Chapter 3

Bern, September 1911

The sun was starting to set, so Rebecca hurried to finish her hair. A flower would make it look better, the way she wore it in the summer, but today was Rosh Hashanah, the first of the High Holy Days, and Mother would not approve of her vanity. Not that Mother ever approved of the way she looked. Well, at least her clothes were clean today, and she did manage to get a bow into her unruly curls. It was unseasonably warm, and Rebecca was quite glad she wore a cotton blouse and a loose skirt instead of a velvet gown like the one in which her mother was surely suffocating.

Rebecca’s dress for the synagogue tomorrow was laid out on the lounge chair. It was expensive, made of white lace, and ordered from some famous dressmaker in Vienna. She had protested the dress when it was first made, thinking of lace and ribbon wasted on what Mother always called her “rather plain figure.” It would’ve hung much better on her sister Hannah’s curvier shape. But Father simply waved his hand when she pleaded with him. He knew better than to argue with Mother.

She turned at the sound of heels. Hannah ran into the room, holding her chest.

“Your corset’s too tight,” Rebecca said, watching Hannah collapse into a chair next to her.

“You…have…to…come.”

“I’ll be down shortly. I have to find my new shoes or Mother will be angry with me for the rest of the evening.”

“No.” Hannah stopped, gasping, and pointed to the window. “Now. There’s a man outside. He’s going to take our photograph.” She examined her hair in Rebecca’s trifold mirror. “My hat. Please help me pin it. It’s too heavy for me to manage.”

Rebecca picked up the hat and stood behind Hannah’s chair. The hat was piled high with velvet pleats and flowers. She wasn’t quite sure whether she could secure it on top of Hannah’s elaborate hairstyle. But it wasn’t Hannah’s shiny hair she thought of as she began to work with the hat. Her mind filled with dread at the thought of taking the first photograph without their brother. Her fingers shook.

“Ouch!” Hannah’s face contorted in pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m distracted by my thoughts.”

“Well, don’t be. We have to hurry or Mother will be angry.”

“I’m just so surprised that she’s going through all the trouble this holiday. First the dresses, then the dinner, and now the photograph.” She paused, a pin in her hand. “Do you think she’s finally decided to stop mourning Karl?”

“It’s been five years. How long can she be so melancholy?” Hannah asked.

“Sometimes I think it’s because she loved him the most.”

“Of course she did. Father preferred him, too. To both of us.” Hannah twirled a stray strand of hair.

“It’s only because Karl wanted to study medicine, like Papi.” She touched Hannah’s shoulder.

“Is that why you always study so much? Because you want Papi to like you more?” Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “It’s never going to work. Mami will never let you go to the university.”

Rebecca bit her lip to stop herself from saying something she’d regret later. Hannah was only sixteen, after all, and it wasn’t her fault that their parents had neglected her since Karl died.

“Everyone’s talking about us, I’m sure. How will we ever find good marriages if we’re not allowed to hold dinners or wear pretty dresses? Look at your friend Sarah—she’s eighteen like you, but already engaged.” Hannah was back to looking at her reflection.

“You know I have no plans for marriage. Let’s hope it’s just the end of Mother’s melancholy.”

Rebecca looked around for a suitable hat for herself but found only her enormous straw hat. She wondered for a moment if her mother would approve, but then heard voices increasing in volume downstairs.

Hannah took her hand, saying, “I love you, you know I do, but please don’t spoil the holiday by talking all night about your examinations and how you never plan to marry. It gets Mother in such a vile mood. Let’s say a quick prayer for a happy evening.”

Rebecca was too distracted for prayers. Karl’s death from influenza had held her family in gloom for many years. This was the first time Mother was even willing to have a proper Rosh Hashanah dinner. Was it indeed possible that Mother was feeling better now? Would she finally notice that Rebecca had stopped attending social events? Would she also notice that her oldest daughter had been spending all her days studying for the Matura examinations so she could be accepted to the University of Bern?

“Hurry!” Hannah was already on the stairs.

In the hallway, Mother gave Rebecca a quick look of disapproval—she was used to it, really—then pushed her out the door and into the small garden. Per Mother’s instruction, Rebecca, Hannah, their parents, and their grandmother were seated in various poses on chairs and benches, and even on the yellowing September grass. Rebecca’s right shoulder ached, reminding her that Karl used to sit at her right in family pictures. No one else seemed to notice that he was gone.

