The big lie he told the family was that he had bought Hannah’s new cook stove with their savings. Baruch was genuinely surprised by the announcement, but Zev shrugged off his father’s skeptical look, knowing the old man would never question him about his personal finances. He had never intended for the secret to grow so big. It just got away from him somehow.
Zev had planned to tell Hannah about the Franklin Syndicate on the day he brought her the stove, but in all of the excitement, he couldn’t seem to find the right moment. Even late that night, in the quiet of their bed, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. She was so elated with the surprise. He convinced himself it would be best not to say anything rather than to chance spoiling her mood. After all she’d been through, Hannah was suddenly blossoming; a sunflower pushing upward to follow her dreams. She was once again the Hannah she’d been in their early years together. Who was he to stomp on her happiness?
So, he kept silent and on Solly’s advice, re-invested the money. He couldn’t lose. He had proof. The interest was paid, just as Solly said it would be. It had taken almost no time to have the money to buy the stove. Cash. Paid in full. Powerful words, feeding an even more powerful greed. To his utter surprise, after a while, it had become easier to keep his secret. His mind turned to new bothersome thoughts. How much was he losing by not increasing his investment?
Driving the peddling cart everyday, Zev had lots of time to ponder his problems and to rationalize his motives. It wasn’t greed after all, it was good business. The family needed the money. He worried about his young niece, Malka, and was anxious to bring her to Canada. Because of the syndicate, he would soon have enough to pay for her steamship ticket. Then he would save to make a deposit on a new home for his family. He would have money to send his boys to university when they were old enough. God willing they should earn the marks to be accepted. He could help his parents ease their burden, maybe even stop working entirely. The image of his mother bending over her sewing machine in the coat factory played in his thoughts. So, in mid-summer of 1899, Zev made a decision. He resolved to stay in the syndicate just until the end of the year. He would start the new century with a load of money to pave the way for their future. And by December he figured he would come up with a way to tell the family what he had done. It was an exciting plan that made solid sense.
Every week, he secretly slipped money out of the savings jar to give to Solly to invest. Every week the investment money grew, his records matching Solly’s accounting to the penny. It was astronomical. The money was all he thought about.
But as time passed, his joy in secretly building his financial security began to erode into fear that he might lose it. Alone with his thoughts on the cart, Zev’s misgivings began to grow as he puzzled over the Franklin Syndicate. As proof of the program’s legitimacy, Solly had showed him a poster for the syndicate boldly proclaiming profits of “520 percent per year” and articles in The New York Times that talked of people lining up in the street to bring their investments to its founder, William Miller. A “blizzard” of ten dollar bills had landed on the syndicate, the newspaper stated. Laughing loudly, Solly had pointed to a quote indicating that the stoop of the syndicate office had collapsed under the weight of the investors lining up to get their money into Miller’s hands.
Instead of bringing comfort, however, Solly’s words only escalated Zev’s apprehensions. It made no sense that a syndicate could pay ten percent a week. The truth of it bore down on Zev and ultimately made him feel sick. It truly was gambling. He could see it now. It had to be. He felt the sin tightening around his throat. The only way it could work was if early investors were being paid their interest with money from later investors as new people came into the scheme. No other explanation made any sense.
Hannah watched Zev’s mood slip into constant ill humor. She worried about his weight loss and his sleeplessness. He became critical and sharp-tongued with the children. Yet he assured her nothing was wrong. She pushed food at him. He pushed back, demanding to be left alone.
Angry and upset, she threw her energy into developing new dishes for the restaurant. Family meals became quiet as the children warily eyed their father, fearing an outburst, and Bayla sat with raised eyebrows and tight lips. Her unspoken criticisms were saved to discuss privately with Baruch.
