by Jos
Auntie Essie stood at the kitchen door and wiped her flushed face with a corner of her apron. She looked at Becky in surprise.
“Becky, dear, what’s the matter? Is Bubbe alright?”
“She’s fine. I know you’re very busy, but…but I’ve just got to talk to you,” she blurted out. “Please, Auntie Essie, it’s very important.”
Auntie Essie looked at Becky’s strained face and nodded. “You’ll have to be quick, my dear. You can see how busy we are.” She took Becky into the bedroom. “We’ll have a bit of peace and quiet in here. Hester,” she called over her shoulder, “leave your sewing and carry on with the cooking, there’s a good girl. I won’t be long.”
Becky sat on the bed and told her aunt exactly what she thought about Mrs Haffner. She was careful not to mention the leaking barrel of herrings.
“Is Mrs Haffner the lady who sat next to Bubbe in shul last week?” Becky asked.
“Yes.”
“Did Bubbe send me and Yossie to her shop so she could meet us?”
Auntie Essie nodded.
“She…she can’t be the lady Abe Klein wants Papa to marry, can she? Please, oh please tell me she isn’t.” Scalding, salty tears splashed down her face. Auntie Essie stroked her hair.
“Becky don’t cry. Listen to me. I know it’s hard for you, but you must try to understand. Mrs Haffner will make a good match for your papa. She’s hard-working and a good business woman. It’s only a small shop but she makes a good living.”
“Well, so does Papa when he’s on overtime,” Becky answered defiantly. “He’s a master craftsman. The foreman at the workshop said so.”
Auntie Essie rolled her eyes and sighed.
“He may as well be the finest cabinet maker in the whole wide world,” she said,“but what good’s that when there’s no work? Have you forgotten what happened during the strike?”
Becky blew her nose. Auntie Essie was right, of course. She would never ever forget how ashamed she felt having to stand in line at the Jewish charity soup kitchen. Even worse was the fear of being evicted if they couldn’t pay the rent. They pawned everything they could, but they were always cold and hungry. Yossie was all skin and bone and Mama used to pretend she wasn’t hungry and gave him her food. She sniffed, wiped her eyes and forced herself to ask the next question. She dreaded the answer.
“Are they going to get married?”
Auntie Essie shrugged. “Your father’s thinking about it.”
“But she smells of herrings!”
Auntie Essie tried hard not to smile.
“Honestly, Becky, the things you come out with! Doesn’t your father reek of the horse-hoof glue he uses in the workshop? I’m sure I smell of fried fish right now. So what? The public baths are just round the corner!”
“I don’t want Mrs Haffner to be our stepmother!” Becky shouted. “She could never ever be like Mama and I…hate her!”
“Becky how can you say such a thing? Why you’ve only met her once, and that was in her busy shop. Be fair now and give the poor woman a chance. Ever since her husband died she’s had to run the shop almost single-handed, as well as looking after her children. You’ll have new sisters and brothers, it’ll be good company for you.” She stood up and opened the door.
“Now you’d best be getting home or Bubbe’ll start to worry. I’ve got to finish the cooking before your Uncle Joe and the boys get home from shul. Don’t upset yourself, Becky, everything will turn out for the best, you’ll see. Give my love to everyone. Good Shabbos.”
“I feel so sorry for that poor kid,” Hester said when Becky had left. “She’s not going to take kindly to a stepmother is she?”
“No, she’s not. Becky was very close to her mother,” Auntie Essie sighed.
“What about Uncle Jacob?”
“Becky told me that he makes excuses whenever she tries to talk to him. I can understand why. Jacob is a shy man and it’s not the kind of thing he can discuss with a child. It’s too personal. He’s worried about Bubbe and the children and I don’t think he knows what to do for the best.”
“D’you think he’ll get married again?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Hester. I think it’s the only sensible solution and I pray to God that Becky is old enough to realise that. Mrs Haffner is a good, God-fearing woman, I’m sure she’ll be good to her and Yossie.”
“You’ll have a hard time convincing Becky about that.”
“I know, I know. Becky is such a headstrong child. I only hope that she doesn’t cause any trouble and go and upset Mrs Haffner.”
