The Auerbach Will (14 page)

“I love you, Jake,” she whispers, unable to believe that this has all happened the way she prayed it would. “I always will.”

A few days later, he said to her, “It's all set. They've invited you for tea on Thursday. It won't be kosher, but I can promise you that you won't be poisoned. I'll meet you at Mr. Levy's at three o'clock, and we'll go Uptown.”

“Do you remember when you shook hands with the butler?” It would become, over the years, something of a private joke between them because, indeed, in her understandable nervousness and excitement about what was happening, Essie had mounted the steps of the brownstone house at 14 West 53rd Street, and when the door had been opened by a gray-haired man in a frock coat and striped trousers, Essie had assumed the man to be either Jake's father or one of his uncles, and had immediately extended her right hand. Marks, the family butler, looking startled, had accepted her hand in his own, which wore a white glove, and shook it gingerly.

On their way Uptown in the streetcar, Jake had explained to her what he called “the cast of characters” whom she would meet. First, there were the two bachelor uncles, Uncle Sol and Uncle Mort. Solomon Rosenthal, the elder of the two, was president of Rosenthal Brothers, Inc., Purveyors of Fine Men's Suitings. Uncle Sol, Jake explained, would probably do most of the talking, as was his wont, because he was not only president of the company but also head of its sales force. But Essie was not to underestimate Uncle Mort, who was more closemouthed, because Mortimer Rosenthal, executive vice-president and the younger brother, was, as Jake put it, “the real brains behind the business.” As for Jake's father, Louis Auerbach, Jake said, “Pop's title is business manager but, let's face it, Pop is essentially their accountant, their bookkeeper. Uncle Sol and Uncle Mort run the show. You see, when my mother, who was Lily Rosenthal, their only sister, married Pop, Uncle Mort and Uncle Sol felt they had an obligation to offer Pop some sort of position at Rosenthal's. He took it, and that's where he is today.” All these people, the Rosenthals and the Auerbachs, lived together under the same roof.

“And so your mother keeps house for four men.”

“Yes, but of course she has help.”

At the time, Essie was not entirely sure what he meant by this. She also thought that Lily was an odd name for a Jewish woman. In her experience, Jewish women were never named for flowers. Unless it was Rose.

She had put on the best dress she owned, the dress she had bought for little Abe's bar mitzvah. It was of bright green bombazine, with a long, narrow, pleated skirt and a wide black patent-leather belt at the waist. Over the white shirtwaist top, there was a matching green bolero capelet, and at the collar was a big bow of white tulle. The outfit had drawn compliments at the bar mitzvah. She had pulled her long chestnut hair back loosely, and secured it at the back with a green ribbon bow.

They had dismounted from the streetcar at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 53rd Street, and walked the short distance to the house. “How do I look?” Essie whispered.

“Beautiful.”

Then up the brownstone steps to the door, which was immediately opened by someone who clearly had been watching for their arrival—and the confused handshake. They were then escorted by Marks down a wide, paneled hallway where, at the end, a pair of carved doors were opened for them, and they entered the first-floor sitting room where four people sat.

The room was large and high-ceilinged, and Essie's first impression of it was that it was done entirely in red. Dark red damask covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and the windows were framed with heavy red damask hangings, caught back by thickly twisted, tasseled gold cords. Behind these hangings hung glass curtains of intricately fashioned white lace. All the furniture in the room, and there was a great deal of it—high-backed sofas, low ottomans, chairs large and small and little footstools—was covered in the same red damask, with gilded frames, and there were many little tables with red damask tops and gilt legs. Even the lampshades were of red damask, with long gold fringe. From the walls, large, dark oil-painted landscapes gazed down somberly at the room beneath museum lights. There was a thick red carpet in an Oriental design on the floor and, overhead, from the center of the carved plaster ceiling, hung a gilded chandelier sparkling with what seemed to be thousands of crystal prisms. It was only at this point, in the midst of all this gilt and crimson splendor, that Essie realized that the entire four-story building that she had looked up at from the street must be the Auerbachs' and Rosenthals' house. They lived in it all.

