Roses for Mama Page 4

  “Care for a sandwich?” Thane was asking.

  Angela’s thoughts jerked back to the moment and she tried to smile.

  “I’m really not very hungry,” she managed, shaking her head.

  Thane accepted her reply and took a seat beside her. He passed her the sandwich he had just offered her and winked. “If you don’t want it, would you mind holding it for me until I’m done with this one?” he asked.

  Angela couldn’t help but smile. She held the sandwich as she watched the group of merrymakers before her, then took a bite to Thane’s approving nod. Everyone seemed to be having such fun. For a moment she felt cheated that she wasn’t able to wholeheartedly join them. But her thoughts kept going back to Thomas, then to the children at home.

  What am I doing here? she asked herself. These people don’t have a care in the world. Not one of them knows what it’s like to have full responsibility for a family. I shouldn’t be partying. I have long since forgotten how.

  Thane was speaking to her. It took a moment for the meaning to make sense to her. Could he get her anything? He was going to get another sandwich “since you have eaten mine,” he teased. As she shook her head, she noticed the concern in his eyes.

  “Something wrong?” he asked. “You’re a million miles away.”

  Angela managed a smile and stirred restlessly on her log seat. “I guess I’m just not much good at partying,” she replied. “I—I keep thinking of the kids at home.”

  “Want me to walk you back?” he asked. “No need for ol’ Tom to leave yet. He seems to be having himself a great time.”

  Angela could hear the chuckle in Thane’s voice. He didn’t seem to have any problem with the way Thomas was carrying on.

  “‘Ol’ Tom,’” she said with emphasis, “should remember that he needs to be up early in the morning to have the chores done in time for church.”

  “I reckon Tom won’t be forgetting that,” replied Thane easily. “Never known him to miss church—or chores—yet.”

  Thane was the only one who ever called her brother Tom. Angela didn’t know why. Everyone else called Thomas by his given name. Why Thane chose not to use it—and why Thomas never seemed to object—she had no idea.

  Angela really did want to go, yet she hated to be the one to break up the party.

  “Well,” she said, “it has been fun—but all good things must end, they say.” She tried to sound light and carefree like the others about her.

  “You’re really going now?” asked Thane.

  “I think we should. We have been gone long enough. Would you mind telling Thomas that I’m ready to go?”

  Thane nodded his head and went to speak to him. Angela was sure that Thomas, when he heard she was leaving the party, would quickly get her wrap and escort her home.

  But it didn’t happen that way. Thomas looked her direction for a moment, gave her a careless wave of his hand, then spoke to Thane again.

  It was Thane who arrived with her wrap. Thomas was still chatting with a group of young people. Trudie was near him, though not leaning on his arm as she had been so often during the evening.

  “Ready?” asked Thane as he settled the wrap about her shoulders.

  Angela allowed Thane to lead her from the group. Laughter followed them as they walked down the lane, and Angela wondered how much longer the party would continue.

  “Good thing there is a full moon,” Thane observed. “It’s easier to see the way.”

  “Oh, I expect that Trudie calculated well,” Angela responded moodily. “She would have been sure to order a full moon.”

  Thane seemed puzzled by her comment but made no reply. After a few attempts at light conversation, Thane let Angela walk in silence. Occasionally he reached out a hand to help her over some rough ground. She accepted without protest. She was almost as used to Thane as to Thomas. He had always been Thomas’s best friend. He spent almost as much time at their house as did her own family. He was as comfortable to be with as Derek. Angela did not pay much attention one way or the other.

  But Thane knew her well.

  “You’re angry about something,” he stated when they reached the porch. “Not just worried about the kids—but angry. What happened?”

  Angela’s chin began to quiver in spite of her attempt to still it.

  “Did you see Trudie?” she hissed, squaring her shoulders. “She was—was hanging on to Thomas like—like she owned him.”

  Thane’s answer came with a soft chuckle. “Maybe she would like to.”