Flat 74 Rothschild Buildings,
Brick Lane,
Whitechapel,
London.
Friday 13th November 1908
Dear Mama,
Bubbe lost the rent book – again! She had the five shillings ready on the dresser, but she couldn’t find the book. She gets into such a state. “Oy vey! Oy vey!” she kept moaning. “The superintendent’ll be here soon and if we can’t pay the rent he’ll throw us out into the street.” We had to drop everything and turn the place upside down, until finally Yossie found it underneath the dresser. Next time, we’ll look there first!
I’ve got a lovely new friend called Mirrie Lazarus. She’s good company and very kind and gave me a pair of her old stockings which are too small for her.
I’ve been thinking that if Papa marries You Know Who, we’ll have to live with all those awful Haffner kids. The eldest boy, Sol, is a big bully. No one likes him at school. I’ll have to work in the shop with the Haffner girls. That means there’ll be no chance of me trying for a scholarship. I’m getting goosebumps all the time these days.
Now – for the Secrets Of My Heart. I get so angry when Papa or Bubbe keep on saying ‘no buts’ every time I ask a question. You never did, and neither does Auntie Essie. Papa thinks that what’s going on doesn’t concern me. He’s wrong because it does, it really does. I’ll soon be eleven and I’m old enough to understand. I just hate not knowing.
Goodnight and God bless.
Yours faithfully,
Rebecca Feldman.
Chapter 5
‘Your father is thinking about it,’ Auntie Essie had told her. Becky was too, until her head ached.
As soon as Meg had left with a whispered “Good Shabbos,” Becky remembered something Miss Bennet never tired of telling them. “Now girls, don’t be scatterbrains. You must learn to think clearly.” Becky told herself sternly that that’s just what she must do. She pressed her hands on each side of her head so she could concentrate really hard.
First of all Papa hadn’t made up his mind yet, which was not exactly good news, but something to hold on to. But how long would it be before he did, she asked herself: a week, a month, a year? Next, as long as there was still time she would keep on trying to make papa see that he would be making a terrible mistake if he married Mrs H. I’ve got no one to help me so I’ll have to fight this battle alone, she muttered to herself with clenched teeth. From now on she would watch and wait. That, she nodded thoughtfully, was something she could do.
Mrs Haffner wasn’t in shul, and when Becky looked down where Papa and Yossie were sitting, she couldn’t see Abe Klein either. Maybe he was busy looking for another man to introduce to Mrs Herring. Please God help him to find someone soon, she prayed.
Mirrie nudged her.
“Stop daydreaming, Becky. Don’t forget, Mama’s expecting you this afternoon,” she whispered.
“D’you think she’ll like me?”
“Course, she will, silly. She’s really looking forward to meeting my best friend! Mama has gone to help our next door neighbour who slipped and fell this morning, so I’ve got to collect the cholent.”
“Good! I’ll get ours as well. We can go together after the service.” Becky told her quietly.
It was a cold raw day. Horses snorted clouds of steam and sent sparks flying from their hoofs as they clattered along the shiny cobblestones. Once inside the warm bakehouse, the gir
ls waited their turn, breathing in the mouth-watering smells of savoury stews. Mr Marston called out the tag numbers as he pulled them out of the oven one by one. Slowly and carefully, the girls carried their pots home. They stopped outside Becky’s door.
“Mmmm! Your cholent smells good,” Becky sniffed. “What’s in it?”
“Just the usual, a bit of meat, carrots, potatoes and dumplings.”
“Dumplings are Papa’s favourites. Bubbe hasn’t made them for ages.”
“My mouth’s watering, I’m starving,” Mirrie gulped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I hope Mama’s home by now, because if she isn’t then I’m going to help myself! See you later.”
Becky knew that a plateful of hot, tasty cholent with lots of gravy never failed to put her father in a good mood. As soon as they had finished eating she asked nervously, “Can I go upstairs now to see Mirrie?”
“Mirrie?” Papa asked.
“She’s my new friend. She lives upstairs with her mother and Mrs K. She’s very nice, isn’t she Bubbe?”
Bubbe nodded. “What a lovely girl! She’s got a good head on her shoulders that one and good company for our Becky.”
Papa wiped his mouth and pushed back his chair.
