Modern Girls (34 page)

Tateh
broached a new topic. “Ground has been broken on the new East River Drive.”

“A huge project,” Ma said, delicately moving pieces of food around her plate. I wondered if the meat was
kashered
properly. I was pretty sure Ma was wondering the same thing. Eventually, she ate a string bean.

“The WPA is funding part of the road,”
Tateh
said. “Creating quite a few jobs, which will hopefully make a dent in the unemployment situation.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Mrs. Klein said.

“Nice?” Mr. Klein said with his mouth full of food. “More government money being spent on pointless projects?”

“Pointless projects?”
Tateh
said. “This is a much needed road and it’s providing much needed relief.”

“That’s what that Commie in the White House would have you think—,” Mr. Klein started before Mrs. Klein cut him off.

“Oh, let’s not bother ourselves with politics,” Mrs. Klein said. “It will give you indigestion.”

I saw Ma angling for a battle, but
Tateh
placed a calming hand on her arm. Ma grimaced and returned to her plate.

“There are so many more interesting things than politics,” I said, wanting to move to safer ground.

“I can’t imagine what,” Ma said.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Rose,” Mr. Klein said. “Molly’s head is so far into the society page, she wouldn’t know a Nazi if he bit her on the behind. If I don’t grab the paper before Molly, she’ll have the maid using it to clean the kitchen floors.”

“I glance at the front page, I’ll thank you very much.” Mrs. Klein looked at me. “Did you see that darling article about Bing Crosby’s secretaries?”

“I must have missed that,” I said.

“Anyway, that New Deal is what I would call a raw deal,” Mr. Klein said, stabbing another piece of meat on his plate. “Handing out jobs as if they were penny candies. It’s Communism, I say.”

Willie and I exchanged panicked glances. We were trapped in the middle of a Noël Coward play. And not one of his more amusing ones.

“Communism?” Ma said. “What do you know of—”

“Seems to me we’re about ready to retire for coffee,” Willie interrupted. “Don’t you think, Mother?”

Not a single one of us had finished our meal, and yet no one protested.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Klein said. Picking up a small bell, Mrs. Klein rang for the maid. When the girl came to the door, Mrs. Klein said, “Fiona, bring coffee and dessert to the parlor, please.” Turning back to the seated group, she said, “Shall we?”

Tateh
looked longingly at his half-eaten supper, but Ma pulled him along. We would get through this evening, but it would be helpful if it ended sooner rather than later.

At coffee, Willie and I kept the topic on neutral subjects: the new Fred Astaire–Ginger Rogers picture,
Top Hat
; the hurricane that was approaching Florida; the races at Saratoga Springs. We were a vaudeville act, trying to speak quickly enough not to allow anyone else a word in edgewise.

“Well,” Mrs. Klein finally said at the end of the evening, “who knew you had so much to say, Dottie?”

While I was abashed at monopolizing the conversation, I was sure it had been the safest way to manage the evening.

“It simply means she’ll be a fine hostess when we entertain abroad.” Willie put his arm around my shoulder.

“It’s getting late,” Ma said. “We should be leaving.”

“Yes, I agree,” I said. “Willie, shall we retire to the hotel?”

Willie looked down at his sleeves and straightened his cuffs. “I arranged to meet a few folks before I leave town. Writing colleagues. I will meet you later at the hotel.”

“I can come with you,” I said, standing to go.

“Aw, you’d be bored. I’ll see you later.”

Willie refused to look at me, and I understood that while this night had not gone badly, that we’d proved ourselves able to work together, we were not yet a twosome.

Ma,
Tateh
, and the Kleins were tactful enough to pretend they weren’t listening. I was mortified that they were witness to my humiliation.

“Yes, all right.”

Willie finally looked at me. “Don’t be cross. I won’t be out late.”

“No, of course.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, the ever-submissive wife. “I’ll see my parents out and meet you later.”

After a round of polite good-byes, the three of us were on the street. Ma sighed and unbuttoned the top of her skirt. “We survived. I didn’t think I would be able to breathe if we stayed there much longer.” She sounded much more at ease speaking again in Yiddish. “Is Perle really that much smaller than me?” she said, revealing the secret of her new outfit.

