Letters Across the Sea

by Genevieve Graham

  “Not this time. The whole thing is entirely legal. Mayor Stewart cleared it. Chief Draper is even going to be there.”

  “Draper? The upholder of the enduring obstinacy of the Protestant Brotherhood of the Orange Order?”

  Max laughed. “That’s a mouthful. Better not say it too loud, Moll.”

  I made a show of scanning the empty streets. “I think I’m pretty safe, don’t you?”

  “Well, no matter what the Orange Order thinks, Draper’s orders are to keep the peace.”

  I looked at the flyer again, and something about the date caught my eye. “Kind of ironic that this rally is the day before the Orange Day parade, isn’t it? Tuesday we listen to revolutionary speeches, then Wednesday we’ll hear the Orangemen do the opposite. They’ll have a few choice words to say about communism and the unions if Tuesday’s march is as big as you say it’s gonna be.”

  “I’ll admit, the date was kind of planned that way on purpose.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was my suggestion,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

  “Troublemaker.”

  “You bet. So? You gonna come with me?”

  His crooked grin was irresistible, as was the idea of being at his side at something like this. “You want me to?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I will. How will I find you?”

  “I’ll meet you outside Eaton’s, and we can walk together.”

  The upcoming week suddenly looked much less bleak now that I had Tuesday to look forward to. “I’m excited. I’ll—”

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Phil Burke suddenly appeared. Behind him, half a dozen boys spread out like a pack, swastika badges on their chicken-hearted chests. A shiver of fear ran through me—not for myself, but for Max, who angled himself in front. If this led to a fair fight, I knew he could handle himself. But between the gang and me, he was badly outnumbered. I looked around for any passersby to maybe come to our aid, but the streets were empty and dark.

  Phil took a step toward Max. “Get away from Molly, Jewboy.”

  Max didn’t budge.

  “Get lost, Phil,” I snapped.

  Phil ignored me. “I saw you and your kind down at the beach,” he went on, crossing his arms. “Jews ain’t allowed there.”

  “Says who?” Max asked.

  “Everyone. We’re keeping our beaches clean. You didn’t see the signs?”

  “So you saw us down there,” I said, “but you waited until Max was alone before you went after him. Such courage.”

  “Then again, maybe you missed the meaning of the sign. It’s written in English, not Jewish.” Phil finally met my eyes. “What do you say, Richie? This dirty Jew’s messing with your little sister. You gonna let that happen?”

  Richie? The group separated down the middle, and I stared in shock at my brother. A shiny nickel badge was pinned on his shirtfront, embossed with a bright red swastika.

  “Richie,” I gasped. “What are you doing with these idiots?”

  He avoided my eyes. “Leave him alone, Phil. They’re just friends.”

  “Makes no difference,” Phil said, his teeth bared. “A Jew is a Jew. He don’t get a free pass just because he’s someone you grew up with. He needs to learn a lesson like they all do.”

  I heard the distinct pop! of someone’s knuckles, then Phil wheeled on Max, leading with his fist. The sucker punch crashed into Max’s jaw and sent him backwards against me, but I held onto him, keeping him upright. It took only a second for him to recover, then he stormed back at Phil, hands up like a boxer. But the other boys joined in as I’d feared, and Max disappeared beneath their fists. Only Richie stood apart.

  “Stop them!” I shouted in his face. “Make them stop! He’s your friend! He’s our friend!”

  But Richie didn’t move. His face was as red as mine, from shame or anger, I didn’t know, but I could tell he was biting back words. Any other time he’d have yelled at me, but he knew very well he couldn’t deny what I’d said. Only when I turned to pull one of the boys off Max did he reach out his hand and grab me.

  “Stop it, Molly. You’ll just get hurt.”

  “Then you need to do something!” I yelled, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

  From behind me, I heard a shout, and I knew the voice right away. I had never in my life been so relieved to see my father in his uniform.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded as he approached. “Richie? Molly? What’s all this?”

