“Yes’m.”
“You do not need to call me ma’am,” Momma told the polite young man.
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” He laughed. “It’s just my way.”
Momma laughed too. “You may call me whatever you like,” she said. “Thank you for coming to see us. Though many miles and years separate us, your family is important to me.” Momma smiled, her eyes moist. “Very dear indeed.”
It was striking to see Momma so animated, and so overtly emotional. It was a side that Sadie saw only when Momma was with her grandchildren.
“I come with a letter from my ma,” he explained, “bearing sad news.”
Momma’s hand flew to her heart, pain filled her eyes, and tears threatened to spill over. Compassion welled up in Sadie.
“Has Mattie . . . ?” Momma asked, fear riddling her words.
“Not yet, ma’am. But we believe it will be soon.” He held out a letter with his well-manicured hands.
Momma’s hand shook as she took the envelope. She placed it on her lap and sighed. They sat in a bittersweet silence. Sadie could hear the tick of the clock on the oak mantel. Sadness for Momma, and for Miss Jordan, rose in her. The prospect of facing life without a mother struck a painful chord.
“Would you like me to read the letter to you, Momma?” Sadie broke the uncomfortable silence.
The older woman nodded. Sadie took the note and read aloud:
Dear Lisbeth,
I hope this letter finds you and your family well.
I have sad news that I must share. Mama has been unable to eat for several weeks; we believe she has a growth that is preventing digestion. Naomi and I are caring for her, keeping her comfortable as best as we can. Before her illness we had decided to move to Oakland to join Malcolm, whom you have just met. He is quite enamored of your city and has convinced us we will enjoy the climate as well as the citizens.
Mama agreed to the move, excited to see the bright poppies and, more important, your dear face. I cannot do anything about the poppies, but I can ask you to come to bring more joy and ease to her passing. Is it possible for you to make the trip to Chicago? It would mean so much to Mama, your Mattie, and to me as well.
I understand that it may not be possible for you to make such a journey. If that is the case, will you pen a note for Malcolm to bring when he returns to Chicago?
Fondly,
Jordan
Sadie finished reading the painful news with a sigh. She looked at her mother, expecting tears, but instead her jaw was set with focused determination.
“Is it too late for me to purchase a ticket on tomorrow’s train?” Momma asked Malcolm.
A sweet smile tugged up his lips. “Thank you, ma’am. It will mean so much to everyone.”
Momma swallowed. “I owe you thanks for the invitation. Mattie cared for me from the day I was born. The best of me comes from her. I can never fully repay all she did”—Momma’s voice cracked—“but I can show her my devotion and gratitude by coming now.”
Momma’s loyalty to Mattie Freedman wasn’t a surprise. The elderly woman had been more like a mother to her, caring for Momma since she was a baby. However, Momma’s intention to travel to Chicago placed Sadie in a familiar, and uncomfortable, bind. She did not want her elderly mother to journey so far alone, but her husband would not approve of her taking a long, expensive trip.
“About that ticket.” Momma’s tone shifted again.
“Yes, ma’am,” Malcolm replied. “I can arrange everything for you. I’ll send a porter for your bag at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll put a ticket on hold at the counter, where you can pay. Arrive by nine if you do not want to be rushed.”
“Will there be room for two?” Sadie interjected, despite her reservations. “I’d like to accompany my mother.”
Momma nodded with a small smile, satisfaction in her eyes.
“Thank you, Sadie. It will be nice to have your companionship,” Momma said, “if you believe Heinrich won’t mind your absence too terribly.”
Sadie’s heart quickened at the sound of her husband’s name. She expected Heinrich to balk at her decision to accompany her mother, though she did not know how much he would protest. He was a man of routines and showed his displeasure when they were disrupted. If she arranged for his care while she was gone, he might be more forgiving.
“I will manage Heinrich,” Sadie declared, sounding more confident than she felt. Over their ten years of marriage she’d slowly learned how to be a good wife. Before their wedding she’d been naïve enough to think that most marriages were like her parents’ with an equal partnership between husband and wife. She had entirely underestimated the differences between her and Heinrich, an immigrant from Germany. He had many assumptions about the role of a wife that Sadie did not bring to their union.
Heinrich did not understand Sadie’s attachment to her family. Many of their earliest disagreements centered on her desire for both of them to be close to Momma, Poppa, Sam, and his wife, Diana. He reported that his mother had few opinions and kept to herself. She had no friends or family that took her away from the house. Heinrich had not visited with any extended family during his childhood.
They had come to a fragile peace that allowed Sadie to continue her familial relationships while giving him the freedom to stay clear of them. Sadie wished it were otherwise, but she was resigned to his attitude.
She often reminded herself that the situation could be more painful. He might need to move back to Germany or elsewhere. Momma and Poppa had resettled from Virginia to Ohio and then to California. Heinrich had moved to a new continent for financial opportunity.
Sadie was grateful her husband was utterly devoted to his employer, Mr. Spreckels, a fellow German who had become the sugar king of the West. Spreckels had made a fortune exporting beet sugar, fruit, and vegetables from the lush fields of California to the East. Heinrich’s work provided them a comfortable life with the income for modern luxuries like gaslights and allowed her to live near her family in Oakland.
After a nice visit with Malcolm, Momma and Sadie said farewell and walked for twenty minutes through downtown to her brother’s home. He lived with his family on the other side of the produce district. Married for a dozen years, Sam and Diana ran a successful wholesale business together. Their three children, Tina, Elena, and Alex, showed Diana’s Greek roots in their nearly black hair and dark-brown eyes.
Diana’s parents had refused to attend Sam and Diana’s wedding, disapproving of her marriage to an American. But after Tina was born, they forgot their objections and showered the young family with food and attention. Diana welcomed them back into their lives, never speaking of the disrespect they showed to Sam. The early struggles in her brother’s marriage had taught Sadie that compromise and strife were part of being husband and wife.
On the way to Sam and Diana’s, Momma stopped for lemon drops, a treat for her beloved grandchildren. She bought a large stash for Sam and Diana to dole out over the many days they would be away. Sadie pushed down her envy, reminding herself that Momma would dote on her children too, if God gave her any.
Sam and Diana lived on the bottom floor of an older duplex nestled between the estuary and Lake Merritt. A few times a year, when the breeze shifted in the wrong direction, the stench of sewage from the lake would drift into their five-room home. But most of the time it was an ideal location, close to their produce store and the amenities of city life. Both Diana and Sam had been raised on farms, and neither one missed the constant work with unpredictable outcomes.