The Sisters of the Winter Wood

by Rena Rossner

  it feels good.

  I shiver from something

  that feels like more

  than just a chill,

  a hum in the air,

  as though the sap

  in all the trees around me

  is buzzing

  and I am as much a part

  of this forest

  as the leaves

  on all the trees.

  I land hard,

  on my feet,

  and nearly tumble

  to the snow,

  but I manage to

  stay upright.

  I grin in triumph.

  I didn’t fly,

  but it’s a start.

  I walk through the woods

  to the glen

  that Fedir described.

  But the hair

  at the back of my neck

  stands on end.

  I know someone

  is watching me.

  Is it the swan?

  I stop and wait

  for the sound

  of a branch cracking,

  for movement in the sky,

  or the shine of fur

  in moonlight.

  I shriek

  and nearly leap

  in the air

  as someone grabs

  my arms

  from behind.

  Stop! Let me go!

  I cry out.

  The arms

  spin me around

  and one hand

  hovers over

  my mouth.

  Shhhh … Fedir grins.

  It’s just me.

  My heart

  is beating so fast

  I don’t know

  if I can speak.

  You scared me,

  I say in a shaky voice.

  I didn’t mean to.

  I was on my way to see

  if I could get you

  to come out tonight …

  and then I found you!

  His grin is wide.

  I take a deep breath.

  Well, I’m glad

  you didn’t make it

  all the way to my house.

  I was coming

  to find you.

  Good girl, he purrs

  and something about

  the sound of it

  spreads warmth

  from my stomach

  down to my toes.

  He fingers my hair

  like he did

  in the market

  and brings it

  to his nose.

  You smell divine, he says,

  like a lily

  of the valley.

  Did you know

  they grow in Japan?

  I gaze into

  his green-glass eyes

  and shake my head.

  Have you been there?

  Of course.

  We travel everywhere.

  Did you know

  the lily of the valley

  has a berry,

  red as your cheeks

  and just as sweet?

  He drops the lock

  of hair and trails

  his fingers softly

  down my cheek.

  Is that where

  you get all your fruit?

  From your travels? I ask.

  We travel far and wide

  and buy the seeds,

  but we grow

  all the fruits

  in our orchards.

  I’ll show you.

  You have orchards here?

  With fruit in winter?

  We have all that

  and much much more.

  He rubs his thumb

  across my lips.

  I am transfixed.

  I cannot look away.

  My body thrums

  with heat.

  How can anything

  that feels this good

  be bad?

  We water the roots

  of the trees

  and keep them warm,

  like your hands,

  like your lips.

  He takes

  my hands in his.

  Where his hands

  touch mine

  my skin tingles,

  something runs

  through my veins;

  it’s intoxicating.

  I stare at his eyes

  and glance down

  at his lips;

  I feel daring

  and free.

  He dips

  his head down.

  I think

  he will kiss me,

  but this is crazy,

  I barely know him—

  yet I can’t deny

  the way I feel.

  Can I kiss

  your berry lips?

  he whispers.

  I know it’s forbidden.

  This.

  Him.

  Touch.

  But I nod and feel

  his lips touch mine.

  27

  Liba

  The next day we are both up before dawn. Laya offers to milk the cow and churn the butter. I don’t question it. I collect honey and make mandelbrot just like Mami would have, crisp on the outside and soft at the center. We drink cherry jam tea and pick at the ends of the mandelbrot. Laya’s lips look sore. Red and ripe. And her eyes look tired. But I think I must be imagining things. They must be red from the tea. Maybe she didn’t sleep well.

  “Should we …?” Laya starts.

  Just as I say, “Why don’t we go …?”

  We laugh and set off together for town, baskets in tow. Like Tati always says, better caution than tears, and we are safest when we are together, yet somehow I don’t think this is how Tati meant it.

  I don’t leave Laya’s side. We wander the square, selling honey, cheese and mandelbrot. This time people buy. Esther Feldman takes a jar of honey, God knows she has coin enough: they are the wealthiest people in our town, with money from their dried fruit packing plant, and a large home with acres of orchards on the river. Heshke the Cooper buys some cheese. I suspect he does it out of pity, but I can’t think too much on that now. We use the coin we earn to buy more flour and dry goods.

  I see how Laya’s eyes drift across the marketplace every chance she gets. “Don’t even think about it,” I say. “Those boys are nothing but trouble. If you want to see someone, go to one of the meetings that Pinny runs.”

  Laya makes a face. “Why don’t you come with me to one of the meetings? Dovid goes …”

  “Because …”

  “I know, I know. Tati doesn’t approve. Honestly I don’t know why you have such a problem with me talking to the fruit sellers—are you convinced they’ll cheat me because they’re not Jewish? They’re human beings too, just like we—”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I cut her off.

  “Now you’re acting meshugge. What is there, a fly in your brain? It’s just fruit.”

  “I heard that every time people go there they buy more than they intend to, and that women in town crave their cherries so badly they cry for them and won’t be consoled.”

