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  Charlie was busy, too. Bundled up in one of Mama’s aprons, his little hands were splashing around in a toy washtub full of soapy water. Swish, swash, over and over, he kept washing the same bit of clothing. It seemed as if it never would be clean enough for him.

  The door opened. “A regular laundry you got here,” someone said admiringly.

  “O my goodness, Lena! You here already? I didn’t realize it was so late!” Mama glanced at the kitchen clock.

  “Don’t worry. You got plenty of time yet till supper. We stopped work early today; it’s past the busy season. You don’t mind I come so soon?” she added. “In my room, I’m only alone. It’s quiet. Here is always children and laughing. It’s homey.”

  “Mind! Why, it’s a pleasure to have you, Lena.”

  “New dress?” Charlotte inquired, examining Lena’s brown wool costume, which had a heavy braid design stitched onto the material. “It’s pretty!”

  “You like it? I made it myself. Think Hyman will like it? We’re going out special tonight. To the theater on Second Avenue!”

  “Of course he’ll like it,” Ella declared. “It’s very becoming.”

  Lena smoothed the dress over her hips. “Makes me look not so fat, no?” she said. She looked around the room. “You’re all so busy. Can I help, maybe?”

  “Thank you, Lena,” Mama replied. “You just sit down and be company. We’re almost through, anyway.”

  Lena rocked back and forth on the rocking chair, keeping them all amused with her hearty chatter. From time to time, as the flatirons grew cold, Mama returned them to the stove, picking up freshly heated ones in their place. She’d wet her finger and swiftly strike the bottom of the iron. If it let out a pleasant sizz-z-z, she’d know it was hot enough for proper ironing.

  By the time Papa arrived, the work was completed. The finished clothes were whisked away into closets and drawers, and the table was laid for supper. Only Uncle Hyman was missing.

  “Everything will get all cold. Go ahead and eat,” Lena urged. “Any minute now he’ll be here. The way he eats, you don’t have to worry. He’ll catch up.”

  But supper was almost over before Uncle Hyman finally showed up, still wearing his working clothes. His suit was wrinkled and baggy. He had on an old shirt, frayed at the collar, and a day’s whiskers had sprouted on his face. “Why so late?” Mama demanded.

  “I couldn’t help it. I was busy.” Uncle Hyman scratched his ear. “Hello, children. Hello, Lena. My, you look nice!”

  Lena frowned. “I certainly can’t say the same for you!” she said in a huff. “Not enough you come late, so you look like a tramp!”

  “Lena’s right,” Mama broke in. “Couldn’t you have gone home first and changed?”

  Uncle Hyman took off his cap and ran his fingers around the band. “It was too late to bother.”

  “Sure not! Why should you bother yourself getting all dressed up?” Lena fumed. “For you it’s all right to take a girl to the theater looking like a schlepper so everybody should talk. I thought you were beginning to be different—to take care a little of yourself. But I made a big mistake. Once a schlepper, always a schlepper!”

  As the torrent of words poured down on his disheveled head, Uncle Hyman turned red. His eyes sent appeals for help in Mama’s direction, but Mama was on Lena’s side. He sidled over to Lena and timidly put his hand on her shoulder. “Lena, please—” he muttered.

  Lena wouldn’t let him finish. “Keep away from me! You’ll spoil my new dress!”

  Uncle Hyman quickly hid the offending hand behind his back and swayed nervously from side to side.

  The children felt uncomfortable. Yet somehow, it was like watching a play, wondering what would happen next. To Papa, it all seemed very amusing. He leaned way back in his chair, grinning broadly. But poor Mama was very distressed. Hand to cheek, she looked first at her brother and then at Lena.

  “Listen, Lena.” Uncle Hyman tried to speak mildly. “So you see me in my working clothes. Is that so terrible? After all, people should like each other for themselves and not—”

  “According to you,” Lena retorted hotly, “people should go around looking like pigs! How you belong to this family I don’t know!” Her voice broke, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. She picked up her coat from the leather couch. “You can go to the theater by yourself!” she flung at him, and flounced out of the house.

  “Lena!” Uncle Hyman bellowed. Never before had the children seen him display such energy and speed. He yanked the door open and rushed to the stairs. “Please, Lena, wait!” His plea went unheeded. She was gone!

