashing against the rocks within a few hundred feet of the trailer.
While Charlie and Dad caught Capistrano, blue moon, and shiner perch in the churning white foam pools, Mom and Carolyn climbed down the steep path to the cove beach on the other side of the lighthouse. They combed the beach for seashells and pretty, curling, polished bits of driftwood. Sometimes Carolyn put her arms out, wishing she could ride the wind like the seagulls overhead. She followed the waves down and ran back as they rolled toward her while Mom lounged in the sunshine.
Once they drove north across the Golden Gate and headed west for Dillon Beach near Tomales Bay. All four went out at low tide to dig gooey-neck clams. Carolyn’s arms weren’t long enough to reach down into the holes she dug, but Charlie managed with his gangling limbs to bring one up in triumph. When the feast was laid on the table, Carolyn fled out the door and threw up in the bushes.
Another time, Dad drove for hours until he found Salt Point. The next morning, Mom, Charlie, and Carolyn watched Dad plod around in the deep tidal pools wearing chest-high rubber waders, prying abalone off the rocks. It was up to Mom to cut the sea snails from their shells and use a mallet to soften the muscle. Dad laughed and said it was a good way for Mom to vent her frustrations. Abalone tasted better than tough, sand-gritty gooey-neck clams. And Carolyn loved the lustrous, iridescent shells. Dad hung them around the front entry of the house. Oma used one as a soap dish.
Mom and Dad decided to take the summer off from building. Instead, they packed for a trip and hooked up the trailer. After three long days of travel over deserts and mountains, Carolyn finally met Grandpa Otis and Grandma Marg in Colorado Springs.
Grandpa Otis lifted her onto his lap. “Look at this pretty little honeybee.”
When Carolyn struggled to get away from him, Dad grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out into the backyard. He shook her hard and asked what in the blazes was the matter with her. How could she hurt her grandfather like that? He told her she’d better be nice or she’d be sorry. Mom came out, too, and told him to stop it.
Grandpa didn’t touch her again. Neither did Dad. They sat in the small living room talking in low voices. Grandma gave her two cookies and a glass of milk, but she wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Grandma and Mom sat at the table with her, talking like nothing had happened. Charlie went outside to play.
It took three days for Carolyn to feel comfortable enough to sit beside Grandpa on the sofa. He read Bible stories to her. After a while, she relaxed against him. He didn’t smell anything like Dock. His heart didn’t beat as fast. His breathing was easy and relaxed. She liked the sound of his deep voice. She closed her eyes for a while and heard a click. She opened her eyes to see Mom smile and set a camera on the side table.
The next morning they left, heading south this time to Mesa Verde, with its steep, narrow paths and cliff ruins, and on to Monument Valley, with its familiar buttes. Charlie recognized scenes from Westerns and talked about marauding Indians who scalped people and tied them down on top of red ant hills. Mom looked back at Carolyn and told Charlie to talk about cavalry rescues instead.
They spent one whole day at the Grand Canyon. They drove to Bryce the next, taking a hike through the hoodoos before settling into the trailer for dinner and a good night’s sleep. “We’ll only have time to drive through Zion,” Dad told Mom while they lay in bed a few feet away. “Then we’ll have to head for Death Valley.”
They spent the last night at Furnace Creek, sleeping in pools of their own sweat. Up at dawn, they made the long drive over the Sierras to the Central Valley, where the scents of sandy soil, almond orchards, and alfalfa fields reminded Carolyn of Oma’s farm.
As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Carolyn wanted to jump out and run to the cottage. Dad told her to help unpack the trailer. Mom told her to dump her dirty clothes in the laundry room. Then, finally, “Okay, you can go.” Unleashed, Carolyn ran.
Oma met her on the front porch, arms open, and hugged her tight. “It’s about time you got home. It’s been lonely around here.” Oma lifted Carolyn’s face and kissed her on both cheeks. All the postcards Carolyn had sent were taped to the front of Oma’s refrigerator. Seeing how much Oma had missed her, Carolyn offered to stay home with Oma next time.
“Oh no, you won’t. There’s a whole world out there to see, and your mother and father are showing you a corner of it. Where would I be right now if I stayed home because I was afraid my mother might miss me?” She waved Carolyn to a seat at the kitchen table and turned the burner on under her teakettle. “So how was it? Did you like your other grandparents?”
“They were nice.” Carolyn didn’t tell her how she’d hurt Grandpa Otis’s feelings or made Daddy mad, how she’d run away and hidden for hours, worrying everyone. And she didn’t tell her how Mom complained when Dad would only stop for gas or a quick lunch before driving again. Oma didn’t like complaining.
