Large oaks framed the bricked structure, as well-dressed men and women murmured in low conversation in ornate rocking chairs on the large shaded porches. He gaped at the opulence. Maids in starched white aprons fluffed pillows while uniformed men served refreshments.
Porters scrambled and snatched the bag from his side, while a man with gold buttons and a bright smile scurried up to them, extending his hand to David in greeting. “Mr. and Mrs. Hale, I presume?”
Hale? That was the alias she used? Her grandmother’s maiden name? He’d have to speak to Thad about this.
“Yes.” Amalia giggled, her eyes twinkling a bit in the sunlight peeking through the portico above them. “Judah and I are just so excited to be here and try your cures, aren’t we, darling?”
“Yes, yes, we are.” David coughed to cover his sputter and adjusted his spectacles. Thad went by his grandfather’s name? The man was a consultant for the United States government and that was the best alias he had? To be fair, he used it only to assist his sister with her “research,” but still, a little creativity might be nice.
“Splendid.” The man clapped his hands together. “I’ll show you around so you can get settled. Your luggage will be brought to your room. You have more, don’t you?”
“Oh yes.” Amalia nodded. “Porters, from the railway. I was told you had quite a staff of your own, but obviously we couldn’t carry everything ourselves.”
David fought the urge to roll his eyes. The entire scene was ridiculous, especially given how he was dressed. Threadbare trousers and worn coat, with patches near the cuffs, playing rich husband to little-miss-silks-and-satins-and-lace. Laughable. He’d not even make the “poor relation” category next to Amalia.
And those long-ago insults were back again, flitting through his brain. Especially regarding his cleanliness. He slapped his thigh and a cloud of dust billowed.
Fuck.
Because Yiddish curses weren’t enough for the mortification.
The man in charge didn’t give him or his silence a second glance and continued to chat with Amalia, taking her arm, as they followed him through the well-appointed rooms. David shoved his hands in his pockets and ducked his head as a rather snooty desk clerk gave him a sideways glance. Fine. He removed his hands and placed them at his sides. Just fine. He scampered a bit to keep up with his “wife.”
Wife.
Something he’d never have. Something he couldn’t have. Something he shouldn’t have nor want.
And yet Amalia and an entire staff would be throwing it around for a day. At least there was no specific policy against drinking on the job.
Chapter Thirteen
The hotel’s dining room was in the oldest portion of the building, a stone tavern dating back from George Washington’s time. Lanterns hung from the ceiling and candlelight illuminated each setting. The two were shown to a table in a dark corner, near a fireplace where a light flame warmed the chilly night air.
“The food here is supposed to be quite delicious.” Amalia turned the menu over in her hands, scanning.
“Well, there’s trout and salmon, or do you eat other things?” David coughed, his head down, focused on his own reading.
Ah. He was going to tread into that territory—into observance, the topic they’d avoided even that first Passover, whispering together through the Seder. Funny, she’d described her undergarments to this man, but never once spoke about what she ate outside her parents’ home, or more accurately, what she didn’t. And how long she waited before having cream puffs after roast chicken, or her family’s opinion on dozens of other Talmudic laws.
“We trained our own butcher, so we have meat at home, as you saw. Obviously, our family in Philadelphia has multiple sources, but when we’re with non-Jews...” Amalia toyed with a curl. “We don’t insult people when we’re their guests, but provided a dairy option, we choose not to tread into forbidden territory. If there’s fish, we eat the fish.”
David nodded before laying down his menu, so she had a view of his entire face, his skin golden in the candlelight, his thick fan of black lashes near glittering.
“You make it easy to be liked, or at least accepted. Don’t cause too much trouble?” He pulled out one of his tzitzis and fingered it. “Make them comfortable with us by emphasizing the parts that are like them.”
And there was no good response to that. Because there was truth there. Even if she didn’t divide things neatly in her head with regards to “us” and “them,” the way her great-uncle and grandfather had.
Her family, and many others, behaved in just that way for years. And thrived because of it. It assured their survival and the survival of Judaism while allowing them to rise, to gain rights, but when David put it that way... She tugged at her fingers.
“Well, the parts of us that are like your father’s family.” His lips quirked.
And now she wasn’t hungry at all. Not in the slightest. The guilt gnawed. How did she go so many years never questioning anything, just accepting? No wonder she’d been so miserable. “That’s a bit unfair. My father’s family are good people.”
“I don’t doubt that.” David shrugged. “I’m just wondering why they are the center, the standard.”
“I—” Amalia’s mind whirled. “But aren’t we ‘the chosen people’ or what have you? We’re separated by definition?”
David leaned back and smirked a little. “Interesting argument. So if we take that a step further, we should live separately from them, like in the east, shouldn’t we? Not care about intermingling. Like my relatives?”
“No, because then we’d always be vulnerable. And we’d lack rights. And we’d relinquish the benefits of being a part of the larger community. And we couldn’t be truly American.” She leaned forward. “I like being American. We’re the country of liberty.” She balled her hands.
“How can everyone be free if you enslaved people for years?” His arms were on the table, his eyes fiery.
