“He can muck the stable,” Bernie suggested to Mama. “Might get rid of some of that baby fat he’s carrying around.”
Mama put Fritz in charge of the rabbits instead. Fritz stopped crying. He stopped waiting at the mailbox for his mother’s letters. Hildemara worried about what would happen when Mama decided to make Hasenpfeffer again, but it seemed Mama had already thought of that, too. “We only have one rule about the rabbits, Fritz. You can’t name them.”
“Not even one?”
“No. Not even one.”
Luckily, they were all white. If one went missing, it wouldn’t matter as much if he didn’t know it personally.
Mrs. Herkner’s letters still came every few days, but Fritz didn’t write back more than once a week. Sometimes he went longer than that and Mama would get a letter from Hedda. “Time to write a letter to your mother, Fritz.”
Hildemara envied Fritz his doting mother. She knew Mama would never miss her so much. She kept asking what Hildemara wanted to do with her life, as though she couldn’t wait for Hildie to grow up and leave home.
* * *
By the time school ended, Fritz had more than settled in. He’d started infecting Bernie with new ideas gleaned from the books he read. “Can we build a tree house, Papa? one like in The Swiss Family Robinson?”
Mama didn’t think much of the idea. “Papa has enough to do. If anyone builds anything, it’s going to be you boys.”
Papa didn’t trust them with good lumber. “They’d just waste it.” He told Bernie and Fritz to draw up the plans. He’d do the measuring and marking; they could do the sawing. By the end of the first day of hard work, they came in with palms looking like raw meat and broad grins on their faces.
“We need a trapdoor to keep enemies out.” Enemies being Hildemara, Clotilde, and Rikka, of course. “We can use a rope ladder and pull it up once we’re on the platform.”
Papa joined in the fun of building, adding a second smaller, higher platform as a watchtower with a ladder and trapdoor. He built a bench around the inside wall of the large platform ten feet above ground. “So you boys won’t fall asleep and roll off. We can’t have you breaking your necks.”
Tony Reboli, Wallie Engles, and Eddie Rinckel came out to help. Hildemara sat on the back steps watching them. They looked like a bunch of monkeys climbing around in the big bay tree. She wished she could be part of the fun, too, but Bernie told her, “No girls allowed.” Clotilde didn’t care. She was too busy cutting out a new dress and learning how to use Mama’s sewing machine. And Rikka liked to stay inside the house, sitting at the kitchen table drawing pictures and adding Crayola color. Hildemara wished Elizabeth could come over and play, but her one friend had gone to Merced to spend the summer with cousins.
“Abrecan Macy sold his place.” Mama told Papa over dinner. “Another bachelor, I guess. He’s from back east. Abrecan doesn’t know anything about him other than he had enough to take over the place. He didn’t say what the man plans to do with it.”
“It’s his business, isn’t it?”
“His land butts up against ours. We ought to know something about him. Seems odd, doesn’t it? Come all the way out here to buy a place and not have any plans for it. His name is Kimball. Abrecan couldn’t remember his first name.”
Mama took the new neighbor a loaf of fresh cinnamon raisin bread. “He’s not very friendly. He took the bread and closed the door in my face.”
“Maybe he wants to be left alone.”
“I didn’t like his eyes.”
July turned hot, melting the macadam. The boys dared one another to stand in the hot black tar to see how long they could bear boiling the bottoms of their feet. After a few weeks of running around barefoot, it wasn’t a challenge anymore, and Fritz invented a new game of daring: standing on a red ant hill, while someone stood by with a hose. Fritz barely lasted ten seconds and had ant bites up to his ankles. Eddie, Tony, and Wallie did better, but no one did as well as Bernie, determined to win every game he ever played. Gritting his teeth against the painful bites, he stood until the ants bit their way up his thigh before jumping off the mound and yelling for Eddie to blast him with the hose. A few tenacious survivors managed to crawl into his underpants. Bernie started screaming and hopping around. Mama came running out the front door. Bernie finally grabbed the hose from Eddie and took care of business himself while Mama stood on the porch, hands on her hips, laughing. “Serves you right for being such a fool!”
