The rabbi said, “We have traditions that go back thousands of years…”
Celeste continued, “And why don’t women count toward a minyan? I don’t like that I don’t count.”
“As I said, women have different…” Rabbi Rifkin removed his glasses and rubbed the area where they contacted his nose. “Celeste, do you have a Hebrew name?”
“No.”
“Would you consider taking the name Chana? It was my wife’s name.”
Celeste smiled. “Chana is lovely.”
“You ask questions,” Rabbi Rifkin said, “with the same fervor as she did. One of her greatest desires was to read Torah.” He sighed and momentarily stared at the floor. “She died before I could think of a way to arrange it.” His gaze returned to Celeste. He gave her a warm smile. “The Torah teaches us, Chana was the first person to pray quietly to God. She is most well known for being the mother of Samuel the prophet. But she was also a prophetess in her own right. We learned many fundamental laws about prayer from her.”
“Chana is a lovely name,” William said.
“I wish my Chana could have met you, Celeste.”
“Sounds like we’d have lots to talk about.”
“Nathan told me of your love of Judaism and its values. I have something for you and your brother.”
He left the room briefly then returned with two cloth sacks, each containing a prayer shawl. With a radiant expression, he handed one to each of them.
Celeste’s eyes widened. “A tallit for me? Thank you.”
William opened his. “Thank you, Rabbi.”
Celeste wrapped hers over her shoulders. “It is lovely but I didn’t think women could wear them.”
“A girl can wear a tallit as long as it doesn’t look like a man’s.”
“Rabbi Rifkin, Celeste studied as much as me and she knows the blessings and Torah portion probably better than me. Isn’t there anyway we could be Bar Mitzvah’d together?”
The Rabbi shook his head.
William’s shoulder’s drooped. He turned to Celeste. “I tried. It doesn’t seem fair.”
On the walk home, Celeste stopped walking and said to William who also stopped walking then turned to face her. “You stood up for me.” She briefly embraced him.
William wore a questioning expression.
“What?” Celeste asked.
“I guess it’s been a long time since we hugged.”
“So?”
“ I felt your chest things against me. That’s new.”
Celeste laughed hysterically and they continued walking.
* * *
“Hi Celeste. Hi Ciara. Can I sit with you?” Shifra asked before William’s Bar Mitzvah began.
Celeste glanced at Shifra’s mother who nodded.
“Sit over here,” she said. Ciara sat on one side and Shifra on the other.
Celeste wrapped her tallit around both girls and Ciara occupied herself playing with the garment’s fringes.
At the end of his analysis of the day’s Parsha, William added, “I must thank Uncle Dov for teaching me Hebrew and Yiddish plus preparing me for this day. Also, thanks are due to someone who spent as much time as me studying the prayers and analyzing today’s Torah portion. When I didn’t feel like taking the time to get things right, she reminded me I would have the opportunity to read the text Jews have been reading and studying for thousands of years. Thank you, Celeste Spire.”
Chapter Eighteen: The Flu Strikes
Mid-morning on a rainy damp late fall day, William sitting across the kitchen table from his mother, put down the novel he was reading. Myra was occupied knitting a sweater for Ciara. He asked, “Is that Shifra Khasina in Abbey’s bed?”
“Yes,” Myra said.
“Have you heard anything about her mom?”
Myra stopped knitting, her expression one of sadness. “It hurts me to say but Esther is deathly ill. She’s had a weak heart since childhood. Shifra’s birth nearly killed her…and this flu epidemic may finish the job. Mr. Khasina is ill as well.”
“Is that why Mrs. Khasina is always out of breath when she moves around?”
“Yes. Keep this to yourself but Dr. Beckham thinks she only has a few days left. With Shifra close to Celeste and both parents so ill, they decided it was preferable that their daughter live with us.”
“Nathan’s lucky he left for Philadelphia last summer to study with Rabbi Rifkin.”
“The newspaper wrote that the flu is spreading across the country. They’re referring to it as an epidemic.”
“I heard school won’t open for at least another week.”
“That’s what I was told. William, I want you to head over to the Holts. The flu’s hit them like everyone else. The twins finished with the flu last week and are staying with the Anchotes. I heard Monica’s not eating. I made a container of Scotch broth which should be ready in a few minutes. I know she and Kim like it. It’s sleeting out so dress warm. I don’t want you sick again.”
“Mom, I’m not a babysitter.” Myra simply eyed her youngest son. He shrugged his shoulders as he knew there would be no changing her mind.
“Mrs. Holt and Monica like to read poetry,” Celeste suggested handing her brother a book. She coughed; a deep hacking cough.
“Celeste,” Myra said. “Pour yourself a hot cup of tea, add honey and lemon and you get right back in bed.”
“Yes Mom.”
“How’s Shifra?” Myra asked as her daughter stirred honey into her tea.
“Sleeping like a baby and her head isn’t burning up like it was the last couple of days.”
* * *
William trudged through howling wind, rain, and ankle-deep-mud to the dress shop. His boots made a sucking sound as each pulled out of the muck.
