Rachel's Hope (23 page)

27

Winter 1908

Anna Strunsky

c/o Mr. and Mrs. Strunsky

42 Central Park West

New York City

January 2, 1908

Dear Anna,

I'm finally starting university and wish you were here to see me off! Truly, I do not think I would be in this fortunate position without your help and never-ending faith in me. I leave tomorrow for the University of California in Berkeley, where I will be studying Comparative Literature. The list of books I'll be reading is so long, I wonder how I'll finish them all on time. I must admit, I'm nervous about doing well. I am so competitive that I fear it darkens my character. If somebody does better than I do on an essay or exam, I actually loathe them for a short time. Then I recover my good humor and am happy for their success. But secretly, I want to do better than they do next time!

My new friend Alexander tells me I am my own worst enemy! I have not told you about him because I've wanted to keep him to myself. I worry that if I start talking about him, or count on him too much, he will vanish like feathers in the wind. You would like him, for he is an independent sort who speaks his mind, no matter the circumstances. He is also quite willing to argue with me, which I find both amusing and exasperating.

The other day, we got into a spirited debate about women's rights. He said he supported women's right to vote, but didn't think we should be elected into government positions. As you can imagine, his opinion irritated me no end, and I began rambling on about accomplished women such as Jessica Peixotto, who graduated with a PhD from the University of California in Berkeley in 1900. And Selina Solomons, who gave an unforgettable speech at the Pacific Women's Congress about women who have achieved higher statuses than men. And Rachel Frank, who has actually preached in synagogues. With a condescending smile, Alexander listened to me until I was hoarse, before telling me he agreed with me all along. He said he just wanted to see what kind of argument I could make. I was so angry I wanted to strangle him. But then I thought about how I should have known his true feelings, how I should never have doubted his support for women. We had a good laugh!

I must finish packing my trunk for my new home at a boarding house across the Bay. I still can't believe this day is here. If only my father were here now. This was his dream for me and I am determined to make him proud.

I am so excited about your upcoming visit. There is so much more I want to say but not in a letter.

Your friend, Rachel

The ferry's horn bellowed, announcing the imminent departure for Oakland. Rachel glanced back at the ferry and then at Nucia, holding her three-month-old baby boy, Henry, bundled in a creamy white blanket that Mrs. Bloom had knit for him. The gusty wind blew Nucia's braid sideways. Henry whimpered.

“You look exhausted, but happier than I've ever seen you,” Rachel said to her sister.

“Becoming a mother has been the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Nucia proclaimed, yawning. “I just wish he'd sleep more than three hours at a time.”

“Can I hold him once more before I leave?” asked Rachel.

Nucia placed Henry into Rachel's outstretched arms.

“I'm going to miss you so much,” Rachel told him.

He cooed at her, as if he understood, his wide green eyes looking up at her.

“You'll see him often enough,” said Jacob, joining them after loading Rachel's trunk onto the ferry. Marty, who had helped Jacob, stood beside Rachel, making faces at Henry. The baby squealed at him in delight.

“Maybe I shouldn't live in Oakland,” said Rachel. “I can stay here, with all of you, and still attend university.” She gave Henry a kiss on his soft, rosy cheek and reluctantly gave him back to Nucia.

“Don't be silly,” said Nucia, her voice wavering. “You would be exhausted taking the ferry every day. Besides, you already have a rented room and a good job at the library.”

Jacob pressed a ten-dollar bill into Rachel's hand. “It's from the Blooms and us.”

“This is far too generous,” said Rachel. “I can't accept this. You'll need it for the baby.” She tried to give it back, but Jacob pushed her hand away.

“The deli is doing well,” he said. “Much better than we ever expected.”

“I like knowing you have a little extra money,” added Nucia.

“A
little
extra?” gasped Rachel.

“Treat yourself to something nice,” said Jacob.

Rachel flung her arms around Jacob. “Take good care of my sister,” she said.

“You know I will.”

“Do you really have to go?” asked Marty.