  “Well, she’d better—better back off.”

  “Why?” Thane asked mildly. “I didn’t see Tom objecting.”

  “Well, he should have. We—we need him here—with us. He—he isn’t—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Thane, taking Angela by the shoulders. “Do I hear you right? Are you saying that you expect ol’ Tom to—to just lay life aside and give all of his years to you?”

  “Not me,” choked Angela. “Not me. The kids need—”

  “Angela,” Thane broke in seriously, “there might come a day when Tom will choose a life of his own. He deserves that. He has already postponed his own dreams. Is it right to expect him to just forget about all of that—forever?”

  Angela shivered. She wanted to lay her head against Thane’s shoulder and let the tears fall, but she didn’t.

  “I—I have to,” she told him, her voice trembling.

  There was silence for a moment; then Thane answered slowly.

  “For now,” he said. “For now. But may God grant that it might not always be so.”

  He kissed her forehead gently, and quietly slipped into the night. Angela watched him retreat until he was lost in the shadows; then she turned to the door. Too many emotions were fighting for her attention. She was still angry with Trudie—and with Thomas, though Thane was right. Thomas deserved a life of his own. But what about the children? Who would care for them if Thomas left? And who would share her burden? And what had Thane meant? It would be years before the children were grown and on their own. Angela had no thoughts for anything but the task that still lay ahead of her. She had to raise them properly—for Mama.

  Chapter Six

  The Game

  Angela did not rest well. Thoughts of Thomas deserting the family kept spinning in her head. When she finally fell into a restless sleep, she dreamed she had been split in two and one side was arguing ferociously with the other.

  “He can’t leave us for some—some pretty face.”

  “He deserves a chance for a life of his own.”

  “But we need him far more than she does.”

  “What if he’s not happy here? Do you still think he should stay?”

  “We need him. We need him” seemed to be the endless refrain. Angela awoke in a sweat, heart pounding. She wasn’t sure which of the two sides had been the real Angela—or maybe they both were.

  She was pale and withdrawn as she prepared the morning porridge. The children, in their usual blustery fashion, did not seem to notice that anything was bothering her, which Angela was thankful for. She did feel Derek’s eyes upon her once or twice, but he asked no questions.

  Thomas seemed even brighter than usual. He whistled his way in from milking the cows and teased the youngsters at the breakfast table.

  “Did you have fun at the party?” asked Sara brightly. She tossed back her curls that Angela had formed to go with her Sunday frock.

  Thomas answered enthusiastically, “Sure did.”

  “What did you do?” Sara asked next.

  Thomas tipped his head to one side as though thinking deeply. “Funny thing,” he observed at last. “I don’t recall doing much of anything.”

  “Aw, Thomas. Tell us. Don’t be mean,” pleaded Sara.

  Louise was sitting silently by, picking little bites from her toast and eating them one by one. She still was cross that she hadn’t been allowed to attend the party.

  Derek seemed totally oblivious to the conversation, as though
he were sitting all alone at the breakfast table.

  Angela was not pleased with the discussion. She wanted, with all her heart, to blurt out that Thomas had spent the entire evening making a fool of himself in the company of Trudie Sommers. But even as the accusation formed in her mind she knew it was unfair. Thomas had been mannerly and proper. He had simply been a young man enjoying an evening with friends. Nobody, not even Papa or Mama, would have faulted Thomas on his behavior. No one, that is, but his frightened sister.

  “C’mon,” Sara coaxed. “Tell us what it was like.”

  “Well, let’s see,” began Thomas, more serious now. “We played a few games. We talked a lot. We sang a few songs.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. There had been no singing while she was there. She loved to sing. She might have enjoyed the party more if she had participated in the songfest.

  Thomas hesitated for just a moment. His eyes lifted to meet Angela’s.

  “That was after Angela had come home to check on you. She couldn’t really enjoy the party for worrying that you were all right. We all missed her soprano in the singing. Several people asked about her.”

