The Bluebird and the Sparrow (7 page)

“Do you think you should spend the night in town with friends?” the woman asked as Berta buttoned on her coat and tied her scarf firmly around her head.

“Oh, I could never do that. Mama would worry. Someone would need to get word to her—and I might as well be the one,” she finished with a little smile.

Miss Phillips nodded, then hastened to add, “Well, I do think it is too far to be walking in such weather. You must make arrangements with your mother that on such wintry days you’ll stay in town.”

Then Miss Phillips seemed to bite her tongue and turned

sharply away as though she had already said much more than she had intended.

Berta nodded. She’d have to do some thinking about their situation. It was a long way for Glenna to be walking to school as well. Perhaps they would be better off in town.

By the time Berta had made her way through the swirling snow and reached the Berdette doorstep, it was getting quite dark out. She was glad to lift the latch and press her way into the warmth of the front hallway.

“I was concerned,” her mother said, a worried look on her face. “It’s so stormy.”

Berta replied by shivering and asking, “Is Glenna home?”

“Parker brought her. He picked her up at school. He offered to go back for you, but I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave until your hours—”

“That’s all right,” Berta interrupted. She certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed a trip home through the storm with Glenna’s Parker.

The two were now seeing each other regularly. They were recognized as an established couple—both at the little church and also in the community. Folks had long since stopped making comments about “how young Glenna is to have a steady beau.”

But even though Berta also accepted Parker being in love with her little sister, she still struggled with the fact that she found him very attractive.

“Miss Phillips told me not to come in the morning if the storm persists,” she told her mother. “No one ventures out to the library in such weather anyway.”

Mrs. Berdette nodded. “I have some tea ready,” she told Berta and led the way into the living room and the warm fire blazing in the open fireplace.

Berta extended her hands. She hadn’t realized just how cold she was until the warmth of the room surrounded her.

“I’ll need to get out to the horses,” she murmured as she accepted the cup of tea from her mother.

There were also the chickens to care for and the two cows that remained from her father’s livestock.

“Glenna is doing the chores,” replied her mother.

“Glenna?” Delicate Glenna was mucking around in the barns?

“She knew you’d be chilled clear through,” Mrs. Berdette went on.

Berta took her tea to a nearby chair. “Mama,” she said, pushing some stray locks back from her face. Usually her hair was so severely tucked and pinned that it didn’t dare break free of its knot at the nape of her neck, but the strong wind had dislodged it. “Miss Phillips made an interesting comment. She suggested that we move into town.”

Berta waited for her words to sink in. She expected her mother to respond quickly with strong opposition. But there was silence in the room.

Berta looked up from her teacup to see her mother rubbing her hands together as though in agitation. At last she spoke.

“I’ve been thinking the same myself,” she said to a surprised Berta. “It doesn’t make sense for you and Glenna to walk to and fro—especially in such weather.”

Berta stared at her mother, hardly believing her ears.

“Glenna will be done with school in the spring,” continued her mother slowly, “and I’ve an idea that Parker will not wish to wait long for a wedding. The farm … ”

But Berta did not hear her next words. She was in shock with the calm way that her mother had spoken of Glenna—little Glenna. Surely she wasn’t ready to get married. Parker’s
wife
?

Berta shook her head to clear it. The room seemed to be spinning around her.

“Are you all right?” she heard her mother asking.

Berta jerked back to attention.

“I’m fine. Just fine,” she insisted. “I—I was just—thinking—I mean—it took me by surprise—your speaking of—of Glenna and—I mean—I guess I still think of her as—as a child.”

Her mother smiled. “I’d like to think of her in that way too,” she said slowly. “But I … I keep seeing the love in her young man’s eyes.”

“But she’s only seventeen,” argued Berta setting aside her teacup.

“I was married at her age,” answered her mother softly.

Berta could not hide her surprise. She had known that fact—but she had never before thought about it in relation to an
actual age
—her sister’s age. Her mother seemed so—so different from her little sister.

They both sat silently each deep in her own thoughts. It was Berta who finally spoke.

