Chapter Twenty-Eight
Her last dinner in the Berab house was… pleasant.
The stuffed pigeon was nicely spiced, as were the peas and greens on the side.
The wine was excellent. Really, having no one with whom to converse was a boon, as she was able to think and plan and scrutinize her schedule, so she could prepare for her mother’s return, and everything would return to normal like it should.
Truly, this was the best of all worlds. Yes, meals with Roger and his children had not been the worst experiences as of late—the conversation had been lively, and watching Roger attempt to find additional ways for his children to learn a broad range of subjects in creative manners had been amusing.
She enjoyed the way he invented games, testing their spelling with food or sending them on “treasure hunts,” to the library to search, in Fannie’s case, for books on various subjects or in a certain language and, for Michael, books with a particular word in the title. But those were their lives, not hers.
And she certainly wasn’t going to miss it. Not at all. Not even a little.
No, this was better. Much better. After whispering her Birkat, she exited the room to ready herself for bed.
Her makeshift workshop had already been packed, as had her books and most of her belongings, so, unless she had a call, there was nothing to do but sleep.
A good thing, as it would permit her to rise early in the morning and leave as quickly and efficiently as possible. Yes, the best—
“Miss?” a voice called, halting her progress on the staircase.
“Yes, Marguarite?” Rebecca asked, turning to face the woman, half hoping for and half dreading whatever news she had.
“You have a visitor,” the housekeeper explained. “Says it’s urgent,” she continued before Rebecca could remind the woman that she had closed her workshop. “She’s in the burgundy parlor.”
Rebecca frowned as she followed the Marguarite into the room to find not a customer but her friend once again sitting on a large chair, swathed in cheerily colored velvet.
“Hello, Isabelle,” she said.
The woman leapt forward and gave her a rather enthusiastic embrace. It would usually annoy her, but oddly, did not quite irritate her as much that night.
Oy, she must really be tired.
“What are you doing here?” Rebecca asked as they each sat back down.
“Aaron told me that your house was finished, so I’ve come to assist with travel arrangements,” Isabelle explained, glancing around at the décor once more.
“This room is all Berab,” she told her friend with a laugh.
“Obviously.” Isabelle sniffed. “Far too dark and old-fashioned for you.”
Perhaps, though, actually, she’d become a touch fond of the styling. Well, not fond, but she’d grown accustomed to it. She could even imagine using some of the colors herself.
If she had the money to waste on such frivolous things, which was highly unlikely. She turned back to her friend. “As for the arrangements, already finished,” Rebecca confirmed. “My trunks and bags are packed, and I’m ready to leave tomorrow, most likely in the afternoon.”
Isabelle’s dark eyes grew large. “Without telling me first?”
“I was going to send word when I was settled,” she assured her. “That or surprise you on the balcony on Shabbos.”
Her friend’s smile widened. “You’ll be there?” she asked with so much excitement in her voice that Rebecca’s throat grew tight.
Oy. What was wrong with her? Why was she so, well, irrational? Everything was returning to normal, which should render her relieved and happy and not out of sorts. She cleared her throat. “If I don’t have a call.”
“Thank goodness,” Isabelle declared. “Do you know that I was nearly alone the other week? My grandmother had been at Bevis Marks with the guests, and Hannah has been too ill to make it up the staircase. I’ve had to sit with Tamar and no one else.” She wrinkled her nose.
“You’re fond of Tamar,” Rebecca protested with a laugh.
“She’s a child,” Isabelle scoffed.
“She’s only a year younger than you,” Rebecca reminded her. A few months older than Miss Teres, who was going to be the lady of this house in less than a month—Isabelle’s actual peer.
A thought that shouldn’t feel so bothersome, as it was a fact, and facts were just that—reality. Something accepted, managed, and assimilated into one’s life.
Not that Roger’s upcoming nuptials were part of her life. They had nothing to do with her.