  Slowly he shuffled back into the kitchen and stood by the window. His head drooped sadly. He stared down at the blanket of snow in the yard. After a moment they heard him say, “I’m so miserable. Honestly, I could throw myself out the window.” He shivered and turned away. “Only it’s too cold outside.”

  They wanted to laugh at his silly words, but he looked so woebegone that everyone felt sorry for him.

  He sagged into a chair, his hands clasped. Nervously his thumbs circled round and round each other. “I should know it was so important!” he complained, all forlorn.

  Mama threw up her hands. “What have I been telling you all these years?”

  “Why don’t you go after her and tell her you’re sorry?” suggested Henny.

  Uncle Hyman shook his head dolefully. “It won’t help.”

  “Yes, it will,” Ella replied. “Only you’ll have to get fixed up first. When she sees you nice and clean, she’ll change her mind.”

  “But it’s so late already.”

  “If we all pitch in and help, you’ll be in time.” Ella jumped up excitedly. “Come on. Let’s get started!”

  “Come with me, Hyman,” Papa said. “I’ll see if I have a white shirt to lend you. Meanwhile you can wash and shave.”

  “A clean pair of socks also,” Mama added.

  “Quick, take off your shoes, Uncle Hyman,” ordered Charlotte. “Gertie and I will polish them for you.”

  “I’ll press your pants,” Ella said.

  Sarah ran around the kitchen busily. “I’m getting Papa’s shaving things, and the brush and comb, and a clean towel!” she shouted.

  “Mama, where’s the whisk broom?” asked Henny. “So I can brush off his coat and cap.”

  At the sink, Mama stood over Uncle Hyman as if he were another one of her children. “Don’t forget the ears! Maybe if you wash them out thoroughly, for once, you’ll hear the things I tell you. And those nails! They look as if you’ve been planting potatoes!”

  Uncle Hyman grunted and groaned at the sink while little Charlie added to the general hullabaloo by banging a spoon on the floor. “Wash! Wash! Wash!” he kept yelling.

  The moment Uncle Hyman stepped away from the sink, Ella fell upon him with brush and comb. “Oh! Ouch!” he howled as the comb pulled at the tangles. Then she brushed the hair smooth till he winced. “Enough already!” he roared in exasperation. “My head is coming off!” With clever fingers, Ella pushed a wave into the dampened hair right above his forehead. “You’ll see, Lena will be crazy about you now,” Ella promised. “Girls like men with a wave in their hair.”

  “Yes, like Jules’s hair,” taunted Henny. “You can ride up and down on his waves.”

  At last Uncle Hyman was ready. “Some difference!” commented Papa. “Now at least you look like somebody.”

  “You think now shell be satisfied?” Uncle Hyman asked hopefully.

  “I’m sure she will,” Mama said. “But you’d better hurry if you don’t want to miss the show.”

  Quickly they helped him into his coat. He was about to pick up his old cap when Mama cried out, “Not that filthy thing! Papa, you lend him your derby.”

  The hat slipped down to rest on Uncle Hyman’s ears. “I can’t see a thing!” he exclaimed.

  “Just a minute,” Papa chuckled. “I can fix it.” He rolled up a narrow piece of newspaper and tucked it inside the band.
“Try it now.”

  “Fine. It fits.” Uncle Hyman looked around gratefully. “Thank you—all of you and—and—children.” He fumbled in his change pocket.

  “Some other time,” Mama put in quickly. “Go. Go!” and she shooed him gently out the door.

  “Mama,” Sarah suddenly remembered, “Uncle Hyman didn’t have any supper!”

  “Oh, my!” Mama cried. “We were so busy getting him fixed up, I forgot all about it!”

  “Never mind, Mama,” said Papa comfortingly. “Tonight he wouldn’t even remember it himself.”

  It was past midnight, and the family was asleep. Suddenly there was a pounding on the kitchen door. Bang! Bang! Bang! “Open up! Open the door!” cried someone in the hall.

  The children sprang from their beds in alarm, all except Gertie, who cowered underneath the covers.

  “What’s going on out there?” Papa shouted.

