She was aroused from her daydreaming when she noticed how late it was. She stood up and stretched, then sighed. She really didn’t want to go home…
Sara came into the room and gently shook Doris and Lillian. “You’d better get up. We have a long day ahead of us.”
The two girls scampered out of bed and headed for the bathroom, but it was locked. Rachel was in there and this would take all day. Impatiently, Doris looked out the back window and saw Shlomo and papa cleaning the truck. Papa was really so handsome and tall, she thought. Mr. Hanson down the street looked a lot like papa. Well, not a lot, but they both had dark blond hair and blue eyes. Papa was as tall and strong as Mr. Hanson and she’d bet papa could have knocked Mr. Hanson out for making her feel so uncomfortable the day she went over to try and play with Gerta.
“You don’t belong here, go home. Gerta can’t play with you.”
But Gerta liked Doris, so the next day on the way to school she caught up with her. “I’m sorry my daddy said that to you, Doris. I like you even if you are a Jew.”
Even if you are a Jew? What made the Sanderses so different from the Hansons, and what did being a Jew have to do with it? Was it bad to be a Jew? Papa didn’t look so bad…
“I got to go to the bathroom, Rachel. I can’t hold it in much longer,” Lillian called out, keeping her legs crossed tightly.
There was no response.
Lillian knocked hard on the door. “Let me in, Rachel.”
Rachel opened the door, and Lillian quickly ran past her.
“For heaven sakes, can’t a person even go to the bathroom in peace,” Rachel said.
“Peace? My gosh, you’ve been in there an hour,” Doris said.
“I have not. Why do you always exaggerate?”
“Well, darn close to it. There are other people who have to pee too, you know.”
“You’re positively obscene, the language you use is disgusting.”
“I don’t know what obscene is, but you’re inconsiderate.”
“You’ve been reading the dictionary again. Inconsiderate is a pretty fancy word for someone so illiterate.”
Doris’s face flamed. There was a limit to the insults she was going to take. Even though Rachel had been nice enough to tell her she could have children when she got married.
Sara had just reached the top of the stairs. “I see the fights are already starting. I want this to stop, do you hear me?”
“Rachel started it.”
“I did not.”
“You did—”
“That’s enough. Rachel, go get dressed and come downstairs and help.”
Some Fourth of July, Sara thought Couldn’t there ever be one day without them fighting? She wished they didn’t have to take the kids to the country. Just once. She hurried to the linen closet to get the white cloth and blankets. On the way downstairs she called, “Hurry up. I need you, Rachel.”
I need you, Rachel. Mama didn’t need Rachel—she needed a slave. Why did she have to be the oldest, Rachel thought as she was carrying out the food. Sara had prepared enough meat, salad, bread, cakes and pies to last a year. It made Rachel ill.
Doris and Lillian sat together in the back of the truck and Rachel sat across from them. “What have you got? A can of worms?” she asked Doris.
“No. Firecrackers…”
“Firecrackers? You’ve got enough to blow up the world.”
“She’s been saving them up for a long time now,” Lillian said.
“It looks like she’s been saving them for years.”
“I have not. I started last month—”
Putting up the tailgate, Jacob looked sternly from one to the other. “Now, before we leave, I’m going to warn you. I don’t want any fighting today.”
“Rachel starts it.”
“I know, Doris, you’re an angel.”
He always seemed to defend Rachel, Doris thought…why did she always have to be in the middle…?
Sir Lancelot, the puppy Jacob had given Doris, barked and whimpered and ran around the yard. Doris’ heart broke whenever they left him alone.
“Papa, can we take Lancelot along, please?”
Jacob looked at the mongrel with the elegant name.
Lillian put in, “Please, papa…”
“Absolutely not,” Sara decreed.
Jacob started up the motor and let it idle for a moment.
“Could we, papa?” Doris asked, ignoring mama.
“It’s better if we don’t. He could wander off and get lost in the woods.”
Well, at least papa was nicer about it, even though it broke her heart. And in a way she guessed it did make sense. She would die if anything happened to Sir Lancelot…
As they drove along Fruitvale Boulevard past the beautiful orchards of apricots, pears and apples Doris wondered how any day could be so wonderful. “This is God’s earth and all the things that dwell herein…” That was what the pastor said when Doris went to Bible class one day after school with Jennie Harrison. Doris thought the hymn they sang was so pretty that she had sung along. “Yes, Jesus loves us…Yes, Jesus loves us…and Jesus is the Lord.” Doris was humming the tune inside her head.
What was the difference between the Lord and God? At Passover papa had read from the Haggadah that the Lord was one and that next year they would be in Jerusalem. She wanted to go to Jerusalem because that’s where all her people had come from five thousand years ago, but maybe it wasn’t such a nice place after all. That’s where Jesus had chased the Jews out of the temple, which seemed kind of funny considering Jesus and his family had been Jewish, the same as the Sanderses. The Hansons loved Jesus even though he was Jewish, but they didn’t want Gerta to play with her because she was Jewish. It was all very confusing.