Oma folded her hands on the table. “Tell me what you saw.”
“It’s all there on your refrigerator.”
“Well, you must have seen other things along the way,” Oma pressed.
Not really. Dad had driven from dawn to dusk, hour after hour, while she and Charlie half dozed in the backseat. They’d both seen places they wanted to stop, but Dad said they didn’t have time. He told them they could play when they got to the campground, but then when they did, it was near dusk, time to eat, time to shower, time to get ready for bed. Dad was “dog-tired” and didn’t feel like playing games. He’d been driving all day. Carolyn shrugged. What did Oma want her to say?
“Well. Now that you’re all home, I can make a trip to the farm and see Hitch and Donna Martin about business.”
“Can I come with you?”
“I thought you didn’t like traveling!”
Traveling with Oma wasn’t the same as traveling with Dad and Mom. “Please?”
“You’ll have to ask your parents.”
They didn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t. Charlie would be off all day on his bicycle or at the high school pool. Dad had to work. Mom did, too. It seemed no one would miss her. In fact, it would be easier for everyone if she went with Oma. Mom washed Carolyn’s clothes and repacked some in a small duffel bag. They walked over together in the morning.
“How long will you be gone, Mama?”
“I was thinking it might be time to see Bernhard and Elizabeth. Carolyn hardly knows her cousin Eddie. And I haven’t been down to Clotilde’s in two years. She has an apartment in Hollywood. That would take a couple of days’ driving time. A week, ten days? If that’s all right with you.”
Mom bit her lip and looked down at Carolyn. “I guess it’s okay.”
“We’ll call you, Hildemara.”
“Take good care of her.”
“You know I will.” Carolyn and Oma answered at the same time.
Mom looked sort of sad. “Well, you two have a good time together.” Turning away, she lifted her hand in good-bye and headed back to the house.
* * *
Traveling with Oma turned out to be even more fun than Carolyn expected. Oma drove fast with the windows all rolled down. She stopped twice before they even reached the outskirts of Tracy. “I’ve got to stretch these old legs.”
When they arrived at Uncle Bernhard’s nursery south of Sacramento, he took them on a tour through the rows of fruit trees in five-gallon buckets, Cousin Eddie trailing along behind. He stood a foot taller than Carolyn and had more muscle than
Charlie. Aunt Elizabeth made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamed corn for dinner. They had an extra bedroom for Oma and Carolyn to share.
The next morning, Oma said it was time to be off to Murietta. Everyone hugged and kissed. “Don’t make it so long between visits, Mama. Any chance you could get Hildie and Trip over here? We haven’t seen them in a couple of years. Charlie’s probably half-grown by now.”
“They’re building.”
Uncle Bernie laughed. “Well, we know all about that.”
* * *
After a couple of days at the farm, where Oma talked business with Hitch and Donna Martin, they drove to Hollywood to visit Aunt Clotilde. She was tall and thin and dressed in narrow black pants and a bulky white sweater. She talked fast and laughed a lot. She took Carolyn and Oma to the movie studio where she worked in the costume department. Garments lined the walls, and sewing machines whirred as half a dozen people sat bent over pieces of fabric. Clotilde gaily called for everyone’s attention and introduced Oma and Carolyn. “Okay, folks. Back to work.” She laughed. “You have to see the back lot, Mama. It’s fantastic!” She led Oma and Carolyn out. She knew everyone: makeup artists, set designers, directors, gaffers and grips, and even a few movie stars who, out of makeup and costume, looked like ordinary people.
One man looked Carolyn over with interest. “I didn’t know you had such a pretty niece, Cloe.”
“I didn’t either!” Aunt Clotilde grinned and draped her arm around Carolyn’s shoulders. “She’s grown up since the last time I saw her. I’ve been asking my mother how my plain-Jane sister could come by such a pretty, willowy, blue-eyed little blonde.”
Oma grunted. “Hildemara is pretty enough.”
“Oh, Mama. I didn’t mean anything by it. You know how much I love Hildie, but look at Carolyn. She’s pretty enough to be in the movies.”
Oma and Clotilde talked far into the night, quiet murmurs. In the morning, the three of them shared yogurt and fresh fruit for breakfast. Clotilde hugged and kissed Oma good-bye. “Come back again soon, Mama.” Oma promised she would. Aunt Clotilde brushed Carolyn’s cheek with her fingers and smiled. Leaning down, she kissed her on the cheek. “Give your mother my love. She’s very special. Just like you.” Pulling her robe more fully around herself, she crossed her arms and stood at the door as they left.