The numbers on my cards danced before me. I had three threes. Three plus three plus three equaled nine. Three squared? Nine. That stupid number, nine. Why should I care if Willie was risking his life? I was going to take care of my situation, and Willie would be of no concern to me. Yet, something in me ached with worry, and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the baby.
I picked up a card. Another three, which completed the set. I put down the match and drew a queen.
“Isn’t anyone going to congratulate me on my new job?” Edith said.
“Congrats,” I said. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be paying your employers soon.”
Edith laughed good-naturedly. “Well, while I still have a few pennies left, why don’t we go to the pictures this Sunday? There’s a new Jean Harlow that The New Yorker liked.”
“I suppose,” Linda said, before announcing, “Gin.”
“Aw, I was so close,” said Edith. “Your deal, Dottie.”
I grabbed the cards and shuffled. So much to think about: Linda losing Ralph; Willie putting himself directly in harm’s way; little hope for Yussel. Little hope for me. As I passed out the cards, one by one, I wondered when we’d stop being dealt losing hands.
Rose
Tuesday, August 27
DOTTIE spoke no more than two words at a time to me: “Yes, Mother.” “No, Mother.” The Mother was new. Apparently I’d lost the right to be called Ma.
I served the boys’ breakfast, keeping an eye on her. She bypassed my food and simply lopped off a hunk of bread, at which she barely picked.
All three boys were at the table, which was unusual. Izzy normally left early for his work as a clothes presser. “Why are you still here?” I asked him.
Dottie rolled her eyes.
“Hirsh Weinstein got his hand caught in the mangle yesterday. Since we’re short a man, Mr. Silberberg told me to work a double today: afternoon and night.”
“Dear God! Mr. Weinstein, he is all right?” I asked, my hand flying to my mouth.
Dottie shot me a scornful look. “Him you worry about?”
“Oh, Dottala,” I said. “The man may have lost his livelihood.”
She threw down her napkin. “But he has his life.”
With that, she grabbed her clutch and hat and, without even putting the hat on her head, stormed out of the apartment.
I looked to the heavens. Oh, Hashem, guide me.
Walking back into the kitchen, I heard footsteps behind me. Izzy.
“Here, dry,” I said, handing him a wet dish. He took a cloth and wiped the plate. Izzy was so meticulous. Dottie was careless, leaving streaks of water behind, but Izzy was thorough.
“Ma,” he said, but then stopped.
“Nu?” I scraped the pieces of shell from Ben’s egg cup into the garbage pail.
He placed the dish in the cabinet and waited for the next. He wanted to say something. I wouldn’t rush him. Izzy came to his thoughts in his own time.
“Ma,” he said again. With the yolk finally scrubbed off, I ran a soapy dish towel around the cup. Another rinse, and it went to Izzy.
Finally he spoke again. “I’ve . . . I’ve heard things.”
I froze, the cold water running from the tap, the bucket of hot water cooling next to me. “What things?” I asked without looking at him. My eyes were trained on the sliver of sunlight coming in the small window.
“About Dottie,” he said quietly.
I nodded. Odd how I could sweat so and still be chilled. “About Dottie,” I repeated stupidly. “Who says things?”
From the corner of my eye, I could see him shrug. “Just on the street. No one important. One kid said something.” Izzy appeared bashful.
“What did you do?”
He shrugged again. “I slugged him.”
Smiling was too painful, but the image of my little Izzy—well, not so little, I suppose—punching someone for his sister’s honor pleased me. “What exactly are they saying?”
“Ma, the dishes,” Izzy said.
Willing my body to move, I picked up the next plate soaking in the warm tub. “What are they saying?”
Izzy shifted from foot to foot. “Nothing real specific.”
I turned to look at him dead-on. “What are they saying?”
He stared at his feet, reminding me so much of the little boy he once was, caught skipping heder or sneaking a piece of kuchen before dinner. I reminded myself that he was a grown man of seventeen. The mere thought took my breath away.
“They say she’s a bit of a piece.”
