Beloved Enemy, The (House of Winslow Book #30)

by Gilbert, Morris

  She heard another sound then, the sibilant whispering of the wind, and this also eased the fear that had almost paralyzed her mind. Opening her eyes, she saw a window and outside a tree. A bird was sitting on a branch, and as Kefira studied the bird it tilted up its head and began to chirp melodiously. She watched the bird until she heard footsteps approaching. Turning her head she saw a woman wearing a light blue dress and over it a white apron. It was the face, she realized, that she had seen in the dream, and when the woman spoke her voice was pleasant.

  “Well, you’re waking up.” She stooped down, put her hand on Kefira’s forehead, and held it there for a moment. “Your fever’s gone. I’d guess you’re thirsty, aren’t you?”

  “Yes!”

  The woman turned to the bedside table, and Kefira followed her with her eyes as she poured water from a pink glass pitcher into a large glass. When the woman held it to her lips and helped her to sit up, Kefira gulped it eagerly, spilling some of the fluid down her chin. She drained the glass and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “My name’s Hannah Longstreet, and I already know you’re Kefira Reis.”

  “What … what is this place?”

  “This is my home. My husband brought you here after you helped with Joshua.”

  Memories then came flooding back to Kefira. She licked her lips and sat up straighter in the bed. She felt weak and drained but was relieved that her mind was now clearing. “How is Josh?”

  “He’s very well,” Hannah said. “The doctor said he’s going to be fine. He was actually more worried about you than he was about him.” Hannah’s eyes focused on the young woman, and she said, “Are you hungry?”

  Suddenly Kefira realized she was ravenous. “Yes, I am.”

  “You lie right there and drink water in little sips. I’ll pour you another glass. I’ll be back soon with something to eat.”

  Kefira watched Hannah pour the glass of water, took it in her own hand, then watched as the woman left the room. Things were still confused. She felt as if she were working a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces missing. Slowly she sipped the water and then lay back against the pillows. She turned to watch the bird outside the window and recognized it as a mockingbird. The wind had ruffled its feathers, but it tilted its head back and sang a song so happy and energetic that Kefira longed to be as free in heart as that small bird.

  ****

  When Hannah entered, Josh looked up from the book he was reading. “How is she this morning?”

  “Fine,” Hannah said. “She’s awake. Why don’t you go in and talk to her while I fix breakfast.”

  “She feels like talking?”

  “Well, she feels like listening.” Hannah smiled slightly. “Go on, now, and keep her company.”

  Josh put a marker in the book, closed it, and put his hands on the table. Very slowly he rose, moving like an old, old man. He had discovered that any sudden move or any twisting of his body was sure to bring the stabbing pain that took his breath away. He had sneezed once and had thought the act would tear his body in two. Since then he had learned to control sneezes by pinching his nose.

  Moving slowly, he left the parlor, walked down the hall, then knocked gently on the door. Without waiting, he stepped inside and saw that Kefira was sitting up in the bed holding a glass in her hand. “Well, I’m glad to see you in the world of the living again.” He walked slowly across the room and, turning a cane-bottomed chair around, sat down very carefully. He expelled a sigh of relief and then nodded. “I never appreciated what a great thing it was just to walk without hurting.” He saw that her face was pale and her eyes were filled with an expression he could not read. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m … much better.”

  “You gave us all quite a scare.” Josh nodded. “You were the star patient around here for a while.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Three days. Don’t you remember any of it?”

  “Not really.”

  “You were pretty sick. You had us all worried, Kefira.”

  He saw that she had drunk most of the water, and he reached out and took the glass. The move made him wince, but he grinned and said, “I’m better too. The first couple of days I couldn’t even turn over.” He poured the glass three-fourths full, handed it back to her, and watched as she sipped it. “You know, Kefira,” he remarked, “I guess I owe you another debt. It seems like you’ve made a habit of taking care of me.”

  A slight color tinged her cheeks as if she were not used to compliments.