“You are a perfect size,”
Tateh
said, giving Ma a squeeze.

I looked at them with envy. Could I create that easy way with Willie? Would I be able to make this marriage work?

“Shall we take a streetcar or the subway from here?”
Tateh
asked.

Ma said, “You go ahead. I’d like to walk with Dottie a bit.”

“Are you well enough to walk?”
Tateh
asked.

“Do I look unwell? Of course I am fine to walk.”

“I will come with you,” he said.

“No. A mother needs time with her daughter.”

“Ah, of course.”
Tateh
gave Ma a wink, and he scurried off to catch the subway.

Ma took my arm as we walked.

“I’ll be all right, you know,” I said.

“Of course you’ll be all right. Who said anything about you not being all right?”

We walked silently for a block, and I was grateful for Ma’s presence, grateful I could lean on her. How would I make it on the other side of the ocean?

Half a block more and Ma started, hesitatingly. “Do you— Is there anything—”

“What?”

“Is there anything still for you to know?”

I laughed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

Ma chuckled. “Yes. But anything else?”

“I think I know what I need to know, Ma.”

A window of hats beckoned my attention. I steered Ma to peer into the darkened store.

“Now, even I can tell that’s a fetching little hat,” Ma said, gazing at a velvety brown one with deep curves and delicate netting.

“Look at you noticing fashion,” I said.

Ma turned to me. “You don’t have to go, you know. You can stay with me and
Tateh
. Raise the baby with us. You don’t have to go to Europe. You don’t have to be with . . . him.”

“If I stay here, do you really think Molly Klein will allow her grandchild to be raised on the lower East Side? And will I spend the rest of my days avoiding the Rabinowitzes and Avenue A? Who is going to be seen with the deserted wife?” I pulled Ma closer to me. “I have to go.”

She looked back at the hats and nodded. “Maybe you should
get something like that? For your trip? Hats I can’t sew. You will need some fine hats. You still have money, no?”

Money was no longer an issue for me. Not only did I still have the stash from Willie, safely nestled away, but he had given me a generous allowance to buy all we needed to take to Europe. And of course there were Mrs. Klein’s store accounts. “I still have money, yes,” I said.

“So you get a hat?”

I shook my head. As beautiful as the hat was, I could no longer spend money on frivolous things. “No,” I said. “Someone once told me that a woman should always save a little something. Just in case.”

Ma smiled. “A very wise someone, I think.”

“Perhaps I’ll find a little tin. Keep the money in it.”

With genuine laughter, Ma and I left the window and continued our walk.

Wednesday, September 4

ZELDA, Linda, and Edith joined me and Dottie on our shopping trip, which was good because I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t get a minute of sleep the night before, worrying about my poor Dottala after that dinner. What kind of man had she married?

“Look at this fabric,” Zelda said, holding up a bolt of cotton dotted with tiny roses. The girls spoke Yiddish for my benefit.

“That pattern is too old-fashioned,” Dottie said.

“What about this?” I asked, pointing to a pale cream chiffon covered with large orchids. I glanced at the
McCall’s
in my hand. The pattern looked similar to the one in the pages.

“Yes, I like that.”

I handed the bolt to Edith to take to the counter. Edith was hopeless when it came to choosing clothing and fabrics, but she was a horse of a girl, perfectly suited to hauling our finds.

We made our way through two more fabric stores plus J. W. Mays, Ohrbach’s, and S. Klein. I showed Dottie how to look for quality: seams sewn in a single line, rather than the quicker double-needle stitch. Buttons applied with a cross-stitch. The pattern aligned where the bodice met the skirt.

The day should have been joyous, girls shopping for a friend’s trousseau, but instead a pall hung over us; the laughs that day were forced. The way Linda fingered each fabric with such longing; the way Zelda eyed Dottie, already missing her; the way
Edith dragged her feet, out of place among the frilly dresses. The tone was more funereal than festive.

Zelda rubbed Dottie’s back in a comforting way. “It
will
be an adventure. You’ll see.”

“But what am I going to
do
?” Dottie’s voice was so plaintive, I could have cried.

