“One day, he said, he finally did collapse, out in a field digging something, potatoes maybe. He said he tried to fall facedown, to bury himself in the dread and the despair, but accidentally he fell on his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, glad it was finally over. His children were safe in America and his wife hadn’t lived to see the horror, so already he felt more blessed than most. It was enough. He said, ‘I was done. But then a fly landed on my face and without thinking I blinked it away. In that second my eyes were open, in came the brightest blue I’d ever seen. Above the camp and the guards and the ovens there was the sky, not a cloud, the sun far enough west that I didn’t squint. The blue filled my vision, blocking out everything else. I tried to close my eyes because it was a perversion to have such a feeling in that place. But there was nothing I could do. I was on my back in that godforsaken field, my body shrunk to nothing, wishing for death to take mercy on me, and yet my heart was full of hope. It wouldn’t let me die, that blue. Two weeks later, the camp was liberated. You want to know how I survived, Fegelah? That’s how. There was no God in that place, no reason, no mercy. Only the sky.’”
We sat side by side, Flo dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Have you ever heard such a story in your life, Rachel?” I hadn’t, no. Silently, we had another cigarette, each of us trying not to think what the smoke reminded us of.
“See those clouds?” she said after a while, tossing the smoldering butt out the window. “Towering cumulous. Storm’s coming.”
“I hope it breaks this heat wave, it’s got me completely wrung out.”
We got up. Flo caught both of my hands in her own, pulling me close. She smelled of tobacco and soap and rubbing alcohol. “Everything all right with you, honey? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
I imagined, for a moment, what it would be like not to keep everything bottled up, but if I started letting it all out—Mildred Solomon, the X-rays, my tumor—how could I stop before blurting out how lonely I was, and why? I avoided Flo’s eyes. “I’m not sleeping well, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?” She wouldn’t let go of me.
“I’m fine, really. Just tired of the heat. You go on home.”
“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice.” She went to her locker. It only took a minute to toss her soiled uniform in the laundry cart and shimmy into her dress. “Zip me up?”
I did. Lifting her pocketbook from its hook, she shut the metal locker. “Clock me out, will you? And have a good night.”
“I’ll try.” I got into my uniform and went to wash up. The mirror above the sink showed me a middle-aged face in an old-fashioned hairstyle. How had forty years come and gone already? On my last birthday it had depressed me to think how old I was getting, but now those years seemed far too few. How pathetic if my coming birthday turned out to be my last. I splashed water on my face to chase back the thought.
Dipping my hand into my pocketbook, I felt for the glass vial. The morphine in it sloshed as I wrapped it in a handkerchief and tucked it into the pocket of my uniform. It was remarkable, how such a little thing held such sway over pain. Everything around me was falling apart, but it gave me purpose to know that over this—over Mildred Solomon’s pain—I was the one in control.
Gloria lifted an eyebrow as I approached the nurses’ station. “I told Flo I’d cover the rest of the day,” I said. “I was done with what I had to do earlier than I expected, and I didn’t see the point in going all the way home just to turn right around and come back again.”
“That makes it a long night for you, but I can’t say I’m sorry to see that Florence go. Always sneaking off to the lounge. And her charts are sloppy.”
I thought of Flo and smiled. “I’ll go ahead and prep the meds?”
“That’s not necessary. I just finished noon rounds. I didn’t trust Florence to get it done on time. You can do four o’clock.”
I’d missed my chance with Dr. Solomon; I’d have to wait all afternoon before I could begin to wean her off the morphine. She wouldn’t be coherent until the beginning of night shift. I told myself to be patient. There would be plenty of time to wring my apology from her.
Chapter Fifteen
THERE NOW, THERE NOW,” THE MAN SAID, STROKING RACHEL’S back. He drew out a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. Rachel stepped back and blew her nose. The handkerchief smelled of dust but was stiff and new, as if it had just been pulled from inventory.
“You wouldn’t by any chance be Rachel, would you?”
“Papa, you remember me!” Rachel felt she was in a reunion scene from a movie, ecstatic actors with exaggerated smiles.