Rachel embraced him. “It's not so far; just a ferry ride away.”

“But I won't see you every day,” said Marty. He pulled away from her.

“No, you won't.”

Jacob placed his hands on Marty's shoulders.

“You said you would never leave me,” cried Marty.

The ferry's horn sounded again.

“I'm not leaving you,” said Rachel. “I'm going to school across the Bay. I'll see you on weekends, and you can always come visit me.”

“Can I?” Marty asked Jacob.

“Of course.”

“When Henry gets bigger,” added Nucia, “he's going to need you to teach him how to walk and play games and read.”

Marty peered at Henry. “I guess I will be pretty busy, looking out for him.”

Rachel and Nucia exchanged amused smiles.

“Promise me you'll be good,” said Rachel.

“I promise,” said Marty solemnly.

Now that she was a mother, Nucia had become less strict with Marty and had given him more space to make his own choices. As a result, they were getting along much better. And Marty had spent a lot of time practicing his baseball skills with his friend, Dan. Marty was much more confident and happy.

The ferry's horn blew at full volume. Rachel eyed the two-level vessel. Black clouds puffed from the smokestack. She turned and grabbed Nucia's arm. They had never been separated before. Rachel suddenly felt as if she was losing her last link to Russia.

“You're going to do so well,” said Nucia. She squeezed Rachel's hand. “Father and Mother would be proud of you right now.” Rachel sniffed back her tears.

Jacob interrupted them. “Look, Rachel, someone else is here to say good-bye to you.”

Nucia gently pushed her toward Alexander, who was coming their way. Rachel had been dreading this moment for weeks. Standing just inches from him, she studied his face, searing it into her memory so that she could recall it in an instant.

“I have something for you.” Alexander thrust the familiar leather case that contained his walnut chess set into her hands.

“No,” she said. “It's yours. You brought it from Russia.”

“You love the game as much as I do,” said Alexander. “I want you to have it, and when I visit you at Berkeley, we can play chess together. It will save me from bringing it every time I come.”

“But it's your family's,” she protested. “It should stay in your family.”

Alexander hesitated before speaking. “Someday, when you're ready, I hope it will be in
our
family.” He pulled her into his arms.

“San Francisco won't be the same without you,” he whispered into her ear.

“I'm scared,” she confessed. “What if it's not as good as I'm expecting? What if I'm not smart enough?”

“You're the smartest person I know,” he said. “It will be better than you think. You'll see.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. As their lips parted, Rachel felt a surge of doubt and fear.

“I'll see you next Sunday,” said Alexander. He stepped back, picked up her valise and handed it to her. “Remember,” he said, “I believe in you.”

Rachel nodded, her lips still warm with the taste of him, and boarded the ferry without looking back. When it glided away from the dock, she watched the Ferry Building, with its distinctive clock tower, slowly fade into the horizon. She gripped the railing and peered down at the turquoise water smacking and frothing against the ferry. Rachel didn't raise her head until the boat thumped against the Key Route Pier in Berkeley.

San Francisco was still visible in the distance, a jumble of foggy silhouettes. The ferry ride had taken only twenty-five minutes, which both calmed and frightened Rachel. If life as a student became rough, it would be very easy to return to her former world.

She turned around. The Berkeley hills rose in the distance, a stark contrast to the flat land near the water. For several minutes, Rachel watched people disembark with certainty, as if they knew exactly where they were going and how to get there. Her heart raced and her palms began to sweat. In the distance, she heard the faint sound of a violin, playing Tchaikovsky, the
1812 Overture
, her father's favorite piece. She could almost hear his reassuring voice telling her not to be afraid, and feel his hand on her shoulder, nudging her forward.

Rachel walked off the ferry, in the direction of the music. She went from the ferry slip to the adjoining train station. There, between two tracks, stood a boy, not more than twelve or thirteen years old, playing the violin. His shirt was patched at the elbows and he had a faraway look in his eyes, as if the music took him to a better place. His hat lay upside down on the ground, with a few coins inside. Rachel listened to him play until he'd finished the piece. She crouched down and put a nickel in his hat, the fare for her train ride three miles north to the university campus.

