“I don’t understand.”
“If our questioner should marry and then die before having children . . .” he left the sentence for Rachel to finish.
“Of course.” Her face lit with understanding. “His wife would be left an agunah, chained to his apostate brother, who can neither marry her nor free her through chalitzah.”
“There may be some hope for the poor fellow.”
“What hope? No woman would want to assume that risk, not when there are unfettered men available.”
“He could possibly find a convert to accept him.” Salomon didn’t sound confident of his answer.
“Or if he were of less-saintly character, he could get a maidservant with child first,” Rachel said.
Salomon shook his head. “Most fathers wouldn’t want their daughters marrying into a family tainted by apostasy, and even less so if the prospective groom is lacking in morals.”
By the end of the summer, Rachel and Moses had almost completed their children’s engagement contract. It was an amicable process, a relief from Moses’s demanding patients and Rachel’s desperate debtors, one that each had secretly prolonged as a pleasant contrast to the rest of their business dealings. Eliezer, recognizing that he couldn’t return to Toledo without signing the document, fumed with frustration at their lack of progress. When they agreed to suspend negotiations until after Sukkot, Eliezer could barely hide his exasperation.
Rachel had no sympathy for his bad moods; she was exulting over the information she’d received from Alette and Simon. First came a visit from the weaver.
“We have almost finished two more bolts of broadcloth.” Alette put her hand on Rachel’s when the latter reached for her purse. “No need to pay until the fair’s over, but I couldn’t wait to tell you what I heard about Othon’s apprentice.”
Rachel poured her a cup of wine. “What have you learned?”
Alette’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “You know how some tavern wenches take advantage of the fair season to earn extra coins from the merchants.”
“Oui.” Proper women didn’t like this by-product of Troyes’ fairs, but the fact remained that there weren’t enough harlots to service all the visitors. Prices naturally increased, drawing local amateurs to supplement their incomes in this fashion.
“Sybille’s younger daughter works in a tavern near the Vienne Creek, so she knows all the dyers and fullers,” Alette said. “One night Othon’s apprentice comes in, and he’s picking quarrels with the other patrons, which is quite unlike him, says Sybille’s girl. So the tavern keeper tells her to quiet his bad temper or get him to leave before a fight starts, and since the fellow is good-looking, she tries to cheer him up.”
“I understand what happened,” Rachel cut her off. “What did she learn from him?”
“To make a long story short,” Alette’s tone revealed her annoyance at being interrupted, “the fellow worked years for Othon under the impression that he would be rewarded with the hand of Othon’s daughter and a partnership in the business.”
Like Jacob had worked for Laban, Rachel thought. And this man was about to be similarly cheated.
“Except that Othon decided to marry his daughter off to another master fuller, one at least twice her age,” Alette announced. “Sybille’s girl said the apprentice had some choice curses for Othon.”
“Perhaps he would be willing to sell his skills elsewhere. By the way, what’s his name?”
“Mon Dieu, I don’t know.” Alette looked at Rachel hopefully. “But surely you can find out.”
Rachel lost no time in dispatching a message to Simon, but it was several days before the dyer sent word to meet at his shop. She arrived to find him stirring a vat of boiling blue liquid. Between indigo’s normal stink and the addition of horse urine as binder, the stench was horrific.
“I apologize for making you come to me,” Simon said as he wiped his hands. “But I need to get these finished if I’m going to sell them before the fair closes.”
“And I apologize for interrupting your work,” Rachel said, trying not to gag from the fumes. “But the rumor about Othon’s apprentice appears to be true.”
“I’ve made some discreet inquiries, and I believe that with the proper inducements Othon’s apprentice can be persuaded to ply his considerable skills elsewhere.”
“We keep calling him Othon’s apprentice. Doesn’t the man have a name?”
Simon avoided her gaze. “His name is Dovid.”
“Oh my.” Rachel slowly let out her breath. “I wonder if that improves or decreases my chances of hiring him.”
