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  “I’d better get out my Prince Albert,” Papa said. The suit lay packed away in moth balls and was taken out only for very special occasions.

  Mama said, “You looked so handsome in it the day we got married. Do you think it’ll still fit?” Everyone knew she was just teasing. Hard work kept Papa’s figure slim as a young man’s.

  As Papa hung the suit out on the line to get rid of the odor of moth balls, Henny put her fingers to her nose. “What with our heads and Papa’s suit, going to a wedding is a smelly business,” she remarked.

  At last it was the afternoon of the wedding. Papa stood preening himself before the full length mirror. The girls smiled to one another. He held himself very straight. They watched him carefully fix the white flower in his buttonhole. He turned slowly, looking at himself from all sides. Nodding to the mirror in pleased satisfaction, he swung his high silk hat onto his head.

  “Well, I’m ready,” he announced. “Pretty handsome feller, don’t you think?”

  “You really look very distinguished,” Ella told him, and the girls all agreed.

  Then Mama swept into the room for her turn at the mirror.

  “Look at Mama! She looks so young and pretty!” exclaimed Sarah.

  The children danced around Mama admiring her shiny blue satin dress, all tucked in the blouse and soft flowing in the skirt. A corsage of tiny pink roses that Uncle Hyman had sent made a charming finishing touch.

  As for the girls, they were like a bouquet of flowers themselves in their white lace-trimmed dresses with pastel colored sashes and hair ribbons to match.

  Papa beamed with approval. “We’re certainly a stylish-looking family.”

  “Except Charlie,” Mama said. “He’s not dressed up yet. So he shouldn’t have time to get dirty,” she explained.

  Charlie hated getting all dressed up. But despite his twisting and turning, Mama had him ready at last. He looked so adorable in his velvet suit with his blond hair slicked down like a big boy’s that the girls all wanted to hug him. But Mama said, “No. No mussing him up!”

  Papa peered out of the window. “Here comes the carriage!” he shouted. “Come on. Let’s go!”

  Swish, swish, the petticoats rustled as the family paraded down the stairs. “I still can’t see why we need a carriage just to go across the street,” Mama declared. “Such a foolish waste of money!”

  “Hyman wanted to please the children.”

  “Oh, Mama, it’s stylish to come in a carriage,” Ella said.

  “Of course,” added Charlotte. “When you step down from a carriage, you’re like a king or queen, with everybody standing around and staring.”

  “Papa, please tell the driver to go around the block first,” begged Henny.

  “Yes, Papa, please!” the others chimed in.

  The driver, an old man in a shabby suit and dusty cap, didn’t even bother to turn around when Papa tapped him on the shoulder. He seemed bored with the whole business. “Okay,” he replied to Papa. “Let’s go.”

  “Such a poor old horse,” Sarah said. “He’s so skinny, his bones are sticking out. Can he pull all of us?”

  Charlotte wrinkled up her nose. “It smells musty in here.”

  “Giddyap!” the driver called out. The carriage springs creaked and squeaked as the horse plodded slowly around the block and stopped in front of the hall.

  Papa jumped out and helped his family down. All the girls put on a grand and haughty air. This time they were the lucky ones to disappear inside the big hall while others stood curiously outside. They turned their heads this way and that, smiling graciously. Then, like royal princesses, they promenaded up the steps and through the door.

  They entered an enormous room which, to the children, seemed as big and beautiful as a palace.

  Everywhere artificial flowers bloomed in tall vases. From the high ceiling hung crystal chandeliers scattering their sparkling lights over the glassy smooth floor. Gilt painted chairs with worn red plush seats were lined up like soldiers against the walls. The tall windows were draped in faded red velvet hangings. Between them, long mirrors reflected the girls’ likenesses over and over down the full length of the hall. Gertie stopped before one which had a large irregular crack running down its center. “Ooh, look!” she exclaimed, “I have two pieces of face!”

  The relatives were greeting one another, faces wreathed in smiles. Men shook hands heartily. Women embraced and planted kisses on the children’s cheeks.

