Murder At The Mikvah (33 page)

 Forty-four

Lauren and the kids spent the entire Sunday morning in the Goldberg Academy auditorium working on scenery. The Chanukah “play”, Lauren quickly learned, was actually a full-scale production of skits and melodies, everything from a re-enactment of the Greek siege of the holy temple to a dreidel song medley, during which younger siblings would be invited up on stage to play the role of spinning Chanukah gelt. Rachel was busy at work on backdrops and stage design with her friend Sara. The job was intense—they had only a couple of weeks to prepare—but the distraction had been clearly beneficial for Rachel. The nine-year-old had thrown herself into the project, and had demonstrated a natural, creative flair for detail. She had already come up with clever, but inexpensive ways to enhance the sets. One of her ideas had been to crush the corners of empty boxes and paint them the color of boulders for the battle scene; another was to have moveable clouds on a clothesline. After several weeks of Rachel’s detached attitude—at least toward her—Lauren had all but given up trying to reconnect. But today it was as though a switch had been flipped and Rachel was back to her old self. “Good job guys.” That wasn’t so unusual since she always encouraged her brothers; but then she actually smiled at Lauren and added, “you too, Lauren. I like the way you painted the sun. It looks really nice.”

It was nearly lunchtime when Lauren headed home with the boys. Rachel opted to stay behind, happy and fully engrossed in her work, but Lauren wanted to be back before Yehuda came home with the baby. Poor Nehama had developed a bumpy rash under her chin and had been crying incessantly. Yehuda had secured her an 11:00 AM doctor’s appointment.

Candle costumes in hand, Lauren was instructed by Mrs. Green, the faculty member overseeing production, to make whatever adjustments were necessary to fit them properly. Lauren was no seamstress, so her immediate inclination was to call Sonia. There was something about Russian women, Lauren realized. Somehow they were more skilled in all areas of domestic life. Sonia knit and sewed her own clothes; she could cook like a gourmet chef, and actually knew how to iron properly! Maybe that was what attracted so many American men to women like Sonia. Besides their undeniable physical beauty, they were willing to revive the lost art of domesticity. Lauren sighed.
So much for Sonia being honored and cherished!

Now that she and Sonia were on speaking terms again, Lauren made it a point to call every other day, just to check in. Lauren hoped that Sonia would eventually open up about what was going on at home, but so far she hadn’t. The more Lauren thought about Gary, the more disgusted she became. How dare he lay a hand on his wife! She had considered calling the S.O.S. line and leaving an anonymous tip:
Sonia Lyman needs help,
but then she remembered that Sonia
had
been to see Tova. Chances were that Sonia was already getting the help she needed.
Then why hadn’t she left him yet?

Well, today, like any other day, Sonia would probably jump at any opportunity to get out of the house—away from that so called husband of hers. She dialed Sonia’s number, but to her horror, Gary answered. Lauren got a very bad feeling. What was he doing home from work in the middle of the day?

“Sonia doesn’t feel well today,” he said gruffly. “You’ll have to manage on your own.” Lauren felt the urge to run over to the house that instant… to do what? Confirm that Sonia was alive and well?
Relax
, she told herself,
everything’s probably fine. Besides, you have children to take care of, costumes to fix, remember?

Lauren eyed the boys as they struggled with bent arms to hold up the weight of their candle costumes. Without a seasoned seamstress like Sonia, she would just have to improvise.

