The little girl, hysterical by now, stood at his side as he placed her mother on a bench. He checked Mrs. Gould’s breathing. “Give her a minute. She’ll come around.” Nathan dropped to his knees and put an arm around the little girl. She turned to him and buried her face in his shoulder.
Mrs. Gould opened her eyes. “Someone please help me sit up.”
Nathan assisted her.
After a few minutes, Rabbi Rifkin said, “When you feel ready, Mrs. Frey will walk you home.”
They helped the woman to her feet. She briefly turned to Nathan. “Thank you.” He nodded. Steadying herself on Mrs. Fry’s arm, she and her daughter left the synagogue.
“Did you read the letter?” Nathan asked Rabbi.
“Mr. Gould’s body was torn apart by a cannon ball. Poor man couldn’t be identified except for the remnants of the shirt he was wearing.”
Nathan’s thoughts went to his sister Abbey, who was doctoring soldiers in some part of the war.
* * *
“Didn’t you carry my mom?” a radiant little girl with a head full of soft brown curls said. She stood in front of Nathan after Saturday services.
“I’m Nathan and yes, I did.”
“I’m Naomi and I’m six. Mom told me she got dizzy and couldn’t stand.”
“It’s been four weeks since then. How is she?”
“When everybody asks how is she, she tells them empty.”
“Empty?”
“That’s what she says. She used to laugh and tell me funny stories, but not anymore.”
“I’ll bet she needs lots of hugs.”
“Has she been telling you family secrets?” Joyce said with a weak smile as she approached the twosome.
“He said you need lots of hugs cause you feel empty.”
“At least hugs,” Joyce muttered, then turned to Nathan. “I feel like a rung-out dishrag.”
“I’m sure your family is supporting you.”
“My folks live in Texas and my in-laws never liked me so I’m on my own.”
“I understand you paint portraiture.”
“It’s a mostly ethical way to make a living.”
“Mostly?” Nathan asked.
“Besides portraits, I paint the occasional immodestly dressed strumpet for display in bars.”
He laughed.
Joyce regarded him for a bit. “Nice talking to you…”
“Nathan Kaplan.”
“Thanks for the assistance when I collapsed.”
“My pleasure.”
She grabbed Naomi’s hand and turned to leave but hesitated then regarded him once more. “You’re the one who saved Mrs. Ornstein.”
“Not sure if saved is the right word.”
“They say she’d have bled to death if you hadn’t stopped her hemorrhaging.”
Nathan shrugged and smiled, “I did what I was taught.”
Bright eyed Naomi asked, “Will you teach me so I can save someone?”
“If your mother agrees, I can teach you.”
“She’s too young,” Joyce said.
“I was about her age when I learned.”
“Please, Mom.”
Joyce, with a pensive expression, asked Nathan. “What do you do Sunday afternoons?”
“Read or take a walk if the weather is pleasant.”
“Can I walk with you? Please,” Naomi asked. “Mom has a sitting tomorrow afternoon so I have to stay in my room and not make any noise.”
Joyce glanced at Nathan who said, “Fine with me.”
“Good. Naomi will have a happy person around her for at least a few hours.”
“We’ll have fun,” Naomi said.
Rabbi Rifkin approached. “Are you feeling better, Mrs. Gould?”
“Managing. How are Mr. Kaplan’s rabbinical studies progressing?”
He smiled at Nathan. “His Uncle Dov prepared him well. After a day quizzing his knowledge of Torah and Talmud, I’m certain he’ll become a rabbi in a year or so of additional study with me.”
* * *
“We walked and talked and talked and walked, Mom,” grinning Naomi said, late the following afternoon. “And we counted robins, sparrows and flycatchers.”
“How many?”
“I don’t remember how many we counted but it was a big number. We even saw a bald eagle.”
“I hope she wasn’t too much,” Joyce said.
“She brightened my day.”
“Will you please stay and have something to eat with us?”
