by Marc Simon
“You mean bring him here?” Lillie said.
“But he wouldn’t be any trouble. I’ll watch him every minute. You don’t have to do anything.”
Belle said, “A little boy running around the place? I don’t know.”
Lillie put her hand on Belle’s shoulder. “Hannah, sweetheart, don’t you think you should have asked us first? A boy—how old did you say he is?”
“Oh, he’s six, but he’s tiny, as tiny as a toddler.”
“Why, is there something wrong with him?”
“No, not at all. I think he had a childhood disease, but he’s all better now, perfectly healthy, he’s just little.”
Lillie began to clear the plates. “Well, dear, we’re glad you were nice to this man and his little boy, but that’s a big responsibility, taking in someone else’s child.”
Hannah stopped pacing. “You took me in.”
The sisters looked at each other. Finally, Belle said, “But that was different.”
“How? How was it different?”
Lillie cleared her throat. “Belle, would you hand me the gravy boat?”
“Anyway, they’re coming for dinner. I invited for tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” Belle reached for her cigarettes.
Hannah gulped down some water. “And please don’t smoke. It’s not good for Alex.”
*
On Sunday night, Benjamin plowed through a plate of Saturday’s leftovers, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, pausing every so often to cock his wrist and swing his knife in an imitation of Pirate shortstop Honus Wagner, the future Hall of Famer who’d recently entered the downward arc of his career. Arthur pecked at his food, which was unusual since he normally out-consumed his father.
Abe didn’t notice his oldest son’s lack of appetite. He had other things on his mind—getting Alex’s suit ironed and overcoming his uneasiness toward Hannah Gerson and her offer. She seemed genuinely interested in caring for Alex, but there was something else, she seemed interested in him, too, judging from how she pressed herself against him. He thought of the old maxim, if it seems too good to be true, it probably ain’t, even though he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was that didn’t seem right.
He wrapped a dishtowel around the handle of the iron, which had been heating on the stove. Alex’s checked suit lay stretched on the ironing board. Abe tested the flat surface of the iron with his finger the way he’d seen Irene do it a hundred times. He yelped, “Son of a bitch, that’s hot.”
Alex said, “Son of a bitch.”
Benjamin laughed so hard that mashed potatoes blurted from his mouth. Arthur barely smiled.
“Alex, you watch that mouth of yours when we’re at Miss Gerson’s house. None of that swearing, you hear me?” Abe pounded the iron on Alex’s pants, as if he could beat the wrinkles into submission, wondering how Irene used to get their clothes so smooth.
“But you swore.”
“Well, do as I say, not as I do.” He flipped the pants over. “Hey Arthur, you ain’t said a word all night.”
“I was just thinking about something.”
Benjamin said, “He’s thinking about how many Germans he’s going to shoot.”
Arthur punched Benjamin in the shoulder. Benjamin kicked him under the table, which earned him an even harder shot to the ribs.
“You two cut it out. Alex, get over here.” Abe handed the pants to him.
Alex slipped his short pants over his shoes with a flick of his long arms. He climbed up on a chair next to Arthur. “I want Arthur and Benjamin to come, too.”
That’s all I need, Abe thought, traipsing into her house with these two animals at each other’s throats. “They weren’t invited. Go get your coat, Alex.”
*
At about 5:30, Lillie knocked four times on Hannah’s door. She called her name and tried to enter but the door opened just a few inches. She had to put her shoulder to it to force it open against all the clothes scattered in front of it.
Every dresser drawer was wide open, and every article of clothing Hannah owned lay strewn around the room. Hannah sat on her bed in a camisole and underpants, with her arms wrapped around her sides. Her hair was loose. Her toes clenched and unclenched on the Oriental rug.
Lillie picked up three dresses and draped them over the chair in front of the dressing table. “Your company will be here any minute, dear. Don’t you think you ought to get dressed now?”
“I have nothing to wear. I need new clothes.”
