Текст книги "Mankillers"

Автор книги: Ken Casper

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The ordeal was over. The redheaded man was dead. Thank God the killing had ended. Buck knew he should be exhilarated. Instead he felt depressed, let down and strangely sad. He’d killed another man today. He prayed it was his last.

It was late in the afternoon when the weary travelers finally pulled up in front of the Greenwald home on Charleston’s Battery.

“Goodness me,” Janey said, staring up at the massive three-story clapboard mansion. “This is where you live?”

“It’s the only home I’ve ever known. My father had it built when he married my mother. It won’t be the same now without him.”

She invited everyone inside, where they were greeted by a butler and housekeeper, who offered their simple but heartfelt condolences on the death of Mr. Greenwald. They inquired after Sarah’s mother and were given directions to pack an additional trunk of clothes to be sent to her in Columbia. Janey was also introduced, assigned a place in the servants’ quarters and made a part of the household staff.

Meanwhile Buck attended to Freddie’s arm in the back parlor, where he and Wes were then served supper. Before they left for their lodging house on East Bay Street, Sarah presented them with generous purses, which they happily accepted.

As soon as the driver and guard left, she turned to Tracker. “Mr. Bouchard, please join us in the dining room. I can’t offer oysters and shrimp, but I think you’ll find our cuisine palatable.”

He bowed and kissed her hand. “Would that I could, Madame, but I have vital affairs I must attend to. Perhaps on another occasion.”

“You’re always welcome, sir,” she said. “Perhaps when we meet again we can work up our appetites with another footrace.”

He laughed. “I’ve never known a woman to finish last. Au revoir.”

She stood in the doorway, while Buck stepped outside to offer his friend a final handshake. “Thank you for everything, Tracker.”

“You’re welcome.” Then he leaned forward and said sotto voce in Buck’s ear, “Don’t let her get away, mon ami.” With a final wave, he descended the porch steps and strutted toward Market Street.

“Perhaps it would be best if I departed as well,” Buck said to Sarah.

“I would welcome your company this evening, doctor. It’s been a long and trying week, not to mention today’s affair. Mother isn’t here, and I don’t feel like dining alone. On the other hand, maybe you would prefer solitude.”

He recalled the feel of her in his arms at the top of the bluff. “I would very much like to spend some time with you, but . . . is it appropriate? I mean—”

“Under the circumstances,” she said seriously, “I frankly don’t care about propriety, if that’s what you’re referring to. So sit, eat.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” Was it his imagination, or did she sound like her mother?

They sat at opposite ends of the long dining room table, while the butler served a series of courses, each exquisitely prepared, none overly large, though the cumulative effect was quite satisfying.

“May I ask what plans you have for the future?” She spread chicken pate on a piece of toasted bread. “I understand you’re considering opening a medical practice here in Charleston.”

“I know more physicians here than in Columbia, so my chances of finding an opportunity are probably better.” He lifted his cut-crystal glass and sipped tea.

“Do you have any contacts here in Charleston?”

“Some of my old professors, if they’re still around.”

“If I can be of any help . . .” The butler removed dishes and presented the next course, braised beef tips in a wine sauce. “Several friends of our family are doctors.”

“I’d appreciate any introductions you can give me.” My God, Buck thought, this is our first private conversation and we’re talking business. He covered up his smile by sampling the beef dish. “I do hope my future medical practice involves more than gunshot wounds.” And cutting off limbs.

“I’m sure you’ll be successful at whatever you do.”

So polite. So serious. Was she nervous being alone with him? Not afraid, he hoped, but the look in her eyes didn’t reflect fear. No, not fear, but . . . something.

“And you?” he asked, following her lead. “What about this lawsuit you’re involved in?”

“I’ll fight it, of course. I have no intention of letting Franklin Drexel profit by his son’s crimes or my father’s death. You may rest assured of that.”

She was a strong and determined woman. Heaven help her opponents. “You’ll prevail. And after that? Will you run the brokerage yourself?”

“Like you, my future’s uncertain. The cotton market . . .” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “My father put money aside for Mother and me, but the hardest work is being idle, as he was fond of saying.”

Buck chuckled. “I never thought of it that way, but I have to agree.”

The meal proceeded with charm and dignity, as they discussed other topics, their tastes in music and literature, Jewish customs and courtesies.

