My Valentine

by Tracie Peterson

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-57748-012-9

  © 1997 My Valentine by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scriptures quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Chapter 1

  January, 1835

  Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord.

  Deuteronomy 6:4

  Darlene Lewy hurried to pull on warm woolen petticoats. It was a frosty January morning and living so close to the harbor waters of New York City, the Lewy house always seemed to be in a state of perpetual cold. Shivering and slipping a dark-blue work dress over her head, Darlene could hear her father in his ritual of morning prayers.

  “Shema Israel, Adonai eloheinu Adonai echad,” he recited the Hebrew in his heavy German accent.

  Darlene embraced the words to her heart. “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord.” She smiled. For all of her years on earth she had awakened each morning to the sound of her father’s faithful prayers.

  Humming to herself, Darlene sat down at her dressing table. Taking up a hairbrush, she gave her thick, curly tresses a well-needed brushing, then quickly braided and pinned it into a snug, neat bun on the top of her head. She eyed herself critically in the mirror for any escaping hairs. Dark-brown eyes stared back at her from beneath shapely black brows. She was no great beauty. At least not in the eyes of New York’s very snobbish social circle. But then again, she wouldn’t have been welcomed in that circle, even if she had have been ravishingly beautiful and wealthy to boot. No, the upper crust of New York would never have taken Darlene Lewy into its numbers, because Darlene was a Jewess.

  Deciding she made a presentable picture, Darlene hurriedly made her bed and went to the kitchen to stoke up the fire and prepare breakfast. Her kitchen was a sorry little affair, but it served them well. Had her mother lived, perhaps they would have had a nicer house, instead of sharing the three-story building with her father’s tailoring shop and sewing rooms. But, had her mother and little brother survived childbirth, fifteen years earlier, Darlene had little doubt they’d still be living in Germany instead of America.

  “Neshomeleh,” Abraham Lewy said, coming into the room.

  Darlene could not remember a time when he had not greeted her with the precious endearment, “my little soul.” “Good morning, Tateh, did you sleep well?” She gave him a kiss on his leathery cheek and pulled out a chair for him to sit on.

  “It is well with me, and you?”

  Darlene laughed. “I’m chilled to the bone, but not to worry. I’ve stoked up the fire and no doubt by the time we get downstairs to the shop, Hayyim will have the stove fires blazing and ready for the day.” Hayyim, her father’s assistant, was a local boy of seventeen who had pleaded to learn the tailoring business. And, since Abraham had no sons to carry on his tradition of exquisitely crafted suits, he had quickly taken Hayyim under his wing. Darlene knew that the fact Hayyim’s father and mother had died in a recent cholera epidemic had much to do with her father’s decision, but in truth, she saw it as an answer to prayer. Her father wasn’t getting any younger, and of late he seemed quite frail and sickly.

  Darlene brought porridge and bread to the table and waited while her father recited the blessing for bread before dishing up their portions.

  “Baruch ata Adonai eloheinu melech ha-olem ha-motzi lechem min ha-Aretz.” Praise be Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth. Abraham pulled off a chunk of bread while Darlene spooned cereal into their bowls.

  “There will be little time for rest today. Our appointments are many and the work most extensive,” he told her.

  “I’ll take care of all of the book work,” she answered as if he didn’t already know this. “I’ve also got Mr. Mitchell’s waistcoat buttons to finish putting on. Is he coming today?”

  “No, he’ll come tomorrow. I told him we must have a week to finish and a week we will have.”

  Darlene smiled. “Eat, Tateh.” The Yiddish word had never been replaced by Papa as she heard many of her neighboring friends call their fathers.

  Abraham gave his attention to the food, while Darlene watched him for any telltale signs of sickness. The winter had been hard on her father and even though he’d stayed indoors except for trips to the synagogue on Shabbes, “Sabbath” as her American friends would say, Darlene worried that the grip or cholera or some other hideous disease would take him from her.

  “You should hire another boy to help you with the work. There’s no reason why you should work yourself into the ground,” Darlene chided. She had taken on the role of worrier since her mother’s death and even though she had been only five at the time, Abraham said she filled the role quite adequately.

  “Oyb Gott vilt—If God wills,” Abraham answered and continued eating. It was his standard response to subjects he didn’t wish to continue discussing.

  Darlene gave the hint of an unsatisfied snort before clearing her dishes to the sink and returning for her father’s. He was a stubborn man, but she loved him more dearly than life itself. She tried not to notice that his hair was now completely white, as was his beard and eyebrows. She tried, too, not to see that his coat hung a little looser around his shoulders and that his complexion had grown sallow. Time was taking its toll on Abraham Lewy.

  With breakfast behind them, Darlene hurried to tidy the kitchen. Her father had already gone downstairs to begin his work day and she didn’t wish to lag behind and leave him alone. For reasons entirely beyond her understanding, Darlene felt compelled to watch over her father with a jealous regard. Maybe it was just concern over his winter illnesses. Maybe it was the tiniest flicker of fear down deep inside that made her question what might happen if her father died. She had no one else. Even Bubbe, her father’s mother, had passed on years ago. If Abraham were to die as well, there would be no one for Darlene to turn to.