“Hmm. I have an idea,” Lauren told the boys. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Lauren hugged herself against the cool dampness as she made her way down the cellar steps with Rosie following close behind. As far as unfinished basements went, this one was extremely orderly, with clearly defined areas for laundry, tools, and general storage. Perusing the tool area for materials, Lauren eyed several stuffed garbage bags that she hadn’t noticed before. After a quick peek inside one of them, she remembered that Hannah had been putting together a donation for the local
gemach
. There was an assortment of old children’s clothes, including several with tags still on them. Lauren knew these had been gifts from Judith. She pulled a few out to take a closer look:
A cashmere baby sweater
.
Toddler size silk pajamas. A boy’s leather jacket
. The prices had been scratched off, but it was obvious they hadn’t come from eBay. Maybe she would add the clothing Cynthia Bergerman sent over for Rachel: three miniskirts and coordinating tank tops—Yehuda had nearly gagged when he saw them. It occurred to Lauren that no orthodox parent in their right mind would outfit their daughter in such revealing clothing. No, Cynthia’s gifts would have to be bagged separately and sent off to Goodwill downtown. Come to think of it, Lauren hadn’t seen or heard from Cynthia since the news about the bounced check. Was
Bergerman Bagels
really having financial problems? It was hard to believe. Besides, weren’t bagels recession proof?

Lauren dug further and came across a long moleskin skirt. She remembered the afternoon Hannah had dumped a pile of zippered skirts into a heap on her bedroom floor. It was just two weeks after having Nehama. “Elastic waists are not optional after five kids,” she said, “or even
one
for that matter!” She had already given Lauren several pairs of shoes that day, claiming that her feet had grown a full size after the baby. And now she encouraged Lauren to sift through the skirts and pick out what she liked. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Hannah said, “but you’ll attract more attention if you change your wardrobe. Men like women who dress like
ladies
.”

Lauren tried to remember. Who was it Hannah had been pushing on her that week? Was it the twenty-three year old, baby-faced math teacher from Brooklyn? Or the newly divorced,
he knew it was a mistake from the beginning,
accountant visiting from Vermont? Lauren declined Hannah’s clothing offer; she was perfectly content wearing jeans and sweats thank you very much.

Funny how things could change so quickly.

Lauren looked down at the denim skirt she now wore, one of several she had picked up at Station Square last week with Janine. She had bought them a little roomy, thinking that would make them more comfortable, but it really had made no difference.
Once a pants person, always a pants person,
she thought. There had been several times—notably, when Judith gave her that special “look” of disgust she reserved just for her—that Lauren had come close to shoving her new purchases in the garbage. But each time she pulled herself together and reminded herself why she was wearing them in the first place.

Yehuda. I’m wearing them for Yehuda.
It was obvious Yehuda preferred women who dressed modestly like Hannah. She laughed to herself remembering the visit from Cynthia. Clearly, he preferred that they wear underwear too. So what if she wasn’t so comfortable? It wouldn’t be forever. Just for now, she would make this tiny sacrifice to dress respectfully for Yehuda and the kids.

She looked down at her skirt and sighed. This was only the second time she wore it and it was already ruined—covered in black splotches from a minor mishap involving paint and Yitzi while mixing some colors for the miracle scene. She eyed the washing machine. Might as well toss it in the wash since she was down here anyway, and she could easily slip into one of Hannah’s old skirts from the donation bag. Besides, Judith would be showing up any minute and Lauren didn’t want to look like a complete slob. It would be just one more thing for her to find fault with. Thank God the woman hadn’t spent this Shabbat with them and was only coming for the day! Lauren couldn’t stand the feeling of Judith’s eyes on her. Following her. Observing her with the kids.
With Yehuda
. It was obvious she hadn’t liked Lauren from the beginning, though it seemed to have gotten worse since Lauren opened her big mouth.

I think Yehuda and I are better judges of what the kids need.

Lauren cringed at the memory. Why was she so damn impulsive sometimes? Why did she feel the need to be so forthright? That was the trait that always got her in trouble, most recently with Hannah. Again, that need to speak her mind! And now with Judith on her case, she was beginning to feel paranoid. Was Judith just being her normal judgmental self? Or did the woman actually
suspect
something? There had been a few instances when Lauren had come close to confessing to Yehuda. But each time, there had been an interruption—either one of the kids needed his attention, or the phone would ring.

