All-of-a-Kind Family Uptown Page 4

  “I pulled it only a little bit.” Charlie pouted. “An’ anyway, I haven’t got no tail.”

  “You do that once more, and I’ll spank you right where the tail would be.”

  At the sink, Ella was sprinkling coarse salt in large handfuls over some uncooked meat. “Ella,” Grace cried, aghast. “What are you doing! You’ll burn everyone’s mouth off with all that salt!”

  Ella smiled. “It gets washed off later. This is how we make our meat kosher.”

  “Oh, that’s how it’s done,” Mrs. Healy said. “I’ve always wondered.”

  “That’s only part of it. First you have to soak the meat in cold water for half an hour. Then you wash it off. Next you sprinkle salt all over the meat and place it on a wooden board set on a slant so that the meat can drain freely. After an hour, you rinse it three times in cold water. Then it’s kosher and ready for cooking.”

  “It’s quite a job preparing your meat,” Mrs. Healy said.

  “Yes,” agreed Henny. “You spend hours fixing it, and then the whole thing is gobbled up in a couple of minutes.”

  “Mrs. Healy,” Ella said, “there is one thing you can help me with.”

  “Sure. And what’s that?”

  “Well,” Ella went on, “I’m not even trying to bake our own challis for the Sabbath like Mama does. I’ll buy those at the bakery. But I would just love to bake a coffeecake. We always have one for breakfast on Saturday. Papa loves it.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Mrs. Healy said, rolling up her sleeves.

  They went to work, and soon the dough was set to rise in a pan on the back of the stove. “I’ve got to go down and attend to my own cooking,” Mrs. Healy told Ella, “but when the dough has risen to twice its size, you call me. Come, Grace, this gives me an idea. We’ll make a coffeecake too.”

  The preparations went swiftly. Now the soup was on and the meat ready for roasting. Ella took down the box of matches from the kitchen shelf.

  “Lemme light it! Lemme!” Charlie cried.

  “No!” Ella answered firmly. “It’s too dangerous. But you can blow out the match afterward.”

  Charlie watched Ella strike the match against the side of the box. It was ablaze! Charlie was silent with the wonder of it. Just a second ago it had been a mere stick. Now suddenly and gloriously it had flamed alive! How it glowed! He felt all jumpy with excitement. If only the brightness would last forever! But now Ella was saying, “Well, Charlie. Blow it! Blow it out!”

  He puckered his lips and blew. Solemnly he regarded the charred bit that remained in Ella’s hand. Why wouldn’t his mean sisters let him light matches? They did it all the time.

  There was the whole boxful on the window sill where Ella had left them. Swiftly Charlie snatched it up and skipped out of the room. Everyone was so busy that no one noticed. Henny, with one ear cocked, could hear Charlie singing happily in Mama’s room. Everything was all right.

  Charlie went over to the window and set the precious box down on the sill. Now it was all his to play with! Eagerly, he pulled out a match and scratched it against the sandpapery side of the box. He clutched it so tightly the slender stick snapped. Charlie frowned. “No good!” He tossed the pieces out of the window.

  He took a second match. He scraped and scraped, and pretty soon the red and blue tip was all gone. “More no good!” The second match followed the first through the window.

  Puzzled, he tried a third one. It burst into flame! His eyes opened wide as he contemplated the magical brightness. All too soon it was burning itself out—it was almost down to his fingers! Quickly he brought another match to it. What a lovely spurty sound it made as it caught fire!

  Through the open window, the soft summer breeze pulled fitfully at the crisp white curtains. It occurred so swiftly, Charlie scarcely knew what happened. The flame made a jump toward the curtain and ran up its length.

  Frightened, Charlie backed away, the match stump still in his hand. He watched, fascinated, as the curtain seemed to melt away. A little puff of wind snatched up the last bit of lacy whiteness and sent it spinning like a flaming top down to the yard below.

  Charlie tiptoed over to the window and peered over the ledge. There was nothing there. He looked up at the bare rod. There was nothing there either—nothing at all! He spread his arms out in a helpless gesture. “All gone!” he announced. Only some ashy specks on the window sill remained. He blew at them and shooed them out. Then he stepped back and studied the window again. He stood very still, his small rounded tummy pushed forward. The window has no clothes on, he decided. What would Mama say when she saw that? She’d be awfully angry. She might even give him a spanking!

