Threads and Flames (41 page)

“As soon as my friends and I heard about the fire, we began raising funds to help bring relief to the survivors and to the families of those who—who were not so fortunate. Still, I felt it was not enough. The moment Dorothea told me of her plans, I knew what else I could do,
had
to do, and so I volunteered at once to work here. That day at the pier, I saw the dead, but I also saw the despair of the living. I knew what it was like to have your sanity shattered when someone you love is torn away from you without warning. I knew what it was to be whole in body, but still . . . broken. I knew that they would need peace, rest, time, and that I could help bring that to them.”

“It's a wonderful gift you've given them, Henda,” Raisa said.

Her sister smiled at her. “I've received a better one.”

 

 

Ten days later, the Kamenskys' neighborhood buzzed with excitement as a fine carriage pulled up in front of their building and an elegantly dressed young couple stepped out. Their arrival caused almost as great a thrill as the one that had stirred the whole block five days earlier, when Gavrel had come home.

When Henda and her husband entered the Kamensky apartment, it was already a hubbub of Yiddish, English, and Italian. Luciana was there along with her mother, Paolo, and Renzo. Only the horror of losing a day's much-needed income had prevented her father from joining them for the grand luncheon that Mrs. Kamensky had cooked to celebrate her son's return.

Raisa took an immediate liking to Hillel. The handsome, dapper young man she'd seen so briefly on the pier was also friendly, sincere, and modest, with a sense of humor to rival Gavrel's. Even if she hadn't been aware of all he'd done for her sister, she would have welcomed him into the family.

The food was excellent, as always, and vanished swiftly from the plates. Although many of the dishes were alien to them, even Luciana's family were tucking into their lunch with gusto. Henda leaned across the table, plainly delighted to see how heartily Luciana and Gavrel ate.

“There were days when we couldn't get either one of you to eat more than a sip of milk and a crumb of bread. Now look at you! Especially you, Gavrel. You know it's all right to
chew
your food, yes?” she teased.

“Don't blame me for how I'm eating, Mrs. Taylor,” Gavrel responded. “Blame your sister.”

“Me?”
Raisa's voice rose in surprise.

“Now, let's be honest, dearest,” Gavrel said to her. “I know I love you, but I've got no idea if you can cook. That's why I'm eating all the
good
food I can get now, so that after we're married, at least I'll have my memories.”

Everyone laughed but Raisa. “And who said I'd marry you? Maybe you can also get along with only memories of
me,
” she retorted.

Gavrel became suddenly serious. “Where do you think I was for so long, Raisa? Living with memories. Waking or sleeping, all I could see was the fire and the . . . and the ones who fell. All I could think about was how I'd failed to go back into the flames and save you.”

“But you didn't have to save me, Gavrel,” Raisa said, taking his hand.

“I didn't know that. Who knows how the mind works? Mine locked me away in a place where the only good memories I had were of you. That was why I didn't react when you first came into my room that day. I was sure you were just another dream. But when I heard your sister call your name”—he cradled Raisa's cheek with one hand—“it called me back, too.”

He kissed her as if there were no one else but the two of them in the room, in the city, in the world.

R
aisa and Gavrel walked together along the wide streets of the Upper East Side, enjoying the beauty of an early June night. They had taken a taxicab north from the Educational Alliance building, but once the driver crossed Fifty-seventh Street, Gavrel had asked him to stop.

“Why did you do that?” Raisa asked after he had paid the fare. “We've still a long, long way to go before we get to Henda's house.”

Gavrel sighed as if he were the most put-upon man in the world. “And I can walk every step of that long, long way. Raisa, my dear heart, it's been almost three years since I came home. I've gone back to work. I've gone back to my studies. I'll be ordained as a rabbi before Rosh Hashanah, God willing. I've even been blessed with two years of marriage to the sweetest little greenhorn who ever stepped off the ferry from Ellis Island.” He kissed her soundly. “I'm well enough for all of that, so when am I going to be well enough for
you
?”