“Perhaps you do, dear, but for now, let’s see if we can make do with what you do have.” She held up a white embroidered tea dress. “This is so lovely.”
“I hate it. It’s ugly. It makes me look ugly.”
“What about this one?” She held up a teal blue velvet dress. “You look so wonderful in it. It shows off your beautiful figure.”
Hannah rolled her eyes at her. “You don’t really think I have a beautiful figure, do you? How can you? They say once you have a baby you lose your figure completely.”
Lillie held the dress up to her. “Not you, dearest. At least try it on.”
“But what if Abe doesn’t like it?”
“He’ll love it. You’ll look like a princess.” She put her cheek next to hers and they both looked in the mirror above her dresser. “Let me pin your hair back.”
“Oh, Lillie. I wish you were my mother.”
The doorbell rang twice. Hannah shoved her arms into the dress as Lillie buttoned up the back. From downstairs, Belle called, “Hannah, your company is here.”
Barefoot, hair flying, Hannah rushed down the stairs. She went to her knees and hugged Alex. She looked back at Belle and Lillie. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you? Isn’t he precious?”
Belle said, “What’s wrong with his arms?”
Lillie pinched her sister’s behind. “Let’s get dinner on the table, Belle. Hannah, why don’t you show Mr. Miller and his son the backyard?”
The sisters had put out their second best set of china, crystal wine glasses and a metal cup for Alex. The tablecloth had been their mother’s, fine lace from Belgium and similar in pattern to Ida’s best tablecloth, which had been vaporized in the fire. Belle sat at one end of the table and Lillie at the other, with Alex seated on three pillows between Abe and Hannah. Lillie served them buttered peas and carrots, candied sweet potatoes, relish and brisket with gravy. Belle poured red table wine for her and her sister and Abe, but none for Hannah, who didn’t seem to notice, since she was intent on adjusting Alex’s napkin or cutting his meat.
Abe admired his full plate. “Looks good.”
Lillie said, “Well, don’t be shy.”
Alex said, “Wait. Grace.” He bowed his head and clasped his hands together.
Hannah touched his shoulder. “Isn’t it wonderful, how well-mannered he is? What a darling.”
Abe explained how when Alex lived with his grandmother, God rest the poor woman’s soul, she had insisted on saying grace before every meal, and now the boy was insistent upon it, and besides, it wasn’t such a bad thing, a little prayer never hurt no one.
Lillie agreed, saying that when her parents were alive they always said the blessings over the bread and wine, but now she and her sisters had fallen away from the habit. She giggled, “We’re what the rabbi calls ‘Holiday Jews,’ because we only attend on the high holidays.
Belle said, “And half the time we don’t even do that.” She looked at Alex’s arms, which hadn’t moved. “He does this all the time, you say? Well, I don’t suppose it would hurt if he said a few words.”
“It would be wonderful,” Hannah said. “Go ahead, Alex.”
Keeping his eyes down, Alex said, “Dear Lord, we thank thee for thy bounty which we are about to receive in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, praise Jesus Christ our savior, amen.”
Belle dropped her fork on the floor. “I thought you said you were Jewish.”
“Oh,” Abe said awkwardly, “we are.”
He shot a sideways glance at his son. “He just picks up things.”
After dinner, Abe and the sisters sat on the back porch while Hannah and Alex went up to her room. Abe took a panatela from his coat pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”
Belle said, “You have another one?”
It took her a few draws to get the cigar going. “So, Mr. Abraham Miller. We’ve never seen you at the synagogue before. What were you doing there? And your little boy. What about those arms of his?”
Abe blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. These two old birds, they didn’t pull no punches, that was for sure, but he kind of liked them for that. At least they were down to earth, and the food was damn good, he hadn’t had an old-fashioned meal like that in a long time. Hannah, well, he still wasn’t sure about her, but he liked how she looked in that dress, and she doted on Alex, and with these two women around he was sure his son would receive a hell of a lot of attention, probably more than he could give him. Maybe this would work out all right after all. Feeling expansive, he tapped his cigar. “You want the short or the long version?”
