‘Some of it,’ said Emma.
‘Then you have perhaps read the Book of Exodus. You certainly must know the Ten Commandments?’ She nodded affirmatively, and he expounded further: ‘The Ten Commandments were given to our people by Moses, when he led us out of Egypt and created the Jewish nation. Christianity itself is based on Judaism. Did you not know that?’
Although she loathed to appear illiterate, Emma had to say in all truthfulness, ‘No, I didn’t.’
The man’s bright black eyes searched hers thoughtfully. ‘Jesus Christ was a Jew and Jesus, too, was persecuted.’ He sighed and it was a long, wearisome sigh. ‘I suppose we Jews seem strange to some people, because our customs and dietary laws and form of worship are not the same as the Gentile ways.’ He smiled to himself and remarked so softly it was practically a whisper, ‘But perhaps we are not so different after all, when you stop to think.’
‘Of course you are not! But people can be stupid and ignorant,’ Emma exclaimed with some vehemence, recognizing the sense of what he said, and instantly comparing the rabid class differences in England that also bred cruelty and terrible inequities. She gave him a swift look. ‘So you come from the land of the Jews, do you sir?’ she asked, thinking of the accent that tinged his speech.
‘No, I do not. You see, the Jews scattered throughout the world over the centuries. To Spain, Germany, Russia, Poland, and many other countries. I myself come from Kiev, in Russia. Most of the Jews in Leeds also come from Russia, or from Poland. We came here to escape the terror and harassment of the pogroms directed against us. I had my baptism of fire in my own country and so, as difficult as things here can be sometimes, they are not as terrible as they were in Russia. It is good to be in England. We have freedom here, thank God.’
The man was mindful of her listening to his recital so seriously and with infinite patience and another thought struck him. ‘You cannot be from Leeds, or you would know that there are many Jewish immigrants such as myself living here, and that we are despised by most.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Emma, adding, ‘I come from Ripon.’
‘Ah, from the rural area. That explains it!’ He chuckled and his sad eyes unexpectedly twinkled. ‘Well, young lady, I will not detain you any longer with my discourse on the Jews. My most grateful thanks again to you. And may the good Lord bless and protect you all of the days of your life.’
Emma flinched inside at this reference to the God she no longer acknowledged or believed in but, knowing the man meant well, she returned his friendly smile. ‘It was nothing. Really it wasn’t. I was glad to help you, sir.’
The man inclined his head courteously and started to walk away. However, after only a few steps he faltered and staggered against the wall, clutching his chest. Emma ran to him immediately. ‘Are you all right?’ She noticed his face was now as white as cotton, and drawn, and his lips were faintly blue and perspiration had broken out on his forehead.
‘Yes, I am perfectly well,’ he answered in a strangled voice, struggling for breath. After a moment he whispered, ‘It was only a twinge. The indigestion maybe.’
Emma did not like the look of him. He appeared to be quite ill and in considerable discomfort. ‘Do you live far away from here?’ she asked urgently. ‘I will take you to your home.’
‘No! No! You have already done enough for me. Please. Please. I am all right. Do not worry yourself.’
‘Where do you live?’ Emma insisted firmly.
‘In Imperial Street.’ He could not resist smiling through his pain. ‘A most unfortunate name for that poor little street, considering it is hardly royal in any sense of that word. It’s located in the Leylands, about ten minutes away from here.’
Emma’s heart dropped at the mention of this area, since she had heard it was dangerous, the ghetto, but nevertheless, she kept her face calm and endeavoured to appear untroubled. ‘Come along! I shall take you home. I don’t think you are well at all, and besides, you might need me to protect you against another assault,’ she pointed out. The man was utterly amazed at her consideration and her willingness to assist him yet again, and not wanting to be a nuisance, he tried hard to dissuade her, but in spite of his protestations Emma took command purposefully. Clutching her reticule tightly, she relieved him of his parcel, gripped his arm, and together they walked slowly up the street.
The man’s acute chest pains were diminishing and as his breathing improved he began to feel better. He scrutinized the girl who was being so solicitous of him, helping him along so generously. Such kindness from a stranger he had never received. He coughed, pushing down the rush of emotion, saying quietly, ‘You are being most thoughtful and kind. I do appreciate it.’ He stopped, turned to her, and thrust out his hand. ‘My name is Abraham Kallinski. May I have the honour of knowing yours?’
