While We’re Far Apart

by Lynn Austin

  But for now, Esther couldn’t move beyond her outrage that Penny and Mr. Mendel had interfered in her life. They had forbidden her to see him. They had no right! No right at all!

  The next day when Jacky offered to walk home from school with her, Esther had to tell him that she couldn’t be friends with him anymore. She expected him to be as outraged as she had been, but he simply shrugged and walked away. By the end of the week he was already holding hands with another girl from Esther’s class. She felt humiliated and angry all over again. And lonely. She didn’t have any other friends.

  “I wish you could talk to me, Peter,” she said as she trudged home from school with him.

  He nodded sadly and pointed to himself. She knew he was saying, Me too.

  They walked up the steps to the porch and checked the mailbox. No letters today. They got as far as the foyer when Mr. Mendel’s door opened. “Could you both please come inside for a moment? There is someone here who would like to talk to you.”

  Esther had met the woman in Mr. Mendel’s apartment once before. They had eaten cake together. Esther couldn’t recall her name.

  “Let me take your coats,” Mr. Mendel said. “Sit down, please.” He acted so polite and formal that he made Esther nervous. The woman looked uneasy, too, standing in the middle of the room. Was she going to tell them that something terrible had happened to Daddy? Esther glanced at Peter as they sat down on Mr. Mendel’s sofa. She moved closer to her brother, just in case.

  The woman drew a deep breath as if to steady herself, then exhaled. “The last time we met I asked Mr. Mendel not to tell you my name. It’s Esther Fischer. I’m . . . I’m your grandmother.”

  Esther’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The room seemed to spin. She didn’t know what she would say even if she could speak. Was it really true? Was this tall, elegant woman really their grandmother?

  As she stared in shock at the woman, Esther began to see the resemblance. Her hair was the same color as Mama’s hair and Peter’s, but with gray strands woven through it. And her hands. They were slender and graceful like Mama’s.

  “I’m sorry . . .” Mrs. Fischer began. She couldn’t finish.

  Warring emotions pulled Esther in two directions again. She wanted to leap up and hug this woman. She wanted to explode in anger and accuse her.

  “Where have you been?” Esther finally asked. The words came out angrier than she intended them to.

  “I’ve . . . I’ve been right here. In Brooklyn. It’s a long story, Esther, and I . . . I hope you’ll let me explain it to you.”

  “Why didn’t you come to Mama’s funeral?”

  Mrs. Fischer put her hand over her eyes. She had been standing all this time but now she sank onto a chair.

  “Give her a chance, Esther,” Mr. Mendel said quietly. “Try to understand.”

  “Are you the one who found her for us?” she asked him.

  He nodded. “Your grandmother arranged for your music lessons at the conservatory. And for Peter to play with the baseball team last summer.”

  “Why did you keep it a secret? Don’t you like us? And why did you get mad at Mama?”

  Mrs. Fischer uncovered her eyes and sat up straight, composing herself. “Would it upset you to learn that I’m Jewish, like your friend Mr. Mendel? And that your mother was Jewish?”

  “No, she wasn’t! She used to go to church with us on Sunday.”

  “But her father and I are Jewish, Esther. Your mother was raised in a Jewish home, like this one. When she became a Christian, it divided us.”

  Again, Esther couldn’t speak. She reached for her brother’s hand as she tried to take it all in.

  “I no longer want anything to divide us,” Mrs. Fischer said. “I would like to get to know both of you . . . if-if you will let me. I would like to be a family.”

  Tears filled Esther’s eyes. She had found Mama’s family – her family. She had longed for this, hadn’t she? It had been her greatest wish, besides having Daddy come home safely. But fear and mistrust pinned her in place like two giant hands. She couldn’t move.

  Mrs. Fischer picked up a photograph album from Mr. Mendel’s coffee table. “I brought some pictures of your mother to show you. Would you like to see them? She has two brothers, David and Samuel. They’re your uncles.”