“Dovid may have been born a Jew, but he’s not one now,” Simon said. “Not that he’s big on worshipping the Hanged One; he only attends Mass on their major feast days.”
“Maybe Dovid’s not a Jew. Maybe his father fancied the name.”
“He’s a Jew all right. He’s circumcised.”
“That hardly sounds like a discreet inquiry.” Rachel smiled and added, “Merci beaucoup.”
On her way home, Rachel pondered this surprising turn of events. Had Dovid been converted as a child or more recently? And if the latter, was he one of the anusim? She needed to speak with Dovid, but, assuming she could locate the man, how should she approach him and when? One thing was certain. If he were that angry with his employer, she might not have much time.
When Sukkot arrived and it became evident that Moses and Rachel would not reach an agreement for several weeks, Eliezer swallowed his resentment and decided to use the time to make a fur-buying trip and for Shemiah and Pesach to accompany him. Part of his anger was with himself, knowing that he’d been too cowardly to confront Rachel about leaving early. And each time they used the bed, he felt less inclined to bring up the subject.
Finally he decided to wait until the Cold Fair closed to leave for Toledo—like usual. In the meantime, he could ask Salomon to intervene on his behalf. Relieved at his reprieve, Eliezer was determined to appreciate his son’s company and the scenery as the threesome traveled to Kiev. He would probably never see those lands again.
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears as her husband and son turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Seeing them on horseback together was a shocking reminder of how Shemiah had grown, for the two silhouettes were nearly identical. When they returned, Shemiah would be affianced to Glorietta. Rachel wiped away the wetness on her cheeks and sighed.
She had been craven not to challenge Eliezer about Gazelle, but their summer together had been more pleasant because of it. And was the fact that her husband had a concubine in a foreign land truly so terrible? Gazelle was merely one of Eliezer’s servants; why was this so different than if she’d been his cook? Rachel didn’t quite convince herself; yet she sensed that the wound, while not healed, would eventually only be painful if prodded.
Perhaps the best thing to do would be to give up her clothier ambitions and travel with Eliezer. Dovid had left Othon’s employment less than a week after the Hot Fair closed, and all her efforts to find him had failed. He was probably halfway to Flanders by now.
Rachel was too consumed by nostalgia and regret to notice the man who’d stopped at her side. A soft cough above made her aware of his presence, and she quickly backed away. But he closed the distance between them.
“Mistress Rachel?” he asked.
Dumbfounded, she nodded and looked up at a dark-haired stranger. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled down low over his forehead, shading his face—the most handsome face she’d seen in some time.
“My name is Dovid. You’ve been looking for me?”
twenty-eight
The door banged open just as Salomon was rubbing his eyes and collecting the manuscript pages scattered across the table. After he’d put them away, a habit he maintained despite the many cats that now kept the yeshiva free from mice, he’d hoped to take a nap before services.
“Papa, Papa.” Rachel raced into the salon and gave him a hug. “I have marvelous news.”
Salomon
smiled and resumed his seat. He hadn’t seen Rachel this happy in . . . well, in a long time. “You and Moses have completed Shemiah’s engagement contract.”
“We have, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.”
“So tell me.”
“I’ve finally found the fuller I’ve been looking for.” Rachel saw her father’s doubtful expression, so she hurried on. “Dovid’s not like the other apprentices. He’s been fulling for fifteen years, since he was a child. He knows more than most masters, and he’s going to work for me.”
Salomon raised an eyebrow. “Dovid? Where’s he from?”
“He’s from Rouen.” Grimness replaced Rachel’s enthusiasm. “When he was a boy, marauders attacked the Jewish Quarter and massacred its inhabitants, including his parents. The surviving children were raised as minim, with Dovid taken in by a monastery. That’s where he learned to full cloth.”
“And where he learned to worship the Hanged One,” Salomon said. “You’re sure he doesn’t mind working for you?”