Hildemara followed the boys to the irrigation ditch, where they swam. Bernie had taught Fritz to swim. She wanted to learn, too. “Just get in!” Bernie yelled at her. “Move your arms and kick your feet and stay away from us. We don’t want any stupid girls around!” Hildemara slid into the water cautiously. It felt wonderfully cool in the heat of the day. When she touched the bottom, slime covered her feet and slithery weeds encircled her ankles like snakes in the slow current. She treaded carefully along the side, arms in the air. Something big and dark moved behind the bamboo stand on the other side of the ditch, startling her. When she called out and pointed, Bernie made fun of her again.
“Oooooh, Hildie see a bogeyman!” The other boys joined in. “Come on!” With his long legs, Bernie climbed easily out of the ditch. “Let’s go over to the Grand Junction. The water’s deeper there. This ditch is for babies!” Grand Junction was the big cement irrigation ditch that spilled water into the smaller ones running between the farms a quarter mile from theirs.
“Bernie! Wait!”
“No girls allowed!” Bernie yelled over his shoulder as he took off along the ditch, the others racing after him.
Hildemara kept wading carefully, trying to build her confidence. She saw movement behind the stalks of bamboo again, and she climbed quickly out of the water. Heart pounding, she looked across the irrigation ditch and tried to see what stood there. Nothing moved. The beads of water dried quickly on her skin. She could hear Bernie and the boys laughing and shouting at one another farther down the ditch. Their voices drifted as the distance widened. She wasn’t ready to try anything deeper than this ditch, and the boys wouldn’t welcome her anyway.
Still feeling uneasy, Hildemara sat on the edge of the ditch and put her feet in the water. Her skin prickled with the sensation of being watched, but nothing moved. Bernie and the others were across the road by now. She couldn’t hear the boys anymore. It was so quiet.
The sun baked her shoulders and back. Her clothes dried quickly. Her legs burned in the heat. She slipped carefully back into the water, cold after the heat, and lowered herself until it lapped up around her neck. She moved her arms back and forth just under the surface. Gathering her nerve, she lifted her feet and promptly slipped beneath the surface. She stood quickly, sputtering and wiping the water from her eyes.
“Careful there. You could drown.”
Heart lurching, she looked up at a man standing on the bank. He looked bigger than Papa above her, but didn’t wear coveralls. He looked like Mr. Hardesty, who worked behind the counter at the Murietta General Store.
“You shouldn’t swim by yourself. It’s dangerous.”
“I’m all right.”
The man shook his head slowly. His smile taunted her, as though catching her in a lie. “You don’t know how to swim.”
“I’m learning.”
“Those boys left you all alone. That wasn’t nice.”
He spoke quietly, his voice deep. Her skin crawled at the sound. He had an accent, not like Papa’s or the Greeks or Swedes or anyone she knew. He didn’t take his eyes from her. The water seemed to grow colder around her. Shivering, she hugged herself and took a step toward the side of the ditch.
“Careful! Snapping turtles can bite off your toes.”
“Snapping turtles?” She looked down at the murky water. She couldn’t see to the bottom.
“They stay on the bottom and open their mouths wide. They wiggle their tongue to attract fish. One swims close and snap! I knew a man who caught one and put it in his
boat. It bit off four of his fingers.”
Hildie’s heart pounded. Bernie hadn’t said anything about snapping turtles or fish. Would he swim in this canal if he knew about them? The bank seemed so far away, closer on the man’s side. He hunkered, extending his hand. “Let me help you out.” His dark eyes glowed so strangely, Hildemara almost forgot about the turtle hiding in the mud beneath her feet. Her stomach knotted in fear. “I won’t hurt you, little girl.” His voice turned silky.
Panting now, she felt the fear rising faster. His hand looked so big. He wiggled his fingers like the tongue of the turtle he’d told her about, beckoning her closer. He didn’t have calluses like Papa. His hands looked strong and smooth. She leaned away from him. “Careful. You’ll go under again.” He reminded her of the cat when it watched a gopher hole, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. “What’s your name?”
