Modern Girls (11 page)

I hoped that at the end of the evening, I would be able to steal a few moments alone with Perle, but why should my luck have been any better at the end of the night than at the beginning? It was after midnight when Ben was ready to go, though the game continued and the women went on chatting. The two of us retreated home and I tried to force myself to be grateful for the new chance God was giving me. But in my heart, there was only sorrow.

Monday, August 19

MONDAY after work, I hurried to Zelda’s apartment. I prayed she would be home, not that prayer was doing me much good lately. With her ma at a meeting, there was a chance Zelda would go to her in-laws’ for dinner. If I could have called ahead to make sure she’d be home, I would have. My parents’ refusal to install a phone normally simply frustrated me—“For what do we need that expense?” Ma would say—but given the current situation, it was dire. And the office phone was strictly for work. Not that, realistically, I could speak to anyone from home or the office. But to at least be able to call to see if Zelda was home . . . I sighed. Right then the phone was the least of my worries.

Monday nights were gin rummy at Edith’s apartment, but I couldn’t face her and Linda. I needed to figure things out before I saw my friends again. What if I broke down sobbing in the middle of a hand? What would I tell them?

As I was walking through Union Square, the display window of Ohrbach’s beckoned. Nothing like a peek at the newest styles to cheer a gal. But the stunning outfits wouldn’t fit me again for months. Depression cloaked me, and I needed something to perk me up. A hat might do. A hat would fit no matter how large I grew. My sensible side chastened: It was crucial now to save money. But wasn’t it just as important to keep up my spirits? Wouldn’t feeling blue cause the baby to be born sickly? Besides,
with my new raise, what was ninety-nine cents? And there was a darling hat, with a swagger brim and the most intricate lacings down the middle, begging to be bought.

Ten minutes later, new hat in box, I continued on toward Zelda’s. Not three blocks down, though, I regretted my purchase. Who cared how fetching I’d look in it? How foolish of me. How would I hide the hat from Ma?

By the time I arrived at Zelda’s, I’d worked myself into quite a state. I knocked on the door, relieved when I heard rustling inside. Zelda would know how to take care of my hat.

“Dottie,” Zelda said as she opened the door. “I’m so happy to see you. I thought you were that pill from next door coming to borrow another egg.” She didn’t pause as she walked back in, allowing me to close the door and follow her. “That woman needs to learn to support her own family. Oh, did you hear what’s going on with Morris? Seems he got himself a little too close to the strikers in the Workers’ Alliance, and Edith—”

At that, I burst into tears. Loud, noisy, unglamorous tears.

“Dear Lord,” Zelda said, spinning around to face me. She looked frazzled, but then, she usually did. Her hair escaped the permanent the salon had put in, and streaks of pureed peas ran down the front of her apron. A smudge of flour graced her cheek.

My chest heaved; I was crying so hard.

“Sit, sit, Dottala.” Zelda ushered me to the couch, taking a peek at Shirley, who was sitting up in her crib, watching us. I let Zelda guide me to a seated position. “Whatever is wrong?”

I had to take in big gulping breaths before I could speak. “I bought a hat!” I said, giving the box beside me an angry shove.

“A hat?” Zelda said. She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“A hat. A hat. I bought a hat!” I was shrieking now.

“Okay, okay! You bought a hat. How . . .” Zelda was befuddled. “Terrible?”

“It’s horrible! It’s the worst!” I spoke between gasps. “I can’t
buy a hat. I have no right buying a hat. What was I thinking, buying a hat like that?” I could feel my nose begin to run.

Confusion was plain on Zelda’s face. “Here,” she said, taking my purse from my hands. “Let me get your handkerchief.” As she opened my clutch to fish it out, her hands stopped on something. Pulling out the two letters—the letters I should have thrown away, the letters that pointed an accusing finger toward me—she raised her eyebrows and asked, “What’s this?”

“My hankie, please,” I said. A few deep breaths and my tears were beginning to slow.

“Right, right,” Zelda said, digging back into my purse and handing me the delicate hankie that Ma had so carefully monogrammed. She returned to the envelopes and looked at the address engraved on the back. “Are these from my aunt Molly? Why is she sending you mail?”

