Sanctuary. Faye Kellerman
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the transition, whenever Rina closed her eyes, she saw Yitzchak’s face. It was never a stern face—Yitzy was a gentleman and a gentle man. But it was a sad face.
She had changed since her first marriage, away from the insular black-hatted religious, toward the modern Orthodoxy she grew up with. Of course, she still covered her hair whenever she went out, but it was in a more modern way. Today, her head was topped with a knitted tam, her long black hair braided and tied into a knot. But the head covering didn’t obliterate all her natural hair. The tam was not as kosher as the shaytel she used to wear.
Her eyes drifted to Honey and her shaytel. The wig was a good one—thick and multicolored and slightly waffled. Very natural-looking. And it covered every inch of her hair.
Like the one Rina used to wear.
Both women were garbed in long-sleeved sweaters and over-the-knee skirts. Rina still refused to wear pants or go sleeveless. But she had changed. Her marriage to Peter had made her more modern, just as her marriage to Yitzchak had made her more Orthodox.
Honey took Rina’s confused expression as a chance to make contact. She scooped up Rina’s hands and swung them. It was an adolescent gesture and Rina was suddenly transported back to her teens. Honey still retained her girlish—almost boyish—figure. As thin and straight as a stick.
“Thanks for taking us in.”
“We’ll have fun,” Rina said.
Honey’s teal eyes beamed. “Fun. I like that word.” She turned to her kids, started to speak in Yiddish, then stopped herself with a giggle. “I’m not used to speaking English. Come on, kids. Let’s go.”
“They should probably take off their coats and lay them on their laps,” Rina suggested. “It’s going to be a tight fit as is.”
The children didn’t move.
Honey said in English, “You heard Mrs. Lazarus. Take off your coats.” She clapped. “C’mon, people. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Quickly, the kids obeyed.
Honey turned to Rina. “It isn’t Lazarus anymore, is it?”
“It’s Decker.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, troops. Pile in.”
Slowly, the kids inched toward her Volvo. The girls crowded together on the left, the boys leaned to the right. They looked stunned, in complete contrast to Honey, who seemed joyous. She cranked down the backseat window and peered out expectantly. Rina slid into the driver’s seat and turned around to the back.
“Kids, you’re going to have to put on your seat belts.”
They glanced at each other, dumbfounded.
Honey began hunting around. “Seat belts. Like we wore in the airplane. They have them in cars.” She smiled at Rina. “In the village, all we have is old jalopies for major hauling. We never use cars for traveling. Everything’s in walking distance.” She reached over and pulled the harness belt. “Come on, kids. Cooperate.”
Rina felt the kids weren’t being stubborn. They were just confused. Buckling up took them another few minutes.
“Doesn’t Gershon work in the city?” Rina asked.
“Of course. The village owns a bus,” Honey said. “Several buses. The men take the bus into the city. Gosh, you should see how they’ve altered it. It has tables and benches for learning, and a bookcase full of sepharim. I was shocked when I first saw it. A bais midrash on wheels. Now I’m used to it. The women have their own bus, too, but we don’t use it very often. Everything we need is in the village. Good! We’re all set, Rina.”
Rina started the engine and pulled out of the loading zone. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she noticed the kids were still huddled together. Honey was oblivious to their uneasiness. She was too busy looking out the window.
“Look out there, kinder! Winter back home and here everything’s green. Can you imagine that? Do you know they can grow oranges and tangerines out here? They pick them right off the trees in their own backyards.”
Honey’s youngest, a boy, said, “We have trees in our backyard.”
“Not orange trees, Pessy,” the oldest girl said, derisively.
“Will you have some patience, Minda?” Honey scolded her. She smiled at Pessy. “I’ll show you the trees.” She spoke up to Rina. “You still have orange trees here, don’t you?”
“We have a whole citrus grove on our property,” Rina said. “It’s a ranch with horses and hay and a barn.”
Honey grinned. “Oh, Pessy, trees, and horses and a barn! Like we see in the countryside. Isn’t that exciting!”
The boy looked curious. “Horses like cowboys ride?”
At least he knows about cowboys, Rina thought. She said, “Yes, horses like the cowboys ride. My husband’s a cowboy … of sorts.”
That was too much for Pessy. He knitted his brow and fell silent.
Honey said, “I’m still amazed. When we left it was thirty degrees outside. Our village was a carpet of snow and ice. Walking three blocks hurt your lungs. Then you get on a plane, five hours later, it’s sunshine and greenery.”
“It’s been raining,” Rina said. “That’s why it’s so green. Anyone hungry?”
Honey began rooting through her handbag. “I think I have a package of crackers.”
Rina laughed. “I packed some fruit in a bag, Honey. It’s under your feet. Help yourself.”
Honey retrieved the bag from under her seat and pulled out an apple. “You thought of everything. Who wants?”
Pessy was about to pipe up when Mendel elbowed him in the ribs. The little boy sank back in the seat and was silent.
“Mendie, do you mind, please?” Honey spoke in Yiddish. “Take it, Pessy. That’s what it’s here for.”
Slowly, little fingers extended toward Honey. She gave him the apple.
Mendel said, “B’racha!”
Pessy looked at Mendel, said a prayer, then took a bite of the apple. He told Rina thank you in English.
“You’re welcome,” Rina answered.
“Anybody else want?” Honey asked.
Once again, the car fell silent. Rina hadn’t heard boo out of the younger girl. She was fair like her mother, with a smattering of freckles on each cheek.
“Maybe later, Honey,” Rina said.
“Well, I’m going to have a tangerine. It looks good.”
Honey broke off a small bit of peel. “Rina, I didn’t officially introduce you to my kids, did I?”
“Not officially.”
Honey kissed her elder daughter’s cheek. “This is Minda. She’s fifteen and beautiful—”
“Mama!” the girl whispered.
“Oh don’t shush me. You are beautiful, right, Rina?”
“Right,” Rina answered.
The girl blushed, holding back a smile at the compliment.
“Mendel is my scholar. Contrary to what you might think, he does know how to smile.”
“Only if I’m forced,” Mendel said, dryly.
Rina laughed. “You’re going to get along with Shmuel just fine. What mesechet are you learning, Mendel?”
The boy paused, perplexed by Rina’s interest in his studies. Girls just weren’t supposed to be aware