father after he died—”
“Benjamin is dead?” Frieda turned her face away. “Oh, my God! Too much has passed … when?”
“A long time ago, Mrs. Levine,” Rina said. “Peter doesn’t talk too much about anything, let alone something as … as … Peter keeps things inside. That’s just the way he is.”
“He’s my Benny all over again,” Frieda said. “I loved his father, Rinalah. Such love I’ve never known except with him. He worked for my father, did some carpentry … some bookshelves for him. I thought he was so handsome … I loved his hair, that beautiful thick red hair … ” Tears ran down her cheeks. “When my parents weren’t looking, we’d talk. I loved him so, so much.
“When Papa found out … oooohh.” She shuddered. “He fired him. Hated him. Benjamin had no family, no yichus, no head for learning. He was not a serious student, told too many jokes. Too frivolous for my father. When he found out we were still meeting behind his back, he slapped my face and forbade me to ever see him again … ”
There was a knock on the door, Miriam asking if everything was all right.
Frieda shouted, “We’re fine. Go away.”
“Mama, open up,” Miriam said.
“I said go away.” Frieda sighed. “Darling, I’m resting. Take care of your father for me. Tell everyone I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure,” Frieda said. “Rina is taking good care of me.”
No one spoke. A few seconds later, they could hear Miriam sigh, then the sound of receding footsteps.
Rina said, “They’re all terribly worried about you.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Stop it,” Rina said.
“Oh, my little Rina,” Frieda said. “I have this empty hole in my heart since I gave him away. Nothing has ever filled it, nothing ever could. I wanted to find him. Yes, I wanted to do it. But I never had the courage.”
“It’s very frightening.”
“He looked up his birth certificate,” Frieda said. “He must have been curious. But he never contacted me.”
“He said he put his name on this list—”
“Aaah,” Frieda said. “I know about the list. So many times I reached for the phone … I was too ashamed, too afraid. Too embarrassed! But he knew who I was. He didn’t come to me.”
“He knew you were married with five other children. He didn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”
“He is a better person than I am.”
Rina squeezed her hand. Frieda looked up at her, smiled. “He picked a beautiful bride. A young woman for his age.” She knitted her brow. “He just turned forty-one. You must be … what, ten, twelve years younger than him?”
Rina nodded.
Frieda shook her head. “I talk stupidity. Tell him I love him. He will not believe me, but tell him anyway. Tell him I will leave it up to him what he wants to do. But I would like to talk to him, ask his forgiveness.”
“There’s no reason—”
“Yes, there is, Rina. There is reason.”
“I’ll tell him.” Rina paused. “I don’t think he wants to see your parents—”
“My parents!” Frieda blurted out. “They’ll recognize him. Oh, dear God, my husband and children know nothing of my terrible shame.”
“So we figured—”
“I feel like dying.”
“Rest, Mrs. Levine,” Rina said. “Let me talk to Peter. I’ll find out what he wants to do.”
“Tell him my parents go to my sister’s house tomorrow for lunch,” Frieda said. “It will be only my family …” She started to cry. After a minute she asked, “Does he have any family?”
“Of course!” Rina said. “Peter didn’t grow up in an orphanage or anything like that. He had a very nice childhood. His mother and father live in Florida, where he grew up. They were taken aback by his conversion—”
“He doesn’t have to convert,” Frieda said.
“I know that,” Rina said. “And you know that. But it was easier to tell everyone that he was a ger than to explain the circumstances. Besides, he feels like a convert. His mother is a religious Baptist. Peter speaks very fondly of his parents. And he’s close to his brother.”
“Just the one brother?”
“Yes, that’s his only sibling,” Rina said. “And of course, he adores his daughter, Cynthia.”
Frieda clutched her heart. “A granddaughter I’ll never know. Such a terrible fate to suffer. But I deserve such a fate, Rina. It’s punishment from Hashem—”
“Shhhh,” Rina quieted. “Everything will work out.” But she didn’t believe her own words.
There was another knock on the door. Shimon this time.
“I’ll be out in a minute, darling,” Frieda said. “I feel much better. It was just a little exhaustion.”
“Rest, Mama,” Shimon said. “I just wanted to know.”
After he left, Frieda said, “You’d better go to him.”
Rina stood. “I’ll let you know what he wants to do.”
“Tell him I love him, Rina,” Frieda said. “I will not intrude on his privacy just as he didn’t intrude on mine. I will honor whatever decision he makes. Please tell him that for me.”
“I will.”
Frieda said, “And if he doesn’t want to see me, tell him I love him, I always have. And tell him I’m sorry … so very sorry.”
The next day, Rosh Hashanah services lasted from eight in the morning to two-thirty in the afternoon. Never much of a churchgoer in childhood, Decker wasn’t much of a synagogue goer either. But today he was grateful for every minute of delay. Less time to spend with people, specifically with her.
There was no purpose for flight now. His secret—so long buried, so seldom acknowledged even to himself—was violated. He knew and she knew. No one else knew of course, except Rina.
Rina, the go-between—a luckless role. She had played her part with aplomb and diplomacy.
She’ll do whatever
