Roses for Mama (3 page)
“I—I know,” Angela said with a trembling voice, “but I think it is harder on the younger ones.”
There was another short silence, and Thomas, again, was the one to break it. “It has been three years,” he said softly. “They should be sorta—well—getting used to it now.”
“That’s what frightens me,” Angela admitted. “I always—we always thought it would get easier—with the passing of time and all. But it hasn’t. I mean, when they were little it was just a case of feeding them and looking after their clothes and—and loving them a lot. Now—now I have a feeling that all those years without Mama to guide them—to show them how to be ladies, to teach them how to treat others, how to show respect and obedience—that’s what they’ve missed, Thomas.”
“You’ve been giving them that,” Thomas assured Angela. “Why, at the last church picnic I heard some of the ladies talking about what fine kids they are and what good manners they have and—” Angela was pleased to hear the comment, but she knew that much more than ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ was involved in properly raising children.
“They have proper conduct—on the outside. At least I think they have,” Angela agreed. “But on the inside? All the things Mama taught—about thinking of others—about not letting little hurts make one into a snob or complainer—about seeing beauty in simple things—about—about so many things. I’m afraid I haven’t been getting some of those lessons across to the girls. I—I’m not even sure how Mama did it. I just know that those thoughts—those feelings are there—deep inside of me—and they came from Mama.”
Angela laid a quivering hand over her heart and blinked away tears that wanted to fall. At length she was able to go on.
“I was old enough to understand—to remember those lessons—but I’m afraid Louise and Sara won’t remember. Mama was too sick those last months to be able to—to—”
Angela could go no further. Thomas touched her hand briefly in the darkness. They sat silently together, listening to the croaking of the frogs in the pond beyond the barn. An owl hooted into the night. Then a cow bawled somewhere off in the distance and another replied somewhere beyond.
“You’re doing a fine job, Angela,” Thomas said hoarsely. “I’m proud of the girls and of Derek.”
“I am, too,” Angela admitted. “But I worry. I want so much for them to grow up to be—to be the children Mama would have been proud of.”
“They will,” said Thomas with confidence. “They will.”
Angela made no reply but her brow still puckered with concern. Would they? Louise was already showing defiance. True, her little bit of fuss hadn’t lasted for more than a few minutes, but what would come next? Would she again be telling Angela that she didn’t have to accept her authority?
And what of Sara? She was such a carefree, sweet little darling. But she was about as wild and uncontrolled as a prairie mustang. Mama had always wanted her daughters to be little ladies, with clean pinafores, carefully manicured fingernails, neatly braided hair, skirts arranged tidily over properly crossed ankles. Sara never seemed to remember—or care about any of those things, though Angela was sure she had told her about each of them at least a hundred times.
“I do worry about Derek sometimes.” Thomas broke in on her thoughts through the darkness.
Angela’s head came up quickly. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What’s he done? He’s never given me a moment’s trouble.”
“That’s just it,” responded Thomas thoughtfully. “When I was his age—well, I was giving both Papa and Mama a bit of trouble.”
“You—?”
“Don’t you remember the number of times I was sent to my room or had to carry extra wood or miss a ball game? Boy, I was always in trouble of some kind.”
Angela smiled. It was true. Thomas had been in hot water a good deal of the time.
“Well, Mama and Papa knew how to manage it,” Angela said, feeling that it gave strength to her argument. “But how will we—?”
“The same way, I guess,” Thomas cut in. “The youngsters need discipline—even if they haven’t got a mother or father.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to be so hard. I mean—I don’t mind cooking and cleaning. I think I have done a fair job of that. But, Thomas—I’m not sure I am quite so good at—at mothering.”
She could hear his soft chuckle. “Well, you are a mite young to be doing it,” he reminded her. “At seventeen most girls aren’t married yet—let alone mothers of half-grown kids.”
“Yes—and most young men of nineteen aren’t responsible for a family of five, either,” replied Angela. “You’ve been running the farm for three years. Well, four really. You had to take over even before Mama—”
Angela stopped. It was too difficult to say the words, even now. She wrapped her hands in her apron and let the conversation become thoughts.
