Murder At The Mikvah (18 page)

 Twenty-three

The meals started arriving almost immediately once word of Hannah’s condition got out. Deep pans of breaded chicken, hearty beef stews, sweet and sour brisket, and stuffed cabbage. There were pans of
kugels
—potato, asparagus, apple, and peach—carrot
tzimmis
and broccoli soufflé. Tupperware containers of salad, and stacks of homemade
rugeluch
. Shortly thereafter came the tentative knocks on the door, the phone calls and e-mails, friends, neighbors—nearly the entire community—offering their support. Being that she was no stranger to the workings of an insular society, Judith was not the least bit surprised. In fact, she couldn’t help but be touched by a bit of nostalgia at the outpouring of love for her son's family. Without question, the support of the community was the most positive element of Yehuda's lifestyle, and witnessing it firsthand brought back a rush of long buried memories.

Judith had been barely twenty-one when she and her husband Larry joined the commune in New Mexico. Aptly named
Peace Farm
by its founders, it’s non-written by-laws required members to live off the land in the spirit of communal love and shared ownership. Fueled by the political and social turbulence of the sixties, there was huge interest in this type of lifestyle, and at one point, there were nearly one hundred members living on the farm. Chores were divided and all income from the organic crops pooled. Each family occupied two private bedrooms and a single bathroom in one of five two-story residential buildings. Within each building, multiple families shared a modest kitchen and common recreational area. Yehuda and Sunny were schooled with the other children, taught by the women of the commune, usually mothers of one or more of the students. The climate in Santa Fe was generally warm and dry so the majority of the children's lessons could be taught outside. Judith still remembered Yehuda's favorite spot to read: it was on the southernmost border of the compound, under a grove of quaking aspen trees, away from the steady whirrs of farm equipment.

For years, Judith convinced herself that her abrupt departure from commune life was simply fallout from the end of her marriage. She couldn’t very well stick around while her husband started a new life with his pregnant girlfriend, now could she? But the truth was, commune life, like most things, had its downside. Lack of privacy. Rampant drug use. Judith often felt more smothered than alive. With her self-identity slowly eroding away, it became increasingly difficult to distinguish her own opinions from those of the larger community. As a young girl she had been considered strong and spirited, yet as a member of her new extended “family” found herself hesitant to speak up, even when things were blatantly unfair, like the inequitable division of labor. It wasn’t the fact that the women handled the domestic responsibilities, while the men ran the farm. This she understood as a biological reality. What bothered her was that while the men always had daily down time—periods when they would go off in a pack to make music and smoke pot— the women did not. Even with large numbers of them working together, the chores never seemed to end. With the growing number of children and their need for constant attention, the women rarely, if ever, got a break.

In this same way, the orthodox community to which her son and daughter-in-law belonged reminded Judith of her life on the commune. In both worlds, the women got the raw end of the deal. Just like the women of Peace Farm, the women of the orthodox community were overworked and undervalued—even if they didn’t know it. This was especially glaring on the Sabbath. Most women felt pressured to have guests each Friday and Saturday, which meant there was additional shopping, cooking and cleaning to do in the preceding days, all while taking care of their large broods. Then, throughout the entire Sabbath, or supposed “period of rest”, the women were
still
hustling: setting the table, serving meals, clearing dishes, taking care of children. Their men, meanwhile, were socializing, learning, and napping. Judith wouldn’t exactly call herself a diehard feminist, but fair is fair.

 Twenty-four

“Shouldn’t the boys be doing that?”

Judith sat upright on the couch feeding Nehama her bottle; but her eyes remained fixed on Lauren as she crawled about the floor, corralling small pieces of toys.

“Oh I don't mind straightening up once in a while,” Lauren said. The truth was she had spent all of Friday picking up toys and getting the house back in order. Thank God there was plenty of prepared food to see them through Shabbat, because there had been no time to cook; Lauren had been too busy doing laundry, scrubbing the kitchen floor and disinfecting the bathrooms. Her arms were weak and her lower back ached, but it was well worth a bit of discomfort, especially after Yehuda had taken her aside and thanked her so profusely. He had been surprised to arrive home and find his mother there; Lauren guessed he would not have liked her to see the house in such disarray.

Lauren tossed several
Thomas the Tank Engine
pieces in a large plastic bucket.

“The kids are so happy you’re here,” she said, smiling up at Judith, who was finally able to exhale after several hours of wound up grandchildren vying for her attention. Yehuda had hauled them all off to shul and the noise level had dropped back to normal.

Judith set the bottle down and adjusted her position. Nehama grunted unhappily and moved her head around, rooting against Judith’s blouse. Judith quickly popped the bottle back into the baby's mouth. “It would be nice if I could see them more often,” she said, “during better times.”

“Well maybe you could start,” Lauren suggested.

Judith shook her head. “I'm afraid that's impossible. My schedule doesn’t allow it.”