  Peter rose from the sofa first and went to Mrs. Fischer’s side. He studied her face for a long moment as if searching for traces of their mother, then he looked down at the photos. He leaned against her, and Grandmother Fischer put her arm around his shoulders.

  After a moment, Esther rose, too. She went to stand on the other side of her grandmother to look at the album, seeing pictures of her mother’s family for the very first time.

  CHAPTER 44

  November 1944

  Dear Mother and Father Mendel,

  This may be the last letter I will be able to write to you, but I need to let you know what is happening here. Just when the war seemed close to an end, we once again despair for our lives.

  In October, the Hungarian government tried to sign a truce with the Allies again. The Nazis found out about it and sent their SS troops here to arrest Hungary’s leader. They have taken him to Berlin as their prisoner and have replaced him with the leader of the Hungarian Nazi Party, the Arrow Cross. These vicious men control our country now, with help from the SS.

  The Nazis’ angel of death, Adolph Eichmann, has returned to finish deporting the remainder of Budapest’s Jews. The Arrow Cross does not respect the Swedish safe houses or our documents. Our angel, Raoul Wallenberg, fights for us day and night and tries to protect us, but Arrow Cross members come boldly into the safe houses to brutalize people, killing them or hauling them away to be killed. Mr. Wallenberg has tried to organize the Jewish men who are left into an armed force so they can protect us and bring in needed food and medicine. Many of our friends have already been arrested or have disappeared. We fear they are dead.

  We know that the Russians are moving closer and closer, but this only makes the Nazis more determined to be rid of us before time runs out for them. Adolph Eichmann has been unable to get the railroad cars he needs to deport us, so we have learned that he plans to march us to deportation camps on foot. We don’t know if our Swedish savior can rescue us from these death marches or not.

  I have decided to leave this letter and the others I have written here in the Swedish house, hoping that – if the very worst happens – they will be found someday and sent to you in America. Please know that even though my faith is very weak and I don’t understand why we are made to suffer this way, I still believe in Hashem’s goodness and in a better life in the world to come.

  With love,

  Your daughter-in-law,

  Sarah Rivkah Mendel

  CHAPTER 45

  DECEMBER 1944

  ON A COLD AFTERNOON in early December, Jacob returned to his apartment after his daily walk and turned on the radio to listen to the news. He wished he hadn’t. The Nazis had launched a massive surprise counterattack against the Allies near the border between Germany and Belgium. They had penetrated the Allied front with troops and Panzer divisions and artillery pieces, supported by V-1 and V-2 rockets. The Americans had sustained heavy casualties in the nearly round-the-clock fighting. Fresh, inexperienced troops were under heavy enemy gunfire, many for the first time. Bitterly cold temperatures, dwindling ammunition supplies, and knee-deep snow added to their misery. Ed Shaffer was likely in the middle of it all. The children would be terrified for his safety – and with good reason.

  Jacob hauled himself to his feet when the doorbell rang. When he saw who it was, his heart stood still. The two police detectives with the Irish names had returned. Beyond them, a police car waited at the curb with the motor running.

  “Yes?” Jacob asked.

  “We need you to come to the police station with us, Mr. Mendel.”

  “For what reason?”

  “You are under arrest for arson.”

  Jacob coul
d only stare in disbelief. He felt a weight on his chest as if the two men were sitting on it. While he had seen them canvassing the streets from time to time, talking to his neighbors, Jacob thought that the rebbe had convinced them of his innocence.

  “Why are you harassing me this way?” he asked.

  “We’ve known all along you were guilty,” one of them said, “and now we have the evidence to prove it.”

  “It was only a matter of time before you were caught,” the other detective added.

  “But I had nothing to do with the fire.”

  “Well, we have two witnesses who say that you did. They’ll testify that they saw you enter the synagogue through the back door carrying a paper bag, shortly before the fire started.”

  “They are mistaken. Or else they are lying.”

  “That’s up to a court to decide. The district attorney is filing charges against you. It will save everyone a lot of trouble, Mr. Mendel, if you simply confess.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Confess to something that I did not do? I am telling you I did not start the fire.”