Zev’s nightmares began about the time the leaves started to change color. He realized his nerves couldn’t take it anymore; the secret investment was ruining his life and hurting his family. At the end of October, he went to Solly to tell him he was quitting the syndicate. Solly said he was terribly disappointed, but he did as Zev asked and the following week he handed Zev his windfall. Every penny of it. He counted out the money behind the closed door in his office at the steam bath. Five hundred three dollars and twelve cents. Solly also emphasized that Zev had already lost the additional fifty dollars that would have come from another week of interest. He told Zev he was making a big mistake getting out so early, but that any time he wanted to get back into the syndicate, Solly would be there for him.
To his horror, Zev found no relief in pulling his money out, for his thoughts turned to calculations of the interest he was losing every day. He had taken the money home, wrapped it in a leather pouch and hidden it away. He stewed, he worried and he began to feel a persistent pain in his stomach.
He was frozen in despair. He could neither tell Hannah of his dilemma, nor could he take the money back to Solly to put back into the market. He felt foolish and he felt dirty. He had stashed the leather pouch deep in a corner of the cellar, behind the pickle barrels, exactly where Hannah had happened across a garter snake two summers before. She had run shrieking from the house and had refused to enter the root cellar since, sending the children to fetch the vegetables when needed. No, she wouldn’t be likely to discover his secret.
Fortunately, he had to make the trip to Gimli. If the weather held, it would take him between four and six days. The time alone would do him a world of good. One way or another, he would work out a way to tell Hannah about his secret. Then he would be done with the syndicate and its frightful power over his life. And he had the five hundred dollars to make the guilt go away.
As he was climbing up to the driver’s seat, he caught sight of Solly Silverstein, wrestling his bulk out of a cab and waving a paper high over his head.
“Zev! Where are you going, so early? I have to show you something!” Solly was weighed down more than usual. Wearing a new silver fox coat, he closely resembled a shambling bear. He huffed along in his rolling gait as fast his short legs could carry him.
“Not today, Solly, I am already late to get on my way. I’m going up to the lake and should have left an hour ago.”
“You work too hard, my friend. Here this is the answer to your dreams. I am holding your future in my hands.”
“What is it?”
“Look for yourself. A gold mine.” Solly handed him a telegram.
IMPORTANT. WE HAVE INSIDE INFORMATION OF A BIG TRANSACTION TO BEGIN SATURDAY OR MONDAY MORNING. BIG PROFITS. REMIT AT ONCE, SO AS TO SECURE THE PROFITS. WILLIAM F. MILLER, FRANKLIN SYNDICATE.
Zev felt his muscles tighten and his heart quicken. His resolve weakened under Solly’s enthusiastic bragging about how much money he had made, along with his news that he was rich enough that he might sell the shvitz and retire to California. Zev was stunned. Solly was ready with all the answers. The Vanderbilts and Astors didn’t feel guilty about being rich, and they shouldn’t either, Solly told him. But Zev wasn’t like Solly.
“Solly, I don’t know. I have go to Gimli.”
“Zev, did you not already collect a bundle with your investment?”
“You know exactly how much, Solly. As you know that my money earned for your pocket as well.”
“So why stop now? A little for me, a lot more for you.”
“I don’t know, Solly. I really am happy with the money I have.”
“Zev, for you I am going to give special rate. Yes? I will charge yo
u only half of my regular fee. Instead of one dollar for every ten you earn, I will charge you only fifty cents. You give me the money, just the five hundred dollars, and we leave it for just four weeks, and at the end of that I will come back with a profit of ...” Solly poked a finger in the air and mouthed his calculations.
“About two hundred and thirty dollars before I pay you your fees,” Zev supplied the number as if as if it was written on a paper before him.
Solly whistled. “No one can do sums faster than you, Zev. Such a talent.” His gold tooth glinted in the sun. “So? A quick two hundred and thirty, minus a few bucks for your buddy Solly. How much you gonna make on poor Queenie dragging this cart to Gimli and back? Fifteen dollars? Maybe twenty?”
Zev was too honest to hide his grimace. “Maybe. If the fish is top quality.”
Solly lowered his voice and came in so close that Zev could feel the moist heat of his breath before he could smell the garlic.