He was disappointed when dessert was finally served, not because it was simple pudding but because it meant their time together was drawing to a close. For two weeks Sarah Drexel had been the focus of his interest, the center of his attention, and the salvation of his sanity. When he left this house in a little while, he had no idea when he would return.

“I understand you’re in mourning, but may I ask when it might be appropriate for me to call?”

She bowed her head. “I wish I could say at your earliest convenience. I do want to see you again, Buck, as a friend, as a . . . confidant. But under the circumstances I feel that discretion is more important than ever. My in-laws would make hay of a gentleman caller, since under civil law I am still married to their son—or rather I am his widow. It’s touchy. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do,” he said, as he rose from the table. “I understand completely.”

The butler slipped back her chair as she stood up. “You’ll be staying at the Isaac Hayne Hotel?”

He nodded. “For the foreseeable future.”

“May I send you a message there when this mess is resolved?”

His heart skipped a beat. “Most definitely. If I relocate to another address I’ll either send you the change or have the desk at the hotel hold any correspondence that may come for me. In either case, I can promise you I will be at your beck and call.”

She grinned with amusement. “I hope it won’t be too long.”

#

The next morning Buck set out to see his friend Asa Boone. From his earlier conversation with Sarah and her mother, Buck knew the rabbi’s address on Broad Street was within walking distance. The two-story house, which sat sideways to the street, was beautifully landscaped with wisteria vines climbing the porch columns. Two large magnolia trees shaded the lane separating it from the neighbor’s equally well-tended home.

Buck pulled the bell beside the wrought-iron front gate. A minute later a servant girl came to inquire who was there. She repeated Buck’s name, left him standing in the street, returned moments later, opened the gate and invited him inside.

In the vestibule, a short, stout woman was waiting to greet him.

“Dr. Thomson. I’m so glad to meet you at last. Asa’s been singing your praises since coming to our household, and I must tell you he’s been a gift from God for Mordecai.”

“How is your husband? I understand he suffered a stroke a month or two ago.”

“It’s so sad, but with Asa’s help, he’s improving. The worst for him was that he couldn’t go on writing his memoirs. But Asa’s even helping him with that. And you know—” she placed her hand maternally on his sleeve “—I think it’s been a blessing for Asa too.”

Buck smiled, sincerely pleased with the news.

“But where are my manners? Here I am prattling on in the hallway. Please come meet my husband. I’ll have Sophie bring us tea.”

She led him down the hall past the staircase to a room with double doors. Buck’s first reaction was that he’d entered a cave lined with old papers and manuscripts. The small room, however, was merely the antechamber to a much larger one. Slumped in a wicker, high-backed wheelchair by a window sat a white-bearded man in a maroon silk dressing gown, a small round brimless cap on the back of his head. A few feet away, facing him, sat Asa, holding a pad and pencil. He looked up, saw Buck, his face broke into a broad smile. He popped to his feet. Before Buck realized what was happening, Asa was embracing him.

“Buck, I’m so glad to see you.” He released his grip. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“You’re obviously feeling better than the last time I saw you.”

“I want you to meet my good friend and teacher.” He turned to the man in the wheelchair. “Rabbi Cohen, this is Dr. Elijah Thomson. He saved my life.”

“Rabbi, sir, I’m very pleased to meet you.” Noticing the obvious weakness in the elderly man’s right arm, Buck bowed slightly instead of offering his hand to shake. “As for Asa, he’s being both kind and modest. He saved many lives himself.”

“Kindness is the beginning and the end of the law.”

Buck was pleased the old man’s speech wasn’t impaired.

“Molly dear, are you just going to stand there? Please call Sophie.”

“Tea,” his wife exclaimed. “I told the doctor we’d have tea, and here I am dawdling.”

“Maybe he’d like something stronger,” the rabbi said in a voice too loud.

“You’re not having any wine, Mordecai.”

Buck smiled. “Thank you, but tea will be fine.”

Molly went to the side of the fireplace and pulled a cord. Within seconds a stout woman wearing an apron entered the room.

“Sophie, bring us tea and some of those honey cakes.”

“Dr. Thomson,” the rabbi said, “I understand you took my good friend Jacob Greenwald and his wife to Columbia for treatment. Such a fine man. How is he doing? Well, I hope.”

Buck weighed the consequences of telling them the truth or hedging.

“I regret to tell you things didn’t go well. We were ambushed by highwaymen on the way to Columbia and Mr. Greenwald was killed.”

