“What?” she asked.
“Just read it.” Her mother swished her skirts a little. “Though next time, dear, if your editor is going to print letters from the general public, tell me in advance so I can write something. I have a few things I’d like the world to hear as well.” She winked, before linking arms with Isaac and strolling out of the room, leaving Amalia to stare down at the typeface.
Chapter Thirty
In response to our esteemed beauty expert’s last column, I have a few thoughts. First, it was excellently written: intelligent, cogent, and concise. Second, I’d like to add a few points: I most certainly agree that a person should have the freedom to be who and what makes them happy, after all, isn’t that what America, our great country, is supposed to be about?
Further, I believe that a person brave enough to make what they want known deserves a partner who will listen and accept them. They deserve someone who will not denigrate their desires out of their own fear and ignorance. They deserve a person who will be equally brave and work to find happiness for the both of them.
I made the mistake of failing to do that and lost someone very dear. I could only see potential pitfalls instead of what we could be together, what we could have together, if we stopped being afraid. They may not have made their wishes known directly, but I should’ve paid better attention, read between the lines.
I wish I could do it all over again because I believe we actually want the same things. I was too afraid, too blinded by my own feelings of inadequacy to understand how precious what we had was, how it had the potential to be so much more, if I could’ve moved out of my own way.
Thank you so much, Madame A, for your column. Hopefully, your readers will heed your advice and demand what they deserve. And hopefully, you’ll find someone with whom you can do the same.
David had never shivered so hard in his life. Not even in the middle of the forest, running from the Russian army. And here he was, shaking worse than a flag in a storm as she read the letter, read his letter that he and Thad strong-armed her editor into printing.
Droplets plinked against the newsprint. Now that wouldn’t do. He raced through the doorway and knelt before her, placing his hands in her lap.
“Oh god, Amalia, please don’t cry.” He gentled the paper away from her and laid it on the floor so he could stare up at her. And beg. Because he really needed to do a great deal of begging. And groveling. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to make you cry.”
“What did you mean for it to do?” She crossed her arms and scooted a bit away from him. Not a good sign. Her expression was so cold and stern, she could probably make men surrender with one glance. Her parents may claim she was the female version of her father, but her terrifying mother was certainly in there too—in the most breathtaking way possible.
“I meant for it to get your attention.” And now his voice was shaking. This was not off to the most auspicious start. Still, he had to keep going, had to brave it out, for both their sakes.
“Why?” An audible grit of the teeth. Oy. Not promising. Not that he deserved for her to make it easy.
David counted to three in his head, summoning all his courage so he could stare her straight in the eye. “Because I want to apologize, but don’t quite know how to begin.” He glanced up at her. No tears, only cold, hard blinks.
“‘I’m sorry’ usually works. I’ve said it enough times to you.” And she didn’t even smile. No wonder her classroom was always under control. Behind all the pink and the ruffles and powder, there truly was steel. And oy, if that didn’t give him inappropriate thoughts that he’d need to get rid of, posthaste.
Because now wasn’t about that. Now was about making sure she knew how much she meant to him, and promising to make sure she’d never doubt that ever again.
“I know.” He clasped his hands together. “And I am sorry.”
“Why?” she asked again, though her voice was a touch warmer, giving him undeserved hope.
“Well, for one thing, for the same reason you were sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you.” He adjusted his spectacles.
“Lied to me?” She placed her hands on her hips. “What did you lie about?”
“About not believing in marriage—though I do have genuine issues with the laws surrounding it—about not wanting to get married, about not being able to get married.”
She snorted. “Well, obviously you can do it. Even I knew that was figurative, not literal. And of course you take issues with the laws. You take issues with most laws. That’s part of your, what do you call it? Shtuck?”
He blinked. What did she mean—oh. “My shtick?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “That’s the word. But, that’s neither here nor there. You were lying to spare my feelings.”
“No, I was lying to spare mine.” He swallowed. “Because I didn’t want you to say ‘no.’ Or to tell me that you couldn’t so I pretended it was my choice without giving you the chance to reject me. I rejected you and myself, or more I rejected us, before you could.”
“Oh.” Her response was breathy, but clear.
“What do you want?” He laid his hands on her lap, and thankfully, she didn’t remove them, just covered them with her own. An excellent sign.
“I want the same thing that I’ve always wanted,” she said. “I want a family.” She pursed her lips. “Now I don’t necessarily know if that means children or not and I now realize it definitely includes Lydia, Rachel, and Isaac, even if they can be annoying, but I want you to be part of it too.”
And that was all he needed. If his knees hadn’t been asleep, he’d have leaped up and danced. Instead, he just squeezed both her hands. “How?” “I want you to live here. I want to talk to you every single day. I want to share everything with you.” She bit her lip. “And I want to be able to call you my husband. I want to let everyone know that we’re a family, that we’re partners.”
“I’d like that too.” More than anything.
“You would?” And now there were tears in her eyes again.
“Very much.” He climbed on the couch next to her, still holding her hands. “Oh god. I’m so sorry. I’m a...putz.”