  I stretched my arm out toward the boys, who had all backed away. A couple of them had bloodied faces, and I was glad of it. “They—”

  “It’s nothing, Dad,” Richie said. “We were just leaving.”

  “Are you now?” His attention passed between the gang, Richie and me, and finally landed on Max, who was getting to his feet, touching his bleeding lip with his tongue.

  “We were at the beach with Hannah and some friends,” I said. “I forgot my hat, and Max offered to go back with me to get it.”

  Dad was still focused on Max. “You should go home.”

  Max straightened. “I will, sir. We just have to get her hat first.”

  “Don’t blame him,” I said, stepping forward. “These bullies came after Max just because he’s Jewish.” I glared at Richie. “He has a right to go where he wants without getting pushed around, just like anybody else.”

  My father’s fury turned on me, and I trembled under the solid weight of his authority, just as I had as a little girl.

  “I won’t have you talking back, Molly Ryan. I’ve told you how I feel about you being with— It isn’t safe.” His voice was tight with control, but his eyes flickered toward Max. “And I was right. Look what happened. Just go home. Now.” He glared at Richie. “You go with her.” Then he studied the rest of the boys, memorizing each face. “I don’t want trouble on my streets, boys. Keep it to the beaches, or you’ll answer to me.”

  Phil Burke lifted his chin, as if he’d just been given marching orders. “Yes, sir.”

  My jaw dropped. Keep it to the beaches? How about Disband at once and stop beating people up? I looked from my father to Richie, alarmed to see such a striking resemblance between them in that moment. I started to say something, but Max touched my arm.

  “Let’s go, Moll,” he said.

  I scowled at Richie. “I’m going with Max. Don’t bother coming.”

  So many emotions swirled through me as we walked away, but I resisted the urge to hang on to Max’s arm for support. The worst was a terrible sadness. My big brother was a Swazzie. Not only that; my father had looked neither surprised nor angry about it.

  eight MAX

  The crowds were already bunching up when Max reached Eaton’s, just after three o’clock on Tuesday. He peered over heads, fighting nerves as he sought out Molly among the women leaving the factory. He hadn’t seen her since Sunday night when he’d walked her home. Did she regret standing up to her father and brother? Would she still want to go with him today?

  Then she stepped outside and scanned the faces around her, the sunlight catching the copper shine of her hair. She smiled when she spotted him, and they worked their way through the crowd toward each other.

  “You came,” she said. “I wasn’t sure—”

  “Me too,” he said, even happier than he’d expected. “Besides, I had to bring you something.” From behind his back he drew her sunhat from the other day.

  “Oh, Max. Thank you. How did you get it?”

  “I went back in the morning.”

  She put it on, squinting up at him from under the brim. “How’s your lip?”

  “It’s nothing,” he assured her.

  She staggered toward him when someone shoved through the crowd, and he caught her in his arms. She smelled sweet and a little dusty from work.

  “You okay?” he asked, suddenly shy.

  She nodded. “Let’s go.”

  With one hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the cro
wd to Queen Street, and they joined the mass of people moving westward. They would march to Spadina, then north to Dundas, east to University in a sort of three-sided square, then finally arrive at Queen’s Park, where everyone would congregate.

  Molly’s smile was a mile wide, and her eyes darted everywhere, at the signs and banners and faces. He couldn’t blame her. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. Among the sea of signs, a group of young people waved a long, vivid banner of red and gold with the words “Young Communist League” painted across its length. Just like on the flyer, most of the slogans were written in English as often as Yiddish, and they represented every group imaginable: Headgear Workers, Fur Workers, Bakers, Single Men’s Unemployed Association, and more.

  “I can’t believe this all started with your father’s group,” Molly said. “He must be so proud.”

  “There ended up being about fifty different Jewish organizations involved. Most won’t be happy to see so many other groups here. They’ll see them as hijacking the cause.”