Jennie Harrison had asked her to go to the Baptist church last Easter and Doris was so thrilled to be invited that she wore the white dress with the eyelet embroidery mama had made from one of the petticoats she’d saved from when she was a girl and lived in a place called Brussels. Doris thought she looked quite elegant as she bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. Sara turned around and asked where she was going. Doris heart beat a little too fast when she lied, “To see the parade on Broadway…” “Take Lillian,” was the reply. She really didn’t want to because sometimes Lillian let things slip, and she knew mama wouldn’t want them to go to the Baptist church—even if Jesus was Jewish. But she wanted to hear the songs…Besides, Jesus loved them. Reluctantly, she took Lillian.
It was during that Easter service that Doris learned the Jews had killed the Son of God and that they were consequently scattered to the four corners of the earth to burn in hell for all eternity. Although the Sanderses had never killed anyone she felt terribly guilty, and the prospect of burning in hell was a frightening one. She couldn’t understand why it was that although the Sanderses believed in God they did not believe in his Jewish son. There was certainly a lot to learn.
On the way home Jennie said it was nice that Doris and Lillian had attended because even though they were heathens Jesus would save them if they believed in him. They would be forgiven if they converted and were baptized. She pleaded for Doris to do it before it was too late to save her soul. Doris didn’t want to lose Jennie’s friendship and so she said she’d give it serious thought although she knew she’d never do it. Jennie was so happy that she put her arms around Doris’ plump body and said the Lord would reward her in heaven because she had saved a soul. She was so happy that she paid Doris a real compliment and told her that she liked Jews better than niggers. But the baked ham that was served at the Harrisons’ Easter dinner was the deciding factor for Doris. She almost gagged at the sight of it. Not being kosher was one thing, as mama pointed out, but eating ham was strictly forbidden. You could get a terrible disease…
The aroma of the delicious food in the agateware roaster brought Doris out of her reverie, along with the sound of Lillian calling out to papa to please stop the truck because she had to go. Jacob parked on
the side of the road, while Lillian pulled down her pants behind a bush. Sara handed her a roll of toilet paper, which she always carried on excursions into the country, and a damp cloth to wipe your hands. When Lillian and mama came back to the truck papa said, “If anyone else has to go, they’d better go now because I’m not going to stop till we get to Elum Rock.” Rachel would rather die than do anything so undignified and Doris was glad she didn’t feel the need.
Once again on the road, the orchards were now left behind. Here the hills had turned golden brown and looked as though they were dying of thirst. But they hadn’t gone too far when once again papa pulled over and stopped the truck, got out and bought a basket of plums and another of green figs from the roadside stall.
Four eyes peered out beyond the steel-mesh panels and watched papa paying the farmer. When he came back and placed the baskets of fruit on the floor near Lillian, Sara said, “No one eat the fruit until it’s washed.”
Doris groaned. She would have loved to bite into a juicy plum. She was hungry, a chronic condition for her…
At long last the journey ended, as Jacob drove the truck off the road and parked under a clump of eucalyptus trees. Everyone got out and stretched and Shlomo picked up the baskets and carried them down the slight embankment to the edge of the rippling spring.
Within minutes, Sara and the girls had the cloth and the blanket spread out. Everyone was hungry and they piled their plates with food before they settled back to eat and laugh.
After the girls had rested, Sara said it was all right to change into bathing suits and wade in the stream. She put the food away and then lay down to read while Shlomo and Jacob played pinochle.
The picnic and the surroundings had evoked the memory of a different picnic in a different world for Jacob. He wondered how Lotte was and if the Mendlebaums were still alive. When he looked around at his children he realized that even if they weren’t boys he was still happy they were his. Actually, he had Lotte to thank for all his blessings. Sara was far from the perfect wife, but she was certainly superior to Lotte. Sara was no yenta. He would never let her know it but he envied her education and there were times when he felt inferior to her…She was a good mother to the kids and if she wanted them to grow up to be good and decent women, no one could condemn her for that. He was pleased with his family and very proud of what he had accomplished in so short a time. He’d provided a good life for his children. For sure they would never go hungry or be frightened and alone the way he’d been, he thought as he heard the happy voices and the sounds of splashing water and watched Doris float on her back and Rachel swim breaststroke with a bathing cap down to her eyebrows, and Lillian sit on a rock watching the fish scamper away.
Early that evening they set off their own fireworks display. Shlomo lit the punk and everyone listened excitedly to the sound of the firecrackers going off and watched the sparklers and the rockets flash in the darkness.
When they all got back into the truck and started on their way home everyone was tired but very content, especially Sara. There had been no fights. Jacob hadn’t had to scream, “That’s enough, that’s enough fighting.” On the drive back he even started singing “Juanita,” and Doris and Rachel joined in, harmonizing with his voice.
The day was coming to a close. Its memories would be stored away, to be taken out at another time—like the portraits in the attic.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE FIRST DAY OF school seemed like torture to Doris after the last three months of pleasure. But for Rachel it was heaven to get away from the conflicts of home. She loved the convent. At St. Frances she was not subjected to the discrimination that Doris faced at her school. The nuns were kind and gentle and Father McDougall was just about the handsomest man she’d ever seen, including even Uncle Shlomo…Except it did seem strange he could never marry.