  ———

  Kefira glanced at his face and was once again impressed with what a fine-looking man he was. He was lean and his cheeks were somewhat sunken from his recent troubles, but he had the clearest gray eyes she had ever seen, and there was a sense of fineness about him that she was unaccustomed to. His features were clear and clean and crisp, and there was somehow an aristocratic look about the long nose, the high cheekbones. He was freshly shaved, and his skin glowed in a healthy fashion. “Your ribs are broken?”

  “No, just cracked, Doc Peturis thinks.” He shook his head ruefully. “If cracked ribs hurt this much, I’d hate to have them broken!”

  Kefira listened as Josh talked easily. He had a wide, mobile mouth, and his chin was a trifle pronounced, which gave him a rather stubborn look. But there was, at the same time, a lack of roughness about him that she had come to expect from men, and she found him fascinating.

  Hannah interrupted their conversation, coming in with a tray bearing a glass of milk and a bowl of something that sent up a breath of pale steam.

  “You scoot on, Josh. After Kefira eats I’m going to help her wash and put on a fresh nightgown.”

  Josh got up, smiled at Kefira, and said, “Well, thanks again for saving my life.”

  Kefira did not know how to answer that, but she did manage a smile. The smell of the food reached her, and she turned and watched eagerly as Hannah came over and set the tray down on the bedside table. “Here,” she said. “Don’t worry about spilling some of it. I’m going to wash that gown anyhow. It’s hot. Don’t burn yourself.”

  Kefira ate gingerly. The broth was hot and had bits of chicken and vegetables in it. It was delicious and she ate it all and drank the milk too.

  “Now then. You can have some more later,” Hannah said. “I think it’s better to eat smaller meals more often, especially if you’ve been sick. Now, with your permission, I’m going to clean you up a little bit and change your sheets and your nightgown.”

  Hannah got her out of bed, helped her remove her gown, washed her with warm soapy water, rinsed her off, then put her in a fresh nightgown. After stripping off the covers and putting on fresh sheets, she helped Kefira back into bed and said, “Now, does that feel better?”

  “Oh yes, much better!”

  The door opened suddenly, and Kat Winslow entered. Her eyes alive with curiosity, she walked at once to Kefira’s bedside. “Hello,” she announced loudly. “My name’s Kat, and yours is Kefira. Josh told me.”

  “That’s right. Is your real name Kat?”

  “No, it’s Katherine, but everybody calls me Kat. I even sign it Kat. Katherine sounds too formal, I think. You’ve got a pretty name—Kefira. What does it mean?”

  “Now, Kat, you leave Kefira alone,” Hannah said, gathering up the sheets. She laughed, adding, “Run her out if she bothers you, Kefira. She’ll pester you to death with questions.”

  “I will not!” Kat said indignantly. But as soon as Hannah left, she pulled the chair up close and said, “I want to hear all about it. Josh told me you shot a man who was trying to hurt him. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Kat’s eyes grew even larger, and she breathed, “I want to hear all about it.”

  Kefira found the girl nearly as fascinating as her brother. She was somewhere around twelve or thirteen, as far as she could guess, and had the same gray eyes and tawny hair as Josh. She was wearing a pair of overalls, none too clean, and d
irt was underneath her fingernails. As Hannah had warned, she fired off one question after another.

  “Are you married?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Why not?”

  Kefira laughed. She was drowsy from the food and the comfort of a bath and the fresh sheets, but she found herself liking Kat very much. “I suppose I never found a man I liked well enough to marry.”

  Kat said, “Ma prayed for a man and God sent my father to her.”

  Kefira remembered Josh mentioning something like this and knew Kat referred to her stepmother. “Josh told me,” she said.

  “Maybe you’d better try that.” Kat nodded innocently.

  Josh entered at that moment and said, “Try what?”

  “Kefira hasn’t got a husband, so maybe she ought to pray that God would send her one like Ma prayed and got Daddy.”

