“Of course,” I said as I struggled not to meet Alex’s eyes that I knew were searching for mine.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have come,” I apologized. “Grandmother’s health has been rather delicate lately and I think she overestimated her strength today...”
“Don’t rush off yet,” Monsieur Armel pleaded. “The table is set. The food is nearly ready and we want you to share our Seder.”
I looked at my grandmother and saw that her eyes had suddenlydrifted in another direction. Solomon had suddenly emerged and joined the Armels in the hallway. I almost didn’t recognize him. Instead of the typical shabby clothes he wore the few times I had seen him at the shop, he was now dressed in a pressed suit and a crisp shirt and tie. He also wore a black skullcap on his head.
“A pleasure to see you, Mademoiselle Solange.” He nodded in my direction. “And your grandmother as well.”
“Unfortunately, Madame de Florian is not feeling well. Can we ask Rachel to make her some hot tea?”
“Yes, certainly.” He looked at Marthe sympathetically and then retreated back into the kitchen.
Alex motioned for me to bring Marthe into the library, and he helped her to one of the upholstered chairs.
“Perhaps being in the comfort of my collection will soothe you,” Monsieur Armel said as he gestured at his shelves of books. “I know I so enjoyed seeing your porcelains.”
Rachel brought in a cup of tea. She was far younger than I had imagined, as she looked only a few years older than I. Petite with a kind face and dark brown curls, she appeared genuinely concerned with Marthe’s well-being.
“Drink it slowly,” she advised kindly. “And let me know if you’d like anything else. I’ve made some macaroons and they might restore your energy.”
“Thank you, you’re most kind,” Marthe whispered as she took the tea and sipped slowly through the clouds of steam.
“I’ve brought some marzipan,” I said, offering them to Monsieur Armel. “We so appreciate you inviting us.”
“It is the least we could do... We are forever indebted to your grandmother.” He looked over to her with affection in his eyes. “She saved Alex.”
“You exaggerate, monsieur. I only wrote a letter.”
Monsieur Armel laughed. “Has anyone told you, Madame de Florian, that your modesty is utterly charming?”
Grandmother lifted her gaze from her teacup. Her color had fully returned to her. “No one, my dear man, has ever called me modest.” She gave him her most beguiling smile. “But I must say, I like it.”
***
Perhaps having a few moments to process the addition of children to the dinner enabled Marthe to return to her jovial self. After all, she had always been someone who could adapt quickly. When we returned to the dining room and sat down next to the children, she hardly even seemed to notice them whereas I could hardly peel my eyes away from their sweet faces. One could see they had been dressed in their holiday best. Eva wore a simple cotton pinafore with lace trim, white socks, and shiny black shoes. Little Leo was in dark suspenders and a shirt that was half untucked. They sat with folded hands, their eyes peeled toward the center of the table where there was a large round dish flanked by a set of silver candlesticks. Upon the platter, arranged like a constellation, was a selection of curious things that I knew had symbolic meaning. An egg, parsley, a bone, a bowl of salt water, and a brown mixture of what appeared to be mashed nuts were placed on top of it. Beside it was a basket of covered matzo.
With everyone now seated and Monsieur Armel at the end of the table, the scene looked almost identical to the one in my fourteenth-century Haggadah.
“Shall we begin?” Rachel stood just behind the children.
“Yes, please,” said Monsieur Armel as he gestured to Grandmother and me to sit down.
Rachel reached into her apron and withdrew a box of matches. I heard the strike against the carbon, and then the room was bathed in a soft, mysterious light.
***
Grandmother had been placed at the far edge of the table as a gesture of respect. And with her straight back, trim figure, and fashionable dress, she added an old-world glamour to the setting.
I could see how little Eva’s eyes kept darting to steal glances at Marthe. I recognized the girl’s wonder at seeing someone who seemed to possess such a preternatural elegance.
Perhaps Marthe noticed it, too. For as the night wore on and Marthe warmed from the red wine and the storytelling done by Monsieur Armel, I believe I even saw Marthe smile at the little girl.
But for the entire evening, she kept her eyes firmly away from Leo.
With his dark hair and pale skin, the suspenders and knee socks, I’m not sure whether he reminded her of my father, the son she never had the chance to raise. But she avoided him as if he were a ghost.
***
