Come at the King

by Sherilyn Decter

  Her sweeping completed, Maggie unties her apron and hangs it on the hook by the store room. Sadie is sitting with her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, visiting with some of the other women. The sink is almost empty of bowls and spoons; they’ve been washed and put away on the shelves to wait for tomorrow.

  Maggie sits beside Sadie, grateful to get off her feet. The woman next to Sadie gets up. “Well, I’m off home then. Good luck with everything, Sadie. I hope we see you again.”

  “How are you feeling?” Maggie asks her, concerned with the shadows she sees around Sadie’s eyes.

  “A heavy heart is harder to bear than tired feet.”

  “I know what you mean. So much sadness. So little hope. But at least their bellies are full. For today.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the nourishment they need,” Sadie says, and sighs. “I overheard one of the men talking. He and his wife couldn’t afford to look after all their kids, so they just turned them out on the street. To fend for themselves, Maggie. No family, no roof over their heads. How are the poor things finding anything to eat? He’s here in Philly looking for work, and has no idea where his wife and children are. Or whether he’ll ever see them again.”

  “That’s a horrible story. How desperate do you have to be to do that?”

  Sadie rubs her swollen tummy. “I feel so selfish, thinking about doing what amounts to the same thing. I have a man I love, who is a good provider, who loves me, and wants to raise this baby with me. And instead I’m going to ‘turn it loose’, just like that man did.”

  Maggie holds Sadie’s hand. “Life doesn’t teach you how to deal with this,” Maggie says, gesturing to the wider world beyond the soup kitchen dining hall. “For some, it takes everything they have just to survive. Who are we to judge what decisions they make? But those are not your circumstances, Sadie.”

  Maggie gives Sadie’s hand a squeeze “You have a roof over your head, people who care about you, and enough to eat.” Maggie gives her hand another squeeze. “I’m not sure how Jewish people pray, but you have a lot to be grateful for. Life will never go back to the way it was, before Henry and the baby. You can only move forward.”

  Sadie sits quietly.

  “I don’t know about you, but today has been overwhelming for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such need. I feel emptied, and need the company of our little family to fill me up again. How are you doing? Would you like something to eat? We could stop on our way,” Maggie says.

  “That seems wrong somehow, doesn’t it? I can wait to make a sandwich in my own kitchen,” Sadie says.

  Maggie’s smile flusters Sadie, who tries to correct the statement. “I meant your kitchen, of course.”

  “No matter. I’m glad you feel at home. And speaking of which, let’s get you home and your feet up. That’s a lot of standing you’ve done today.”

  As Maggie and Sadie walk to the trolley stop, they can’t help but notice the soaped or paper-covered windows that indicate businesses closed or abandoned.

  Once they’re on the trolley, Sadie gives a sigh of relief. “Oh, it feels good to sit.”

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when the baby comes?” Maggie asks.

  “As this little tornado gets more real, it’s harder and harder to think of letting her go.” Sadie strokes her belly as they rumble along.

  “Her?”

  “It feels like a girl,” Sadie says.

  “I thought that too, when I was expecting Tommy. Jack and I were ever so surprised when the baby was a he rather than a she.” Maggie smiles at the memory of the pink blanket they wrapped Tommy in to bring him home from the hospital.

  “My grandmother says you can put a button on the end of a string and hold it over the baby to tell whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “So many old-wives tales. Do women stop you to tell you their family stories?”

  Sadie chuckles. “All the time. I don’t mind the stories, but sometimes they want to touch my belly, which is just too much.”

  “Being at the soup kitchen reminded me so much of my late husband, Jack. He worked with immigrants, and was part of the labor movement. These would have been his people.”

  “My father and grandfather have stories of when they first came to America, and the struggle to get settled. Everything is sacrificed for a better life. That drive is passed down to the children, which is why I am such a disappointment. They’ll never forgive me for the shame I brought them.”

  “Why not marry Henry, then? He’s a good man, even if he makes his money in questionable ways.”

  “My family are very conservative Jews, Maggie. It’s better to push your daughter out of the home than to invite a goy into it.”

  “A goy?”

  “Someone not of the faith. No, to marry Henry I would have to give up my faith, to turn my face from God. I couldn’t do that. If I do raise my child, it will be in the community of a synagogue.”

  Maggie pats her arm. “Jack died when Tommy was two. It’s hard to raise a child alone. I’m not telling you what to do, Sadie. But don’t dismiss Henry too easily. That wee baby you carry is tethered to your heart, you know. Think about what the next twenty years look like raising your baby without a shoulder to cry on during the hard times, or an arm to embrace you during the good. ‘It takes a village to raise a child’. I should know. I walled off Tommy and myself from our community, and it wasn’t until there was a tragedy that I realized how important the support of others could be—whether it’s a cup of coffee and free advice in someone’s kitchen, or one of my lodgers taking Tommy to a ball game.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Maggie, and will take it to heart. Fortunately, I have a few more months before I need to decide.”

