Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (12 page)

As dessert was served, Miriam was torn. Should she ask the physician to continue his fascinating lecture about food and the four humors, or should she do nothing to prolong the meal so she could visit with Joheved? Sure that Moses would be coming to Ramerupt regularly, she offered to take Joheved to look for coltsfoot.

Since their path lay through the pastures, Miriam brought a pail of milk for her adopted lamb. Her sister’s eyes widened as the lamb eagerly ran to Miriam and began to suck on her fingers.

Warmed by the obvious affection between them, Joheved caught herself about to comment that Miriam had managed to get a baby without a husband. She said instead, “Motherhood agrees with you. I pray the Holy One soon provides you with a husband and children.”

To Joheved’s gratification, Miriam responded, “Amen.”

This was the opening Joheved was waiting for. “You know, it’s a rare woman who gets to choose her husband from as many suitors as you’ll have,” she began. “Especially when she’s old enough to have an idea what she wants.”

She watched Miriam’s face for any sign of pain, but her sister’s expression remained calm. “Not that I can complain about Meir, but I was lucky. He could have been terrible.”

Miriam wasn’t sure she was ready for this conversation. “I haven’t given much thought to what I want.”

“But you must—how else will you know who’s the right one?” Joheved noticed a small field of daisies and they headed in that direction. If they couldn’t find coltsfoot, at least they wouldn’t come back empty-handed.

“He has to be a scholar,” Miriam said. “Papa would never accept anything less.” She saw Joheved’s frown and quickly continued, “I know, Papa’s not marrying him. Very well then, I want my husband to be as learned as I am, although I doubt that anyone except a scholar would offer to marry me.”

“That’s probably true. But your suitors will come from many places. How far away from Troyes are you willing to live?”

Miriam was startled to realize that her husband might want her to move. “I don’t want to live away from Troyes at all. Who would be the Jewish community’s midwife?”

“Aunt Sarah could train somebody else, and it’s not like there wouldn’t be Jewish women who need a midwife in your new home,” Joheved replied. “The man’s business might be located far away, and once you’re married you can’t very well refuse to live with him.”

“If he does business at the Champagne fairs, we could live together in Troyes during those months, and he could travel the rest of the time,” Miriam said with resolve. “Many women live like that.”

Especially if they don’t get along with their husbands, Joheved thought. “Then it’s settled that your scholarly husband should live nearby. But what about his individual traits—what kind of person will he be?”

“He should be honest, kind, considerate, slow to anger, faithful ...” Miriam faltered, uncomfortable with specifics.

“Is this a man you’re describing or are you listing the Thirteen Divine Attributes?” Joheved teased her sister. “Don’t you care what he looks like?”

“Not really. Just as long as he’s not hideous or deformed.”

Joheved thought back to that day in the wine cellar when Meir first arrived in Troyes. She could never decide whether her heart had recognized him or if she had truly responded to an attractive stranger. But she knew that his presence had unaccountably quickened her pulse and caused her to blush. Shouldn’t Miriam look for a man who affected her similarly?

“Miriam, what about his ...?” She groped to find the right words. “I mean, don’t you think that your husband should be a man who kindles some kind of fire in you?”

Joheved regretted her gaucherie as tears welled up in Miriam’s eyes.

“
Non!
I had that with Benjamin and look where it got me. I never want to feel that way about anyone ever again. You can keep your passion and fire, I don’t want it.” Miriam turned her back on Joheved and headed to a distant clump of flowers.

Joheved knew she wasn’t wrong to bring up the subject. Miriam needed to be prepared. Still, she was the one who had wounded her sister, so she ought to be the one to make amends.

“Miriam, I’m sorry ...”

“You don’t need to apologize, you were just trying to be helpful. I guess my healing still has a way to go.” Miriam sniffed a few times and continued, “I can’t carry any more of these flowers, let’s go back. We’ll have to look for coltsfoot another time.”

They walked slowly, trying not to drop any daisies, and Miriam remembered her sister’s earlier remark. “Joheved, what was it you wanted to tell me about Rachel?”

“You know how everyone thinks that Rachel is such a lovely child—” Joheved stopped.
How petty I sound
.

“She is, may the Holy One protect her.”