Molly collapsed into a chair, her face gone pale.

“Sarah and her mother?” Asa asked, his voice trembling.

“They’re fine,” Buck assured them and proceeded to describe the trip in general terms. He held back any mention of the journey to Charleston, except to say Ruth had elected to stay with old friends in Columbia, while Sarah returned to attend to legal matters. He didn’t elaborate on their nature, unsure how much he was at liberty to disclose.

“Jacob was a close friend and a valuable member of our community.” The rabbi shook his head. “But, as it is said, life is only on loan to man. Death is the creditor who will one day claim it.” He looked up. “Molly, send word to Reuben Moscovitz. He can call a minion to say Kaddish for Jacob.”

Sophie came into the room with a large silver tray.

“And now,” the rabbi said, “we have tea.”

While Molly was serving the hot beverage, Buck motioned Asa to the side. “How’s your back?”

“It’s healing, Buck. I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to take a look at it before I go?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

They migrated to the center of the room. Buck surveyed the walls which were lined with bookcases, all overflowing with bound volumes, loose manuscripts and scrolls.

“You have quite a library here, rabbi.” He noted the writing table was covered with papers, some in a strange, indecipherable script, others in English and another language written in the Latin alphabet. “And you are an author as well?”

“Judah ha-Levi once said, my pen is my harp and my lyre, my library is my garden and my orchard.”

Asa smiled at Buck. “He dictates and I write it down for him. He has to spell a lot of words for me, words I’ve never heard before, but they sound wonderful, Buck. And he’s teaching me what they mean. Really mean.”

Buck had never before seen the glow he saw now on his friend’s face.

The rabbi smiled crookedly. “You can get more water from a deep well than from ten shallow ones. And the Talmud tells us, much have I learned from my teachers, more from my colleagues, but most from my students.”

Buck wasn’t sure he fully understood all of what the teacher was telling him, but he felt it was profound.

He accepted a second cup of tea but politely declined a third. It was clear to him that the elderly invalid was tiring. After Buck thanked the rabbi and his wife for their hospitality and acknowledged their invitation to return, Asa saw him to the door.

“You seem content here,” Buck commented.

“I am, for now. I wish I’d met the rabbi sooner, but—” his voice thickened “—he doesn’t have too much time left.”

“What then? What do you want to do?”

“Somehow, someday, somewhere I want to get back to farming, work with the land and live a life of peace. I feel strong again, Buck, and the rabbi’s helped me accept what happened. I still get angry sometimes, but he’s taught me not to be bitter.”

“How does he do that?”

Asa laughed for the first time. “I don’t know exactly, except that he lets me talk about anything, even things I’d be ashamed to tell anyone else. He doesn’t judge. He just listens.”

“I’m happy for you,” Buck said, with more envy than he was willing to admit.

Chapter TWENTY

At the hotel Buck was handed a sealed envelope by the clerk at the front desk. He didn’t recognize the writing, but the lavender color of the stationery indicated it was from a woman. He knew only one in the area. It took monumental strength for him not to tear it open on the spot. At the table in the dining room, however, while a waiter was pouring him coffee, he used the butter knife to open the correspondence.

Sarah had sent a list of physicians. He was disappointed to find no personal note with it, but a moment’s consideration told him it would have been unwise of her to do so in case the letter went astray. Nevertheless he found himself studying her writing, something personal of hers.

He reviewed the names. Six doctors. He was surprised he wasn’t familiar with any of them, but he hadn’t lived here in five years and a lot had happened during that time.

He’d also compiled a list of his own and wondered how many of these former colleagues were still in Charleston, How many had served in the war? How many were not yet home? And how many might never return?

For the next two days he rode Gypsy from the Ashley to the Cooper Rivers and up and down the peninsula, covering all of the port city. He was able to find two of the dozen names on his list and four of the names Sarah had given him. In every office he was greeted hospitably and given a polite hearing, but the result in each case was essentially the same.

“You have a great deal of valuable experience in surgery, doctor, and we can certainly use that. With so many wounded men coming home, there’s an unlimited need for good surgeons and I’ll be pleased to use you in that capacity. I must tell you though that I’m not presently able to offer you a permanent position, because I’m waiting for my nephew—” or my brother or my son or my uncle or my best friend “—to return from the war, and of course my first obligation is to offer him a place here. If you’d like to fill in until their return, or if you’d like to wait a few months and contact me again . . .”