“Tamar is nearly two years my junior,” Isabelle corrected. “You know I’m an old soul. Like you. That’s why we get on so well.” She swiped an imaginary speck of dust off her perfectly pressed, fashionably full sleeve, then peered at Rebecca, her dark eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Rebecca told her, as there was nothing. She was returning to her life made whole, as their law promised. Really, she was happy. “I’m merely a touch tired. There was quite a bit of organizing necessary.”
“Which is why you should’ve sent for me,” Isabelle told her, shaking her head. “I can’t believe Roger and his staff didn’t assist you better. Well, I can believe it, considering how thoughtless he can be about anyone he isn’t charming for his own purposes.”
Rebecca frowned at the statement even if she’d have wholeheartedly agreed with it a few weeks ago. It would probably be better in certain ways if she still agreed with it, no matter how strongly she believed that denial of the truth was always the wrong course of action.
And for cowards.
“I think he charms for the community’s purposes as well,” she found herself saying before she could think better of it.
“Only as a by-product of his own ambition,” Isabelle returned with a derisive sniff.
“And everything you do is so selfless,” she teased. “Not to mention, I don’t think we believe in martyrdom.”
“Only your part of the community,” Isabelle retorted with a snort.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “That’s very limited and only to make us feel better when they kill us. We don’t actively seek it.”
“And yet you’re so keen on it,” Isabelle mused.
“Beg pardon?” Rebecca asked, frowning. What did her friend mean by that?
“Nothing,” Isabelle said with a wave of her hand. “That was inaccurate. You don’t sacrifice yourself for others’ comfort.”
“I do not,” she retorted, shaking her head. “I have no idea what you speak of. You’re not making sense.” Not at all. “I do precisely what I want in life, which is why I have very few friends.”
“You have few friends because people are idiots and you refuse to coddle those who lack your strength,” Isabelle stated. “But this is an old argument and not one I’m going to win tonight.”
“You do hate losing,” Rebecca said with a smile.
“I do,” Isabelle affirmed.
There was a pause, and a strange expression came over her friend’s countenance as she grew unusually silent.
“What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked her friend, now peering at her a touch closer. “Are you all right?” She squinted a little. “You and Aaron aren’t quarreling?”
Her friend laughed. “We’re still happy with each other, and I’ve certainly not thrown him from my bed, though you are perceptive.
Very perceptive, as, to tell the truth, I was a touch peeved with him today,” Isabelle explained.
She lowered her voice for dramatic effect, not secrecy, as she could still probably be heard two floors up.
“I found out that he and my grandmother had some very interesting information for several days and neither told me.” She pouted. “I’m discreet, am I not?”
Rebecca had to press her lips together so as not to giggle.
“Very,” she said, attempting to keep her voice as sincere as possible.
“You don’t find me biased?” her friend asked, gazing at her.
Rebecca might have snorted, though she did attempt to muffle it with her hand. “No, not at all.”
“Liar,” Isabelle said, though she was smiling. “But you do it nicely.”
“Now who’s the liar?” Rebecca retorted, and the two burst out into true laughter. And for the first time that day, she felt good.
Or at least as good as she used to before she came to the Berab house, and that was enough for her. Really. Truly.
“I missed you so much.” Isabelle clasped her gloved hands together. “I’m glad you’re healed,” she continued, peering at Rebecca yet again. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She pursed her lips. “Roger hasn’t—”
“No, he’s been perfectly kind,” Rebecca cut in quickly. “Very kind,” she affirmed. “And the children have been actually quite pleasant as well. Did you know that he’s been tutoring them himself?”
“Really?” Isabelle asked, skepticism in her voice. “I’d like to see that.” She folded her arms over her bodice.
“He’s quite inventive. And it’s rather sweet.” She smiled once more as she pictured him and the children again and took a deep breath. “He’s not quite exactly as I’d thought,” she admitted. “Did you know he’s been attempting to study Talmud?”
