Part 38 (1/2)

Hannah and Rachel raced into the emergency room. The phone call had come just ten minutes earlier, and had provided no information aside from the fact that Isaac had been brought in by ambulance. They hurried to the reception desk, gave their names, and were asked to wait while the clerk called for the doctor.

Marcia Schiffman suddenly appeared, her face revealing what her tongue could not utter. Rachel and Hannah looked at each other and knew. Rachel turned toward Schiffman again, praying to be wrong, hoping for any words that would dispel the dreadful reality. But all the doctor could say was, ”I'm sorry.”

Rachel's legs gave way as she collapsed. Schiffman dashed to her side, caught her, and eased her into a chair. Hannah helped, almost forgetting her own despair. Rachel regained consciousness quickly, but was still unable to hold herself up. She fell into the chair, limp, deadened.

Hannah sat down, and put her arm around Rachel, bringing Rachel's head into her chest. She held Rachel the way she had when Rachel was a child. And Rachel was still her child, frail, in need of comfort and rea.s.surance. She had to be a mother for now, her own grieving would have to wait.

Schiffman stood silently, helpless.

Rachel let out a blaring shriek, her body began to tremble. Hannah held her tightly, trying to sooth her. Schiffman watched, feeling a tightness in her throat. Her own mother had died when she was four years old, and her life as a doctor had been much too busy for marriage and children. The scene upset her, she needed to escape.

A few seconds later, Schiffman found herself staring into a mirror above a bathroom sink, tears gus.h.i.+ng from her eyes. She was certain that Rachel and Hannah hadn't noticed her slip away, certain that none of the other doctors or nurses had seen her running toward the bathroom. She quickly washed and dried her face. She had to be professional. No time for this sort of thing.

She slipped out of the bathroom and back to the treatment rooms where her patients awaited, figuring Rachel and Hannah wouldn't notice her absence. She promised herself she would phone them later, maybe even stop by the house to see how they were faring. But in her heart she knew she wouldn't, she couldn't. Death was something she still had trouble with, even after all her years in medicine. It was life that concerned her, sustaining it, saving it. Death was always a fact. There was never anything she could do about it, not when she was four, and not now. She needed to get back to work.

The funeral was the next morning. An ominous rainstorm bore heaven's testimony to Isaac Weissman's sainthood. Despite the short notice and inclement weather, there was a good turnout. Neighbors and friends of Isaac's and Hannah's, many of Rachel's girlhood friends, students and teachers from the many different yes.h.i.+vas in the neighborhood, the Elders, and even the Rebbe.

Esther and Stephen stood close to Rachel. Paul Sims, driven by an obligation to honor his former teacher, found an inconspicuous place amid the crowd. He was looking around, expecting his father to appear, but Alfred had arrived late and was hidden somewhere in the back. Also in the back, noticeably separated from the other elders found prominently by the Rebbe's side, Rav Nachum Schachter stood with his a.s.sistant, both men visibly shaken.

Since he'd heard the news of Reb Yitzchak's death, Schachter's feelings had vacillated between guilt and vindication, the former seemingly stronger than the latter. Part of him reasoned that every war has its casualties, that every true soldier has blood on his hands. But in his heart of hearts, he knew there could be no excuse for his horrendous deed. He would have to live with it.

Schachter thanked G.o.d that Reb Yitzchak had left the photographs behind. He would destroy the pictures and the negatives, and spare the Weissmans any more anguish. There was nothing to be gained from a scandal; what Rachel Weissman did with her life would be left for G.o.d to judge.

In truth, however, his motivations were more self-serving. He knew that if the photographs were ever discovered, his former confrere, Rav Feldblum, would most definitely suspect his involvement. And that would be more difficult to live with.

In either case, the connection between Isaac's death and the pictures would be obliterated. No one would know about Rachel and the black man, except Schachter and his a.s.sistant, and Rachel. Just as she had blamed herself for Isaac's first heart attack, she blamed herself for his death. Reward and punishment, that was the way she had been bred to understand the universe. People get what they deserve, and for her that was the coffin containing her father's body being lowered into the ground.

It was a simple view of life, and one which she would gladly have discarded if she had been able. But she was stuck with it, the remorse it brought, and the contrition it demanded. Her father was gone, and he had never been so influential in life as he would be in death. There was nothing left to argue, and no one left with whom to argue it. She had always understood, but now she would listen. At last, she would abide by his will, in silence, in agony.