“A bit of what? Look at me when you’re speaking.” I put my hand under his chin, surprised at the stubble, and lifted his face so I could peer into his eyes.
“Dottie has been having some fun lately. That’s what they’re saying.”
“Fun with who?”
“No one specific,” he said, but I was pretty sure he was trying to protect me.
Rather than push it, I let go of his chin. “You hit a guy for that?”
He nodded silently, waiting to be scolded.
“Next time you hear something like that”—Izzy looked chagrined—“make sure to punch him even harder.”
Izzy grinned, relieved.
“Now go. Make sure your brothers aren’t causing any more trouble than usual this morning.” I gave him a peck on his head and he ran out. I finished cleaning up as I turned his words over in my mind. Did people know things for sure? Or was this simply the talk that happened, the bored meddling that exaggerated and created stories for entertainment? Either way, it would have to stop. Either Dottie would get rid of the baby and live such a pure life that no one could doubt her moral nature, or she would marry Abe and the talk would die off of its own accord.
After everyone left, I sat with my tea and newspaper out of habit, but I had no interest in the Forverts that day. My mind couldn’t focus on the world at large, not when my world within was falling apart so rapidly. The frustration I felt. I should have been worrying about what might happen to Yussel with Hitler’s influence spreading east in that backward Old World, not what might befall my daughter in the modern age of the Goldene Medina. It was time to take matters into my own hands.
I headed down the stairs at a slow pace. My dress that morning was snug. Luckily it was belted and I was able to loosen it two notches. But soon I would need the larger sizes that still lay in the back of my bottom drawer, those dresses I’d worn countless times during my pregnancies. Even without my saying a word, just putting on those old dresses would announce my current state to all my friends.
With my cloth bag in hand, I turned toward the Rabinowitz market. I didn’t shop there often; they charged thirty cents for a five-pound bag of flour, when if I walked two blocks more, I could buy the same flour for a quarter.
The door was open to allow for a little breeze. The space inside was tight, with cans and boxes piled everywhere. Mrs. Rabinowitz sat behind the counter, chatting with a woman I recognized from the street. They made small talk while I waited patiently. Mrs. Rabinowitz was small, but squat, as if her body had melted into itself, all those hours she spent on that stool behind the counter. If you asked me, the woman was lazy. Abe did all the heavy lifting, and Mr. Rabinowitz either worked on the books or studied Torah. Mrs. Rabinowitz took great pride in reminding folks that her husband was a learned man.
The woman finally left, and I approached the counter.
“Ah, Mrs. Krasinsky,” Mrs. Rabinowitz said. “We haven’t seen you in a long while.”
I nodded. “I usually send the boys to do the errands.” This was a lie, but I hoped it might ease the awkwardness of my not shopping there regularly.
But of course, Mrs. Rabinowitz was not one to allow the easy way out. “Hmm, I don’t recall seeing them.”
Changing the subject, I asked, “Where is
Abe?”
“Off at the piers, retrieving a shipment of goods.”
I had hoped to speak to Abe directly, to learn of his intentions, but time was of the essence, so Mrs. Rabinowitz would have to do.
“With what may I help you?” she asked.
I didn’t want to buy much, given the inflated prices. But I needed to purchase something. “I’d like a dozen eggs, please.”
She turned to a box behind her and pulled them out. “Is that all?”
My smile was forced. “Yes. My last two were bad and I was in the middle of a recipe.”
Mrs. Rabinowitz’s body stiffened. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t buy them here. All our eggs are good.”
“Of course, Mrs. Rabinowitz,” I said. “I came now because I know how fresh your eggs are.”
Appeased, Mrs. Rabinowitz placed the eggs in my bag. “That will be thirty-five cents.”
I dug the coins out of my purse. Thirty-five cents. Ridiculous. But I smiled as I handed over the change.
“So, Mrs. Rabinowitz,” I said, as if making random small talk, as if a thought just popped into my mind. “Abe and Dottie have been sweet on each other for a long time now.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Rabinowitz gave a sigh that I couldn’t decipher. Was it frustration? And if so, with what? With Abe’s slowness? Or that he was with Dottie?