“You’ve just lost your husband. It wouldn’t be…”
“I’m a widow. I don’t have a disease.”
“I know…”
Joyce put her hands on her hips. “Then why does everyone avoid me? Why won’t they talk to me? I’m being treated like an outcast. The only looks I get from people are expressions of pity. If people say anything it’s only to convey condolences and quickly get away from me.”
“They probably don’t know what to say.”
“You’re Rabbi Rifkin’s grandson. You should know what to say when people are in emotional pain.”
“Not because I’m his grandson but I do understand your pain.”
“How?”
“I lost my parents and brother when I was two. A family took me in and raised me. Although I was little more than a baby, I remember the depth of my grief and how often I cried.”
“What did they do?”
“They held me and talked to me.”
With a tear running down her cheek she folded her arms across her chest. In a scolding voice, Joyce said, “I have no one to hold me. I don’t expect you to do that but at least stay and have a meal with us.”
Nathan considered her thoughts. “Where can I wash my hands?”
During dinner, Nathan asked, “If it’s not too painful, tell me about Ruben.”
“He was six-years older than me. I was fifteen when we met. His good looks swept me off my feet. We’d been married a year when Naomi was born. She was not quite four-years-old when he left.”
“I hardly remember him,” Naomi said.
Joyce continued, “We lived with his parents. He felt strongly about keeping the Union together so he joined the Army as soon he heard about Ft. Sumter. His mother and I mostly fought so I moved to my own place and began painting.”
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Relationship Grows
“Before we begin studying Talmud, I have a question,” Rabbi Rifkin said to Nathan the following week. “Did you spend an evening with Joyce Gould?”
They sat in the rabbi’s study. The rabbi at his desk, his secretary Shlomo at a desk off to the side, and Nathan in a chair facing the rabbi.
“I did. She’s lonely as can be.”
“You won’t see her again. She’s a widow who’s recently lost her husband. It’s not proper that a single man spend time with her. It’s too soon.”
“We enjoyed each other’s company.”
The Rabbi peered over his reading glasses. “It won’t happen again.”
Nathan became pensive. After a minute’s silence, he said, “Does her widowhood preclude her having visitors?”
“Of course not.”
“She said no one talks to her.”
“Other than civil greetings, conversing with her is not your responsibility.”
“I enjoyed spending time with Naomi as well. We’ll be getting together for a picnic next Sunday and if Joyce permits me, I’m going to visit them at least weekly.”
The Rabbi leaned toward him and shouted. “Mrs. Gould should be sitting Shiva. Not entertaining guests.”
Nathan replied in a quiet tone. “She struggles to earn a living. I doubt she has time for Shiva.”
The rabbi raised his voice a second time. “You live in my house. You follow my rules.”
“As you wish.” Nathan stood up. “I’ll gather my things and leave.”
Rabbi Rifkin laughed. “Where will you go? What will you do?”
Nathan grinned. “My Aunt Sarah taug
ht me bookkeeping. I’ve seen plenty of signs on businesses looking for bookkeepers. When I earn enough, I’ll head home.” Nathan turned to leave.
The rabbi appeared incredulous. “Wait. Stop. Please. Consider what you’re doing. Your father, myself, my father and grandfather were rabbis. Surely you wouldn’t throw away your heritage?”
Nathan’s brow furrowed. He leaned forward with hands on hips and said through gritted teeth. “Stay or leave, if I believe visiting a widow and her daughter is the right thing to do, I will.”
“Alright.” Rabbi Rifkin threw up his hands palms forward and breathed a sigh of relief. “Visit her.” He gestured at the empty chair. “Sit down…Please.”
“If you ever threaten me again, I will be out the door quicker than a lightning strike.”
The Rabbi muttered, “Your father warned me you were strong willed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Shlomo, some tea please.”
* * *
Nathan encountered Joyce and Naomi purchasing cloth and notions at the general store a few days after Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish celebration of the New Year.