  Changing her kitchen apron for the one she wore in the shop, Darlene made her way down the rickety wooden stairs. She would not allow her mind to wander into areas of morbidity. She would also say nothing to her father. He would only begin suggesting the names of local men who might make good husbands and Darlene refused to hear anything about such nonsense. She would never leave her beloved Tateh.

  “Good morning,” Hayyim said with a nod as Darlene passed by.

  “Good morning.” Her words were rather curt given the fact that her mind was still on the distasteful idea of marriage. Hayyim, three years her junior, was very much taken with her, and looked at her with such longing that it made Darlene uncomfortable. He was a child as far as she was concerned and his feelings were nothing more than a crush. She could only pray that God would forbid such a union.

  She was nearly to the front counter when the door bells jingled merrily and two men entered the shop. Their warm breath puffed out against the accompanying cold air and Darlene couldn’t help but shiver from the draft.

  Dennison Blackwell, followed by his son Pierce, entered Lewy & Company, stomping their feet at the door. A light snow had started to fall and the evidence left itself
on the doormat.

  Abraham stepped forward to greet them. “Welcome,” he said, his w’s sounding like v’s. “It is fit only for sitting by the fire, no?”

  “Indeed you are right,” Dennison Blackwell said, shaking off little flakes of snow from his coat lapel. “It’s only just now begun to snow, but the air is cold enough to freeze you to the carriage seats.”

  “And your driver?” Abraham said, looking past Pierce and out thewindow. “Would he not want to sit in the kitchen and warm up by the stove?”

  “That’s kind of you, but we won’t be terribly long and Jimson doesn’t mind the cold. He’s from the north and actually embraces this weather.”

  Abraham smiled. “Then God did have a purpose for such things.”

  Dennison laughed. “Yes, I suppose He did at that.”

  Darlene watched the exchange with little interest. What had captured her attention, however, was the tall, broad-shouldered form of the younger Mr. Blackwell. She stole glances at him from over the ledger counter and nearly blushed to her toes when he looked up and met her stare with a wink and a smile.

  “Oy,” she muttered under her breath and hurried to lower her eyes back to her work.

  “It seems,” Dennison was saying, “that both Pierce and I will be required to attend the annual Valentine’s ball.”

  “Ah, this is the auction where bachelors are sold to their dates, no?” Abraham said in a lowered voice that suggested the entire affair was a bit risque. “Such doings!”

  “True enough. Pierce has been abroad for some time and now finds that his wardrobe could use a bit of updating. We’ll start with a suit for ball and he can come back later to arrange for other things.”

  Pierce smiled. “My father highly praises your work. I was going to journey to London and have my suits made there, but perhaps I won’t have to travel so far after all.”

  “Certainly you won’t,” Abraham said with complete confidence. “We do much better work here. You will be more than happy, I think.”

  Taking their outer coats, Abraham motioned them into the back room, where he and Hayyim would take measurements and suggest materials. Darlene couldn’t help but watch the trio as they passed through the curtained doorway. Pierce Blackwell’s dark eyes had penetrated her strong facade of indifference and it shook her to the very core of her existence. How could one man affect her in that way? Especially one Gentile man.

  She busied herself with the ledger, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Not knowing what they were talking about was most maddening. If she dusted the shelves near the back room entrance, perhaps she would be able to overhear their conversation. Taking up a dusting rag, she moved methodically through the small room.

  “I suppose the easiest way to explain it,” Dennison Blackwell said, “is that we, too, serve one God, but one God with three very distinctive portions.”

  Darlene’s hand stopped dusting. What in the world is going on?

  Dennison continued. “We Christians believe in one God, just as you of the Jewish faith believe. However, we believe from Scripture that God has made Himself available to His children in three different ways. He is God our judge, God our Savior, and God our Spiritual leader and consolation. Thus we say, God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It’s like an apple. You have the core of the fruit, where the seeds lay in wait. Next you have the sweet meat of the fruit itself and finally the tough, durable skin that covers over all. One apple, yet three parts.”

  Darlene nearly dropped her cloth. What kind of mes-hugge “crazy” talk was this? God and apples? Did the Gentiles worship fruit or was that all that existed between their ears for brains? The very idea of comparing God to an apple outraged her. She dusted furiously at the door’s edge without seeing her work. Instead, she concentrated on the curtain which separated her from the men.

  “Hold up your arm, Mr. Blackwell,” her father said authoritatively.

  “Please, call me Pierce. My father says you two have become good friends. I’d be honored to consider you the same.”

  “The honor is mine. Your father is a good man.”

  Silence seemed to hold the room captive for several minutes and Darlene found herself breathing a sigh of relief. Good, she thought, Tateh won’t allow for such blasphemy to continue in his shop. She was about to turn away when her father’s voice caused her to stop.

