Why didn’t Jacob see how much she needed him to support her, to stand with her when it came to the children? His ideas were so old-fashioned. Imagine leaving the house because Doris had asked for a tree. They lived in a gentile world and having a Christmas tree wouldn’t have done any harm. As far as she was concerned, it was just a thing of beauty which had nothing to do with religion. My God, she knew more about Christmas than Jacob knew about Chanukah, but her days in a gentile boarding school had never corrupted her. She was as good a Jew in her heart as anyone. What did all the running to a synagogue mean? One was either good or bad. That’s all the religion a person needed. Her children knew they were Jews. She did everything to make them aware of their Yiddishkeit. When Passover came, look at the table she’d set…and at how hard she’d tried to make the high holy days special. God, oh God, why didn’t they understand? Oh mama, mama…I love you, but I have tried to be everything you weren’t…All I wanted to do was make a good and comfortable home for my family…
She cried into her pillow. Oh, Jacob, I’m so miserable. I’m only trying to be a good wife and mother and struggle with you, but you don’t understand that there’s more to living…There’s a world I can’t enter because you say we have no money for it…How can I go to temple when I don’t even have a dress? Don’t you understand, Jacob? I can’t compete so I have to stay in my kitchen and cook. Don’t you think I know there’s more than that? Please…
After a sleepless night Sara found it difficult to get out of bed. She was very subdued as she sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee.
Doris wasn’t interested in her scrambled eggs, not today. She knew her mother had cried last night and in spite of Rachel’s reassurances she still felt that she was responsible. If only there was something she could do to make it up to mama and papa…“Can I get you another cup of coffee, mama?”
“No, Doris, thanks. Just eat.”
Lillian said nothing. Nor did Rachel, but for different reasons. Rachel missed papa but she almost hoped he’d stay away long enough for mama to be really frightened that he might never come back. Of course he would never do that, but still…he had been right about the tree, which showed he had some feelings about being a Jew.
“You feeling all right, mama?” Doris asked.
“Yes, fine, Doris.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Mama, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to Sunday school,” Doris said softly.
Sara looked at her wearily. First a tree and now Sunday school…“All right.”
“Why didn’t we ever go before?”
“Because, Doris, it didn’t seem necessary. We know we’re Jews…I don’t really feel like going into it this morning. But you’ll go. It will make your father happy.”
“And what about Lillian?”
“Naturally. And you too, Rachel.”
“I already do.”
Sara bit her lip. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I see. And you didn’t think you should tell me?”
“Would you have cared, mama?”
“Would I have cared? What’s wrong with you, Rachel? Why do you always fight with me? What have I ever done to deserve this from you?”
Maybe I should ask what did I ever do to deserve a mother like you? Rachel thought.
Sara went on, “What are you trying to do—punish me, Rachel? Haven’t I given you the best of it all? Sent you to private school so you’ll grow up to be a fine woman? I have to sacrifice to pay tuition and buy uniforms, and this is my thanks?”
Couldn’t mama have said, I’m so proud of you, Rachel? No, she had missed the whole point and turned everything around to martyr herself.
“Please answer me when I’m talking to you, Rachel.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Rachel got up and left Sara crying as she sat with her head on the table between her hands.
Both Doris and Lillian sat there, feeling upset for mama. She was good in her way. She did sacrifice to send Rachel to private school. Maybe Rachel should have been a little more understanding herself…
Jacob looked out at the bleak December morning. He disliked this time of year. It meant not working and that made him restless and irritable. His joy was what hard work brought him…At this moment, though, his thoughts were in the kitchen, where Sara and the children sat. After two days of being alone he missed his family so much that he ached with loneliness. Strange, he thought, when he was away on business he was never lonely. Home was always there to go back to. But this was different.
Sara wasn’t really so wrong. Living among goyim, what kind of Jews could they be? He suddenly felt like a hypocrite. He hadn’t been in a shul for how long now? Even in Cleveland they had lived like goyim. What did the tree really mean? It was an ornament, that’s all it meant to them. It wasn’t worth breaking up a family over. It was even more strange when he thought about Lillian’s birthday being on Christmas…the twenty-fifth of December, when another Jew was supposed to have been born.
He packed his things and paid the hotel bill. It was enough already. On the way home he bought a four-foot fir tree…
Doris thought she was dreaming when she heard the truck come to a halt in the garage. She jumped out of bed and ran to the hall and looked out through the back window. “Papa’s home,” she screamed out and then bolted down the stairs.
Sara was standing at the sink when he came in carrying the tree. She closed her eyes. Thank God…
Then she turned around and they stood looking at each other, not knowing what to say. I would have died if you hadn’t come home, Sara thought.
If she had only said that one simple phrase out loud, how much it would have meant to him, to them both. Her words at that moment, when he was caught in embarrassment and pride, might have brought them closer. But they had never said such things to each other…never knew how…
“Where’s Doris?”
“I’m here, papa.” She hugged him and said breathlessly, “Oh, papa, I’m so glad you’re home.”
He felt uncomfortable even with Doris’ show of affection. Still, he wanted to hold her to him. But, of course, he didn’t. “Thanks, Doris. Now, here’s your tree.”
