Roses for Mama Page 2

Dear God, what will I do if she refuses to obey me? Angela wondered, but to her relief, Louise only gave her an angry look and moved toward the bedroom.

  Angela tried to calm her trembling soul as she poured the milk. She had an ordeal ahead of her and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. None of the children had ever challenged her authority before. What was she to do—and how often in the future might she need to face the same crisis?

  Oh, God, she prayed. Help me with this. What should I do? I’ve noticed—I’ve noticed little hints of tension—but this—this open defiance—I have no idea—Her voice trembled as she spoke to Derek, “Thomas would like you to check the south fence. He doesn’t want the cows getting out. I’ll have Louise and Sara help with some of your other chores so you won’t be working after dark.”

  “What do I have to do?” asked Sara.

  “Well, you can feed the hens and gather the eggs as usual; then you can help Louise fill the wood box.”

  “What if Louise doesn’t want to?” questioned Sara as she dipped her cookie into her milk.

  Angela hesitated. What if Louise didn’t want to? “Louise is a part of this family,” she finally said. “We all must share in the work. I’m afraid she will have to do her share of chores—whether she wants to or not.”

  Angela delayed her visit to the bedroom as long as she could and then went slowly toward the closed door. She had no idea what she might face when she opened it, and she prayed silently with every step she took. Would Louise still be tossing her blond braids and looking at her with angry eyes? Would she be prostrate on the bed, sobbing for the mother they had lost? Would she have left the room through the opened window and fled to who-knew-where?

  But Louise was seated calmly on the chair by the bed reading from her favorite book. She had changed into her chore clothes and her school garments were neatly hung on the pegs on her wall. Her bed was not wrinkled from a bout of crying and her face was not flushed or tear-streaked. She looked quite composed.

  “Louise,” spoke Angela as she closed the door softly behind her, “I think we need to talk a bit.”

  Louise nodded.

  “Perhaps I do—do tell you over and over again—what I expect you to do. I—I still need to tell Sara. She hasn’t—well, hasn’t heard it as often as you—and I guess—well, I guess when I am telling one—it is just easier to include all of you.”

  Louise nodded, no defiance in her eyes now.

  “I’m sorry,” Angela said softly. “I—I’ll try to—to remember that unless—unless it is a new chore—that you are responsible enough to know—to look after your usual duties.”

  Louise nodded again.

  Angela waited for a moment. She didn’t want to spoil the calm, but she knew Louise had to be given further instructions.

  “Tonight there are some more things to do,” she ventured. “Thomas needs Derek to—to check the fence, so Derek won’t have time for his usual chores. That means you and Sara must carry the wood and maybe even feed the pigs.”

  Angela waited. There was no angry stiffening of Louise’s back. She simply nodded.

  Angela sighed with relief, tears threatening to spill over. She sat down on the bed near her younger sister and took her hand.

  “Louise,” she said as gently as she could, “you know that when Mama died she—she asked me to care for all of you. I—I told her I would. Now Mama—Mama felt strongly that caring was—was more than putting food on the table—and seeing that your clothes were washed and mended. Mama wants you—each of us—to grow to be strong, good, dependable. Part of that—that growing process comes by sharing chores—and learning obedience. Now I know it won’t always be easy to—to have an older sister be your—your authority but—”

  Louise stirred on her cushioned seat.

  “But that’s the way it is,” continued Angela. “Not by our choosing, but that’s the way it is.”

  Louise lowered her head, the tears forming in her eyes trickling down her soft cheeks. She sniffed, lifted her eyes, and nodded. That was all. Just a slight nod of her head. But Angela knew that for now it was enough. She gave her sister a hug and stood up.

  “Your milk and cookies are on the table,” she began, then quickly bit her lip before she followed the statement with what chores needed to be done afterward.

  Louise got to her feet and dried her eyes.

  She is still such a child, Angela thought as she watched her. Her heart ached for the young girl.

  In typical youthful fashion, Louise gave her big sister a smile, seeming to have already forgotten the battle of a few moments before, and bounded off to the kitchen for her snack.

  And don’t run, Angela almost called after her. A lady does not—

  But Louise was not a lady. She was still a little girl of eleven. Playful and careless. And with so very much to learn. “Oh, God,” breathed Angela as she sank down onto the bed again and lifted a trembling hand to her face. “How am I ever going to be able to teach them all they need to know? All that Mama would want them to know? Will I ever be able to make a lady out of Louise? Of Sara? Will I be able to teach them about you? Will Thomas be able to fill in for the father Derek needs? Oh, God, we need an awful lot of help.”

  Chapter Three

  Memories

  “Something bothering you?”

  Angela turned her head to look at Thomas through the soft darkness settling in about them as they sat on the veranda. She had hoped her worries had not shown, but she should have known that Thomas would realize she was anxious about something.

  “It’s Louise,” sighed Angela. “I think she is missing Mama. It’s almost as if she misses her more now than—”

  Thomas nodded in understanding, then swatted a mosquito that had landed on his bare forearm.

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “Tonight when I spoke to her about her chores, she—she said I wasn’t her mama.” Angela couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice.

  “Did she do her chores?” asked Thomas.

  Angela wondered if he was about to waken the young girl out of a sound sleep to make sure she had done her work properly.

  “Oh yes. Her fuss didn’t last long—then she was sweet as can be. But—well—it just troubles me. What are we going to do if she decides she doesn’t want to do our bidding? I mean—if Papa was here—he required obedience with one stern look. But what if—?”

  “She hasn’t done this before, has she?”

  “No. But I’m just scared that it might be the first of many. She is growing up, you know—and she has always—well—had a mind of her own.”

  “You want me to talk to her?”

  “Oh no.”

  “Do you want me to punish her? Give her an extra chore or—”

  “Oh my, no,” cut in Angela quickly. “She doesn’t need more punishment. She’s already lost her mama.”

  After a moment of silence, Thomas answered through the spreading darkness, “We have all lost our mama.”

  “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 ‘pleas
e’ 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 li
ke 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.”