“Oh, I am sorry. How do you do it all?”
“It’s alright. I manage. I don’t really have any choice. And between what my father left us, and the money I earn, we survive.”
“Please, if I can help in any way, you must not hesitate to ask.”
“That is very kind of you, but we’re fine.”
“Here, let me get you some tea. I have some lovely biscuits as well, and it is not so often that I have company. Will you please share them with me? I would enjoy that so much.”
“Then, yes, of course I will.” She wasn’t hungry, but it didn’t matter. Here she was, alone with Mr. Taylor. He’d asked her to call him Don. He liked her. He wanted her to be his girlfriend. She was so excited, and nervous she could hardly contain herself.
Don Taylor got up and put the teakettle on the stove, then took a swig from a bottle of vodka that was on the counter. Zofia studied the pictures on the walls and wondered what life might be like in America.
When Don returned, he put another record on the turntable. He wound the crank and placed the needle carefully on the edge of the black vinyl.
“Bei mir bist du sheon…” a sultry female voice sang out in German.
“You like it?” Mr. Taylor asked.
“Oh yes, very much.”
“Come, dance with me.”
“I don’t know how,” Zofia said, blushing. She felt inferior. She’d never learned to dance. There had been no one to teach her.
“Come on.” He took her hand “I’ll show you. You’ll get this quickly. You have a great sense of rhythm.”
At first, she was clumsy. But the smooth beat of the swing music took hold and she began to loosen up. She giggled as he spun and flipped her.
“I love this.” She laughed. “I can’t remember when I had so much fun.”
“I’m glad.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling.
He is so attractive. He would make the perfect husband. I don’t care if he is Jewish or not. I like him so much. I could see us living happily together in this apartment. I would decorate it a little bit; add a few touches here and there.
The piecing whistle of the teakettle brought her back to reality.
“I’ll be right back.” Donald winked at her.
In a few minutes, Donald returned with a plate of shortbread biscuits a pot of tea a small bowl of sugar and two cups on a tray.
“I am so glad you came today. I don’t know if I should tell you this. It is certainly out of line and I hope you will not take it in the wrong way, but…well…I think you are the prettiest girl in my class.”
Zofia quickly glanced at Donald, and then turned away. She knew her face was deep red. But she was so flattered. Perhaps it was true… Perhaps he really did like her… Perhaps they would marry…
“You really think so?” Zofia asked, her voice small and cracked.
“Undoubtedly. I thought so from the first day.”
Involuntarily she sat up a little straighter. “No one has ever told me that I was pretty before.” She bit her lower lip.
“That’s because the boys in your grade are just that, boys. Any man, who is a man, would tell you that you are gorgeous.”
“Oh…” The word caught in her throat.
He laughed. “And you’re even lovelier when you blush.”
She cast her eyes down. Looking desperately for something to do to cover the awkwardness she felt, she poured the tea. A small puddle formed on the tray.
“I’m sorry, I’ve spilled it,” she said. Putting the teapot down, she picked up the linen napkin and began to clean the mess.
He took her hand in his it was small and soft. “No need to clean up.” He said. “I’ll take care of that later.” She dropped the cloth.
“Your hand…the skin is so soft.” He caressed her hand. She did not pull away.
Then he opened her hand and brought her palm to his lips. He is in love with me too, the same as I have been with him all these months. Her eyes glazed over with passion and joy.
“You are very special to me, Zofia,” he whispered. His voice was husky.
Without another word, he took her into his arms and kissed her. It was the first time any man had kissed Zofia. She shivered in his arms, but her body went limp as she yielded to the warmth. It had been years since anyone had touched her, and she was starved for the affection. At first, she was timid. But when he kissed her, again her arms went around him. His kiss became more demanding. She didn’t back away. Instead, she found that her desire matched his. Donald leaned her back on the sofa. He gazed into her eyes.
“Zofia…” He whispered. But that was not what Zofia heard. What she heard was, “I love you,” even though he never said it.
Everything happened very fast. Nature, youth, and hormones took over, and before Zofia realized how far things had gone, she and Don had consummated their friendship and become lovers.
Once he’d finished, he stood up, clearly sobered by his actions.
“I’m sorry, Zofia. I don’t know what got into me.” He brushed the hair out of his eyes and quickly pulled his pants on zipping them.
She didn’t answer. Why was he sorry? She wasn’t sorry.
“Please, forgive me. Let’s pretend that this never happened.”
“Why? I am not sorry it happened,” she said.
“Zofia, I am too old for you and besides I am your teacher. I didn’t mean to take liberties with you. My goodness, you were just so lovely and so willing… What was I to do? You must promise to keep this a secret, because if anyone finds out I will be fired from the school.”
“I would never tell anyone. It is our special secret. But,” she hesitated, her heart breaking a little, “you are not too old for me. I am very mature for my age.” She sat up, pulling her clothes back around her body, suddenly ashamed of her nakedness.
“That you are. But you deserve better than me. I am nothing more than an old alcoholic schoolteacher. You have your whole life ahead of you. There will be many men, better men than me.” He spoke fast, his hand continually running through his long hair.
