The Test of Gold

by Renee Yancy

  Minna spread the cloth out. “Das mehl.” She pointed to the white substance encrusting it. “Flour.”

  She turned the mound of dough onto the floured cloth and used a long rolling pin to smooth it into a large circle. “Now, ve stretch it.”

  Slowly she worked her way around the table, taking the edge of the dough and stretching it out, again and again on the tips of her fingers, until the thin dough appeared translucent.

  Minna’s teeth caught in her lower lip as she concentrated on the dough. “Mama always said it had to be thin enough to read through.”

  Although she spoke frequently of her ‘Papa,’ Minna had never mentioned her mother. “Minna.” Lindy hesitated. “Is your mother alive?”

  The girl didn’t look up. She hunched her shoulders and concentrated even more fiercely on the dough. Then she shook her head. “Nein.” She surveyed the round of dough. “I think it is ready.” She fetched the bowl of apples and spices, drained off the juices, and mixed them with the bread crumbs toasted in butter. From her apron pocket, she took a piece of cloth and unrolled it to reveal a sheaf of feathers tied together at the ends of their quills. “Gans Gefieder,” she said, waving it.

  Lindy shook her head, laughing. “Gans what?”

  “Gans Gefieder.” Minna stopped, frowned, and screwed up her face, thinking. “Feathers, fräulein, goose feathers. Gans.”

  “Ah. Goose feathers.” What a sweet girl. Her dress was threadbare. Her hair hadn’t been washed in who knew how long, and she didn’t have an ounce of extra flesh on her thin frame. But she had the smile of an angel. A pang twisted Lindy’s heart. This child had nothing, and Lindy had been given everything. And what had she done with it? Nothing.

  “And what do you do with that?” Lindy stepped forward as if she could blot out the stab of pain that had pierced her like a knife. “What can I do to help?”

  Minna had melted butter in a small pan. “Now ve spread the butter. Vorsichtig. Carefully.” Using the goose feather brush, she spread the melted butter over the stretched dough, careful not to tear it. “Now, you do.” She handed the feather brush to Lindy. “Vorsichtig.”

  As gently as she could, Lindy spread the butter in a thin layer over the rest of the dough. Minna clapped her hands. “Very gut, fräulein. Perfekt. You haff made strudel before?”

  Lindy shook her head. “No. Never.”

  “Nein? But you do it so vell, fräulein.”

  “Only because you showed me, Minna.”

  Minna smiled, her grin stretching her cheeks wide. “Now, the crumbs.” Carefully, she sprinkled the crumbs over the buttered dough. “And next, the apples.” With deft hands, she spread the fragrant mixture of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg over the crumbs. “And now, ve roll.”

  She lifted the edge of the floured cloth and ever so carefully rolled a third of the filled dough over on itself. With the goose feather brush, she buttered the exposed edges of the dough. Then she ran around the table and took the other side of the cloth and rolled the last third of the dough onto the roll. “There!” She tucked the ends under the roll and gave it a pat. “Ready for the oven.” Using the cloth, she maneuvered the large roll of filled dough onto a baking pan. After checking the oven temperature, she placed the pan in the oven. Then she swiped her hand across her forehead, leaving a dusting of flour on her pale skin. “Now it bakes for a good, long time, and then it will be done. Ready for the exchange.”

  ***

  Aunt Gertrude had another engagement the next morning, so Lindy took the carriage alone. Rain poured from sodden skies, but everywhere a sheen of green shone on the lawns, and fresh green shoots pushed up from the hedges toward the sky.

  Lindy arrived at the Union, hung her wraps in the cloakroom, and hurried upstairs, hating to be late for the Kitchen Garden class. The girls already stood at their stations, measuring out flour for the day’s lesson. Jane smiled at her and then nodded toward Minna, who sat by herself at the end of a table, her head down.

  As Lindy drew closer, she realized the girl clutched a handkerchief and repeatedly wiped her eyes. “Minna?”

  The girl turned and burst into sobs. “Oh, fräulein.”

  A pang went through Lindy. “What is it, sweetheart?” She couldn’t resist the endearment, wanting to comfort her.

  Minna sobbed harder. Tentatively, Lindy put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and Minna turned to her in a torrent of sobs, burying her face in Lindy’s dress. Her thin shoulders shook so dreadfully Lindy put her arms around the child and drew her out of the classroom into the hall where a few chairs stood.