Lauren knew if she was going to spill the beans, it had to be soon. Although Hannah hadn’t regained full consciousness, she
was
making positive strides. Dr. Patel was optimistic. It could be any time now.

Lauren brushed these thoughts away and quickly slipped out of her skirt and into Hannah’s. As expected it fit almost perfectly. But the brown skirt didn’t look so great with her blue turtleneck. If she remembered correctly, the skirt had a matching cardigan… Lauren rooted to the bottom of the bag. There it was! A bit wrinkly, but perfectly fine.

She returned to the kitchen minutes later holding a skein of tightly wound string. The boys had released the hold on their costumes and were dragging them around on the floor, munching meditatively on chocolate chip cookies and humming one of the songs they had practiced at school. Rosie was sleeping contentedly by the kitchen window.

“Okay guys, I have an idea for your costumes,” Lauren said, clapping her hands, to get their attention. “Put the cookies down, and let’s see what we can do.”

She unraveled a section of the string and ran it across David’s shoulder, front to back, like measuring tape. “There! Now, all we need,” she said, reaching over and grabbing a pair of scissors from the table, “are two of these.” She held up the measured section and then handed the end to Eli. “Hold this as straight as you can,” she told him. She snipped the string, then measured and cut a second, identical piece. She motioned to David. “Now, I’m going to attach each of these to your candle and voila’ you’ll have instant—nearly invisible, I might add—shoulder straps!” She reached around and tickled Yitzi who had been watching the entire scene behind her, his mouth wide open in concentration, a half chewed cookie on his tongue.

“No more chicken arms for your brothers, right Yitzi?”

He giggled and resumed chewing. “No chicken arms for Eli and David!”

Lauren carefully cut holes through the laminated construction paper and slipped the straps through. David stepped into his costume and tucked his arms into the newly created straps.

“Better?” Lauren asked, pleased with the result.

“Uh huh,” David said, examining himself. “I don’t know why I have to be a girl candle though!”

“Just because you’re pink, doesn’t mean you’re a girl,” Eli said, handing his costume to Lauren. “Besides, candles aren’t
anything
. They’re just candles!”

“Then let’s switch!” David said immediately. “I’ll be the blue one and you be the pink one!”

“I can’t switch!” Eli said, “I’m the Shamash candle!”

“How come you get to be the Shamash?” David asked, folding his arms.

“Because I’m the tallest of all the kids!” Eli said, lengthening his body to make his point.

This seemed to appease David, who sighed and mumbled something about being the Shamash candle next year.

“The Shamash candle is the middle candle, right?” Lauren asked as she worked on straps for Eli’s costume.

“It doesn’t have to be in the middle of the menorah,” David said. He looked up at her and did a double take.

“Oh, it doesn’t?” she asked, sensing a sudden change in him.

He shook his head and looked down. “No,” he said softly, but didn’t elaborate.

“It just has to be higher because it’s the extra candle that lights all the other ones,” Eli said. He didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong with his brother.

“That’s right Eli! Very good!”

“Abba!” Yitzi jumped up and ran over to Yehuda, wrapping his arms around one of his legs. Yehuda patted Yitzi’s head as he pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh! Nehama’s sleeping.”

“What did the doctor say?” Lauren asked.

“Nothing to worry about. Just early teething,” Yehuda said. “The rash is from her drool.”

Lauren smiled brightly. Ever since Yehuda had put Jonathon off, she felt closer to him. She often wondered if he felt the same way. “Baruch Hashem! Thank God!”

“Baruch Hashem!” Yehuda repeated, before lifting Yitzi into the air. “Now let’s go help Nana. She just pulled up.”

Great
, Lauren thought.
Judge Judy is here.
Then she caught sight of David who remained seated, his knees pulled in, on the floor. Rosie sat next to him, as if to comfort him. “What is it David? What’s the matter?” His face was contorted, as if he was doing everything in his power not to cry. “Are you worried about your Nana?”