Remnant of Forgiveness Page 13

  Straightening her shoulders, Mary Theresa reaffirmed her decision to withdraw from Estelle and her family. . .or at least the family and Nelson. Working with Estelle, she would still have some measure of friendship with her. Or so Mary hoped. She could not bear to hurt the girl any more than necessary.

  To avoid running into her before working hours, Mary dressed quickly and caught an earlier trolley, then loitered out of sight in the solitary confines of the lavatory until the start bell.

  If ever there had been a shorter morning at Olympic Sew-ing Factory, Mary Theresa didn’t know when it could have occurred. When the lunch signal pierced the air, only the stack of completed collars in her basket belied the notion that she’d barely sat down to work.

  She drew a cleansing breath and affected her most casual expression. Then, gathering her lunch, she went to meet her friend, and the two of them exited the factory.

  “Gertrude’s back at work,” Estelle commented as they sat eating on their bench a few moments later. “Her finger’s still bandaged, but she’s determined to stick this out and prove to Hardwick that she can do her job.”

  “Good. Glad for her I am.”

  “Me, too. It seems a new employee needs that kind of gumption to make a quota. You had it, and look at you. You’ve been promoted already.” Smiling, Estelle finished the last of her hard-boiled egg.

  Mary shook her head. Right from the first, it had felt more like a demotion than an advancement, being moved so far away from Estelle, electric machine or no. After all, it only happened because some other girl had quit. Noticing a gray pigeon inching tentatively closer to her shoe, she carefully broke some crumbs from the cookie she’d been nibbling and let them fall from her fingers.

  “I’ve been asked to sing a solo this Sunday,” Estelle said, her eyes soft as she watched the birds coming to Mary’s feast. “Well, actually, the choir will back me up with some ooohs and aaaahs in several measures of the song. But it’s one of my very favorites: ‘The Old Rugged Cross.’ Do you know it?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “Well, then, you’re in for a treat. Pardon my modesty,” she giggled.

  Mary drew a deep breath. “I. . .on Sunday I cannot come.”

  “You can’t?” One of the few actual frowns she’d ever seen on Estelle’s face creased her smooth forehead. “Really? I thought you enjoyed coming with us last week.”

  “I did.”

  “Is it because we’re Protestants? And you were uncomfortable in our style of worship?”

  That would make it easier, Mary reasoned. Only it wasn’t true. “Not that. The Chudziks I want to visit,” she blurted. And once it popped out, the idea sounded quite good, so she added to it. “Veronica and Christine I am missing.”

  Estelle’s delicate features smoothed out again, like waves at sea after a storm had passed. “Oh, of course you would, after living with them all those months. I should have anticipated that.”

  Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Mary didn’t feel quite as bad now herself. She tossed a few more crumbs to the birds.

  “Well, we’ll expect you as usual then, on Tuesday. Okay?”

  Mary knew she just had to tell Estelle she would no longer come home with her at all. Ever. There was no getting around it. She opened her mouth and drew a breath to get the words out.

  “You can’t say no this time,” Estelle cut in, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s my birthday.”

  Mary’s spirits plummeted to the sidewalk. Once again she could not refuse.

  ❧

  “This is just the loveliest surprise,” Mrs. Chudzik gushed when Mary Theresa showed up on their doorstep. “If you had a telephone, we could have called and taken you to Mass with us.”

  “Next time, maybe,” Mary hedged, easing out of the woman’s embrace. No sense alluding to having missed church altogether.

  As she followed her inside, two sets of footsteps skittered toward them, and Veronica and Christine let out a squeal. “Mary! Mary’s here!” And they surrounded her with loving arms.

  “We were just about to sit down to dinner,” their mother announced. “There’s plenty. Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” Mary confessed. “May I help?”

  “No, everything’s on the table. All we need is you. We want to hear all about how you’re doing out on your own, how your job is going, what friends you’ve been making.”

  With an appreciative glance around the familiar surroundings of her first home in America, Mary followed her two “little sisters” to dinner, trying very hard to appear happy.

