October 3, 1836
Aldgate, London, England
It was near midnight. Far too late for respectable people to be awake. But Hannah Moses, now Hannah Weiss, was not and would never be respectable. Not for the gentiles, or any part of the Jewish community. Including her own. A fact that bothered her a great deal less than it used to.
It helped that when she attended services, she no longer looked at the spot where her family’s plaque used to be. Perhaps one day she and Sol would donate the money for another one. Perhaps not. But these days, she found it difficult to muster even the mildest consternation.
Same for the gossips’ whispers and stares. Which had become considerably less accusatory in nature.
It didn’t hurt that someone—Rebecca, Isabelle, Gertrude, Doc, Bayla, or some combination of the five—always sat with her. Useful as the stairs to and from the synagogue’s balcony were a touch narrow and winding. Especially for someone as close to birthing her second child as she was.
Luckily, three-year-old Moses Weiss was so enthralled with the procession in the main part of the sanctuary—the swirling march of Torahs, with their silver crowns and polished and gleaming plates, flanked by flags—that he’d not even noticed she wasn’t with them, let alone not the one carrying him. Not that she could blame him. His father was certainly enthralling.
And in her humble opinion, the handsomest man ever to celebrate Simchat Torah in all of England, let alone London.
She’d watched Sol clap and sing through each of the hakafot, even if he was still a touch shaky with the Hebrew, tallis pulled over his head, Moses bouncing on his shoulders. And when he leaned forward and encouraged their son to kiss each Torah—well, someone had to hand her a handkerchief.
It had been quite a night. But it was late, and services would be early the next morning. She washed behind Moses’s ears before slipping his nightshirt over his head and leading him over to his bed, which was far too large for a three-year-old.
He’ll grow into it, Sol had said when the workmen carried it into the room across from theirs in the house they still rented, though hopefully not for too many more years. Their friends gave generous wedding gifts. And baby gifts. And bonuses.
And while he would probably never have his name on the door at the sureties company, Sol had proven himself a valuable asset, both behind the scenes and in bringing in clients, the sort whose businesses were often overlooked but still turned a profit. And who liked the idea of “peace of mind.” Especially how Sol sold it.
“Come on, Moses, hop on up.” Hannah patted the brocade quilt before placing her hand on her hip.
“Not… tired, Mama.” Blinking his large, dark brown eyes that were so much like his handsome father’s, Moses shook his head and yawned.
“Naturally,” Hannah said as she took her son’s soft little hand and helped him climb up. “We’re creatures of the night, and thus it’s quite early for us.”
“I want another apple,” Moses told her, but he lay his head against his pillow, dark brown waves flopping on his forehead, and allowed her to cover him up with the bedding.
“How many did you catch?” she asked, smiling to herself. That had always been her favorite part of the holiday. How when the processions ended, the children were all gathered and the community leaders threw bushels of apples to them as treats. Moses, on Sol’s shoulders, had been a formidable hunter.
“This many,” he told her, holding up two rather adorable fingers.
“And your father?” she asked as she seemed to recall him munching on at least three.
“I caught five.”
Hannah turned around to find the man himself leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, jacketless, his shirt half unbuttoned, dark chest hair tempting her. Much more delicious than any fruit. She raised a brow. “And have eaten…”
“Only two. Our son has had three and there are two left.” He strolled into the room to stand next to her. “Come along, Moses, let’s hear your Shema,” he said, reaching over and running his hand through the little boy’s hair.
“Cover your eyes, Papa,” their son said, his hand already over his own.
“Thank you for reminding me,” Sol said, equally serious. He placed one hand around Hannah’s waist, before placing the other over his eyes. Hannah did the same, and the three of them recited the words together, each at their own slightly off-key pitch, Hannah continuing through the full paragraph to the end, even as Moses started to softly snore.
“Is he…” Sol whispered against her ear.
“He is,” she said as she snuggled beneath her husband’s arm and stared at the absolutely breathtaking sight she once could never have imagined existing but now could not imagine living without. She patted her stomach. So much joy. Even if she still wasn’t sure she deserved it, she was damned well never letting it go.
“Excellent,” he told her before swiping his tongue over the edge of her ear, making her toes curl. “Because it’s time for you to come to the bedroom too, my lovely creature of the night.” He thread his fingers through hers and lead them toward their chamber.
“Most certainly,” she more yawned than said. Oy, perhaps she was not quite as nightly as she’d once been.
“Keep those eyes open a little longer if you can,” he said.
“Sol…” she started before yawning again. Their bed was quite nice. Almost as nice as Moses’s. And so warm… especially by the fire.