“So there will just be me—and you,” she stated.

Mrs. Berdette stirred. She moistened her lips and started to speak, then shifted uncomfortably. Fear gripped Berta’s heart. Was her mother hiding a secret? Had she, without confiding, agreed to the proposal of one of her male acquaintances?

“Have you made plans without—?” Berta stopped. She was challenging her mother’s right to make her own decisions. There was more than concern in her voice. There was also annoyance.

“Well … not really. I mean, I haven’t decided … I’ve just been … thinking.” She stirred again as though hesitant to go on.

“About what?” prompted Berta.

Her mother seemed to take courage. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead, not meeting Berta’s dark eyes. “Your grandmother has asked me to move in with her. She isn’t as strong as she once was. Uncle John would be greatly relieved if I’d agree to the arrangement. He’s been advising me to sell our small farm—get rid of the nuisance of livestock—the hens—the team. He thinks—”

Berta breathed a deep sigh of relief. She was glad her mother didn’t plan to remarry. She wouldn’t have liked another man to take her father’s place.

“And what am I to do?” she asked more sharply than she intended. “With you at Granna’s and Glenna married—what happens to me?”

It wasn’t fair. Her accusation of desertion hung heavily in the room between them even though she had not really spoken the words.

“That—that is why I haven’t made a decision,” her mother hurriedly tried to explain.

“So—” said Berta rising from her chair and crossing to stare down at the burning log in the fireplace. “I am the hindrance to your—plans? I—”

“Berta,” spoke her mother with a sob in her voice. “You are no hindrance. You are—”

Berta felt a hand on her arm and knew that her mother stood close beside her. She knew there would be tears in her mother’s eyes. Well, so be it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all that they had been planning—the two of them—planning how they would change their lives—how they would move on—and just leave her to—to muddle her own way through it all.

“Berta,” said her mother again, pleadingly. “No one has made plans—yet. We need to talk about it. Decide. We need to do what is best—for all of us.”

Her voice sounded choked. Berta was afraid her mother was going to weep.

“I need to think,” Berta stated, pulling away from her mother’s hand, and she left for the bedroom she still shared with Glenna.

In her severe agitation Berta wished she had a room of her own. Some place of privacy. Some place of quiet. She hoped with all her heart that Glenna would not come bursting in, her cheeks flushed by the chilling wind, her eyes sparkling with memories of her ride home with Parker.

Berta buried her face in her pillow and closed her eyes. She had to think. But she didn’t want to think. She had to get back control. But she had never had control. Not really. They had fooled her. She had thought that with Father gone she was now in charge of the family. But they had been making plans—all along—secretly. Plans that did not even include her. She ached with the desire to cry. To scream out against the world that always seemed to hurt her.

But she did not cry. She refused to. She just lay there in her silence, aching and angry.

At last she rose and pushed her pillow firmly to where it belonged on her bed.

“All right,” she said aloud as she straightened her shoulders. “If they don’t need me—I don’t need them either. They can make their plans. From now on I’ll make plans to suit myself. They can go their way—I’ll go mine. And I’ll do just fine—without them.”

Chapter Seven

Parker

Supper was a quiet meal. Even Glenna, who usually chattered happily, seemed to sense the mood of the two others at the table and was unusually subdued and pensive. For her part, Berta had made a personal decision. She would let things continue as they were until Glenna had finished her school year, and then she would make her own plans. Perhaps Miss Phillips would know of a room where she could board. Surely the salary that she made at her job would cover the rent. She would no longer need to be paying toward the support of her family.

Mrs. Berdette, too, seemed to be miles away.
What are her thoughts?
Berta wondered, but she did not ask. Did not even enter into conversation beyond “Pass the butter, please.”

In spite of the continued fury of the storm, Parker came to call. Berta lifted her eyes from the pages of the book she had brought from the library. She saw Glenna’s eager greeting and Parker’s ready response. With heavy heart she realized that her mother was likely right. Parker was sure to be asking for Glenna’s hand before many months passed.