  Angela turned back to the stove. She felt cheated. No one had told her they were planning to sing.

  “What else?” asked Sara.

  Louise had quit picking at her toast and was listening, but Derek still had not joined the conversation.

  “Well—we ate. We ate lots. There was popcorn and gingerbread and chocolate cake with some kind of crispy stuff on top. Angela, you should ask Trudie for that recipe. It was good. Um-m-m,” said Thomas, giving his head a shake for emphasis.

  Angela had no intention of asking Trudie Sommers for anything. Besides, if things went as Trudie was planning, Thomas could be eating the famous chocolate cake with crispy stuff on top for the rest of his life, Angela reasoned.

  “Louise,” she said almost sternly, “I believe it is your turn to wash the breakfast dishes. Sara, you dry. And Derek,” her voice softened automatically, “I need another block of ice from the ice house.”

  She saw Derek’s nod. He shoved the rest of his toast into his mouth, emptied his milk glass and rose from the table.

  Angela was about to remind him to excuse himself when his eyes met hers for just a moment. She thought she saw pain in them. She closed her lips on the words and looked away. She could not bear to gaze so openly into the boy’s anguished soul.

  As the door shut behind Derek, Angela’s attention was caught by Thomas’s words.

  “And Trudie says we should get together more often.” Thomas was continuing his report.

  With an angry flip of her hand, Angela dropped the roast into the pot with a loud noise. “I’ll just bet she did,” she said under her breath, but no one seemed to notice her anger.

  “Well, I suppose the others might have another party—but me—I told her I appreciated the offer but I had work that needed doing.”

  Angela wondered if she heard disappointment in Thomas’s voice. A feeling of sympathy tugged at her heart. She could not understand herself. How could she feel angry at Thomas one minute and sorry for him the next? She was so mixed up. She hoped with all her heart that the church service would help her get her thoughts untangled.

  ———

  Angela returned from church having regained a measure of serenity. She still felt concern about rearing her siblings. She still felt a quiver of fear that Thomas might leave them for a life of his own, but she had balanced all of that with the fact that God did truly care about the Peterson family. Surely she didn’t bear the burden of their welfare alone.

  I must remember that, she chastised herself. If there ever was a lesson Mama emphasized it was that God loves them and would care for them. They only needed to trust Him.

  The conversation around the dinner table that noon was of the usual sort. They spoke of the things they had heard that morning. They shared little stories about friends. Even Louise laughed at Thomas’s silly jokes and joined in plans of “we should” or “could we?”

  In fact, it seemed to Angela that things were back to normal again, and she began to wonder why she had allowed herself to get into such a stew.

  Their talk turned to childhood remembrances.

  “Remember,” she joined in, “when Mama fixed us that little picnic and we ate it out in the yard under the bed sheets?”

  Thomas nodded, his eyes sparkling with merriment at the memory, but three pairs of eyes looked blank.

  “She pinned the sheets up to the clothesline,” explained Thomas, “and then Pooch, that big oaf of a dog, came tearing around the corner of the house, afraid of the old sow or something, and ran smack into the side of it. It came down off the line and wrapped all around him and he ran off yapping, with that sheet flapping out behind him, like he thought the world was coming to an end.”

  Angela and Thomas laughed until their sides ached.

  “And remember the time Mama made those cookies with the great big eyes and funny looks?” Thomas added. “Sad faces, happy faces, frowning faces, surprised faces. Then she put them on a plate and offered each of us one. We all picked a happy face. Remember? And then she said, ‘Oh, look. You have all chosen a happy face. I guess everyone prefers a face that is happy. No one wants the sad or angry face. Let’s change the rest.’ And she did. Then she let us eat them.”

  Angela nodded. Her mama had been so skillful at getting across simple lessons. If only Angela knew how to do it.

  “And remember the time she walked with us to the creek to show us—”

  “Mama walked?” cut in Sara, her eyes big with wonder.

  Both Angela and Thomas turned to look at her.