  “What is it, liebchen?”

  Tears streamed down Minna’s face. Lindy sat and gathered the child into her arms to wait until the sobs lessened.

  Minna pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the grubby handkerchief. “Sie ist tot,” she whispered.

  Lindy shook her head. “I’m sorry, Minna. I don’t understand.”

  The child’s body shook in a fresh spasm. “She is dead. Dead! Ach, du Lieber!”

  A spear of dread went through Lindy. “Who’s dead, Minna?”

  The girl’s face screwed up, and she burst into tears again. “Kasia.”

  Oh no. Kasia Kovaleska? Dead?

  “Oh, my poor darling.” Tears smarted in Lindy’s eyes, and she closed her arms tight around the girl. “Oh no, no, not Kasia.” Tears ran down Lindy’s face as she held the sobbing child.

  Finally, Minna sat up and wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. “She has no one, fräulein.”

  “No family?”

  “Nein.”

  “What happened, Minna?”

  Minna shook her head, and fresh tears slipped down her pale cheeks. “Her cough. It was getting worse. And then, last night—” The girl dabbed at her eyes. “She coughed and coughed, and—blood came up. So much blood.” Her body shook with repressed sobs. “Mein papa took her to the hospital in his wagon. But they could do nothing.” She looked up at Lindy, tears brimming afresh in her eyes. “I stayed with her. She died this morning.”

  Pain tore through Lindy’s heart. Could this have been prevented? What could I have done?

  Minna shook her head. “She is mit Engeln now. With the angels.”

  Lindy gathered the girl close. “Liebchen,” she murmured. “I’m so very sorry.”

  ***

  Kasia Kovaleska indeed had no one. After questioning Minna, Lindy realized she had to do something. Leaving Minna with Jane, she went home to consult her aunt.

  Aunt Gertrude knelt on a mat in a flowerbed, splitting clumps of iris roots. Her welcoming smile turned serious as Lindy approached. “What is it, dear?” She rose to her feet and brushed mud off her apron.

  “It’s Minna. The little German girl I’ve told you about?”

  Her aunt nodded. “Has something happened to her?”

  “Not to her. A friend of hers. A young Polish girl. She died this morning at Buffalo General. Of consumption.”

  Her aunt sighed. “Oh my. So sad.”

  “I want to help. Minna says there is no family here in Buffalo to take care of the funeral. After her older sister died, Kasia lived alone in their garret. They were lacemakers.”

  Gertrude nodded. “What do you propose to do?”

  “I want to buy a coffin for her and pay the funeral expenses.”

  “Very generous of you, my dear.”

  Lindy shook her head as hot tears welled up. “It’s not! It’s selfish. I want to do something because I can’t stand that she died so far from home, with only poor little Minna to keep watch.” A sob caught in her throat. “I feel guilty I have so much and others have so little.”

  Her aunt gave her a long, level look. “Your desire to help does you credit.”

  “You don’t object, then?”

  “Not at all. I’m happy to see you taking an interest in the children’s lives. Let’s go in. I’ll write up a list of the arrangements you’ll need to make.”

  Lindy returned to the Union to speak with Jane.
Then she went to find Minna.

  “Liebchen.”

  Minna’s pale tear-stained face brightened when she saw Lindy. “Yes, fräulein?”

  “I want to do something for Kasia. Could I bring you home this afternoon so I might speak with your father?”

  ***

  The electric street lamps were burning by the time Minna directed James to her home on Strauss Street, near the Broadway Market. They passed St. Stanislaus Church. On the next block, Minna and her father lived in a tiny two-room flat, in the cellar of a tenement building.

  Minna’s father met them at the bottom of the stairwell. The odor of frying onions and ammonia permeated the air. “There you are, mausi!” He scooped Minna into his arms. “I was getting worried.”

  “Papa, this is Fräulein Lindenmayer. One of my teachers.”

  Deep lines creased Mr. Schneider’s face, and there were dark smudges under his eyes, but his warm smile welcomed Lindy. “I am pleased to meet you, fräulein. Please.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the crude kitchen table against one wall. “Sit, please.”

  Lindy hesitated, then caught the shy, eager look on Minna’s face. “Thank you.”

