The Sisters of the Winter Wood

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The Sisters of the Winter Wood Page 12

by Rena Rossner


  Liba

  I wait until Laya climbs out the window. I pretended to nap. It’s something I do well: pretending. It’s all I do lately. Now that I know what I am—a bear, a beast—I can pretend to be a normal girl. It feels good to pretend, because I can’t face the alternative.

  I wait until she’s gone. I’m already dressed in my shabbes clothes. I climb out of bed, step down the ladder, put on my cloak, and follow her.

  32

  Laya

  I hear Fedir’s voice

  in my head

  like a song:

  Come by! Come by!

  I hum as I creep

  through the trees.

  I feel the sap

  of the trees

  beneath my feet

  and all around me.

  The branches

  and the leaves

  sing with me,

  zmiros and niggunim.

  My own kind of

  shabbes songs.

  They point me

  in the right direction.

  I dance over roots

  and under boughs.

  Past the old giant oak,

  and through

  the pine glade.

  My head is full

  of night and air.

  As the branches

  start to thin

  I see the dance

  of orange flames

  poking through

  the woods ahead,

  like gems on trees.

  I stop and let the leaves

  cover me, peeking

  at the clearing ahead.

  The brothers sit

  around a bonfire,

  and with them

  many girls,

  nearly a dozen.

  The fire rages,

  orange and angry,

  and everyone holds

  wooden goblets

  filled to the brim

  with dark and rosy liquid.

  The goblets pass

  from hand to hand,

  and lip to lip.

  My mouth opens,

  nearly tasting

  what they sip.

  I walked so far.

  I’m tired

  and thirsty.

  All I want

  is a drink.

  It is honey

  of a different sort

  I seek.

  33

  Liba

  I slip through the trees and the branches. I try to follow her. At first she walks slowly, humming to herself, then she dances faster and faster until I lose sight of her completely.

  I try to scent her in the air, but I’ve lost my way. I don’t know where she went.

  I wander left, then right, then left again, past a giant oak and into a pine glade. I watch and wait and listen, but the forest is silent. I don’t know which way to turn, and suddenly I’m scared. I feel a buzzing in the air, my fingertips tingle. It’s as if the forest doesn’t want me to continue. I hear a branch crack and all my hairs stand on end. I am all alone in a large, dark forest. This was a bad idea.

  I pull the hood of my cloak up. The sensation of the fur on my cheeks sends a chill down my spine. I feel the hair that lurks just beneath my skin. It wants release. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes and will everything to stay as is.

  I start to tremble. I hear another branch crack, sounding closer this time, and even though I don’t know where I’m going, I start to run. My body wants me to get down on all fours, to feel the forest loam between my fingers again, but I don’t give in to the impulse. I just run as fast as I can.

  The woods have never scared me before—they have always been my haven—but my heart thumps with a beat so fast I feel as though there are drums thrumming in my ears.

  I run until I see something familiar through the trees. The village! I’m so relieved I start to cry.

  I run to the Meisels’ door and knock.

  34

  Laya

  Some of the girls

  are sitting on laps,

  others lurk in shadows

  but I can see them kissing,

  sucking at the lips

  of girls and boys

  looking as if madness

  were upon them.

  I see someone

  that looks like Jennike.

  My heart beats fast.

  Perhaps she isn’t missing?

  Was she hiding out here

  the whole time?

  I linger in the woods

  with only the shadows

  of the trees to hide me.

  Watching, waiting.

  I can’t tell if it’s her.

  I’m cold, it’s dark

  and the flames look so inviting.

  I see Fedir across the fire.

  His eyes flit around the glen

  as though he can sense

  something in the wind.

  Me.

  This is everything

  that Liba warned me about,

  everything she tried

  to protect me from.

  Goyishe boys

  with wine and cheer

  and groping hands

  and tongues.

  On shabbes,

  no less …

  He sees me.

  My eyes meet his

  across the flames.

  I blink and in an instant

  he’s beside me.

  How did he move so fast?

  35

  Liba

  I can see the fire burning inside. The windows are lit up and woodsmoke rises from the chimney. I smell chicken soup and schmaltz. Challahs fresh from the oven. Our home used to smell like that … Tears continue to wet my eyes. I miss my parents so badly it hurts. I wouldn’t be scared of strange sounds in the woods if Tati were still here. I wouldn’t be wandering alone in the woods on a Friday night if Mami were home and these smells were coming from her oven. I linger just outside the door, gathering courage from the air and waiting for the tears to subside.

  I hear laughter from inside. More than one voice. And I smell kugel and brisket wafting from the chimney with the smoke. I’m about to knock again when the door opens.