“Really? That's too bad.” Lauren thought of her own father whose work schedule was so hectic he rarely made it home for dinner or to his daughters’ soft ball games.

Judith shrugged. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter much. The truth is you can spend all your time with someone and not really love them at all. Kids aren’t dumb. They know when they’re cared about.” Judith remembered all the hours she was forced to spend away from Yehuda and Sunny, first while attending law school and then while working full time. They always knew she loved them
.
At least she assumed they knew.

“That’s true, but don’t you want to
be
with them?” Lauren asked. “You know, share their lives? Watch them grow?”

Judith stared blankly at Lauren. She was doing better than merely sharing their lives—she was
financing
them! But this girl couldn’t possibly know that. Nor could Lauren have a clue that it was because of her that the family didn’t have to live cramped in a two-bedroom twin. That it was because of her that the kids could attend summer camp. Lauren couldn’t possibly know that she had put money aside for their college educations.

“What is it that you
do
exactly, Lauren?”

“I'm not working right now,” Lauren said.
What did this have to do with Judith spending time with her grandkids
? “But I'm taking classes at Rosedale College; I want to get my teaching certification.”

Teaching certification?
For some reason Judith thought of Marigold, the bitch that had stolen her husband from her years ago. Barely twenty-one, Marigold had moved onto the commune as a single woman, an exception that was made because she was certified to teach in New Mexico. The state was cracking down; the kids could be home schooled by volunteers, officials said, as long as there was at least one certified teacher on board. Marigold was that teacher, except her real name was
Mary
. She arrived at Peace Farm wearing prim buttoned up blouses and polyester slacks, but quickly re-outfitted herself in bellbottoms and Indian tunics. The name change came soon after. She claimed it suited her free spirit better.

Nehama’s sucking slowed until the plastic nipple fell out of her mouth. Judith was still thinking of Marigold—funny, she hadn't thought of her in so long—and she didn’t notice.

“Uh, Mrs. Orenstein?”

Judith sat up and carefully eased the bottle away and placed it upright on the floor. The baby’s eyes fluttered as she slept contently. Judith lifted her up and placed her against her chest.

“Mmm! What a delicious baby girl!” she said, rubbing Nehama’s tiny back.

“That formula stains; be careful,” Lauren said. “Your suit looks expensive.”

Judith literally jumped out of her seat. “Oh God, you're right.” She extended the still sleeping Nehama at arms length to Lauren. “Hold her a minute while I go change.”

Judith returned minutes later wearing a blue sweatshirt that hung nearly to her knees. “Wouldn’t you know, I didn’t bring anything suitable; I guess that's what happens when you don't plan ahead.” She yanked at the bottom of the shirt. “This is my son's. Hannah only had
maternity
clothes in her closet,” she added, rolling her eyes.

Lauren couldn’t believe her ears. How could Judith be so nonchalant about going through her son and daughter-in-law's things? “Well, it looks very comfortable,” Lauren said.

Judith eyed Lauren's faded overalls as she took Nehama from her. “You would know, wouldn’t you dear? It looks like
comfort
is something you're very familiar with.”

Lauren wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or a put down. She took a mental inventory of the clothes she had packed for the visit. They were more of the same—mostly sweat suits and jeans. “Well,” Lauren said somewhat defensively, “I've never been a big fan of skirts. I only wear them if I absolutely have to.”

“Overalls suit you, Lauren. It's funny; I wouldn’t usually expect that a tall woman like yourself would look good in them, but you actually do.”

“Thank you,” Lauren mumbled, forcing a smile.

“What are you, about 5'5”?” Judith continued.

Lauren nodded. “I never considered myself
tall
though.”

“You're Hannah's height exactly,” Judith said. “Height is one of those things that is completely relative I suppose. I’m barely 5'3”so to me, you're a giant, but my son is over six feet, so compared to him, neither one of us is so tall anymore.”

Lauren hadn't realized Judith was so short. It must be that her dynamic personality added several inches. “Yehuda's father must be tall.”

Judith's face dropped. “I really wouldn’t know,” she said, suddenly interested in Nehama's
onessie
collar.

“Excuse me?”

Judith stared at her blankly. “I haven’t seen Yehuda’s father in over thirty years, so maybe he’s shrunk since then.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…”

Judith shrugged. “His loss entirely. Just look at this gorgeous baby! See what he’s missing! I never imagined myself as a grandmother—a
Nana
—but here I am holding my fifth grand baby! It’s remarkable!”

Lauren gazed at Nehama, her full cheek now plumped like a pillow on Judith’s shoulder. It was the perfect photo-op, but snapping pictures was another “no-no” on Shabbat. “All five of them are wonderful. Yehuda is a great father.”

Judith smiled. She couldn’t agree more. Her son was a good man. Hannah had hit the jackpot as far as she was concerned. “Yes, he is,” she said. “And it’s nice to slow down and remind myself how blessed I am. And to take time to—as they say—smell the roses. Or better yet—smell the babies!” Judith pressed her nose against Nehama's head. “Mmm! I simply adore the scent of freshly powdered baby!”