Raisa stepped out of his embrace, smiling. “So many arguments! I'm surprised you're becoming a rabbi and not a lawyer.”

He matched her smile with one of his own. “Then as a rabbi-to-be, I decree that we have to walk the rest of the way, because it's Shabbos, after all.”

“If your mother could hear you making jokes like that—”

“She'd agree with me that God must have a sense of humor or He would have gotten rid of all of us long ago.” He linked his arm through hers. “Shall we?”

With every block that brought them nearer to Henda's home, Raisa became more and more excited, until she was almost bouncing as she clung to Gavrel's arm. He looked down at her fondly. “Did I make a mistake and bring Brina with me after the ceremony?”

“I'm sorry, I can't help it,” Raisa said. “I'm too happy! Oh, Gavrel, will I ever be able to thank Miss Bryant enough for what she's done? All those extra lessons, the tutoring through the high school curriculum, and now she says she's going to find a way to have my independent studies certified as good enough to get me into a teachers' college. Gavrel, do you know what this means to me?”

“That you want a divorce so you can get a job?”

“Stop that. It's been
years
since it was illegal for female teachers to be married.”

“I apologize for my ignorance,” Gavrel said with a comic bow. “Allow me to make it up to you. I'll treat you and Miss Bryant to dinner next week. It can be my way of thanking her for organizing a ceremony in the Alliance theater to honor her advanced students. Did you see the Delvecchios' faces when Luciana crossed the stage to accept that certificate? And Renzo was applauding his little bride-to-be so loudly, the noise cracked the ceiling. I swear I felt flakes of plaster snowing down on us!”

His good-humored expression faded. “But that was nothing next to how Mama and Papa looked when you got up and started talking about the fire. So much pride, even when they were weeping along with everyone else in the theater! You have a gift, Raisa. You made us all relive that day, but not the despair. You reminded us that all the deaths and suffering weren't for nothing. That there are new laws now, changes—not enough, but more will come, and they'll have to come from us. My God, from the way the crowd was listening to you, a person would think that
you
founded the Factory Investigating Commission yourself!”

“I wish I did have that power. But if all I can do is speak and teach and bear witness, I will. This isn't over.”

That was too true, and they both knew it. The Triangle company had been brought back into court several times in the previous year because they were still locking doors with the workers inside. Raisa took some comfort from the fact that at least now there were officials willing to bring such things to light and fight them, instead of shrugging them off.

But for Raisa, that knowledge did little to take the sting out of another memory. She recalled Mr. Kamensky's face that March, when he read the news that Triangle had finally paid reparations to the families of the fire victims, but only for twenty-three cases. The company had the time and money to outlast most of the people who had brought suit against them, dragging matters out until the plaintiffs lost heart and let the matter drop. And what did those twenty-three families receive for their anguish? Seventy-five dollars. Seventy-five dollars each, no more.

“It's not over,” Raisa repeated. “Gavrel, somewhere in this city there's another Zusa—smart, strong, brave, and beautiful. I want her to work where she'll be safe, and paid a fair wage, and where her life will be worth more than seventy-five dollars.”

Gavrel smiled and hugged her. “Maybe
you
ought to become the lawyer.”

“Maybe I will,” Raisa replied. “God willing, law school will give me the gift of persuasion.”

“Who needs persuading?” Gavrel asked. “Unless you mean Mama, always dropping those
subtle
hints about grand-children.”

“I mean Glukel,” Raisa said. “For
years
we've had the money to bring her here, but still she refuses to leave the shtetl. First she said she had to help Yossel and Sarah with their new baby, then Reb Avner got sick and she wouldn't leave until he recovered, God be thanked, and then one excuse after another, so many we lost track.”

“Well, you know my theory,” Gavrel said casually. “Once she found out Henda had married a rich man, Glukel was afraid she wouldn't be good enough to mingle with his family. And once she learned you'd married a poor one, she was afraid we wouldn't be good enough to mingle with her.”