  Minna filled a battered teapot with water from a bucket and stirred up the fire in the cookstove. A small pallet lay on the floor next to the stove, made up with a tattered blanket. On the wall above the pallet, colorful advertisements for flower seeds had been pasted. A calendar from Mazurek’s Bakery hung on another wall. Wooden shelves above the stove held a few china bowls and a chipped enamel pot. At one side of the room, laundry hung on a line strung across the corner. There were only two chairs, and Mr. Schneider stood next to the stove.

  Minna went to a carved wooden chest with the date 1790 carved into the top and took out a tin. “Lebkuchen.”

  Lindy waited while the teapot boiled. There had been no sign of supper when she entered the flat with Minna. Do they eat supper? Can they afford supper? Minna made tea for the three of them, proudly handing out the cracked teacups and serving the gingerbread. All Lindy could think about was that she was taking sorely-needed food out of their mouths. The cold chill in the room crept under her skirts, up her backbone, and curled around her chest. It was colder in this basement than it was outside. Damp too.

  “This is delicious, Minna.”

  Minna smiled and ducked her head. Her father gave her a loving glance.

  Lindy cleared her throat. “I’ve come to speak to you about Kasia Kovaleska.”

  “Ja. The smile left his face, and he shook his head. “Poor Kasia.” He glanced at his daughter, and a muscle tightened in his cheek.

  “Minna tells me she has no family here in Buffalo.”

  “Nein. No family.”

  “I’d like to—” Lindy swallowed. Am I overstepping my bounds? “I’d like to pay the expenses for her funeral.”

  Mr. Schneider’s eyes widened. “That would be most kind of you, fräulein.”

  “Could we do the wake here?”

  “Ja, ja.” Of course.”

  Lindy stood. “Then I will speak with the pastor at St. Stanislaus tomorrow and make the arrangements.”

  She embraced Minna before she left. “I will see you tomorrow night, liebchen.”

  ***

  The next morning, Lindy rose early and took the carriage to Buffalo General Hospital to sign the necessary papers to release Kasia’s body to the Schneider’s home. At the National Casket Company she chose an oak coffin to be delivered and went on to Wedekindt’s Funeral Home on High Street. There Lindy paid for an undertaker and the rental of potted palms, chairs, flower stands, candlesticks and tall white candles, a bier with a back drape, and the wagon to transport Kasia to the cemetery. At Palmer’s Florist on Main Street, she chose floral arrangements of white roses and calla lilies and arranged for their delivery.

  Her next to last stop was Hengerer’s Department Store. She made her way to the children’s area. Rows of dresses hung neatly on racks. She was examining one of fine white silk, with a pin-tucked bodice and satin ribbons on the skirt when a clerk approached.

  “May I assist you, miss?” A young lady with a pompadour, in a starched white blouse and trim black skirt, approached. “Anything in particular you’re looking for today?”

  Tears blurred the details of the dress, and Lindy’s throat thickened. This would most likely be the finest dress Kasia had ever worn. And it was for her funeral.

  Lindy groped for her handkerchief in her reticule.

  “Is something wrong, ma’am?” The clerk stepped closer. “Are you unwell?”

  Lindy shook her head. “No. No. It’s just—this dress is for a young girl who died yesterday.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry. A relative?”

  “No.” Just a young girl with no family, who lived in a hovel far from home, and didn’t have enough to eat.

  “It’s beautiful.” The clerk gently touched the deep yoke of lace at the neckline. “Do you know what size you need?”

  Lindy shook her head. “She’s just a tiny thing, really, but I’m not sure.”

  “How old was she?”

  “About fourteen. But... but undersized for her age.”

  The clerked examined the dress. “I think the one you’ve chosen will work. If needed—” The young woman hesitated. “If needed, the dress can be cut up the back, for the undertaker to... to...”

  “I understand.” Lindy winced. “Please wrap it up for me.”

  At noon she met with Father Pitass at St. Stanislaus. The church secretary ushered Lindy into the rectory study, a spacious room with bookshelves covering three walls and a plain mahogany desk. Father Pitass rose to greet her, a man of about fifty with firm lips, a long nose, and intent eyes under thick black eyebrows.

  “Ah, Miss Lindenmayer, how nice to meet you. Please, sit.”