  “Gut shabbes!” Mrs. Meisels says. She is dressed in a green velvet dress and her hair is covered in a lace tichel. Her cheeks are red and shining.

  I swallow. My hands are trembling. My mouth struggles to find words.

  “Is everything okay, maydele?” Mrs. Meisels asks.

  I shake my head, no. And realize I forgot the babka.

  “Come in, come in. Take off your coat.” She coaxes me inside.

  She hangs my coat on a hook by the side of the door. There is the smell of iron in the entryway, a good smell. And lavender hangs above our heads.

  My heartbeat slows. This is a home, I think. Our house doesn’t feel like a home anymore.

  “Shhh. Dry your tears. Where’s your sister?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  Then I see Dovid. His eyes grow wide and he’s beside me in an instant.

  “Is everything okay? Where’s Laya?”

  Of course he asks about Laya. What must I look like? My cheeks tear-streaked, my hair wild.

  I don’t know what to say. My sister’s in the woods with goyim? “I’m sorry I’m late,” I say instead. “I was following Laya, but I lost my way in the woods. I heard something and I got scared. I ran as fast as I could, but I forgot the babka at home.”

  “Where was Laya going?” Dovid asks. “Should I go look for her?”

  I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to think I’m like her, that I would ever desecrate the sanctity of shabbes. My father is a learned man, and though my mother is a convert, she is devout. For the first time in my life I’m embarrassed by my sister. Something I’ve never felt before. And I realize that maybe I don’t want to be like her after all.

  “No. She’s fine,” I say. “She went to meet some friends.”

  Mrs. Meisels saves me. “Now’s not the time for qu
estions. The men just got home from shul. We were about to sing ‘Shalom Aleichem.’ Come, sit down. Join us.”

  My stomach rumbles and I swallow. “I would love that.”

  I follow Mrs. Meisels and Dovid into the dining room. His three brothers are seated with his father. Shabbes candles illuminate the center of the table and the challahs are tucked under an embroidered cover like two babies in their beds.

  The heady scent of pine is in the air above the odor of chicken soup and meat, and something else, something green and wild. Cedar smoke dances in the hearth and I feel safe and warm and welcome. I forget about the woods and the dangers lurking there. I forget about who Laya’s with, and why. I forget about the Glazers going missing, and Mami and Tati being gone. I smile and listen to the sound of singing and let myself enjoy a home-cooked meal and company as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  36

  Laya

  You came, he purrs.

  I did, I smile, but

  I should go.

  Why? His eyes grow wide.

  You’ve only just arrived!

  We’re just getting started.

  Kliment plays a mean fiddle,

  and Miron, as you know,

  is magic on the flute.

  You must stay for a bit

  and feast upon the music …

  Music? On shabbes?

  I shrug my shoulders.

  Thank you, but I really

  must be going. My sister

  is waiting for me …

  He looks

  into my eyes

  and sighs.

  What? I say.

  You are like

  a moon-lit

  poplar branch,

  he whispers.

  So strong and wild.

  I’ve longed to see

  the way the fire

  dances in your eyes …

  I shake my head

  and turn away.

  From the moment

  I first saw you

  in the woods, he says,

  like a lily growing

  in the forest, all alone,

  my heart and mind

  have thought of

  nothing else

  but you.

  Stop, I say.

  You’re scaring me.

  He tucks a strand

  of hair behind my ear

  and whispers,

  I wasn’t done …

  I shiver.

  Is Jennike here?

  I thought I saw her before,

  I ask before I lose my nerve.

  Girls come and go,

  he says. I don’t keep track

  of anyone but you …

  Have you seen

  strange men

  in the woods?

  I say.

  Nobody is out here

  but us, me and you,

  he says.

  I look around

  and see that we

  are suddenly alone.

  Where did everybody go?

  I’m confused

  and a little scared.

  The moon wanes

  and the night

  grows late,

  he answers.

  I should go,

  I say.

  Go go go.

  My sister

  is waiting

  for me.

  Stay? he begs.

  Just for a spell,

  one song.

  He takes my hand.

  Come to the fire

  for a bit,

  warm yourself

  before you go,

  and drink some wine,

  at least.

  I feel his pulse

  beating against mine.

  Vein to vein.

  His hand so large

  and soft.

  Just one song, I say.

  He whoops in victory

  and picks me up

  as though I am

  a feather in the wind.

  He carries me over

  to a wooden chair

  that looks like a throne.

  He puts a wooden goblet

  in my hand. It’s carved

  with trees and fruit

  and little men.

  A gust of wind

  blows smoke

  into my eyes

  and everything

  goes soft and blurry.