I couldn’t allow myself to become ruffled, so I continued. “Don’t you think it’s time the two married?”
Mrs. Rabinowitz stared at me with shrewd eyes. “What’s the rush?”
“Rush?” My shoulders squared themselves of their own accord. “It’s been three years and Dottie is now nineteen. She will be an old maid soon. I would hardly call that a rush.”
Fingering the papers on the counter, Mrs. Rabinowitz spoke, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I am sure when the time is right, Abe will decide on marriage. But he has many things to consider first.”
Consider first? What was there to consider? “I know money is a concern,” I said. “If it’s simply a matter of financing a home, I’m sure Mr. Krasinsky and I could help with an apartment. And perhaps you and Mr. Rabinowitz could assist as well.”
Mrs. Rabinowitz nodded, idly playing with the receipt pad. “Well, yes, finances are always a concern. But there are others.”
The confusion must have been plain on my face, so she continued. “You are aware our family has been quite close to the Kraus family for many, many years. And Mr. Kraus is very successful in his garment business.”
The Krauses! “But . . .” I was speechless. Was this Mrs. Rabinowitz speaking? Or Abe?
“Mr. Kraus and Mr. Rabinowitz have been discussing an expansion of the store. Perhaps we will begin to sell clothing.”
Words were difficult, so offended was I for my poor Dottala. “Thank goodness we no longer live in the Old Country, where children were married off like chattel for family betterment.”
Mrs. Rabinowitz’s eyes narrowed to slits. “When Abe is ready to marry, I am sure he will take many things into consideration. Including the opinion of his parents. He is a good boy, that Abe.”
My Dottie. How much insult could one child take? This was ridiculous. “My Dottie is a wonderful girl,” I said, more defensively than I would have cared.
“Of course she is,” Mrs. Rabinowitz said. “Good day.”
That was it? I was being dismissed? I forced a nod at Mrs. Rabinowitz and bid her a “good day” as I marched out of the store.
My poor Dottala. Her choices had run out. It was the appointment on Thursday or a lifetime of shame. I wondered, though, if she could survive either one.
Dottie
Wednesday, August 28
ALL week I’d been snapping at my brothers, short with Tateh. And I was concerned about Abe. I hadn’t seen Abe since Sunday, and while that wasn’t unusual if things were hectic at the store, it was worrisome after Camp Eden. Was he avoiding me? Or was it as simple as a busy week? Not knowing ate at me.
Wednesday, as I did my morning toilet, Eugene shot into the tiny bathroom, nearly knocking me over.
“Alfie has more planes than me. Help me make more,” he said, flashing me those big eyes that always got him what he wanted.
But that morning even Eugene couldn’t alleviate my suffering. “Can’t I get a minute’s peace, even in here?” I said. My tone was sharper than I intended, and when Eugene slunk out, I saw the hurt streaked across his cheeks. Still in my slip, I took my dress, a smart navy blue from Ohrbach’s, from the back of the door and slid it over my head. I needed my mother to do the buttons up the back.
Emerging from the bathroom, I saw Eugene at the table with a stack of old Forverts, neatly tearing squares to be folded into the flying toys.
Glancing at the clock, I knew I didn’t have much time, but Eugene was so earnest in his work that I couldn’t help myself. I sat next to him and took a square. “I suppose there’s always time for an airplane or two.”
Eugene didn’t look up, but a smile tickled the corners of his mouth.
He was getting so big. How did it happen so quickly? When he was a babe, stashed away at Tante Kate’s home, I used to sneak off to visit him. I was forbidden to travel so far from the apartment by myself—Tante Kate’s home was over a mile away, down on Essex Street—but I hated coming home after school, hated having to prepare dinner, clean the house, and, worst of all, see my brothers Alfie and Joey lying there, sick, in Ma and Tateh’s bed. Izzy and I shared the second bedroom and Tateh slept on the couch. Ma would fall asleep sitting in the chair next to the boys’ bed. And then the worst: Joey was sent to the hospital. The emptiness of the apartment chilled me, and I wanted to be anywhere but there. The only way to escape first the stench of illness and then the loneliness was to leave the apartment.
