ESTHER LEAPED UP from Mr. Mendel’s sofa, shaking with fury. “You have no right to tell me what to do! You aren’t my parents!” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Penny and Mr. Mendel had ganged up on her. They had sat her down in his living room to tell her that she could no longer have anything to do with Jacky Hoffman. Who did they think they were? She wouldn’t stay seated for this.
“We are two people who love you,” Mr. Mendel said. “And when you see someone you love heading toward danger, it is natural to try to protect them.”
“Why won’t you believe me that Jacky is nice now? He’s changed?”
“Because the evidence shows that he has not changed. I wish I did not have to tell you this, Esther, but he was fired from his job at the supermarket. The manager told me that he suspected Jacky of stealing from his customers.”
“That’s not true! Why does everyone hate him?”
“To you he seems charming and flattering. But others who know him say that he cannot be trusted.”
Esther didn’t want to cry. She wanted to stand up to Penny and Mr. Mendel and make them see that she was right and that they were wrong about Jacky. Her tears were from anger, she told herself. They weren’t childish tears. “He’s my friend!” she shouted.
“You are much too young to have a boy for a close friend,” Mr. Mendel said, “and to be holding his hand.”
“Were you spying on us?”
“I know that you do not understand, and that you may not understand until you are much older. But Penny and I have made this decision for your own good because we care about you. We want to spare you suffering of a much harsher kind.”
“I don’t want to hear any more.” She put her hands over her ears and turned to leave.
Penny stopped her. “Wait. You can leave in a minute, but I want to tell you a story first.”
Esther crossed her arms and looked away. She didn’t want to hear anything that Penny Goodrich had to say, but since they probably wouldn’t leave her alone unless she listened, she may as well get it over with.
“When I took that trip to New Jersey last summer it was to meet my real mother. I found out that she was only seventeen years old when I was born. That’s not much older than you are, Esther. She had a boyfriend when she was in high school, and she thought they really loved each other. Some boys will tell a girl anything she wants to hear, just so he can take advantage of her. . . . D-do you know what I mean?”
Yes, Esther knew what Penny was fumbling to say, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. She gave a curt nod.
“My mother thought it was love, but it wasn’t. And when she told her boyfriend that she was pregnant with me, he took off. He had other plans for his life, and they didn’t include a wife and baby. My mother had to give me up for adoption. Her life was turned upside down by her mistake . . . and so was mine.”
For a brief moment, Esther felt sorry for Penny, stuck with two old people for parents instead of a real mother. But her sympathy lasted only a moment before she remembered that Penny had forbidden her to see Jacky. She got mad all over again.
“Are you finished?”
“Listen, Esther. I wish you could meet my mother and talk to her yourself. I think I know what she would tell you. Don’t give your heart away to the first cute fellow that comes along. Wait for a good man. And as Mr. Mendel found out, Jacky isn’t a good man.”
“May I go?” Esther asked, tapping her foot. Penny nodded. But before Esther could leave, Mr. Mendel laid his hand on her shoulder.
“I am so sorry to hurt you this way. But please trust us. We believe your father would make the same decision that we made, if he were here.”
Esther bolted all the way upstairs to her room on the third floor and flung herself facedown on her bed, sobbing over yet another loss in her life. As badly as she wanted to be a grown-up, she felt like a very small girl – and she wanted her mama. Other girls had mothers to hold them and soothe them and give them advice, to help them heal from a broken heart. Esther longed to have her own mother back again, if only for a moment.
But Mama was gone.
By the time Esther’s anger and grief were spent, night had fallen. Her bedroom was dark, her pillow soaked with her tears. She rolled onto her back and thought about Jacky Hoffman. It had been flattering and exciting to receive so much attention from an older boy, especially one who was as cute as a movie idol. But Esther had to admit – if only to herself – that along with the thrill there had been an icy sliver of fear. She remembered feeling uncomfortable with him the time they had hidden beneath his back stairs, as if part of her had known that she wasn’t ready to be a grown-up yet. Once or twice she had seen a side of him that she hadn’t liked but had tried to ignore, such as the time he had called Mr. Mendel names and said he wished they would tear down the synagogue. If she were really honest, she would admit that she would much rather go to Grandma Shaffer’s house on Saturday afternoons and play with Woofer’s puppies than sit in the balcony at the movie theater with Jacky’s sweaty arm around her shoulder and stale popcorn crunching beneath her feet.
