“What’s this?” she asked, not daring to touch an unmistakably fragile collection of bound, aged sheets.
“A partial manuscript of a translation in Spanish,” Roger explained, his voice soft. “From before it all happened.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened as she stared at the more than three-centuries-old pages again. “Did your family… ?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We lived in Porto,” he reminded her. “One of my relatives purchased this sometime later, likely my Uncle Naphtali.” He glanced at the thing and sighed. “Unfortunately, my Spanish is not as strong as my French or even my Portuguese.”
“This is an impressive undertaking,” Rebecca murmured, gazing again at the tract of Talmud itself. “I wouldn’t even know how tobegin. At least not without guidance.” A rabbi and students or some sort of chabura of men, like her father must have been a part of when he was alive.
“That’s what I’ve deduced I need.” Roger paused for a moment. “Or perhaps a bit more. I should’ve realized this sooner, as we were never supposed to do very much alone. For better or worse.”
Precisely. These past few weeks were an aberration in many ways. They belonged outside with the community. In their assigned roles.
“One of the secrets to our survival,” she murmured out loud.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “I had forgotten how losing that was almost our doom,” he continued. “My mistake. Thus, like my ancestors, I plan to hire a tutor, as much it pains me to admit after earning many of my current friendships by being a tutor for others.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Sol had wanted me to ask Ellenberg, but that wouldn’t go well.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Especially as I cannot imagine any of the rabbis in the Talmud justifying the murder that would likely result.”
The two stared at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.
“Mercy, I’ve missed you.” He came toward her as if he was going to embrace her—like she wanted. But she could not want that. Not any longer.
“Stop,” she told him, raising a palm to halt him. “No,” she repeated, as much for her own benefit as his.
The man stepped back as if he’d been slapped, then quickly covered the emotion behind his usual mask. “I apologize,” he said, his voice curt. “I—”
“We can’t do this anymore,” she interrupted. “I thought I could,but I—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
He blinked. “Beg pardon?” he asked, his brow knitting in near confusion, making everything so much worse.
Oy.
Strong. She had to be strong. Rebecca rubbed her wrist. “I thought I’d start packing so I can return home. Tomorrow.”
This was the best course of action. Truly, it was the only course of action if she wanted to retain any part of her dignity and her sanity.
“But what about your staff?” the man asked after a pause.
“I already had Lopez send word yesterday,” she told him. “They should be back Monday or Tuesday.”
Hopefully.
Roger frowned. “So you’d be alone…”
“I can manage,” she assured him. One way or another. “I’ll find Isabelle after services on Shabbos, and I’m sure I can finagle an invitation to spend the day with her.” It would be a touch humiliating, but not more than staying. “If I don’t get a call,” she added quickly. “There are periods where I’m not even home to rest. Thus, I won’t even notice the extra days.”
“Rebecca—” Whatever he was going to say was thankfully lost as Michael raced into the room, nearly knocking over the chair next to her.
“Papa, can you read this to me?” the young boy asked, clutching a book.
“I’d love to,” Roger replied, not looking at Rebecca. He reached up and lifted the boy into his arms. “Why don’t we see if Fannie would like to listen as well?” he asked, turning his back to her completely. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Adler. Please enjoy the rest of your day. I’ll see you at breakfast, I presume.”
He truly should’ve taken to the stage, as he would’ve been a star for the ages, Roger thought as he nodded along politely to Teres’s chatter at David’s dinner table. The man was a coffee importer and seemed to enjoy nothing more than name-dropping prominent members of communities from around the world.
He would potentially be useful, but mercy, he and his self-important tone were tedious. Not that he wasn’t used to such behavior, but usually it was not among family.
At least Fannie and Michael were behaving. They were enthralled with the attention David’s youngest, their fourteen-year-old cousin, Jacob, was lavishing on them. He’d have to make sure his nephew received something extra special for Purim.