It had all been so strange. So ironic. They had moved west because her mother had not been well and the doctor said that the cooler, clear air of the region might be easier on her lungs. Her father had sold his productive Iowa farm and loaded everything they could take with them in three wagons.
The trip had been a real adventure. Angela still had many memories of it, but the younger children could remember virtually nothing of the move west.
Thomas remembered, of course, because he was older than Angela. And the stories he told about the trip revealed that, to him, it had been an adventure of a lifetime.
They had found new land—a new life—and their father had set about building a farm again. He put all his strength and energy into building the house and barns. Into erecting straight, even fences. Into plowing land to prepare it for seed. Into clearing rock and planting a windbreak.
The farm soon responded, taking on the well-cared-for look of their previous one. Her father was a good farmer, a hard-working man, and soon the farm was the most productive, most attractive one in the area.
Her mother’s health did improve—at least for a while. She seemed to breathe more easily, seemed to have more energy in her slight frame. And then a winter cold put her back in bed and the family watched as she gradually lost ground in her long fight for health. But even from her bed she continued to guide her family. Angela remembered the long talks, the careful instructions. Looking back she realized now that her mother had been grooming her for the task ahead, but Angela had not been aware of it at the time. It was so easy for her to pretend that her mother would soon be well again, that things would return to normal.
But it was their strong, healthy father who left them first. An aneurysm, the doctor had said, shaking his head sadly. “We never know when they might strike—or whom. Sometimes they pick the most unlikely.”
So it was Thomas who first had to shoulder the responsibilities of an adult. Thomas—at age sixteen—took over all the farm duties.
Their father had taught him well. He was a hard worker, and a built-in pride drove him to try to maintain things just as his father had always done. The farm had repaid him. Though no one could have thought of them as wealthy, they had never been in want.
Seven short months later, their mother also slipped away from them. At the last Angela had the feeling that Mama was almost eager to join her husband, though she did put up a long, hard fight to live for the sake of her children. The days before her passing were spent in long talks whenever Angela’s duties allowed a little free time. The three younger children were all in school. Angela envied them at first. She’d had to give up classes to help at home. Her mother had sensed how she felt and made sure to provide books so Angela could continue learning. But as her mother’s condition worsened, Angela had no time for reading or studying.
And then her mother was gone. She was laid to rest beside their father on the green knoll by the little church. Thomas and Angela were now solely responsible for their three siblings. They never questioned their lot. There was a task to be done and they put their time and attention into doing it.
———
Angela stirred. The spring evening was getting cool, and she knew they should go in. Tomorrow would be another long day. She still felt an uneasiness within her. Now she was not only worried about Louise and Sara, Thomas had unwittingly added Derek to her list of concerns.
“About Derek,” she said slowly, “what exactly are you worried about?”
“Well, he’s just so—so quiet. He never speaks what’s on his mind. I’m just afraid he might be dwelling more on Pa—or Mama—being gone than we realize.”
Angela had not thought of that before. It was true that Derek was quiet—pensive. He was always most cooperative, but perhaps that was not always a true sign of how he was feeling.
“Maybe he needs more boy fun,” suggested Angela. “Remember when you were his age? You were always off fishing. Or playing ball. Or chasing frogs or—or hunting bird nests or something.”
Thomas nodded.
“Well, Derek never does any of those things.”
“I know,” said Thomas. “He’s more like a little old man than a boy.”
Angela had never seen it that way before. Now she realized Thomas was right.
“What can we do?” she wondered out loud.
“I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should take him fishing—or something.”
Angela unfolded her tense hands and reached out to touch Thomas’s sleeve.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” she exclaimed. “When?”
“Well, I don’t know—exactly. I’ve got to get the crop in and then—”
“Thomas, I don’t think you should wait. Not until you have everything done. You know how it is. On a farm there is always something that needs doing. You’ll never find the time if you wait for it all to be done.”
