Page 18 of Margins of Love
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “My cousin, Arnold, thinks she has a poisonous tongue and would make a moody wife.”
Then, Lizzie chuckled and leaned away from Rachel to get a better look at her. Her intense examination was rather unsettling.
“Usually, you are safe as long as you’re not younger, prettier, and smarter than Alli.” She cocked her head. “But with your looks and intelligence, you’re right in her line of fire.”
CHAPTER15
Later that evening, on her way to kiss Sammy good night, Rachel saw the light from under the door of her parents’ room.
She heard her mother’s voice, loud and angry. “You have to give her a little room. She is not like the other—”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Her father growled. “She’s smart and witty, not like the other debutantes, and the other—“
“Like whom?” Rachel asked, bursting in when she realized they were arguing about her.
“You are drawing attention to us with all this noise.” Her mother crossed her arms and looked at Rachel’s father, hunched over the papers.
“Like nobody.” Her father shrugged it off and lowered his head over the ledgers. Rachel knew he was memorizing numbers and preparing to burn his notes. As Jews, there was no room for keeping records of finances; better to leave others in the dark.
Rachel frowned. “Can I do anything?”
“That is the point now, isn’t it,maidale?” Her father’s tone grew biting, and he straightened to look at her. “What would you like to do? Enlighten me, please.”
“I…ehm…I could help you with the ledgers?” she whispered.
The absurdity of the situation hung in the air. It was only logical to work out convoluted finances on paper and to keep careful records. Except if you were Jewish and might need to go on the run any time—better not to leave any paper trails then. Then you had to map out every escape route and be ready to collect debts along the way. That is how they had come to England in the first place—obscuring their tracks and taking on the new role of British Jews.
“Ruchale, maidale.” Her father shook his head. “I wish the world was different. I wish you could help me. Your mind is sharper than most men’s, but it isn’t safe. There are debtors out there who would hold you at gunpoint or worse. People are capable of anything if you threaten their money. With a woman, they would be out of control. You know that as well as I do.” Her father’s eyebrows furrowed over his sadness-stricken eyes. “I could use the help, but I will not put you in any danger,euzale, my treasure.” He walked toward her and placed his hands on her cheeks, cradling her face. The dark softness of their gazes spoke volumes, and Rachel felt cushioned by her father’s love.
“What your father is saying is—”
“I know what he is saying, Mama,” Rachel said, swallowing tears. “My only job is to keep quiet, marry some stranger, and produce Jewish babes.” The anger bubbling inside restored the strength to her voice.
“And is that so bad? After all I have done for you?” her father roared.
“Ruchale, it is unseemly to be ungrateful. Your father has worked very hard to secure a match for you.”
Rachel’s heart sank at her mother’s scolding. “W-w-what do you mean, Mama?”
“Here.” Her father produced a letter, hidden behind his pocket square and neatly folded into a small rectangle. “Your betrothal is confirmed. The groom’s father sent his assent to the rabbi. I just received this via a special messenger.”
Her last shred of hope that the match would flounder evaporated. A confirmation of the match was as contractual as a memorandum of understanding—it was binding. Rachel tasted bile. She had become a business transaction.
“It’s all here,Ruchale. I have to return the signed papers in the morning. All that is left is the dowry amount,” he said.
The words spread through her veins, poisoning her hope for romance and flooding her with tragic resignation. There was nothing she could do as a woman living in Georgian England.
Her mother looked at her expectantly.
“Do you approve of the match, Mama?” Rachel asked, grasping at her last shreds of hope, praying her mother would not force her to marry a stranger. Her father had not even met him.
“It’s anonymous.” Her mother sank onto the faded blue settee as the absurdity of the situation resonated in her declaration.
“Argh…” Rachel’s anger resurfaced and she puffed as she pivoted on her heel. She was so mad, she could have pulled her hair, but it would hurt with all the pins holding up her coiffure.
“So, Papa is paying a stranger money to get me off your hands.” She was hurt to be pawned off like a piece of jewelry to the highest bidder, except that it was her family who would pay this time. Her pride melted into a puddle at her ankles.
A vein in her father’s temple pulsed. “The dowry has not been set,” he replied grimly.