  Uncle Hyman was busy bobbing in and out of the small groups of guests, the long coat tails of his rented dress suit flapping behind. “If those coat tails were just a tiny bit longer, they could use Uncle Hyman instead of a broom,” Henny said, giggling. Just then Uncle Hyman caught sight of the family and came a-running.

  Papa slapped him affectionately on the back. “Well, Hyman,” he said. “This is your big day!”

  “Yes! Yes!” Uncle Hyman beamed. His face was redder than ever. Beads of perspiration were gathered in small blobs beneath the brim of his top hat. As he talked, the stiff bosom of his white shirt kept popping up. “It won’t stay down,” he complained. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to be dressed like this every day.”

  “So don’t breathe so hard,” Papa said, laughing.

  “Where’s Lena?” Gertie piped up. “I want to see the bride.”

  “I’d like to see her myself, Gertie,” answered Uncle Hyman. “She’s in that little room over there with some of the women. I have to wait till the ceremony, but you can go in right now.”

  In the little room, Lena sat enthroned on a high-backed arm chair. Her white satin gown fell in graceful folds, forming a wide circle on the carpeted floor. A delicate wreath of blossoms entwined in her hair made a lovely frame for her face, and from it a filmy white veil floated. In her gloved hands, she held a bouquet of white roses tied with satin ribbon streamers.

  “How could we ever have thought her plain?” Ella caught herself thinking. She studied the bride’s face. It seemed aglow with light as if happiness had woven a magic spell. “Lena, you’re beautiful!” she cried.

  Lena held out her arms to the children. They went over to her cautiously, fearful of crushing the flowers and her gown. She kissed each of them, smiling into their adoring faces. She held Mama’s hand in hers for a long time, and her eyes became all misty. Finally she said, “Go, children. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “Lena looks pale,” Charlotte observed as they left the room.

  “That’s because she hasn’t eaten a thing the whole day,” Henny explained.

  “She hasn’t!” Gertie asked, astonished.

  “Uh huh. It’s the custom. The bride and groom must always fast on their wedding day.”

  “That’s right,” said Ella. “The fasting is supposed to cleanse the soul. Then to cleanse her body, the bride also goes to the mikvah (pool) before her wedding.”

  “Why can’t she stay home and take a bath in her own house?” inquired Charlotte.

  “Well, it’s not just an ordinary bath,” Ella went on to explain. “The women go to a bath house. They go down the steps of the pool and duck themselves under the water. Then prayers are recited over them—by some older woman, usually.”

  Back in the hall the girls heard the sound of sprightly music. “Where is it coming from?” Sarah asked. “I don’t see anybody.”

  Ella pointed to a small balcony in the rear. “There they are. Up there.”

  Just then Henny spied Jules threading his way towards them through the crowd. Her eyebrows arched inquiringly. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Lena invited him,” Ella replied.

  Jules looked at her. “You’re very pretty tonight, Ella,” he said shyly. Quickly he added, “I mean—you all look nice.”

  “We all thank you,” Ella answered gaily. As the music started up again, Jules asked her to dance, and off they went.

  “Come on, Sarah. Let’s you and me dance,” Henny cried, grabbing her around the waist and whirling her away.
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br />   Charlotte and Gertie weren’t dancing. They stood by at the end of the hall, enviously watching several of their boy cousins. The boys were playing a most delightful game. Taking a running start, whiz-z-z! each slid down the length of the room, bumping into the dancers right and left. Charlotte sniffed loudly. “Look at them! They don’t even know how to behave at a wedding!”

  But the boys’ fun didn’t last long. A smart slap on the backside from a watchful Uncle Solomon, and the wonderful game came to a sudden end.

  The musicians struck up a waltz. “Gracious lady,” Papa bowed very low, “may I have the honor?”

  Mama curtsied and replied “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

  Papa held out his arms. “We’ll show the children what real dancing looks like,” he declared.

  As Papa swung Mama round and round to the tune of the old-fashioned waltz, they seemed so young and carefree that the children were bursting with love and pride. “Aren’t they handsome!” Sarah cried, and even Charlie clapped his hands.