Three miles is nothing
, she thought as she began walking.
Besides, there is no better way to see a new city than on foot.

28

H
er satchel clutched against her chest, Rachel ran out of the Doe Memorial Library onto University Drive. Though it had only been two months since she'd begun university, she felt totally at ease in her new life, as if she'd been a student for years. Not only did she enjoy her classes and her job shelving books at the library, but she'd made good friends and had thrown herself into college life, including writing articles for
The Daily Cal
, the student newspaper.

Now, her heels chafed against the leather of her new shoes, which she'd purchased with some of the money Jacob had given to her. They were the first pair of new shoes she'd had in years and the stiff leather blistered her feet. At the moment, however, Rachel was too excited to let that stop her. Her meeting with
The Daily Cal
'
s editor had gone better than she'd expected. She plucked off her shoes and continued running uphill, her mind replaying the conversation about the article she'd just been asked to write. This would be the first major piece she had been assigned to write for
The Daily Cal
. It was an opportunity to prove herself as a feature writer on campus.

As she neared Gayley Road, she came upon groups of students heading in the same direction, to the Hearst Greek Theater. The big rugby game against Stanford University, an annual tradition, was slated to begin soon. Situated in the hills above campus, this imposing amphitheater had more than seven thousand seats. It was built in the grand Greek revival style with a row of tall columns. Arriving at the gate, Rachel was dismayed to see it swarming with boisterous students waiting to get in. She squinted and looked for her friends.

“Rachel!”

She spun around and saw Laura, her closest university friend, walking toward her. Behind Laura were their other friends, Beth and Joanne. Sharing several classes, the group of four often did things together.

“Why aren't you wearing your shoes?” Laura asked Rachel.

Rachel lifted her skirt and displayed her wounded feet.

The girls made faces and looked away.

“You ran here barefoot?” asked Beth.

“My new shoes hurt my feet,” explained Rachel. She held up her shoes and shrugged.

“You certainly are odd, but in a good way,” joked Laura.

“Let's get in so we don't miss the beginning,” said Joanne.

“You don't fool me,” said Beth to Joanne. “We all know you just want to watch Robert. You don't give two cents about rugby.”

“I do, too,” said Joanne, indignant. “It just so happens that Robert is teaching me the rules so I can follow the game better.”

“Good,” said Rachel. “You can tell me what's going on. I don't know a thing about rugby. This is the first game I've ever seen.”

“Well, I don't know a lot yet,” stammered Joanne. “Robert's only told me a couple of things.”

“Like what?” demanded Laura.

“Umm, you can't run forward with the ball,” said Joanne.

Beth snorted. “Anybody who watches five minutes of rugby can see that.”

“Come on,” said Rachel. “Let's get to our seats. I have big news, but I don't want to tell you until we're sitting down.”

“First, put on your shoes, Rachel,” said Laura. “Or your feet will get trampled in there.”

Rachel stuck her feet into her shoes and clenched her hands into fists when the leather rubbed against her blisters. She hobbled into the theater behind her friends, and made her way to the only empty seats in the top row.

“Now, what's your news?” said Laura the minute they were seated.

The stadium continued to fill with students, many raising banners supporting either University of California or Stanford.

Rachel cleared her throat and gave her friends a sly smile. “I have been given an assignment to write a feature article in
The Daily Cal
.”

Laura shook Rachel's shoulders excitedly. “That's amazing! I knew you'd get it.”

“What is it? What's the article?” asked Beth.

“I'm going to interview a woman interested in paleontology who has just donated money to build a museum of zoology for the university,” said Rachel.

“Paleo-what?” said Joanne.

“Paleontology. Her name is Annie Alexander and she's hunted for fossils all over the world,” Rachel continued. “I have some information about her.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her satchel and flattened it in her lap. “She trained as a nurse, went on a bicycle trip through Europe, and has sailed on the Pacific Ocean.”