But Buck wasn’t interested in a temporary position. He wanted to put down roots and establish some semblance of a normal life.

He visited the medical college where he’d received his training and was cordially greeted by the dean, but it soon became apparent he was primarily interested in putting Buck on the staff to teach surgery, especially amputations.

Buck thanked him, promised to consider the opportunity and left with no intention of ever coming back. He’d seen enough severed limbs.

Disappointed and disheartened by his lack of professional prospects, he compiled another list of physicians and wrote a series of letters, posting them to the last addresses he was aware of, uncertain if they’d ever be delivered or if he’d hear back from them. On an impulse, he also sent a letter to his old family friend, Dr. Thaddeus Meyer, inquiring about possible opportunities in Columbia, in spite of his resolution never to return there.

In the week that followed, Buck was at loose ends. It was too early to expect responses from any of his letters, yet he had no place to go, nothing to do. His former favorite leisure diversion of target shooting had lost its appeal. He indulged in reading, something he’d had scant opportunity to do over the previous four years, but even the thrilling tales of Edgar Alan Poe failed to hold his attention for very long.

His mind kept drifting back to his visit with Asa and the conversation with the rabbi. Recalling the open invitation to call again at his leisure, he penned a note asking if he would be at home on Thursday at two o’clock. Buck was surprised when the messenger brought back an immediate reply heartily welcoming him.

That was on Tuesday. For the next two days he kept trying to imagine what he and the rabbi would talk about. Nevertheless he used the interval to purchase new, better quality and better-fitting clothes and the services of a barber.

His outward appearance had improved but inwardly he was still deeply troubled. The rabbi and now Asa seemed to possess the serenity he so much desired. Although he was attracted to Sarah, the first woman in his life for some time, he felt as awkward as a schoolboy. How does one proceed with a courtship involving customs that were foreign to him? The medical profession wasn’t welcoming him with open arms as he had expected, and a lucrative practice wasn’t assured.

Perhaps Rabbi Cohen would have some answers for him.

Mrs. Cohen stood inside the door when a servant opened it to Buck. She stepped forward, both hands extended, palms down, and smiled almost radiantly up at him.

“Shalom, doctor. I wish you peace.”

He wasn’t familiar with the foreign word but was surprised that the very sentiment he was seeking was being offered.

“Peace to you also,” he said.

She smiled, as if she understood his hesitation.

“How is your husband today?”

“He keeps improving—” she grinned mischievously “—and when he doesn’t, we say he does. When things are not as you like, like them the way they are.”

“You have a wonderful way of regarding life. I envy you.”

“Life is a dream, but please, don’t wake me.”

He laughed and wondered why it was so easy to be with these people.

The rabbi was in the same place and posture as he’d been on Buck’s first visit. In his lap was an open book. Buck recognized the writing now as Hebrew.

“What are you reading, rabbi?”

“It’s a commentary on the Talmud, which is a commentary on the Torah, what you would call the Pentateuch.”

“It doesn’t sound like light reading.”

“Acquiring wisdom is rarely easy, and taking it easy is rarely wise.”

“I must remember that.” Buck looked around. “Is Asa not here?”

The rabbi gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m competing with Rebecca. She always seems to find things for our friend to do, and he always seems to find time to do them.”

“Who’s Rebecca?”

“Ah, Rebecca. A joy for the eyes. A young woman but sadly already a widow. We learned of her plight two years ago from a friend of a friend. Her husband was killed at the battle of Chattanooga in November of ‘63. She gave birth to their daughter a month later. We took her in as a house maid right after she’d weaned the baby. Our friend is quite taken with both of them.”

Asa with a woman . . . and a child. Buck was both surprised and envious. Where had Asa learned or discovered such resilience. Less than a month ago he was bereft of all hope of a normal life.

“You’ve performed a miracle, rabbi, in what you’ve done for Asa.”

“By our tradition, it is Elijah who performs miracles. Are you not Elijah?”

“It would indeed be a miracle if I could attain a portion of your serenity and wisdom.”

The old man studied him, a slight grin on his lips. “Young man, tell me what it is you’re seeking, what you want to do with the rest of your life?”

Buck moved a fiddle-back chair closer to the invalid and sat in it, remaining silent for a long minute before he answered.

