The Bluebird and the Sparrow by Janette Oke Page A

they spoke to each other.
    Her mother nodded, the feather on her bonnet waving gently. It reminded Berta that it had been a long time since her mother had purchased a new hat. Her father would have been chagrined.
    “Come in to the side room,” invited Berta, rising and leading the way. Her mother followed wordlessly.
    Apart from looking pale and drawn, her mother appeared to be fine. Perhaps it was just the long, cold winter, reasoned Berta. She likely hasn’t been out since—
    “How are you, Mama?” she asked as she closed the door behind them and indicated a chair.
    Her mother smiled for the first time. “It’s good to see you, dear,” she answered. “I hardly get to speak to you at church. Your uncle is always in such a hurry to get on home.”
    Berta nodded. It had been a long time since they had really had a visit.
    “How’s Granna?” asked Berta. Her grandmother had not been able to get out to church over the winter months.
    “She’s doing quite well,” replied her mother. “Her arthritis bothers her. She doesn’t dare go out in the cold.”
    “And Glenna?”
    “She is well. Parker is terribly busy, but she keeps occupied with the church and friends.”
    Berta took the other chair, relief coursing through her. It was not bad news that brought her mother to town.
    Mrs. Berdette drew off her gloves and played with them absentmindedly. Berta did not know what to say next.
    “We’ve just closed the deal on the farm,” her mother said suddenly. “Your uncle John and I just came from the bank.”
    Berta could only stare. She had waited all winter for the news, and now that it had finally happened it caught her off guard and totally unprepared.
    “I need to be out by the middle of the month,” her mother went on. “I guess that means I will need to get ready for a yard sale.”
    She stopped for a breath, her eyes on Berta’s face. Berta still did not dare to speak.
    “I was wondering if there is anything—furniture maybe—that you’d like. Anything for your new house? There’s no need for me to be selling it if you can find use for it.”
    Berta nodded.
    “I was wondering,” asked her mother, “if you’d mind—I know that it’s an imposition, but I was wondering if—just for a couple of weeks—if you’d consider coming on home—to help me sort through things. You know how dreadful I am at making hard decisions. … ”
    Slowly Berta nodded as her mother’s voice trailed off. What a wonderful relief that would be. What a pleasure to be out of the stuffy little room and back out into the crisp country air—the open windows—the space to move about.
    “I—I could do that,” she said calmly.
    “I—don’t wish to—”
    “No—no, that’s fine. I don’t mind. Really.”
    Her mother smiled. “That’s such a relief, dear,” she said with tears in her eyes and reached out to run her hand down Berta’s cheek in her familiar way. “You don’t know how I’ve dreaded facing it alone.”
    “I don’t mind,” Berta repeated.
    “My dependable one,” Mrs. Berdette said softly. “What would I ever do without you?”
    Berta could not reply. She felt confused. Choked with emotion.
    ———
    The next weeks passed very quickly. Berta could hardly wait for each day at the library to end so she might get home. It was strange. In some ways it was almost like old times to be back in her own room—back with her mother in the little kitchen—back by the fireside as they sorted through another box of memories.
    Yet it was so different. Glenna was missing. Glenna with her silvery laughter—her exuberance—her sparkle. The bedroom seemed so empty—almost lifeless without Glenna. Berta could hardly bear the silence.
    And the clutter about them in the little house that had always been so neat and tidy was a constant reminder that things were changing. The sorting and packing was difficult to do—not just for Mrs. Berdette but for Berta, as well.
    Berta did make decisions about pieces