CHAPTER TWO #5
"We might," he said, "if I was wholly convinced that the money would be forthcoming.
As matters stand - forgive me." He sighed.
"I do not wish to speak so plainly, but it seems the circumstances require it.
You are a tailor by trade, and you have been able to bring in neither custom nor money in nearly a year.
" She opened her mouth to speak, and he raised a hand to forestall her.
"I understand your husband's injuries have prevented you from doing so, but matters have yet to improve, and there is no sign of them doing so in the future.
How might you promise to obtain money when you have - again, forgive me - wholly failed to do so thus far? "
Constance chewed furiously on her lower lip.
Of course, she knew all this - it had been keeping her up at night for months - but it still made her feel somewhat faint to hear it spoken of so openly.
She had told no one else of the danger, not even Jack.
The reason she hadn't, apart from not wishing to burden anyone, was that Avram was correct: she really had no way of ameliorating the situation.
No one would buy the clothes she had made; Peter was incapable of making them himself; she had no other trade she could ply.
To admit any of this out loud seemed to her to be speaking the danger into reality, and so she had refrained from doing so - but time was running out.
She had been subsisting, more or less, on the loans she had already received from Avram, but even that well was bound to run dry.
She could hardly blame him for it - moneylending was his business, and it was hardly in his or his family's best interest to throw good money after bad.
No more could she blame those who refused to pay her for shoddily made garments.
She could blame the cart-driver that had run Peter down in the street and caused the injuries that had started all this, but even he had been at the mercy of a runaway horse.
There was no one to blame, nobody to demand recompense from. Just the abject cruelty of God's will.
The only real option that had been left to her was to throw herself on someone's - anyone's mercy and hope that they would take pity on her.
That was why she'd gone to Avram in the first place; begging from her siblings was a shame she did not wish to bring on herself, not yet.
Avram, at least, had no reason to judge her for her failings.
"I understand," she said finally. She tried to keep her voice from trembling, and mostly succeeded.
"And I must thank you for your kindness in all that you have done for me so far.
You have been - pardon me." Her voice had caught in her throat, like a piece of food lodged the wrong way.
She swallowed hard and went on. "You have been very kind.
I must take my leave now." She stood, shaking her skirts out, and gathered her cloak tightly around herself.
She was not going to lose her composure in company.
She would not embarrass herself or Avram by bursting into tears in front of him. She had to solve this problem herself.
She wished, at least, that Avram's house in the Jewish quarter was not so far from hers; she would have to run to reach home before her self-control slipped entirely out of her grasp.
Perhaps there was an alleyway or shadowed corner she could duck into, where she could weep in private before she emerged to face the world again.
"Wait."
She froze. Avram had risen from his chair and stepped around the table so that he stood beside her, taking her elbow in his hand.
The gentle touch was wreaking havoc on her composure, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to control her expression.
"Sit," he said. "I do not wish to send you away in distress, not when we may yet find some way of solving the problem. "
She sat as instructed, but his words had done nothing to lift her spirits. "Forgive me," she said, "but I cannot see any way forward. You have been very astute in your judgement thus far."
"Astuteness is not everything." He released her elbow and went back around the table, settling down into his chair. "Not when creativity may be called for to conclude matters to everyone's satisfaction. You are a tailor?"
"My husband is." She did not ask why he raised the issue, though she was faintly puzzled. He knew of her husband's trade already; she had explained it to him when she'd first come to beg a loan.
"And you have suffered for want of commerce of late," he said. "Because of his illness. Are you capable of making garments yourself? Most men in trade also train their wives to assist them."
"I am . . ." Capable felt like stretching the truth somewhat. "He has taught me."
Avram nodded. "So if you were to be commissioned, you would be able to fulfil your customer's request."
She nodded. She had no idea what he was driving at, but she had no intention of announcing to the world that she was an abject failure as a tailor. She had her pride.
"Mmm." He looked her up and down, nodding to himself. Then he stood, went to the door that lead into the rest of the house, and called, "Leah? Come in a moment, please." He turned back to Constance. "I am not able to provide you with any further loans, but I may assist you in finding custom."
Constance clenched her hands together in her lap.
"I would be most grateful," she said. Internally, she was frantically trying to work out whether or not she would be, as Avram had put it, capable.
Of sewing a garment? Yes; in the abstract.
Of sewing a garment well? That was another matter.
Perhaps, if she impressed on Peter the urgency of the project, he might rouse himself to help her, though how he would do so with his hand in the state that it was, she could not say.
Or if she asked her sister, perhaps . . .
? It would not be nearly so demeaning as asking her for money.
Or even Jack - he may have some hidden skill at the needle that she had been theretofore unaware of. So long as she could do it somehow.
A woman who Constance presumed to be Leah came to the door, looking between Constance and Avram.
At a glance, Constance could see that the woman - who looked to be a few years younger than Constance herself - must be Avram's daughter.
They shared the same short stature, the same round mouths and deep brown eyes.
Leah's expression was frankly curious, but there was no hint of malice in it.
Constance could only hope she was as kindly disposed as her father.
"My daughter Leah," Avram said, returning to his seat. "She is to be wed in two months' time - the decision was made only a week ago. Leah, this is Constance."