“I want to practice medicine. It’s been my goal all my life. But I don’t want to cut off limbs, maim and mutilate people anymore. Somehow I want to make them mentally and physically whole. “

The old man nodded. “You have already learned how to treat diseases of the body. How do you plan to treat diseases of the mind?”

Buck shook his head despondently. “I don’t know. How can I do for my patients what you’ve been able to accomplish with Asa? What’s the secret?”

The rabbi smiled beneath his long white beard. “The first lesson is one I’m sure you’ve heard. Physician, heal thyself.”

Buck put his head in his hands, then looked up directly into the rabbi’s faded blue eyes. “How do I heal myself when I don’t even know what the ailment is?”

“Ah, my young scholar. You’ve already taken the first step. You’ve acknowledged that you have a problem. Now you must determine what was right and what was wrong, then forgive yourself for the mistakes you’ve made.” He raised his good left hand, the forefinger extended. “The second lesson is more difficult. As a patient you talk. As a doctor, you listen. Our God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason. So you should listen twice as much as you speak. Now, you talk and I will listen.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know what’s important, but you do. So why don’t you start at the beginning.”

For several minutes, Buck floundered, not sure what to say or how to say it, but as he rambled, what started out sounding like nonsense began to assume coherence. Childhood memories began to surface.

He talked about his mother. How she schooled him. How she nurtured his interest in healing injured animals. How he cried when she died. How lost he felt afterward. How his father called him a sissy for being so sentimental. How much Emma meant to him in his grief, and how angry his father would get when he found out Buck had been spending time with a slave in her cabin. And finally how he started to do things his father disapproved of as the most effective way he knew to rebel against Poppa’s authority. How glad he was to go away to school and college, away from his father’s growing wrath against his disrespect and ingratitude.

Buck paused, seemingly lost in thought. Several minutes went by before the rabbi finally spoke.

“God forgives the stumbles of our youth. He weighs a grown man’s works. And when a man grows old, God waits for his repentance.”

Buck stared at him, not sure he understood what had been said. The elderly teacher gazed back as if he saw into Buck’s mind. Another minute went by.

“Who’s Emma?” the rabbi asked.

“A house slave. My mother’s personal servant. My salvation. I could always go to Emma, the way I used to go to my mother, when things got ugly.”

“And you loved her like you loved your mother.”

Buck cringed at the notion, but more reflection brought him to the conclusion that it was true.

“Tell me about the war,” the rabbi prompted when Buck fell silent for an extended period.

“I loved being a doctor. I still do . . . I think.” He spoke as if in a dream. “But I hated what I had to do. I cut off men’s arms and legs. Day and night. I cut through living flesh. I sawed through the bones of men and boys. I cut off broken, shattered limbs while they screamed in agony. Sometimes they lived. Sometimes they died. I wonder if the ones who died weren’t the lucky ones—after what I’d done to them. They died cursing me, while those that lived will hate me till the end of their days.”

Buck sat motionless as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was crying in front of another man, yet felt no shame, for the elderly teacher observing him elicited none. Time seemed to stand still and in his anguish Buck felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

When the rabbi spoke again it was softly and with compassion. “You cannot determine what other men will do with their lives. You can only decide what you will do with yours. So, keep talking.”

“I don’t know what else to say.”

“You will. Another time. We’ll talk again. Need I remind you a medicine rarely cures with one dose?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening, but already I feel better. You’ve been very kind and patient.”

“See how simple? You talk, I listen.”

Buck shook his head in wonder. “I’ve talked about things I’ve never said to anyone in my life, things I’ve never thought of before.”

The rabbi arched an eyebrow. “Do you have any questions?”

Buck smiled, a little embarrassed. “Only one. When can we talk again?”

“You are always welcome, and I am always here. Now we drink tea.”

Buck rose, rubbed his wet cheeks with the back of is hand, went to the side of the fireplace and pulled the cord. A moment later there was a knock on the door. The rabbi called out and the maid entered the room, followed closely behind by Molly.

“Sophie,” she ordered, before her husband could get a word in, “We need tea. And bring the fresh kugel, and some of the strawberry preserves.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The servant had turned back to the door when Asa came bounding in.

“Buck, I just found out you’re here again.”

The two embraced in a spontaneous show of affection.

Molly was still making room on the round table under the chandelier when the maid reappeared pushing a tea cart. Clearly it had been prepared in advance. While Molly played mother, the rabbi looked on affectionately. He smiled at Buck. “Talking and listening make a man thirsty.”