  But Mama wasn’t here. She was sick in the hospital. Ella was here. She could spank! His eyes went darting round the room. The bed! That was a fine hiding place! Quickly he crawled under. He was safe in his own snug little den.

  “Charlie must be up to something. It’s much too quiet in there,” Henny said in the kitchen. “I’d better take a look. Charlie!” she called out. “Charlie, where are you?”

  Charlie’s heart went bumpety-bump. It mustn’t do that. It must be still as a mouse, like himself.

  Henny’s voice was coming nearer. Now she was in the bedroom. He could see her shoes coming and going. All at once the shoes halted. “What in the world! Hey, Ella—everybody, come in here quick!” Henny yelled.

  The startled sisters came running. Henny pointed to the window. “Where’s the curtain?”

  “What could have happened to it?” Ella asked, wonderingly.

  “Maybe it fell out,” Gertie said.

  Sarah and Henny hung over the window ledge. No curtain down there.

  Ella’s brows puckered into a frown. “The rod’s still up there. The curtain couldn’t have fallen down. Someone’s taken it off!” She studied the sisters’ faces suspiciously.

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” Henny told her. “Why should we want to do that? Maybe it’s Charlie. He might have torn it off somehow. Where is the little rascal, anyway?”

  Charlie hardly dared breathe. He flattened his nose against the floor.

  “Charlie!” the girls called. They ran all through the house searching for him. “Maybe he went downstairs,” suggested Charlotte. “He could have gone through the parlor.”

  “With the curtain?” asked Sarah.

  “Why not?” answered Henny. “He—”

  Just then Charlie’s nose tickled. He sneezed—a tiny kerchoo! Instantly five girls were down by the bed. Five hands poked under the bedspread. There was the culprit! Henny pulled him out by his heels. Immediately he was surrounded by a forest of accusing fingers. “What have you been up to?” “Where’s the curtain?” “Why are you hiding?”

  “Shush, all of you!” Henny silenced her sisters. She made her voice very gentle. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, Charlie,” she said calmly. “Just tell us what happened!”

  In a sudden flood of tears, Charlie blubbered out the whole story. The girls looked at one another, shaken. “You must never, never play with matches!” they kept repeating over and over again.

  “It’s really all my fault,” Ella reproached herself afterward. “I had no business leaving the matches where he could get at them.”

  When Papa heard about it later that evening, he declared, “The angels in heaven are watching over my children with extra special care because they know Mama isn’t here.”

  Twilight had come. Now was the moment to welcome the Sabbath. With no Mama there, it was Ella who sang the blessing over the candles.

  Praised be Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who has sanctified with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Sabbath lights.

  Listening to the familiar prayer, the children felt drawn close together in peace and love and understanding. Once again the reverent spirit of the Sabbath was upon them.

  Happily they awaited Papa’s return from synagogue. He would smile upon them. He would be so pleased with all they had done.
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br />   And then Papa came home. “Good Sabbath,” he said quietly as he opened the door. “Good Sabbath,” they replied, and stood in line to receive his blessing.

  They waited expectantly for some word of praise, but he said nothing. He just washed his hands and sat down at the head of the table. “Charlie,” he said, drawing his son onto his lap, “do you know that every Friday night, two angels walk home with Papa when he leaves the synagogue?”

  Charlie’s eyes grew big. “Two angels!” he repeated.

  “Yes,” said Papa, “a good angel and a bad angel, and they walk on each side of the Papa. The good angel is dressed all in white, and he is very beautiful, because he has a kind and loving face. The bad angel is dressed all in black, and you would not like to look at him, for his face is very ugly—dark with anger all the time.

