Page 49 of Margins of Love
Out of sight, Fave gave Arnold’s arm a brotherly tap. “Amezusah?” The cousins knew that a piece of parchment with specific verses from the Torah was rolled up in this case, as amitzvah—or good deed—to fulfill the commandment to write the words of God on the gates and doorposts of one’s house.
“It was tilted, was it not?” Fave asked Arnold. Only Ashkenasi Jews tilted their mezuzah. Whoever lived in this house, was extremely secretive about being Jewish—just like the Pearlers.
“I did not know… did not think Jews lived at St. James’s,” Arnold said perplexed.
“Neither did I,” Fave answered.
“Golders Green, Maida Vale, Bayswater…” Arnold enumerated where he knew Jews typically lived around town.
“Hush!” Fave pushed him aside when he noticed the front door opening.
A woman in a dark cloak stepped out, her face hidden by a large black hat with a grey Ostrich feather. She looked familiar but he could not see her whole face. Behind her was a modestly dressed woman, younger, without a hat but an elegant updo, probably a lady’s maid. Fave could not decide why a woman dressed as a maid would… and then he choked on his breath.It was Rachel.
Arnold grasped his arm and turned him away from the house. From the corner of his eye, he watched the three women descend the steps toward the street and overheard them.
“I am so proud of you,Ruchale.”
Arnold’s eyes nearly popped out at the woman’s use of Yiddish. He recognized her now as Stella Newman.
“I remember the day my mother took me to themikvehbefore my wedding,” she said and then disappeared into the carriage.
Fave knew that a bride went to the mikvah bath for the restoration of ritual purity before her wedding. It was a tradition more than a cleansing these days, as everyone had a bathtub in their quarters. At least everyone Fave knew.
He stiffened his back and looked through the corner of his eye again. The two older women had climbed into the carriage. Rachel had her hands on the side handles and looked over her shoulder before she swung herself up. Fave did not hear the noisy street any longer. Only this moment pulsed through his conscience.
He turned to face her. She must have recognized him for her expression sagged and her eyes blackened. Fave held his breath and tilted his head as if trying to understand where she was going. No,whyshe was readying herself for awedding?
He saw her tighten her grip around the carriage handles as if she could will herself stuck and not run into his arms. Then she swung herself up and the cabin door closed.
CHAPTER33
Rachel cried during the entire cleansing ceremony, the recitation of the blessings, and on the way home. She was immersed in a deep stone pool and had to dunk her head several times, repeat a few vows, and come back home. But she had just seen Fave, and she should have been getting ready for him. It should behimunder the chuppah, the wedding canopy, in a few days. It should have been Fave all along and all the way.
But it would never be.
She cried as her body could not respond in any other way. Now, exhausted, all Rachel wanted to do was curl up on her settee with Fave’s book. The only piece of him she had left. Just before dinner, she sat in the family’s drawing-room, book in hand. Candlelight reflected from the dusty mauve damask wallpaper. Sammy pored over his homework.
“What are you translating,Samuil?” Rachel used his Yiddish nickname and took the chair next to him.
“Fräulein Goddard”—he frowned at the mention of his governess’s name—“is making me translate the whole section of Achilles’s shield.” He sighed more deeply than was becoming on an eleven-year-old. Agony was written all over his innocent brown eyes, which Rachel knew resembled her own all too closely.
“I gather it is filled with symbolism.” She leaned over to see the exact lines he had to translate. “So, where have you stopped?” She encouraged him, assuming her tutoring big-sister tone.
“Book eighteen,” Sammy mumbled.
“And what is Achilles preparing for?” Rachel probed.
“I… euhm…” Sammy rifled through the pages.
“Achilles is preparing his armor for the fight with Hector. You see, Achilles had lent his armor to his friend Patroclus so that he could lead the Achaean army into battle against… whom?” Rachel prided herself in her tutoring tone. Maybe she could have been a governess to the children of ton if her parents had not found her a suitable husband. She certainly had not found herself one. Fave was out of the question.
“The Trojans. Hector was a Trojan Prince,” Sammy recited dutifully without even a slice of Rachel’s passion for the story.
“Aha, good. And Hector killed Patroclus and took Achilles’s armor away from Patroclus as spoils. This upset Achilles so much that he wanted to fight the Trojans himself. He asked his mother, Thetis, for help. She was a nymph with special powers. Thetis asked the god Hephaestus to forge replacement armor for her son.” Rachel leaned back and clapped her hands. “And that is how Achilles received his spectacular shield.”
Sammy groaned. “The book does not say it like this. It is thirty pages of verses.”
Rachel understood his lack of enthusiasm. She had enjoyed a different upbringing than Sammy, dominated by stories told by people with stakes in their teachings. She had learned music from a Viennese symphony pianist, French from a former Agent of the Crown, and chess from a Chinese grandmaster stranded in Antwerp. Her father had bartered for the lessons for debts so that his daughter could get a broad education, as unconventional and unthinkable as it was for a Jewish girl. However, Sammy did not have this privilege because the family had been settled in London for most of the years since they had arrived in England. But Sammy was a boy, and the rules were different for him.