Emma tucked the parcel under her arm and took his hand. His grip was firm. ‘It’s Emma Harte.’ He noticed the silver ring on her left hand. ‘Mrs Harte, I assume?’ Emma nodded, but did not elucidate. Being a courteous and civilized man, Abraham Kallinski respected the privacy of others and he therefore refrained from asking any more questions.
They walked at a steady, even pace, Emma supporting Abraham Kallinski under his elbow, and as they walked he told her more about himself, for he was gregarious, an outgoing and articulate individual. Emma with her inquiring mind and fierce desire to learn, listened alertly, giving him her full attention. She soon discovered he had left Kiev in 1880, making his way to Rotterdam and thence to Hull, Yorkshire’s greatest seaport. ‘Like many of the other Jews from Russia and Poland, I came to Leeds intending to go to Liverpool and from there across to America,’ he explained. ‘However, I had to stay in Leeds for a period, to make the money for my ticket to America. Where Jews are, other Jews must go, and when I arrived I came immediately to the Leylands, where most of the Jewish immigrants live, seeking a Landsmann, that is, a man from my own country who spoke my language. I found work easily, for there is kinship and charity amongst Jews. We try to help each other.’ He laughed as he reminisced. ‘Ach, but I was young then. Twenty years old. When I was twenty-one I had the good fortune to meet the young lady who was to become my wife. She was born in Leeds. Her parents had fled Russia years before. And so, Mrs Harte, I stayed in Leeds. I never did go to America in the end. Well, here we are!’ he gestured to the surroundings. ‘This is where I have lived for the past twenty-five years, although not always in the same house.’
Emma looked about, her eyes darting from side to side with unconcealed curiosity as they entered the Leylands. It was a huddle of mean streets, dark courtyards, and sly alleys, the houses clustered together as if seeking protection from each other. Emma shuddered inside at the obvious signs of wretchedness and poverty as they wended their way through Byron Street and into the heart of the ghetto. A group of barefooted children in patched clothing were playing in the middle of Imperial Street and several men were hurrying home, their steps purposeful, their heads bent, eyes furtive. They are strange-looking men, Emma thought, with their beards and large round hats and long coats. They are quite different in appearance from Mr Kallinski, who seems so English. Emma smiled at this thought, having just been told he was Russian-born.
Abraham Kallinski stopped in front of a house at the far end of Imperial Street. To Emma’s surprise it was larger and a bit grander than the others and was extremely well kept, with starched white curtains at the windows which were flanked by wooden shutters. ‘This is my home,’ he said, his face suddenly illuminated with such an expression of joy Emma was touched. His shoulders went back and there was pride in his voice.
‘Then you will be all right now,’ said Emma. ‘I enjoyed listening to you, Mr Kallinski. It was very interesting. I do hope you feel better. Goodbye, Mr Kallinski.’ She handed him his parcel, the smile still lingering on her face.
Abraham Kallinski stared at this lovely girl, this Gentile girl, who had been so helpful and who had devoted so much of her time to him and with a compassion
that was rare, and he put out his hand and clutched her arm, detaining her. ‘Please, please, come in for a moment. I wish my wife to meet you, Mrs Harte. She will want to thank you. She will be most grateful for the aid you have given me today and so selflessly. Please!’
‘Oh, really Mr Kallinski, that’s not necessary. And I should be getting along.’
‘Please, just for a moment,’ he begged, his eyes soft and imploring. ‘It is hot. You are tired. Let us offer you a little hospitality. A glass of tea perhaps. A short rest.’
Emma did feel tired and thirsty, but she did not wish to intrude. Furthermore, she did not relish the idea of being stranded in the Leylands alone, especially in the late afternoon. ‘Well, I really shouldn’t,’ Emma began, wavering. She was longing for a glass of water.
Aware of her hesitation, Abraham Kallinski was the one who now took charge. He manoeuvred Emma towards the door and opened it. ‘Come. We will go inside,’ he persisted, ‘a little refreshment will indeed fortify you.’