  “Sissy and I have started taking dance classes,” Christine said during dinner.

  “How nice,” Mary said. “Fun it must be.”

  “I used to take ballet when I was little,” Veronica explained. “But I’ve always wanted to learn tap. We’re giving a recital soon, and you can come see us dance.”

  Mary nodded, enjoying hearing the girls’ experiences again.

  “And how is your job going?” their mother asked.

  “Good. Everything I like but supervisor. This woman I must show.” Mary got up and offered an imitation of a perpetually scowling Mrs. Hardwick skulking through the rows of sewing machines, an imaginary magnifying glass poised to search out flaws in people’s work.

  The family roared with laughter, and Mary couldn’t help but get caught up in it herself. For a few moments, it almost felt as though she’d never left them to go off on her own.

  “Child,” stout little Mr. Chudzik said from the head of the table, “it does our hearts good to see how well you’ve adjusted to life in this country. If I’m not mistaken, even your English seems to be getting clearer.” He rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair and nodded approvingly.

  “Thank you. Hard I try, to sound like others. I do not think always in Polish now.”

  “Oh! Speaking of Polish,” his wife gasped, placing a pudgy hand to her heart, “a letter came for you the other day. I almost forgot.”

  “I know where you put it, Mother,” Veronica said, and jumping up from the table, she bolted to retrieve the envelope from the parlor.

  Mary Theresa held her breath, wondering who could have written to her.

  The postmark revealed the missive had come from Florida, which added even more to the mystery. But then the return address caught her eye. “Rahel! From my friend, Rahel!” she exclaimed, delighted beyond words. She smiled and tucked the mail into her skirt pocket. “For later I must save.”

  It seemed to take forever until the meal ended and the dishes had been washed and put away. And all the while, Mary could feel Rahel’s letter in her pocket. From time to time she touched it with her fingers just to be sure it didn’t disappear. But, Florida! Why Florida?

  Finally, the Chudziks drove her home and waved good-bye. Mary slipped inside and ran up the stairs to her apartment. Then she tore into the message from her Jewish friend:

  Dearest Marie Therese,

  I hope this letter finds you. I have been trying for a long time to learn where you are. I wrote to Josep and Ania for help, and they told me they believe you went to live with one of their American contacts named Chudzik. I am trying them first. If I do not hear from you, I will write to Josep for other names.

  Still overwhelmed at having received this unexpected word from her dear friend, Mary smiled to herself. Rahel had not changed. The determination which had enabled her to survive the death camp would likely see her through the rest of her life, as well. She returned her attention to the pages in her hand, realizing how strange it seemed to be reading Polish again after having been so thoroughly immersed in the English language since her arrival in New York.

  There is so much to tell you, I do not know where to begin. The ship I took to Palestine was not permitted to dock. Too many refugees already, they told us, so my grand plan of settling there and making jewelry did not come to be. Many places I went after that. Too many to write. But at last I came to Miami.

&nbs
p; I work now for a family named Goldberg, in their store. The owner, Mr. Goldberg, likes the pieces I make, so he lets me design others. But most amazing is that even with a Jewish name and heritage, he and his wife have become Christians. They believe Jesus to be the Messiah promised centuries before His birth in Bethlehem. It reminds me of hearing the Bible at the camp. I am starting to believe it was true, all those things we heard.

  Mary’s eyes widened as she reread that paragraph. Rahel, becoming a Christian believer! An added sense of joy filled her. She had begun to accept those teachings herself but had never brought herself to share that with anyone. She read on:

  It seems strange to live in a place where there is peace. Peace all around, and now peace growing inside my heart. But I am very lonely here. How I wish my family were alive to enjoy this with me. That is why I am writing. I feel as if you are my family now. My sister. And I think how wonderful it would be if we could live in the same place, be happy together.

  If you get my letter, please write to me. I know you might like being in New York and not want to leave there. That is fine. But think about how much fun we could have together. It is always warm in Florida. We could learn to swim in the ocean. Even if you can-not come to live here, you could still visit me. I long to learn about you and your life in America. I will wait to hear from you.