“Well, I can’t just up and leave the work while I run off to—”
“Why? Why not? The kids are more important than anything else. I know that’s what Mama would say. She would want you to go. At least for a couple of days—even an afternoon if that’s all you can manage. We need to be—to be putting first things first. I mean—what good is the farm if—?”
“Maybe I can take an afternoon,” said Thomas.
“This Saturday,” Angela prompted, the idea filling her with excitement. She was sure Derek would be pleased.
“This Saturday? I was planning to plow up your garden Saturday afternoon,” replied Thomas.
“It can wait. Like you said, there’s no reason to get impatient.”
“This Saturday then. Hope the weather stays good. No fun fishing in the rain.”
Nothing much had changed. There was still the problem of responsibility. Angela still faced the need for mothering a brother and two sisters. But somehow just this one small planned action lifted the anxiety from her heart. At least they were planning. They were trying to do more than just feed and clothe their siblings. And it wasn’t her alone. She had Thomas to help her, to share the responsibilities. For some reason her load had lifted as she stood and turned back to the lighted kitchen.
“I must take more time to do things with the girls,” she said, more to herself than to Thomas as he held the door open for her. “All I have been doing is handing out orders. Do this. Don’t do that. They need time to be children.”
“Children, yes,” agreed Thomas, “but responsible children.”
“That’s what scares me. It is my job to make sure that’s what they are.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“But I need to—to find ways to teach them. Encourage them. Just like Mama did with me.”
Thomas let a hand drop to her shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Angie,” he cautioned. “Don’t set the standards impossibly high. You’re human, too, you know.”
Angela was very aware of that as she picked up the lamp to light her way to her bedroom. Thomas had turned to bolt the door behind them. In the semidarkness he looked like her pa standing there. She had never noticed the likeness before. Her pa would be so proud. So proud of his son. But Thomas had been almost raised before they had lost their parents. If only—if only she could bring the others up to deserve family pride, too. If only they would grow up to be responsible members of society. If only they grew up to love God and belong to His family…
There had been disagreement among the people in the community as to what should be done with the Peterson children when they lost their parents. The Blackwells, to the north of the Peterson farm, had never been blessed with a family of their own, but that did not prevent Mrs. Blackwell from expressing very decided opinions about the children.
“They need caring for,” she stated, “by adults who are responsible.” She suggested that the children be divided among district families and that she and her husband take Sara and Derek. When Thomas stated firmly that they had no intention of parcelling the children out here and there, Mrs. Blackwell changed her mind as to what should be done.
“Iffen they are to be responsible citizens,” she maintained, “then they need to do their own caring. I don’t plan to be a caterin’ to ’em.”
And she didn’t.
“No use fussin’ over ’em. They’ve made them their jam. Now let ’em eat it.”
But Mr. Blackwell apparently didn’t share his wife’s view. On occasion he was seen delivering a sack of seed potatoes to the Petersons or making sure they had enough coal in the bin.
The Petersons’ closest neighbor was a sour man who lived on his own. From outward appearances, he may not even have known the Peterson family existed, or that they were left on their own. He was not old—nor was he young. His face was weathered from being outdoors riding herd on his cattle or supervising maintenance and repairs on his property. He was not popular in the neighborhood, but no one spoke of it much. He was far too rich and powerful for anyone to risk getting on his bad side. Only his hired hand, Charlie, who acted as foreman of the spread, seemed able to get along with the crusty Mr. Stratton. Angela wondered if perhaps it was because Charlie was the only one who had known his boss long enough to be aware of the circumstances that had shaped him.
“Oh, he ain’t so bad as all thet,” Charlie would say. “He barks a lot, but I ain’t seen him bite yet.”
Charlie, in his own quiet way, was more help to the Peterson youngsters than anyone else in the neighborhood. In the evenings, after completing his daily rounds, he would slip over to their house. Sometimes he brought things from town, sometimes he gave hints as to how Thomas should plant or plow. Sometimes he just came to chat and to see that everything was going all right. Those first years would have been awfully difficult without Charlie.