“Good evening,” Parker addressed her politely.

Berta was sure he had no idea how his solicitude set her heart to racing.

Don’t be a fool,
she scolded herself.
He is Glenna’s beau.

She managed to answer his comments without giving away her true feelings, and then when she felt she had exchanged enough conversation to be seen as not running away, she excused herself.

“Oh, don’t go. Stay and chat,” invited Glenna.

Berta indicated the book in her hand. “I am at a most interesting spot.” She managed a slight smile. “I’m afraid I can’t wait to see just how it will turn out.”

“But we don’t want to drive you away from the warm fire,” spoke Parker. “Glenna and I will be happy to visit in the kitchen if—”

“No. No, that’s not necessary. I have a warm robe—and slippers. I’ll not miss the fire.”

And Berta hastened to leave the room before they could protest further.

“I think I’ll retire early,” she heard her mother saying. “It’s been a long day. I find I am quite weary.”

Berta paused in her departure. She wasn’t sure that it was proper to leave the young girl and her suitor alone in the living room.

“I’ll not be staying late,” assured Parker.

Berta hurried on down the hall.

The book had lost its fascination. She flipped through the pages, hardly understanding what she was reading. At last she tossed it aside and began her preparations for retiring.

Before she could even climb between the cozy flannel sheets she heard Glenna humming her way down the hall.

As she entered the room her eyes turned to Berta. “Shall I bank the fires?” she asked.

That had always been Berta’s job.

“Parker gone already?” asked Berta rather than answering.

“He thought it best,” responded Glenna, then followed with, “He always frets about my reputation. It’s so sweet.”

Berta said nothing.

“Do you wish me to bank the fire?” Glenna asked again.

“No, I will,” replied Berta and slipped her feet back into her slippers and tied her heavy robe close about her.

“Mama is already sleeping. I peeked in on her,” said Glenna.

Berta looked up. She nodded.

“Berta—is something wrong with Mama?”

Berta looked at her younger sister evenly. “Why do you ask?”

“Well … I—I don’t know. She just seems—worried. Preoccupied.”

“I—I guess she has a lot on her mind,” responded Berta as she moved toward the door.

“Like what?” asked Glenna frankly.

Berta turned to look at her. There was no way she was going to say to Glenna that their mother expected her to soon receive a proposal of marriage from her gentleman caller. Nor was she prepared to say that she intended to move out on her own at her earliest opportunity. Instead she said, “Granna isn’t doing well on her own. Uncle John thinks Mama should move in with her.”

Glenna stared.

“Why haven’t I been told?” she asked.

“I hadn’t been told either,” Berta shot back. “Until tonight. Mama told me just before you came in from choring.”

“So that’s why the silence,” mused Glenna.

Berta nodded.

“So we are to stay on here alone?” continued Glenna.

“No. No—the farm will be sold.”

“Sold?” Glenna sounded incredulous.

Berta nodded.

“But that’s—it was Papa’s pride. He—”

“It only makes sense,” Berta said. “It’s ridiculous for us to be tending cows and chickens and a team we never use.”

She moved toward the door again.

Again Glenna stopped her. “Are we all to live with Granna, then?”

“Please, Glenna,” said Berta in exasperation. “I don’t have the answers. I don’t even know what Mama is going to decide to do. It all will need to be worked out when—when the time comes.”

Glenna looked like she was about to cry. She dipped her head quickly and when she looked back up she was biting her lip and blinking her long dark lashes.

“I hate change,” she whispered. “I hate it. It is so—so unsettling.”

Berta turned away.

You have no idea just how unsettling it will be,
she thought to herself.
But you’ll be the lucky one.

————

At least three times a week Parker came to call. All through the winter months and on into the spring he appeared at their front door, hat in his hand. Three times a week Berta excused herself from the room and went to the kitchen to sew or to her bedroom to read.

The pain had grown less with the quiet knowledge that what her mama had said was surely true. Parker would one day—soon—be Glenna’s husband. Berta trained herself to think of the young man that way.