  “In that case, you better hire a lawyer.”

  Jacob had no money for a lawyer. He had given away nearly every cent he had to the War Refugee Board. His monthly pension check and this apartment building were all he had left. Would he have to mortgage it to clear his name?

  “Let’s go,” one detective said, motioning to the car.

  Jacob’s chest ached. “May I go inside first and get my overcoat? And there are some pills that I should bring with me.”

  “Make it quick.”

  The two men followed him inside, waiting impatiently while he called Rebbe Grunfeld. Jacob knew that he could not go through this ordeal alone. Now more than ever he needed a friend to stand alongside him. He quickly told the rebbe about the detectives.

  “They say that I will need a lawyer, but I do not know of one.”

  “I’ll call Abraham Stein from our congregation right away. We’ll meet you at the police station. Don’t worry, Yaacov. It isn’t good for you to worry.”

  But how could he help worrying? Jacob fetched his pills and his overcoat. He locked the doors to his apartment and rode with the detectives to the station. Jacob had never been inside a police station in his life, and he found the noisy, confusing place intimidating. The two detectives made him sit down in a tiny gray room without any windows and began to interrogate him. One of the men stank of perspiration.

  The next hour reminded Jacob of a scene from Hungary in the old days. One after the other the men badgered him with accusations and questions, telling him what he supposedly had done and demanding that he confess. It was the way that Jews had been treated for centuries. He might as well have remained in Hungary.

  “I cannot confess because I am innocent,” Jacob repeated. “I did not start the fire.”

  “Our two witnesses say you did. We’ve been talking to your neighbors all along, you know, keeping the crime fresh in people’s minds. And it finally paid off.”

  “Whoever they are, they are not telling the truth.”

  The room seemed to be running out of air as the men continued to attack him, trying to wear him down. The pain in Jacob’s chest grew worse. Finally he became so weary that he simply stopped talking. They weren’t listening to him anyway.

  “Okay, if you refuse to cooperate, Mr. Mendel, then here’s what’s going to happen. We’re taking you downstairs to be fingerprinted, and then you’ll go into a holding cell until your arraignment. You’re entitled to have your lawyer with you for that.”

  “Will I be spending the night in jail?”

  “The judge will decide that when you are arraigned – but I wouldn’t count on going home, if I were you. Arson is a felony.”

  By the time a policeman finished taking Jacob’s fingerprints, Rebbe Grunfeld had arrived with Abraham Stein. The lawyer listened to Jacob’s story and agreed that they would plead “innocent” at the arraignment. When it was their turn to stand before the judge, Mr. Stein asked that Jacob be released from custody due to his age and health considerations – and to the undue hardship that eating non-kosher food would create.

  “The rabbi of the synagogue in question is willing to vouch for Mr. Mendel’s character, Your Honor. The defendant has no prior criminal history and strong ties to the community.”

  The judge set bail at a moderate amount. Within a matter of minutes, Jacob’s arraignment was over. Once he posted bond, he would be free to go home. Somehow Rebbe Grunfeld managed to scrape up enough money for the bond. By the time Jacob stepped outside into a freezing December night, it had become dark.

  “What happens now?” Jacob asked Mr. Stein.

  “I’ll ask the district attorney for time to research your case and see how credible these two witnesses are. I’ll also need to find out what other evidence they have against you. Once I have all that information, you and I will meet to prepare your defense.”

  “How much time until the case goes to trial?”

  “The courts are short-staffed due to the war. And they usually recess for the holidays, too. We’re probably looking at sometime early next spring for a court date. Unless you want me to petition to have your case tried sooner? You have a right to a speedy trial with felony charges.”

  “No, there is no hurry. I will need time to raise money, somehow. I need to pay you back, Rebbe, for posting bond.”

  “Don’t worry about that for now, Yaacov.”

  “And I must also pay you, Mr. Stein.”

  “I won’t push for a speedy trial, then. In the meantime, Mr. Mendel, take care of yourself.”

