Five years later, my sister Ginger was born, named not only for her curly red hair, but because Mother, an incurable movie fan, adored Ginger Rogers. My brother Fred was born five years after Ginnie. My own name was a curious combination of Vivian Leigh and Ann Miller, the former having mesmerized Mother in Gone With The Wind, the latter having thrilled her with her saucy dancing techniques. “Vivian Ann” would not have done, but Mother felt Leigh Ann sounded sophisticated.
Father picked out Ginger’s and Fred’s middle names (Melissa and Allen, respectively), but I was the only one who seemed destined to be called by both names, at least most of the time.
Ginnie, at least, was pleased with her name. Fred, now thirteen, had declared we were to call him Rick, from this point forward. All of his friends called him Rick now, frustrating Mother, who pointed out that Rick was short for Richard, not Frederick. My brother, she said, shrugged and told her that rules were meant to be changed. As we pulled up to the house, I thought of how funny it would seem to call my brother by a name I’d never used for him.
He was to be Bar Mitzvahed this year, and was feeling quite the young man. He had pointed out to Mother that, according to Jewish custom, children should be named after long-lived deceased relatives and not movie stars. But Mother, whose parents had died in the Holocaust, had no stomach for tradition. She herself had only survived the war because she had been a strong healthy teenager, capable of handling the rigors of slave labor in Auschwitz. After the war, she had immigrated to America, sponsored and welcomed by her Aunt Ida in south Philadelphia. She and Dad had met in 1946. Her defiant, inquisitive blue eyes, her fiery short hair curling impishly over her ears, and sturdy hourglass figure had captivated him. She in turn found his deepset brown eyes, dark brown hair, and strong trim build, hardened by his stint with the Marines, equally attractive. They had a whirlwind romance ending in marriage six months later.
Fred knew this, and so did the synagogue to which we belonged. He had already talked with the Rabbi with whom he studied Hebrew and Torah, who okayed the mention of his chosen nickname when he was called to the Torah during the ancient adulthood ceremony.
Father was more inured to tradition and deliberately had given Fred and Ginnie middle names in memory of his uncle and his aunt, who had also been murdered in the Holocaust. The rest of Father’s family had immigrated to America long before the war, escaping such a fate.
I had little idea what Richard, a lapsed Catholic, thought of all this. He commented little when we spoke of our family backgrounds, during the early days of our courtship, except to say that wars based on religion were a mark against a society, showing its spiritual ignorance.
We were both naive in those days.
Fred was coming out the front door as we got out of the car.
“Hey, Leigh!”
“Hi, Fred . . . I mean, Rick. Darn, I’m going to have to get used to this!”
He laughed. “It’s okay. Doesn’t matter. Let’s see the kid . . . will you look at that? He’s got my hair and eyes.” Fred winked at Richard, then bent down to smile at the baby in my arms. “Hey, Daniel! Hey! It’s your Uncle Rick.”
Daniel looked at him blankly, then at me, his expression almost asking for explanation. “That’s Rick, Danny. Rick.” The baby’s face dimpled, mouth widening to a grin, and he gave a little burst of laughter.
Fred made a face, and Daniel laughed again. “Listen, Sis, I’ve got to go. Basketball practice. See you tonight.” He kissed me on the cheek, then turned to Richard. “Good seeing you, Richard.” They shook hands briefly. “I’ll catch you all later.”
He smiled as he left, and I thought how similar his smile was to Daniel’s, a wistful upturning of the lips.
I knocked on the unlocked door as we went in, shouting, “Hello!”
A pause and then, “Leigh Ann?,” as Ginnie’s voice travelled loudly from the kitchen. She came bounding into the living room, a grin of welcome on her face, Mother following her, with her own pleased look. Her eldest had come home, and that look communicated that she knew I had a problem and needed her.
“Baby,” she said, her arms circling both me and Daniel, and kissed me on my cheek. “Oh, look at him!” She reached out and took Daniel’s right hand. He obligingly wrapped his small fingers around her forefinger and held tight.
“Oh, he’s beautiful!” Ginnie said, and to Richard, “You must be really proud.”
Richard nodded. “Of course.”
“Well,” Mother addressed him, “you must be tired and hungry from your drive. Let’s go into the kitchen and relax. I’ll fix us a snack.”
“Sounds good,” he answered.
“Just leave the suitcases by the chair. You can take them up later. I’ve got the girls’ old room fixed up for the three of you, even made a little cradle of sorts for Danny. I used an old large laundry basket, with soft blankets wrapped in a sheet. Of course, you’ll have to share the room with Ginnie, but she doesn’t mind. You and Leigh Ann can bunk in her old bed.” Mother chattered on as she led us to the kitchen. “Oh, I’m so glad you came. I’ve missed Leigh Ann terribly, and we haven’t seen you or Danny since our short visit to your apartment in Queens when he was, what? Two weeks old?”
“That was five weeks ago, Mother,” I said.
“I know. But my baby has a baby, and I missed you both!”
“Oh, Mother!”
“You, too, Richard.”
“Glad to be included,” he said, and let out a short jabbing laugh.
“Now let’s see what we have.” Mother opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got some chicken cutlets, and some fresh tossed salad, and some cola to drink, unless you’d like some apple juice. Your father should be back soon, Leigh Ann. I sent him to the supermarket to pick up extra groceries. I’m going to make a roast beef dinner for everyone. How does that sound?”
She bustled around, putting the cold platter lunch, beverages, and paper plates and cups on the table, masking an anxiety which she knew I felt emanating from her. Underlying her hidden stress was a strong antipathy seemingly directed at Richard, though I wondered if the true target was the dark spirit who had harassed me the past few days.
“So how have you been treating my little girl?” she asked.
“Oh, she’s been okay.” Richard leaned back in his chair, turning slightly to face me, a touch of a smile on his lips. “I don’t see any marks on her from the beating. Must have all cleared up.”
“Oh, Richard!” Ginnie exclaimed, rolling those blue eyes I’d been so envious of as a child.
“He’s joking,” I said with my own small smile.
“I hope so,” my sister said. “You’d probably beat him back up, and probably win. She’s a real meanie, Richard. Don’t mess with her.”
“I won’t,” he said, and helped himself to lunch.
* * * *
My father came home an hour later, and the greetings and small talk were repeated. It wasn’t until later that night that Mother and I could talk privately. After dinner, Fred went out, and my father went upstairs for his customary nap for an hour or two. Richard had called his parents in the nearby Burholme section of northeast Philadelphia, to arrange our stopping by there on Sunday on our way back to New York. He didn’t know I had no intention of returning to Queens. He also called two high school buddies and asked me if I’d mind his going off to see them for awhile. I didn’t mind.
Daniel fell asleep in his makeshift crib; Ginnie had a Saturday night date with her current beau, but promised to get back before midnight for late night sisterly talk.
Mother and I were finally