“We’ve got a Shabbos guest coming this afternoon. Tidy yourself up a bit Becky and make Yossie look presentable.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mrs Haffner.”
“But…!”
“No buts Becky,” Papa snapped, opening his prayer book.
The shock of Papa’s sudden announcement made her feel angry and sick. Why was that woman coming again? Why hadn’t Bubbe told Papa that Yossie and I went to see her in the shop? Oh God, I’ve got to get out of this somehow, she seethed inside herself.
“Go and rest now, Mama, Becky’ll clear up.” Becky’s father said.
“Papa, Yossie and I have already…”
“Call me in an hour.” He picked up the newspaper and went into his bedroom.
“Is that the lady who gave me a bag of biscuits?” Yossie asked.
“Yes, and I’m not going to sit with her all afternoon,” Becky hissed defiantly. “I’ve got a plan. Help me clear away these plates, I’ll wash them up later. Don’t argue, don’t make a noise and don’t tell Bubbe you’ve been helping me, otherwise she’ll tell me off for giving you ‘woman’s work’. Come on.”
When the dishes were piled up in the kitchen, Yossie washed his hands and face and Becky combed his hair.
“That’s better,” she said, rubbing some stains off his jacket. “Yossie, will you do me a big favour?”
Yossie was watching a cockroach scuttle across the floor. “What’s it worth?” he asked, crushing the insect with his foot.
“I’ll buy you a cinnamon bun after school on Monday?”
No answer. Becky was getting desperate.
“If I have enough money, I’ll buy you a cinnamon bun and two bagels, alright?”
“Okay. What d’you want?”
“Go upstairs to Mrs K’s place, number 139 on the fourth floor. Tell Mirrie we’ve got a guest this afternoon and ask her to come and get me at four o’clock. I’m sure Papa won’t refuse me. Then I want you to listen to everything that’s going on while I’m upstairs, so you can tell me when I get back.”
“That’s crazy Becky; how can I remember everything they talk about?”
“Just do it, Yossie. For God’s sake, just try and do it for me!” Becky hissed, close to tears.
“Alright, okay, I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Calm down,” he said quickly. Becky opened the door quietly.
“Now don’t forget,” she whispered. “Tell Mirrie to call for me at four o’clock. Don’t tell Bubbe and Papa where you’ve been. If they ask you, just keep quiet – keep schtum, okay?”
Yossie nodded and disappeared upstairs.
Becky flopped down on a chair near the fire. The wind was howling down the chimney. She gathered her skirt round her ankles and pulled her knees up to her chin. “It’s not fair,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just not fair. Auntie Essie thinks Mrs H will be a good match and I’m sure Bubbe does too. What about Papa? He doesn’t look as if he does and he doesn’t look happy either. He’s been in a funny, grumpy mood all day.”
She was so deep in thought she didn’t hear Yossie return. “Well?”
“It’s fine,” Yossie grinned. “Mirrie’ll be here at four o’clock.”
“Thanks Yossie. I’ve got to get washed now.”
The best cups and saucers were set out on the table. Yossie hovered round the plate of cakes. Bubbe smoothed down her dress and fussed with her head scarf. Papa wore his one good jacket and looked nervous. Becky watched the clock.
“Good Shabbos, good Shabbos,” Mrs Haffner smiled when she arrived. She wore a black felt hat and her shiny black dress smelt of moth balls. She had several gold rings sunk deep into her fleshy fingers. “Here’s a little something for your supper, Mrs Feldman,” she smiled, handing Bubbe a small parcel.
Bubbe unwrapped a few slices of smoked salmon – a rare treat. “Thank you, you’re very kind. There’s nothing my son enjoys more, isn’t that right, Jacob?”
Papa fidgeted in his chair. He nodded and smiled. Mrs Haffner beckoned to Yossie.
“Come here, child,” she ordered. “Did you like my shop?” she asked, pinching his cheek.
“Ouch!…Yes I did. Oh, thanks for the biscuits,” he said, rubbing his face.
“Such a polite little boy! Come in any time, Yossie, dear, I’ll give you some bagels and pretzels.”
Becky clenched her fists in anger. How dare she bribe Yossie. She wasn’t going to buy Becky off with gifts of food.