  Your friend always,

  Rahel

  Hugging the letter to her breast, Mary Theresa laid her head against the back of the couch. How very precious to know that Rahel was safe and doing well, and in the trade she loved. So many prayers had been answered. And Rahel wanted Mary to join her. That would take some consideration. Florida was a long way from New York.

  It would also be a long way from Nelson. That would be hard.

  But to stay in Manhattan and face the possibility of running into him, knowing all the while that nothing could ever come of it. . .that would be much harder still.

  Perhaps, she mused, this might be the solution for her dilemma.

  seventeen

  A late summer breeze ruffled the hem of Estelle’s green-and-white-striped cotton dress and toyed with a wisp of shiny sable hair. Mary Theresa watched her brush it away from her face to munch the ham and cheese sandwich she’d brought for lunch. “I thought today would never get here,” Estelle remarked.

  Beside her on their bench, Mary only wished she shared that sentiment. For her, the days leading up to this one seemed to have wings. There’d been nothing she could do to slow its coming. And after those well-laid plans to stay away from the Thomases, too, she thought scornfully. All for naught. Some-how she would have to weather one more long evening at Estelle’s.

  Thankfully, her friend didn’t pick up on her angst. “This is the first birthday in ages that my whole family will be together. Nelson missed the last couple, being off at war, you know.”

  Mary just nodded. Nelson. How would she survive the up-coming hours in his presence, knowing how she felt about him?

  “Do people celebrate birthdays in Poland?” Estelle asked casually.

  Sloughing off her troubled thoughts, Mary tried for an outward show of enthusiasm. “Yes. This custom we have. But now, most have no means to a celebration of the day.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Well, Mom always bakes a special cake when it’s somebody’s birthday and usually makes some really thoughtful gift we had no inkling she had in the works. Once in awhile it’ll be something store-bought.” She stopped suddenly and glanced at Mary. “When is your birthday, Mare? I’ve never asked you that.”

  “Sixteen, of April.”

  “Oh, rats. We’ll have to wait over half a year for it to get here. I just know my mom will want to make you a birthday cake, too. You’re like part of the family.”

  Even as Mary tried to ignore the pang of guilt that followed her friend’s last comment, part of her still sought an escape. Something to prevent her from having to go through with this. But the friendship she and Estelle shared meant far too much to her, and Mary just didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. Not on the day of her birth. She would get through this somehow. . .this one last time before she left here forever. Could she muster enough courage to move to Florida?

  Mary’s thoughts naturally drifted to Rahel. She’d read and reread the treasured letter so many times over the last two nights, she nearly had it memorized. She’d even started on a reply, wanting it to be as informative as possible without actually making a commitment. But now, anticipating the swift arrival of yet another family get-together at Estelle’s, the notion of going somewhere far away grew in appeal.

  A pair of pigeons cooed in the background while a particularly venturesome one pecked its way through bread crumbs at Mary’s feet.

  “I know you had a swell time with your host family on Sunday,” Estelle said, gazing at the birds, “but will they be expecting you every week now? Maybe to go to church with them again?”

  “That we did not discuss,” Mary answered truthfully, then brightened. “Guess what? A letter they had for me. From Polish friend, Rahel Dubinsky.” An easier smile came to her lips.

  “Really? How interesting. Had she written you before?”

  Mary shook her head. “Contact we lost when to Holy Land she sailed and to America I come.”

  “Well, how splendid that you’ve found each other again.” Estelle grew pensive. “It must be lovely to be in that part of the world. Imagine walking on the very roads and paths the Lord walked along. Or climbing hills where He must have preached to the crowds, seeing the Sea of Galilee. What a feeling that would be.”

  “Palestine is not taking her. In Florida is Rahel now. To live there.”

  “Oh.” Estelle tilted her head with a puzzled frown. “I’m sure it must be nice there, too.”