“You’ve seen for yourself how good this works. It’s money to reach out and just take. No work.”
Zev’s mind filled with numbers as he felt himself drawn into analyzing the risk. Solly had attached his silver thread and was spinning his web.
“This is guaranteed?” Zev asked.
“Sure it’s guaranteed. Why not? You know you can trust me. But just don’t tell nobody, because I don’t want to be causing trouble for those who will ask me how it is you get such special rate, no?”
Solly read the consternation on Zev’s face and chuckled. “Look. You go take care of your business, Zev. You did all right with the money you already made. You’re right.” He waved at the waiting cab driver and slapped Zev on the shoulder. “Have a good ride up to Gimli. If you change your mind, have somebody get your money to my place before four o’clock today. I am wiring the new investments to New York before the close of business.” His diamond ring caught the sun as he turned to wave good-bye.
Damn it to hell. Zev watched the cab jiggling under the weight of the shvitzing Solly, overly warmed by his expensive fur coat. He stood next to his cart listening to the sparrows singing his shame. “Cheap, cheap cheap,” is how Zev heard them, and felt a vein popping up on his forehead. It was a lot of money to make in a short period of time. Was he pushing his luck? But, he didn’t have to do it Solly’s way. He wouldn’t have to stay in the full four weeks. Just a single week would bring in more than double what he was going to make on the trip to Gimli. He yanked his pocket watch out and glanced at the light in the kitchen window. He could catch Isaac before he left for school.
The time away had worked wonders for Zev, and he was in a good mood as he made his way back into Winnipeg. With many solitary hours of tortured thinking behind him, and the comfort of having a full load of good quality fish to deliver, Zev had worked his mind around to the conclusion that his decision had been in the best interest of the family and that it would all work out. In another few days he would have all of his money back, along with the new profit. He would waste no time in going directly to buy the ticket to bring Malka to Canada—a year ahead of schedule. It was the greatest justification he had for risking all of their savings. Hannah would understand. He would persuade her with the solid reasoning he had rehearsed, over and over, in his long discussions with Queenie.
He winced in shame at the memory of lying to his son. He had handed Isaac the leather bound parcel of money and instructed him to take the package straight to Solly Silverstein. He told Isaac it was a book, a gift that Solly wanted to send to his mother in New York. Isaac, unfledged and innocent, had tucked the package into his coat and gathered up his schoolbooks. He had wished his papa a safe journey and waved as he ran off to do his errand.
Now, as he pulled into the market in Winnipeg’s North End to unload the fish Zev was both exhausted and greatly relieved by his decision. He would go to Solly’s right after he had emptied his cart and tell him he was pulling his money out. In just a few days he would have his profit and he would leave his troubles behind. It didn’t matter what Solly had to say. Zev was done with the syndicate.
He pulled up to the rear of the Winnipeg Fish Market and Feivel the fishmonger leaped from the doorway to help him unload.
“So Zev, what do you think of what happened to Solly Silverstein? Do you think he’ll serve time?”
“What? Serve time?” The words made no sense to Zev.
“You know, all that money he ran off with,” Feivel said, as he pried open a crate and shoved the ice aside. “Nice looking pickerel, Zev.”
Zev couldn’t speak. He looked anxiously at Feivel and felt dread pouring through his body.
“I forgot. Of course, you’ve been traveling, Zev, so you probably don’t even know. It’s all over the papers. Solly got involved in some investment scheme and the story is that he had a dozen or so folks in Winnipeg hooked into believing they were going to be rich. They just threw their money at Solly. Thousands of dollars they gave him for something called the Franklin Syndicate. Now the syndicate has been closed down. The guy running it, Miller, his name is, has disappeared to Montreal, they say, and is being hunted by the police. Millions of dollars are involved with something like forty thousand investors from all over the United States and Canada. No one has seen Solly in three days. They want to arrest him, Zev. A lot people around here want to hang him. Suckers. Imagine if you’d put money into that.”