When she entered the parlor later, waiting for the cook to announce that supper was ready, she sat next to her father, who was resting on the sofa with a peaceful look on his face. The family wasn’t very religious, but they did observe Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and Father had stayed home from his medical practice today. Rebecca put her arms around him.

“Shana Tovah, my dear,” he said, his arms around her.

“Shana Tovah, Papi. Are you looking forward to the feast?”

“Oh, yes. The cook’s been working all day.” He patted his stomach in anticipation. He had worn his best suit for the pictures, and the button of his jacket was open now, revealing a crisp shirt and silk vest.

The house was filled with the smells of freshly baked challah and other delicacies. Rebecca loved their weekly challah, but there was something very special about the sharing of the sweet bread on Rosh Hashanah, especially with all the honey dripping from it. She licked her lips.

“How did you persuade Mother to hold a real holiday dinner?”

“It was her doing; I didn’t have to persuade her at all. She might be finally ready to celebrate holidays again. What do you think?”

“I’d like that very much. I’ve missed the holidays. But, I also miss him being here with us,” she said.

“Karl is part of our family always. Just because we hold a holiday dinner it doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten him, my dear child.”

Father brushed off a tear from his cheek, and she gave him a tighter hug. “Do you think when I go to the university next year, I’ll still have time to celebrate with you?” she asked, listening to the sounds from the dining room.

“Well, of course you’ll be very busy. But you’ll also be in charge of organizing your studies, so you’ll find time for your family. How are you coming along? Will you be ready for the Matura next week? Is your Latin getting better?”

“I am doing very well in Latin. Herr Rothstein says my Greek is now excellent, too. And I’ve been doing algebra every day for two hours. My examinations are on Thursday. I will be ready.”

“You have indeed been working very hard.” He patted her hand.

“Not as hard as you work every day, Papi.” She snuggled closer to him to inhale the familiar carbolic and camphor that seemed to have soaked into his skin permanently, no matter how much Mother demanded that he wash with her scented soaps.

“Do you really think they’ll accept me at the Faculty of Medicine, Papi?”

“Of course! You’re as smart as any medical student we have. I’ll be so proud to know my daughter will become a doctor.”

Their conversation was interrupted by loud voices outside the parlor. Mother entered, followed by a richly dressed couple Rebecca had never met before. Her father got up quickly for introductions, and she stood near him, puzzled. Mother had changed for dinner, again something new—a blue beaded gown Rebecca had never seen before.

“My dears, these are Herr and Frau Goldstein. Herr Goldstein is my father’s new business partner, from Vienna, visiting Bern this week. I’d like for him to feel welcome in our home for the holiday. And this is their son, Peter.”

Rebecca rubbed her forehead. This was a very unusual occurrence, even for their progressive family, to invite guests for a Holy Day. Especially since they hadn’t had a big dinner for Rosh Hashanah in years. It was always a family meal on the eve of the holiday, and they only ever had their grandmother or aunts to visit. It was actually quite unusual for them to invite guests for any meal at all.

Mother’s intentions became obvious after the introductions were over and they proceeded to the dining area. Rebecca found herself seated next to Peter. She’d discovered a long time ago that she was not good at social conversation and, since men didn’t seem interested in her looks, she generally stayed away from their company. No one ever noticed, and it suited her just fine. Perhaps her corset was too tight after all, she wondered, as she suddenly struggled to catch her breath. Her stomach flipped uncontrollably. She wished she hadn’t skipped tea and cake earlier when she hid in her room to study. And now she couldn’t think of anything better to do than go through algebraic calculations in her mind until the candles were lit.

With the dinner prayers finally finished, Rebecca placed the first slice of the honeyed apple into her mouth, chewing hurriedly and saying her own prayers for the dinner to be over as quickly as possible. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Peter was watching her, and the momentary pause caused the honey to drip down her chin. Her cheeks heated, and she hastily wiped her chin with a napkin.

Peter leaned closer, his breath burning her ear. “I wish I was the sweet apple touching your lips.”

Rebecca froze, her cheeks quickly losing their warmth. She looked down at her fidgeting hands. “I beg your pardon?” she whispered.