“We fixed that.” Her cheeks grew hot.
“Have we really? Or is there still one type of ideal American, like there’s one type of German, and the rest of us must emulate them, but still be treated as secondary, as visitors? Never reaching true equality? After all, isn’t part of the reason that you donate anonymously because you don’t want the fact you’re a Jew to hurt the cause you support?” He cocked his chin.
“But it shouldn’t be like that. It isn’t supposed to be like that. And what we did was wrong—slavery was wrong—beyond wrong—and the beliefs that perpetuated it were wrong—are wrong. I’m only saying that something better is possible, For everyone. Right here. It has to be. Because look at us, yes, there are complications, but most people are nice to me and my family. Nicer than the gentiles are back in Europe. So if it’s possible for us, it should be possible for anyone. And shouldn’t I want to retain that—expand it, extend it, instead of giving it up?” She really should fan herself.
“But what if extending that to everyone no longer seems possible? What then? You’d sacrifice what’s right for that sort of comfort?” He was so intent and intense. “I find that hard to believe. I think, when really confronted with that choice, you’d choose differently.”
She gaped at him for a moment. Would she? She’d like to believe she would, but who really knew?
After all, she was far from wise and the waters were so murky. Where did one draw the line-in-the-sand so to speak? When was something you believed in, something you wanted, something you loved, no longer fixable? Did he really have that much faith in her ability to know?
He glanced back down at the menu. “I’m thinking trout though. It’s probably fresh.” He nodded a little to himself, oblivious to how much his words affected her. “With potatoes.”
Amalia blinked. Being with him could be so dizzying. One moment he could illuminate the unfairness of the world and the next he could attempt to
order bland food. Which certainly didn’t make her need to clutch the table so she didn’t leap across it and tear off his clothes.
Well, no one could say he was boring.
“So that sounds good to you as well?” he asked, his eyes focused entirely on her, that small twitching smile visible under the surface, as if he could tell where her mind was.
“I don’t care for potatoes.” She wrinkled her nose. Mealy, flavorless balls of nothing.
“Really?” David swiped off his spectacles and blinked at her.
“Really.” She straightened in her seat, her pulse thrumming a little. “I don’t care for prunes either. Nor pumpkins.” Amalia shuddered at the memory of the slimy squash. Much more appropriate than picturing arguing with him in bed. Naked.
Food, Amalia, stick to food.
David gave her a blank stare.
“I’ve surprised you.” She wagged her fork at him. “Thad must not have included that in his information.”
“Your dinner preferences are sadly absent. I’ll most certainly have to correct that. We wouldn’t want it to be an incomplete file.” David’s eyes flashed in challenge. “It seems you might have some secrets after all, Miss Truitt.” He scooted up in his chair, his elbows edging up the table. “Though I promise you, I’ll find them all out. Every last one of them.”
Her breath hitched and her skin flushed as if the smoldering fire roared beneath her flesh, all meal discussions gone from her mind. “Well, no one ever said you aren’t determined.”
“That I am, and with you...” He laid his hands on the table and flipped them so his palms faced the ceiling, as if he was proving he hid nothing. He lifted his head and his focus was on her, only her. “I missed you, Amalia, these past few years. Before, I enjoyed talking with you, writing to you, spending time with you.”
“Which parts of it?” Amalia’s innards quivered both from the warm tingles the words brought and from something else, something hard and sharp beating at her brain. A warning.
No. She pushed it down. She didn’t need it now or tonight. The day had been so long, too long to delve into those waters. She could pretend nothing bad happened, that she couldn’t be hurt again, indulge in the fizzles. “Feel free to be as specific as you want. And do you still feel that way?”
He stared at her and her mind stuttered. Was she doing it wrong? Could she no longer even get seduction right? Was she that out of practice?
She ran her tongue over her teeth, before forcing the words through her lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just, my spirit needs a little...”
“A little what?” He rested his chin on his hands, elbows creasing the white cloth, but his gaze on her and her alone. The heat returned.
“Kindness? Flattery?” She shrugged. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. So many. No one says anything to my face, but I can feel the disappointment. And I’m sure there are whispers. You’ve seen the letters. Imagine what everyone who knows me says when I’m not around.”
David only nodded.
She flipped back her hair. “Anyway, after learning I’m not just a failure, but a failure someone is rather determined to hurt—I just want to feel, well, like they are wrong, like there’s no merit in any of it. That I’m not quite an incompetent mess.” That I’m worthy of that faith you have in me, at least a little. Not that she could say that out loud.
His hands stilled. “Well, you are a mess.”
Ouch. Not what he was supposed to say, not at all. She raised a finger to wag it at him, to argue back the hurt, but he grabbed it and brought it to his lips for a moment.
“A rather beautiful mess. Like a snowstorm.” His eyes glimmered in the candlelight as he stared at her.
“Snowstorms are deadly and cold.” She snatched back her hand and folded her arms.
“Well, you aren’t cold.” He smirked a little. “Though I’m rather fond of cold. The summers here are sweltering.”