  Soon his tiny feet went pattering after them. In and out amongst the dancers he wove, till at last he reached his dear ones. Chuckling, he clung to Mama’s skirts, shaking himself up and down to imitate her dancing steps. Papa picked him up, and the dancing circle of three continued waltzing around the floor.

  The hall grew warm. The hot and thirsty guests crowded around the refreshment table. Cases of celery tonic and seltzer, mounds of sponge cake and honey cake, wine and schnapps—they made short work of all.

  Someone struck several loud chords on the piano. “The ceremony! The ceremony is beginning!” the loud whisper ran around the room. Hurriedly the guests found seats. At a signal, the ushers brought in the huppah signifying the house in which the couple would dwell. It was shaped like a canopy in vivid red satin, exquisitely embroidered with gold thread, and supported by wooden poles, one at each corner. It was held aloft by four wedding guests.

  The lights were dimmed. A hush fell over the assembly. In the doorway the wedding procession stood ready. The wedding march began.

  There was no mother to lead her son to the altar; so Mama walked beside Uncle Hyman down the hall and under the huppah. There was no father, either, to give away the bride; so Papa acted the part. The veil let down over her face and her gown trailing gracefully behind, Lena leaned on Papa’s arm.

  Slowly, haltingly, she began the long walk. The guests looked on sympathetically as, somewhat clumsily, she dragged her lame leg. But Lena was unaware of anyone. Her head was high and proud. She looked only toward the huppah, where Uncle Hyman waited. Bravely she tried to adjust to the rhythm of the music.

  “Psst, psst! Musicians!” Someone signaled frantically. “Slower, slower!”

  The musicians understood. The measures of the wedding march lengthened. Behind Lena the bridesmaids and their partners slowly followed.

  At last Lena was under the huppah. The music stopped. Seven times around the groom the bride was led, and the marriage service began.

  The rabbi lifted up a goblet of wine, reciting the blessing. He offered the goblet to the bride and groom, and each took a sip. A ring of plain, unadorned gold was placed on Lena’s left hand. The marriage contract was given to her, and the rabbi recited seven nuptial blessings. He raised a second goblet of wine, intoning a blessing. Once again the couple drank. These two goblets represent the cups of joy and sorrow.

  A glass was set down on the floor. Uncle Hyman had to crush it with his heel for good luck. He raised his foot. The sisters held their breath. If he could smash the glass with one blow, that would mean extra special good luck! Down came the heel, and the glass shattered into pieces. From all around loud exclamations of rejoicing were heard.

  The rabbi gave the couple his blessing, and Uncle Hyman kissed the bride. Suddenly a skylight window was thrown open, and from a wire cage, pigeons were released. They came whirling down in a rush of wings, circling round and round the huppah.

  Once more the chandeliers were ablaze with light. The musicians burst into a lively melody, and the hall resounded with congratulations and well-wishing. “Mazel tov! Mazel tov! (Good luck! Good luck!)” The people rushed forward to shake the hand of the groom and to kiss the bride—husband and wife, now!

  Dance! Dance! the music seemed to call urgently. “It’s a kazatske (Russian folk dance)!”

  The old folks sprang from their seats, and soon small circles of dancers pranced about. They circled to the right, then to the left, tripping in to the center and out. Looping arms with their partners, they spun around, first one way and then the other. Women held their skirts wide. Men slapped their hands and stamped their feet. Faster and livelier went the music. Faster and livelier went the dancers. Such interesting steps, half remembered from dances done in the villages in the old country, half invented on the spur of the moment. The circles widened. They became one big circle as little children and grown-ups joined in. Finally the music stopped, and the exhausted dancers, breathing hard, stood around wiping their flushed faces with their handkerchiefs.

  An elderly man wearing overalls and a painter’s cap entered, carrying a covered basket and a long pole to which a net was attached. He came to a halt in the very center of the hall, beneath the skylight. The children rushed over to watch as he deftly reached up with his pole and snared the pigeons. One by one he popped the birds into the basket.

