Part Six
Gershon, 1917
Chapter 13

Gershon hadn’t told Yetta earlier that morning that it was Rivka who’d called and urged him to come over right away. He’d said it was Ruven Kleinshmidt asking him to see if the apartment he was cleaning out for Hymie and his shiksa wife was satisfactory. Gershon wanted to focus on comforting his sister, and confronting Avram, without using his energies to reassure his wife. He also needed more information, and wanted to make a plan, before letting Yetta and the girls know Shmuel had run off to join the Navy. Not until he felt in charge would Gershon share the news and tell his family that he’d handle everything. Otherwise Yetta would insist on stepping in, Zipporah would fret, and Ruchel would give him advice that he didn’t need or want. Solving a problem as serious as this on his own would give Gershon another chance to prove to his younger daughter that his influence could be used to help the powerless, not just for personal gain.

“Sit Rivka,” he’d said, when he found her pacing around the table. He was used to the eight large rooms in the Mendels’ apartment, and the Levinsons’ front room, barely half the size of his study, was as crowded as the tiny stockroom of their parents’ grocery store in Lemberg. Gershon had taken a seat himself, hoping his sister would follow his example. She didn’t.

“Calm yourself. Shmuel’s been gone only two days. I’ll find him and bring him home. Trust me. I know my way around these things. The people who can track him down owe me.”

“What about Avram? He won’t accept your help.” Rivka, more than anyone, knew the history of their rivalry. As children, he and Avram not only competed in their studies, but also in games of skill. Each spring in the shtetl, boys dug holes in the earth, filled them with last fall’s rancid walnuts, and pitched a stone at the holes. Whoever got closest took the nuts inside, and at the end of the game, the person with the most nuts was the winner. When they were ten, Gershon swore he’d beat Avram, the cobbler’s son and reigning champion, once and for all. He practiced pitching all winter, and won the first game come spring. Avram never regained the title that year.

“I promise you, this time Avram will accept my help.” Gershon had sought the words to reassure his sister. “This isn’t a competition over nuts in the hole, it’s about rescuing his son.”

Rivka’s sigh had echoed in the air and Gershon shivered at the sound of her despair. The house was colder than usual and he’d wondered if the Levinsons had been forced to cut back on fuel for the stove. Looking around the kitchen for more wood, he’d noticed for the first time that Shmuel’s place was still set for Shabbas dinner and rose to clear away his nephew’s wine glass and dishes. He’d felt awkward in the kitchen, the domain of Yetta, the girls, and Margaret at home, but it wasn’t as if Rivka’s apartment had lots of storage space. There was one cupboard with one obvious shelf for him to add Shmuel’s kiddish cup and chipped plate to the others.

“You’re right,” Rivka said, still not sitting but finally no longer pacing. “Avram has to be reasonable.” Gershon was glad he’d convinced her, even though he didn’t believe it himself. If only the powers of persuasion he’d used with Yetta’s father to win her hand could for once work with Avram. Not because Gershon wanted to score another victory over his brother-in-law, but because by saving Shmuel’s life he could finally make up for nearly causing Rivka’s death.