Except Tamar would not, and in an instant, she was back behind Hannah.
“Do you think I enjoy watching the community spit on you? Watching you allow yourself to be pawed at by men you despise, who cheat you and toss you around as if you’re not a person? Do you think it’s amusing for me to watch you take a hundred risks that are likely to leave you either dead in the streets or transported or worse?” Tamar was nearly shouting now.
“And when, finally, when someone sees you, really sees you and your value the way I do, do you expect me to watch you shove him away so you can continue your—your—bloody—um—masochism?” Tamar huffed and Hannah heard a sound like something hitting the ground—her foot?
At that, Hannah turned around, frustration welling in her gut.
“It’s not ‘masochism’—and I don’t even want to know what merchandise you read that word in—it’sfortitude. Fortitude to do my duty and give you what you deserve,” she told her sister. “Let you have a good life.” She clasped their hands together, her voice shaking. “I promised our parents that I’d take care of you. That’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m still alive. That’s the only reason. Nothing else matters.”
And Tamar was right in her face, pulling her hand away to wag her finger furiously. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare do that to me.”
“Do what to you?” Hannah asked. What did her sister want from her? And why couldn’t Tamar just let this go? Let her nurse her wounds by herself. Like she’d done for years. The scars weren’t pretty, but she’d healed. She would this time too. If Tamar would permit her.
Her sister had other ideas.
“Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to live for me, I want you to live for you, alongside me,” Tamar yelled. “And what exactly is this good life that you’re always on about, Hannah?” her sister demanded, folding her arms across her chest.
“A husband who loves you, enough funds so you can live and not worry about creditors and your next meal, a community that cares for you, safety and respect, and admiration,” Hannah retorted, ticking the familiar dreams off on her fingers.
“Is that what I want or what you want?” her sister countered, her mouth grim.
“It’s what everyone wants.” Hannah waved her hands in the air.
Tamar frowned. “All I know is that while the funds would be nice, I agree, and perhaps I’d want a husband someday, in theory, but for the rest? Why would I wantto take part in a community that doesn’t include the person I love and respect and admire the most?”
“Because you shouldn’t love and respect and admire me,” Hannah finally screamed. She’d done too much, made too many mistakes, and could not stop making them, wanting things she couldn’t have. She panted, her blood pumping in her ears.
“You think I’m a fool?” her sister demanded, hands on her hips.
Do you think me foolish?
“I think you’re naïve,” Hannah told her, pushing away Sol’s memory.
Her sister paused, before inching closer. “Do you think they were fools?” she asked, her voice soft. “Our parents.”
Hannah gaped at her. “What?”
Tamar tilted her head. “You heard me. Do you think they were fools? Because they certainly loved you.”
And the words were like a slap. Because they were the truth. They’d loved her. So, so much. Too much. And she’d not appreciated them enough until they were gone. If only she’d spent less time wanting love and admiration from outside their home and focused instead on what they had inside. Her eyes stung.
“And I killed them,” she said through gritted teeth, hating herself more with every moment.
“You did no such thing,” Tamar snapped, folding her arms tightly. “We were a target.”
“I know.” Hannah closed her eyes again, the guilt near overwhelming. “I made us one when I lost my temper.” So how could Tamar possibly think she would bring Sol anything but misery? How could Sol?
“Stop lying to yourself. You know as well as I do thatwe were a target long before that.” Tamar pursed her lips. “We were always a target, the size merely changed when our parents became successful. It was only a matter of time until they fell.”
She waved an arm toward the store. “Look around us. This is how we live, while the rich go about in Mayfair with golden walls and jeweled buckles that they need another person to fasten. There’s rage in these streets. They seethe with it.Theyneed an outlet that they can actually touch. Who better than people whose job it is to remind them of how low they are in the world?” She gave Hannah a bitter smile.
“But they still need us—or at least people like us and our parents,” she continued. “They can’t destroy the entire profession. They just needed a symbol, a stand-in for those they resent. Who were they going to choose? Not the good, honest gentile pawnbrokers providing a valuable service. No, they could see themselves too easily in them. They needed to really feel like they were slaying an ogre. They neededJews.” Her sister near spit the word.
“That’s our best use, after all. Make us the face of something they hate, while they make money quietly doing the same thing. Punish us, execute us—for them, cruelty is the same as justice.” She smiled grimly. “If our parents are indeed dead, and I have never counted them out, they aren’t dead because of you.”
“I pushed them.” Hannah couldn’t believe her—didn’t want to believe her. Because if that were true… She clasped her hands. “I wanted too much. I wanted pretty things and a good dowry and—”
Tamar barked a harsh laugh. “Oh, so our mother didn’t like her silks and perfumes? Didn’t make sure she hadlittle jewels in her hair for the holidays, parading around in front of all the women who snubbed her?” Her sister shook her head. “Our father enjoyed the finer things too. And the way he went on about that donation plaque—I was there too.” Her sister stared at her. “The question is, why are you always so eager to take all the blame?”