Linda looked at her oddly. “What do you mean?”

“Willie will be writing.” Dottie’s fingers felt the material of a gabardine before she moved to the next. “I’ll be home. Alone. No job.”

“But you’ll be busy keeping house.” Linda’s voice held bewilderment, and I wanted to hug that poor girl, too. “Keeping house” was all Linda wanted, and now Dottie—who had hoped for so much more—had that and didn’t want it.

Dottie shook her head. “I know. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off. She looked at Edith helplessly, then glanced at me. “I thought, after marriage, I’d be doing the accounts and keeping the books at . . .” Her voice trailed off. We all knew where she would have been keeping the books: at Abe’s store.

“Being a wife and a mother is more important than working,” Linda said, her voice almost scolding. She looked to me to agree, but I couldn’t. Hadn’t I wanted to be done with motherhood so I could get back to my own work?

“What if . . .” Edith leaned on a bolt of fabric, her elbow perched on the top and her hand on her chin. She disappeared a moment in thought.

We all looked at her expectantly.

“It’s not bookkeeping,” Edith said. “But the Joint Distribution Committee is desperate for volunteers in Europe to help with the refugees.”

European refugees? What a worthy thing to do, but more importantly . . . Before I could even form the words in my mind, I said, “Yussel!”

The four looked at me, startled. More quietly, I said, “From
Europe, perhaps you could help Yussel. Or convince the JDC to help Yussel. Get him a visa. Or arrange for him to travel to the Baltics so he can leave for Palestine. Or . . . something.”

“I don’t know if that’s something the JDC can do,” Edith said. “Germany is the major concern at the moment.” Seeing my face, though, she shrugged. “Though, maybe. Can’t hurt to try.”

Dottie nodded slowly, saying, “Yes, yes.” A grin grew on her face. “I
could
help refugees. And maybe Yussel.”

Linda’s eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “That sounds dangerous.”

But Dottie smiled at me. “No more dangerous than protesting the czar.”

“You should be at home for Willie,” Linda said.

“I can arrange for you to meet with my boss,” Edith said. “He could give you a letter of introduction.”

“I would appreciate that,” Dottie said.

I looked at my baby. And proudly realized she was her mother’s daughter.

I pulled a bolt of camel-colored wool. “This will make a lovely winter coat. Perfect for going to an office.”

Thursday, September 5

WILLIE made the sounds that I’d learned indicated he was about to awaken. I thrust my book to the side table, and lay down, my back to him. He stirred and the next thing I felt were his fingers running up and down my side. They slipped to my front and cupped my breast. With a nibble on my neck, he rolled me over, and once again, we performed as husband and wife.

At least we had this.

•   •   •

TWO hours later, I was sitting with Ma in the apartment.

“You want the stitches to be even. What needle are you using?” Ma leaned over to peer at my work. “No, no. With the silk thread you should be using a sharp needle. That’s a rounded one.” She sorted through her basket till she found a different needle, which she handed to me.

I set down the dress. “This is hopeless. I’ll never get it right.”

“It’s not hopeless. It just takes practice. In time, it will be second nature.”

I looked around the front room, the room I’d wanted to change for so many years, and I tried to imprint it on my mind. I made note of every detail, every
tchotchke
, every book on the shelf. For so long, I’d yearned to escape this front room and now I wanted never to forget it.

“Stop dawdling and get back to work. You were right; I should have taught you years ago,” Ma said. “Me and my foolish pride.”

Picking up the dress, I worked on sewing in the strip of cloth that would allow it to expand. “Do you miss your home, Ma?”

Her eyes darted up, then quickly looked back to her work. She was doing the more delicate pieces that needed an expert hand.

“I miss my family. I miss
Shabbes
at home.” She hesitated briefly, before saying, “I had a boy at home. Once in a blue moon, I miss him.”

“A boy?” I continued with my sewing to disguise my surprise. Although later when I considered it, I didn’t know why I’d been taken aback.

“Shmuel. He had fine blond hair and eyes like cornflowers. Went into the army. Never came back.”

“Does
Tateh
know?”

She laughed. “Of course not. Secrets, remember?”