Raisa frowned. “This is
not
a joking matter for me, Gavrel.”

“I know, Raisaleh.” He changed his tone at once. “And I know how much you want to have her here with you again. But who knows how another person's heart rules them? The love that Glukel feels for you and Henda, the uncertainty of leaping into a completely different world, the desire to see your faces again, after all these years—and the new little face, too—the fear that she might be a burden to you here, even though you tell her a thousand times that she'd be a blessing! All of that and more is pulling her back and forth every day.”

“You're right, Gavrel.” Raisa sighed. “I suppose that all I can do is keep reassuring her that the door is open, and that we'll wait as long as it takes until she's ready to come home.”

When they reached Henda's house, they were surprised to be greeted at the door by her husband and not by the family butler. “Is anything the matter, Hillel?” Raisa asked anxiously. “Henda, the baby, they're all right?”

He reassured her with a smile. “Don't worry, I'm only answering my own door because the butler's sick, poor man, not because anyone else is. Mother and son are just fine, I promise you. They've had a very long day, but both of them took it in stride. They're stronger than I thought, those two. I'm sorry I made such a fuss that Henda couldn't attend your ceremony tonight. She should have overruled me and gone anyway, baby and all, but she's fallen into the bad habit of spoiling me too much.”

“And that's
another
reason I like your sister,” Gavrel whispered. Raisa ignored him, following Hillel from the foyer into the hallway between the dining room and the family parlor. The heavy doors to both of these rooms were closed.

“Here they are at last!” Hillel declared, sending the parlor doors sliding into their wall pockets.

A streak of golden curls darted out of the parlor. Tall and seeming to grow taller every day, Brina carried an armful of roses in all the colors of sunrise. She pushed the bouquet into Raisa's hands and gleefully asked, “Did I surprise you?”

“You certainly did!” Raisa drank in the fragrance of the flowers. “I thought that after the ceremony you were going home with everyone else.”

“Oh, they're here, too,” Brina said. She waved casually at the gathering in the parlor. Aside from Henda, who occupied the sofa, her infant son asleep in her arms, Raisa beheld everyone she'd last seen in the Educational Alliance theater—Fruma and her husband Morris, the Kamenskys, the Delvecchios, Selig and Mrs. Reshevsky, even her beloved teacher, Miss Bryant.

“You told me you were going home!” Raisa exclaimed. “How did you get here?”

“By invitation.” Fruma's sense of humor could be almost as provoking as her brother's. “And by taxicab. I suppose we could have walked.” She winked at Gavrel.

“I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for your speech, or to give you something to mark your achievements,” Henda said. “I hope you'll let me fix that now.”

Raisa hurried to sit beside her sister. Still cradling the roses, she carefully leaned over the sleeping baby and kissed Henda on the cheek. “Thank you, dear. This gathering is a wonderful gift.”

“
This
isn't your gift, Raisa.”

Henda stood up and gave the baby to his father, then took Raisa by the hand. She led her out of the parlor, across the hall to the closed doors of the formal dining room. Henda motioned for Raisa to open them. They slid smoothly back into the walls at her touch.

The dining room was mostly shadow. No one had turned on the electric chandelier or the wall sconces, but when Raisa reached for the wall switch, Henda blocked her way. Even so, she was able to see the room by the light seeping in from the hall behind her. The long table was covered with blindingly white linen and laden end to end with a feast of hot and cold dishes, all beautifully displayed on porcelain platters and silver trays. Ripe fruit spilled over the edge of a tiered serving tower. Droplets of moisture twinkled on the curve of a crystal punch bowl and the sides of ice buckets filled with chilling bottles of champagne.

There was only one small space on the groaning table that was not covered with food or drink. It held the only light in the room. The Shabbos candles burned low, but their glow was bright enough for Raisa to recognize the silver candlesticks that held them.