  But there was one rebel who refused to be caught. He kept darting from one side of the skylight to the other. The children were delighted with his antics. They skipped about, laughing boisterously, and offered all kinds of advice to the bird-catcher.

  “He wants to stay for supper,” Charlotte cried. “Why don’t they let him?”

  The old man tired. Muttering to himself, he went out with the pole and returned, dragging a tall ladder after him. He set the ladder up right in the midst of all the assembled company and climbed to the topmost rung. Seizing hold of the lone pigeon, he thrust it into his basket. Then off he went, ladder, basket, pigeons, and all.

  There was a loud fanfare from the musicians. Grownups and children arranged themselves into two zigzaggy lines. Round the hall they paraded, out into the foyer and down the stairs to the dining room. Uncle Hyman and Lena, already at their places, graciously greeted the guests. On a little table in front of them, the wedding cake stood, a white tower of beauty. The girls inspected it from all sides before sitting down.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous!” Charlotte marveled. “It’s a shame to cut it up.”

  The wedding supper! Fricassee, soup with noodles and mandel (croutons), roast chicken, stuffed derma, kashe (buckwheat groats), carrots and peas, hot tea, and, last, pieces of the luscious wedding cake.

  Henny was in seventh heaven. As each course made its appearance, she announced blissfully, “This I like!” It took a long, long time to eat, for in between there was much singing and speechmaking.

  Wearied by the lateness of the hour and all the noise and excitement, Charlie fell fast asleep. “I’ll take him upstairs, Mama,” Ella offered, and carried her little brother up two flights to the babies’ room. An old lady wearing a big white apron sat guard over other little ones who had already succumbed to sleepiness. In their crumpled finery, all shapes and sizes, the babies lay crosswise on two large beds.

  Late into the night the festivities went on. The people danced till the soles of their feet burned. Till their mouths ached with the constant jabbering. Till their bodies sagged with fatigue. When the celebration finally came to an end, Mama’s girls were very glad that they lived just across the street.

  Home at last, eyes half shut, they stumbled into bed. “Wasn’t it just the most beautiful—beautiful—” Ella’s yawn was wide. “There’s just nothing like a—big—wedding—” Her last words could scarcely be heard. But it did not matter. Everyone was asleep.

  ALONE IN THE ISLAND of her bed, Sarah was glad for once that Ella went to bed later than she. How she had longed for this moment! All day, amid the commotion and rush, the constant c
oming and going of neighbors and relatives, she had carried around the awful hollowness inside her. If only she could cry it away, she thought. But in front of everybody! How could she? Wait till you’re in bed, she kept telling herself. Well, it was safe to let go, now. She buried her head in the pillow and waited for the tears to come.

  Sadness lay in the bed with her, and yet, oddly enough, the tears refused to flow. She found herself thinking about her sisters. They were unusually quiet. Were they upset, too? Slowly she raised her head.

  In the kitchen, Mama, Papa, and Ella were busy with last-minute wrapping and packing. It was comforting to hear their voices.

  Sarah sat up and leaned against the bedpost. She let her eyes wander over the dear familiar place. The dressers looked queer without the delicate lacy scarves, without all the little knick-knacks and brushes and combs. The walls, now bare of mirrors and pictures; the window, curtainless, made the room seem barren. In the corner stood barrels filled to the brim with dishes and glassware.

  Charlotte’s voice broke the stillness. “It’ll seem funny living someplace else.”

  “Yes,” agreed Gertie. “We’ve lived here our whole lives!”

  “Well, it’s about time we made a change,” Henny said cheerfully. “Mama and Papa kept talking about it, but I honestly never thought we’d do it. I’m sure glad. I’m sort of tired of this old place. Doing the same old things and seeing the same old faces all the time.”

  Oh, thought Sarah, how could anybody ever grow tired of the things that were part of her? Knowing things and people so well made them dear to you. Taking on new ways and new friends, that was hard—almost terrifying. “Henny,” she asked wonderingly, “won’t you even miss your friends?”

  “My gracious! We’re not moving to Europe! It’s just a subway ride to the Bronx. We’ll be coming down to see them. Besides,” Henny added, “you can always make new friends.”