  “Who did you hear this from?”

  “Elkie Zelfer, but that’s not the point! Esther Feldman said it too.”

  Laya makes a face. “Well, obviously Esther said it. They’re taking business away from her orchards and from their factory. Clearly those are just vicious rumors.”

  “They’re true. I heard Jennike Belenko’s father caught her with one of them behind the stand. He kicked her out. Nobody’s heard from her since.”

  “What?” Laya whispers.

  “I heard about it yesterday from Mrs. Meisels. You didn’t know?”

  “No. Since when did you become a yenta?”

  “It’s not a rumor if it’s true.”

  “Wait, when was this?”

  “I don’t know. A few days ago?”

  “I saw her on the river a few days ago. Ice skating with Mikhail … and she …” Laya trails off. “
That’s strange.”

  I shrug. “I don’t really pay attention to what the goyim in this town do.”

  “I wonder …”

  “What?”

  “I can ask Fedir when he last saw her …”

  “Who?”

  “Jennike.”

  “Fedir? Is he …? Laya! I told you not to go near them!”

  “Well, I treat all human beings equally—unlike you!”

  “That’s not true!”

  “It is true! You don’t care about the non-Jews in this town. You only care about other Jews. If you were really so holy and devout, you’d care about everyone—all of God’s creatures. Sometimes I just don’t understand you. You don’t even have eyes for someone who is handsome and clearly has taken interest in you. How can you wait and wait forever for the promise of some stranger that Tati is going to set you up with? Don’t you want to fall in love and make your own choices? Not everything that Tati says is true …” Laya sighs and shrugs. “But what should I expect? You’re just like him,” she says in a huff and walks off.

  Sometimes there are things about what it means to be a Jew that I feel like Laya doesn’t understand. There’s a reason we only marry within our faith; there’s a reason we keep to ourselves—it’s the non-Jews who don’t understand our ways, not the other way around. But Laya has a way of turning everything on its head even to the point of making me question my own beliefs. Being around her is dizzying.

  I sigh and go after her. As I walk, I decide to ignore her accusations and think about Dovid instead. I feel my face flush. Did I miss him last night? Did he come by and knock, but I didn’t answer? Maybe he didn’t come by … and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed, or relieved. Anyway, he spent the entire time I was in his house just laughing at me.

  “Ha! I see it in your face!” Laya says suddenly.

  When did I catch up with her?

  “What?” My face? His eyes …“No … it’s … I was thinking of something else.”

  “I knew it! There’s life in you yet!”

  I shake my head.

  Laya looks at me skeptically.

  “Look,” I say, “it doesn’t matter. Jews or non-Jews, there’s something odd about that fruit. I’m glad we don’t have money for such things.”

  “Oh, come on! I saw you downstairs. Were you waiting for someone? Dovid, maybe?”

  “What? No!”

  “Liba, I tell you everything.”

  I tilt my head at her now and raise my brows. “Everything?”

  “Okay, almost everything.”

  “Hmmm … now I just have to figure out what else you haven’t told me—”

  We’re so lost in our banter that we don’t notice a man approaching us from across the square. I look up, laughter still plain on my face, and I stop in place. He’s handsome, young, and well dressed. He wears a long black bekishe coat and a black hat just like Tati, but his looks stylish, clean, and new. I’ve never seen one like it before. Who is he?

  “Shalom aleichem,” he says.

  “Aleichem shalom.” I nod my head modestly and look down, as I’m supposed to do. Still, I can tell that he’s staring at me.

  “Would you like to buy something?” Laya asks. She’s not afraid to look him in the eyes.

  He holds out four coppers in his hand and gestures to our baskets. “Some honey.”

  Laya looks from me to him.

  I hold my basket out and glance up. The look in his eyes is haunting, familiar, but I’m not sure why.

  He takes two jars of honey, but his eyes don’t leave mine as he drops coins in the basket without touching my hand. He doesn’t stop watching me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, or what he seeks in my face, but it makes my skin crawl. Suddenly I’m cold, chilled to the bone. He’s not supposed to look at me this way—it’s not modest. I pull my scarf more tightly around my neck.

  “A dank,” he says.

  “Tze gezunt,” I answer automatically.

  Laya asks, “Where are you from?”

  “We’re just passing through. I’m Ruven. What’s your name?” he asks me, but Laya answers.

  “Laya. And this is Liba.”

  “No last name?” he says gruffly.

  I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. I swallow.

  Laya shakes her head and tugs on my arm. “We should go,” she says. “A shaynem dank!”

  He bows his head at both of us, but looks back up at me one last time before he turns around and walks away.

  We watch him retreat, and when I look down into the basket, I realize he left too much money there. I look up. “Wait, your change!” I yell after him. There was something about his eyes, the cut of his jaw …

  He doesn’t stop.

  I see Laya watching him too.

  “Four coppers, Liba!” Laya elbows me. “We’ve never made so much!”

  I’m still watching him. He walks until he reaches the edge of the forest, then disappears into the trees.

