Thirty-One

Autumn 1893

The rare times when Sarah caught sight of Fanny in school, Fanny averted her eyes, pretending not to see her. The crowded corridor of the school was no place to talk to her anyway. The best way, Sarah decided, was to seek out Sean’s sister Polly, a first grader, and find out from her where Fanny was living. She was set on persuading Fanny to come home long enough to say hello to Papa and Sammy.

Kindergartners started trickling out of school first, each holding a drawing. Most were chattering with other classmates except for a thin, dark-haired girl who trailed behind. Her faded dress hung below her knees and her skin seemed to be covered with a thin film of grime.

Sarah smiled as she intercepted the girl. “I like your drawing. It’s the Ferris Wheel at the World’s Fair, isn’t it?”

The girl held up her paper. She had drawn an egg-shaped Ferris Wheel with thick spokes. From the topmost car a stick figure waved.

“Have you seen the Ferris Wheel?” Sarah asked.

The girl shook her head. “I seen a picture.”

“You did a good job. I hope you get to see it.”

The girl continued walking. Sarah watched her for a moment. The shabby clothes made Sarah doubt whether the girl would ever get to see more than a picture of the Ferris Wheel. She felt sad for her and thought of what her father had said on the ride home from the Fair. “A miracle they say, this Ferris Wheel. Better it should have come from God. Then, instead of spending millions to build his wheel, Mr. Ferris could have used his money to feed the poor.”

Rifke had answered with a vigorous shake of her head. “You could say the same about the great synagogues and churches. In this you are right. But you are also wrong.”

“Ah, I make progress! Usually I am all wrong.”

“If poor people did not have beautiful synagogues and churches, all they would see are alleys filled with garbage, crying children, broken-down houses. To live, everyone needs a place of beauty to lift their hearts.”

Is this what Charley sensed when he said her mother had impressed him? That she had thoughts like that? Last Saturday her mother had surprised her with a book from the library.

“I checked this out for you,” she said, handing Sarah a volume on the paintings of women artists. Before Sarah returned the book to the library Rifke had read it, cover to cover. “I like your Mary Cassatt,” she said.

Sarah asked two girls who seemed to be about Polly’s age if they knew Polly Dillon. One of the girls pointed to the school entrance. “It’s her, in the blue dress, talking to Billy.”

Sarah looked at the girl. She was about to walk over, but then hesitated. She thought of her mother taking the Cassatt book out of the library for her. Would this unaccustomed attention end if Fanny came home? Polly started walking in her direction. Sarah turned and raced home as if someone were chasing her.