Rachel Mendorfsky sat by the window. When she saw Aggie with her husband she put her sewing aside and smiled, but the smile did not erase the sadness Aggie saw in her eyes, nor the dark circles under them. She was beautiful in spite of that, with her dark curls and delicate features.
Slowly, clearly, as if speaking to a small child, Moshe spoke to her in English. “Rachel, this is Agnes Maxwell. She will come to speak English with you every Thursday and Sunday afternoon.”
Rachel nodded. “I am pleased to meet you,” she said shyly in heavily accented English. To Aggie it sounded as if she had memorized these words.
“I must go now,” Moshe said. He quickly kissed his wife on the forehead and was gone.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Aggie didn’t know what to do. She looked through the books stacked on a small writing desk near her and found an atlas. She took the book and sat near Rachel, and they began to look at maps of Europe and North America. Rachel pointed to a part of Russia near Poland.
“My home,” she said.
Aggie pointed to Russia, then Canada. “How did you travel to Canada?” she asked.
Rachel traced a route on the map. “Poland,” she said, “Germany, then boat.” She drew her finger across the Atlantic. “Bad,” she said softly.
“You do not like Canada?” Aggie asked, trying to speak as simply as possible.
“Not Canada,” Rachel said. “Russia. Is very bad.” For just a moment, she looked frightened, then she shook her head. Aggie picked up another book quickly to change the subject. When the clock on the mantel struck five, Aggie could hardly believe the time had passed so quickly. She hadn’t imagined that talking to Rachel would be work, but she returned to the kitchen exhausted.
“So,” Hannah greeted her, “how is English teacher?”
“I dinna think I’ll make much of a teacher, Hannah,” Aggie said.
“You will be good for Rachel, I am sure.”
“Mrs. Mendorfsky seems very shy.”
“Only Mrs. Mendorfsky in this house was Moshe’s mother. You call Rachel ‘Rachel.’ You need supper on your half days?”
Aggie nodded.
“You eat here,” Hannah said.
Aggie started to protest, but Hannah refused to listen.
“In this house is plenty of food. You are too thin. You eat my good cooking, get nice and fat,” she said.
Aggie laughed. “Won’t Mr. Mendorfsky mind?” she asked.
“In this kitchen, I make rules,” Hannah said. When she put a bowl of hot chicken soup on the table, Aggie suddenly realized how hungry she was.
“Rachel is near your own age, no?” Hannah asked as Aggie ate.
“Yes, she is.”
“And you wonder how she came to be here.” This was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” Aggie said, grateful that Hannah was willing to satisfy her curiosity.
“Rachel comes from same shtetl, same village in Russia where Reb Isaac was born, Moshe’s father,” she said. “So her father is landsman.” She used the Yiddish word. “This is very important to Jews. We find help for our landslayt, the people of our homes. Many years after Reb Isaac comes to Canada, Rachel’s father marries younger woman. They have only Rachel, then his wife dies. He is old man when Rachel is born. When Rachel’s father is dying, his wish is to have his daughter safely out of Russia. Russia is bad for the Jews. People in the shtetl know Reb Isaac Mendorfsky is now rich man in Canada. When they come to Toronto, he helps them find work. Three years ago, when Rachel’s father is sick, he writes to Reb Isaac. But Reb Isaac is dead. So the letter comes to Moshe. They write back and forth, and Moshe agrees to bring Rachel here, to marry her.”
Hannah saw the look of surprise in Aggie’s eyes. “This is how it is done in old countries, Agnes. My husband was found for me by matchmaker. This is the old way. Here is not the same. Now the young ones find husbands and wives without matchmaker. But Moshe never thinks of wife, only his business and reading books. Many mothers put their daughters in his way—nice girls. He never sees them. I think, this one will never marry. But then, the letters come from Russia. The idea of saving Rachel from so hard a life makes him happy.” Then she chuckled. “Also, he sees photograph. Rachel is beautiful. If she is ugly then the idea might not seem so good.”
She left the stove and sat at the table with Aggie. “Now is very difficult to bring young woman from Russia, different from when I was young. Canada now wants only the English, the Scottish, and from a few other countries. The Jews are good people for Canada. But Canada has closed its door to the Jews. So Rachel must come to Canada as sponsored domestic servant.”
“Just like me!” Aggie said.
Hannah smiled. “Not like you. We must apply to government, promise to employ her. This is only way she can enter Canada. A few months later, Moshe marries her.” Hannah sighed. “But now Rachel is not learning English. Only old women like me speak Yiddish. To make friends with young wives, Rachel needs English.”
“But would one of those women not teach Rachel?” Hannah hesitated for a moment before replying. “I think yes, if Moshe asks, but he is proud.” Then Hannah dropped her voice. “At first, many women are happy to visit Rachel, but they find her shy, and . . . as if she is not there. To visitors she seems unfriendly. So they come less often, now not at all. Too many days I find her crying. And Rachel never goes out.”
