5 April 1946
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, with my eyes blindfolded.
“You’ll see when we get there,” Oren says.
“The suspense is driving me mad.”
“Almost there. A couple more blocks.”
His hand lands on my leg, and he gives it a squeeze. I know that he has been up to something the last few days. I tried to get it out of Oma, but she’s kept quiet, even though I can tell by looking at her, she knows.
The car pulls to a stop and exhilaration twists my insides. Oren leaves the car, and then he’s at the passenger side, opening the door.
“Take my hand,” he says.
Reaching out, I grasp his palm. He helps me out of the car. Letting go of my hand, he steadies me by grabbing each of my shoulders.
“Are you ready?”
“I am.”
The blindfold falls away, and I’m left staring at a small building downtown. I turn and look at Oren, wondering if he’s going to open another practice. He takes my head and angles it upwards so I can read the sign, and my heart bursts. In black lettering with an image of a rose, the sign above the building says “Rose Dance Studio.”
“What do you think, my darling?”
“This is for me?”
“Well, I’m surely not going to be the one teaching dance. You know I have two left feet.” He laughs.
I’m flabbergasted. Oren and I talked about my dream of teaching dance in the past, but I never thought it would be possible to have my own studio. I jump into his arms, and he twirls me around while our lips meet.
Laughing, I kiss his cheeks and neck as he lowers me back to the ground.
“Ready to go inside and take a look?”
“I have never been more ready,” I say, taking his arm in mine.
Handing me the key, he allows me to open the door. “Ladies first,” he says, holding the door.
Walking through the entrance, I smell the scent of fresh paint. He turns on the lights, and the first thing I notice is the gleaming hardwood floor. The back wall is paneled with mirrors and a barre lines it. On the off-white walls that don’t have mirrors, there are vines with hand-painted roses. The most beautiful chandelier hangs from the ceiling.
“Oren, this is incredible!”
His excitement overcomes him, as he pulls my arm and shows me the back room. “The best part is my clinic is around the corner, so we’ll be able to have lunch together.”
Shaking my head, I can’t believe he’s done this for me.
“I was thinking Oma can work here as well. She can help keep your books, and you can teach.”
“You’re too wonderful for words,” I say. “Thank you.”
Walking back out to the dance floor, he takes me into his arms and sways my body. “How about you give your first lesson now?” He smirks.
I place my arms around his neck, and he pulls me closer to him. Leaning into him, I put my head on his shoulder, and we rock back and forth.
Suddenly, he breaks away from me. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He rushes over to a record player cabinet and places the needle to vinyl, sending music soaring through the studio. Perry Como’s dreamy voice echoes when Oren takes my hands into his and moves us to the rhythm of Surrender. Placing his left hand, still holding mine, on my waist, I let go of his right one and drape my hand over his shoulder. Nestling onto his chest, I listen to his heart beat in time with the music.
26 April 1947
Today… my son turns four years old. Today… I wonder where he is. Today… I can’t get out of bed. My husband tried to get me to leave the comfort of the warm quilt this morning before he left for work, but I refused. Oma left the room after checking on me for the third time this afternoon, but no amount of coddling seems to ease my breaking heart. Even with the little life growing inside me, my pain over Meir is too great to bear. Rolling over in bed, I rest on my back and stare at the ceiling. Oren and I continue our search for Meir with no results. The Kubises kept their secret hidden well—so well, it amazes me that they were caught transporting children. Recently, we learned that the child they last tried smuggling out of Poland was murdered by the Nazis and never made it out of the country.
Closing my eyes, I picture what Meir would look like at four years old and feel each piece of my heart break. I envision him looking like Henry, blond with striking blue eyes, but with my lips and the roundness of my eyes. Sometimes my mind wanders, especially on days like today. I’m left feeling guilty when I imagine a life with Henry, raising our child together. Had Henry survived, that’s how things would’ve turned out. My heart is torn by the thoughts at times because I love Oren and I cherish the love he’s given me.
The door to my bedroom opens and in walks my darling. My eyes shift to the clock, and I realize it’s past his lunchtime, but too early for him to be home for the day.
“Darling,” he calls. “Are you awake?”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t make your lunch. You didn’t tell me you were coming home for lunch today,” I say.
“It’s okay. I grabbed a snack out of the refrigerator. I closed the clinic early so I could be home with you.”
Walking around the bed, he lies down next to me and wraps his arm around me. I scooch my body into his and let his love comfort me. Droplets fall and soak my pillow.
“Have you eaten?” he asks in a low hum.
“Oma brought me something a couple hours ago.”
“Good. Is there anything you need now? How are you feeling?”
“I need you to keep holding me. Besides my heartache, I feel fine,” I whisper.
“Oh, Estherly… I wish there were more I could do. I don’t know how else to search for Meir anymore.”
He sounds defeated, and it rips me to shreds. I know that if there were a way Oren could reunite me with Meir, he would’ve done so. He would do anything for me, and his desire to find my son is almost as great as mine.
“I know…” I say, rubbing his hand. “You’ve done your best.”
“I’m not giving up. I’ll never stop looking for him. One day, all of our efforts will pay off, and we’ll have him back with us.”