  “So the misunderstanding is that we Jews believe you have taken other gods, while you are telling this old man that there is but one God and you serve Him alone?”

  “Correct,” Dennison answered and Darlene felt a strange sinking in her heart.

  “I remember when I came to America, Reb Lemuel, our rabbi in the old country, admonished me to remember the Word of God in Deuteronomy.” Abraham began to recite, “ ‘And it shall be, when the Lord thy God shall have brought thee into the land which he sware unto thy fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give thee great and goodly cities, which thou buildedst not, And houses full of all good things, which thou filledst not, and wells digged, which though diggedst not, vineyards and olive trees, which though plantedst not; when thou shalt have eaten and be full; Then beware lest thou forget the Lord, which brought thee forth out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage. Thou shalt fear the Lord thy God, and serve him, and shalt swear by his name. Ye shall not go after other gods, of the gods of the people which are round about you.’ ”

  Good for Tateh, Darlene thought as Abraham’s recitation ended. He would never fail to tell the truth before man and God.

  “There. That should do for you,” Abraham said. Darlene could hear the rattling of items and longed to know what was happening. Her father continued, “Perhaps the Scriptures speak not of New York City, but the heart of the matter is still intact, no?”

  “I agree,” Dennison replied. “And were our God a different one from yours, I would be inclined to agree. But honestly, Abraham, we serve the same God.”

  Darlene was nearly knocked to the ground by Pierce Blackwell’s solid frame coming through the curtain. Gasping, she was stunned by his firm hold on her arm and the look of amusement in his eyes.

  “Weren’t we talking loud enough for you?” He grinned broadly and released her to stand on her own.

  “Shhh,” she insisted with a finger to her lips. She moved quickly from the curtain, irritated with both herself for getting caught, and Mr. Pierce Blackwell for doing the catching.

  Pierce followed her back to the ledger counter. “I’m certain they would include you in the conversation if you but asked. Would you like to know more about what they were discussing?”

  “Leave me be,” she said and turned her attention to a column of numbers. She would try for the fourth time to figure out why the column didn’t add up to match the one on the opposite page.

  Pierce would not leave her be, however. In fact, he made it his particular duty to keep at her for an answer. “I’m serious. My father and your father have been discussing the Christian faith for some time now. They contrast the differences between Jews and Christians and reason together the similarities. I’d be happy to enlighten you. . . .”

  “I won’t hear such blasphemy!” Darlene interrupted. “I won’t be meshummad to my people.”

  “Meshummad?”

  “A traitor,” she replied harshly. “Now, please leave me alone. I have work to do and you mustn’t interrupt me again or I shall never find my mistake.”

  Pierce glanced down at the column of figures. “It’s there in the third column. You have a six and it should be an eight.”

  She looked up at him with wonder written in her expression. His stern expression was softened by a gentle smile. “I don’t believe you.” She quickly added the numbers and realized he was right. “How did you do that? There are more than fifteen numbers there. How can you just look down at my paper and instantly see that?”

  Pierce shrugged. “I’ve always been able to do that. I guess I’m just good with figures.”

 
“I suppose that would be an understatement,” she said, still not allowing herself to really believe him. She tore a piece of brown paper from its rolland jotted down a row of numbers. “Do it again.”

  Pierce looked at the paper for only a moment. “Three hundred twenty-four.”

  Darlene turned the paper back around and used a stubby pencil to add up the column. “Three hundred twenty-four,” she muttered. She looked up at him with real admiration, momentarily forgetting that she disagreed with his theology. “I must say, that is most impressive.”

  Pierce gave a tight, brief bow. “So does that mean you aren’t mad at me anymore?

  Darlene slammed the book shut. “I’m not mad. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She hurried across the room and made a pretense of re-rolling a bolt of discarded remnant cloth.

  “Well, if we can’t discuss religion,” Pierce said, following her doggedly across the shop, “perhaps we could speak of something else.”

  “There is nothing to discuss.” She finished with the bolt and took up her sewing basket. “I have work to do.”

  “That’s the third time you’ve said that,” he mused.

  She glared at him. “It’s true.”

  “I suppose it is, but does it preclude us having a simple conversation?”

  He was so totally insistent that Darlene knew there’d be no dealing with him other than to stop running and allow the discussion. She sat down to her work table and took up needle and thread. “So talk.”

  Pierce leaned against the wall and crossed his arms casually. He watched her for several moments, making Darlene stick herself twice with the needle. When he said nothing, she finally began the conversation the only way she could think of. “So you are going to the annual Valentine’s Ball?”

  Pierce grinned. “Yes. My Aunt Eugenia insists I attend. It’s for charity and she always manages to purchase my ticket, so I end up with the young woman she desires I keep company with.”

  Darlene shook her head. “Why not just skip the dance and invite the woman to dinner at your house?”