  “Now, when the Papa reaches his house, he goes inside alone. The angels stay outside, but they peep in the windows to see how things are. If the house is clean and bright and the family all dressed up in their nice Sabbath clothes; if the candle-sticks are shining and the candles are lit; if the table is nicely set; then the good angel feels so happy he wants to jump for joy. He smiles a big smile, and he says, ‘May all your Sabbaths be so bright and cheerful.’ At this, the bad angel gets very cross, and his ugly face grows even darker with anger. But there is nothing he can do about it, and so, even though he doesn’t want to, he has to give in. He has to say ‘Amen. So be it!’

  “Now, if the house is not clean, and the candles are not lit; if the table is not laid with shining dishes, and everybody is sitting around in the same clothes they wore all day, then it is the bad angel who is overjoyed. His mean little eyes glisten in his wicked face, and he rubs his hands together gleefully, and he says, ‘So may all your Sabbaths be!’

  “And the poor good angel is sad. He weeps, and the tears run down his cheeks. But still he has to say ‘Amen. So be it!’ ”

  Papa’s wide, gentle smile turned full upon all his children. “Charlie, which angel do you think is the happy one tonight?”

  “The good angel, Papa! The good angel!” Charlie cried.

  “That’s right, Charlie,” said Papa, and the girls’ hearts swelled with pride.

  Charlie slipped off Papa’s lap and ran to the window, his eyes searching the darkness outside. “I don’t see the angels, Papa. Why can’t I see the angels?” he asked, disappointedly.

  “Only God can see the angels,” Papa said softly. “But they are there all right. Listen hard, Charlie, and maybe you will hear the beating of their wings as they fly away. Ssh-ssh!”

  Charlie listened with all his might. He lifted a rapt face to Papa. “I can hear them, Papa,” he whispered.

  Dining Out

  On Sunday Jules came calling. “How’s Mama?” he inquired.

  Papa peered at him over the top of his newspaper. “Mama’s coming along fine, thank you.”

  “That’s great! Look, Ella, I’ve been thinking,” Jules went on. “You’ve been working pretty hard. You deserve a change. Tonight you’re going to have supper with me in a restaurant.”

  “In a restaurant! Oh, boy!” Henny exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to eat in a restaurant!”

  “Well—I—” Jules gestured helplessly as if to give the whole thing up.

  “You ninny!” Ella whispered fiercely in Henny’s ear. “He doesn’t mean the whole family. He means me!”

  “Oh, pardon me, Jules, my error,” Henny said airily.

  Ella turned to Papa. “Will it be all right, Papa?”

  “Yes, yes. Go ahead. Have a good time. Maybe, for once, we will manage without you.”

  “Thanks, Papa,” Ella cried. She twirled about. “Am I dressed properly, Jules?”

  “Certainly. You look swell.”

  “All right, then. I’ll be with you in a minute. I’ll just get my hat.”

  She dashed into her room, took a final look in the mirror, and dabbed her nose furiously with some of Mama’s rice powder. She was tingling with excitement. Eating in a restaurant was such a grown-up thing to do! She wondered what it would be like.

  “We’ll take the subway down to 59th Street and walk from there,” Jules said, as they left the house.

  Half an hour later they were strolling hand in hand along Broadway. Overhead, huge electric lights flashed on and off. On theater marquees, rows of blinking bulbs lighted up bright colored posters. It was thrilling to be part of the gay crowd that thronged the streets. This is the enchanted world of adults, Ella thought, and now I belong to it, too.

  There seemed to be a great many restaurants to choose from. Jules kept stopping uncertainly every so often saying, “I just want to look it over.” At several places, he stared for some time through the windows, but made no move to go in. “It’s got to be exactly the right kind of place, you know,” he observed firmly.

  Ella grew a little nervous. I hope he doesn’t pick a place that’s too fancy. Oh, maybe we should have stayed home, and I could have made supper for all of us. It would have been so much more comfortable.

  “Here we are,” Jules suddenly announced. With a flourish, he held open the door for her.

  As she stepped in, Ella stumbled slightly. Oh, dear, how awkward!

  Gallantly, Jules caught her arm and squeezed it a little. “Well, Madam, we’re safely aboard.”