Entering, he found Kimimela hemming a dress by lantern light. “Mom sent soup over for you and Monica.” He removed his boots near the front entrance of the store.
Kimimela said, “I’m busy. Can you get it on the stove and heat it? Don’t be surprised if Monica won’t eat.”
William noticed a rain soaked young man peering through the front window.
“Mrs. Holt, that man is staring at us.”
The man pronounced her name and left.
“He looked familiar.” She shrugged, seemed momentarily pensive and returned to sewing. “Not many people call me by my Indian name.”
William proceeded to their residence at the back of the store.
“Hi William.” Monica was reading a book, wrapped in a blanket while seated on a wing back chair in front of the fireplace. The orange glow of the fire reflected on her face.
William said, “Mom sent soup over for you guys.”
“Scotch Broth?”
“With chicken.”
“Normally I’d love to, but…”
Monica, keeping her blanket wrapped around her, followed him to the stove.
William opened a burner, put kindling inside and ignited it. He moved a kettle over another burner after starting kindling below it. While stirring the soup with one hand, he put the other on his hip. “I slogged over here in this messy weather. You’d better eat.”
She smiled. “Are you going to bang your fist on the table to get me to eat?”
He laughed. “Sit down. A few minutes and the soup will be heated through.”
“Have you eaten dinner?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Eat with me?”
“You eat and I’ll eat.”
She sighed. “I will. Weren’t your folks worried you might get the flu over here?”
“Mom and I finished with it last week. Dad got over it before us and he’s next door helping Aunt Kathleen’s family. I guess once you get it you don’t get it again. Celeste, Shifra and Ciara are flat on their backs at our house.”
William checked the pot, gave it a stir, and replaced the lid. “Couple more minutes.” He heard the water in the tea kettle boiling. “Tea?”
“Love a cup.”
He filled two cups and set them on the table.
Celeste added sugar to hers then asked, “Did you see my mom?”
William sipped his tea before replying. “She’s working on something.”
“Was she sweating?”
“Lots.”
“She’s sick but won’t rest or close the store. Mr. Anchote is home taking care of his family.”
“The stores in town are all closed.”
They sipped their tea in silence for a while.
William checked the soup. “Ready.” He moved it to the side and closed the stove’s dampers. The thick, aromatic broth was ladled into two bowls.
“Mom puts in turnips, onions, carrots, dried parsley, and celery besides the barley and chicken,” he said.
He filled his spoon and glanced at Monica who hadn’t moved.
“You eat and I’ll eat. You agreed.”
She lifted her spoon and ate a few spoonsful.
Kimimela entered and sat at the table.
“I closed the shop for a while. I can hardly work. My muscles are sore and my joints ache; I must lay down.”
“Mom,” Celeste said, “You need to eat.”
“Not now. I haven’t the strength.”
“You haven’t eaten for two days.”
“Later.”
“Eat something or I’ll quit eating.”
William jumped up and filled another bowl which he put in front of Kim then poured a cup of tea for her.
Kim’s shivering intensified while she ate. “I can’t seem to get warm.”
With obvious effort, she emptied the bowl. “I’m going to lie down. William, there are down-filled quilts near the front of the store. Will you please bring two of them?”
“On my way.”
Returning with the quilts, he knocked on Kim’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” a weak voice called out followed by coughing.
“Here’s the quilt, Mrs. Holt.” He placed it over her.
“Thank you. Keep an eye on Monica please.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
Monica was sound asleep on the couch in the living area. William placed the second quilt over her. Returning to the kitchen, he washed their dishes and placed the soup pot on their back porch. William read for a few hours while the others slept. He added logs to the fireplace, pulled on his boots and coat, then slogged through the mud to his own home.
* * *
“How are the Holts?” Myra asked.
“Not so good,” William said while pulling his heavy boots off and hanging his coat. “One time, you said a room brightens when Monica enters. Not today. She looks pale, tired, and worn. Mrs. Holt tried to keep her store open but closed it to rest. By the time I left, she was in bed shivering and sweating.”
“Oh my Lord. There’s no one to cook for them. William get the ingredients for Colcannon. Also lemon, tea, and a jar of honey.”
“Does Mrs. Holt know how to make colcannon?”
She looked at him over the tops of her glasses putting both hands on her hips. “No, but you do.”
“Mom, no” he pleaded.
She appraised him with a stern visage then grabbed his shoulders. “Listen to me. People are deathly ill all over this town, not to mention country. The Holt’s have to eat or they’ll get worse. Mrs. Holt is in no condition to cook.”
“But Mom…”
“You’re fifteen now. Old enough to handle responsibility. Besides, you have your father’s determination in you. Time to use it.”
“Determination?”
“I’ve watched you shut out the rest of the world when you set your mind to a task; and seen your face when you get angry. You’re truly a copy of your father; so I know you’ll get this done.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Ingredients for Colcannon on the way.”
They boxed the items on their kitchen table.
