It was late when they arrived at the house. Hershel waved Hanna inside, then drove the wagon the three blocks to the neighbor from whom he had borrowed it, unhitched the horse, and led it back to its stable. It was getting fat from the small amount of effort that Hershel required, so he threw into the stall only a small forkful of hay and went into the kitchen. Israel and Hanna were seated at the table. Israel had prepared glasses of tea for them both, and they were waiting for him to come in.
“Some tea, Hershel?” asked Israel softly. “It’s made.”
“Thanks,” he replied in a low voice, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and taking a chair. “How’s Mrs. Barlak?”
Israel’s mouth tightened despondently, and he shook his head. “The drug wore off just after you left. I gave her another spoonful, but it took forever to work. I think she’s asleep now.” He poured a glass of tea for Hershel and offered Hanna a refill of her own. She signaled no. “That Jakob,” he went on, resuming his seat. “He sat with her for more than an hour again, talking and praying so beautifully that I think he did better than the medicine.” He passed over a sugar cube to Hershel. “It’s not hard to see a young man like him becoming a rabbi. He has…” he shrugged his shoulders, “…a quality that gives confidence. You can believe what he says. When he told Motlie that the Lord is watching over her every minute, she actually looked around. I felt the same, like He is watching everyone out of the corner of His eye, but keeping His main look just for Motlie.”
“He’ll inherit his father’s congregation, you know,” said Hershel.
“What do you mean, inherit?” asked Israel, laughing. “Like the Tzar?”
“Exactly like that,” said Hershel, grinning back. “With the Hasidim, it passes from father to son. I’ll wager you that if he walked up to a group from his congregation, they would split apart like the waters of the Red Sea and bow like he was the Tzar.”
Hanna looked at Hershel in disbelief. She regarded Jakob only as an unusual young man, one that she was learning to feel comfortable with. Actually, she liked him a bit, in the young woman and young man scheme of things. But he piqued her now and then by the way he often deliberately ignored her. She sensed at times that he was more aware of her than he acted, as if his detached air had been drilled into him, and she guessed that his reserve was due to his Hasidic upbringing, and that a woman was barely one level higher than a servant. “How do you know so much about the Hasidim?” she asked.
“I read a little about them some years ago.” He suddenly found himself yawning, and muffled it with a hand. He realized why he was getting tired. The strain of his work was catching up. Once he had the operation working smoothly, he was determined to be off on a long vacation–perhaps a full month. There would be snow in the mountains by then. It would be a toss-up between Switzerland, with its sterile cleanliness and neatness and barely edible food, and northern Italy with its disorder and excellent cuisine. He would ask Katrine to come along. She would blend in with either world.
Motlie had another bad night, and both Israel and Hanna were up with her constantly. Her pain was so great that Hanna moved Zelek from her parents’ room into her own bed with his sisters and used his cot herself. At each of her mother’s moans, her heart would tear apart. In desperation, she gave Motlie two spoonfuls of the drug, but they did little to ease her misery. Hanna was tempted to waken Jakob now and then for the magic that his voice and words seemed to have, but Motlie would not hear of it. It was only when Nicholas Aleksandrovich Romanov began to crow that she finally fell into a restless slumber, and Hanna could prevail upon her father to lay down in Zelek’s bed. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, but even in his exhausted dream world he twitched and mumbled as if it was he who suffered.
When Jakob came down from his room, she served him hot cereal and milk, then explained about Motlie.
“You should have called me,” he said sharply. “I am able to help her.”
“She would not let me,” said Hanna weakly. “She did not want to be a bother.”
He rose at once and stood at the door of the bedroom, eyeing Motlie’s face, then resumed his seat. “I will stay with her while you are at work.” He spooned a portion of the cereal into his mouth and studied Hanna. He saw the red-rimmed eyes, the paleness of her cheeks, the way her shoulders were struggling to remain erect, and a gush of compassion filled his chest, mingled with admiration for the woman. She was like none he had ever met. He had to admit to himself that he knew very little about women. All of the girls in the congregation, and those in nearby congregations, had made no effort to attract him. That was quite understandable, since his father had betrothed him to the daughter of a neighboring Hasidic rebbe at the age of thirteen, directly after his bar mitzvah. Jakob had seen her occasionally while they were growing up, and he had been pleased with her attractive appearance. Beauty in a woman was an asset, for it contributed to a good sex relationship, and sex was a significant part of marriage. It was to be enjoyed to the full, especially on the Sabbath, and having a mate who enjoyed it equally well was good fortune.
She was five years younger than Jakob, and when she was sixteen, after a sudden fever, she commenced having epileptic attacks. Jakob’s father had voided the contract at once, and gone on a new search for a wife for his son. A year later, Jakob began losing weight and started having pains in his chest. It was diagnosed as pulmonary tuberculosis, and it took two years of diligent home care before he was pronounced cured. When, after an additional year of recuperation, he did not recover his weight loss, the doctor recommended a long stay in the countryside.
Jakob kept eating in silence, his eyes flicking up from the bowl to Hanna serving the children, still sleepy but with a healthy appetite. She would make a fine wife, he reasoned. She was strong, capable, and had a quick mind. The fact that Hanna was beautiful made her more desirable to him. But a wife must be for the long haul. A man could not expend his energies on training a woman to act and think like a Hasid, of expecting her to accept their customs without question, of being prepared to become, what was, for others, foreign in the eyes of orthodox Jews. Hasidim allowed no compromise with other Jews. For example, speaking Hebrew in the home or on the street! What an abomination! Hebrew is the language of the Lord; it should be spoken only in the synagogue. Jews should speak Yiddish in their daily lives. In truth, though, Jakob realized that the main battleground was the situation with the rebbes. Hasidic rebbes were the direct link with God. To diminish their power over their congregations was the crux of the controversy. The Talmid Chachem–am-haaretz dispute was simply a front-line skirmish weapon.
He broke off his reflections when he heard Motlie call out, and Hanna sped at once to her side. She was nauseated, groggy, and depressed, but at least her pain was bearable again. Motlie kissed her daughter and told her to get to work, so Hanna slipped on her leather shoes and started down the street to Mrs. Merkys’.
Stephen was waiting at the corner, and fell in step with her. “Hello,” he said softly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked terribly tired. “I love you.”
Hanna’s pale, weary face cleared. “And I love you, my darling.”
“Your mother, she is worse?”
“Yes. She had a very bad night.”
He nodded his head in understanding. “I was going to ask you to meet me tonight, but we’ll wait for another time.”
Her shoulder brushed him lightly, and he gave her a small, adoring smile. “I cannot say now. The doctor is coming today. If Mama is all right, I will meet you at the boat. After supper.”
His face broke into a quick, bright smile. “I’ll wait until dark,” he told her, then veered off to a side alley so the passing villagers would not see them walking together too long.
At Mrs. Merkys’, Hanna worked at top speed, and by noon had finished the bodice of the wedding gown. Mrs.