“I know it sounds mean, but I always thought that once Rachel got older she’d get the same bad skin, unruly hair, and awkwardness the rest of us have.” Joheved wanted Miriam to understand the awe she now felt. “But these last six months, seemingly overnight, Rachel has become even more beautiful.” Joheved quickly added, “May the Almighty protect her.”

“But she’s barely ten years old.”

“I know, yet she looks years older.” Joheved sighed. “She’s a terrible distraction for the poor yeshiva students.”

“What are Mama and Papa doing about her?”

“Papa hasn’t done anything. To him, she’s still the little girl who used to sit on his lap as he wrote his
kuntres
. Mama, of course, wants to keep Rachel in the kitchen or out in the garden, away from the boys, but Rachel wants to learn Torah just like we did.”

“Rachel learning Torah?” Miriam shook her head in amazement at what was happening at home.

Joheved giggled. “She’s not entirely innocent of her effect on the boys. She seems determined to provoke Eliezer.”

“Eliezer? Asher’s little brother?” Miriam winced. Asher had been Benjamin’s study partner and best friend.

“He’s not so little anymore. He’s almost as tall as Meir,” Joheved said. “He’s also Papa’s best student. He studies a text only once or twice and he’s memorized it. But Eliezer is vain about his intellect.” She frowned slightly. “So Rachel is determined to demonstrate his ignorance.”

“Surely Papa doesn’t allow it.”

“It might be good for Eliezer to be humbled by a girl,” Joheved said. “Papa doesn’t object because Rachel is studying like mad, trying to find the texts that Eliezer doesn’t know.”

“Our Rachel—a
talmid chacham
?”

Joheved beamed with approval. “
Oui
. Remember, she has Papa’s commentaries to help her.”

Miriam allowed just the hint of a smile to show. Life in Troyes must be very interesting. “I can’t wait to see her again, and to study with her.”

 

Owing to several cases of flux in Troyes, Moses couldn’t return to Ramerupt until after the Sabbath, and when he arrived, the household was in an excellent mood. Marona had coaxed little Isaac to sleep with her, leaving Joheved and Meir a night of uninterrupted privacy. Samuel’s fever had broken that night as well, and he had awoken clearheaded and demanding to see his grandson. Joheved introduced Miriam to Francesca, who had accompanied her husband, and while the doctor was checking on Samuel, Francesca happily whispered that she was almost sure she was pregnant.

Everyone gathered around the dining table, giddy with relief at Moses’s pronouncement that Samuel was indeed on the mend and would probably be much improved by Passover.

“I would feel more confident if I could treat him with coltsfoot,” the doctor said. “Without it, his cough could worsen and a new fever result.”

Marona’s face fell. What if Samuel had a relapse during Passover? “I don’t suppose you’d consider ...
Non
, it’s too much to ask.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Moses replied.

“Would you consider spending the Passover week here in Ramerupt?” she asked. “And your wife too, of course.”

“Francesca and I would be honored.”

Meir turned to his mother. “Since Moses and Meshullam are coming, maybe you could invite Salomon as well?”

Miriam leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement. “Oh, Marona, could you? It would be wonderful to see my family. I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
Then Mama won’t have to do all that work to get our house ready for the festival
.

Marona considered what effort the extra company would entail. Cleaning the house, replacing the rushes, and removing all leaven was the same no matter how many guests were coming. Making the dishes kosher for Passover required washing them with soap and water, then plunging them into boiling water, followed by rinsing in cold water and a final dip in boiling water. Most of the work went into preparing the pots of boiling water; once they were ready, koshering a few extra items would be simple. Koshering the iron hooks, tripods, and spits in the hearth was almost no effort at all—just pass them each through the fire. So why not invite more guests?

“An excellent idea, Meir. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.” She smiled at Miriam. “Now, we can both spend Passover with our families.”

W
ith growing apprehension, Meshullam ben Samuel approached his parents’ estate. As the servants hurried to greet him, he was relieved to see no signs of grief on their faces. Étienne, the manor’s steward since Meshullam’s childhood, ran with a young man’s spryness to help the young lord dismount.

“How is he?” Meshullam braced himself for the answer.