The three men in the room, who were dressed in dark business suits and vests, stood up when Essie was presented to them. The woman remained seated. The men, she thought, were very formal, and somewhat curt and frosty, in their greetings to her. Only Jake's father, who was tall, plump and bespectacled, smiled when he took her hand. The uncles were both short, heavy, and bald. Jake had once described them to her as Tweedledum and Tweedledee and, indeed, they might almost have been indistinguishable, except for the fact that Uncle Mort had a handlebar mustache, and Uncle Sol was clean-shaven. Jake's mother was a tall, thin, fair-haired, nervous-seeming woman with blue eyes—years later, in Essie's own daughter Joan, Essie would see echoes of Joan's paternal grandmother, Lily Auerbach—and Essie could see why, to those who named her, she might have called to mind a lily. She wore a simple long dress of watered black moiré with long sleeves, and her only ornamentation was a triple strand of pearls at her throat and a large bright stone on her ring finger.

“Here, come sit by me,” Lily Auerbach said, patting the seat of the long red damask sofa, and Essie knew instantly that she looked all wrong, in her green party dress, in that crimson room. “Jake tells me that you live on Norfolk Street,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Tell me—where is that?”

“Near Grand Street,” she said. Surely everyone knew Grand Street. It was one of the widest streets in the neighborhood.

“Grand … I'm afraid I really don't know that part of town at all. What an interesting dress,” she said, and then added, “Very pretty.”

Jake Auerbach cleared his throat. “Mother—” he began.

His mother raised her left index finger slightly. At that moment the butler had reappeared, now wearing a white coat, carrying a large silver tea tray which held a heavy silver teapot, a silver covered pitcher of hot water, a silver creamer and sugar bowl, silver teaspoons, and teacups of the thinnest white porcelain Essie had ever seen. He placed the tray on a low table in front of Mrs. Auerbach.

“Thank you, Marks.”

As she lifted the pot to pour, the polished silver cast paler reflections on Lily Auerbach's pale face.

“One lump or two, Miss Litsky?”

“One, thank you.”

“Lemon or milk?”

“Lemon, please.”

Lily Auerbach handed her a teacup with its spoon in the saucer and, under the saucer, a small, lace-edged napkin. Essie, whose hand shook slightly, accepted the teacup and placed it on the small table in front of her.

“I was so happy that you could come today, Miss Litsky,” Lily Auerbach said. “Tomorrow, you see, we leave for a few days at the shore.”

A maid appeared in a gray starched uniform with starched white collar and cuffs, a little white cap pinned in her hair, with another silver tray. She offered it to Mrs. Auerbach first, and then to Essie. The tray was arranged with a number of little sandwiches on the thinnest of white bread. Essie accepted a sandwich, saw that it contained what appeared to be a thin slice of turkey. She also noticed that both slices of trimmed bread were spread with butter. Without even looking at Jake, she took a bite of her sandwich, thereby breaking for the first time in her life the dietary laws. Somehow this deed gave her a sudden small burst of confidence, and she lifted her teacup in its saucer, with the napkin underneath, lifted the spoon and, with hands that didn't shake at all, stirred her tea, replaced the spoon in its saucer, lifted the cup and took a sip, all the while feeling Lily Auerbach's blue eyes upon her.

Throughout the tea, Lily Auerbach guided the conversation, and kept it on a level of trivialities and current events. She talked of the family's summer plans—in addition to the seashore, there was to be a holiday in the Adirondacks. She spoke of Elberon, and Saranac Lake. And wasn't it dreadful to read about the terrible earthquake and fire in San Francisco? But wasn't it exciting to think of the new canal that was finally going to be dug in Panama? How did everyone feel about President Roosevelt being the first President in history to leave the United States during his term of office to go to Panama for the groundbreaking? What sort of precedent might that set? How did Essie feel about all the suffragettes who were popping up everywhere campaigning for votes for women? What would women
do
if they had the vote? In Lily's opinion, if women had the vote, there would be no difference in the outcome of elections, because women would simply vote the way their husbands did. All it would do would add another burden to the taxpayers, because there would be double the number of ballots to be counted. The men answered her light questions with grunts and monosyllables. What did they think of this woman, Emma Goldman? Was she really for
complete
anarchy? How silly … more tea?