“I heard you and Rabbi had an argument about me.”
“That was some weeks ago,” Nathan said. “Besides, the disagreement wasn’t about you. It was about who was running my life.”
“What was decided?”
“We decided I was.”
Joyce nodded to Naomi who cleared her throat and said, “Mr. Kaplan, will you please join Mom and me for the break-the-fast meal after Yom Kippur, last day of the New Year’s celebration, next week?”
“It would be an honor.”
Joyce appeared pleased until he added, “May I invite my Grandfather?”
“Are you sure?”
“Nearly everyone in the shul has invited him but if I ask him, I’m sure he’d join us. May I help carry your goods home?”
Joyce’s smile returned as she handed him the items. He held them in one arm and offered her the other.
At her home, Naomi said, “You still have to teach me to bandage people.”
He turned to Joyce. “I’ll need a yard of two inch wide cloth and a pair of scissors.”
“You’ll have it shortly.”
While Naomi concentrated mightily on Nathan’s instructions, her mother stood at her easel, studied them and applied paint to a canvas.
* * *
At Joyce’s home and just before the break-the-fast meal, Rabbi Rifkin, with sparkling eyes and a lilting voice, mesmerized Naomi with a bible story about Ruth. He then discussed how God is always with us.
“Even the minute I wake up?”
“Yes.”
“I feel sleepy in the morning. Sometimes I don’t want to get up.”
“That’s why the first instruction in the Code of Jewish Law is: Be strong as a lion when you wake up in the morning to serve your Creator.”
“Strong as a lion?”
“Precisely.”
“I’ll try.”
“Your soul goes to heaven each night to be re-invigorated. We thank God for choosing to return it each morning.”
“How should I thank Him?”
“We have a prayer that we say as soon as we wake up.”
“Will you teach me?”
“I’d love to. It’s called Mode Ani.”
* * *
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Mrs. Gould.”
“My pleasure, Rabbi,” she replied.
“I’ll be along later, Zadie. I’m going to help with cleanup.”
Nathan ignored his disapproving glance.
“Bedtime young lady.”
Naomi hugged her mom then ran to Nathan and hugged him as well.
Joyce started scrubbing dishes. Nathan dried and stored them.
“Naomi thinks the world of you.”
“I know,” he said while drying a soup tureen then stored it where Joyce indicated.
She put on hand on her hip and said, “I’ll bet you don’t have a clue.” Joyce began washing cups.
He took a plate from her hands and began wiping it. “I just received a firm hug from her and know she looks forward to our Sunday afternoon walks.”
“Naomi was playing with friends in our back yard yesterday. She told them she was going to be a doctor. One of the friends replied that girls can’t be doctors.” Joyce stopped rinsing the dish she held and turned to face him. “My daughter yelled that her father’s sister was a doctor healing soldiers in the Civil War.”
Nathan was motionless for a moment then asked, “She said that?”
“She did.” Joyce picked up serving plate and scrubbed it. She handed it to Nathan who began drying it. Joyce continued, “I showed Rabbi the painting of you and Naomi when you were teaching her how to bandage a wound.”
“Did he comment on it?”
“He smiled at first but the smile slowly disappeared. I asked what he thought. Lovely he said, but something saddened him.”
“I wonder what?” Nathan said.
The last of the dishes were stored. Joyce said, “Remember playing pretend as a child?”
“Certainly.”
“I’m going to turn down the lamps. You and I are going to pretend that I’m not four-years-older; that I’m not a widow with a child. We’ll pretend we’ve known each other for longer than a few months and have a future together. With all that in mind, sit on the couch and let me cuddle against you.”
* * *
On three consecutive December days, a snowstorm of massive proportion closed down Philadelphia. The windows of Joyce and Naomi’s home rattled as the wind-driven-blizzard dumped many inches of frozen precipitation.
“I don’t like being inside all the time,” Naomi complained.