Lillie poured more brandy into his glass. “Take all the time you need.”
*
Hannah sat at her dresser and rearranged her dolls and porcelain figurines. As she faced the mirror she explained how her blonde dolly was her favorite growing up, until she was five, but then her aunts gave her a unicorn she named Princess and that was her best friend, but then she stopped playing with dolls when she was eight because it was stupid. Every so often she stopped talking and brushed her hair, first parting in the left, then the right, then middle, then pushing it straight back from her face.
Alex wasn’t interested in dolls, and he was tired of watching her move her hair back and forth. He was trying to like Hannah because he believed his daddy liked Hannah, he could see how he looked at her, just like he looked at Delia, and if Daddy liked Hannah, then he was supposed to like her even if he didn’t.
As she kept on talking to the mirror, he slipped out of her room and went down the hallway until he came to a dark roll-top desk. He climbed on the chair and pushed it open.
Stacked inside were a number of books and a large black album. Embossed on the cover were the words Florence Carson Home. He ran his fingers over the word as he sounded them out. He wondered what kind of story it would be. Was Florence Carson a little girl that came home, or was it about the home where she lived? Maybe there were pictures, too. It was a lot bigger than his A Child’s Life of Christ, but smaller than the encyclopedia.
He looked up and down the hallway. He could hear Hannah chattering to her dolls.
He opened the cover. Inside was a photograph of a large house and a man in a dark suit and glasses, standing next to a woman on the steps. On the inside of the cover was an inscription that read, To provide a home and to extend helping hands and Christian kindness to erring and friendless women. As he pored over the words, he wondered, if Hannah was a Jewish, why does it say Christian?
He heard Hannah’s chair scrape against the floor. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he had to put the album back. He closed the desk and hopped down.
“Alex? Where are you, sweetheart?”
He ran toward her, with his arms extended, an innocent lamb. “Hannah, can I have a candy?”
That night, as he tucked Alex in, Abe asked him if he’d enjoyed himself at Hannah’s house.
“I like Pudgy. I gave him potatoes under the table.”
“Well, don’t do that no more, you want to make him sick? Besides, he ain’t your dog. What else?”
“Are you going to marry Hannah?”
“Hold on, boy. I didn’t say I was going to marry anyone.”
“But Hannah said.” He stopped and rolled on his side.
“She said what?”
“She told me not to tell.”
Abe smoothed his hair. “You like Hannah, don’t you?”
“She grabs me all the time.”
“That’s because she likes you.”
“But then she doesn’t let me go.”
Chapter 19
In 1913, the Pennsylvania General Assembly approved an amendment to the state’s constitution to extend women the right to vote. The male electorate summarily rejected it.
Undaunted, the women’s suffrage movement continued to grow throughout the state, and on Saturday, May 2, 1914, a large group of prominent suffragettes marched through the streets of Pittsburgh, accompanied by three daring city councilmen evidently not up for re-election. The suffragettes were also joined by a mid-sized contingent of professional women, a troop of Boy Scouts and a mounted police escort. Dr. Sergei Malkin was part of the parade, too, walking along on the periphery, wandering into groups of onlookers to pass out handbills advertising his skills regarding “baby birthing and maternity doctor also.”
Marching along with them, albeit a bit self-consciously, was Delia Novak. It wasn’t so much that Delia felt the desire to exercise the franchise herself, since she considered all politicians to be crooks, liars and gladhanders, one worse than the next, and none worthy of her support. However, if men like the ignorant slugs she waited on at The Wheel like that pig Horshushky could cast a ballot, why the hell shouldn’t she?
As she walked shoulder to shoulder with other women, she began to feel a kind of kinship, even though she could tell from the cut of their clothes that most of these women had never waited a table or cleaned a men’s room in their lives. They certainly were friendly, though, and as they proceeded along, past the well-wishers and the hecklers, more than one called her sister, and she liked how it sounded.
