“Look at you, learning manners so quickly. I should have visited earlier.” Mrs. Lira pressed her gloved hands together in faux applause. She took another sip of coffee before resuming. “Indeed. He was the oldest son of the head of the Jewish Council back in Livor—Leghorn—and was expected to take on his father’s role, after marrying the wealthy and beautiful daughter of one of his father’s most important allies.”
“What happened to her?” she muttered reluctantly, even if the question was most certainly not polite. As even if, at seventy, Mrs. Lira was breathtakingly stunning in a way she could never dream of.
“How do you know he didn’t marry who he was supposed to?” Mrs. Lira asked, raising both brows.
Hannah’s cheeks heated. “I—”
“I’m toying with you, dear,” the woman said with a sniff. “You should be flattered. If I didn’t think you were formidable enough, I’d have treated you like a simpleton instead.”
She shifted in her seat. “Anyway, as you correctly guessed, I was what happened to all those plans and expectations. And while I was the prettier option, it was more than that. My husband was meant for a different life and just needed the right motivation to guide him down that path. Moreover, there was someone better suited to the role to which he was assigned.” She raised a finger. “His youngest brother, who no one saw in that light, is currently the head and—well, the rest is, as they say, history.”
“And what does this have to do with me?” Hannah asked, glancing at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly midnight.
The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re a smart girl. Youknow the Torah stories,” she said. “Birth is not destiny. And expectations and assumptions can be changed.”
Oy. Had Mrs. Lira’s mind started to go? She was no Jacob or Joshua or Moses or whatever this woman was implying.
“Not when there is truth to the assumptions,” she countered.
“If you truly believed that our bad choices define our character for all time, then why even bother attending services on Yom Kippur?” Mrs. Lira asked. “And don’t deny that you appear each year. As well as on all the other holidays. Just because you stick to the shadows doesn’t mean you don’t count.”
If it were only so simple. Hannah shook her head. “But even if I make better choices,” she started, “there will still be people who will never forget, never forgive, never—”
“I never said it would be easy. Or even successful, but it would be a shame not to even try.” Finishing the last bit of coffee, she set down her cup. “Especially when assistance is being offered.” She gave Hannah a pointed glance.
Wait. Was the woman suggesting thatshewould assist her in convincing London that Hannah, of all people, was the right sort of Jew? Like some sort of… she bit her lip… what was that other goyishe book Tamar had her read?Emma?
And how well had that woman’s misguided guidance turned out? She shook her head. “It’ll never work.”
“Not if you don’t try,” Mrs. Lira said, thankfully rising from the stool and grabbing her cane. “And certainly not if you keep insulting the very people you want to accept you when they’re attempting to help.” She gave her another glare.
As if she wasn’t saving the woman time and embarrassment by refusing.
Hannah shook her head again. “It won’t be enough. Not for everyone. Not for most people.” Because even if certain people, like the Liras and Berab, could, at times, afford to take certain risks, most people couldn’t. And given her background, the price of association might be too steep even for them. And that was only the Jews. She sighed. “Especially not the goyim. And when I fail, it’ll hurt him in multiple ways, and I can’t stand—”
“You do realize that while Mr. Weiss is a man, he’s still an adult, with his own mind,” the woman interrupted. “A rather clever one, at that. Would it not be prudent to, after humoring me so I don’t complain about both of you to everyone who’ll listen, permit him to decide?”
She pursed her lips. “And doesn’t he also deserve your best efforts, to at least try and fail, instead of quitting before you’ve started? Wouldn’t that be the action worthy of him and his love? Unless you’re too afraid,” she added, sounding very much like her granddaughter.
Mrs. Lira was right, not that Hannah would ever admit it.
She was also so, so, so damned scared. But Sol did deserve to be fought for.
“You should do it.”
It was her sister who said the words, standing in the shadows near the stairs. She strolled over to Hannah and gave her a kiss on the cheek, before turning to Mrs. Lira. “Take her to your home. She needs a break from the store.” She wrapped an arm around Hannah’s waist and squeezed. “It’ll be fine. Please be brave and takethis gift. Please. I believe in you. More so, I want you to live foryou.”
She gazed at her sister’s large, pleading eyes. The ones she truly couldn’t ever say no to.
Besides, even if it was all for naught, she was already in so much pain from missing him—this could not hurt her more.
Swallowing, she turned back to Mrs. Lira. “All right,” she said before raising a finger. “But just for a few days.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Lira gave them a bright, still beautiful smile, before snapping her fingers in Hannah’s direction. “Come along, dear,” she said, threading her free arm in hers.
Now? Hannah gestured to the staircase. “Shouldn’t I pack some—”
“Not unless you want them burned,” Mrs. Lira said, guiding her outside.
Oy. What exactly had she gotten herself into?