Mama said never to be rude to neighbors. This must be Mr. Kimball, the man who bought Abrecan Macy’s place. Mama wasn’t afraid of neighbors. She talked to everybody. “Hildemara.”
“Hill-de-mara.” The man dragged out her name as though savoring it. “It’s a pretty name for a pretty little girl.”
Pretty? No one had ever called her pretty, not even Papa. She felt her face go hot. Mr. Kimball’s mouth tipped. Beads of sweat dripped down the sides of his face. His gaze shifted as he looked around furtively.
The silence suddenly bothered Hildie. She didn’t even hear any birds. She slid her foot cautiously along the bottom of the ditch, her breath catching every time something brushed against her ankles. When Mr. Kimball got to his feet, something inside her said, Get away from him!
Gasping in panic, Hildemara pushed her way through the last few feet of water to her side of the bank. Reaching up, she grasped a hunk of grass and pulled, legs wheeling.
A big splash sounded behind her.
Hildemara had just reached the top of the ditch when she felt a hand grasp her ankle and drag her back. Another hand grasped the back of her shirt. Buttons popped and her shirt came off in his hand as she thrashed. She flipped and flopped like a fish out of water, kicking her free leg and catching him hard on the nose. Uttering a grunt of pain, he let go.
Scrambling to her feet, Hildie ran. She looked back once and tumbled head over heels, sand flying in all directions. Scrambling up again, she didn’t look back this time. Her thin legs pumped up and down, breath coming in frantic sobs, and she raced along the ditch and headed toward the last row of grapes next to the house. The big bay tree loomed ahead.
Mama stood in the backyard, pinning up clothes on the line. Rikka sat on the floor of the washhouse, drawing pictures in the wet sand. Hildemara ran past Mama and up the stairs, yanked the screen door open, and let it slam behind her as she dove into her bedroom. She stepped on the lower bunk and threw herself onto the top one. Her whole body started to shake. Her teeth chattered. Pressing herself into the far corner against the wall, she pulled her legs up against her chest.
23
“Hildemara?” Mama stood in the bedroom doorway. “What’s wrong with you?” Her eyes flickered. “Where’s your shirt?”
The man had her shirt.
“Did you leave it at the ditch?”
Hildemara panted softly, looking past Mama, afraid he might be outside.
Mama glanced out the screen door. “Where are the boys?”
“Grand Junction.”
“What happened to your leg? How did you get those scratches?”
Hildemara didn’t feel anything, and she didn’t want to look. Mama came into the room and stepped up on the bottom bunk. “Come on down from there.”
“No.”
“Hildemara . . .”
“No!”
“What happened to you?” Mama spoke firmly this time, demanding an answer.
“He . . . he . . . was in the bamboo.”
“Who?”
Hildemara started to cry. “Mr. Kimball, I think. I don’t know.” When Mama reached for her, she screamed. “No! I’m not coming down.”
“Hildemara!” Mama held her tight in her arms though she struggled.
Clotilde appeared in the doorway. “What’s wrong with Hildie?”
“Go get Rikka. She’s in the washhouse.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Clotilde ran out the screen door. It banged, making Hildemara jerk, then banged twice more, each time more softly. Mama lifted Hildemara down and carried her into the hallway.
“Come on, girls!” Clotilde hurried inside with Rikka. “Inside the house. Go on.” She locked the door behind them and told Clotilde and Rikka to play in the living room while she talked with Hildemara in the front bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, Hildemara on her lap. “Now tell me what happened.”
Everything poured out of Hildie. She hiccuped sobs and stammered. “Are you mad at me? I don’t want to go back for my shirt. Please, Mama, don’t make me.”
“I don’t care about the shirt. You’re going to stay right here inside the house.” She sat Hildemara on the bed. She held Hildemara’s face firmly and looked into her eyes. “You listen to me now. That man is never going to touch you again, Hildemara. He’s never going to get near you. Not ever again. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mama.” She had never seen such a look in her mother’s eyes before. It frightened her all over again.
Mama let go of her and straightened. “Stay in the house.” She went out of the bedroom. Hildemara heard a drawer being yanked open. Trembling, she rushed to the doorway and saw Mama standing with a butcher knife in her hand. “You girls stay inside this house.”