After a half-mile or so her feet began to hurt. She’d gone to the side of the street and pulled off her shoe for a quick foot rub when she heard a high, clear voice shout, “Delia!”
It was Alex Miller, waving at her, standing in front of a crowd of onlookers, holding a small American flag in his right hand and a woman’s gloved hand in his left. Delia walked over to him, bent down and accepted his hug. “How’s my little best boyfriend?”
The woman released his hand. “Alex, who is this?”
“Delia.” He took her hand.
“He seems to know you.”
Delia said, “Oh yeah, me and my pumpkin here, we go way back, don’t we, sugar pie?” She stood and extended her hand to Hannah. Women shaking hands was a new notion to her, new this morning, learned from her new sisters, and she liked the idea. “Delia Novak. Put her there.”
The woman looked at Delia’s hand as if she didn’t know what to do with it. After a moment, she extended her hand and let Delia’s encompass it. “Hannah. Hannah Gerson.”
“Hello, sister.” Delia squeezed Hannah’s hand. “Alex, where’s your daddy?”
“He had to make overtime.”
Hannah rushed to explain that the boy’s father, Abraham, was so busy these days, he was a very important person at the metal working shop, a supervisor, indispensable in fact, and that he had asked her to watch Alex this morning, and normally she attended synagogue, the large one on Negley Avenue, but what could she do, Abraham really needed her and so she agreed on short notice to take Alex, not that it was any bother, she loved him so.
Delia laughed to herself. Abe, an important man, a supervisor? In a pig’s eye. The crumb, what kind of malarkey was he feeding this girl? “Slow down a minute. What did you say your name was, Hannah? Oh, wait, I know.” She looked her up and down. She had to admit the girl was pretty. “You’re the nanny, ain’t you?”
“His au pair.”
“Aha.” Delia smiled thinly. Abe hadn’t told her how attractive she was, or how young, she couldn’t be more than twenty. She was filled out, too, very filled. This girl could be competition, definitely. As she watched her fuss over Alex, straightening his collar, stroking his hair, Delia sensed there was something kind of squirrelly about her, too. “Au pair. Are you French?”
“What? Oh, no, I’m Jewish.”
Alex raised his hand. “Delia, I’m a Jewish now, to
o.”
“Yeah, just like your old man. So, Hannah Gerson, are you in favor of the vote for women?”
She twisted her hair. “Me? Well, I don’t know exactly. The issue seems so confusing that I thought I should have more information on the subject before I made up my mind, at least that’s what my aunts told me. They’re in favor of women’s suffrage, so when they read about the march in the newspaper, they said they were too old to march but that I should go, and since I had Alex I said to myself, he’ll love a parade, I could get him an ice cream, and so here we are, and maybe I’ll learn something about the issue, too.”
This girl has diarrhea of the mouth, Delia thought, that’s for sure. She buttoned her shoe. “Yeah, yeah, so did you?”
“Pardon me?”
She’s as thick as John’s stew. “Learn anything.”
Hannah’s lips moved before she spoke. “Well, I guess, I mean, I’m not sure.”
“Look, sweetheart, there ain’t a lot to learn. You’re either in favor or your not.”
Alex looked back and forth between the two women. “Delia?”
“Yes, Alex?”
“Are you still Daddy’s girlfriend?”
The color faded from Hannah’s face. She drew Alex a bit closer. “I didn’t know your father had a girlfriend.”
Delia chuckled. “I’ll bet there’s a lot you don’t know about old Abe.” Volumes, she thought. She was pretty sure this girl had no idea about the Abe she knew: how he smelled when he was lying on top of her, how thick his arms and thighs were, how his eyes rolled back when he was ready to come, how his skin tasted, how soft his touch could be, how hard he was when he was inside her.
“Look, soldiers.” The Boy Scouts marched by. Alex raised his right hand in a salute. “Arthur is going to be a soldier. He told me, but I’m not supposed to tell Daddy. Hannah?”
She jumped as if he’d woken her from a dream. “What?”