“How old is she?” said Laura. “A hundred?”

“It's funny, her last name being Alexander,” said Joanne. “Like your beau.”

Rachel blushed.

“She makes me feel lazy,” said Beth.

“I know. I can't wait to meet her,” said Rachel.

“Look!” Joanne pointed at the field below. “The teams are coming out!”

Rachel stuck her paper back into her satchel and leaned forward to see the athletes marching onto the field. The Stanford team came first, in white and red shirts with red shorts. Stanford fans stood and cheered as they entered. The California Golden Bears appeared next in their blue and gold striped rugby shirts and blue shorts, bringing University of California students to their feet, roaring. Rachel joined in, clapping her hands and cheering. Though she didn't know much about the sport, the sense of camaraderie was contagious.

I can't believe I'm sitting here in such a magnificent sports stadium watching a rugby game with a group of girlfriends. I never imagined my life turning out like this, with so many choices and possibilities. I can't wait to tell Alexander about my assignment. And I must get started on my British Literature essay, and finish reading my book for American Lit.

She watched as the match started, her mind racing with plans and ideas. She jolted upright when the players jumped onto one another, forming a strange mound in the middle of the field.

Rachel tapped Laura on the shoulder. “Do you know what's going on?”

“No idea,” laughed Laura. “But it's a lot of fun.”

“Definitely!” exclaimed Rachel. She sat back and took it all in, the confusing game, the cheering people, the big sky.

⚓ ⚓ ⚓

Rachel sat at the oak desk in her room and reread her essay on
Anna Karenina
for her Russian literature course. Not only was this still her favorite book, it reminded her of home, her father, and Mikhail. It was the book she'd argued about with Mikhail in Kishinev on the last day of his life. Mikhail had criticized Anna Karenina for leaving her loveless marriage. Rachel had defended her, saying that Anna should be with the person she loved, that happiness was more important than doing what society expected.

Her lips curled up, thinking about their debate and how stubborn they'd each been. Then Mikhail had kissed her. Her brow creased as she recalled how frightened she was that someone would see them, a Jewish girl and a Russian boy, kissing. For months, Rachel worried that this kiss had led to Mikhail's murder.

Her eyes fell on the chess set on the corner of her desk. In two days, Alexander would be coming for a weekend visit, as he often did, and they'd have a rematch. So far, he'd won every game, but Rachel was determined to change this, sooner or later. She glanced at the clock on her wall and jumped up. Almost nine-thirty. Her class began at ten o'clock.

“I can't be late again,” she muttered to herself. She stuffed her essay into her satchel.

Rachel ran down the flight of stairs and out the door of the boarding house on Addison Street where she lived with five other students. She almost collided with her landlady, Mrs. Ross.

“You really need to keep better track of your time, dear,” Mrs. Ross called out.

“I'm trying,” said Rachel.

She ran east along Addison for three blocks, against the wind, unaware that she was being followed. When she reached Oxford Street and dashed under the Sather Gate entrance to the university, Rachel stopped to catch her breath.

“Rachel, is that you?” said a deep voice in Russian.

Goosebumps broke out on her neck. She turned slowly to face a thin man with disheveled long hair and whiskers. Standing beneath the magnificent arched granite and bronze Sather Gate, he looked like a common beggar.

He moved closer. At once she recognized his onyx eyes, though they were heavier and more solemn than she remembered. The impish glint was gone, along with his youth.

“Sergei? Is it really you?” she whispered in Russian.

“I told you I would find you.” He swallowed. “You're so beautiful.”

Rachel blushed, dropped her satchel and opened her arms. Sergei hesitated, then stepped toward her. Rachel held him tight, breathed him in. He smelled of soap and tobacco. He seemed smaller than he'd been in Russia, as if part of him had remained there. His arms draped loosely around her waist. They both let go and stood back.

“I thought you were exiled to Siberia,” said Rachel.

