like it for you, though. We can do it that way if you want to wait a little longer. But one thing is certain; we cannot become married in Russia.”
“I said it isn’t important, darling. I mean it.”
He kissed her lips gently, then placed his leg between hers. In seconds, she drew herself closer to him, and her lips grew soft as her body began its quest for orgasm.
It was a joyous two days they spent together, acting as if they were already husband and wife, speaking of commonplace topics such as where they would reside, the kind of house they would buy, the way of life they would seek.
“You haven’t told me anything about your family,” she said over a late breakfast.
Hershel seemed somewhat uneasy. “Katrine, there are several things I want to explain to you. I know you understand that my work is somewhat sensitive. Would you do me one great favor, dearest? Hold all the questions until we meet in Innsbruck. Then I will tell you everything. Is that all right?”
She chuckled. “Are you trying to conceal some horrible dark secret? If so, it won’t make any difference. You have promised to make me an honorable woman, and I won’t let you sneak out of it.”
“I wouldn’t want to.” He sipped at his coffee and grinned wryly at her, knowing she was quite aware that he had avoided answering her question. “I’ll be leaving after lunch for a couple of days, and then I will be back for three or four days.” He put down his cup and leaned forward for her to light a cigarette for him. “I would like you to make one more delivery. Are you up to it?”
“Of course, my dear. Is it the same as before?”
“Generally. The same number of cases, left at the same place in the station, but all for Kiev this time. The transfer point will still be Brest.”
“All right.” But her mind dwelled on the pleasure of spending a few extra days in Kiev to shop, for the excitement of meeting him in Innsbruck to get married would require twice the wardrobe she generally traveled with. She made the decision to take the short cut to Kiev, through Zlobin, not Brest. She would hold the bags in her hotel room until it was time to deliver them to the station.
In a few days, Hershel had made all the arrangements, and they said their goodbyes in the flat while waiting for a carriage to take Katrine and her luggage to the railroad station. Hershel would be far gone by the time the train left. It was standard procedure never to have two people known to each other in the same place at the same time. At Kiev, a contact would telegraph to Julijonas that the courier had left the luggage at the specified spot.
“Plan to meet me in two weeks from tomorrow at the Hotel Sacher in Vienna,” he told her, as he slung his travel case over his shoulder. He looked down at her, and his eyes grew gentle. “And take care of yourself,” he said softly.
“I will,” she said, just as softly.
“Do you remember what to say if anyone asks about the cases?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her lightly, and then he was out of the flat, and in short order he was on his way back to Gremai.
CHAPTER 12
Hershel saw the crowd the moment he turned the corner of the street leading to the Barlak’s house. He drew up his horse, and his mind swiftly reviewed what the reason could be for the assembly, then he saw a wagon draped in black waiting in the yard, and he kicked his horse into a fast walk.
A short distance away, he dismounted and tied his animal to a rail, and then strode rapidly to the house. He spied Jakob at the entrance and made his way through those standing around him.
“Jakob,” he said, coming up.
The Hasid turned. There was great sadness in his face.
“What’s going on?” asked Hershel.
“Mr. Barlak,” said Jakob huskily. “He died yesterday morning from a heart attack.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Hershel. He peered through the doorway. It was next to impossible to single out the people inside. He turned back to Jakob. “Hanna and the children must be shattered.”
“They all are, but Hanna refuses to show it. I’m afraid she will have a breakdown before the funeral is over.”
Soon the pallbearers brought out Israel on the stretcher, the same black blanket covering his body. Those waiting in the yard drew aside to let it pass and be placed on the wagon. Hanna and the children followed, and behind them was his brother, Samuel, and his children.
Hershel was surprised at the large number of people forming behind the family–sixty-five or more. Old Katzman from Kaunas was there, the man who financed Israel’s first boat, reputed to be ninety-five-years-old, brought from his home in a specially cushioned carriage. He got out and took ten feeble steps as a sign of respect before being helped back into the vehicle. Walking by themselves followed a group of gentiles, farmers and merchants who had dealt with Israel during his boating ventures, and even the seniunas of the village, elected by the people. A smaller group followed at the rear, Russian businessmen and farmers, who felt uneasy at a Jewish affair attended by equally despised Roman Catholic Lithuanians.
As Hershel took his place beside Jakob, he could not help wondering how utterly inane was the death of Israel. From Jakob’s account, Hanna had gone into the bedroom to bring her father his morning tea, and had found him stiff as a board. He must have died in his sleep. It just did not seem right, he reasoned, for a man like Israel, who had scraped and fought his way up from the most menial work as a hod carrier to a successful career in boating, who had lived with a disability, which would have crushed much stronger men, lost a wife who was larger than life, then, on sheer guts, had picked up the pieces and taken the lead again. A man of that nature should have died in the boat accident while saving his cargo or rescuing one of his crew or by having put a bullet through his brain at the loss of Motlie, instead of in his sleep from a malfunctioning organ. A forty-one year-old-man, with his zest for life, should leave this world with the sound of kettledrums beating in his ears.
The graveside service was a short one. Staring at the fresh mound of dirt which held Motlie to the open pit into which Israel was about to be deposited was enough to stagger even the hardiest soul. Hanna stood stiffly erect, determined to hold on. Her dress bore two keri’ah, the rent in the garment of a mourner, and her face was pale with her anguish. Her hazel eyes, usually so beautifully alive, were dull with shock.
As the shovels of earth were being cast into the hole, Hanna’s legs began to give way. Her Uncle Samuel, standing behind her, stepped forward and slipped an arm around her waist, bringing her up against him. He leaned his head next to hers and whispered into her ear. With a quiver, she pushed herself upright again. Samuel held on to her for a few more seconds, then took his arm away and stepped back a pace.
Hershel spied Stephen standing at the edge of the crowd. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were fixed on Hanna. He felt a glow of hope that perhaps Stephen loved Hanna. Stephen was strong, and his social position was secure enough to make a good life for the two of them if it came to that.
Jakob nudged him in the ribs and brought him out of his reverie to listen to the family recite the kaddish, and then everyone began walking back to the house for the meal that was custom.
Hanna made it home without weakening again, her shoulders squared and her jaw set and firm. But her mind throbbed with the terrible loss of the anchor of her life. How could she ever believe that her beloved father was not waiting in the kitchen or in the barn to listen to the news of the day? Or to say in his offhanded way how she should handle a problem that was troubling her? Now she was completely alone. Her sorrowful thoughts muddled her intellect.
She ran with abandon into her parents’ bedroom and fell heartsick onto the bed. The tears came, but brought no solace or lifting of the fog shrouding her brain. She