Then even though the sofa was dark in color, he saw the spot of blood.
“Oh!” he said, as if he’d been hit by a train. “I had no idea. You were a virgin?”
“Yes.” She hung her head, could not look directly at him.
“I’m sorry. I really am.” He walked over to the kitchen counter and poured himself a shot of vodka. After he drank it in a single gulp, he poured another.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I think its best that you do.” Donald was flushed. “Here take the record player and this pile of records. They are a gift, no need to return them.” He said handing her the coat and hat she’d worn to his apartment and loading the heavy pile of records and player onto the table in front of her.
She was trembling and holding back the tears as she put her coat on. There should be something she could say, but she could think of nothing. She wanted to say, “I thought you loved me,” but the words would not come. Instead, Donald ushered her out and before she knew it, Zofia was walking home, carrying a heavy load.
After he closed the door, Donald threw his vodka glass at the wall, his face burnt with anger. Why couldn’t he stop seducing these young students? This was dangerous. He could lose his job, and maybe worse.
Chapter 9
When Lena arrived at Zofia’s house, on Monday morning Zofia was still in bed but she got up to answer the door.
“Are you sick?” Lena asked.
“I’m not going to school today.”
“I can see that. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I think I am going to quit.”
“Are you crazy? You love school. Why would you leave?”
“I am going to work full time. My mother and I need the money.”
“It’s only a few months to graduation, why don’t you just stick it out?”
“I can’t. We need the money now. I am going to talk to my boss and see if he will
give me more hours.”
“Are you sure, Zof?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Then I guess I should go. I’ll see you later, after school maybe?”
“Maybe… I don’t know what hours Mr. Bidowsky will want me to work.
“I’ll try to drop by and see if you’re here.”
“All right.”
Zofia did not go to work that day. She stayed in bed. When Lena knocked at the door after school, she didn’t answer. How could she have been such an idiot? How could she have made such a fool of herself? Her mother’s demands continued. She had been ill for so long now that she did not get out of bed unless she had to go to the bathroom. Zofia realized that her mother’s illness was more mental than physical. She had died inside when she lost her husband and now she just lay in bed waiting for the time she would join him. Usually Zofia brought her trays of food and tried her best to engage her in light conversation. But today Zofia had her own bundle of emotions to contend with, and so she just got out of bed to bring her mother a slice of bread with a little butter and some tea. Then she sat on the chair in the living room gazing out at nothing and wondering where she could go from here. Determined not to face Mr. Taylor, Donald, she decided that she was going to find work, full-time work and leave school forever. She would miss her friends and she’d always done well in her studies, but seeing him and reliving her humiliation was far too much to bear. Tomorrow she would ask Mr. Bidowsky to teach her more about the diamond business. Up until now, she’d done little more than keep the store clean, and occasionally help a customer. Perhaps he might hire her to learn the trade.
Lena came by again the following morning. Zofia ached to get dressed and go off to school. She felt empty inside as if a part of her life had ended, and ended abruptly. But she could not bring erself to face him. So, she bid Lena farewell, got dressed and walked to Bidowsky’s jewelry store.
“Zofia, what brings you here so early in the morning?” Mrs. Bidowsky asked.
“I have a problem. I need to talk to you and Mr. Bidowsky.”
“Yes, dear. Of course. Come in. You want some tea, maybe a little something to eat?”
“No, thank you.”
“Sammie, Zofia, is here. She needs to talk to us. Come take a minute.”
The Bidowskys lived behind the store in a small apartment. Zofia followed Mrs. Bidowsky back to the small kitchen where they both sat down at the table.
Mrs. Bidowsky took a small glass jug of milk out of the icebox.
“Here, you’ll have a little milk?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“I insist. You can’t come to my house and not have a little bit of something...” Mrs. Bidowsky said smiling. She poured a glass milk and gave Zofia a thick slice of bread. “You should eat a little bit; you’re so skinny.” She smiled at Zofia then called out again “Sam? Come on. What are you doing?”
“All right. Give me a minute… I’m coming.”
When they were all seated, Zofia looked at the kind faces of her boss and his wife. God forgive me for lying…
“Mr. and Mrs. Bidowsky, my mother and I have fallen on hard times. As you know my mother, Selda, is ill, bedridden. It seems that the money my father left us is running out. I must leave school and find full-time work. Can you extend my hours? I am willing to learn the business so that I can help you even more efficiently.”
Mr. Bidowsky ran his hand over his beard. “I don’t know if I can afford to give you any more hours. My son George is finishing school and he will need a job.”
“What can we do to help her?” Mrs. Bidowsky asked. She was a heavyset woman with a round face, soft blue eyes, and a warm smile.
“I can give you a little bit of money. Perhaps that will help.”
“No, I don’t want to take your money. I am looking for a trade. Something for the future,” she said.
“You don’t want to finish school?” Mrs. Bidowsky asked.
“I can’t. I need to find work.”
The older woman nodded.
“You know, I heard that the seamstress, Mrs. Kolowsky is looking for a girl to apprentice. She is only a few blocks from here. Do you sew?” Mrs. Bidowsky asked.
“I haven’t but I could learn. I am a quick learner.”