The only time she felt different was when the other girls went to prayers. She would stand to one side of the open chapel doors and hear the sounds of “Hail Mary, full of grace.” It was so beautiful that she longed to be a part of it…
One day she managed to get up enough courage to step inside. When she saw the students kneeling in prayer, she was awed by the great hush in the room and she felt very much alone. She would have stayed but someone tapped her gently on the shoulder. She turned to see Reverend Mother Teresa summoning her. Rachel followed her down the hall and into her office.
“Sit down, Rachel. You know your mother would object to that, don’t you?”
Rachel nodded.
“Well, then, we have to do as your mother wishes.”
A tear fell on Rachel’s cheek.
“Why are you crying?”
At first she couldn’t articulate her confused feelings.
“Are you unhappy, Rachel?”
“Yes.” Her head was bowed as she looked down at the terracotta tiles beneath her feet.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Rachel took out the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Is it a sin to hate your mother?”
“Yes, it is, Rachel. Your own teachings are the same as ours. You must honor your father and your mother.”
A long silence lay between them before the nun went on. “It is wrong to hate, Rachel. The person it does the most harm to is the person who hates. And you, dear child, are too lovely a person to harbor such feelings.”
“But how do you love someone who treats you without any kindness, or respect?”
“Is it possible, Rachel, that you’re being overly sensitive?”
“I don’t think so. My own mother talks about me. She’s told me over and over again that she’s too young to have a daughter my age, that she can’t cope with me. Nothing I do seems to please her. She’s angry all the time…And my father’s away so much that he’s like a stranger in the house. I don’t know if he really loves us. He almost cringes when we try to kiss him—” Rachel was crying again…
“Rachel, I would like to have your mother come and see me.”
“Oh, please, no…If she even suspected I talked about her with you, she’d be very angry. She wouldn’t understand at all. She thinks she’s the perfect mother who’s done nothing but sacrifice for us…”
“And you don’t think she has?”
“No. She thinks she’s the only one who ever suffered. But if her childhood was so bad, wouldn’t you think she’d want ours to be better?”
Mother Teresa swallowed hard. “Well, what do you feel should be done to let her know how very unhappy you are?”
“Nothing. She’ll never change…” Rachel sat trembling inside. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Reverend Mother, I want to become a nun.”
Mother Teresa paused before she asked, “When did you think of that?”
“For some time now—”
“What are your reasons, Rachel?”
“I don’t like being Jewish.”
“Why do you suppose you’d like being Catholic any better?”
“Because it’s so beautiful. And besides, people hate us because we’re Jews. Everyone in our neighborhood hates us…”
“And do your sisters suffer from this the way you do?”
“No. Doris doesn’t let anything bother her, and Lillian is too young to understand.”
“Rachel, let me tell you something. I come from a country that very much dislikes Catholics. To be a Catholic there is to suffer too, and very often to die. It means to be without a job, with hardly enough food to survive on—and only because we’re Catholic.”
“What country is that?”
“Northern Ireland. And the pity is, it’s the Irish who fight the Irish. It’s been going on for hundreds of years, and I pray I am wrong but I see very little hope that things will change…Rachel, I’m afraid your reasons are not quite the right ones to become a nun.”
“If I said it was more than that would you believe me?”
“I would believe anything you tell me.”
“I’ve had the calling.”
“I’ve felt it for a long time now, but this morning I felt something so spiritual I just knew down deep in my heart…you must believe me…I felt the presence of God.”
“Rachel, my dear child, I know you believe what you have told me, but you must listen. The reason you feel as you do is because of a spiritual need and a need to find what you lack at home. Catholicism is a very difficult religion to take up. It is demanding to the point that Catholics born into the faith cannot always live up to what the Church demands. What is your rabbi’s name?”
“We don’t have a rabbi. We don’t even go to a synagogue. The only thing Jewish in our home is food, and only for very special days. That’s my mother and father’s way of being Jewish.”
“Your holy days are not observed?”
“No, Easter is the only one. We have a ceremony, I suppose you could call it…”
“Your Passover.”
Rachel was shocked that a nun should know about Passover. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes, indeed. You’ve seen the picture hanging in the chapel hall? That, Rachel, is the Last Supper, but it’s more than that. It was in Jerusalem and the Passover was being observed by Christ.”
“It was?”
“Yes. Would you do something for me?”
Rachel looked at the nun’s kindly face. “I’d do anything for you, Reverend Mother.”
“Then, on your own, I want you to find a synagogue and attend Friday night services. I also want you to go to Sunday school. Will you do that?”
Rachel sat silent for a long, long moment. “Yes, Mother Teresa. And thank you…If it’s not irreverent, is it all right if I say I love you?”
The sister held back the tears. “To be loved by you is a very great gift. That I will always keep in a very special place in my heart.” As Rachel started to leave, Mother Teresa added, “And, Rachel, try to remember that if God can forgive us, then we must learn to forgive one another.”
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