“It’s…pretty, papa. Thank you.” She was as embarrassed by it now as he.
He nodded, then went into the livingroom and placed the tree in front of the window. He could barely stand the sight of it. Goyim, America, Sanders…
When Rachel returned from her late afternoon Christmas job at Woolworth’s she was disappointed when she saw the tree in the livingroom. Papa had no more conviction than mama had. She had admired his forbidding a tree in the house, but now…
When Jacob met her in the upstairs hall he suddenly realized how much she’d grown. Gone was the little child he’d adored so. She was still exquisitely blonde and blue-eyed, but she was no longer a little girl. She was a young woman…Why hadn’t he noticed? He could no longer hold her close, much as he wanted to. It was only when his children had been babies that he could openly express his affection. They had seemed so helpless, so dependent…
“How are you, Rachel?”
“How am I? I’m disappointed, papa. The other day I admired you a great deal, but I’m sorry to say I don’t quite feel that way now. We’re Jews, papa. You should know that better than any of us. Do you realize how confusing it is for children who don’t know what they are? Trees are for goyim, not Jews.”
And, of course, damn it, she was right. He had wanted to make Doris happy and show Sara that he was open-minded, but he should have held to his convictions. At this moment he despised the tree almost as much as he despised himself.
December 25 was, ironically, also Lillian’s birthday, and the first treat of her day was to lick the chocolate icing that remained in the bowl after Sara had frosted the cake for her birthday.
After dinner she opened the presents. Rachel had bought her a doll, and Doris had bought a pair of skates from the money she had been saving by not
buying ice cream and candy bars or taking the streetcar if she could avoid it. Best of all was the pair of patent leather Mary Janes with the black grosgrain bows from mama and papa. She had wanted them for so long now, but mama had always said, “We don’t have money to spend on foolishness. You need school shoes.”
Her pleasure in putting them on almost overcame the guilt she felt over her parents’ sacrifice. “Oh, mama, papa, thank you so much. They’re beautiful.”
“Take good care of them,” Sara answered, and she meant it. Her children were going to grow up realizing they couldn’t have everything they wanted. They had to learn to appreciate that parents had to deny themselves for their children. Too much was taken for granted. She remembered the beautiful dresses Louie had sent from Brussels and the gorgeous hats and outfits mama sent from Monte Carlo, but that had hardly been a sacrifice—not one that meant anything. She would gladly have traded all the fancy clothes for the love and devotion she’d given her children…Yes, her children were going to realize that being protected and cared for by your parents was more important than being indulged…
The next morning, Lillian could hardly wait to show off her new shoes. Taking her doll, she walked over to Haley Welch’s and rang the bell.
Haley had always been nice to her, although they were not really best friends. Lillian had become intrigued with her from the moment she learned that Haley was born with some kind of “deformity” and had a silver pin in her left leg, which made her walk sort of strangely. The two girls stood on Haley’s front porch now.
“Look what I got,” Lillian said, pointing down at her feet and feeling like Cinderella.
“They’re pretty. What else did you get for Christmas?”
Still looking down at the shiny leather, Lillian answered, “Skates and a doll.”
“I got nineteen presents.”
“I got twenty.” Lillian knew she shouldn’t have lied, but she was embarrassed. It seemed so strange to have been born the same day everybody was celebrating Jesus’ birthday too. Still, it did make her feel rather special…
“Well, I got to go home now,” Lillian said haltingly, hoping Haley would invite her in. She smiled eagerly when Haley asked, “Would you like to see my presents?”
“Sure.”
She followed Haley up the stairs and came face to face with the magnificently adorned tree, so different from the untrimmed and unloved tree in her own livingroom. She couldn’t take her eyes from the cotton snow around the base, the jewellike ornaments, the gingerbread Santa Claus and striped candy canes…And the little Lord Jesus that stood looking down from the very top. The remnants of yesterday’s festivities were very much in evidence—boxes contained gifts which had not been put away, crumpled ribbons and wrappings in the fireplace.
Haley’s older sister came into the livingroom wearing soft fleecy slippers. She looked so pretty, almost as beautiful as Rachel…She was going with a boy and Haley had told Lillian they were going to get married.
“Hi, Lillian. Your doll’s very pretty.”
“Thank you, Alice. These are my new shoes…”
Haley was about to show Lillian all the presents she’d gotten when Mrs. Welch came into the livingroom. “Well, now if it isn’t Lillian. Looks like Santa was surely good to you.”
Haley’s mama had a strange kind of sound to her words. It was an Irish brogue, someone had said.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Welch.”
“Haley…you’d better send your little friend home now and come have your breakfast.”
“All right…I’ll come over later and see your presents.”
Lillian nodded mutely. Why had she said she’d received twenty presents…What was she going to do?
It started to rain, which only added to her dilemma. She stood on Haley’s porch for a few moments, thinking about her new doll and her new shoes. She’d promised mama she’d take good care of them ’cause they’d cost a lot of money…She took off her sweater and bundled the doll and shoes inside.