Normally, his confidence that we’ll find Meir exhilarates me, but today, I’ve no energy left to believe what he says could be true. “Thank you,” is the only response I can muster.
Taking his arm from my back, he rubs his hand over it instead, kneading my tight muscles and helping release tension. He stays with me in bed until Oma calls us for dinner later that night, soothing my sorrows as best as he can.
18 October 1947
Standing at the sink, I stretch to turn the water off after finishing our dinner dishes. The girth of my belly makes me giggle as simple things like turning off water have become difficult over the past few months. Putting leftover meatloaf in the refrigerator, wetness pools between my thighs, and a puddle forms on the floor.
“Oren!”
“Yes, darling,” he calls from the living room.
“Oren!”
Footsteps pound the floor down the hallway until he’s in the kitchen with me, Oma trailing behind.
“Your water broke,” he says, with a wide grin. “The baby will be here soon. Oma, can you get Estherly’s coat and bag? The suitcase is in the hall closet, ready to go.”
“She’s having the baby?” Oma asks, surprised.
He saunters over to me and tucks his arm under me. “Are the contractions starting?”
I nod and grit my teeth.
“We’re prepared so there’s nothing to worry about, okay?”
“Okay.” I smile, even though there is pain.
Oren walks me through the hall to the entryway where we meet Oma, who stands stoic, with my jacket in one hand and my bag in the other.
“Please call the hospital and let them know we’re on our way. Do you think you’ve memorized how to make the call well enough in English?”
“Yes,” Oma says, in a thick accent, in English. “This is Oma Krauss, Esth
erly Rose’s sister. Dr. Rose and his wife are on the way. Baby is coming.”
He chuckles, and I can’t help laughing at Oma’s robotic tone.
In German, she scolds us and whooshes us out the door.
“Go. Have baby,” she says in English, and Oren and I burst into more laughter as he helps me down the stairs.
Grabbing onto the railway, I double over giggling and repeat what Oma said in my own thick accent. “Go! Have baby!”
“Estherly, stop!” he says with a guttural laugh, holding onto the back of me. “We need to go have baby!”
10 June 1995
Walking upstairs to the attic, I miss the days when my knees did not crack. I long for the time when I could perform a flawless pirouette without the pain of arthritis.
I flick the light on in the attic and make my way to my desired item. Taking the box which contains my treasure with me, I sit in a chair. When I open the box, dust flies everywhere, causing me to sneeze.
“There you are, my old friend,” I say, peering down at my beautiful white diary as I pull it from the box. I trace my fingers over the floral embellishment while memories dance through my mind. Opening the diary, I go right to the pages I’m seeking. Stuck between them are the dried, pressed flowers I saved from my wedding day. Taking them out, I place them on a nearby dresser. They are the reason I ventured up here, but now that I have my diary in my hands, I can’t resist looking through it.
Taking a few moments, I read some of my early writings, images of my family flashing in my mind. I wipe tears from my aged cheeks and smile when I turn the page and land on a photograph of Henry. Picking it up, I stare for a while, getting lost in my past. Seeing Henry always reminds me of my Meir. A physical pain resonates in my heart as I think of my son and where he might be. I tuck the photograph back in place and continue looking through the pages until I land on a cluster of them. I try peeling them apart, but my efforts are useless.
I recall the day, many years ago, when Lila accidentally spilled a glass of lemonade on the diary. Oren tried his best to clean it up, but years of my written life were ruined. While life kept me busy at most times, with three girls, a husband, and my dance studio, I had always made sure to detail important events through the years. But, years of my writings were lost that day.
Staring down at ink that bled like tears down the page, I am compelled once again to put paper to pen. I search the diary for empty pages and find a few to work on later. Closing the book and grabbing the dried flowers, I head back downstairs.
11 June 1995
I run my hand over white lace and twiddle my fingers over the satin buttons on the bodice of my dress. Staring at my reflection, I move my hand to my hips, feeling soft silk under my palm. The beauty of the long dress takes my breath away.
“Mom, stop fussing.” Lila grabs one of my hands as if trying to calm my nerves.
“I’m an old woman. This dress is overdoing it, don’t you think?” I ask.
In unison, all three of my daughters yell, “No!”
Letting go of her hand, I step closer to the full-length mirror. My weathered reflection stares back. Each crease on my face, earned. My brown eyes, though not as bright as they used to be, tell a story. In them, there is pain, hope, joy, sorrow, and unbelievable love. They reveal a life of survival, strength, and precious moments. I imagine myself in this dress, fifty years ago, when I first married Oren on that hilltop in Poland, and the thought warms my soul. What a sight I would’ve been then. But now, feelings of insecurity overwhelm me.
“Mame, you look beautiful,” Kate says, taking a turn at reassuring me.
“I can’t believe I let you girls talk me into all of this. Your father and I simply wanted to renew our vows, and now we have this whole ordeal.”
“Get a grip, Mom. This is the wedding you never got. The one you deserve. Suck it up and enjoy your day,” Lila says.
“Don’t talk to Mame like that,” Ani says. “Can’t you see she’s nervous?”