“Not so fast. I’m not your papa. Your papa, Harry, he’s my brother. I’m your uncle. And I wouldn’t have known you, except your brother showed up here out of nowhere in the spring, and he’s talked about his sister, so’s I figured that’s who you must be.”
Rachel blinked. Like film caught in a projector, the magic of the moment melted away. “My uncle?”
“That’s right, Uncle Max. Your brother’s up at the Silver Queen with Saul—that’s my son, your cousin.” Max pulled a watch from his pocket and opened it. “They’ll be back anytime now. I was just putting their supper on the table. Come on back.” He picked up her case and receded down the aisle.
The rapid shift in emotions left Rachel dazed. For a moment she’d thought she was in her father’s arms. Now it turned out she had an uncle and a cousin—family she’d never heard of before. As if wading through an undertow, she followed Max through the store to a doorway hung with a curtain. Beyond, there was a small kitchen—sink, icebox, Hoosier cabinet. In the corner, a stew pot simmered on an old cast-iron stove. Three plates were set out on the table, with a loaf of bread and a pitcher of iced tea in the center.
“Sit yourself down.” Max pulled out a chair for Rachel, then sat across from her. “Are you hungry?”
Rachel shook her head. Though it had been a long time since breakfast with the Cohens, she was in no mood to eat. Her mind was a jumble of questions; she asked the first one that surfaced. “What’s a Silver Queen?”
Max laughed. “The Silver Queen. It’s a mine, most famous one in Leadville. When Sam showed up, Saul was already working at the Silver Queen, so he got your brother a job there, too. Been talk in town of them shutting down operations for the winter. Not that they can’t mine any season of the year. Once you’re down there the weather don’t matter. Silver market’s gone bust is what it is.”
Rachel was relieved when Max stopped talking to pour himself some tea. It was all so much to take in. He gestured with the pitcher. “Thirsty?”
“Yes, please.”
“Here you go.” Max filled a glass and pushed it toward her. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you, Uncle Max,” she said, trying out the phrase.
Max waved away her thanks. “Why’d you think I was Harry back there?”
“Sam wrote me from here, to let me know he was safe. He didn’t tell me about you or Saul. But when I saw Rabinowitz Dry Goods on the envelope, I thought maybe it was our father.” Rachel dropped her head. “All the days on the train, I hoped it was.”
Max was incredulous. “You hoped your father was here? After what he done to you kids?” Before Rachel could respond, Max had another question that bothered him more. “Where’d you get money for the train from New York? Did Sam send it to you?”
Rachel’s eyes drifted upward. Overhead, an electric bulb dangled from a cord in the ceiling. She’d thought about the question, expecting Sam to ask. She couldn’t admit to her theft, but now that she knew how much a ticket cost, he’d never believe she came by that much money honestly. She’d planned to say she had met the Cohens in New York and come to Denver with them, but it was a story she hadn’t yet rehearsed. She was so long answering, Max took her silence for assent. “I thought as much.” He polished his glasses on his shirttail then settled them back on his nose, magnifying his watery eyes. “Well then, let me get a look at you. Take off your hat.”
Rachel froze. She’d had the cloche hat on her head every waking minute since she’d run away from the Home.
“Now, don’t be shy. Sam told me about your hair and all. From some medical condition, isn’t it? Never mind about that. I just want to see my only niece.”
Rachel took off the hat and placed it on her lap. Max appraised her like a piece of inventory he was trying to price. “Not so bad. I heard Hasidic women shave their heads when they get married, to make themselves ugly to anyone but their husbands.”
Rachel lowered her face and hunched her shoulders. Ugly. The word rang in her ears, blotting out the jingle of the bell.
“That’ll be the boys now,” Max said. “Lock it up behind ya’all!”
“Already did!”
Rachel recognized Sam’s voice. She stood so quickly the hat rolled to the floor. She reached for it, then heard footfalls closing in. She straightened, not wanting to be doubled over when Sam first saw her. The curtain was swept back. Her brother stopped in the doorway so suddenly his cousin ran into him from behind, pushing him into the table and jostling the pitcher.