“You’re very beautiful,” he continued, smiling slyly.

She was mortified. The smell of his sweat suddenly reached her nostrils, and she just knew she would vomit.

She stared at Mother, who was engaged in laughing at something Peter’s mother was saying. Were they aware of this inappropriate conversation? Did Mother know this would happen? She picked up her glass of wine and quickly drank most of its contents. She was unaccustomed to wine, and it burned her throat, but she momentarily felt her stomach and legs relax, and the sensations gave her something else to think about than Peter.

She leaned closer to Hannah, sitting on her other side.

“Watch out! You’re going to spill your wine on me!” Hannah hissed.

Rebecca’s discomfort increased with every piece of challah her father ceremoniously sliced. She took her slice and began to break off pieces in a hurry, placing them in her mouth two at a time.

“I love a girl with a good appetite,” Peter said. “It means we’ll have good dinners when we’re married.” He raised his wineglass to toast her.

She choked on the bread, the taste no longer sweet on her tongue. As he leaned closer to her again, she swiped at his wineglass in desperation. The full glass upturned, spilling the rich, ruby-colored liquid all over the embroidered white tablecloth and Peter’s gray trousers. Little rivers ran down onto the dining room rug. Hannah gasped. Mother rose from her chair with hands covering her mouth, and Father issued orders to the cook about how to clean up the mess. Rebecca flew out of the dining room. She took the stairs two steps at a time, tripping on her skirt, and slammed the door when she finally got to her room.

She lay on her bed without bothering to turn on her kerosene lamp, listening to the laughter and conversation in the dining room. She couldn’t believe the guests did not leave and, instead, continued with their dinner. Grief and anger filled her heart until she could hardly stand it, and she hit her pillow with her fists, then mouthed some very bad words, in Latin, that she had learned from Karl before he passed away.

If Karl were alive, this ugly boy would never dare insult me like this at dinner!

When she heard the guests finally leave several hours later, she waited for her parents to come and punish her, but no one came. She was so very hungry. She quietly opened her door and snuck back downstairs to the kitchen. She slowed her steps as she heard her parents’ voices in the living area.

“Joseph, you must stop this nonsense. She’s learned enough schoolwork. She must learn the skills of a proper Jewish wife and mother. After today, I wonder if it’s too late.”

“My dear, the girl has no interest in clothes and dinner parties and other frilly things, like Hannah does. But she has the gift for healing.”

“You used to say Karl had the gift.”

“I may have been wrong. Or maybe it’s possible for two people in a generation to have it. I don’t know how it works. But I know she has it. I can feel it. And you can’t deny the girl is intelligent,” Father pleaded.

“I can’t deny that. But the life of a doctor… She will regret not having a family, I’m sure of it.”

“You can see she has no skill with men. How will you get her to take an interest in marriage?”

“She is stubborn, but she knows her manners and can make a good hostess.”

“It’s a waste of her mind and her gift if you lock her into a marriage! Look at her friend Sarah. She’s only eighteen and already engaged, barely out of Gymnasium.” Father’s heavy steps meant he was pacing the room now.

“Well, the Badens know it’s a waste of money to pay for a daughter’s university education. She’ll most likely meet a nice boy, marry, and abandon her education. Or what if she becomes an emanzipiertes Frauenzimmer and never marries or has children?” Mother’s voice was sharp in Rebecca’s ears.

“She’ll not become a bluestocking! She’ll make an educated and popular wife. And she will help so many people.”

“What good is a wife who can discuss mathematics?” Mother’s voice got louder now.

Rebecca pushed her back into the wall, horrified. What if Mother won this argument, just like she won any other argument with Father? What if Mother wouldn’t allow her to take the examinations next week? What if she were forced to marry that horrible boy?

“Well, she’ll go to the university because she’s hardly going to impress any decent family we know with her manners. You might as well allow her to do what she excels at,” Rebecca heard her father say, followed by her mother’s muffled cries.

It is true, Rebecca thought, walking slowly back to her room and forgetting to get food from the kitchen. She was not very good at anything but learning. No man would ever accept her as a pretty woman or a good dancer. She stood by her window, watching the wind swing the branches of the oak tree. She had no choice but to take her exams next week. She’d have to apologize to Mother and obtain her approval. There was no other road open to her.

And what was this gift that her father spoke of?