  Who is he? Where is he staying? I shiver and rub the bumps that appear on my skin.

  “Let’s go home. I don’t feel well,” I say.

  Laya puts her hand on my brow. “Perhaps you’ve caught a chill.”

  I shove her hand away. “Don’t be silly. He just … something feels off.”

  “The only thing that’s off is how much money we have! I’m going to buy some fruit!”

  I shake myself out of my stupor. “Don’t you dare!”

  “Ha! I knew that would get you! Come on, Liba … you can take two and go buy some meat and I’ll take two and go buy some fruit. Just a bissl. Deal?”

  “No, Laya. You shouldn’t.”

  Laya scowls.

  I start walking, the heavy old ivy-wood basket tucked tightly under my arm. The basket feels heavier somehow, despite the lack of honey in it now, as though the coppers weigh much more than they should.

  “So, what do you want to get started on when we get back home?” I ask Laya. “Maybe we should get ready for shabbes,” I say, thinking this is a good time to bring up the invitation we have from the Meisels for Friday night dinner.

  Silence.

  “Laya?” I look around and stop. Laya’s gone. “Laya?” My heart picks up. I look down at the basket—two coins are gone. How did I not notice? How did she move so fast? I put the basket down and frantically search the market for her with my eyes.

  She wouldn’t … I think to myself. But something in my heart tells me that I know exactly where she’s gone.

  I sigh and start to cross the marketplace in the direction of the fruit stand.

  I do admit I feel the draw of the stand too. There’s something about it. But it’s not the cornucopia of fruits that pulls me in. It’s something in the eyes of the boys there. One of them has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. They look like forest leaves in dappled sunlight, and something about them makes me want to gaze into them and lose myself. Which is why I avoid looking. But it’s something else too. They draw people to them with the way they talk. They appeared in town and it’s as if no one has anywhere else to be. They appeared in town just as Jennike and the Glazers disappeared …

  I walk faster, and sure enough I find Laya at the fruit stand, salivating over a golden tray of apricots, and speaking to the green-eyed man who stands behind the market stall.

  “Laya!” I tug at her pale green sleeve.

  “ … in the forest?” I hear the tail end of her question.

  The green-eyed man shakes his head.

  Laya looks at me. “Fedir,” she says, “this is my sister, Liba.”

  He reaches out his hand and takes mine before I can pull it away. “The pleasure is mine,” he purrs. My hand tingles where his flesh touches mine, but not in a way that I like.

  I yank my hand back. “Laya, let’s go home.”

  “Would you just let me look at them for once?” she says.

  “The men, or the fruit?”

  “Liba!”

  “We need to go.”<
br />
  “Have you ever seen anything more luscious?” She licks her lips.

  Yes, yes, I have, I think, on the face of a boy who apparently only likes to laugh at me. But I don’t say it. Instead I deliberately avert my eyes from the fruit and the handsome boys that sell them, and grab Laya’s arm, staring down at her worn leather boots and the ground beneath her feet, tugging her away.

  “I heard that some men were giving you trouble in the square today.” Fedir’s voice is high-pitched and a bit shrill, like it has yet to turn into the voice of a man.

  No stranger than you are, I think. “It’s none of your business,” I say. “Laya, we need to go.”

  “Can I tempt you with a pomegranate? Red and ripe and full of juice. Red as your lips. Come taste, come buy, give it a try!”

  “Come buy, come buy,” the brothers echo in a chorus that sends shivers down my spine.

  “Oh come on, Liba, just a bissl,” Laya begs.

  “Sweets for the sweet, just one try, the meat of a pomegranate seed to eat,” Fedir croons.

  “We’re going now. Thank you, but we have no money for such indulgences. Zay gezunt!”

  “Yes, we do, Liba! Now we do!”

  “Hush, Laya!”

  “The name is Viktor.” Another brother holds out his hand and something in me wants to touch it, but I don’t. “It would be my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Laya takes my hand and puts it in his. “Don’t be rude!” she hisses.

  I swallow, alarmed at this sudden change in my sister’s behavior. Laya would never have forced me to touch a stranger before. What is happening? I quickly pull my hand back.

  I look up and see his blue eyes boring into mine. His hair is blond and sleek, but the way he moves unnerves me; he slinks around the stand like a weasel.

  Fedir’s eyes look only at Laya.

  “Tonight?” he mouths at her.

  My heart stops.

  “I’ll try,” she mouths back.

  I take her arm and try to drag her away, but not before I see that her coins are gone and a big brown bag tied with string sits in her basket.

  “Farewell, lovely ladies with skin so white and hair so fair,” Viktor sings. “Like maidens in a fairy tale. Noses small, and eyes so blue, you look nothing like a Jew. Come back tomorrow, both of you …”

  I pull Laya away as fast as I can across the square.

  My heart beats fast. I’m deeply unsettled by the things I hear them say. I don’t remember hearing anyone in our town say something negative about us before. They’ll quote anything at you to sell those fruits, and even toss in a few anti-Semitic slurs. I don’t like this at all.