“I was.”

“Then, how did you get here? How did you find me? Why did you stop writing?”

“It would take years to tell you everything,” he said. “Nucia told me where to find you.”

“You've seen her and Marty…Menahem?”

“Yes. Menahem looks good. He seems happy.”

“I hated leaving him to come here—”

“I know, but he has Jacob and Nucia. And now a new baby.”

“They're going to adopt him once they become citizens.”

“Nucia told me. I'm happy for him.”

“Jacob loves him like a son.”

“I know.”

An awkward silence. They had never been at a loss for words in Kishinev. Now, with so much to say, so much to fill in, they had become shy with each other.

“You did it,” he finally spoke. “You're in university.”

“And you got away from that horrible factory.”

“That was nothing compared to what happened after.”

“Tell me.”

He gazed past her at the campus. “You're late. You ran so quickly from your boarding house that I had a hard time catching up with you.”

“I was late for a class and have an essay to hand in.”

“Then you should go. We can talk later. I'm not leaving until tomorrow.”

“But you just got here.”

“I'm going to head to the east coast, to New York. There are more jobs out east.”

“I wish you'd stay,” said Rachel, “for a little while.”

He hesitated before responding. “Are you still writing?”

“I've had some articles published in
The San Francisco Bulletin
and a few in the university's newspaper. I've even been given a byline.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name has been printed at the top of my articles.”

“I knew you'd become a famous writer.”

“I'm not exactly famous, but I am learning and getting better. What about you? Have you been drawing?”

“I don't think I'll ever draw again.” The bitter edge to his voice made Rachel shudder.

“Come with me to turn in my paper,” she suggested. “I want to show you something.”

“What about your class?”

“I've never missed a lecture, not even when I was sick. But you're here for such a short time. I can skip this one.”

Sergei shrugged and shuffled along beside her. Rachel tried to get a glimpse of his hand, which had been mangled in a factory accident, but the sleeves of his shirt fell to his knuckles, obscuring it. As they walked north along a path, Rachel saw people watching them with obvious curiosity. She realized how out-of-place Sergei was, how scruffy he looked compared to the students with their neatly cut hair and well-fitted clothing.

“Guess I don't look much like a student,” said Sergei, as if he'd read her mind.

“There's no uniform here,” said Rachel. “You can dress however you want.”

“Really?” said Sergei, in a tone that implied he didn't agree.

Rachel spied Laura, standing with a group of students in front of South Hall. She grabbed Sergei's hand and led him toward the expansive red brick building. Through his muslin shirtsleeve, she could feel callouses, hard as stones, on the palm of his hand. As they neared the building, Sergei wrenched his hand from hers.

“Laura,” she called out as she approached South Hall.

Laura waved and stepped away from her friends to greet Rachel. Sergei hung back, as if he had no desire to meet Rachel's friend.

“Can you turn my essay in for me?”

Laura stared at Sergei. “Who is he?”

“A friend. From Russia.”

“Looks like he just got off the ship.”

“He's been through a lot.”

“Just a friend?”

“He was…we were…it's complicated,” Rachel stammered.

“Give me your paper,” said Laura.

Rachel pulled it from her satchel and handed it to her.

“Now go, but later I want to hear all about him.”

“You will,” said Rachel.

She returned to Sergei, who appeared as uncomfortable as a cat in the rain.

“Where are we going?” he asked her.

“You'll see.” She began walking in the direction they'd come from, then veered right. The campus became more rugged the farther they went. They came upon a wooden footbridge that spanned a fast-moving creek.

“Strawberry Creek,” explained Rachel. “My favorite place on campus.”

Sergei followed her over the bridge into a lush, forested area. A gingko tree rose proudly from the ground.

Rachel knelt by the edge of the river. “This reminds me of Kishinev, the good parts.”

Sergei crouched down beside her and dragged his fingers through the clear water. A school of minnows swam by, their tiny, dark shapes moving in unison.

“We spent a lot of time on water,” Sergei mumbled.