“Quite sure. You see, he wasn’t happy with the monks—that’s why he left them and came to Troyes—and these days he doesn’t go to church much anymore.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Papa, maybe I can bring him back to Judaism.”
“Does Dovid have a shop already?” Salomon suspected not, but he asked to see if Rachel’s focus was in the clouds or on earth.
“Non, but that’s a good thing.” Rachel was ready for her father’s skepticism. “We’re going to build a fulling mill in Ramerupt, like at the monastery. Dovid already found the perfect site—a narrow stream, just before it widens out into one of Joheved’s creeks.”
Salomon looked at Rachel with respect. “And before then?”
“Until the mill is ready, Dovid and his apprentices will walk the cloth in troughs. I’m sure Eliezer can get us all the fuller’s earth we need.”
“Speaking of Eliezer, we have another matter to discuss.”
“Oui, Papa.” Rachel sat down beside him.
“Some women, perhaps most women, don’t mind being separated while their husbands travel for business. But I perceive that you are not one of them.”
She nodded.
“You should return to Sepharad with Eliezer,” he admonished her. “A wife’s place is with her husband, not her father.”
A giant knot twisted Rachel’s stomach. “Papa, Mama asked me to take care of you, and I won’t leave until you’re healthy again. Besides, Eliezer doesn’t need me in Toledo. He has work there that doesn’t include me.”
Papa would never understand how she abhorred the separate spheres that men and women occupied in Sepharad—men studying, praying, and doing business while women remained at home, ignorant. She would never subject herself, or her daughter, to that life. Papa was scowling at her, so she decided to give him a reason he would understand.
“I will not share Eliezer with another woman, and I know he has another wife there.”
“He told you this?” Eliezer had certainly not told Salomon.
“Non.” She paused, her chin quivering, to control her emotions. “I questioned some merchants from Toledo this summer.”
“Are you going to tell him that you know?” Salomon was filled with an aching sadness. In her determination to ferret out her husband’s perfidy, his daughter had not considered the pain that such knowledge would cause her. Salomon held out his arms to comfort her, miserable that he, who had always tried to make her happy, was helpless to do so now.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t told anyone except you.”
“You realize that because your husband has taken another wife, you can demand a divorce without forfeiting your ketubah.”
Rachel nodded. Until Rabbenu Gershom, Light of the Exile, issued his decree a hundred years ago, a Jewish man might take more than one wife, as the patriarchs Abraham and Jacob did.
“But, Papa, I can’t go before the beit din and tell them, ‘I find this man repulsive; I can no longer live with him.’ It’s not true.” She found Eliezer as attractive as always, curse him.
“You don’t need to. Once Eliezer admits to another wife, the beit din will insist that he divorce one or the other.”
“I don’t want a divorce,” she wailed. “I want my husband to live in Troyes with me year-round. That’s why I’ve worked so hard on our woolens business.”
Salomon sighed heavily. Rachel usually got what she wanted, especially from men, but he didn’t see that happening in this case. Eliezer had asked him to talk to Rachel, to convince her to travel to Toledo, but that wasn’t going to happen either. Such willful children, my daughter and son-in-law, each one the spoiled youngest child of their family.
Yet though he suffered for his daughter’s plight, he had to be honest and acknowledge his relief that she would be staying with him in Troyes again this year.
Rachel took a deep breath as she realized that, for the first time in her marriage, she was going to deliberately lie to her husband. But hasn’t he been lying to me all year, deceiving me about Gazelle? Her guilt hardened into resentment. Who knows how long he’d been living with that woman, using the bed with her? Mon Dieu, maybe she was carrying his child. Maybe they already had children. A calculating smile played on her lips. Pesach was going to Toledo with Eliezer this year; there would be no more secrets when he returned.
So when the Cold Fair ended and Eliezer began laying out items to take to Toledo, she put on her most frustrated expression. “Curse these snowstorms.” She slammed her fist against the wall. “The fulling mill should have been finished weeks ago, and now I find that they’ve only just begun building the waterwheel.”
