Then the door opened, and through her tears, she saw Stephen standing there. He closed it gently and leaned back against it, his face grim. Dear, wonderful, loyal Stephen. She realized how much it must have cost him to walk into the house, through the crowd of staring strangers whose hatred he could actually smell, and then into the bedroom. Oblivious, he sensed only that Hanna needed him. And seconds later, as she sprang to her feet and into his waiting embrace, he knew that he would gladly walk through fire just to console her.
He held her tightly, rocking her in his powerful arms, resting his cheek against the top of her head, feeling her shake with tears of grief.
“It’s all right, my darling,” he said softly. “Everything will be all right. I will watch out over you.”
She leaned hard against his chest, and little by little she felt a resurgence of her strength.
After a while, Stephen said, “I’d better go now. Is there anything that you need?”
She shook her head. “Just you coming here, your comfort, your love. Thank you, Stephen. Can you come back later tonight?”
“Of course I will. When?”
“Make it late, when the children are in bed. About eight.”
He nodded, kissed the tear streaked cheek, and then left the room. Hanna stayed a little longer, slowly regaining her composure. When she went to the kitchen, most of the people inside avoided her eyes, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation or looking elsewhere. They were embarrassed for her.
By sundown, all of the people had left for their homes. Hanna, Jakob, and Hershel sat outside on the wooden bench against one wall of the house, the children resting on boxes around them. The night was balmy, stars emerging from the paleness of the sky, a soft breeze flowing in from the Nemunas to help settle the dust of the hot August sun. The scent of roses, planted by Motlie so many years ago, perfumed the atmosphere.
Hershel did not beat around the bush. “Hanna, Jakob and I want to talk to you about our boarding here.”
Hanna looked at him anxiously. She knew what was coming, and she dreaded the outcome, for the two men represented the major income for the family, exceeding the Sunday churchgoers and her salary.
She sighed in resignation. Another blow about to fall. “I understand, Hershel. Without Mama, Papa…”
Hershel gave his slow, crooked grin. “I don’t think you do understand. Look at Jakob over there. In four weeks he has put on three or four kilos. Pretty soon, we’ll have to start calling him ‘fatty’.” It was true. He had put on weight. But the greatest change was in his demeanor; a calmness and peace he had lacked at his arrival. “Anyhow,” continued Hershel, “we spoke with Rabbi Warnitski this afternoon, and he agrees that your reputation won’t be shattered if we stay on here.” Hanna’s face registered disbelief, and then her eyes clouded over. “We know,” went on Hershel hastily to forestall the tears, “that it may be difficult, working, preparing meals, and all that, but we won’t mind pitching in.”
“I could kiss you both,” she said, overcome with emotion. Then she smiled. “But Jakob would be ruined for life.”
Jakob chuckled. It was good to see her smile. He had experienced a pang of resentment when Stephen had gone into the bedroom where Hanna was mourning and had closed the door behind him. It had not completely surprised him, this notion of displeasure, for he had the same feeling whenever Hanna occupied herself with the Russian, or even when she spoke with complete attention to Hershel. He enjoyed bantering with her, and having others about seemed to interrupt this pleasant game.
“I have to tell you,” he said with a straight face, “that I have kissed a girl not of the family.”
Hershel pretended shock. “No!” he exclaimed. He looked severely at the children hanging onto every word. “I want all of you to stick your fingers in your ears,” he ordered them. “Jakob may make a revelation that young people shouldn’t hear.”
They started laughing. “Tell us, Jakob,” said Gitel. “Who did you kiss?”
“A very pretty girl,” he said, nodding his head in deep memory. He stared at each one deliberately; his lips pursed; his eyes narrowed. “I did it as a bet,” he slowly added.
“A bet!” chortled Hershel. “Hurry up, Jakob. The suspense is driving me crazy. Who was she?”
Jakob took a deep breath. “A neighbor’s doll,” he burst out, his eyes sparkling. “I was five years old.” The children screeched with glee.
CHAPTER 13
Katrine stretched lazily in her seat. The train connection at Zlobin had amazingly been on time, and one of the car porters had promptly handed down her cases through a window to a leather aproned baggage handler, who placed them on a stout wooden cart with large iron wheels, and, armed with the car number and private compartment of the train to Kiev, sped ahead to pass the cases up to the waiting attendant there to be carefully stowed in her reserved room. Katrine tipped the conductor and car porter liberally, and was fussily handed down the train steps to the platform. With seeming indifference, she walked over to the waiting train, but from the moment the luggage was taken from her room, lazy appearing, but sharp glances had followed the movements of the cases to their new destination. Only when she had been graciously handed up the steps by the new conductor, led to her compartment by one of the car porters, and swiftly counted the number of pieces of luggage, did she let herself relax.
But the compartment! It was for only two people! She had ordered one for four. Her exasperation was promptly relayed to the car conductor, who rushed to her room, and apologetically explained that all compartments had been reserved before her request had been received, and that a very important chemical manufacturer and his wife had been removed to another car to make this one available.
To mollify her, he had asked if the Countess would please accept an espresso while she was getting settled. The conductor had personally supervised its making, dipping a finger into the brew and then to his lips to ascertain that it had the precise degree of sharpness that aficionados savored, then brought along a container of finely ground sugar kept only for those of Katrine’s rank and present disposition. He had thoughtfully placed on the tray two petits fours, baked by a French pastry cook in Zlobin.
Appeased by the coffee and the sweet cakes, she gave herself over to the unexpected developments with Hershel. The thought of marriage to him was consuming her every thought, and as hard as she tried, she could not bring herself down to solid earth. From the moment she realized that she was completely in love with him, almost six months ago, she knew one, unalterable fact; that marriage with Hershel would be for life. Among her peers, divorce was not uncommon, and many of her social order, if ardor waned and divorce was not practical, sought solace elsewhere, either in the arms of a lover or with a hobby or by having children. But that would not go with Hershel. He would work at the marriage as if it was the only thing that existed, and if it did not work out, he would not accept it like the others, for it would destroy him. In his eyes, the marriage would be sacred, and any woman who got him should light a candle each morning with thanksgiving.
Sharing Hershel’s life would not be a bed of roses, she acknowledged. Fortunately, there would be no financial problems. Her grandmother had left her a small fortune, which her father, a thick, tough, landholder of huge estates three days ride northeast of Moscow, had invested in properties in various cities outside of Russia.
Hershel had been cool to the idea of meeting her family. “Later,” he had said. This she also understood. His viewpoints on life would conflict harshly with those of her people; that is Judaism, socialism, philosophy.
“Reasoning,” he had once commented with conviction, as if it were a sore tooth that must be tongued constantly. “That’s the only thing that counts. There is an ocean of mental giants swirling about, who know every leaf that grows, and every shadow cast by a flying bird. But in most cases they are