“I’ve included dried apples, sugar, and barley for you to make for their breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“You’ve haven’t lived through illnesses like this. I have.” Myra shuddered. “My family suffered through a tragedy like this during the Irish Potato Famine. You do exactly as I say. Poor Mr. Anchote has already delivered his precious little son Lucas to the cemetery.” She gazed at the ceiling. “Lord, please take care of that fine boy.” Myra looked at her son. “You stay at the Holt’s and do whatever you can. Heat a kettle so it’s ready for tea. Be sure to add lemon juice and honey. Serve it to them whenever they’re awake. I’ll bring more food tomorrow morning. Until they’re on the mend, the only reason you come home is for more food. If one of them becomes incoherent, find Dr. Beckham. Remember! They don’t eat, they don’t heal.”
“I’ll get an oil cloth to wrap the box.”
“Take books so you have something to do in-between taking care of them. Make sure you keep their home as warm as possible.”
* * *
The freezing rain turned to wet snow during his return trip. William’s cowboy hat prevented most of the snow from landing on his head but wind-driven-water from the trees caused icy rivulets to course down his neck. He shivered with each. Arriving at the store, the fifteen-year-old pulled off his coat and boots before entering the living area.
Monica, still covered by the quilt and lying on the sofa, briefly opened her eyes and whispered in a weak voice, “Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Tired and sleepy. Better than yesterday but my muscles still ache. It feels good to sleep in front of the fire.”
“Your mom?”
“Don’t know.”
William placed more logs in the fire place and briefly looked in on Kim.
“How’s my mom?”
“Shivering but sleeping.”
“Thanks for checking.”
“I’m making tea and I have stuff to make for evening meal.”
“Can I help?”
“You’re sick. I’ll manage.”
“Why did you decide to come over?” she asked.
“My Mom. She figured you guys might need help with meals and keeping the house warm.”
“She was right.”
William walked their chamber pots to the outhouse. He thought, “I hope the food I make doesn’t smell this bad after they eat it.” He chuckled.
He was about to begin peeling potatoes when Myra’s voice echoed in his head. “Everyone wants to eat clean food and clean food starts with clean hands.”
“Yes, Mom.” He laughed as he soaped his hands.
“Who you talking to?” Monica asked, wrapping the down quilt around her before sitting down at the kitchen table.
“My mom. Ever notice, even when they’re not around, your folks talk to you when you’re about to do something they wouldn’t like?”
She laughed. “Plenty of times.”
While the potatoes boiled, William melted beef fat in a heated pot then added flour and stirred until it darkened. He added cubed, boiled beef, a mashed garlic clove, a bay leaf, and water. He finely chopped an onion and sliced cabbage, both of which he blanched in boiling water. After mashing the potatoes, William drained the cabbage and onion, mixed them with the potatoes and added minced dried parsley.
He placed the potato mixture on a plate, made a depression in the middle and ladled the beef in.
“Mom calls this American Colcannon. When she lived in Ireland, they put butter in the middle instead of meat.”
He placed the dish and a cup of tea in front of Monica who looked up at him.
“I know,” he said. “You’re not hungry. Please eat what you can. I’ll reheat the Scotch Broth for your mom. When I was sick, it seemed easier to eat soup.”
William knocked on Kimimela’s door. Not hearing a reply, he opened the door and peered at her sleeping, blanket covered form.
“I have evening meal,” he said, loud enough to wake her.
She opened her eyes briefly to see who it was. “I don’t have enough strength to eat. Thank you bu
t let me sleep.”
William left the room then returned with a chair which he placed next to the bed.
He slid an arm around her back and lifted her to a sitting position while arranging her pillows to support her.
“What are you doing?” Kim asked.
“I’m doing what I imagine my dad or mom would do.”
William sat on the chair and fed her Scotch Broth and tea.
“Thank you, William. I must rest.”
He checked on Monica who slept soundly. William cleaned the kitchen, added logs to the fireplace, and opened a book.
A few hours later, Monica’s coughing woke her. William looked up from his reading. She asked, “Are you going home?”
“Not tonight.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“I’ll pile blankets on the floor by the fire.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Why good?”
“If I wake, I’ll see…my cousin and not feel alone.”
He chuckled. “Go to sleep, Cousin.”
At two in the morning, William thought he heard a distant voice. He listened but didn’t hear more sound so refreshed the dwindling fire. The sound occurred again. After lighting an oil lamp, he checked Monica; she slept soundly. The fifteen-year-old peered into Kimimela’s room. She was speaking in a language he didn’t understand.
“Mrs. Holt,” he said, approaching her bed.
She smiled. “Andre, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Mrs. Holt, I’m William. Would you like tea or something?”
“No Andre. I enjoyed the meal you fed me. Just like the first time we met.”
“Mrs. Holt, you’re drenched in sweat.”
“I’m warm. You’re furs always keep me warm but my body hurts everywhere. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.”
“Don’t say that, Mrs. Holt. Monica and the twins need you.”
“Yes Andre. They need me.” After a gentle sigh, she rolled on her side and closed her eyes.
William put a hand just below her nose and thought, “Shallow but breathing. With all this sweat, her body must need more liquid.”
The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific Page 10