I laughed with her, but the sorrow that we were having these conversations now, right before I left, and wouldn’t have them again, cut me with a new ache.

“Ma,” I said, a fresh thought occurring. “What if I visited Bratsyana? See if Shmuel ever returned.”

“Ow,” she said, pulling her finger to her mouth. “Such a foolish idea, I stabbed myself.”

She sucked on her finger for a moment, made sure she wasn’t bleeding, and then went back to work. “Promise me you will never go there. That place is not fit for humans anymore, only dogs. I
don’t
miss the pogroms and the hatred and the starvation. What the czar’s army did to that place . . . Promise!”

“I promise, I promise.”

“And besides, what if you did find Shmuel? That is over and done. You understand that?”

And I did. Someday, Abe would be my Shmuel, a memory. But for now, he was an open wound.

Softening, Ma put down her work, and looked me in the eye
with a mischievous twinkle. For the first time, I saw a glimpse of her not as she was at that moment, but as the girl she’d once been. I imagined she and I would have been great friends if we’d been young at the same time.

“I have another secret,” she said.

I leaned into her. “What is it?” Both of our voices lowered to a hush.

She looked around, even though we were alone in the apartment. “You take this secret to your grave?”

“Cross my heart,” I said.

“No crossing,” she said, scolding like the ma I remembered. “That’s
goyishe
.”

“Okay, I promise.”

She leaned even closer until her mouth almost touched my ear. “I’m forty-two years old.”

Now I
was
shocked. “I thought you were thirty-nine!”

She giggled as she
shhh
ed me.

“Pregnant at forty-two,” I said.

Nodding her head, she said, “Let that be a lesson to you. The women of our family—my mother, my grandmother, may their memories be a blessing, me,
you
—the women of our family are made for childbearing.”

We both returned to our stitches. She worked her way through her piece before I was even a third of the way through mine.

“So. Do you enjoy . . .” She searched for the words. “Being married? It is going all right?”

Blushing, I gathered her meaning. “That’s the only part that’s going all right.”

She waited for me to continue.

I set aside my work. I couldn’t concentrate on making even stitches. Ma had confided in me. It was time I confided in her. “He wants to give me a
get
. After I have the baby, he wants to divorce me.”

Her silence, I assumed, came from horror.

“I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Desperation seeped from my voice, but I couldn’t control it. “I promise, Ma. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I don’t disgrace you and
Tateh
any more than I have.”

Ma looked at me oddly. My panic increased.

“I’m going to be the perfect wife. I’m going to sew and cook and make sure he never even hears the baby cry.”

Slowly, Ma shook her head. “A
get
,” she said. Her voice was soft. Thoughtful. She spoke again, more firmly. “A
get
. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“What?” I spoke louder than I should have. I did not want to draw the attention of the neighbors.

“You go away. You have your baby. You get divorced. Is it ideal? No. But it is acceptable.”

I must have heard her wrong. What mother thinks her child should get divorced? “I’d bring shame on the family! On myself! What would I do as a divorced woman with a child?” I worked hard to keep the screech out of my voice.

“People get divorced. It happens. It’s not so bad. Remember Mrs. Cohen?
Oy
, that first husband of hers. A drunkard! And now she is happily married to Mr. Cohen and none the worse for wear. You get divorced. You come back home. We go to the matchmaker. She’ll find you an older man. A widower, perhaps. Someone whose circumstances won’t allow for a better match.”

I stood up as if trying to escape that room, those ideas. “How in God’s name is that better than being married to Willie?”

Ma grabbed me by the hands, pulling me closer to her, back into my seat. “Because then you will be home. You go to Europe now. You help the refugees.
Hashem
willing, you help Yussel. And then you come home. You will be off that continent, which is about to be consumed by war. You will be rid of that dummy who doesn’t have enough sense to stay away from danger. You will be near me.”

I began to cry. “Ma, I want to be near you. But I want my
marriage to work. I don’t want to be divorced.” Another failure. Another disgrace. “Ma, I’m going to stay married to Willie.”

With a sigh, Ma picked her sewing back up. “If you say so. But at least you know: You have a way back home. With or without Willie, you can come home.”