“What?” Isabelle gasped, his words stabbing her heart. “When?” she managed to ask. And why? Well, she knew why, but this wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to have left yet. She was supposed to have more time. She squeezed her fists—she deserved more time, damn it.
“He left for New York this morning.” Louis dusted his lapels as he confirmed her fears. “I was at my tailor’s. One of his rabbis uses the same man and told me himself. Already gone. With a new set of fancy garments. Apparently, he came into some money.”
And now the lump was choking off all her air. Though she supposed it was good and right. He’d earned that money, and he deserved its benefits and probably looked so handsome. Not that he didn’t always look handsome. Very handsome. Her eyes misted.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Lira. I—I think that this might be our—” Roger started, his tone achingly gentle. Pitying.
Which she could not have. Despite their renewed relationship. She forced air into her lungs, forced herself to lift her gaze.
“It’s all right. It’s fitting that things end like this,” she told him, squeezing her hands together so tightly the seams of her gloves dug into her flesh. “Like they should. Like they would have if I had been better at communicating with you three from the start.”
“We’re still sorry,” David said. “But as we said before, we will stand by you tonight, and in the future. Like we should have after your father died.” He rose, adjusting the etched silver buttons of his neatly pressed jacket. “However, I suppose we should exit, allow you to ready yourself for tonight. I’m sure you will be lovely and end your festivities with a grace that the entire city will applaud.”
“Besides, there’s much for us to do. We have some clients to contact.” Roger gave David a sharp nudge.
“Yes.” The man coughed into his hand. “I’m sure they will be disappointed that the meeting tomorrow is canceled, though I will send around a few small gifts for their time. And we most certainly do look forward to seeing you tonight. I am sure you will shine.”
“Thank you for saying that,” she told him, working to hold his gaze as a swirl of gratitude rushed through her veins. She’d won. And the future would be bright, like she’d wanted. She swallowed. “I know, with you three and my grandmother, tonight will be wonderful. The start of a beautiful beginning.” The one she had wished for, even if that wish had changed. But wishes were for children, and she was no longer one. And this was a victory. In many ways, better than she’d originally conceived.
Weiss slipped her his handkerchief before squeezing her gloved hand and whispering in her ear. “It will be. Even if I too am a bit disappointed you won’t be making a certain announcement. He’d be good to have around. Astoundingly determined in a fight,” he murmured before turning to the Berabs. “We’ll see you tonight,” he said in full voice.
“We’re looking forward to it.” David gave them one last nod and, with a tip of his hat, slipped out of the carriage, his brothers in tow, shutting the door behind him.
The sky turned from gray to inky navy as Aaron laid his broom against the wall inside the door of the synagogue for the last time. After the latch clicked behind him, he made his way back to what would soon no longer be his room. His belongings were already packed—he was all set to leave for America from Dover at first light.
He had made sure he fed the mouse family and placed a few worms in the sparrows’ nest on the eave outside his door. He’d sneaked one last bowl of milk for Sir Sleeps-a-Lot and the other alley cats and would leave them another in the morning. He’d given instructions to some of the regular minyan attendees, and they’d made him promises, but he had his concerns.
However, despite the worry, tomorrow he would be gone. On a ship. In a private cabin, with the fine new clothing he’d been measured for earlier that week, already sent ahead.
Rabbi Marcus’s idea. Upon hearing the whole tale—well, the whole tale except the library and the garden parts—he and the morning minyan crowd had forced Aaron not to send back Isabelle’s money that he’d discovered on his dresser several hours after she’d left.
“You earned that for services rendered. It’s yours.” Mr. Sinzheim had clapped Aaron on the back. “It does no good being gifted back to her. Besides, she has enough people advocating for her and her interests—it’s time you took care of your own instead of worrying about everyone else’s.”
The rabbi himself insisted on accompanying Aaron to the tailor’s shop after morning prayers and had even taken it upon himself to advise him about various types of wool.
“I think you’ll be very happy in New York,” the man had said. “The community there is growing and bustling and ready to welcome newcomers into its leadership. We’ll certainly miss you. You were an asset to the community.”
He’d snorted a little bit at that. “I think you will get by.”
“We will. Though not as well.” The rabbi had shaken a finger at him. “You, however, I just—I hope this brings you joy. You deserve joy. However, while we would fight to make sure you could stay—no matter what anyone else says—it has become clear that you might require different circumstances to do so. Not so many stumbling blocks, eh?”
Aaron had clutched his broom to his chest. Anything had to be easier than being there. Even if he wasn’t banished, he’d know she was just a few short miles away. Know that he would always love her, but she could not bring herself to return those feelings.
Not that she wasn’t capable of them. He would just never be enough to inspire them in her. Which was why there was no choice. He had to leave. Had to find some way to forget Isabelle. Had to—
A rapping rattled the rusty hinges of his door.
“Coming,” he called as he rocked to a standing position and lumbered out of bed. He swung the thing open to find Miriam leaning on her cane.
“Fancy seeing you here.” The hood of her cloak swayed as she moved her head from side to side.
“Are you here to say farewell?” He cracked his back. “After all, my bag is packed and I’m indeed ready to go.”
“I can see that.” Miriam stumbled past Aaron into the room, her hood dipping lower so even her chin was hidden. “You don’t plan to attend the festival tonight?” She squatted on the bed.
“It’s already evening. It’s starting in less than two hours. And it’s for the best this way.” He gritted his teeth at the memory of the encounter the prior night. “My job is finished. I’ve already been paid. There’s no reason for me to be there.” His chest tightened at the half-truth.
“No, I suppose there’s not.” She kicked out her heels, bending to rub her calves over her woolen skirts.