  Josh’s eyes sparkled and danced with humor. He reached over and pulled Kat’s hair. “You leave Kefira alone.”

  Kat started to protest, but Josh said, “You go along, now, and let Kefira rest.”

  “I’ll go, but I’ll come back. When you get up, I’ll read to you, Kefira. I’m a good reader, and then I’ll show you my egg collection.”

  As soon as Kat left like a miniature whirlwind, Kefira said, “I guess I’ve forgotten what you told me about your stepmother.”

  “Well, you’ll have to know Missouri Ann to understand it,” he said. He took a seat, smelling the fragrance of the soap that lingered and noticing that her face was shiny. “It’s a strange story. You see, Missouri Ann is very close to God. Her first husband died about three years ago and she was pretty happy living alone. But then she found Dad with a busted leg and rescued him. She says God told her she was to marry him and have his children, so she took him in and announced that God had sent him.” Josh laughed.

  “I remember you telling me about that now. Things aren’t too clear just yet.”

  “Well, Missouri Ann’s a strange woman. She thinks there’s only one right person to marry. If you marry the wrong one, you’re in trouble.”

  “She thinks that?”

  “She told me a story one time,” Josh said, nodding. “She thinks it’s an old Indian legend. That God made one whole creature, and the creature was very happy. But something bad happened, and the creature got separated into two halves. The halves went all throughout the world, trying to find each other among all the other separated creatures. They couldn’t rest until they found the exact half they were originally created with.” Josh smiled, “I always thought of it like a paper doll torn in two. The only one that would match would be the one torn off from it.”

  “Is that what you believe?” Kefira asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Missouri Ann. It’s her theory.”

  As if on cue, the door opened and Missouri Ann came in and asked, “Well, how’s the patient?”

  Kefira studied her carefully. She was a tall woman with a square face, black hair with a streak of silver, and blue-gray eyes. She came over at once and looked at Kefira. “Well, you’re better. The good Lord has healed you, I see.”

  “I’m much better, thank you.”

  Josh rose and said, “I’m going to move around a bit. You take good care of this patient, Ma.”

  As Josh left, Missouri Ann smiled. “It makes me feel good to hear Josh call me ‘Ma.’”

  “He was telling me how you met your husband. That you believe God sent him.”

  “They make it sound easy. What they don’t tell you is that I was getting lonely after my first husband died. I prayed for a companion for a year before Mr. Winslow came along.” She stood over Kefira, felt her forehead, and then said, “Most people give up on praying too quick. You’ve got to keep at it.”

  Kefira liked the woman instantly. She mentioned tentatively, “I need to get up and do something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, help with the work.”

  “No, God sent you here to rest up. He brought you for that purpose, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Kefira was growing very drowsy, but this statement attracted her attention. “You really think God cares about things like that? I mean, I’m just one person out of millions.”

  “The good Lord knows the fall of a single sparrow. Why wouldn’t He care about one of His own?”

  “I don’t feel like I’m one of His own.”

  “Well, you’re wrong, then.” Missouri Ann smiled gently, and her voice was warm. “You’re one of His own, and God’s going to do great things. Now, you go to sleep. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”

  Actually Kefira was terribly sleepy. She felt the woman’s hand on her hair stroking it, and it gave her a sense of warm security. She closed her eyes and tried to say something but dropped off to sleep—a soft, gentle, easy sleep with no dreams.

  ****

  A strong wind was tossing the trees outside, and Kefira lifted her eyes from the food she was preparing to look out the window. She had always liked the spring, and here in the South it evidently came early. A short-tailed striped cat walked by, his eye on a bird perched on a fence out in the field, and he took off in a blur, but of course, the bird flew away, escaping with no trouble.

  “What’s that? What are you cooking, Kefira?”

  Kefira had learned that Kat had more questions than anyone could possibly have answers. For the past week since Kefira had made a rapid recovery, Kat had stayed almost under her. Now she crowded in, looking at the dough Kefira was kneading. “You ask so many questions, bubee.”