  “It’s me, Hyman! Lena and Hyman! Open the door! We want to see you!”

  “Such crazy ones!” the children heard Papa mutter as he went toward the door. “They’ll wake up the whole neighborhood!”

  Behind him came Mama, looking like one of her own daughters with her hair in two long braids. The girls, in their nightgowns, stood in a tight circle around Papa, with timid Gertie holding on to Charlotte’s hand. They peered inquisitively under Papa’s arms as he unfastened the latch.

  The door flew open. Lena and Uncle Hyman burst in, their faces joyful. “Don’t be frightened. It’s good news!” Lena cried. She stopped, remorseful. “Oh, my! The whole family we waked up! I’m sorry. We should have waited till tomorrow. But we’re so happy, we had to tell somebody right away.”

  Papa frowned impatiently. “Tell what?”

  Hyman grabbed Papa’s hand excitedly. “Feel my heart! It’s jumping for joy! We’re engaged!”

  Lena exclaimed. “Just now it happened! Look—my engagement ring!”

  “Really!” Mama heaved a happy sigh. “Well, that’s just wonderful! Let me see the ring!”

  “Let me! Me!” the children chimed in, with the younger ones flying around the room like nightgowned seagulls.

  Roaring with laughter, Papa slapped Uncle Hyman heartily on his back. “Hyman, that I should live to see the day!”

  “Lena, I’m so glad!” Mama exclaimed as she put her arms around her. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

  Lena hugged her in turn. “Before I was only alone. Now all at once, see what a big family I’ve got!”

  “When will the wedding be?” inquired Ella.

  “Will it be a big wedding?” Sarah broke in breathlessly. “In a hall like across the street?”

  “Then you could wear a real wedding gown and everything,” Charlotte said.

  “Shush!” Lena answered. “Give us a chance. We haven’t made up our minds yet.”

  No one noticed the little figure standing near the bedroom door, rubbing its eyes with its fists. “I waked up!” it peeped loudly for attention.

  “Look who’s here to join the party!” Papa cried, swinging his son to his shoulders. Charlie’s mouth puckered into a puzzled smile. He gazed down on the ring of jolly faces below. “Party?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” chuckled Henny, “a nightgown party!”

  “Tonight we celebrate!” Papa announced, waltzing around with Charlie. “Mama, bring the wine glasses!” From the kitchen closet he took out the decanter of wine reserved for special occasions. He poured the red wine into glasses, full to the brim for the grownups, just a thimbleful for each child. “Lena and Hyman, may this night mark the beginning of a wonderful life for both of you!” Papa said fervently. “L’chaim (to life)!” Glasses were raised high.

  “L’chaim tovim (to a good life)!” was the rousing response, and everyone took a sip.

  Lena finally set the third Sunday in June as the day for the wedding, and the family began to plan for the coming marriage. Uncle Hyman thought all this fuss unnecessary. “Why can’t we go to the rabbi and let him marry us!” he wanted to know. Papa was inclined to agree.

  But Mama and the girls all sided with Lena. “Don’t you understand, Hyman,” Lena said earnestly, “a wedding is the most important day in a girl’s whole life! She wants it should be so wonderful, she should remember it forever!”

  “Every girl dreams about it,” Ella chimed in. “A beautiful wedding gown—a long white flowing veil—a bouquet of white roses—music …” Her face wore a faraway look as if she were lost in her own dream.

  But Papa was practical. “It’s very nice, but big weddings cost a fortune.”

  Lena sighed. “I know. We’ve been finding that out. We’ll have to be satisfied with something not so big—a ceremony in the synagogue, maybe.” Her chin came up. “Never you mind, children. It’ll still be a beautiful wedding, you’ll see!”

  Then one evening Lena came a-running in happy excitement. “It’s all settled!” she cried. “We rented the hall across the street. Hyman is paying the deposit right now.”

  The children were beside themselves. They whooped and hollered with delight.

  Mama was puzzled. “Lena, I don’t understand—the money—” Just then Uncle Hyman came bustling in. “You can thank my brother Morris for this!” he exclaimed. “He’s paying for the hall. It’s his wedding present! And we have enough now to pay for everything else. How do you like that?”