  “Yeah, but having so many people makes it too big to ignore. I had no idea some of these groups even existed. I mean, there’s the Finnish Anti-Fascist Group. I didn’t even know we had Finnish people here.”

  Max hadn’t either. “Not many in Kensington, that’s for sure.”

  “I see the I.L.G.W.U.,” Molly said excitedly, spotting a series of white placards. In their middle, a green circle made up of the words “International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union” was pierced by the likeness of a sewing needle. “Look at that sign from the Furriers’ Union.”

  “ ‘Hitler Is a Skunk, and the Furriers Will Cut Him to Pieces,’ ” he read. “Top marks for originality. See that one over there?” He pointed to a sign with the words “Bill 98,” crossed out by a big, black X. “That’s about Section 98 from Canada’s Criminal Code. It’s been around since just after the Great War, basically to stop communism and any other group with plans to affect change through force. If charged, a person could go to jail for up to twenty years. That’s why the Young Communist League wants it repealed.”

  “Twenty years? I’m no fan of violence, but that seems pretty extreme.” She frowned. “Speaking of which, I don’t see any police. That doesn’t make sense with a march this big.”

  “Chief Draper’s supposed to be here. Did your dad say anything about it?”

  “I haven’t spoken with him since Sunday night. And I didn’t tell him I was coming today.” She shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s behaving.”

  When the parade reached University Avenue, they followed the streetcar tracks north until the pink-purple stones of the Ontario Legislative Building rose before them. Veins of protestors streamed into Queen’s Park from all directions, jabbing the air with signs and banners, coming together in a pulsing heart of protest.

  “Come this way,” he said, tugging her toward where he’d arranged to meet up with his family.

  “Max, Molly, over here!” Hannah called when she saw them. His parents stood just behind her, in the shade of a tree, and Max spotted David standing with them. Good for him, he thought.

  “I see you got your hat,” Hannah said to Molly as they drew closer.

  “Actually, your brother got my hat,” Molly replied.

  Hannah raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a hero.”

  He chuckled. “Kind of an exaggeration.”

  “Well,” she said into his ear once Molly was out of earshot, “I’m pretty sure that’s how Molly saw it. Watch your step with her, brother-of-mine.”

  He stopped. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m just warning you. Back away if you know what’s good for you both. Can you imagine what our parents would do if— I don’t even want to think about that.”

  Confused, he watched her walk toward David, wondering why she’d said that. Max was enjoying his conversations with Molly, but he hadn’t done anything to suggest that they were more than friends, had he? Still, Hannah had noticed their closeness, and a sense of foreboding settled like an anchor in his chest. Growing up in the patchwork neighbourhood of Kensington, the lines between communities had blurred, but only so far. He knew that. And Molly did too. She could never date a Jew.

  “Maxim, my boy.” His father held his arms out toward the crowd. “Look at this. You did this.”

  “Hardly,” he said, forcing a smile. “I made a suggestion. Everyone else did the work.”

  “I’m just glad everything has remained peaceful,” his mother said.

  “Hey, David,” Max said, giving him a meaningful look. “Didn’t expect to see you over this way. Where’s your family?”

  “Somewhere other than here,” David replied with a playful grin.

  “I didn’t think you’d be here,” he heard Molly say to Hannah. “You don’t like political stuff.”

  Hannah elbowed Max. “He made us come.”

  “I didn’t make you, but I’m glad you came. I think it’s important that you be here to witness all this. You can’t always be an ostrich.”

  “Nothing wrong with ostriches,” Hannah said, but she was smiling, her eyes twinkling in the sunlight. He could tell she was enjoying herself, and he had a feeling David had something to do with that. She lifted her hand to her brow, shielding her vision. “Hey, isn’t that Jimmy?”

  He squinted through the crowd and spotted Molly’s brother standing near the flagpole, chatting with a few ball players Max recognized.

  “I thought he’d be at work,” Molly said. “I guess they got out like I did.”