Joyce shook her head and said, “Only the devil would venture out in this weather.”
They exchanged wide-eyed-glances as someone knocked on their front door.
Naomi ran to answer.
“I brought dinner,” Nathan said, using his hat to slap snow from his clothing while holding up an oil cloth covered basket.
Naomi put on a mischievous grin. She turned to her mother and shouted, “Mom, the devil is here and he brought dinner.”
The adults laughed.
“This has been an interesting week,” Nathan said, as he plated corned beef and cabbage.
“How so?” Joyce asked.
“Zadie introduced me to a young woman he thinks I should marry.”
“What happened?” Joyce asked.
“I was cordial. It was obvious she was only interested in marrying the son of a famous Rabbi. She made no attempt to get to know me.”
“If she had?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Why?”
“She’s not four-years-older than me and doesn’t have a daughter named Naomi.”
“Rabbi doesn’t approve of me.”
“His concern. Not mine.”
Joyce shook her head. “What would your parents think?”
“Before I left home, my father said it was my decision who I marry. He’s dying to meet you and Naomi.”
“He knows about us?”
“Since our first dinner.”
* * *
“You’re quite the cook,” Joyce said as the meal ended.
Nathan said, “My mom is so clever. Everyone helped prepare meals. I was learning cooking from a young age and didn’t even realize it because it was part of our daily routine.”
After Naomi was put to bed, Nathan said, “I’d like to talk about us.”
“I’m a widow with a child and I’m four-years-older than you.”
“Joyce, listen to me. The age difference is nothing and I adore Naomi. You and I have enjoyed each other’s company almost weekly for six-months.”
“You have your rabbinic studies to complete. Let’s talk when you’re ordained.”
* * *
The sun had almost set. Rabbi and Nathan hurried home after a trip to the butcher
. Two men blocked their path.
“Hey, Marv,” one of the men said. “It’s that rabbi and he’s got one on his students with him this time.”
“Out for a lesson Jew boys?” Marv said.
Rabbi Rifkin noticed Nathan’s clenched fists. In a quiet voice he said to his grandson, “Ignore them.”
One of the bullies laughed. “Ignore us? I think you need a lesson. From us. I’ll bet you Jew boys got plenty of coin on you.” He grabbed one of the Rabbi’s side curls.
“Leave me alone,” the Rabbi said as his head was cruelly yanked sideways.
“Fucking Jews don’t fight back.” He stepped in front of Nathan and threw a roundhouse at his head. Nathan ducked.
“No fighting, Nathan,” the Rabbi yelled.
In a high pitched voice, the assailant mocked, “No fighting, Nathan.”
“Hey look, Marv. Nathan’s angry.” If Rabbi Rifkin had ever seen David Kaplan’s face when he became angry he would have known what was coming next.
The would-be mugger threw a punch at Nathan’s face. It was easily knocked aside. Using the blocking motion which rotated his body, he threw a fist into his assailant’s face which snapped his head back. Blood spurted from his nose and cut upper lip. Both wounds were accompanied by a scream. The other man threw his arms around Nathan, pinning them to his sides.
Spitting blood the other walked back to Nathan. “Now you’re going to get it, Jew boy.” He drew back a fist.
Nathan brought his foot into the man’s crotch with enough force to lift him off the ground. The assailant grabbed between his legs and collapsed to his knees. Nathan used the same foot to bring all his weight down on the top of the other’s foot.
“Ma foot!” the second assailant yelled, finding it painful to put weight on. “We didn’t mean nothing. We was kidding around.”
“Laugh at this,” Nathan said. He grabbed the man’s hair with both of his hands then yanked his face into his rapidly rising knee which flipped the man onto his back. The other assailant struggled to his feet and ran at Rabbi Rifkin. Nathan shoved the Rabbi aside and delivered a set of withering combinations to the man’s face and mid-section. He hit the ground a second time.
The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific Page 14