Eliezer didn’t look up from his packing. “Don’t worry. It will be done when you come back.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t leave until it’s built and I’m satisfied that it’s functioning properly.”
“What?” He stared at her in alarm. “I thought this mill was Joheved’s responsibility.”
“Oui, it’s on her estate, but Joheved knows nothing about fulling cloth.” Rachel tried to keep calm. She must appear disappointed and not lose her temper no matter how angry Eliezer gets. “It’s not fair, but I have to be here to supervise the workers.”
“Isn’t that Dovid’s job?” Eliezer said with sarcasm. With all Rachel’s talk about the new fuller, Dovid this and Dovid that, you’d think he could at least run the mill by himself.
“Eliezer, please be reasonable. Dovid is just our employee.” She carefully said “our” instead of my. “No matter how much I want to, I can’t disappear and let him run the business, not until I’m convinced that he’s reliable.”
He nodded slowly. “And how long will that take?”
“If it stops snowing long enough for us to start producing decent woolens, material worth dying with indigo and kermes . . .” She paused for effect. “I might be able to leave with the pilgrims and get to Toledo by Passover.”
When he said nothing, she came up behind him and put her arms around his chest. “Maybe sooner.”
To her relief, he turned around and began kissing her. “I suppose it’s wise not to jeopardize all the work you’ve done, not so close to reaching your goal.”
“I’m going to miss you terribly,” she whispered. Though she never intended to go to Toledo, that much was true.
Unfortunately Rachel’s complaint about the weather was also true. Joheved pressed her villeins into service building the fulling mill, and whenever snow delayed its construction, Dovid taught them the fulling trade.
As soon as she’d hired Dovid, Rachel began stockpiling unfinished woven cloth. Now, bundled in furs, she watched as Dovid directed two men to unroll a bolt of broadcloth into a long rectangular trough filled with fuller’s wash, a mixture of warm water, sheep fat, fuller’s earth, and urine. When the material was completely submerged, Dovid directed the men to climb into the steaming vat and trample the cloth. Again Rachel thanked Heaven for giving her a noble sister; Joheved’s villeins ow
ed three days of work a week doing whatever she wanted, from building a mill to digging fuller’s earth to collecting piss.
The mixture stank worse than Simon’s dyes, but the men seemed content to stomp back and forth through the warm liquid on this freezing day. Soon another cloth was undergoing similar treading in a second trough. Dovid carefully observed the four walkers, occasionally directing them to turn the cloth over. At the end of the day, clean water was bucketed into the trough until the foul-smelling wash was rinsed away.
“That’s why fullers’ workshops are best located near a source of running water,” Dovid explained to Rachel the next morning as fresh, warm wash refilled the troughs. “In cold weather like this, it will take five days of treading until the cloth is completely scoured and thickened. Even in summer, it takes three days.”
“Why so long?” she asked, pretending ignorance of the fulling procedure.
Dovid was happy to educate her. “Fulling accomplishes three goals. First it cleanses the cloth of dirt and grease. Second, and most important, it felts the cloth by forcing the fine, curly wool fibers to interlace and mat together. This gives the cloth its necessary cohesion and strength.”
“And third?”
“During fulling the cloth shrinks and compresses until it becomes impervious to weather and so durable that one mantle may last a man’s lifetime.” Dovid’s face shone with pride.
“What happens next?” Rachel just wanted to hear him talk.
“Once it’s fulled, we stretch the cloth out to dry on great wooden tentering frames, held tight by tenterhooks.” Dovid smiled and said, “It takes a strong man to lift the wet cloth and stretch it so taut that all wrinkles are removed.”
“I look forward to seeing it done.”
“While the cloth is still wet, we repair minor holes, remove knots or burrs, and shear off loose ends.”
Rachel blinked as snow blew into her eyes. “How can you do this in bad weather? Won’t the cloth take forever to dry?”
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 38