“Rachel? What the hell are you doing here?”
Sam looked taller, older, though it was only six months since he’d run away. Thinking of the last time she saw him, all the events of the Purim Dance rushed into Rachel’s mind. Sourness gagged her mouth and her bottom lip quivered. A sound like a bad trumpet note escaped her throat as she felt her knees weaken. Sam stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Rachel felt the grit of silver dust on his skin.
“Don’t now, Rachel, don’t.”
“She arrived sooner than you expected, is that it?” Max said. Sam looked at him, as baffled by his uncle’s words as by the anger in his voice. “Come on, son. Let’s take a walk around the block, leave these two to their reunion.”
After the door’s jingle assured them they were alone, Sam settled Rachel in a chair. He leaned over for the hat and set it on her head. “Better now?” he asked. She nodded. He pulled a chair close to hers so their knees touched.
“How did you get out here? How did you even know where I was?”
Rachel explained about the envelope, then told the story she hadn’t managed to spin for her uncle. “I didn’t have a plan when I ran away, I just went to Penn Station to find out what the train would cost when I met this nice family,” she began, ending with, “Mrs. Cohen even bought me the ticket for the Mail to Leadville. But Max thinks you sent me the money. I didn’t say you did, but I didn’t have a chance to tell him you didn’t.”
Sam sat back, taking in his sister’s story. Finally he said, “Well, I’m glad you got out here safe. It is good to see you.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. His kindness drew out the question Rachel had been suppressing ever since he ran away.
“How could you leave me like that?” She cringed at the petulance in her own voice. Why was everything about this day the opposite of what she had imagined it would be?
“God damn it, Rachel, I didn’t want to leave you, I had to leave that place. I had to get out.”
“But why not take me with you?”
“I couldn’t take a girl along. Mrs. Berger, she looked in our file for me, saw there was a note from an uncle in Colorado asking whatever happened to us, but it was from years ago. I didn’t know if he’d still be out here, but I didn’t have anyplace else better to aim for. They put a few dollars in my pocket, sure, but it wasn’t near enough for a train ticket. I hopped a freight for Chicago, saved my cash. Didn’t know how long I’d need it to last. Turns out, it didn’t last longer than two days.”
Sam pulled a pouch of tobacco from his shirt pocket and rolled a cigarette. His hands were blistered, his nails black crescents. At the Home, Rachel thought, he’d have gotten a standing lesson for hands that filthy. He struck a match on the bottom of his boot. Smoke curled around the hanging lightbulb.
“I got rolled on the freight car before it reached Illinois, robbed of everything. I had to fight to keep my shoes. By the time I got to Leadville, it was a week since I had a decent meal. I was in rough shape, I’ll tell you that.” Sam drew deeply on the cigarette. Rachel remembered the luxury of the Pullman and felt nearly as guilty as she did about stealing from Naomi.
“So, Max thinks I sent you the money to come out here? Let’s let him keep on believing that. It’ll get him off my back for a while if he thinks I’m too broke to make a move.”
“What kind of move?”
“I’m saving every cent I earn to get out of this place before winter hits.”
“But where else would we go? Shouldn’t we stay here, with our family?” On the back of her tongue, Rachel tasted jam stirred into a cup of tea. “Maybe we should try to find Papa.”
Sam snorted. “Why the hell would you want to find him?”
Rachel was beginning to think everyone else knew something about her father that she didn’t. She wanted to ask Sam what it was, but he had started talking again.
“Max has been decent enough, and Saul’s a good fella, but there’s nothing for me here. Max says business has been real bad since the last crash. All his money’s tied up in inventory and nothing’s moving. Once the Silver Queen lets the summer workers go, I’ll just be dead weight around here. And now I gotta carry you, too.”
The door jingled. Max and Saul clomped through the shop, intentionally heavy footed, and came into the kitchen. Saul took his place at the table and Max brought over the stew pot. The boys could no longer hold off their hunger after a day’s work in the mine. While Sam and Saul shoveled in stew, Max prevailed on Rachel to take a few bites. The lumps of meat looked unappealing, but she found that she, too, was starving.