That started me crying anew. This time, my tears set off little Shirley, and Zelda froze for a moment, bewildered about which crying female to comfort first. I waved my hands toward the baby, and Zelda leaped up, took Shirley in her arms, and bounced her up and down until she quieted. Looking back at me, Zelda smiled and said, “If I bounce you, will you quiet as well?”

Blowing my nose loudly, I shook my head. Zelda gave me the room to finish my fit. Zelda, who knew me so well. Our mothers had been together since the beginning of time, so Zelda and I were tethered from birth.

After a few minutes, my wheezing subsided, and I thought I could speak. But an odor in the air gave me pause. “Zelda?” I managed to say.

“Yes?” she asked, eager to hear what was going on.

I sniffed. “Is something burning?”

Zelda jumped up.
“Oy vey, gevalt,”
she said, thrusting Shirley toward me. “My bread!” She ran into the kitchen. Zelda had been married for almost two years, and yet she still fluttered about
like a nervous newlywed, unsure of her cooking and mediocre in her housekeeping skills.

I took the opportunity to snuggle Shirley. She had lost some of the new-baby scent, but I still found her smell comforting. Little Shirley was a sweetheart, with the big round eyes and full cheeks of a Kewpie doll, her blond hair beginning to darken and curl. Zelda, an only child, was hopeless at the baby things that came naturally to me, as the older sister to three boys. “Hello, my little Shirley. Hello.”

Shirley cooed, triggering a spill of love in my chest. “Oh, my little Shirley, if ever there was an angel, it’s you.”

“Everything is under control,” Zelda called from the kitchen. She came back out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Forgot about the bread in the oven.” She sighed. “Guess I’ll be headed to the bakery first thing in the morning.” She leaned over to take Shirley from my hands, but I refused to let go. Zelda raised her eyebrows at me, so I relented. Zelda placed Shirley in her crib, sat on the couch, and took my hands in hers.

“Dottie, whatever is the matter? And don’t give me any nonsense about a hat.”

I nodded, but I was having trouble finding the words.

“Does this have to do with the letters?”

I shrugged. Zelda let go of my hands to pick up the envelopes again. Running her finger over the stationery, she experienced the same jealousy I had over the luxuriousness of the paper. She extracted the first letter and read it silently. I had it memorized and let the words roll through my mind:
Will you avoid me forever? Meet me for lunch at the Stork Club this Monday at noon. I promise, Abe will never know. With devoted affection, Willie.
It was dated the beginning of June. Zelda pursed her lips as she folded it carefully back into the envelope. She pulled out the second. The message was nearly identical to the first, but dated July.

“
Nu?
What is going on?”

Her soft green eyes were inviting, comforting. “I’m in a
situation,” I said softly. Then I lowered my voice even further. “I’m in a family way.”

She nodded, pushing a hair away from her face, and I could see she was trying to hide her shock. She didn’t do a good job of it. “So you and Abe get married?” Zelda said, more a question than a statement, glancing at the letters. “You won’t be the first to have a baby a wee bit early.”

I looked down at the ground. Then I looked back at her, fresh tears in my eyes. “It’s not Abe’s,” I whispered, utterly humiliated.

She looked again at the letters before looking back at me. She whistled long and slow before softly repeating, “It’s not Abe’s?”

I shook my head. I could see her struggling, deciding whether to reprimand or comfort me. I wasn’t worried about her pushing me away, though. This was Zelda. My Zelda.

She held up the envelopes with a questioning look. I nodded.

“Willie Klein,” she said slowly. “Murder!”

“Murder, indeed,” I said, as the drops rolled down my cheeks.

“Dare I ask how this came about?”

I shook my head.

“And there’s
no
chance it’s Abe’s?”

“Not even the remotest of possibilities.”

She looked at the ceiling as if gathering her thoughts. “
Oy
, that Abe and his virtue.” Glancing back down, she asked, “Okay, what are we going to do about this?”

My love for Zelda grew even more in that moment.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to marry Willie?”