  “Bubee? What’s that?”

  “That’s what Jews call people they like very much.”

  “How do you spell it? B-o-o-b-y?”

  “No, b-u-b-e-e.”

  “I wish I could speak another language. Maybe you could teach me yours.”

  “You wouldn’t have anyone to talk to after I leave, I would think. There aren’t many Jews in this part of the world.”

  “But what is it you’re cooking there?”

  “It’s called vareniki. It’s really just little bits of dough filled with jelly or fruit or meat. Just about anything. Here, you stuff some of them, and afterward we’ll fry them in fat.”

  Kefira had improved so rapidly that she had gotten out of the bed, determined to do something to help. She had persuaded Missouri to let her cook a Jewish supper, and Missouri had been fascinated.

  Kefira knew mostly Jewish recipes and was not sure how the family would like them. As they worked, Kat spoke excitedly about the meal, about her school, about finding a new bird’s egg. She’s so full of life, Kefira thought, and so filled with joy. It’s good to watch her.

  “Kefira, can I ask you something?”

  Kefira laughed. “You’ve asked me a thousand questions in the past week. I suppose one more won’t hurt.”

  “Well … there’s this boy at school, and I think he likes me.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “I think so. He always comes to sit by me when we eat lunch, and he watches me.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Johnny Marr.”

  “And what about you? Do you like him?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m supposed to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He makes me feel kind of funny.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Oh, I don’t care about stuff like that—boy-girl stuff, I mean.”

  “I think that’s very wise, Kat. There’ll be plenty of time for boys when you grow up into a young woman.”

  “Did boys like you when you were thirteen?”

  Kefira suddenly had memories of how Howie Schwartz had followed her constantly when she had been exactly thirteen. She had been pleased but confused. “It’s a hard time—thirteen. You’re not a little girl and yet not a woman either. Sort of in between.”

  “You mean like a mule?”

  Kefira laughed. “I don’t know about mules, bu
t I know thirteen’s a hard age for girls—and I expect for boys too.”

  The conversation was interrupted when Missouri Ann came in. “Can I be of any help?”

  “I don’t know how this meal’s going to go over. Jewish cooking is different.”

  “It’ll be a change from squirrel and dumplings,” Missouri exclaimed.

  Missouri Ann began to work around the kitchen, listening as Kat spoke incessantly with Kefira. For a time she turned to watch the young woman and, as always, was concerned about her spiritual condition. Kefira was actually the first Jew she had ever met, and she longed to see her find the true Messiah.

  ****

  The meal was a tremendous success. The family ate everything, demanding to know the name of each dish.

  “This is great. Doesn’t taste like the fish I cook,” Jenny said. “What do you call it, Kefira?”

  “We call it gefilte fish.”

  “Well, it sure is different,” Clint said. “How do you fix it?”

  “Oh, you just chop the fish up, add onions and seasoning, and then cook it in salt water.”

  “And this stuffed cabbage. What do you call that?” Lewis demanded.

  “We call it holishkes.”

  “Well, it’s really great. And this pudding is wonderful—never tasted anything better. What do you call it?”

  “It’s just a bread-suet pudding. We call it kugel. It’s always better cooked with raisins, I think.”

  “How do you say ‘this is real good’ in Jewish, Kefira?” Kat piped up.

  “Me ken lecken di finger.”

  “That sounds like licking your finger!” Kat said, her eyes enormous.

  “Actually, that’s what it means. It’s so good one can lick his fingers.”

  “Kefira’s going to teach me to speak Hebrew.”

  “Well, actually it’s not Hebrew but Yiddish. Very much like Hebrew, though.”

  Josh ate slowly with enjoyment. He had never eaten Jewish food before that he could remember and found it delicious. He was also pleased that Kefira had made this effort, and he saw that there was a glow in her as every member of the family admired her cooking.