  “Jimmy got a job? That’s great news,” Hannah said.

  “Yes. Finally. He’s doing something at the Heintzman factory, but I’m not sure what. He doesn’t talk about it.”

  “Heintzman?” Max repeated. He turned to his father. “Didn’t they just lay off—”

  “Jacob Weiss and Aryeh Dvorkin, yes. They were told the company couldn’t afford so many workers in this economy. I didn’t know they were hiring.”

  A bit of the colour seeped out of Molly’s face, but Mrs. Dreyfus squeezed her arm. “We’re happy for Jimmy. He’s needed work for a while. It’s just difficult. Aryeh’s mother doesn’t know what they’re going to do.”

  Max knew both boys. Their families had come here from Germany only five years before, and these days, new immigrants who couldn’t make their way in Canada were being sent back to their home country. A shiver ran down Max’s spine at the thought of going to Germany at a time like this.

  “Tell her the boys must come and see me,” his father said. “No one is going back to Germany.”

  Max sighed. “You cannot hire everyone, Papa.”

  “I can hire some.”

  Max felt guilt coming off Molly in waves. “It’s not your fault. Don’t let it bother you.”

  “He’s right,” Hannah said, but Molly didn’t look convinced.

  A loudspeaker squawked, making everyone jump, then Hannah nudged Molly. “Hey, you’ll probably want to stand with Jimmy for this instead of with us. Papa wants me to listen to the Yiddish speaker with him and Mama, so—”

  “There’s a Yiddish speaker?” Molly asked.

  “There are so many people here that there will be several speakers,” his father replied. “They’ll address the crowd in different sections of the park so we all will be able to hear their messages. Some will speak in Yiddish, others in English.”

  Max wasn’t sure what to do. The plan had been to stay with Molly, but Hannah’s unexpected warning had burrowed in his brain.

  “I think Jimmy wandered off,” Molly said, scanning the area near the flagpole where a different group had now gathered. “Maybe I’ll come with you, and you can translate.”

  His father looked at Molly kindly. “But that won’t do. You need to understand the words. Max, you go with Molly. Take care of her.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  The family headed away, but not before Hannah shot him a look, which he answered with on
e of his own. Then Molly turned to Max. “I’m sorry. Which speaker did you want to listen to?”

  “I’m with you, Moll. Come on. I know where we should go for the best view.”

  He guided her through the crowd toward the base of the Sir John A. Macdonald statue, and she stepped onto the base for added height.

  “Can you see well enough?”

  She stood on her tiptoes. “I can see some of it.”

  He nodded toward the statue. “Let’s go a bit higher.”

  Without hesitation, she stepped closer to him, and he wrapped his hands around her waist then hoisted her onto the statue so she stood beside Macdonald’s cool metal feet.

  “Much better!” she beamed. “I can see everything from here. You coming?”

  He braced his hands on the platform beside her and launched himself up. From their perch, they took in the throngs of people, the waving signs and banners, and the various stages set up around the park. A contagious energy filled the air. He could tell from intermittent cheers rising like waves around them that the speeches were underway elsewhere, but theirs hadn’t started yet.

  “Best seat in the house,” he said.

  Molly’s gaze had dropped to a couple of women that he recognized from earlier, outside Eaton’s, and he noticed her unconsciously rubbing the tips of her fingers with her thumb.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, sheepish. “Seeing all these causes being protested in one big, united front… It feels amazing. Our backgrounds, races, and religions are different, but we’re all coming together. I feel like we might actually be able to change some things.”

  Max took her hand in his and touched the calluses, put there by hours and hours of drudging work.

  “You’ve worked hard your whole life, Molly, just like so many here. Today is for all of us. That includes you.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was what he’d said or if it was simply the emotion of the day, but suddenly she was looking at him, holding him with those green eyes, and he couldn’t turn away.

  “Thank you for bringing me, Max,” she said.