“Mama!” Hildemara ran out of the bedroom. “Don’t go. He’s bigger than you.”
“He won’t be much longer. Lock the door!” The screen door slammed.
What if the man took the knife away and used it on Mama?
“No!” Hildemara yanked the screen door open. “Mama, come back!” Mama was running along the row of grapes. She disappeared around the end. “Papa!” Hildemara shouted. “Papa!”
“Ring the bell!” Clotilde stood behind her.
Hildemara grabbed the cord and pulled and pulled and pulled. The bell clanged loudly. Sobbing, Hildemara kept pulling. Cloe held Rikka by the shoulders, both pairs of blue eyes wide.
Papa came running across the yard. “What’s wrong?”
Hildemara ran down the steps. “Mama went that way! She has a butcher knife! She’ll get herself killed!”
Papa didn’t wait to ask questions. He ran in the direction Hildemara pointed. “Marta!”
Bernie and Fritz, the others on their heels, came flying around the front of the house. “What’s happened?” Bernie panted. “We heard the bell!”
Hildemara sank onto the back steps, covered her head, and sobbed.
“Holy cow!” Tony laughed. “Little Sis is half-naked.”
Mortified, Hildemara jumped up and ran inside the house. Gulping sobs, she put her foot on the bottom bunk and dove into the top, pulling a blanket over her.
“Leave her alone!” Cloe shrieked, following after her. She climbed up onto the bunk with Hildie. Rikka climbed up, too. When Bernie came inside, Cloe yelled, “No boys allowed!”
It seemed forever before Hildemara heard Bernie’s voice again. “I see Papa. Mama’s with him. What in the heck is Papa doing with a butcher knife?”
Hildie let out her breath, but stayed under the blanket. She heard Papa’s voice. “Tony, Wallie, Eddie, go on home.”
“Did we do something wrong, Mr. Waltert?”
“No, but Bernhard’s got work to do. Go on now. Everything is fine.” He sounded as though nothing bad had happened. The boys called out their good-byes and left. Papa’s voice changed. “Into the house, Sohn. Keep the children in the house until I get back.”
“Where’s he going, Mama?”
“To the sheriff.”
* * *
Sheriff Brunner came to the house late in the afternoon. Bernie and Fr
itz were sent to the tree house, Clotilde and Rikka to the porch bedroom. Hildemara had to sit at the table and tell the sheriff what had happened at the ditch. He looked at the scratches on Hildie’s left leg, his face grim.
“I stopped by Kimball’s house on the way out here. He wasn’t there.”
Mama gave a hard laugh. “That doesn’t mean he won’t come back.”
Hildie’s heart tripped. Papa sat her on his lap and held her close.
“I’ll swear out a warrant for his arrest, but I can’t promise anything. He has a car. He’s probably miles from here by now.”
That night, Hildemara awakened to the smell of smoke. A fire bell clanged in the distance. Mama and Papa stood in the yard, talking in low voices. “Maybe lightning set the place on fire.” Mama sounded hopeful.
“There hasn’t been any lightning.” Papa spoke grimly.
“Let it burn, and him with it.” Mama came back inside the house.
The sheriff returned the next morning and spoke to Mama and Papa. “Kimball’s house and barn burned down last night.” He didn’t sound pleased. “You know anything about it?”
Papa answered simply. “No.”
Mama spoke her mind as usual. “I went after him with a butcher knife, Sheriff Brunner, with the full intent of killing him. I saw him driving off in his fancy black automobile. I may wish the man dead and in hell, but I wouldn’t have any reason to burn down a perfectly good house or barn. Unless he was in it. Was he?”
“No.”
“Now, there’s a real pity.”
Sheriff Brunner stood silent and then decided, “It must have been Providence.”
Bernie and Fritz didn’t come down from the tree house until Mama called them in for dinner. “What’d the sheriff want?”
Mama looked between the two of them. “He asked if we knew anything about the fire last night. If he finds the arsonists, he’ll arrest them. And before you ask what an arsonist is, Clotilde, it’s a person, or persons, who burn down houses and barns.”