Nucia furrowed her brow. “Tickets? What kind of tickets?”
Rachel swallowed and took them out. “Train tickets. To Vladivostock. From Kishinev.”
“Why would we go there?” asked her mother. “They live in Gomel.”
“I don’t know,” said Rachel, her eyes scanning the letter for details. She began to read it out loud, her lips curling up into a broad smile as she reached the end of the letter.
Rachel,
We were overcome with grief when we read your letter. Gofsha was our only son and our hearts are in pain from our sadness and regret. Our stubbornness has cost us dearly. Bubbe has taken the news especially hard. She has been quite ill, but her condition has improved slightly and for that we are grateful.
Though we long to see you and to know you, we must put your safety ahead of our wishes. There is talk of a riot here, so you must go to the eastern port of Vladivostok, the gateway to Shanghai and America. Take a steamer or a freighter to Shanghai, where they accept us without papers, without hatred. From there, you can travel to a new life in America. Enclosed, please find three tickets to Vladivostok. I wish I could send you enough money for your passage to America, but this is all I have. Please let us know when you have arrived in your new home,
Rachel’s mother let out a big sigh. “This is too much…train tickets are expensive. They need the money for Bubbe.”
“They wouldn’t have purchased the tickets for us if they couldn’t afford it,” said Rachel, her eyes moving from her mother to Nucia.
“America,” said Nucia, her eyes shining.
“It is so far from here, from everything we know,” said Rachel’s mother, her voice breaking as she spoke.
“What would Father do?” Rachel gazed at her mother for a response.
The other three women stopped sewing and stared at Rachel’s mother—all of them now quiet and pensive.
Rachel’s mother turned and gazed out the small window facing the courtyard. It was open to let in the fresh spring air, and the dull murmur of voices drifted up.
“He would want us to be safe,” Rachel’s mother said finally, her eyes still on the window. “He would want us to do as Zeyde says.” She turned back to Rachel and Nucia and spoke in a strained voice that lacked the strength and vigor it had once possessed. “I know he would want us to go to America.”
“You are so lucky, Ita,” said one of their sewing companions. “And you must think of your girls.”
“Yes,” added another. “You must go. These tickets are a blessing.”
“Yes… but we still need to earn money for the ship’s passage,” said Rachel’s mother brusquely, signaling the end of the conversation. She took the tickets from Rachel and placed them in the cloth pouch that she wore around her neck. “Let us continue our work, Nucia. And Rachel,” she waved at a neat pile of fabric on one end of the table, “there is plenty for you to do, yes?”
Rachel sat down beside her mother and resumed sewing the chemise she’d been working on for hours. Excited by the news, she worked as quickly as she could, determined to make the money they needed as soon as possible. But her carelessness caused mistakes, one so large that she had to rip out an entire seam.
“Ech!” she groaned as she pulled at the threads in the coarse fabric.
“Patience, Rachel,” warned her mother. “Or you will have nothing to show for your efforts today.”
“I know. I just wish I could sew as well as you and Nucia.”
“In time,” said her mother. “In time.”
“I can’t wait to be out of this hospital on our way to America,” said Nucia. “Mother, did Father ever tell you about his parents?”
Their mother stopped sewing and rested her hands on the table. She had a faraway look in her eyes. “A little…it made him sad. He told me his father was very smart but very stubborn, and his mother was always frail.”
“I wonder if we’ll ever meet them.” Rachel sighed. “I wish they could come to America with us.”
Her mother pressed her lips together and resumed sewing. “From Zeyde’s letter, it is clear Bubbe is not well enough to make such a long journey.”
“But what will happen to them if there are riots in Gomel?” asked Nucia.
Rachel saw her mother’s back stiffen, but she didn’t take her eyes off her work. Neither did the other women. Rachel’s heart sank. Her grandparents could end up homeless, or worse.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders to release the tension. They were stiff from being hunched over her sewing all day. When she dropped her empty soup bowl into the bucket, Rachel glanced at her mother and sister who were still eating. “I’m going to take a walk,” she announced. “I’ll meet you back at the hospital.”
“Should you be outside by yourself?” asked her mother.
“I’ll be fine. The days are longer now, and I need to stretch my legs,” she replied, stepping back from her mother. Rachel had noticed a change in their relationship since her mother had regained her awareness. She no longer admonished Rachel for small things, and she trusted her judgment, as if Rachel had suddenly gone from being fourteen to sixteen. “I’ve been sitting so long today,” Rachel called back as she was leaving. “I almost feel like sleeping on my feet tonight.”
Rachel headed down the street without a backward glance. She craved time alone. It was something she’d taken for granted before the massacre, being curled up by the stove with a good book. Now the former world seemed far away.
Though some of the debris had been removed, there were still constant reminders of the hatred that had prevailed. And when she took a deep breath to revel in the warm spring air, it was the scent of decay that she smelled.
Almost every store she passed had been pillaged or destroyed. Rachel wondered how the town would ever recover from so much damage.
At the river, Rachel found herself on the same path she had taken the day Mikhail was killed. Today, however, there was no snow or ice. Instead, mud caked the weathered felt boots that pinched her toes, and trees and lilac shrubs dense with new leaves and blooms made it hard to see where she was going. As she moved further away from the street, the air grew fragrant with lilacs and the mud became thicker, like the dough her mother used to knead when she made black bread.
At one point, her foot sank in the thick sludge, stopping Rachel in her tracks. “Oh no!” She groaned as she pulled her boot from the mud. Moving carefully to avoid the clumps of muck, Rachel kept her eyes on the path until she reached the trees by the River Byk.
I have to do this, she told herself, as she hesitated. I have to be able to face my demons before I leave Kishinev behind forever. She walked out from the trees and stood by the bench—the last place she had seen Mikhail. No longer frozen, the river was greenish-brown and barely flowing. It looked dirty and much less inviting than it did in the winter when it was shiny and white.
She brushed some dried leaves and dirt off the bench and sat down. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she remembered the last time she’d been here. She could still picture Mikhail skating on the ice, his face so full of life and promise.
“Rachel?”
Startled, she turned and saw Sergei standing behind the bench. She smiled. “I guess we both had the same idea today.”
Sergei sat down beside her. “Not really. I saw you walking in this direction and followed you.”
She blushed.
Sergei sat down. “I come here often. I like to get away from everyone, and this seems to be the only place in Kishinev that wasn’t destroyed.”
Rachel nodded. “This is the first time I’ve been back since… since…” She looked out at the river.