“Really?” Surprise was clear in her voice.
“I should tell Aaron. He’s been looking for a partner closer to home,” Isabelle explained.
“Schlepping”—she glanced at Rebecca for her approval of her use of the Yiddish; God help her, she rewarded her friend with a smile, making Isabelle’s entire face light up—“to Aldgate for minyan twice a day is one matter, but he’s going to be needed around the house more and more. ”
“Really?” Rebecca asked, now paying closer attention to Isabelle’s body, and yes… the signs had started to appear. It made sense, as she’d been married for almost a year now.
“It’s been nearly two months since I’ve bled,” her friend explained, confirming her thoughts. “And—” Before Rebecca could stop her, Isabelle had made quick work of the buttons on her collar, pulling down the top of her gown and chemise. “See?” She indicated her slightly larger breasts.
“Yes, I see. Mazel tov,” she said as Isabelle redressed herself.
“Both on the pregnancy and on obtaining the buxomness you’ve always sought to achieve.
” Rebecca couldn’t help teasing her friend.
It felt right and normal. She was happy for her and had known this would happen.
Everything would still be fine and normal for all of them, despite the changes.
Happy. She was happy.
“Thank you,” Isabelle said with a grin. “I’m quite pleased.”
“Now you won’t need to stand next to me as a favorable comparison anymore,” Rebecca continued.
“No, only for the jokes,” her friend said with a laugh. “And to remind myself I’m not the cleverest person in the room, hard as it is to believe. What?” Isabelle asked as Rebecca rose to place her hand on her friend’s forehead.
“Just checking to see if you’re feverish,” she said, settling back down in her seat.
“I admit that regularly and freely,” her friend said, shimmying her shoulders a touch. “You’re also kinder than I am.”
“Did you fall and hit your head in the snow?” Rebecca could not help but ask.
“As if I’d let that occur in my new pelisse,” Isabelle scoffed. “It’s beaver,” she added rather proudly.
Rebecca snickered despite herself. “Appropriate,” she murmured.
Her friend squinted at her. “That’s naughty, isn’t it?” she asked, excitement in her voice.
“Very,” she told her. And not particularly clever or mature, but it was what it was.
“Thank god,” Isabelle told her, and Rebecca could not help it. Everything was just so… strange and normal that she started laughing once again, because what else was there left to do? Isabelle joined her. And it was good.
Normal.
Almost.
Perhaps a new normal.
“You know this won’t change anything, right?” her friend asked when they stopped, searching Rebecca’s face yet again.
“I know,” Rebecca said, even though she knew it was not quite true. Nothing stayed the same, the good or the bad. This was good. They’d assimilate it into their relationship. And truly, this was not what was causing the gnawing in her gut. Not really.
It actually might help her make it stop. Or help it go away faster.
Hopefully.
“I love you,” Isabelle told her. “Very much.” Now her friend’s voice was thick, which was—Rebecca swallowed. She would not, could not cry. She did not cry.
“I love you too,” she returned instead.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Isabelle asked.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just tired.” Something, that with some more sleep, tomorrow, in her own—well, her new own bed—was curable.
“I suppose I should permit you to go to bed,” Isabelle said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to need you strong.” She wagged a finger at Rebecca. “After all, I’ve seen Sol’s hovering with Hannah, and I’m not sure everyone will survive a similar dynamic in our home.”
That would not be good, as some might think Hannah, the older, taller, not-necessarily-so-former criminal was the tougher of the two women, but she knew better.
“Aaron is rather young to die,” she teased.
“Precisely.” Isabelle gave her a wink as she promenaded to the door. “Get some sleep,” she instructed. “I’ll see you at services on Shabbos, and after for luncheon.”
“You can count on it,” Rebecca told her as she waved good-bye.
Yes, it would all be good again. Normal. Even if slightly different at the edges. Which was the best of all worlds and couldn’t become any better.