“I think Meg called you a shmuck.” She sniffed a little.
She was really doing a good job with the Yiddish. His heart swelled.
“Same difference.” He kissed each knuckle one more time. “I loved you then and I love you now, even more. Actually, much more. It grows and matures every day and I don’t want a life without you, a family without you.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry that I made you doubt that, that I let my lack of faith in myself ruin everything.”
She sighed. “You weren’t the only one. I could’ve been braver, spoken up more and certainly didn’t have to lie about being engaged and worse, marry the first person to meet the description of my fictitious partner.” She glanced down at her lap, spreading the bright pink, the fuchsia folds.
“You what?” He gasped a little. “You weren’t engaged and you married Ethan because...”
“I wanted to marry you and lied because I was hurt and didn’t want to look pathetic.” She winced. “I’m so sorry. I was young and foolish and—”
“You weren’t the only one.” He closed his eyes for a long moment. They really were both rather ridiculous, weren’t they?
“I truly am sorry. You needed a better partner. And will have one. So you don’t have to do everything yourself.” He scratched his head and reached into the pocket of his dark gray wool coat. He’d worn his best for the occasion. “I um...got you something.”
“Oh, David. You didn’t need to. I don’t need anything but you, here.” She shook her head, turning up her lips in that smile he so loved. “And besides, I know how you feel about money.”
He grimaced. “I’m not that negative about it, am I?”
She wrinkled her
nose and gave him an adorable half shrug.
Oy. He pulled her into his arms. “I must be completely insufferable. I have no idea how you put up with me.”
“Because I love you, you shmendreck.” She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.
“Good one.” He rubbed his arm. She was as strong as her brothers too. How did he get so lucky? “Anyway.” He unfolded the butcher paper so she could sniff the soap he’d crafted. “Magnolias. From the Truitt properties. So a little bit of that home in this home.”
That won him a full smile. With teeth. His heart soared. His chest filled as if beautiful, warm light was pouring through him. Oh god, he really did love her, didn’t he? What had taken him so long to accept it?
He reached in his pocket and removed the ring his grandfather sent him from Europe. “This I requested. From my other family, who it turns out I misjudged as well. I’ve been on a bit of an apology tour.” He tugged at his hair. “This one is the most important one.”
Amalia didn’t say anything. She just stared at the small, plain gold band that used to be his grandmother’s, her grayish eyes wide.
“You don’t have to take it. It’s your choice.” It truly was. It had to be mutual. “I’ll understand if you don’t—coverture and the potential for being an abandoned wife and all. We can be part of a family some other way. That’s the advantage of me being a radical and all.”
She threw him another smile that rivaled the brightest sunshine and giggled a little. “I do enjoy that about you. For some odd reason it makes me, well...we’ll have that discussion when my mother and Isaac aren’t in the other room.” Amalia reached up and wiped something from his eye. “I love you, have always loved you, and just want to find a way to be with you, but so neither of us is at a disadvantage, where neither of us has to change too much. I want us to build a world together, not fit into each other’s, to be a family, no matter what we call it.”
Her hands shook so hard he had to clasp them in his again. He rubbed them with his. “I want that too. I love you, Amalia, for who you really are, how you argue and push and challenge me. How you try to make the world a better place but still remind me to laugh and enjoy a good cup of coffee and watching you in a pretty gown. And more, I love who I am with you. How you make each day better and easier. And I want the whole world to know that. I want to be able to call you my wife.”
“Really?” she whispered.
“Really.” And he’d do his darnedest to show he meant that.
“Oh good, because I want that too.” She ran a hand through his hair, searching his eyes. “You’d be willing to be husband number three?”
“I’d be honored.” In any way, in any story.
She wrinkled her nose. “That feels like such a dubious title.”
“I like it. It’s a bit risqué. I feel like that Italian fellow your brother and Will discussed. What’s his name?” David kissed the back of her hand once more, a million lustful thoughts already sprouting in his head. “Casanova. That’s the one.”
“Rabbi Casanova. Scandalous.” Amalia snickered at her own joke. “You really are going to challenge me for the ‘naughty’ title, aren’t you?” She scooted onto his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, tugging him closer. He growled a little and caught her free hand, pressing a kiss onto the ribbon of skin between her glove and cuff. And licked.
She, in turn, nipped his ear, which didn’t at all make him near go mad with lust. Her mother and Isaac were leaving soon, weren’t they?
“You bet your bloomers,” he said. “Or are they knickers?” He stroked her cheek and she burrowed herself against him. He bent down and she tilted her chin up at him, those deep red lips, so tempting. He brushed them with his, just a little, before pulling back. “But yes, I will compete with you for that, every day for the rest of our lives.”
“Good,” she said and before he could respond she was kissing him right back, with all the passion and joy and love he could ever want. Oh yes, she was the best kind of trouble, and he’d enjoy every moment of it.
* * *
Reviews are an invaluable tool when it comes to spreading the word about great reads. Please consider leaving an honest review for this or any of Carina Press’s other titles that you’ve read on your favorite retailer or review site.