  “Really!” Mama’s voice was full of pleased surprise. “Oh, Hyman, we have a good, good brother!”

  “Yes,” Uncle Hyman shook his head. “Now Lena can have a wedding with all the trimmings.”

  CHARLIE KEPT TUGGING at Mama’s skirt. “Play with me,” he implored.

  “Mama’s too busy now, Charlie.” She brought out a box of empty spools which she had saved over the years. All of Mama’s children had played with them. “Here, play by yourself.”

  Charlie always liked to play with the spools. He sat on his heels and built wobbly little houses, talking and singing to himself as he labored. No sooner were they up, than with one gleeful swoop of his arm, he’d send them tumbling down. After a while, he put one behind the other, and they became a long streetcar. “Clang! Clang!” the little conductor chanted as he crept along the kitchen floor.

  Mama was glad she had found something to interest him. It was Friday, and she was busy with preparations for the Sabbath. The house to put in order, bread and cake to bake, the special Sabbath dinner to cook. She’d have to rush if she expected to be through in time.

  It wasn’t long, however, before Charlie was bored with his streetcar. He began kicking the spools with hands and feet, scrambling them all over the floor. The mixup seemed to please him, and he prattled away cheerily in his own baby language.

  Mama kept stumbling over the rolling spools as she went back and forth. It made her cross. “Charlie, pick up the spools and put them back into the box!” she commanded.

  Dutifully, Charlie started collecting the spools. It was a wonderful game, and he had lots of fun. He dived under the whatnot, inched his way in and out beneath the leather couch, and crawled under the table and chairs. He even poked into the coal box and rummaged through the open garbage pail. It took a long time, and when he was finished, he was a complete mess, his hands all grubby and his face smeared. He looked around. It was so quiet in the house. Where was everyone? “Mama,” he asked, “where Dertie and Lotte?”

  “In school,” Mama answered shortly.

  “I wanna go school,” he said.

  “You will when you get to be a big boy.”

  “I big boy now,” he insisted.

  Mama did not answer. She was kneading her challis dough. It had risen beautifully, nice and spongy. It would make two fine loaves. She nodded with satisfaction.

  Charlie climbed up on a chair so he could watch Mama. How different things looked up here! He looked on, spellbound, while Mama’s swift hands pushed the soft mass of dough on the bread board. In and out and round about the hands went. Schwiggle schwaggle! In
the bread pan right before him lay another big lump, just like Mama’s. He poked it lightly with an exploring finger. It made a nice little hole, but in a moment, the hole seemed to fill up. He poked it again. Such a nice mushy feeling! He pulled at it with both hands trying to imitate Mama’s kneading motions. “Mama, see!” he exulted. Mama saw and let out a cry of distress. “Oh, Charlie I With your dirty hands!”

  “Dirty hands?” He opened his little fists and examined them curiously. He rubbed them against the sides of his rompers, and held them up to view. “Clean!” he smiled.

  Quickly Mama rescued the dough and cut away the dirty part. “Look what you did!” she kept saying. “Tsk, tsk!” With a practiced eye she measured the remainder. “It’ll never be enough now!”

  Charlie didn’t understand. Why was Mama’s face all scowly, her voice so angry? I wanna schwiggle, schwaggle like Mama, he thought to himself, and Mama’s angry. He didn’t like it here any more. He pushed his lips forward in a pout. “Go see Mr. Basch.”

  “Good! Then I’ll be able to get my work done.” Mama shook her finger at him sternly. “Remember! You’re not to go outside! You go to Mr. Basch’s store through the back door.”

  Mama stood watching at the landing as he plodded down the stairs. Both hands tightly gripping the balusters, he sidled down with one foot, the other following closely behind. As he disappeared through the back way, Mama sighed with relief and hurried back to her work.

  The store was empty of customers. Mr. Basch was sitting in a chair propped up against the counter reading a newspaper. He glanced up. “Hello, Charlie, my friend! Shake hands!” Solemnly the little boy offered his hand. “My Mama don’t smile on me,” he said.

  “Hmmm.” Mr. Basch peered down over his glasses into the cracker barrel. He bent down and picked out two pieces of broken lemon snaps. He offered one to Charlie, and they munched together in silence.