After that, Benyomin and I played with the wheel just like always—nothing different, but for me, everything was different. My whole world was sunnier than it had been for the longest time. Benyomin was still better at the wheel. But I was taking good long turns nowadays, too.
One day, on one of my longer turns, the mail wagon drew into view. I stopped short, not caring at all that the wheel had dropped. "Look, Benyomin! Come on." I pulled his sleeve. "Let's go!" We'd been staying so close together lately, I was sure he'd come.
But he waved me on. "No. You go."
"Please?" I hated leaving him for anything—even this. "Just this once?" He looked as if he might come so I added, "I have such a good feeling today."
But that didn't work how I'd hoped. He frowned. "You always say that. And there's never anything for us. You should know by now. But go ahead with your good feeling. I'll just take my turn." He grabbed the wheel and started running with it.
"Don't go far," I called after him—even though I knew he wouldn't.
Ma was baking bread. Soon it would be out of the oven. Hot and fresh. We both wanted to be there. So no matter what happens at the mail shack, I told myself, with bread in the oven, it's still a good day. And I still have a good feeling.
"See you soon," I shouted and raced off.
My heart galloped the whole way and almost beat me there. By now, the mail wagon was pulling away. As always, tingles swept through me when I walked through the doorway and up to the counter.
"Do you have anything for the Myzels?" I asked.
For once, the man behind the counter took a real look without my even asking. That alone made me grateful. He rummaged around, and then, I could hardly believe my eyes, set a package down in front of me.
I gaped in disbelief. "For the Myzels?"
"That's what it says." He pointed to the writing on the package. "The Myzels. Ragotke Road. Vilkomerski: Poland. Is that your family?"
"Yes." My heart was dancing like crazy.
"Here." He pushed it toward me. "It's from America."
"From America!" What a delicious sound that made in my mouth! "Thank you!" I clutched it to me and hurried out, running through the shtetl in great flying leaps.
Benyomin came racing up. "What? We got a package?
"Yes! And I'm giving it to Ma."
"Just let me see it for a second." He reached for it.
But I held on tight and ran for all I was worth.
I tore into the house shouting, "Look Ma! Look what we got!"
Ma, Hannah, and Kvola rushed over. Benyomin dashed in right behind me. With everyone watching, I proudly handed the package to Ma.
She held it as if it were something holy. I hugged myself. Our house smelled so good with Ma's bread just out of the oven. We watched as she carefully, almost tenderly, removed the brown paper wrapping, then the stiff cardboard, and then more brown paper. We barely breathed as she lifted off the last piece of paper and uncovered a large wooden picture frame. There under the glass, was a black and white photograph. A man with soft, kind eyes.
"Look! It's Pa!" exclaimed Kvola.
Hannah sucked in a breath.
Pa. I gazed, unable to get enough.
"Let me see." Benyomin bent close to the frame.
"He's so handsome!" I looked up eagerly at Ma.
But, strangely, she did not seem happy. She shook her head—not hiding her disappointment.
"A picture?" Her voice took on a harsh edge. "After all this time—a worthless picture! In a wooden frame, no less!" Her face turned hard. "He thinks so much of himself? Uh! Such a waste of money!" Her voice rose. "Why?!" A big blue vein on her neck bulged out. "Why would he do this to us?" Tears welled in her eyes, but she rubbed them angrily away. "Of all things!" Her voice grew hateful. "We're starving!" She screamed at Pa's picture. "Are you meshuggeneh? We can't eat a picture!" she shrieked. I'd never seen her so upset. It was as if all the years of waiting and never hearing, all that was exploding out of her.
"But Ma," I said softly. "Don't you see...?" I tried to explain how it was for me, "Now I know his face. I know my pa." I gently touched his cheek. My handsome pa.
"It's a worthless picture!" Ma screamed. "Worthless!" She snatched it off the table and before any of us could stop her, she strode over to the oven and shoved it into the fire.
"No!" I cried. "You can't do that!" I'd never said such a thing to Ma before. But a big aching piece of me was in there with it. "I need it!" I rushed over and, not even thinking, plunged my hand in and wrenched it out.
The picture was already in flames. I dropped it on the floor. Glass shattered everywhere. Flames curled around the edges of Pa's face. Heart pounding, I stamped them out with my boots.
"I need his picture," I said more firmly than I'd ever said anything to Ma, tears spilling down my face. "I need it." I held my burnt fingers to my mouth and leaned down close, wiping my eyes to see what was left. The edges of the picture were singed and crumbling. But his soft, kind eyes and his handsome face were still there.
And what was this showing from under the singed edges? Something green. With raw, burnt fingers, and pounding heart, I carefully, carefully lifted Pa's picture and set it on the table. And there, showing plainly, as if it had floated straight out of my dreams and onto our hard dirt floor, was money—money from America—more than we'd ever seen.
For a few seconds we stared, stunned. Pa had held all of this in his own hands. He'd hidden it safely—just as I'd always hoped. And now, with trembling fingers, I scooped it up and handed it to Ma, still warm.
Ma's lips quivered. With tears in her eyes, she looked at me with such a mixture of shame and pride. "I can't believe it!" She held the money in both hands and burst into sobs.
But we children believed it. We jumped up and down hugging each other and shouting, "Pa sent money! Pa sent MONEY!"
"Shh!" Ma quickly shoved all of it into her straw mattress. "We mustn't tell anyone. Someone could steal it." Her face stiffened. "We don't know who we can trust."
"Well I know who," I said with certainty. "We can trust Beryl. Always."
Ma's face smoothed with relief. "Ah lebmeh dine kuppaleh." A blessing on your head. She patted my head. "Go right now, Fivel. Tell him I'll come by soon. Maybe he'll know what it's worth. Who knows? Maybe it's enough to get us to—" She stopped, not daring to say it aloud. But nothing could stop me. Already, my heart was singing it over and over. America. America. America.
I headed straight to Beryl's, gulping in great breaths of air.
Halfway there, Lila rushed up to me. "Fivel!" She caught me by the elbow. "Nu? You got a package?"
"Yes—from Pa!" I exclaimed and yanked my arm free. "He sent us a picture of himself!" And I ran off as fast as I could, laughing out loud.
"Beryl!" I shouted as I rushed in the bakery. "Pa sent us money!"
"What? He did?"
"Yes. And I found it! It was hidden inside a wooden picture frame." I jumped up and down. "Ma threw it into the oven. But I grabbed it out just in time."
"Thank goodness!" he exclaimed.
"It's this much." I showed him, holding a thick space between my thumb and pointer finger.
"Ai, yai, yai!" Beryl rocked his head back and forth. "It must be a fortune!"
"Yes," I agreed. "Ma will come soon. She needs to know if it's enough to get us to America. You'll help us, won't you?"
"What a question!" Beryl threw his hands in the air. "I'll do everything I can."