All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission from the author.
Publisher:
CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
FOR
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Hannah Dora Barker Taub
Her memory is a blessing
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Most novelists need some assistance – to insert a comma instead of a period, to keep the imagination in context, to polish the result of many lonely hours. I owe so very much to those listed below:
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Rabbi Boruch Leizerowski
A truly holy man
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Brunhilde Nicholas – Chief Editor
Gabrielle Korang – Associate Editor
and
Sidney Rosenblatt – Guru of the written word
Novels by Lester S. Taube :
The Grabbers
(republished as: The Diamond Boomerang)
Peter Krimsov
(republished as: The Stalingrad Conspiracy)
Myer For Hire
The Cossack Cowboy
Enemy of the Tzar
Atonement for Iwo
I Contadini
The Land of Thunder
Publishers :
W.H. Allen – London, England
Ediçöes Dêagá – Lisbon, Portugal
Lademann Forlagsaktieslskab – Copenhagen, Denmark
Longanesi – Milan, Italy
Van Lekturama – Rotterdam, Holland
S. Fischer Verlag – Frankfurt am Main, Germany
Winthers Forlag – Copenhagen, Denmark
Pocket Books – USA
Pinnacle – USA
Bookman – USA
Cherica Publishers – USA
Chapter 1
LITHUANIA – 1904
Hanna Barlak did not have the least suspicion that meeting Hershel Block would one day change the course of her life forever. Nor could she have believed that those she loved would be tormented and tortured, and even die because of him. Not on this summer afternoon in 1904, as she swung along with her long legged stride through the dirt streets of her village.
She stopped at Feldman’s to buy the Sabbath supper. Two small herring would have to do. It was barely enough for a family of six, but that took all the money she had. Even though Mrs. Merkys, owner of the only dressmaking shop in the area, had seen an unusual ability when she was but ten years old, and after much training, now considered her to be the best worker she ever had and paid her more than her other two seamstresses. And being a Jew in Gremai, a minuscule village in Russian-annexed Lithuania, was bad enough, but having a crippled father, a mother that was suffering from an unknown ailment, and three young siblings, was certainly not finding favor with the Lord.
“You’ve got a young man at home,” said Mr. Feldman gaily, placing the fish in the basket she carried. His shop sold thread, lamp oil, pots, pans, tobacco, along with herring and chickens.
Hanna looked at him with surprise. Nobody came to Gremai. The sixty or so houses were probably not even listed on a map. “How do you know?”
“Your mother sent Gitel. She said you were to get a plump chicken.”
She shook her head in exasperation. There were less than fifteen kopeks in her pocket.
Mr. Feldman read her expression with understanding. “It’s all right, Hanna. You can pay later.” In the eighteen years since she was born, he knew she would rather do without a meal than owe money.
Silently, she took the packages and handed over the fifteen kopeks towards the bill. She could only nod her thanks and goodbye as she left. There were no words to be spoken.
Larisa caught up with her as she turned into the narrow lane leading to her home. Larisa was her closest friend, the daughter of a retired Russian official who resided in a large house at the edge of the village. She had a huge brother, Stephen, two or three years older, whom Hanna secretly admired.
“Stephen says to stop by the house. He caught some fish today. Much more than we can eat.”
Hanna chuckled. “I just bought two.”
“That won’t be enough for all of you. Why don’t you come now?”
“All right.” She did not feel shy about accepting things from Larisa. She was her friend, and friends shared good fortune. It always seemed, though, that she never had any good fortune to share. But she did mend Larisa’s clothes now and then, working on them when they were gabbing about this or that. It was not really work, just the taking in or letting out of a skirt or jacket. Stephen was gutting a bucketful of fish in the back yard when the two women came up. “Hello, Hanna,” he said, waving a bloody knife at her. “Look at these.”
She sat on a bench next to where he squatted. “Did you catch all of these today?” she asked, eyeing the dozen or so fat fish.
“Yes. They were biting furiously.” He pointed to a pail at one side. “They are for you.”
“Thank you, Stephen.” She glanced into the pail, relieved to see that they had scales, for only scaled fish were kosher. He had remembered her mentioning it one time. Stephen’s nose was red from being in the sun. “Was it windy out there?”
“No more than usual.” He looked up at her from under bushy brows. “I could take you and Larisa some afternoon.” His eyes lowered in shyness, for he knew as well as she what implications could arise from just that simple act.
“I’d like to go with you,” she said, suddenly bold. There were five or six fish in the pail, she saw now, and her spirits rose at being able to provide two good meals for the family. She noticed a tear in the sleeve of his shirt. “I would also like to mend that sleeve.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. My mother can sew that.”
“But I would like to do it.”
He stopped gutting the fish and looked into her clear hazel eyes. He realized at once how important it was for her to do something for him. Hanna was always like that, he reflected. “It’s pretty smelly,” he cautioned her.
“That’s all right. When can I have it?”
Stephen grinned at her. She was not about to put it off, like some people who offer to help, then conveniently forgetting it as soon as they safely can. He