“Imagine.” Zev whispered.
The few blocks left to ride home seemed an eternity as Zev reeled under the blow, his knees weak with knowing he had had lost a fortune. There wasn’t ten dollars left in the savings jar.
As he rounded the corner to Main Street he happened across Isaac, running towards home with his empty newspaper bag. He called out and the boy turned and saw him and waved. Then as if stricken he suddenly dropped his head. Zev wondered if he had somehow already learned of his father’s evil deed. That couldn’t be possible.
Isaac climbed into the cart with barely a hello, his eyes cast downward.
“Isaac, what it is? You are as pale as a ghost. You are not well?”
“I am not sick. Your trip was good, Papa?” Zev could barely hear him.
“What is it, Isaac? Why are you acting so strangely?” Zev’s mind started to race.
“I have something to tell you, Papa.”
Zev turned to his son and gripped his arm. “What has happened? Is Mama sick?”
“No one is sick, Papa. Oh, please understand, Papa, I did not mean to disobey you. I just forgot!”
“Forgot what?”
“The package for Mr. Silverstein.” Watching his father suck in his breath, Isaac braced himself for his anger. “Papa, I was on my way to deliver it, and then I was late for school, and I meant to go at lunch time, and then I had to run to the market for Mama, so I put it away in a special hiding place because you said it was really valuable and I should be careful, and …”
“The leather package?” Zev shook his son.
“Yes, Papa. I am so sorry. I am so ashamed I forgot about it.”
“And where is it now?”
“Inside my mattress with my stamp collection.”
Zev took a moment to absorb the news, then threw his head back and laughed until he almost fell from the wagon. God had spared him and he would forever be in debt for His grace.
He would announce tonight that he would buy a steamship ticket for Malka to join them in summer. They would cut back on other expenses to advance the date.
Later that night, in the darkness of their room, Zev took Hannah’s hand and lowered his eyes under the weight of his shame and his sin of deception. He told her how sorry he was and then he told her why. He told her the entire story, leaving out nothing, but adding no embellishments to gain her sympathy. Stunned, she said nothing. Finally he finished and rubbed his fingertips into his aching temples. He waited in the moonlit stillness for her to speak and heard only the ticking of the clock, as if it were counting off the seconds to an explosion.
Silen
ce.
Ticking.
A tiny sigh in the dark.
Ticking.
Blood pounding in his ears.
Ticking.
An eternity of ticking.
Finally she turned to him. There were no words, just Hannah’s gentle touch drawing him into the warmth of her embrace to release the pain and restore comfort in their union.
He wrapped his arms around his wife and wept with relief.
Chapter Eighteen
The New Century Begins
December 31, 1899
The sound of someone chopping wood downriver split the frozen air and summoned Emma Willows to her bedroom window. She climbed onto the window seat and rubbed her little fist in a circle in the frosty windowpane to clear a peephole. The fresh snow lit up with sparkles against the indigo sky of the late prairie afternoon. Henry was bringing the coach around to the front door, the horses stamping and snorting blasts of vapor. Emma could hardly contain herself. Though just eight years old, she had been given permission to accompany her parents to her first evening party. It was almost too much to bear.
A sharp rapping startled her as the door flew open and in bustled Lizzie Gallagher, the new maid.
“Good heavens, child. Are ye nae going to the dancin’ party? Yer parents is puttin’ on their coats and yer father is in no mood to be kept waiting, lass!” Lizzie chided her little mistress while scooping up dropped clothes and fluffing a pillow.
“I’m all ready to go, Lizzie. See?” Emma hopped down from the window seat and let her arms fly as she spun around to show off her new dress.
“Well, now, my goodness, Miss Emma, how fetching! Here, let me tie that bow properly in the back. I daresay that you’ll be makin’ a smashin’ impression in this lovely frock. You mind the boys now. They’ll be runnin’ after you to pinch yer cheeks, or steal a kiss, I’ll bet.”
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