She would never fathom how a man as gentle as he, a man who'd survived the crematoria, could harbor even an ounce of prejudice. She wanted to believe that what she yearned for was not so awful, that eventually her father might have come to accept Joshua. But deep down she knew she was deceiving herself. Her father, as all men, had his limitations.

She hadn't informed Joshua of her father's death, and hadn't wanted him at the funeral. As for why, she didn't know. And as for what she was going to do about Joshua, she also didn't know.

Around her, the crowd wept as the men took turns shoveling the earth upon the casket. It was a great mitzvah to bury the dead, but one in which only men partook. The Rebbe began to pray and others joined in. The Hasidic way: praising G.o.d during life's worst calamities, always awaiting a glorious tomorrow. Rachel had given up on that tomorrow long ago.

CHAPTER 45.

Joshua had read about Rabbi Weissman's death in the Times' obituaries, and tried not to think about why Rachel hadn't called. He felt angry for having been excluded, and knew it hadn't been an oversight.

He considered paying respects during the week of s.h.i.+va, but thought it best not to. Once again, rejected; once again, a victim of his color. He was growing weary of the fight.

A month pa.s.sed, and still there was no word. During that time he busied himself with getting things in order: office supplies, furniture, advertising, even building a small list of clients from the commerce a.s.sociation's roster. He visited prospective clients at their businesses, and was always greeted favorably. It was gratifying to see how many people had heard of him, and how willing they were to place their trust in his hands. But it didn't lessen the pain.

On Connie's final day with the DA, she and Joshua were scheduled for dinner to celebrate their partners.h.i.+p. He was sitting at his desk, working on a new client's file, already late for his dinner appointment, when he heard the front door open. He hadn't gotten around to hiring a receptionist. There wasn't any money for that just yet. He got up, and walked out to the waiting room to see who was there.

He wasn't sure if he was surprised, happy, or angry. Rachel just stood there, wordless, looking at him, waiting for a reaction. Without thinking, he walked to her and took her in his arms.

”I'm sorry about your father,” he said.

At first, she just leaned her head on his shoulder. Then she looked at him, and said, ”I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't know what to do.”

He told her he understood, though he really didn't. He waited a beat, trying to contain his frustration. ”How's your mother doing?” he asked.

”She's handling it, I suppose.”

”And you?”

She shrugged. ”Some moments are harder than others.”

”If you ever need to talk...”

”I know.”

He glanced at his watch. He was very late for his date with Connie, but didn't want to leave. ”I hate to say this, but I need to be someplace about fifteen minutes ago.”

”That's okay,” she answered, obviously disappointed.

”Can you come by tomorrow?”

”Tomorrow's good.”

”How about five?”

”That's fine.”

She waited till he locked up. They said good-bye on the sidewalk outside, shared a stilted embrace, and he watched her walk off, wondering if she would really come back. That was the way things were with her, the way they probably always would be.

The following afternoon he sat in his office, anxiously waiting for five o'clock. Unsuccessfully distracting himself with work, he glanced at the clock every ten minutes. At exactly five on the b.u.t.ton, he heard the front door.

He got up to go out and greet her, but Connie, sly fox that she was, had beaten him to it. He had told Connie about Rachel's visit the night before at dinner, and figured that Connie had planned this all day, had waited for Rachel's arrival just as he had. It was her opportunity to prove that she could be friendly and hospitable toward Rachel. Joshua stayed in his office, allowing the women their pleasantries, gathering his wits.

He listened for a minute, took a few deep breaths, and stepped out to the reception area. They both turned toward him. ”Hi,” he said to Rachel.

”Hi,” she responded.

Connie stood there, silently observing. She was more worried for Joshua than jealous.

”Why don't you come on into my office,” Joshua said to Rachel. ”I just have to clear my desk and we can get going.”

The two women exchanged smiles. It was genuine, they shared something and both knew it. They would need to get used to one another, to work out their respective roles. A woman's thing.

Rachel followed Joshua into his office and Connie went back into hers. Joshua gathered some papers, put his files away, and straightened up his desk. He hadn't realized how busy he'd been until he started cleaning. It was a good feeling. He was on his way to success, at least as a lawyer.

It was a nippy afternoon, mid-March. Spring was around the corner, teasing from time to time, but it was still too cool for a long walk. ”How about dinner?” she asked.