“Nervous for what? It’s not like Daddy isn’t going to be standing there waiting for her. I’m pretty sure since he’s showed up every day for the last fifty years, he’ll show up today,” Lila argues.
Laughing, I nod. “You’re right about your father, but are you sure this dress and all this makeup aren’t too much for an elderly woman like me?”
They all stare at me with frustrated expressions.
“Do it for us,” Kate says, and I give in.
Allowing my daughters to continue to doll me up, I stay quiet as they brush my gray hair, pull it up, and put blush on my cheeks. After twenty minutes, I must admit, they did a pretty good job.
Each of my daughters takes steps in front of me through the lobby area in a glorious, downtown, Victorian hotel. Above us, chandeliers twinkle with tiny, soft lights. Floral arrangements that my girls put together decorate the room.
Past my daughters’ shoulders, I catch a glimpse of my husband. He watches our girls with the great love he has for each of them. Putting a foot forwards, I follow their stride, matching their pace. Our guests rise and smile at me as I enter the grand room. Oren turns his head, and his eyes lock with mine. He looks at me as if fifty years haven’t passed and he’s never seen anything so beautiful. It’s the same way he looked at me the day I first said, “I do.” He, too, is as handsome to me as he was the day we met. The corners of his mouth turn upwards into his familiar, glorious smile, and I’m glad the girls took the time they did making me beautiful.
Reaching the end of the aisle, we lock hands, and I take my place next to Oren. I never feel more at home than I do when I’m by his side. Squeezing my hand, he shoots me a soothing smile. Feelings of bashfulness come over me, and I’m propelled back in time to when I was in my twenties and our love was new. Letting go of my hand, he slides his arm around my waist and pulls my body against his. The officiant starts his speech about everlasting love, and I know that no words spoken can express the way I feel for my husband or his feelings for me.
Turning towards each other, we prepare ourselves for the exchange of our renewed vows.
At our reception, camera lights flash as together, Oren and I cut a beautiful three-tiered cake the girls insisted we purchase. Releasing the knife, he picks up a small piece from what we cut and gently places it in my mouth. Dropping the knife on the table, I take my portion and shove it all over his face. Laughter bursts out around us, and I can’t help joining in. With wide eyes, Oren chuckles and wipes frosting from his cheek. Bringing my lips to his, I ignore the mess we make as I kiss him. The room narrows until, in my mind, we’re the only two standing there.
We stay lip-locked until the first guitar strings of our latest song play overhead. Parting, Neil Young’s Harvest Moon beckons us to our first dance. Taking my hand, he escorts me to the centre of the dance floor. As if led by the lyrics of our song, he pulls me to him. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against his chest and listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat. We sway back and forth as he hums, as we have in our living room many times. I fall more in love with him in this moment, as I have each day for the past fifty years. Our love hasn’t withered in all this time. There have been hard times, but we got through them together, and the good outweigh the bad. When I lost Henry, I never thought I could love another man so deeply.
Oren is the greatest love of my life. He’s my rock and my partner. He’s my everything. Together, we built a life I only dreamed I could have and, at one point, thought I never would.
Opening my eyes, I find my family surrounding us. Tears fall down Kate’s cheek. There is so much of myself in her. She’s more like me than any of my daughters. She wanted the things I desired, and she accomplished them. She has my determination and dedication to dance. The only difference between us is she became a professional dancer and lived out her dreams of performing. I smile as I remember the day she came to me, when she knew I was getting ready to retire, and asked if she could take over teaching dance at my studio. I was overjoyed!
&nb
sp; Ani reaches for her husband’s hand, and my heart swells, knowing the love they have for each other is like the one Oren and I share. I recall the time when she was a teenager, and I had to coax her out of the bathroom after her first heartbreak. The words I spoke to her run through my mind. I told her that there is someone for everyone, and she would find him, or he would come to her, but she would not go unloved. I knew with a heart like hers, one so much like her father’s, there was no way that precious angel wouldn’t find the love she deserved. The compassion she has for others is a driving force in her life. I admire how she takes care of her sisters and me and her father. Out of all my girls, she is most like him.
Naturally, my attention goes to Lila. My feisty one. My firecracker. She’s more like Oma and Gavi than she is me and Oren. Her headstrong attitude and powerful personality have brought her great success. Although she’s outspoken and tough, she has a heart of gold and uses it to care for animals. She always kept me on my toes, and although we had our battles, our relationship couldn’t be any stronger.
Each of my daughters brings me a great sense of pride. We raised good people, and I couldn’t be more satisfied with the job we did. The life we built wasn’t perfect, but it came damn close.
Closing my eyes again and snuggling into Oren’s warmth, my thoughts drift to my Meir. I pray his life is as good as the one we would’ve given him. I daydream that he is as good a man as Henry was — that he would risk his life to save others, like his father did for me and my family. I wish happiness and great love for him. My life is blessed, and I’m thankful for all I have, but there is always that one piece missing, a part of my heart that can never be filled.
I wonder if Meir has children of his own. I wonder what he became. I wonder if he, too, searches for me. I think of him every single day and still haven’t given up hope that one day I’ll find him, and I will never give up until the day I die.
Remember the Stars Page 26