  I shouldn’t drink, I say,

  though I am thirsty,

  and in my head I think:

  It isn’t kosher.

  But Fedir presses

  the goblet to my lips,

  and I smell apricot,

  and plum plum plum.

  I touch my lips

  to the liquid,

  cherry and lemon,

  honeyed dates

  and red ripe grapes

  and baking apples.

  I sip, and sip again,

  and drink in lusty gulps

  until it’s gone,

  and lick my lips.

  Fedir, I say,

  but what about

  the bears?

  What bears?

  he asks.

  The wild ones,

  I say.

  I think you may

  have had

  too much

  to drink.

  He grins.

  And all the time

  he watches me.

  The way

  my mouth moves

  and my throat,

  the way I lick my lips

  with my tongue,

  the way it darts

  out of my mouth,

  tiny and pink.

  He’s like a cat

  watching a mouse,

  I think. But then

  his lips touch mine

  and everything around us

  disappears. I drink him in,

  ravenous, I can’t get enough

  of his lips, I nip at them

  and tug at his tongue

  with my teeth,

  sucking on his lips

  like they are life

  and air,

  like I am thirsty

  and his lips

  are an oasis

  in the desert.

  I feast on them.

  On him. As

  everything around me spins.

  He breaks the kiss,

  both of us breathless, eyes wild,

  lips swollen

  and red.

  I shake my head

  and rub my eyes

  trying to clear

  the glare, the fog.

  I lean in again

  so close, my lips

  almost at his,

  and beg for more.

  37

  Liba

  After he sings “Ayshes Chayil” Mr. Meisels makes kiddush. His family passes one silver cup around the table, from lip to lip. We sip the sweet red wine.

  Then we go to the kitchen to wash our hands before the bread.

  “You still didn’t say where your sister went …” Dovid asks as we line up behind his brothers at the sink.

  I sigh. I might as well tell the truth. “To the Hovlins … I tried to stop her. I thought I should go with her, to keep her out of trouble, even though it’s not very shabbesdik.”

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “I lost sight of her. And then I heard a noise and got scared,” I say. I find myself blushing again and I don’t know why. “But I really didn’t want to go there anyway. I wanted to come here.”

  “I’m glad. I wish I’d thought to offer to come get you. Nobody should be walking in those woods alone.”

  “I’m worried about her,” I admit.

  “The kahal’s sent out extra patrols. Perhaps that’s what you heard,” Dovid says.

  “Has something else happened?”

  “Nothing you don’t already know about,” Dovid says.

  “I really should go find her.” My eyes dart to the door.

 
“Liba, don’t go,” he says. “Please?” The look in his eyes is so tender, it sends shoots of warmth through my whole body.

  “Come, eat with us,” he says. “There are men out there patrolling the woods. She’ll be safe tonight. Let’s wash our hands.”

  I let out a breath.

  I watch him pour water three times over one hand, then three times over the other. He says the blessing out loud, his voice bright and clear, and my stomach clenches—but not from hunger this time.

  He waits for me as I rinse my hands after him and say the blessing quietly. Then we go back to the table and sit down.

  Mr. Meisels says the brocha over the challahs, his voice loud and sonorous.

  Then he passes out a tray of sliced bread for us to take. Tati always ripped pieces from the challah and threw the bread to each of us. A Chassidic custom. This seems more civilized. I like it.

  “For you, maydele,” Mrs. Meisels says, and gives me the first bowl of chicken soup.

  I sit down and place a napkin on my lap. I bring a spoonful of soup to my lips. It’s hearty and delicious. Fluffy kneidlach and lokshen float in the golden broth. I eat slowly and carefully, trying to savor every mouthful. I think that perhaps it’s okay for once to want something for myself—a home, a family. Someone else can look out for Laya tonight. The swans won’t come if she’s with Fedir, and there are men patrolling the woods.

  The table is quiet. I look up and see that they’re all watching me. I finish chewing the bite that’s in my mouth and quickly wipe my fingers and my chin. What did I do wrong this time?

  I look down and see that my bowl is clean. Have I embarrassed myself again?

  “It’s okay, shayna meidel,” Mrs. Meisels says. “My boys just aren’t used to girls with such a hearty appetite.”

  My heart skips a beat. Nobody ever calls me a shayna meidel. Those are words reserved for Laya, not for me.

  Mr. Meisels slaps the table and the plates jump. “Nothing like a woman with a little flesh on her,” he says, a gleam in his eye, and he motions for Mrs. Meisels. He smacks his thigh and she blushes and sits on his lap. He puts his arms around her. “I like it when there’s more of a woman to love. Especially this zaftige woman.”

 

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