And in the middle of this deliberately idle chatter, Essie had a sudden insight. It was not Uncle Sol and Uncle Mort who ran the show. Uncle Sol might be the president of his company, and Uncle Mort might be the vice-president, and Jake's father might toil away in a little office wearing a green eyeshade and going over his ledger sheets. But the person who ran the show was Lily Auerbach. Jake was wrong.

Only once did Lily bring up the subject of marriage, even obliquely, when she said, “Jake tells me that your father feels that it is time for you to marry, Miss Litsky. But he tells me that you are only sixteen. Isn't that terribly young?”

“My school is finished,” Essie said. “And unless I marry, or go to work, I will become a burden.”

“I see.”

When tea was finished, and after the tea things had been removed by the servants, Lily Auerbach turned to her son and said, “Jake, dear, I think you will understand if we say that the rest of us would like to have a few words with Miss Litsky alone.”

“Of course, Mother.” He stood up and left the room through the double doors.

There was a little silence, and then Lily Auerbach leaned forward in the red damask sofa. “Miss Litsky—” she began, “let us be frank—it seems to us a very strange thing that our son wants to do.” She spoke of
our son
in such a way as to imply that his uncles also shared his parentage. Clearly, in some way, there was a feeling that he belonged to all of them.

“Yes, strange,” said Uncle Mort, speaking up for the first time. “Even in a lifetime of wanting to do strange things.”

Lily ignored this, and continued, “There is the great difference in your backgrounds, for one thing—socially, economically, and culturally. Jake has been brought up in a world of certain privilege. Your background is—let us be frank—more humble. These vast differences—”

“If you think you're marrying him for his money, you're wrong,” Uncle Sol said. “He hasn't any.”

“Now, Sol,” Lily said, “we agreed to take up these matters one at a time.”

Somehow, knowing that her principal adversary was another woman made Essie feel emboldened, even daring. She sat forward in her chair and said, “Yes, Mrs. Auerbach, I know what you mean. By your standards, we are a poor family. I was born in Russia, in a little town I don't remember because I was less than a year old when my parents brought me to America. But by our standards, we are a very fortunate family. My father is an intellectual and a scholar of the Talmud, and my mother has worked very hard to give my brother and myself the things we have. Because of this, I have been able to have much more education than other girls my age in our neighborhood. My family sets great store by education. In my neighborhood, other girls go to work in factories when they are twelve or thirteen. I have never had to go to work, other than to help my mother when she needs me. It is true that we live in a small apartment, so small—” She looked about her. “So small that it would not even take up one tiny corner of this big room, and you must climb four narrow flights of stairs to reach it, and there are only two rooms, and we share a bathroom with a neighbor on the floor below. Our idea of luxury is—a Victrola. You may think of us as poor, Mrs. Auerbach, but we do not think of ourselves that way. We have always paid all our bills, and we have never had to accept a penny's worth of charity from anyone, as others do, all the time. You may think of me as a humble person, Mrs. Auerbach, but I do not think of myself that way. I think of myself as privileged—and proud.”

Her eyelids lowered, Lily Auerbach nodded. “Then there is another matter, a cultural matter. Your family practices an Orthodox form of our religion that is still practiced in the Old World, in countries where Jews have—let us be frank—been held backward, and repressed. We practice what we consider a more enlightened form, more suited to America, and we have practiced this in this country for three generations of our family. For two young people who wish to marry, these cultural differences can be very difficult to reconcile.”

“I think,” said Essie, “that in our discussions Jake and I have already reconciled those differences.”

“Perhaps.”

“Get down to brass tacks, Lily!” Uncle Sol said sharply.

“Yes,” she said. “Miss Litsky, has Jake told you that he has seen an alienist?”

“An alienist?” When Essie thought of aliens, she thought of Castle Garden and Ellis Island, and all the aliens who were streaming into New York Harbor, day after day.