Marry
Willie
? The thought had never even occurred to me, most likely because of the clear answer: no. No, I did not want to marry Willie Klein. I loved arguing politics with Willie, loved teasing Willie, loved hearing about his escapades as he chased stories. But I didn’t love
Willie
. I shook my head.

“Are you sure? He’s a handsome devil, my cousin. A little
daft, but nothing that should get in the way. Plenty of money. You could be a rich society lady. Oh, that child will be stunning, with your beautiful eyes and his fine cheekbones.”

I couldn’t help but grin slightly at how Zelda could turn everything into a positive.

She continued. “He has to take responsibility for what he’s done. You’ll simply have to marry Willie.”

“Impossible. Willie Klein is not the kind of man to take responsibility for anything. Besides, I don’t
want
to marry him.”

Zelda rubbed my hands. “Dottala,” she said, “you may not have a choice. And we can make it happen. His family would never stand for this. His behavior is already an embarrassment, being a writer, prancing about town. Aunt Molly has her nose so far up in the air, it’s a wonder the birds haven’t made off with it yet. She’d be mortified to know Willie knocked up a girl, but at least you’re a nice Jewish girl—she’ll be flying to the seamstress for a bridal gown. You know Willie’s been seen around town with a
shiksa
from that club in Harlem. And Aunt Molly doesn’t know the half of it. Last I heard, Willie was cavorting with”—she looked around as if there were someone who would overhear, and she dropped her voice to a low whisper—“
shvartzes
!”

I swallowed down a sob. “If you’re trying to make me sweet on him, you’re doing a lousy job,” I said. “Why would I want to marry a man like that?”

“Do you have a choice?”

I looked at my Sun Rose nails. In the low light of the apartment, they’d lost their luster, looking a sickly brown. “I have a plan.”

Zelda’s eyebrows shot up.
“Nu?”

Wiping my nose again, I said, “Abe and I go to Camp Eden this weekend. I seduce him.”

Zelda cocked her head. “Oh, sweetie. Do you really think that will work?”

I nodded my head vigorously. “It has to.”

“Of course,” she said. “Of course it will work.” But she seemed doubtful.

“Far a bisel libe, batsolt men miten gantsen leben.”
For a little love, you pay all your life.
“Let me splash some water on my face,” I said. “I need to get home to help with dinner.” I made my way to the small washroom. The cold-water tap sprayed out quickly, and I patted my face till the swelling of my eyes subsided. If I walked home slowly, I would look presentable. Tired, but presentable.

I came out and Zelda wrapped me in her arms. I let myself sink into her, comforted by the smell of flour and cleaner and baby. It was the smell of home. She hugged me silently. When we broke apart, I looked at the couch and moaned loudly. “The hat. I forgot about that hat!”

“Shhh,” Zelda said. “I’ll return it to the store for you tomorrow.”

Grateful that at least one problem was solved, I said, “Thank you.”

Leaving the apartment, I braced myself for another evening at home. I had to hide this from my mother for another week. After the weekend, the problem would disappear. Abe would be the father. And we would finally marry.

Monday, August 19

DINNER was in the oven, the kitchen floor sparkled, and I sat at the table with my tea and
Forverts
. Which meant, of course, a knock on the door.
“Oy vey iz mir,”
I muttered, heading to the door. “Is it too much to ask, dear Lord, to be left in peace with my paper?”

Opening the door, I looked down to greet my visitor. “Ah, Max,” I said, seeing Deborah’s young son. “Eugene is out playing. I’m sure you’ll find him on the street.”

“I alreadys saw Eugene,” Max said in the broken English of a child not yet in grammar school. “My ma told me to tell that the Kogens is bein’ kicked out today.”

With a sigh, I said, “I’ll be right there.”

Without another word to me, Max ran off.

The evictions had seemed to be decreasing, but the past year was bad, and once again more of the
landsmanshaft
were having difficulty making rent. With the men at work, at least those who had jobs, it fell to us women to keep families in their homes, to stand guard against the marshals tossing furniture and family onto the street. We blocked the doorways, and if the marshals still made it past, then one by one we lugged the pieces of furniture back up again. It was costly for the landlords to hire the marshals over and over, and eventually they would simply give up, and the families could stay in their apartments.