To purchase and read more books by Felicia Grossman, please visit her website at feliciagrossmanauthor.com/books.
Author’s Note
As in all my books, for Dalliances & Devotion, I blended history and fiction, taking occasional liberties. Much of the historical detail is grounded in fact, but modified for the story. Rabbi David Einhorn, Rabbi Sabato Morais, General Gouverneur K. Warren, Lieutenant Charles Hazlett, and Lieutenant Benjamin Rittenhouse were all real people. Bedford Springs most certainly existed and still exists, under different ownership. As for the springs, visitors have to test those for themselves.
One of the interesting thoughts I had while writing Dalliances & Devotion, comparing it to Appetites & Vices, the first in the series, is how this book has very little anti-Semitism on the page, and yet, anti-Semitism didn’t decrease between 1841 and 1871.
One can attribute some of that difference to power dynamics. Appetites & Vices takes place in mostly non-Jewish spaces with more non-Jewish than Jewish characters in speaking roles. Dalliances & Devotion is the opposite.
Further, Appetites & Vices takes place at an earlier time, when people like the fictional Ursula Nunes worked to build the foundation for an American Jewish community, a community with a plethora of institutions where Jewish identity can be celebrated while still being part of the larger American community—something that had not truly existed anywhere else for some time. While in Dalliances & Devotion, those efforts are beginning to bear fruit.
As David and Amalia discuss, America is different for Jews. It permitted rights and privileges much earlier than Europe and in more expansive ways than the former Ottoman Empire.
It was never perfect. As alluded to in the book, many scary anti-Semitic incidents occurred, not the least of which was General Ulysses S. Grant seeking to expel Jews from certain areas of the north during the Civil War. The measure was stopped by Abraham Lincoln and there was a backlash.
Grant spent quite a bit of his career apologizing. He also carried a significant majority of the Jewish vote in both his presidential elections and appointed several Jews to cabinet positions. Something that almost certainly would not have occurred anywhere in Europe during that time period.
And yet, at the same time, the Ku Klux Klan formed, there were sustained attacks on the ability of black men to vote, and Andrew King proposed a constitutional amendment to ban interracial marriage.
When I was drafting this book, two events occurred. First, a pipe bomb was delivered to Jewish philanthropist and Holocaust survivor George Soros’s home as part of a series of terroristic attacks primarily targeting elected democratic leaders. Soros has spent most of his adult life and considerable fortune promoting causes like human rights, public health, and freedom of the press—trying to make the world a better place for all people. Much like the real Nathan Mayer Rothschild and the fictional Ursula Nunes, he has been the relentless target of anti-Semitic caricatures and threats.
Five days after the assassination attempt on George Soros, twelve Jews were murdered in the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. Though common throughout history in other parts of the world, this was the first successful synagogue attack in the United States. In this case, the members of the Tree of Life Synagogue were targeted not only because they were Jews, but because the shooter resented the work of the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, or HIAS.
HIAS was founded in 1881 and though it initially helped resettle Jewish refugees, has expanded its mission to help refugees of all faiths and nationalities resettle in the United States so they can hopefully have the opportunities that David Zisskind found in this bo
ok. Because it is never only enough to help your own family.
In 1860, the Jewish population in the United States was quite small, around .05%, much less than today’s 1.5%. However, a significant amount of Jews, roughly 10,000, did fight in the Civil War. During the conflict, several all-Jewish units existed but most fought alongside non-Jewish soldiers. Around 70% of the Jewish soldiers fought for the Union—a decent percentage, but not good enough.
In an effort to acclimate to America, many of us forgot what Hillel said. “If I’m not for myself, who will be for me. But if I’m only for myself, who am I? And if not now, when?” Or more, many of us actively supported something evil—supported slavery whether through fighting for the Confederacy, financing the institution, or ignoring it altogether, often in favor of our own causes—because we were happy and comfortable with our lives. It was wrong. And while we applaud people like the real-life Rabbi David Einhorn of Congregation Keneseth Israel and Rabbi Sabato Morais of Mikveh Israel, there could’ve and should’ve been many more, who fought harder and earlier.
I get asked where I’m from a lot. What am I? I have black hair and dark skin and resemble some of the non-Jews in places where my ancestors lived. However, we never had full rights in any of those lands, so my answer is always: “I’m American and I’m Jewish.”
America has never been perfect, but it has always had potential. It has performed miracles. It has given its Jewish population rights and privileges we rarely received anywhere else in history. That means we have the ability to extend those rights and privileges to everyone if we work hard enough and care enough and listen enough. And never forget, that when they tell us we are “meddlesome” or “troublemakers” it means we are making a difference.
While we always have to be vigilant about antisemitism, as is demonstrated by recent history, people like me have a special duty, as Amalia, David, and Ursula articulated, to help others achieve the same status we have, and in that mission, never yield to threats. Only then can America actually fulfill its promise and live up to its potential.
Dalliances & Devotion Page 27