But for now, Esther couldn’t move
beyond her outrage that Penny and Mr. Mendel had interfered in her
life. They had forbidden her to see him. They had no right! No
right at all!
The next day when Jacky offered to walk home from school with her, Esther had to tell him that she couldn’t be friends with him anymore. She expected him to be as outraged as she had been, but he simply shrugged and walked away. By the end of the week he was already holding hands with another girl from Esther’s class. She felt humiliated and angry all over again. And lonely. She didn’t have any other friends.
“I wish you could talk to me, Peter,” she said as she trudged home from school with him.
He nodded sadly and pointed to himself. She knew he was saying, Me too.
They walked up the steps to the porch and checked the mailbox. No letters today. They got as far as the foyer when Mr. Mendel’s door opened. “Could you both please come inside for a moment? There is someone here who would like to talk to you.”
Esther had met the woman in Mr. Mendel’s apartment once before. They had eaten cake together. Esther couldn’t recall her name.
“Let me take your coats,” Mr. Mendel said. “Sit down, please.” He acted so polite and formal that he made Esther nervous. The woman looked uneasy, too, standing in the middle of the room. Was she going to tell them that something terrible had happened to Daddy? Esther glanced at Peter as they sat down on Mr. Mendel’s sofa. She moved closer to her brother, just in case.
The woman drew a deep breath as if to steady herself, then exhaled. “The last time we met I asked Mr. Mendel not to tell you my name. It’s Esther Fischer. I’m . . . I’m your grandmother.”
Esther’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The room seemed to spin. She didn’t know what she would say even if she could speak. Was it really true? Was this tall, elegant woman really their grandmother?
As she stared in shock at the woman, Esther began to see the resemblance. Her hair was the same color as Mama’s hair and Peter’s, but with gray strands woven through it. And her hands. They were slender and graceful like Mama’s.
“I’m sorry . . .” Mrs. Fischer began. She couldn’t finish.
Warring emotions pulled Esther in two directions again. She wanted to leap up and hug this woman. She wanted to explode in anger and accuse her.
“Where have you been?” Esther finally asked. The words came out angrier than she intended them to.
“I’ve . . . I’ve been right here. In Brooklyn. It’s a long story, Esther, and I . . . I hope you’ll let me explain it to you.”
“Why didn’t you come to Mama’s funeral?”
Mrs. Fischer put her hand over her eyes. She had been standing all this time but now she sank onto a chair.
“Give her a chance, Esther,” Mr. Mendel said quietly. “Try to understand.”
“Are you the one who found her for us?” she asked him.
He nodded. “Your grandmother arranged for your music lessons at the conservatory. And for Peter to play with the baseball team last summer.”
“Why did you keep it a secret? Don’t you like us? And why did you get mad at Mama?”
Mrs. Fischer uncovered her eyes and sat up straight, composing herself. “Would it upset you to learn that I’m Jewish, like your friend Mr. Mendel? And that your mother was Jewish?”
“No, she wasn’t! She used to go to church with us on Sunday.”
“But her father and I are Jewish, Esther. Your mother was raised in a Jewish home, like this one. When she became a Christian, it divided us.”
Again, Esther couldn’t speak. She reached for her brother’s hand as she tried to take it all in.
“I no longer want anything to divide us,” Mrs. Fischer said. “I would like to get to know both of you . . . if-if you will let me. I would like to be a family.”
Tears filled Esther’s eyes. She had found Mama’s family – her family. She had longed for this, hadn’t she? It had been her greatest wish, besides having Daddy come home safely. But fear and mistrust pinned her in place like two giant hands. She couldn’t move.
Mrs. Fischer picked up a photograph album from Mr. Mendel’s coffee table. “I brought some pictures of your mother to show you. Would you like to see them? She has two brothers, David and Samuel. They’re your uncles.”
Peter rose from the sofa first and went to Mrs. Fischer’s side. He studied her face for a long moment as if searching for traces of their mother, then he looked down at the photos. He leaned against her, and Grandmother Fischer put her arm around his shoulders.
After a moment, Esther rose, too. She went to stand on the other side of her grandmother to look at the album, seeing pictures of her mother’s family for the very first time.