“It's true. They all have that same great smell, don’t they?” Lauren said, smiling.

“I wish I could bottle it and carry it around with me,” Judith said. “It’s not a substitute for the real thing, but since I can’t get here as often as I’d like…”

“Right. You said that before,” Lauren murmured. “What is it exactly that keeps you away?”

“Work,” Judith said. “The divorce rate is unbelievable—especially in the higher income brackets. When there’s that much at stake, it's understandable that people want the very best representation. The problem is, it’s usually the husband who gets it. The wife usually hasn’t a clue.”

“That’s depressing,” Lauren said.

“It could be, but that’s where I come in. I represent the wives of those spineless pigs.”

Lauren’s face flushed. She held up a hand. “I'm sorry, but I don’t see how you can call Thomas Buchanan a
pig.
I'm sure you know he heads two of the largest cosmetic companies in the world.”

Judith sat up. “I’m impressed you remember that case Lauren. That was over two years ago! You must read a lot of tabloids.”

“I don’t read
any
tabloids. I’m familiar with the case because I worked on his business campaign,” Lauren said. “I used to work in public relations.”

“Oh… I see…” Judith said, momentarily amused. “You worked on the campaign for Buchanon that
just happened to
coincide with his divorce?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you’re familiar with the old ‘affecting public opinion' strategy.”

Lauren felt like she was being led to the slaughter. She opened her mouth to speak, but Judith cut her off. “Isn’t it fascinating how these philanthropic sides of people suddenly reveal themselves at the most advantageous time?”

“Thomas Buchanan was donating money and cosmetics to women’s shelters all over the country,” Lauren said quickly, before Judith could interrupt again. “I thought he was extremely generous.”

“Generous, my ass!” Judith shouted. “Buchanan was more interested in saving his own skin and protecting his shareholders!”

Nehama stirred and let out a startled cry. Judith patted her back, and she immediately settled back down.

“No wonder you're no longer working. You just don't get it!” Judith said, shaking her head scornfully.

Lauren swallowed. It
wasn’t
the reason, but she wouldn’t tell Judith that.

“It’s the oldest trick in the book,” Judith continued as she placed Nehama in her infant seat. “The guy was simply manipulating the media the same way he had manipulated his wife and business partners for years! It’s all about influencing public opinion—garnering sympathy among the masses! Where do you think our judges and juries come from? You better believe Mr. Buchanan was well aware the power of public opinion! Tell me, do you really think it was a coincidence that he just
happened
to go on a philanthropy binge at the same time he was at risk of losing millions to his estranged wife?”

Again Judith didn’t give Lauren a chance to answer. “Trust me Lauren, he wouldn’t have so much as
blinked
if his wife ended up in one of those women's shelters!” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, but of course, she would have had plenty of lip liner and mascara!”

“So it was better for his wife to get everything?”

Judith crinkled her forehead, to the surprise of Lauren who would have expected it to be botoxed. “Is that what you think happened? You think we took him to the cleaners?” She burst into laughter. “How cliché!”

Lauren looked away. Suddenly she remembered. After his divorce, Thomas Buchanan had moved to Monte Carlo. There were photos printed of him in
People
partying with Prince Albert and romping in the ocean with some very beautiful—and young—European models.

But Judith didn't wait for an answer. She stood up and began pacing in front of the couch as she spoke, stopping every so often to emphasize a point. “It wasn’t like that Lauren! It rarely ever is. In my line of work I do what’s right—what’s
ethical
. I give these women good representation so they get what they're entitled to—nothing more, nothing less.” She pursed her lips and looked quizzingly into Lauren’s eyes, as if something just occurred to her. “Let me ask you something Lauren: how old are you?”

“Twenty-six. Why do you ask?”

Judith nodded. “Hmm. Twenty-six. That explains a lot. See, women of your generation have very little appreciation for what women of my generation—and older—experienced. You take your rights for granted.” She shrugged. “You’ve always had them, so you can’t possibly fathom any other way. But trust me Lauren, things were not always so peachy. For starters, did you have any idea that when I was raising Yehuda and his sister, I couldn’t have my own bank account?”

“What do mean?” Lauren asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I’m telling you that my husband’s name had to be on the account! It couldn’t be in my name only! I couldn’t have my own credit card either for that matter—not without a male co-signer.” Judith didn't stop. “And another thing: my name couldn’t be on a property deed either. Only my husband’s could—even if the property was purchased jointly.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Lauren hadn’t expected a history lesson in women’s studies, but she was spell bound.

“Sadly, I’m not. Most women were utterly dependent on men… on their husbands or fathers. They were completely vulnerable—like pets or children. Most of the time they looked the other way if their husband cheated on them. They even covered up their bruises when their husbands knocked them around. The mere
prospect
of being on their own was often scarier than the abuse.”