  “Our stop.” Maggie nods at the approaching corner. “Come on, little mama. Let’s get you fed and rested. While you’re under my roof, you’re part of my family.”

  Chapter 49

  S ince Mickey left, Edith’s been spending a lot of time in Henry’s kitchen. She misses Mickey’s masculine laugh; she misses talking with someone who knew her ‘back in the day’, before she slipped behind the society matron façade where she currently lives. She misses the weight of a man in the bed beside her. Bottom line is, she misses Mickey.

  And Henry does, too. He’s been down the path before; this is his second time pushing Mickey out of his life, but the hole that the loss of their friendship created remains. And he misses Sadie. Funny how quickly someone can become part of your life. He misses her chatter as she fixes supper, the way she has of tilting her head when she’s listening to him, the weight of her body nestled beside him in bed. He misses her and the idea of their family.

  The two of them sit in Henry’s kitchen, hands wrapped around coffee cups growing cold. You could almost reach out and touch the presence of those absent. Missed.

  “I talked to Maggie, and she say’s Sadie is fitting in nicely. She’s happy and healthy, and Maggie’s relieved to have an extra pair of hands around right now,” Edith says. She glances around the kitchen from her perch at the table. “Say, you haven’t got the makings of a martini have you? Drinking all this coffee can’t be good for ya.”

  “No. Some beer or whiskey for guests, but the rest of the pickings are pretty lean, I’m afraid,” Henry says.

  “Hey, I know,” Edith says brightly. “How about I bring over some gin and a jar of olives next time? For when I’m around. And maybe a glass or two? Oh, and a shaker.”

  Henry laughs, shaking his head. “You know, some dames in your circumstances would be bringing over their toothbrush and some clean clothes. That’s why I like you, Edith. You’re a good pal and don’t have any other agenda. Sure, bring over the stuff for your martinis. You can teach me how to make them.”

  “My circumstances? The gay divorcee you mean? I’m through with men for now. Pish, nothin’ but trouble if you ask me. But enough about my sorry love life. You having any luck with yours?” Edith asks.

&nb
sp; “I’m going to pick Sadie up tomorrow. Fridays and Saturdays are her days off. I’m looking forward to seeing her.”

  “Any further progress on the marriage thing?”

  “I finally told Max what was going on. He’d heard about Sadie and her condition from her parents, but apparently they don’t know that I’m the father. It didn’t take long for him to figure out once they told him it was a goy that done the deed. He thinks I should talk to Ezra, Sadie’s father.”

  “Would that help, or make things worse?” Edith asks.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t want to do the wrong thing and make it worse, you know? I feel like I’ve only got one chance with Sadie and with her folks.” Henry pauses, and then takes a deep breath. “Edith, I also talked to Max about converting. I think I’m going to do it.”

  “You’d really go that far?” Edith asks.

  “If I have to.”

  “Well, you won’t get any lectures or push back from me. I’ve never thought about religion much. Oh, sure, maybe when I’m in a corner, like when Mickey’d been shot, and of course the holidays are nice. But religion’s not that important to me. Ya know?”

  “I’ve not thought much about it until now, either. The life I’ve led speaks for itself. But Max says that many things bring us closer to God. Heck, if loving Sadie is what puts me on my path, maybe that’s a good thing.”

  Edith rolls her eyes. “Puts you on your path? Where’d that come from?”

  “I’ve been talking to a couple of rabbis. If I was going to convert, Max suggested two different congregations, and I thought I’d check them out.”

  “So, beyond the snip, what’s involved in becoming a Jew?” Edith asks.

  “Every synagogue is different. And different branches have different ways of looking at it. The Reform synagogues expect people considering conversion should study ‘Jewish theology, rituals, history, culture and customs, and to begin incorporating Jewish practices into their lives’.”

  “I don’t know, Henry. That sounds like a lot of work.”

  “If all goes well, I’ll have a great study partner,” Henry says.

  Edith snorts.

  “In addition to the book learning, I’ll also have study with a rabbi, and attend services and be part of synagogue life," Henry says, frowning at her reaction.

  “I’m sorry, Henry. I shouldn’t have laughed. It sounds like you’re really serious about this whole thing. God and religion are a little outta my league. What you have to go through to become Jewish sounds real interesting.”

  “Interesting, but not easy. Some branches don’t accept conversion at all. But there are two temples in Philadelphia that will. One of them is a Conservative congregation, Temple Beth Israel, led by Rabbi Isaac Schreider. When I talked to him, he said that he doesn’t know whether my intent is true. I think he called it lust versus a true calling, but they will consider it.”

  “Rabbi Schreider maybe has more on the ball than you think,” says Edith.

  “It might be easier to go to a Reform synagogue called Keneseth Israel. They’ve got a slightly different approach, where the process is as important as the intent. That’s the one I told you about. Basically, I’d learn to be Jewish.”

  “Look Henry, you know me. I’m no saint. Anything but. But maybe ‘easy’ isn’t what you should be looking for. I mean, it’s God and everything. Shouldn’t there be trials and testing and stuff? To make sure you’re worthy.”

