The Boston Girl

I didn’t understand how it all happened so fast. I was only gone a week.

Turns out, it had started in May, when Mrs. Kampinsky, who lived downstairs, told my mother that Levine was looking for a wife and Mameh said why didn’t he look right in front of him?

“He asked if he could walk me home after work,” Celia said. “I met his sons a few times and Jacob, the little one, seems so sad. Levine asked if I would mind taking care of them and promised that I would have a good life with him.”

I asked if she was in love with him.

“Not yet. Mameh says you learn to love someone when you make a life together. She says a man who loves his children is a good man. Myron is six and Jacob is almost four, and they need a mother. And like Mameh says, I’m almost thirty years old and who knows if I’ll ever get another chance like this? He’ll take care of me and Mameh and Papa when they get old.”

I could hear my mother’s words coming out of her mouth, so I said, “Did she push you into this? You can still change your mind.”

She said no, that she had decided for herself. “He asked me a month ago and I told him I wanted to think. I didn’t even tell Mameh until you went away. When she found out where you were, she started screaming that the settlement ladies had sold you to be a white slave and wanted Papa to go to the police. But when I told her about me and Mr. Levine, she had more important things to think about.”

I had the horrible feeling that she’d said yes just to protect me. I even asked, “That’s not why you’re marrying him, is it?”

She said no. “Actually, I feel bad because once I’m gone, you’ll have to leave school and I know how much you want to keep going.”

She was right. My parents didn’t make enough money to pay the rent and everything else. Without Celia’s pay I was going to have to get a full-time job.

I felt like a rock had fallen on my chest.

Celia whispered, “I’m sorry, Addie.”

I said it wasn’t her fault, which was true. I also said it was okay, but that was not true.

Mazel tov.

When Levine found out about my sister Betty, he invited her to the wedding. Mameh started arguing, but he made that wa

ve with his hand and said, “Don’t be so old-fashioned. I want to meet one of these New Women. Anyway, Celia wants her there.”

When Betty walked into the apartment a few nights later, my mother wouldn’t even look in her direction. Betty grinned at me. “Who knew little Addie would turn into such a spitfire? Going off on an adventure like that without telling anyone? Atta girl.”

I didn’t really know Betty. What I remembered most about her was the fights she and Mameh had about her not coming home right after work or about going out at night with friends. The funny thing is, except for the fact that she was younger and curvier, Betty was an exact copy of our mother: same brown eyes, same wavy brown hair, and the same broad nose. They talked the same, too, as if they knew the answer to everything, shaking their heads up and down a lot, which made you nod back, as if you agreed with them—even if you didn’t.

Betty was a big talker. She told us all about her job at Filene’s and how she had moved up from wrapping packages to salesgirl quicker than anyone could remember.

“You see this skirt?” Betty said. “I got it practically free. A lady brought it back to the store and said it was ripped when she bought it. I think she tore it herself but the store has to pretend like the customer is always right, especially the ones who spend a lot of money. So that means us girls get some nice bargains.”

She asked Celia a lot of questions about “this Levine” and came right out and asked if she really wanted to take care of his two children and his house. Mameh got mad. “Of course it’s what she wants. It’s what every woman wants.”

Celia said that we shouldn’t worry and that he was a fine man.

Betty started coming over a lot and she usually brought presents: tobacco for Papa, a scarf for Celia, stockings for me, chocolate drops for Mameh. But no matter what she brought or how Celia tried to make nice, it always ended with a fight. Mameh would complain about America; how the apples had no taste and children didn’t listen to their parents—even the air was worse here. “People get sick from everyone breathing the same air. In our village we had room at least. The air was clean.”

Sooner or later, Betty would smack the table and say, “Enough, already! I remember what it was like over there and the air smelled like cow shit. And the floor in the house was made of dirt. Can you imagine such a thing, Addie? Filthy and disgusting! In America, at least it’s the twentieth century.”

When they started fighting, Celia shriveled up like a plant without enough water. Sometimes I wondered if she was marrying Levine just to get away from the noise and the tension.

Celia said she wanted to make her own wedding dress, so Levine bought her a beautiful piece of white satin. But a few days before the wedding, when it still wasn’t done, Betty said she would help with the finishing and made Celia try it on.

The dress was a plain shift that fell from her shoulders to her ankles, with long sleeves and a flat collar. Betty threw a fit. “You can’t wear that. It looks like a nightgown.”

Celia said it would be better when she attached the sash. “Then maybe you’ll look like a shiny nurse,” Betty said. “I’m going to buy the fanciest veil I can find and some lace for the collar and around the hem. You are going to be a pretty bride or I’m not coming to this wedding.” Celia giggled, and for a moment I saw them as children: the bossy big sister and the little sister who would follow her anywhere.

—

Celia’s wedding day was sunny and beautiful, so Mameh had to spit three times to ward off the evil eye. “Rain is what brings luck,” she said. Betty rolled her eyes and fussed with the veil, which had little pearls sewn all over and covered most of the dress and made Celia look like a princess.