  Ella looked quickly around. She was overwhelmed by the grandeur she saw. Suspended from the ceiling was a huge chandelier with hundreds of sparkling crystal pendants. Here and there a potted palm stood beside the elaborately carved wood-paneled walls, a vivid splotch of green against the deep red plush carpeting. Endless rows of tables stretched out before her. Small shaded lamps shed a warm intimate light on the snowy-white tablecloths. She was pleasantly aware of the subdued hum of voices, the clinking of china, the silent movements of the waiters as they served the fashionably dressed, important-looking people. A bit apprehensive, she stayed close to Jules.

  “There’s a nice booth over there,” Jules said, pointing.

  The headwaiter hurried forward. “Two?” he asked politely.

  “Two,” Jules replied.

  “This way, please.”

  With the feeling that all eyes were upon her, Ella followed him through the maze of tables. It was hard to walk gracefully in such narrow aisles.

  At a small table off in a corner, the waiter halted, pulled out a chair for Ella, and motioned grandly for them to be seated. Jules half turned, looked at the booth, and cleared his throat. “Er—do you mind—we’d rather have that booth,” he said.

  With a slight frown, the headwaiter resumed his march.

  As she slid into the booth, Ella thought: Jules is a man of the world; I wish I had his self-confidence.

  She sat rigidly upright. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the couple at the next table. The man looked distinguished in his dark suit, with the tips of a white handkerchief showing from his breast pocket, gold cuff links glinting from his sleeves. His companion wore a pearl-buttoned white linen suit and a large, floppy straw hat which framed her face. He was speaking in low tones, the woman listening attentively. Ella wondered if she could ever look as glamorous.

  She watched with curiosity as the waiter placed before the couple something in a tall glass dish set in a bowl of ice. Casually the woman picked up one of several forks beside her and began to eat. I wonder what she’s eating? I wouldn’t even know which fork to use, Ella reflected wistfully. “It’s so elegant here, Jules,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Jules replied matter-of-factly, “not bad.” He twisted about impatiently. “Where is our waiter?”

  A uniformed figure appeared at Jules’s elbow. “Good evening,” he said, placing two glasses of water before them.

  Jules took a rapid glance at the menu. “What’s special for today?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the man replied. “I’m the bus boy. You’ll have to ask the waiter.”

  “Oh,” Jules said, flushing a little.


  A moment later a waiter was hovering over them, waiting to take their order.

  What should I order, Ella wondered? There are at least a hundred things to choose from. I don’t even understand what these names mean. And what prices! Jules never should have picked such an expensive place.

  Hurry up! Choose something fast! The waiter must be getting impatient. I bet he can tell I’ve never been in a place like this before.

  She appealed to Jules. “What are you going to have?”

  “Well—I don’t know yet,” he answered indecisively, pulling at his collar.

  Desperately her eyes ran up and down the menu. Sandwiches! Why, of course! That was something easy to eat. You didn’t have to cut it up or pick at it. You could eat a sandwich daintily, and it wouldn’t cost so much, either. Lettuce and tomatoes—oh, no. That gets all sloppy and spilly. Egg salad, too. Sardines? Salmon? No—they’ll make my hands smelly. Cheese! With relief, Ella spoke in a rush. “I’d like a cream cheese sandwich and a glass of milk, please.”

  “Cream cheese and milk!” Jules repeated. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “Is that all?”

  “I’m not very hungry. I had a big dinner.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Jules said, tossing the menu aside.

  Bang! Bounce! Clatter! Jules dived under the table. He reappeared, red-faced, with a knife in his hand. “It’s these big menu cards,” he said, laughing a little. “Knocked it clean off the table.” He handed the knife to the waiter. “Here, I’d like to trade this in for another one.”

  Ella marveled at his composure. If that had happened to me, she told herself, I would have died of shame. That comes from having so much experience, I guess.

  She tried to think of a witty remark, but couldn’t. Instead she picked up her glass of water and began to drink. Over the rim of her glass, she noticed that Jules also was drinking. Their eyes met. Quickly Ella turned away so that Jules couldn’t see her gulping. They laughed uneasily as both their glasses came down at the same time. They kept looking in all directions, while the stillness between them grew more and more awkward. Jules strummed on the table with his fingers, and Ella prayed frantically for the waiter’s return.