  Henry shrugs. “It feels like the whole situation is a test, Edith. I talked to the rabbi at K.I. I liked what he said. They approach conversion and the whole process because they want me in, rather than looking at it as a way to keep me out. For the Conservatives, it’s all about motivation and, for the Reform, the emphasis is on process and learning. You can see why I’m thinking a reform synagogue might be the way to go.”

  “Have you talked to the rabbi there?” Edith asks.

  “Yeah, Rabbi William Fineshriber. He’s an interesting man. Their temple has brought in Margaret Sanger to talk about birth control.”

  Edith raises her eyebrows. “How very topical,” Edith says, dryly.

  “—and they’ve made Albert Einstein an Honorary Member of the congregation. I think I could be happy there.”

  “More importantly, could Sadie?” Edith asks.

  “I think so. I thought we might meet with Rabbi Fineshriber together.”

  “What does Sadie think of you becoming a Jew?”

  “I am going to tell her this weekend. I’ll pick her up from Maggie’s, and we can go grab a bite somewhere. Then I thought that we’d go to Keneseth Israel, and then maybe spend the weekend in Atlantic City.”

  “From the temple of God to the temple of sin.” Edith laughs.

  “Well, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe we should go somewhere else?”

  “AC in May is lovely. There’s the beach and the boardwalk and the ocean. Go and have fun. I’m sure you two will have lots to talk about.”

  Henry, with the weight of the world in his voice, adds, “Including when to talk to her father.”

  Chapter 50

  I t’s a beautiful summer day and sunshine is streaming through Maggie’s kitchen window. She and Sadie work side by side, getting ready for a party.

  “This is a big day for you,” Sadie says, passing a pot of boiled eggs to Maggie to peel. Egg salad sandwiches, cut into tiny triangles, are always a party favorite.

  “Yes, Ron’s not actually met Archie and Dick. It’s like bringing him home to meet my family.”

  “Oh, Maggie, I meant burning your mortgage,” Sadie teases.

  Maggie gives a small laugh. “Sorry. There’s a lot on my mind. Yes, getting rid of that mortgage is a big moment, too.”

  It had taken some legwork on Ron and his father’s part, but they had tracked down the financial institution that Maggie’s original loan had been sold to. Paying it off in full was an accomplishment that Maggie had savored for days. Even the bank teller’s shocked amazement—’you’re actually giving us money?’—had not dimmed her pleasure.

  To celebrate her triumph of being debt free, Maggie’s throwing a mortgage-burning party. Ron will meet everyone he’s not met. She’s invited her mother, Cordelia, and asked Joe and Fanny and their children. Edith’s going to bring Henry Mercer. She has included the Inspector in the group. He is the person she had turned to so many times over the years as she struggled to find a secure financial footing for her family.

  She and Sadie have pulled together a lunch which includes some of the salamis and other interesting food that Maggie had picked up at the deli on Marshall Street. Sadie had sent Maggie with a list; Maggie’s looking forward to the adventure of eating new kinds of food. The knishes look tasty, although she’s not sure about what kasha is. Sadie assures her it is delicious, but she’ll wait and see. Cordelia said she’d bring deviled eggs, and Edith is to pick up a cake on the way over. At Tommy’s insistence, Sadie has also added a plate of rugalach to the buffet, although the plate mysteriously emptied and had to be refilled.

  The doorbell rings, and Maggie goes to welcome the first of her guests. Cordelia, looking resplendent in a peacock blue dress and matching hat, sails into the house, handing her plate of eggs to Maggie. “I want to meet that man of yours, Maggie. Is he here?” she says loudly, peering into the living room.

  “Hello, Mother. No, you’re the first to arrive. But look, Edith is coming up the walk now.” Thank goodness. She hands the eggs back to Cordelia. “Why don’t you take these through to the kitchen? You haven’t met Sadie yet. She’s my housekeeper.”

  “That pregnant Jewish girl you were telling me about?” Cordelia asks in a loud whisper.

  “Mother.” Maggie’s tone warns.

  “I won’t say a thing,” Cordelia says. She heads off down the hall. Maggie can hear her in the kitchen. “Hello dear, you must be Sadie. I’m Mrs. Gifford, Maggie’s mother. When does the baby arrive?”

  “Mags, am I late? I saw
Cordelia arrive. The darn traffic. And then the cake wasn’t ready,” Edith says, tilting her cheek for a kiss.

  “No, you’re fine. Isn’t Henry with you?” Maggie asks.

  “No, he’s coming separately. He wanted to stop and pick something up, and I was already running late.”

  “You look lovely. Is it new?” Maggie asks, taking in Edith’s flowered chiffon dress.

  “Yes. You don’t think it’s too young for me, do you?” Edith twirls.

  “Hardly, you look gorgeous. Aren’t you the one that’s always telling me age is a state of mind and not the date on your birth certificate?”