Asa glanced at Buck and grinned knowingly.

#

“There is no way I’ll allow the Drexels to get one penny of my father’s money or his business,” Sarah told the attorney behind the imposing desk. “My father’s dead and they’re trying to take advantage of my mother’s and my grief. I will not have it. I don’t care what you have to do or how much it costs. I will not have my father’s lifelong work pillaged by a family of jackals.”

“Calm down, my dear,” Simon Weinberg told her. “They don’t have a legal leg to stand on. It’s simply a matter of time and all of this will be settled in your favor. Leave it to me.”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Your father was one of my closest friends. Remember, God punishes, but men take revenge. I have never liked the Drexels and will take great pleasure in trouncing them in court.”

“How long will this vengeance take?” Sarah asked.

“I would say within a month.”

“Don’t take too long, Simon. I’m tired of wearing black.”

#

Buck continued to feel at loose ends. He felt calmer and less inclined to losses of temper as he idly walked the busy streets, perplexed about what direction his life should take. He wanted desperately to stop by Sarah’s home, but knew doing so would not be wise. He obeyed his conscience in action, but his thoughts were less disciplined. The world he’d taken so for granted had changed immeasurably. South Carolina had lost its sovereignty and become occupied territory. Soldiers on the street wore Union blue, not Confederate gray. More than once he’d been forced into the street so a Yankee could stroll the sidewalk. It was difficult for him to adjust to the sight of former slaves walking unaccompanied by a white overseer. They were still no better clothed than they had previously been, nor did they seem any better nourished. In fact they appeared lost in their new-found freedom.

Yet there was music in the air. As he passed by the many saloons that had sprung up during his absence, he saw and heard Negroes singing and playing instruments for the entertainment of raucous and drunken Yankee soldiers. More mortifying was the sight of young Southern women in the arms of those occupying troops.

The following Tuesday, as prearranged, Buck once more called at the home of Rabbi Cohen and his wife Molly. This time Asa greeted him at the door. Before ushering him into the drawing room, Asa commented, “You look like a new man, Buck. Charleston seems to agree with you.”

“It’s not the place, but the people.”

“Sarah?”

“She’s in mourning and involved in legal matters.” Buck smiled. “But I can wait.”

Asa chuckled. “As the rabbi says, Lord, give me patience and give it to me right now.”

“He’s quite a man, isn’t he?”

“There’s someone else too, Buck. I told you once that I didn’t think a woman—” He stopped, even now unwilling to bring up his shame.

“Who?” Buck asked with a friendly grin, suspecting he was about to meet Rebecca.

For a moment Asa bowed his head, then looked up, his face almost radiant. He turned to the doorway at the end of the foyer and made a waving motion. Out stepped a woman who couldn’t have been more than about twenty-one. Her brown hair was tucked under a chambermaid’s cap. She had tiny freckles on her nose and cheeks and soft brown eyes.

Asa and the girl . . . woman made no moves to touch each other, yet Buck could easily imagine them holding hands when no one was looking.

“Buck, er . . . Dr. Thomson, this is Rebecca Cunningham.”

She curtsied nervously before he had a chance to extend his hand. “Rebecca, I’m very glad to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. Asa’s told me so much about you.”

Buck glanced at his friend. “If it was anything good, I hope he exaggerated.”

“Oh, he did, sir. He said you were his best friend, the salt of the earth—” she paused for a heartbeat “—with a little pepper added.”

Buck laughed out loud. “He’s got me pegged.”

“I hope to see you again, sir,” she told him, then turned to Asa. “You’d best take him in. The rabbi’s waiting.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Buck didn’t miss the love he saw in Asa’s eyes as the pretty young woman fled down the hall and disappeared through a side door.

“Congratulations. What was it I heard the rabbi say the other day? Mazel something?”

“Mazel tov.” He showed Buck into the rabbi’s study.

“Shalom,” the old man greeted him.

“That means peace, right? Shalom to you.”

“You’re a quick learner. You are well? Sit. Sit.” To Asa he said, “Please tell Sophie we’ll want tea later.”

“Yes, rabbi.” Asa left the room and closed the door behind him.

“So,” the old man said, “what do you have to tell me today? I’ll listen.”

“The only position I can find here is as a surgeon. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve sent out letters but it’s too soon to hear anything back. My life’s rather quiet now. I thought during the war I’d give anything for quiet, but too much seems as difficult as too little.”