  “What do you mean?” asked Angela.

  “I didn’t know Mama could walk.”

  “Of course she could walk.”

  “All I ’member is her being in bed or sometimes in a chair,” continued Sara.

  Tears came to Angela’s eyes. She had worried that the younger children were forgetting their mother—had not had as many years to glean memories as she and Thomas had enjoyed. But she had not realized just how much they had been denied.

  “You don’t remember?” she asked.

  Sara answered by shaking her head.

  “You don’t remember having Mama in the kitchen fixing afterschool snacks? You don’t remember the walks through her garden? You don’t remember taking her hand to see the new calf?”

  With each question Sara continued shaking her head.

  “I remember a little bit,” broke in Louise. “I remember the color of her hair. I even remember Papa calling it ‘spun gold.’ I remember her apron with the big pockets. And I remember one time when I scratched my knee and she fixed it—then she rocked me and sang me a song—about little birdies or something. I forget that part.”

  Angela was disturbed that her sisters had so few memories of their wonderful mother. No wonder it was so difficult for her to pass along to them all the lessons of proper conduct and correct attitudes. There was no base there, built solidly by their mama.

  “Do you remember Mama?” Angela asked, turning to look at Derek. The boy did not lift his eyes from his plate but nodded slightly. Angela saw him swallow. Her eyes misted as she wondered just what memories Derek had tucked away in his heart.

  Angela blinked away the tears and responded quickly lest her emotions would overcome her, “Well, it is important for each of us to remember Mama and Papa. If you don’t remember much about them, Thomas and I—and Derek—are going to have to share our memories. From now on we’ll play a little game and the three of us will share memories about what they did—what they said—what they were like—so all of us will know them and have memories.”

  Sara clapped her hands, her eyes shining. She approved of the game. Louise nodded her head.

  “Thomas, you start,” Angela encouraged.

  “Well, let’s see. Where do I start? There are so many things.”

  “Wait,” said Angela, jumping up from th
e table. “Let’s write down each one—then we won’t be getting mixed-up and telling the same ones over and over. And later we can read them.”

  Angela returned with a sheet of paper and a pencil.

  “The next time I’m in town I’ll buy a proper book. For now this will do.”

  “Let’s call it our Memory Book,” put in Sara excitedly.

  “And we could divide it into how they looked, what they did, and what they said,” Louise offered, adding, “That way, Sara and I will get to say something, too.”

  “Great idea,” Angela agreed. “Instead of Thomas going first, you start, Sara.”

  Sara puckered her brow and thought deeply. “Well,” she said at last, “I ’member Mama in her bed with a blue blanket tucked up close around her chin. I thought she was sleeping, but when I tiptoed in she reached out her hand to me—and smiled.”

  Angela swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew from Sara’s account that the incident had happened shortly before their mother left them. Angela wrote quickly, for she knew Louise was anxious for her turn.

  “I remember,” began Louise, “Mama sitting in her chair, by the fireplace. And she was knitting me mittens. Red ones. Remember? They were my very favorites—but I lost one and—I don’t know what happened to the other one.”

  “I guess you lost them both, huh?” teased Thomas.

  “I did not. I just lost one,” insisted Louise.

  “Derek?” encouraged Angela.

  Derek fidgeted with his fork, his eyes downcast. He swallowed a few times and eventually spoke. His voice was low and strained, as though speaking was difficult for him.

  “I remember Mama baking pie” was all he said.

  Angela struggled with the few words. She found it difficult to control her emotions. Poor Derek. He was suffering far more deeply than she had ever known.

  “Thomas, now you,” Angela managed to say.

  “Well, I’m going to share a memory of Papa,” said Thomas. “I remember how big Papa was.” Thomas stretched his hand in the air to emphasize his point. “I only reached about to the top of his boots—or that’s the way it seemed to me. I was so proud when I got as high as his pockets. He used to tuck penny candies in them when he went to town. I remember when I could reach candies on my own.”