“Your father has rallied recently, and the doctor believes he will, albeit slowly, recover.”

“But my mother hates doctors.”

“This one is different. Your brother brought him up from Troyes over a fortnight ago.”

“Meir still lives in Troyes?” There was disapproval in Meshullam’s voice.

Étienne frowned in return. “
Oui
, my lord, he does.”

“I must have a chat with him.” Meshullam strode past Étienne toward his father’s room.

“Lord Samuel’s bed has been moved to the salon,” Étienne said. “I’ll get your wife and children while you visit him.”

Meshullam could hear his brother’s voice, softly praying, interrupted by a hacking cough. He entered and halted in shock at his father’s appearance. Samuel’s hair, once full and grey, was now sparse and nearly white, and his skin seemed as fragile as old parchment. To Meshullam’s dismay, another paroxysm of coughing shook Samuel.
Mon Dieu, he might die any moment
.

Apparently unfazed, Meir encouraged his father to drink the contents of a cup sitting nearby. Finding it empty he started toward the doorway, only to find his way barred.

“Papa, look who’s here.” Meir gave his brother a hug.

Samuel looked up, smiled, and held out his arms to his oldest son. “You’re just in time for Passover.”

Meir headed into the hall. “I’ll get some more medicine.”

“Where’s Mama? Shouldn’t she be tending to Papa’s needs?”

“She’s outside. People are here every day to buy lambs for the butchers in Troyes.”

Meshullam’s frustration grew. He’d spent several harrowing days trying to get here, expecting to find the worst, only to learn that his mother had neglected her husband’s health to attend to manorial duties, duties that Meir should have assumed.

“Find a servant to give Papa his drink.” He grabbed Meir’s arm and hauled him into the courtyard. “You and I are going to have a longoverdue talk ... in private.”

Loath to argue in front of the household, Meir followed his brother outside the manor walls. High on a hill, overlooking the pastures of sheep, he would hear what the devil was troubling Meshullam. He had no idea that his wife was searching for herbs not far away.

 

“Aha—there you are.” Joheved triumphantly climbed through the bushes toward the patch of coltsfoot.

After Miriam discovered a small clump yesterday, Joheved was determined to find the elusive herb as well. Just as she knelt to pick the small flowers, she heard men approaching. One voice belonged to her husband. She crouched down and forced herself to keep still.

Meir was indignant. “Why shouldn’t I live in Troyes?”

“Everyone says you’re a brilliant scholar, so you can’t be as stupid as you sound.” That must be Meshullam. He could only have just arrived, yet the brothers were already quarrelling.

“What are you talking about?” Joheved could imagine her husband’s frustrated expression.

“I’ll explain it to you.” Meshullam’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And I won’t need Talmudic logic. You should be living here in Ramerupt, learning how to run the estate.”

“Between Salomon’s vineyard and yeshiva, I’m quite content in Troyes,” Meir said. “You’re the eldest, you run the estate.”

“I’ve worked hard to establish myself among the cloth manufacturers in Flanders,” Meshullam countered. “You have no profession to give up.”

“So neither of us runs the estate.”

“Then after Papa dies and Count André finds a new vassal, who’s going to support you in your scholarly life of luxury?”

“I’m not living in luxury,” Meir said. “I can earn my keep by helping Salomon in the vineyard.”

Meshullam unleashed a stronger salvo. “Maybe so, but who’s going to pay for your children’s clothes and books, your daughters’ dowries? Where’s all the yeshiva’s free parchment going to come from?”

Meir had no answer and Meshullam made his winning point. “And what happens to Mama if she can’t continue to live here?”

“I don’t know.” Meir’s voice was so soft Joheved could barely hear him. “But I don’t want to leave the yeshiva and manage an estate.” He sounded like Rachel did when Mama forced her to stop reading and do her chores.

“And I don’t want to have a son who’s a cripple, but I do.”

Joheved saw to the crux of the matter. Meir had one healthy son and prospects for more, while Meshullam had none. The estate had to go to the son who could best provide future heirs. Poor Meir. He loved the scholar’s life, and he excelled at it, but he would have to do as many Jewish men, including Papa, had sadly done before him—leave the yeshiva to support his family.