In between bites, Saul filled the room with talk about Sadie, the girl he was engaged to. He didn’t look much like her brother, Rachel observed, but when he spoke, his mouth and ears moved in just the same way. It made her like him. “Sadie moved out to Colorado Springs with her folks last spring, but they’re all coming back in November for the wedding.” He looked at his father, who busied himself with some dishes in the sink. “Sadie’s father started up a factory, he’s got a job lined up for me and everything. I told my dad a million times he oughta sell this place, come out to Colorado Springs, too, but he’s too stubborn to budge. Can’t tell you how glad I was when Sam showed up, and now with you here, too, Rachel, I know my dad’ll have all the help he needs. You can work in the shop and Sam can make the deliveries.”
“You got it all figured out, don’t you, son?” Max said over his shoulder.
It sounded perfect to Rachel, but her brother scowled, muttering under his breath, “What deliveries?”
After dinner, they made an occasion of Rachel’s arrival with a few hands of cards while they listened to the radio. There were only two bedrooms on the second floor—the rest of the space was unfinished storage—so Max suggested Rachel sleep in the kitchen, where she could have some privacy washing up at the sink after all the men had gone upstairs. “Which is where I’m heading right now,” Max announced. “Come on, son.” He opened a door that Rachel had assumed was a pantry, revealing a steep back staircase. “Your brother’ll get whatever you need. Good night, niece.”
“Good night, uncle. Good night, cousin.” The familial words felt novel in Rachel’s mouth.
Sam rummaged around in the store and came back carrying a bedroll and a cot, which he set up for her. “You’ll need this,” he said, shaking the dust off a camping blanket. “As high up as we are, it gets cold at night, even in summer.” Rachel curled up under the itchy wool, realizing how exhausted she was.
“Good night, Sam.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.
“Good night, Rachel.” Sam switched off the swinging bulb, plunging the room into darkness.
AFTER BREAKFAST, SAM and Saul left for the Silver Queen, their packed lunches in a pail. Rachel cleaned up after them, then wandered into the shop and asked her uncle what else she could do.
“I need an inven
tory,” he said. “I haven’t had to order much lately, just replacing the things I sell: soaps and thread and whatnot. It’s been a while since I had a clear idea of what all’s in here. Think you can do that for me, Rachel?”
She scanned the crowded aisles, the sagging shelves. “I can do that, Uncle Max. Do you have a ledger started?”
“Somewhere around here.” Max went to find it. Rachel decided to work from top to bottom, so at least the dust would sift down to the floor and she could sweep it up at the end of each day. She climbed up a stepladder to start with the jumbled pile of goods on the highest shelf. Max hurried over to steady her, his hand lingering on her hip. “Here you go,” he said, handing up the dusty ledger. While she took inventory, her uncle hovered nearby, his hands quick to close around her waist whenever she had to climb up or down.
Max could have done the inventory himself in as much time as he spent talking to her, but Rachel didn’t mind. She liked handling the stock, dusting off items, comparing her count to the numbers scrawled in Max’s book. She’d never seen most of the things he carried in the store, didn’t know what half of them were for. Cooking, building, camping, hunting, fishing, mining—all were pursuits strange to her. No matter how foreign the items in her hand, it satisfied her to sort, stack, and put them in order.
“I came out west when I was about your age, Rachel. How old are you again?” She told him she’d just turned fifteen. “Fifteen, that’s right. Back in my day, you were a man already by fifteen, and plenty of girls were mothers, too. Harry, your father, he was still in knee pants when I took my chances and came out here. Spent every cent I’d managed to save on an order of coats and dragged them as far west as I could get. Sold them for five times what I paid. For years I went back and forth until I set up shop here permanent. Married Saul’s mother, may she rest in peace.” He polished his glasses on his shirttail. “Back in the 1890s, I tell you, Leadville was the place to be.”
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