Abraham Kallinski led her inside the house, which opened directly into a large kitchen that also seemed to Emma to be an all-purpose room. The woman standing at the stove turned as the door opened. Her eyes widened. ‘Abraham! Abraham! Whatever has happened to you?’ she cried, rushing across the floor, the spoon she had been using still clutched in her hand. ‘Your clothes are all dirty, and look at your face! Oh, Abraham, you have been hurt!’ She took his arm, her face a picture of distress mingled with fear.
‘Now, Janessa, don’t get excited,’ he said in his most gentle voice and with a tender look, for Abraham adored his wife. ‘I am not hurt. Just a little dishevelled. A small incident, that is all. I stumbled and fell in North Street and two young hooligans threw stones at me. You know how they are.’ He brought Emma forward, his arm under her elbow. ‘This is Mrs Harte, Janessa. Emma Harte. She came to my rescue. Sent the boys scurrying off with their tails between their legs and then she kindly brought me home. She insisted, in fact.’
Janessa Kallinski put down the spoon and grasped both of Emma’s hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Mrs Harte. Thank you! Thank you for helping my husband! That was most charitable of you and courageous. You could easily have been hurt yourself.’ She smiled at Emma with genuine gratefulness and went on in a warm tone, ‘Please, come! Sit down. Let me offer you some refreshment. You look tired and hot.’
‘I am happy to meet you, too,’ Emma said politely. ‘And thank you, Mrs Kallinski, I would appreciate a glass of water, please.’ Janessa led Emma to a chair and pressed her into it. ‘The water you can have with pleasure. But also you must take a glass of lemon tea with us. Now, please, rest yourself.’
Mrs Kallinski was back in a second with the water, which Emma accepted eagerly, and she was suddenly quite relieved to be seated after her long day tramping the streets. She had not fully realized just how tired and depleted she was beginning to feel.
Abraham followed his wife to the other side of the kitchen, where she had been preparing the evening meal. He gave her the parcel. ‘Here is the challah, Janessa. I am afraid it fell in the street, when I fell, but I do not think it is damaged.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Not even bruised.’ He looked at Emma. ‘Please, excuse me for a moment.’ He inclined his head with that grave courtesy of his and went upstairs.
Emma’s eyes scanned the kitchen. It was large and pleasant and more than adequately furnished with a sofa and several comfortable chairs, a sideboard, and a large table surrounded by six chairs. The table was covered with a fresh white cloth that gleamed brightly in the fading afternoon light and was set for four people. The wallpaper was attractive and conservative and the rug on the floor was of good quality, as were the other appointments. Emma now observed Janessa as she made the tea and filled the glasses. She was taller than her husband and slender, with an attractive figure. Her fresh-complexioned face was handsome rather than pretty, wide and Slavic in its features, and her mouth was full and soft. Her glossy straight black hair was pulled back and coiled on her neck and she had large pale blue eyes under well-defined black brows. She wore a black cotton dress and a crisp white apron that added to the rather stately and even regal impression she gave. Emma guessed she must be in her late thirties.
Within minutes Mr Kallinski returned. He had removed the dust from his trousers, changed his jacket, brushed his hair, and attended to his bruised cheek. He washed his hands at the sink and then he spoke to his wife quietly before joining Emma. Janessa followed with the tea on a small tray. She handed a glass to Emma. ‘I know this will revive you more than the water did, Mrs Harte,’ she murmured and sat down opposite Emma.
Emma thanked her and sipped the tea. It was delicious. Lemon-flavoured with a piece of lemon floating in it, and it was sweet and hot. Emma had never had lemon tea before, but she refrained from mentioning this, as always wanting to appear both experienced and a young lady of Quality.
Mrs Kallinski gave her undivided attention to her husband. ‘Are you sure you feel all right, Abraham? No twinges? No pains in your chest again?’ She was unable to conceal her worry.
Mr Kallinski threw Emma a warning glance and said quickly, ‘No! No! Nothing like that, Janessa. Please do not worry. I am completely recovered from the fall.’
Janessa looked doubtful, a frown scoring her brow, but she appeared to accept his statement in good faith. Abraham took a sip of tea and then regarded Emma. ‘Do you live far from the Leylands, Mrs Harte?’