Picking up my hat, I headed down the stairs, the going slow.
Stairs were the hardest for me when my leg acted up, and not for the first time, I cursed that we lived on the fourth floor. I wasn’t sure I could manage hauling furniture today, but I needed to speak with Perle. When I’d gone to visit her after breakfast, her neighbor said Perle was at Zelda’s, seeing her grandchild.

Grandchild. How unfair that Perle was able to enjoy a grandchild while I was starting all over again.

I was barely out on the stoop when I heard my name. “Roseala!” It was an endearment only Ben would typically use, but Perle and I often slipped into youthful sentiments with each other.

I turned and saw her hurrying toward me, out of breath.

“You heard?” Perle asked.

“You think I’m out here for my health?” I said.

We fell into step easily.

“Toibe told me you were looking for me this morning.”

“That woman is such a busybody.” Although it was unreasonable, I was annoyed that Perle was so difficult to get alone.

“So
nu
?”

“Oh, Perle.”

“What?” she said. The alarm came through clearly. “Is someone—God forbid—is someone sick? Is something wrong at the garage?”

I shook my head and looked up at the sky, trying to gain strength to speak the words aloud. Talking about it with Ben was one thing; he was excited for the new baby. Admitting it to Perle meant admitting how I truly felt. With Perle, there were no secrets.

Our steps were in sync with each other; that’s how well we fit. Perle clutched my arm. “Rose, tell me. You’re frightening me.”

I stopped and turned to face her. All around us was the tumult of every day, women hustling to and fro with marketing baskets, peddlers pushing their carts, children darting every which way. But standing, looking at Perle, I sometimes felt as if we were still young girls back home on the quiet dirt streets of Bratsyana. “Perle,” I said. “I’m pregnant.”

The widening of Perle’s eyes displayed her surprise, even as she tried to keep her voice even. “That’s . . . That’s . . .” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“B’sha’ah tova,”
she finally said, giving me the traditional expression of congratulations on a pregnancy.

I snorted. “That’s the best you can do?” I turned and began walking again, and Perle stood for a moment before catching up.

“How can this be?” Perle asked.

“You need a lesson on how babies are made?” I asked.

“Rose Krasinsky, don’t you get fresh with me. You forget, I know
exactly
how old you are.”

“Apparently, I’m not old enough.”

“Forty-two and with child.
Oy vey.
” With Perle I didn’t need to explain; she simply understood.

“Tell me about it.”

“So,
nu
? What are you going to do?”

I looked at her, surprised. “Do? There’s nothing to
do
. I’m going to have a baby.”

“But there are . . . ways.” Perle’s voice dropped, speaking things that should be left unspoken.

“Perle!” I said.

“Look at your walk. Will you even make it to the Kogens’?”

“Of course I’ll make it.” But the truth was, sweat pooled at the waist of my dress and my leg ached with misery.

“There are ways to not have a baby,” Perle said.

I shook my head. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. For starters, Ben is pleased. It would devastate him if I lost this baby. Second . . .” I hesitated. “Second, and perhaps most important, I don’t have that kind of money.”

“So you have considered it.”

“No. Why would I consider it? I’m just saying that
if
it had been a thought, it isn’t something I can afford.”

Perle chuckled. “You make no sense.”

“I make perfect sense.” I indignantly stood taller and straightened my hat. Perle and I, we were so modern, refusing to cover
our hair when we were married as our mothers did. I didn’t even know the true shade of my mama’s hair, as it was always hidden by a scarf during the week and a wig on
Shabbes
. But was I so modern I could consider what Perle was suggesting—what in truth may have crossed my own mind?

“So you’re ready to go through all those years again?”

I shook my head. “I thought I was done with all that.”

We walked in silence for a block, each in our own thoughts. “Does this pain you?” I asked. My voice was gentle.

“Not anymore.” Perle’s strength, I knew, was a front. I was the one who had sat with her, year after year, when her courses never stopped coming, and when they finally did, I was the one to help clean her up after a terrible, late miscarriage. I was the one toting Zelda around with my kids when Perle was too sad to get out of bed. When Perle turned thirty, she declared
enough
, and she threw herself completely into her political work. But I saw the torment in her eyes each time I rounded with child. This time seemed no different.