“She is a friend of mine. Well, not exactly a friend. But I know her. She has done alterations for me, plenty.” Mrs. Bidowsky laughed and her large tummy shook. “Give me a few minutes, I have some things to do, but then I will go with you and talk to her. How will that be, Zofia?”
“That’s so kind of you, Mrs. Bidowsky.”
“Oy, it’s nothing.” She smiled.
“I am glad we can help.” Mr. Bidowsky said. “I hope the seamstress will be able to give you work.”
“Yes, so do I.”
After she bundled up against the cold, Mrs. Bidowsky put her arm through Zofia’s and together they walked the two blocks to the storefront of the seamstress.
“Good Morning, Mrs. Bidowsky.”
“Good Morning, Fruma. This is Zofia.”
“Good Morning Zofia. Sit down ladies. What can I do for you? Let me guess, maybe this is George’s bashart? Are we going to be making a wedding dress?”
Zofia blushed. Esther Bidowsky cleared her throat. “No, nothing like that, not that I would be opposed.” She smiled at Zofia. “But that’s not it at all. Zofia is our part-time employee. Last year her father passed away, God rest his soul, and her mother is ill. She needs full-time work, but we don’t have the work for her. I heard from some of the ladies that I play cards with that you might be looking for an apprentice. I can tell you that she is reliable, and a very good worker. Maybe you would consider giving her a job.”
Mrs. Kolowsky scrutinized Zofia. Her eyes traveled over the girl until Zofia looked away.
“She looks capable.” Mrs. Kolowsky said. “If you want the job I will give you a try. You are going to find, however, that sometimes we will have to work long hours into the night if we have a special event, like sometimes a wedding dress needs to be finished. You understand this? And I cannot afford to pay you seamstress wages while you are learning. It will be much less until you know what you are doing. But if you do well, then you will make a decent salary.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am grateful for the opportunity.”
“All right then. You come tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Yes ma’am. And thank you.”
After Zofia and Mrs. Bidowsky left, they walked to the end of the block, where they would separate. Zofia going north towards her home, Mrs. Bidowsky headed south.
“I cannot thank you enough for doing this for me,” Zofia said, and she squeezed the older woman’s arm.
“I am glad it worked out the way that it did.”
“Yes, so am I.”
“Listen, maybe some time you are going to come to my house? You’ll have some cake and meet my George? He is a good boy, a Jewish boy from a good family. It’s hard to find a nice Jewish girl, these days.”
Zofia smiled, but inside her heart was breaking. She wasn’t a nice Jewish girl anymore. She’d done something bad. She’d sinned. Zofia believed herself undeserving of a boy like George.
The following day Zofia arrived at “Perfect Stitches,” Fruma Kolowsky’s dressmaking shop, fifteen minutes early. She sat outside waiting for Mrs. Kolowsky to open the door.
“Good morning, you are early. That is a good thing. It shows me that you care about your job.”
“I care very much, Mrs. Kolowsky.”
“You and I will be working very closely together, so you might as well call me Fruma.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“All right then, let’s get started.”
Zofia followed Fruma’s direction but it seemed as if her stitches were always crooked or in some way displeasing to Mrs. Kolowsky.
“Remove this line and try again. I cannot have such sloppy work. You will learn to do this perfectly before you
will work on my clients’ orders.”
Zofia resented Mrs. Kolowsky. She was demanding and overbearing. Every stitch had to be perfect. She gave no slack.
“Slave driver,” Zofia whispered under her breath as another customer came in and Fruma was busy helping her.
Zofia worked from early in the morning until well past sundown. Every day she stitched and removed, stitched and removed, cut and measured patterns to Mrs. Kolowsky’s standards of perfection.
November passed to January, and then to February and still Zofia was only an apprentice. Her back ached from sitting at the sewing machine for hours. But she had something even greater to worry about. Zofia had not seen her menstrual blood since the month before her moment of indiscretion with Donald Taylor. She tried to deny it to herself. Perhaps I am just late because I have been going through so many changes in my life. But she knew better. She was nauseous and could not eat. She was very tired. And her belly was growing. Zofia was pregnant.
On a brisk morning in March, Helen Sobczak came in, Zofia looked up from her machine to see a woman just a few years older than herself, lovely, with blonde curly hair and soft blue eyes. Fruma had left to go to the bakery where she would purchase some rolls to share with Zofia.
“May I help you?” Zofia asked the beautiful blonde.
“Hello, my name is Helen. My mother and I have been coming here since I was just a little girl. Is Mrs. Kolowsky gone?”
“No, she just went to Zuckerman’s bakery. When that Mrs. Zuckerman bakes, the smell is so wonderful that everyone who works on this street lines up to buy the bread. I am Zofia, her apprentice.”
“Hello, Zofia, it’s so nice to meet you. Well, let me get to the point of why I am here. I am getting married in the summer. I would like to have a dress made for my wedding.”
“I am sure we can help you. But I have a feeling that Fruma will probably want to take your measurements herself.”
“Yes, probably so, but if you want to try and then compare them to hers, I don’t mind.” She smiled. Zofia liked her right away.
You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2) Page 6