  Jacob took a taxi home. He didn’t sleep at all that night. Would the final years of his life be spent in jail? He had lost his wife and his son; now he might lose his home and his freedom. He thought about the story of Joseph, and how he also had been sent to prison for a crime he did not commit. Eventually, Hashem had turned Joseph’s trials into something good. But how could Hashem possibly bring anything good from this?

  CHAPTER 46

  FEBRUARY 1945

  PENNY HUNCHED HER SHOULDERS against the bitter cold as she picked her way down the snowy sidewalk to the apartment. The streets were dark when she left for work in the morning and nearly dark when she returned home, but not only from the setting sun or the overcast skies. The government had ordered a national dim-out all across the country to conserve fuel from January 15 until May 8.

  And now it was snowing again. The steadily falling flakes dusted the shoulders of her overcoat as she walked and made the sidewalks treacherous. Tomorrow she would have to drive the bus through the fresh snowfall. This was her second winter as a bus driver, but she still dreaded driving on slippery, snow-covered streets.

  This winter had seemed especially long to her, and it was only February. Christmas had come and gone ages ago. Last year Roy had made the holiday fun and memorable for Penny and the children, and it had been lonely without him this year. Still, Penny had bought a small Christmas tree and the children helped decorate it. They opened presents on Christmas Day and ate dinner at the duplex. She and the kids had made care packages to send to Eddie and Roy.

  January had brought more cold, snowy weather. On New Year’s Eve, Penny remembered going to the USO dance a year ago with Sheila. How could an entire year have passed, and still the war dragged on? This year, she and the children spent New Year’s Eve in the apartment, listening to the radio and playing Parcheesi.

  Penny climbed the slippery front steps and stopped on the porch to check the mailbox, hoping and praying that there would be a letter from Roy today. Her shoulders sagged when she saw that there wasn’t. How long had it been? More than two and a half months! Roy’s last letter had arrived right after Thanksgiving, and he had been reminiscing about celebrating Christmas with her and the children last year.

  Penny no longer felt mere disappointment each time she saw the empty mailbox, but real fear. She hadn’t told the children how long it had been. As mu
ch as she needed to talk to someone about her concern for Roy’s safety, she hadn’t wanted to upset the kids. They loved Roy, too.

  As Penny stepped into the warm foyer, wiping her boots, Mr. Mendel’s apartment door opened. A man in a dark suit and carrying a briefcase was just leaving. “They’re going to set a trial date for sometime in April,” the man was saying. “But we’ll be in touch before then.”

  “Thank you again, Mr. Stein.”

  “Please, Jacob. Call me Abraham.”

  Mr. Mendel had been away so much lately, Penny hadn’t spoken with him very much. She had seen him coming and going with the white-bearded rabbi and this man with the briefcase and knew they had important business to conduct. She looked at her friend now, and he seemed worn and worried.

  She waited for Mr. Stein to leave and asked, “Is everything okay, Mr. Mendel? You haven’t been sick, have you?”

  “No, Penny. Just busy.”

  “We haven’t seen you in a long time. We’ve missed you.”

  “Would you like to come in? I just made tea.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She left her boots outside his door and followed him into his kitchen, slipping her coat over the back of her chair. He had indeed just made tea, and he poured a cup for her. “I read in the newspaper that Russian troops have arrived in Hungary,” she said as she waited for it to cool.

  “Yes. We are all wondering if mail service might be restored once the country is liberated. But it is still much too soon to hope. The battles are still raging in Budapest. Anything can happen.”

  Again, Penny thought of Roy as she pondered Mr. Mendel’s words: Anything can happen. “The children got a letter from their father yesterday,” she said, blowing on her tea. “He says it’s been a cold winter over in Europe, too.”

  “Are the children well? It seems I am always away when they arrive home from school.”

  “They’re fine. Their Grandmother Fischer picked them up from school today to take them shopping for clothes. That’s why they aren’t home. They’re both growing so fast that nothing fits them anymore.”