Part 14 (2/2)

The little rabbi shook his head darkly, and waved a dismal hand. But that was for f.a.n.n.y alone. What he said was: ”She's really splendid to-day. A little tired, perhaps; but what is that?”

”Emil!” from the darkened bedroom. ”How can you say that? But how! What I have suffered to-day, only! Torture! And because I say nothing I'm not sick.”

”Go in,” said Rabbi Thalmann.

So f.a.n.n.y went in to the woman lying, yellow-faced, on the pillows of the dim old-fas.h.i.+oned bedroom with its walnut furniture, and its red plush mantel drape. Mrs. Thalmann held out a hand. f.a.n.n.y took it in hers, and perched herself on the edge of the bed. She patted the dry, devitalized hand, and pressed it in her own strong, electric grip. Mrs. Thalmann raised her head from the pillow.

”Tell me, did she have her white ap.r.o.n on?”

”White ap.r.o.n?”

”Minna, the girl.”

”Oh!” f.a.n.n.y's mind jerked back to the gingham-covered figure that had opened the door for her. ”Yes,” she lied, ”a white one--with crochet around the bottom. Quite grand.”

Mrs. Thalmann sank back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh. ”A wonder.”

She shook her head. ”What that girl wastes alone, when I am helpless here.”

Rabbi Thalmann came into the room, both feet booted now, and placed his slippers neatly, toes out, under the bed. ”Ach, Harriet, the girl is all right. You imagine. Come, f.a.n.n.y.” He took a great, fat watch out of his pocket. ”It is time to go.”

Mrs. Thalmann laid a detaining hand on f.a.n.n.y's arm. ”You will come often back here to Winnebago?”

”I'm afraid not. Once a year, perhaps, to visit my graves.”

The sick eyes regarded the fresh young face. ”Your mother, f.a.n.n.y, we didn't understand her so well, here in Winnebago, among us Jewish ladies. She was different.”

f.a.n.n.y's face hardened. She stood up. ”Yes, she was different.”

”She comes often into my mind now, when I am here alone, with only the four walls. We were aber dumm, we women--but how dumm! She was too smart for us, your mother. Too smart. Und eine sehr brave frau.”

And suddenly f.a.n.n.y, she who had resolved to set her face against all emotion, and all sentiment, found herself with her glowing cheek pressed against the withered one, and it was the weak old hand that patted her now. So she lay for a moment, silent. Then she got up, straightened her hat, smiled.

”Auf Wiedersehen,” she said in her best German. ”Und gute Besserung.”

But the rabbi's wife shook her head. ”Good-by.”

From the hall below Doctor Thalmann called to her. ”Come, child, come!”

Then, ”Ach, the light in my study! I forgot to turn it out, f.a.n.n.y, be so good, yes?”

f.a.n.n.y entered the bright little room, reached up to turn off the light, and paused a moment to glance about her. It was an ugly, comfortable, old-fas.h.i.+oned room that had never progressed beyond the what-not period.

f.a.n.n.y's eye was caught by certain framed pictures on the walls.

They were photographs of Rabbi Thalmann's confirmation cla.s.ses.

Spindling-legged little boys in the splendor of patent-leather b.u.t.toned shoes, stiff white s.h.i.+rts, black broadcloth suits with satin lapels; self-conscious and awkward little girls--these in the minority--in white dresses and stiff white hair bows. In the center of each group sat the little rabbi, very proud and alert. f.a.n.n.y was not among these. She had never formally taken the vows of her creed. As she turned down the light now, and found her way down the stairs, she told herself that she was glad this was so.

It was a matter of only four blocks to the temple. But they were late, and so they hurried, and there was little conversation. f.a.n.n.y's arm was tucked comfortably in his. It felt, somehow, startlingly thin, that arm.

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