By the time she reached home her clothes clung to her like a second skin and her hair was dripping. She ran up the stairs, her stocking feet leaving wet footprints on the floral carpets. Her nose was running and she was shivering, but she hardly noticed. At least her precious gifts hadn’t suffered.
She hung the wet clothing in the bathroom and changed into dry clothes, then apprehensively stared out the window, watching the rain pound against the pane. She prayed it would continue all day so Haley couldn’t come over and catch her in her whopper of a lie.
“Where did you go?”
Lillian turned from the window, startled to hear mama’s voice.
“To Haley’s. I wanted her to see my things. Then it started to rain—but I didn’t get my shoes wet.”
Sara looked at her as she sniffled. “Here, let me feel your forehead. You seem warm to me. Do you feel all right?”
“Yes, mama…”
“Did you wear your sweater?”
“Yes, mama, but…I had to take it off, to wrap up my doll and shoes.”
“That’s why you’ve come down with a cold. What makes you do things like that, Lillian?”
“Mama, you told me to take care of them…the shoes, I mean—”
“Use your head, Lillian, you’re a big girl, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t want you to go running down the street practically barefoot in the pouring rain. That’s just plain silly.”
Lillian bit her lip.
“Now, you get into bed and I’ll have Doris come in and play with you.”
“Thank you, mama.”
Sara shook her head and smiled…a thin smile, but a smile all the same.
As Sara was on her way out Lillian called, “Mama, if Haley comes, tell her I’m sick in bed?”
“Fine. I’ll bring you some hot soup.”
Lillian was happier at this moment than she’d been on her birthday. Mama was kind, she felt secure because Haley couldn’t see her, because Doris was going to come in and play with her…Life wasn’t so terrible after all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IT WAS GOING TO be a glorious spring. Doris noticed that the daffodils and irises had begun to bloom along the edge of Mrs. Cleary’s lawn, and the few maples on the street had begun to sprout new green leaves. She loved it when they turned brownish-red and gold in autumn, loved to hear the crunch as she stepped on them. Both seasons were nice, but March was a time of anticipation.
She had just turned twelve in January, and now maybe she could find a summer job, make a little money to buy birthday gifts for the family and anniversary presents for mama and papa. Of course she was too young to be an usherette at the Tivoli like Rachel, or to work in the five-and-dime, but there had to be something she could do. Being seventeen sure had its advantages. Rachel could work and buy things for herself that mama and papa wouldn’t give her—like the blue crêpe de Chine slip trimmed with écru lace. Still, no matter how old Doris got, she’d never have the nerve to talk back to mama the way Rachel had. That slip had started some fight…
“You spend your money on nothing but luxuries. How about buying school shoes?” Sara had said.
“Parents are supposed to buy the necessities for their children.”
“You’re telling me what my responsibilities are?”
“Maybe someone should.”
The slap Rachel had received still reverberated in Doris’ ears. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get to school.
When she crossed the vacant lot across from the school she saw a crowd gathered out in front of the building. That was odd. Usually all the kids were in the playground before the bell rang. Curiosity made her hurry her steps.
She looked at the faces of the students. “What’s wrong?” Doris asked Irene Fratis.
“Isabelle Larson was killed by a hit-and-run driver.”
She’d seen Isabelle only yesterday…Isabelle was a nice girl, she always spoke to Doris…In fact, everyone liked Isabelle…“When did it happen?”
“After
school, yesterday.”
She never knew anyone young died. Grandma had been so old when she died. Papa hadn’t allowed them to go to her funeral, but Doris had gone down the street to the wake for Mrs. Shields’ old mother and seen her laid out on a slanted board surrounded by lots of beautiful flowers and tall candles. Everyone had been happy and they were serving refreshments in the livingroom. “It was a blessing to have died so peacefully,” everyone said. “She had a long and rewarding life and gave the Church ten children, two nuns and three priests.” “Oh yes, Maureen McDermot deserved her reward in heaven…” Well, so dying had its rewards…
Isabelle was going to be buried at Holy Cross Cemetery on Thursday and the whole school was going…
That day, after school, she asked Rachel what to wear to the funeral.
“Who died?” Rachel asked.
“A girl at school…Isabelle Larson. Her father’s Danish and her mother’s Spanish. What do you wear to a funeral?”
“You’re not going to be the belle of the ball, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”
She didn’t much care for Rachel’s answer, but she wanted to look nice so she ignored it. “Is it okay if I wear my pink pleated dress?”
“I suppose.”
“You ever been to a funeral?”
“No…”
“Didn’t you ever know anybody who died?”
“Oh, stop being so ghoulish, Doris.”
“There’s nothing ghoulish about it. Mrs. Shields’ mother died and I went to the wake.”
“You would.”
“What do you mean, I would? Almost everybody in the neighborhood went.”
“What did you wear then?”
Rachel was being really snippy…she could sure be insulting when she wanted. “My everyday dress,” Doris answered, “but it wasn’t a funeral. It was like a party. Everyone was drinking and eating sandwiches.”
“Really? I bet Mrs. Shields’ mother wasn’t having much fun.”
“Sometimes I actually hate you, Rachel.”
“So? You have enough company in this house.”
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