“I have more important work to do,” Perle said. She peered deeply into my eyes. “Don’t you?”

Once again I was startled to see an older woman looking at me. When I was with Perle, it was as if we were the same children we’d been back home, and I expected to see a girl in dark braids with smooth skin and twinkling eyes. But Perle’s hair was dusted with gray, and lines snaked from her eyes and the corners of her mouth. When had Perle turned into this woman? When had I? “I suppose this part of my life, having babies, isn’t meant to be over. It isn’t yet my time.”

“A woman’s duty is to populate the world, bring more Jewish souls into existence,” Perle said, a statement that must have been painful for her to utter.

“I have fulfilled the commandment,” I said bitterly. “‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ I produced a son and a daughter long ago.” Guilt swept over me as soon as the words were voiced. For Perle, this commandment would forever remain undone.

“Who are we to know God’s plan?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, and I knew she spoke for both of us.

“It’s not like being a mother is so difficult here in America,” I said. “I’ll manage. Even at
thirty-nine
.”

Perle smiled at my lie. But it was true that life in America was significantly easier. In all the twenty-one years I lived at home, never did I see my mother rest. By the time I woke each morning, Mama was dressed and scurrying, having already milked the cow and stoked the fire. She would hurry me to take the cow to pasture while she baked the day’s bread, and when I returned, I’d watch the younger children, who wanted only to be under Mama’s feet, while my sister Eta worked at the sewing machine and
Tateh
ate a leisurely breakfast. Even on
Shabbes
, Mama didn’t rest, praying as her body swayed to and fro, in her only opportunity to be at
shul
. Never had I witnessed Mama sleeping or even sitting down with her feet up. Yet, here in America, I moan if I miss my tea and paper. Unheard-of luxuries to Mama.

As soon as we could hold a broom, Eta and I were expected to do everything our mother did, cooking, cleaning, milking the cow, and hauling water, but we didn’t have her patience.
Tateh
constantly scolded us for not being like Mama and threatened us with the stick when we talked back or bucked against chores. “A woman should be like the moon,”
Tateh
would yell in his booming voice. “She should shine at night and disappear during the day.” Mama would always calm him with a whispered
“Shah, shah,”
while pushing us out of the house to avoid being beaten.
Tateh
blamed our stubbornness for his inability to find us husbands, when Eta and I knew all along it was a matter of not having the dowry.

When I went to bed, Mama would stay up late, daintily sewing in the corner of the house the dresses she made for women in town, earning money in order for Heshie and the younger boys—and, when she could afford it, me and Eta—to attend school.

Did Mama want all those children? Eleven of us underfoot. And then there were the lost pregnancies. Were those a relief or
a heartache? Did she rejoice or despair as she swelled with each new child? Did she ever long for a moment to herself, to contemplate her world, imagine something more?

“This baby,” I said to Perle, “will honor my mother, of blessed memory
.
”

“So would your work,” Perle said, as she came to a stop.

Perle was right. Mama would have taken great pride in knowing I was learned and laboring to help others. All those years ago,
Tateh
fumed and threatened to beat me after I went to the demonstration. But Mama coddled me, placing herbs and bandages on my leg, keeping
Tateh
away from me until it healed. She was the one who found the money to send me to America. “If the world will be redeemed, it will be through the merit of children,” she used to say to me
.
I wanted to be worthy of my mother’s dreams.

We were across the street from the Kogens’ home. Marshals were already pulling furniture from the apartment.

Giving me a sad smile, Perle said, “You can’t stay here.”

“Whyever not?”

“It’s not safe for you.”

“Shah!”
I said. “I’m as fit as a horse.”

“No,” Perle said firmly. “It is too dangerous if the marshals become unruly. Besides, you are going to carry furniture up those stairs? With that leg? And with what you could do to the child? No, you cannot stay.” Perle shook her head again. “I will come by to report when it’s all over.”

So I stood on the corner and watched Perle cross the street, to do things that were surely more significant than bringing yet another child into this troubled world.