“My customers got a real bargain yesterday,” Mrs Haffner boasted. “I had to sell off a whole barrel of pickled herrings at less than half price. To be honest, I was more or less giving them away.”
Becky felt her cheeks burning. She didn’t know where to look. She turned round and fussed with the plates on the dresser so that nobody could see her red face.
“Why was that?” Bubbe asked.
“One of those knots of wood in the barrel must have worked loose, and all the brine leaked out. Oy vey! What a mess! I had to get my two eldest girls to help me clear up. We didn’t finish till late. I had no choice but to sell the herrings off quickly.”
Becky went into the kitchen. She was so angry with Mrs Haffner. Why did she have to tell Papa and Bubbe? Thank God she didn’t know it was her. She opened a cupboard door and accidentally knocked over a box of vegetables, which crashed to the floor.
“Are you alright, Becky? What’s happening in there?” Bubbe called.
“Nothing, nothing. I dropped something, that’s all.”
Just then there was a knock on the door. Becky grabbed a large onion. An idea flashed into her mind.
Papa opened the door.
“Good Shabbos. I’m Mirrie.”
“Come in, come in.”
“My mother sent these for you, Mrs Feldman.” She put a plate of homemade biscuits on the table. “Can Becky come and have tea with us?” Mirrie asked, smiling at everyone.
“Thank you, my dear,” Bubbe smiled. “Yes, of course she can. I forgot to tell you, Jacob. I sent the children to Mrs Haffner’s shop on…”
“Papa, Yossie and I have already met Mrs Haffner,” Becky interrupted hurriedly. She gave Yossie a warning look, grabbed Mirrie’s hand and pulled her out of the door.
“Well, well, so we meet at last! Mirrie hasn’t stopped talking about you since you bumped into each other!” Mrs Lazarus smiled. She looked closely at Becky’s tense, pale face.
“Come and sit down by the fire, Becky. You look as if you could do with a nice hot drink, yes?”
A cup of tea and a slice of cake soon revived her spirits. “It’s ages since I was here. It’s all so different, so cosy,” Becky said, looking around the room. The walls were freshly whitewashed. There was a bright coloured cloth on the table and a new curtain acros
s the bed-alcove. The shelves above the dresser were edged with a paper frill and a row of cups hung from the bottom shelf.
“I’m glad you like it. Mrs K, as you call her, is pleased too.”
“Where is she?” Becky asked.
“She had to go all the way to Liverpool early yesterday morning. Her brother, my uncle, is very ill. He lives on his own so my aunt went to nurse him.”
“Where’s that?” Becky asked, looking at a framed picture of a village scene.
“That’s Pochep in Russia, where we used to live.”
“Who are those men in the photograph?”
“This one,” Mrs Lazarus explained, pointing to the young man, “Is my late husband. He and his friend Hershel went to America together to start a new life. He was going to send for us to join him, but sadly he died in an accident. Hershel is such a good man,” she said with a far away look in her eyes. “He really cares about me, you know, and writes to me regularly. That’s my late father. He was a bookseller and a fine Jewish scholar. He taught me to read and write Hebrew, Yiddish and English too. Does that surprise you, Becky?” she asked.
Becky nodded and helped herself to more cake.
“Young Jewish girls had to help at home until they got married. They had no education at all,” Mrs Lazarus explained. “The boys were lucky. They were taught in religious schools.” She got up to make more tea. “Here I go rattling on. I’m sure you must be getting bored.”
“I’m not. Please go on,” Becky pleaded.
“My father and I used to love riding in the wagon to the country fairs. We rented a stall in the market place, unpacked the books and waited for customers. What crowds there were! Grain merchants, matchmakers, second-hand clothes dealers, rag-sorters and peasants shopping for bargains. Those good times have gone forever,” Mrs Lazarus nodded sadly. “All we hear of these days are terrible stories about pogroms when Russian soldiers, without any cause or warning, would ride into little towns and villages to burn down synagogues and kill innocent Jewish people. We’re very, very lucky to live in a free country with a roof over our heads. Mirrie’s very lucky to have such a good friend. Thank you for helping her to settle down in school, that means a lot to both of us.”