“You just need to wear more breathable fabric.” She gave him a half smile that couldn’t possibly have reached her eyes. She was not intended to be an actress. That was why she wrote, not spoke.
David released a slow sigh. “Amalia, I don’t know why you did all the things you did, but I’m sure you had reasons. You aren’t actually a dullard.”
“Naïve, at best, incompetent is more like it.” Her eyes burned. “And probably proving your points about marriage being just another way that society promotes inequality and keeps the masses down and that it should be abolished altogether.”
Before he could say anything else, the waiter brought their meals and the two ate in silence. The trout was smoked to perfection and the spinach bright and soft and should’ve made her smile, but it didn’t. It all tasted like dust. Still, she managed to get it down.
“I said that? I said that marriage should be abolished?” He grimaced. “I wasn’t particularly romantic as a teenager, was I?”
Amalia snorted, even if everything inside her was tight once more. Her fork clattered against her plate.
“I also was a bit narrow-minded.” David adjusted his napkin. “I don’t believe in it, certainly not for myself, but that was a touch harsh.”
Amalia could only stare at him, so many thoughts and questions swirling in her head.
“It’s funny, I always assumed I would one day. At least when I was a child.” David shoved a forkful of potatoes in his mouth. He placed his napkin on the table. “I was supposed to study and then marry whomever the matchmaker found for me and live out my days like my grandfather, and his grandfather before him.” He leaned back and folded his hands across his chest, an almost sardonic expression gracing his face. “You aren’t the only one whose plans didn’t come to fruition, you know?”
What did he mean by that? Amalia forced herself to pause, not speak, lest he told more of the story, lest he trusted her a bit more. Every fiber in her strained to hear, to learn, to know all of David.
“What happened?” Amalia rested her chin on her good arm, her elbow just off the table. A bit improper, but no one was paying attention to them.
“It turns out that I’m not the sort of man you want to maintain a community with.” He shrugged, but didn’t elaborate and she certainly couldn’t ask. “So I left and...well... I got a bit lost. I spent some time in Berlin and tried things, saw things...” He ran his hand through his hair. “Amalia, do you know why I came to America?”
She shook her head.
“I woke up one day, sick from eating pork, but equally as sick with the idea of living under the thumb of the tsar. I knew there was nothing for me in Europe.” David stared for a moment before sighing. “I came for ‘opportunity.’” He drummed his fingers on his knee, his eyes down for a moment. “For most people that means for a decent job. But for me, it was more because I realized that Europe could never be, as you say, ‘fixed.’ At least not any time soon.”
Amalia didn’t say anything, willing him to continue, to let her in. That first dinner she’d done so much of the talking... And afterwards, in their letters and even the few moments together, she’d been the only one to offer personal details.
Oh sure, David spoke. He could expound endlessly on what was wrong with the world and on how to make it right with verve and passion and fire that was infectious. But about people—not the crowd—specific, real people? Or himself? Who he’d be in the world he wanted to create? He’d always said very little.
“For people like me, Jews without means, America is the opportunity to own land or to live where we want for the first time. To have any job. To excel. To have a chance at some sort of equality, whether we assimilate or not. Because no matter how much we do, in Europe, it’ll never be enough. Here there’s a real possibility of something better.” He adjusted his spectacles and shrugged. “I knew it was no Garden of Eden. Discussions of slavery were all over Berlin.”
He leaned forward. “But America
is young. And I agree with you—I believe it can be changed, it can still be fixed. And I can help make it happen, without renouncing who I am, which is better than the life I thought I wanted. I just have to figure out where I fit in. Easy right?” David tapped his fist against his lips, his eyes far away.
She cleared her throat and his gaze returned to hers. He folded his hands in his lap.
“But, back to marriage. Let me tell you a story.” His half smile made her heart ache, or more her limbs itched to crawl onto his lap and lay her head against his shoulder and swear it would all somehow be right.
Instead, she just let him talk. “Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman. A girl and a boy really. Both from Grodno. The boy was the son of a bookseller, but the girl’s grandfather was a rabbi. Her father had died when she was young and she had four older sisters. So pedigree, but no dowry.”
All the rest of the noise in the restaurant faded as Amalia pictured the scene in her mind. The youngest, the last, the afterthought child.
“Anyway, when they were each seventeen the matchmakers put them together. Their families liked the look of them as a couple and they were married.” He stared over her head, as if picturing the two, their wedding. Even younger than she’d been the first time. She gulped—loud enough that he turned back to her. “She quickly became pregnant. She had two daughters and a son. The girls looked like her and the son like him.”
“And they all lived happily ever after?” She wrinkled her nose a little at the concept since she’d never come close.
David gave a derisive snort. “No. The boy became a man and continued his father’s trade. His business was mildly successful, but he needed more. He read a great deal and was restless. He’d take his cart to the other side of town, where the...”
“Gentiles lived?” Another gulp. Amalia worked to push back thoughts of her father and how he never converted into the back of her mind. She and her siblings were Jewish and her family was outwardly Jewish, but if the story was going the way one would guess...she squirmed in her chair.
Dalliances & Devotion Page 13