In those days I was fast on my feet, and I could quickly cover the distance to Tante Kate’s, giving me time to spend with Eugene but still get back before Ma noticed I was gone. Not that Ma noticed much in those days, certainly not the dust gathering in the living room nor the burnt bread I produced.
Tante Kate was always happy to welcome me, eager to run errands or socialize with friends without Eugene underfoot. I would sit with him in her apartment and play patty-cake, teach him nursery rhymes, feed him treats I’d pinched off the food carts. I made sure to speak only English to him. Eugene wasn’t going to be subjected to the humiliation I’d suffered in grammar school, when in kindergarten I couldn’t keep up because I didn’t speak English. No one believed I was American born, as all I could speak was Yiddish. I worked extra hard to catch up, determined to be not merely an equal to my classmates but their superior. And in math, at least, I succeeded, excelling, winning awards for arithmetic every year, even beating out the boys.
No, I made sure Eugene started school as an English speaker, a point in which I took great pride. Every day I spoke to Eugene in English, sang to Eugene in English, read to Eugene in English. His accomplishments would be as much my own as his. The rush of love I held for Eugene was unlike anything I’d ever felt for anyone else. Until now. Until this feeling that was stirring for a creature inside of me that didn’t even yet exist.
Looking at Eugene, old enough this year to start heder after Rosh Hashanah, to begin learning Torah. I couldn’t imagine how empty my life would have been without him. His face had lost its roundness and he had a sureness in his ways he’d lacked mere months ago. His hands were steady as he ripped the paper, then folded each sheet with precision. Eugene had kept me levelheaded when the house had fallen apart.
What if the baby was the same? How could I look at Eugene and even consider not having this baby?
I’d folded two airplanes to Eugene’s five when we were interrupted by Ma coming out of the kitchen.
“Ach, look at the time. What is this nonsense you are doing?” Ma asked.
Looking at Ma, with the ha
lo of hair floating about her head and her midlife belly starting to protrude, I thought to myself, once again, how attractive Ma would be if she watched what she ate and took some care with her clothing and hair. Maybe a dash of lipstick?
With an arched-eyebrow glance to Eugene, who gave a not-so-quiet snicker, I said, “I need you to button me up, Ma, and then I’m ready to go.”
“No breakfast? You must eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said. I took a hard look at Ma, to see what I was to become. Feeling cruel toward her, I said, “Perhaps you should skip a meal or two. Pass on the kugel, maybe? You’re starting to grow a belly.” Would my body, like Ma’s, curve permanently once it began carrying babies?
My eyes were quickly drawn up by Ma’s sharp intake of breath. “Never you mind my plumpness. If a woman my age can’t allow herself to become a little fuller, then what is the point of it all? Now spin around.”
Would I ever again not be angry with Ma? I turned my back so she could do up the dress. The buttons did not give way easily, and Ma struggled to match the two sides. The dress squeezed about me.
Finally Ma said, “You need to find another dress. This one doesn’t fit.”
“But it fit last week.” I turned to scowl at her.
She shrugged. “And next week, it will fit again. But for now, you must find another dress.”
“Too much kugel for you, too,” Eugene said, with a laugh.
“Shush yourself,” Ma said, a touch too harshly. She turned to me. “Go. The green dress should fit. Change quickly and get to work. Head bookkeeper cannot be late. Especially as tomorrow—”
“Hush, Ma!” Tossing my head in the direction of Eugene, I said, “Little pitchers have big ears.”
“Aw, I always miss the good stuff,” Eugene said.
Without another word, I retrieved the green dress from Ma’s room and slipped into the bathroom to change. I left the navy dress in a heap on the floor, certain it would never fit again.
• • •
THE morning passed in a flurry of numbers, and at lunch, as always, I was alone. As the girls gathered to go out, a stab of loneliness gutted me. I longed to be included, to be frivolous and carefree, even as much as I despised Florence.
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