22 August, 1923 — At last, a little over a year since we met, Ita and Charna come to Kalarash.
I rent a horse and carriage and pick them up at the train station. We make our familiar greetings, gather their luggage, and I chauffeur them to our property. I drive them up Strada Alexandru cel Bun and past warehouses, toward the center of Kalarash. A hill rises to the east above the green Kalarash valley, while the strada runs parallel to the railroad track as well as a creek, which runs through the southern border of town.
It’s a warm afternoon, and the trees that line the street create a gentle, Jewish entrance to the shtetl that enchants—or possibly horrifies—the Kaplan women. It’s not Bolgrad.
Less than a kilometer later, we arrive at our place: a two-story house next to a gray store on a corner with a sign above the door that says Gershovich’s Hardware and Tack.
I pull back on the reigns and say, “Here we are.”
“So, this is the place I’ve heard so much about!” Charna says.
Mama and papa stand on the porch watching as we roll up and pile off the carriage. Herschel and I unload the luggage.
Ita and Charna are both happy to see papa, but we all know that this trip is about affording Ita and Charna an opportunity to bond with mama. Much to my surprise and relief, I detect nothing awkward on anyone’s part when I make the introduction.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” mama says.
I ensconce the Kaplan women into our guest bedroom—formerly Herschel’s bedroom—then escort them on their initial tour of our empire, as it is, including our house, the hardware store, lumberyard, and warehouse that backs up against the railroad track. Neither is unimpressed.
Papa and I fix a roaring fire in the living room and play a few accordion-violin duets while Ita and Charna help mama fix supper. When it’s ready, we all sit down to a salad of cucumbers, onion, and tomato with feta cheese as a first course, followed by cabbage stuffed with ground beef. The dinner is delicious, and our thirsts are quenched with water and tea.
The women do most of the talking, exchanging ideas about cooking, fashion, homemaking and the like, and I am just happy to be in Ita’s presence. When he’s finished eating, papa fires up his pipe and, like me, enjoys the presence of the women.
After dinner, papa, mama, and I—despite lacking Herschel as our percussionist—entertain the Kaplan women with several songs.
Ita and Charna are clearly tired after their long journey, so we all retire early.
As we bid each other good night, mama makes an announcement, “We’ve all been invited to the Gabashvili’s for dinner tomorrow night.”