‘Quite a little way. Do you know where the Mucky Duck is in York Road?’ asked Emma. Mr Kallinski nodded. ‘Well, I live about half an hour’s walk from there, at the other end of York Road, in the opposite direction from the Leylands.’
‘Ah, I see,’ responded Mr Kallinski. He peered at the clock. ‘It is getting later than I realized. When my sons return, which should be very soon, I will have them escort you home. It is not safe, this area, for a young lady alone.’
Emma was about to decline this offer, but immediately saw the common sense of it. She did not want to be exposed to danger in the ghetto and the adjoining districts, and so she said, ‘Thank you. I think that would be a good idea.’
‘It is the least we can do,’ interjected Mrs Kallinski. ‘We don’t want your husband worrying about you, now do we?’ Then she continued in her goodhearted way, ‘And no doubt you are anxious to be getting home, to prepare your evening meal.’
Emma cleared her throat, not responding, forever cautious about confiding in strangers, but under Mrs Kallinski’s affable gaze, she found herself saying, ‘No, I don’t have to prepare supper for my husband. He is in the Royal Navy. When he is at sea, as he is at present, I live alone.’
‘Alone!’ cried Mrs Kallinski, her dismay dousing the lambent light in her eyes. ‘Do you not have any family?’ The thought of this young girl being on her own in Leeds appalled Janessa, who came from a large, close-knit, and loving clan who were always there to protect and help each other.
Emma shook her head. ‘No, my husband’s grandmother died recently. We have no one else between us.’ She saw the grieved expression on Mrs Kallinski’s face and remarked hurriedly, ‘Except each other, of course. But I am all right. Really. I live in a nice boarding-house in a decent area, with a good woman, who rents me a room.’
The Kallinskis exchanged swift and percipient glances. Abraham nodded his head in answer to his wife’s unspoken question, which in her usual way she had communicated to him with her expressive eyes. Mrs Kallinski now leaned forward, clasping her hands together, her wide face shining with benevolence. ‘If you do not have to go home immediately, if you have no other pressing reason to leave, will you not stay and partake of our Sabbath dinner with us? It would be our very great pleasure to welcome you.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. Really, I couldn’t,’ Emma protested. ‘It’s very kind of you. But I just couldn’t.’ She flushed, wondering if the Kallinskis thought she had been trying to wangle an invitation to stay. ‘Thank you. It’s very kind
of you. But I couldn’t intrude.’
‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Abraham. ‘You would not be intruding. Good gracious, after what you did for me today!’ He lifted his hands in the air, palms outward, and made several small upward gestures and went on, ‘How can we ever thank you enough? Now, please, stay for the Sabbath dinner. It will be an honour to have you.’ Seeing the baffled look on Emma’s face, he explained, ‘Our Sabbath day is on Saturday. It commences at sundown on Friday, when we always celebrate the beginning of the holy day with the Friday dinner.’
‘I see,’ Emma said. A worried glint crept into her eyes and they wandered to the clock on the mantelpiece. Abraham followed her glance and nodded, understanding at once what was in her mind. ‘Don’t worry! Don’t worry! Our sons will escort you home after supper.’ His voice was reassuring. ‘You will be safe with them, even if it is dark.’
‘But I—’ Emma began.
‘It is settled, Mrs Harte,’ Janessa interrupted graciously yet with an air of decision. ‘You look tired, undoubtedly because of the trouble with those hooligans. The food will nourish you. Give you strength. You will enjoy it.’ She reached over and patted Emma’s arm. ‘We have plenty. More than enough for an extra person, an honoured guest. Please, relax, and when David and Victor arrive they, too, will welcome you. And thank you for assisting their father today. Yes, they will be delighted to have you share our Sabbath dinner.’
Emma gave in under Mrs Kallinski’s persuasive and good-natured pressure. Also, she was feeling hungry again and she had nothing very appetizing to eat at Mrs Daniel’s, and pots bubbling on the stove were emitting deliciously tempting odours. ‘Thank you. I will be happy to join you, as long as it is no trouble.’
A Woman of Substance Page 48