  He gestured to one of two chairs in front of the desk, and instead of returning to his own chair behind it, he took the one next to Lindy and sat to face her. “So, you are here to discuss a funeral for a young Polish girl?”

  After the morning spent choosing Kasia’s coffin and dress, the warm kindness in his face undid her, and tears welled up. Horrified, she retrieved her handkerchief. “Yes.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m not sure that she was a member of your church, but yes. Kasia Kovaleska.”

  “Ah.” Father Pitass shook his head. “I know of Kasia and her sister, Edyta, I’m afraid. Occasionally they would come to Mass, but after Edyta died, Kasia no longer attended. Some of our Felician sisters went to see her and brought food. We tried to place Kasia with one of our parish families, but she refused. She did not want to be a burden.”

  So she continued to live in an unheated garret, alone.

  Lindy signed. There was nothing she could do for Kasia now except purchase a burial plot and plan her funeral.

  ***

  A small and strange gathering met that night in the tiny Schneider home. Minna and her father. Lindy, Aunt Gertrude, and Jane Ryan. Father Pitass. And a few ladies from St. Stan’s parish, moved by the plight of the young Polish girl.

  Tall white candles burned around Kasia’s coffin. They said prayers. Father Pitass and the ladies from the parish sang hymns in Polish.

  Kasia lay in the oak coffin on a white satin pillow, her curly blond hair spread over the pillow instead of the usual braids she had worn around her head. Lindy had brought white rosebuds to weave into Kasia’s curls with the blue silk ribbons. The girl’s pale face on the pillow seemed at peace. The spray of white roses in her arms filled the tiny basement flat with their scent.

  “She looks beautiful, fräulein.” Minna smiled, and the pain in Lindy’s heart eased a little. Kasia did indeed look beautiful. Death had smoothed out the shadows under her eyes and erased the lines in her face.

  Lindy fished in her pocket for the tiny pair of sewing scissors. “I have her mother’s address in Poland, liebchen.” She held out the scissors. “Do you think you could cut a few of Kasia’s curls to send to her?”


  Minna nodded and took the scissors. She approached the coffin and carefully cut two ringlets of blond hair.

  Lindy tucked the curls into a small envelope. Then she kissed Minna’s cheek. “I will see you in the morning, liebchen.”

  Father Pitass had told her they would sit up all night with Kasia’s body.

  ***

  The next morning Lindy and Gertrude took the carriage to St. Stan’s. Lindy had never been in a Catholic church before. A few mourners had gathered at the front of the church and knelt with heads bowed. Candlelight reflected off the shining marble floors and gleamed from the gold stenciling on the walls. A faint scent of incense lingered in the hushed atmosphere.

  Kasia’s coffin stood before the altar, covered by a white cloth. Father Pitass celebrated the Catholic mass, and although Lindy understood none of it, a quiet peacefulness communicated itself to her through the prayers and responses of the people.

  A wagon transported the coffin to the church cemetery, five miles outside of Buffalo on Pine Ridge Road.

  Father Pitass intoned the invocation at the graveside. “Wieczne odpoczywanie racz jej dać, Panie.” Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord.

  The Polish mourners replied, “A światłość wiekuista niechaj jej świeci.” And let the perpetual Light shine upon her.

  Father Pitass blessed the coffin with holy water and threw a clump of soil on it. “Prochem jesteś i w proch się obrócisz, ale Pan Cię wskrzesi w dniu ostatecznym. Żyj w pokoju.”

  “Dust you are, and to dust you shall return, but the Lord will raise you on the last day. Live in peace.”

  One by one, the attendants filed past the coffin and threw a handful of dirt onto its shining surface.

  Minna waited until the end. She tossed the dirt on the coffin and then laid a white rose on top of it. “Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered.

  Father Pitass approached Lindy. “Some of the ladies from the church have taken the liberty of preparing lunch for your group.”

  “How thoughtful of them.”

  The priest smiled. “It’s Polish custom, and I think, German as well?” He looked at Mr. Schneider, who nodded.

  Minna’s father hadn’t said much during the wake in his home, the Mass at the church, or the graveside service after. Now he sat next to Minna, watching as she tasted the Polish food and chattered to the ladies, who were trying to teach her the names of the dishes and laughing at her pronunciation. Mr. Schneider didn’t join in the laughter, only glanced occasionally from his daughter to Lindy, his face a solemn mask.