  Mary nodded. “She. . .wants for me to visit.” Maybe stay forever, she added silently.

  “Too bad you have a job here,” Estelle crooned. “Old Hard-wick has a conniption when any of her workers dare to take time off—except in cases of death, of course.” She snickered. “And even then, it had better be their own. She’d have to allow at least a half-day in that case.”

  Mary smiled but did not answer.

  With the lunch bell ending their noon break, the girls rose and brushed off their skirts, then returned to their workplaces.

  Hoping to keep her mind off how swiftly the afternoon would end, Mary threw herself into her work. She’d found the making of collars incredibly simple, and the process had so quickly become automatic, she imagined she could do them with her eyes closed. While adding steadily to her stacks of finished pieces, she mulled over her answer to Rahel. Any-thing to keep her mind off how much she longed to see Nelson and be with him.

  Mary knew the supervisor would never permit an extended absence to a relatively new employee, and she had not earned any vacation time. In order to go to Florida to visit Rahel, she would have to quit her job. And if she quit her job, she might as well make the move permanent. Could she bear that?

  But. . .could she bear not to?

  All too soon, the quitting bell startled her from her dilemma. Gathering the completed articles together, she turned them in, then went to meet Estelle.

  And face the dreaded gathering which lay ahead.

  “At last!” Her friend exclaimed, bubbly as ever. “What a long day, huh? Well, it’s finally over. Now we can go home.”

  As the girls disembarked the trolley at Estelle’s stop, the setting sun cast a soft peach blush over the rows of tenement houses lining the street, blending variegated textures and colors into a softer palette. Mary’s gaze wandered along the tiny yards that had become so familiar in the short time she had been coming to dinner with her friend. She’d chosen a few favorites among them, knew which ones had the loveliest rose- bushes, the prettiest curtains, the sweetest children. Knowing she wouldn’t pass this way again after today, she found herself committing the familiar sights to memory. She’d call them to mind often, when she went to live with Rahel.
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  But one, tucked between a unit with asbestos siding and another trimmed with brick face, would forever stand out above the rest. As Mary approached the Thomas home, she drank in the neat pale yellow exterior and tidy window boxes overflowing with brilliant geraniums. She imagined she would hear the slap of that screen door in her sleep, recall the good-natured banter that filled the rooms, smell the delicious meals Estelle’s mother inevitably prepared.

  “Mmm,” Estelle murmured as they went inside. “Chocolate. I knew she’d bake my favorite cake.” She looped her purse strap over a hook on the hall tree, and Mary followed suit.

  “Well, well,” Nelson grinned, coming to his feet from the easy chair. “If it isn’t the birthday gal. Hi, Squirt. Mary.”

  Estelle sent him a sisterly grin.

  “Hello.” Unable to sustain his warm gaze, Mary lowered her lashes and smiled. It wouldn’t do for him to read her feelings. She schooled her features into what she hoped was polite reserve.

  “Dad home yet?” Estelle asked.

  “Nope, but he called a few seconds ago to say he’s on his way.”

  Just then Mrs. Thomas breezed in, her cheeks rosy as the pink print housedress she wore. “Oh, hello, girls. We’re so glad you could join us, Mary. And don’t you look pretty. We missed having you around here lately.”

  “Hello, and thank you.” Smiling, Mary did her best to stifle a flush. She hadn’t especially planned to dress for the occasion, and had donned a dark floral print skirt and complementing blouse. Obviously, even the simplest outfits in her wardrobe reflected Mrs. Chudzik’s good taste and Veronica’s eye for fashion. Mary had never taken off the fine chain Rahel gave her, except to add a crucifix to the Star of David. Though most days it remained out of sight, today it did not. “Delicious, something smells,” she said, hoping to divert everyone’s attention away from her.

  “That would be the chicken and dumplings Stella requested,” Mrs. Thomas supplied. “Birthday people choose the menu on their special day. It’s kind of a tradition we adopted over the years.” She glanced to Estelle. “Your father should be home any moment, Dear, so we’ll be eating shortly.”