“Never?”
Hannah shook her head. “This morning, I say to myself, Rachel is too much alone. This day, I will find someone for her. I see you with chicken, I think, this girl has kind face. Moshe is not so sure, but I know I am right. You will be a friend to Rachel.” This sounded like an order rather than a prediction.
Later, Aggie rode home on the streetcar feeling as if she had travelled much farther than a few miles that day. She knew she would have to tell the Stockwoods she was working on her half days. As her employers, they had a right to know. But she had no idea how they might react. Mrs. Bradley was sitting in the kitchen when Aggie came back.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
Aggie nodded. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who had once given her a piece of dry toast for breakfast.
“Tea’s on the stove,” Mrs. Bradley said, “a fresh pot.”
Aggie poured herself a cup and sat at the table.
“I had a letter from Rodney today,” Mrs. Bradley said.
Rodney wrote both his mother and Mrs. Bradley every week without fail. Usually, Aggie was interested in Rodney’s letters. Tonight, she only nodded. “You’re somewhere else this evening,” Mrs. Bradley said.
Aggie nodded again. “I’ve taken a job on my half days,” she said and she explained everything, starting with the chicken in the market.
“And these people are Jews?” Mrs. Bradley said when Aggie finished. She frowned. “I’m not sure what the Stockwoods will say. They feel responsible for you, Agnes. You’d better ask.”
So Aggie spoke with Mr. and Mrs. Stockwood the next evening when her work was finished, repeating the whole story.
“Agnes, this is most unusual,” Mrs. Stockwood said.
“These people are not Christian. I’m not sure it’s proper for you to be exposed to them. What would your parents say?”
“I think my parents would approve, Mrs. Stockwood,” Aggie said, and she told them about Mr. Sheff in Scotland.
Mrs. Stockwood seemed flustered when she finished.
“Borrowing money from these people is one thing,” she said. “Working for them is quite another.” Too late, Aggie realized that the idea of borrowing money was probably embarrassing to someone like Mrs. Stockwood.
“What did you say the name was?” Mr. Stockwood asked.
“Mendorfsky, sir.”
“And he’s a furrier? Well, I’ll make inquiries—see if I can find out anything about these people. Then Mrs. Stockwood and I will make a decision.”
If Aggie had any doubts about wanting to help Rachel, they vanished over the next few days. She knew the Stockwoods were only doing what they thought was right. She also knew that she would have to abide by their decision, unless she wanted to work elsewhere. But she was sorry they felt it necessary to interfere.
By Wednesday, Mr. and Mrs. Stockwood had still said nothing.
“Do you think they’ve forgotten?” Aggie asked Mrs. Bradley at lunchtime.
“I couldn’t say,” Mrs. Bradley said.
“But Mrs. Bradley, tomorrow is my half day!” Aggie couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice.
“Well, if they haven’t said anything to you by this evening, I’ll ask.”
But that evening, as she finished the dishes, Aggie was called into the sitting room. Her hands trembled a little as she dried them on her apron. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to hide her anger if the Stockwoods said no. If only Rodney was here, she thought. He’d make them understand.
Mr. Stockwood lowered his paper to his lap. “Well,” he said. “It seems half the men I know have bought fur coats for their wives at Mendorfsky’s.” He smiled. “Everyone speaks highly of this young man. He runs a good business and his coats are excellent.”
“I hope you remember that at Christmas, dear,” Mrs. Stockwood said.
Mr. Stockwood smiled. “Since we know something about these people, Mrs. Stockwood and I have decided that you may take on this extra work. Be careful, though,” he added, “that you don’t teach this young woman to speak with a Scottish accent.” And he laughed.
Aggie felt herself relax. “Aye, sir,” she said, smiling, “I mean, yes sir.”
Aggie went back into the kitchen feeling as if she had won a prize. Now Emma was her only concern. Giving up her half days meant that she would almost never see her sister. Even if she didn’t like Stuart, Aggie still wanted to see Emma sometimes. She put the problem to Mrs. Bradley.
“Well, these folks are willing to give you your supper, but maybe you could meet Emma for supper once in a while, or even just a cup of tea before you come back here.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bradley, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
When she met Emma on Thursday evening, Aggie was excited and pleased. But Emma greeted the whole idea with at least as much suspicion as the Stockwoods had. Aggie tried to explain to Em why she was happy to help Rachel, but Emma remained unconvinced.
“I’ll never understand you, or Mum either.” Emma said. “Mum with her tea for the tinkers, her kind words for that old Mr. Sheff.”
“But Emma, but for Mr. Sheff neither you nor I would be here today.”
Emma snorted. “Aye, and he gets wealthy off the likes of us.”
Aggie considered. If Mr. Sheff was wealthy, why would he work so hard? But she wasn’t willing to argue with Emma.
“Better you than me,” Emma concluded when she saw that Aggie had nothing more to say. “You’d no find me making friends with heathens.”