Chapter 2

Even these many months later, Harry still well remembered how troubled Isaac’s spirit had still been when he returned to Fargo and shared the young woman’s story with him. And yet, Harry couldn’t deny his eventual reaction to it.

Looking at the counter, Harry said, “I had not realized that soliciting a companion through a published notice was an option. I suppose in my own way, if some young woman saw that as her only way out of a troublesome situation, I wanted to help, but I wanted a woman who could stand alongside me, rather than one who felt the need to kneel in submission. So ... well ... I placed a notice in one of the publications back there.”

“I’ve ... ah ... I’ve just received a response.” Harry informed the rabbi of what he had thus far learned about Annie.

“I don’t know what to do. As the apprentice of a man like Martin Tanner, I cannot, in good conscience, dismiss a good woman simply because the world cannot look beyond her exterior to see her spirit. Yet I don’t want to say the wrong thing and drive this Annie to an end similar to what you and Miriam saw.”

The rabbi paused, then smiled at his young friend and spoke to him softly. “During my studies, one of my elders said something that I often lean on, both when seeking wisdom for myself and when passing it on to others: ‘Advice is what we ask for when we know the answer but want a different one.’ Although I don’t think you want a different answer as much as you want to know that you have the right answer.”

He gestured at the paper in Harry’s hand. “Did she say anything else?”

My true first love is being a teacher, and my hope is to be able to teach the children of your town should such an opportunity be available.

The rabbi brightened. “You know as well as I do that many of our women are with child. There may not be a need for a teacher now, but there certainly will be soon.”

His exuberance then dimmed slightly, although the smile did not. “Until then, I expect Miss Cora might welcome someone to tutor her ladies.” The rabbi referred to them as “ladies” deliberately; ever since adopting their counterparts as part of his larger ministry, he eschewed the convention of referring to them as “girls” – or other, less complimentary terms – in favor of a label that, he felt, afforded them a greater sense of dignity and worth. Miss Cora was the employer, landlord, protector, and advisor of those who resided in the boarding house on the other side of the train tracks.

Rabbi Mendel gathered his purchases into a small canvas sack before reaching to press Harry’s hand between both of his own. “Shalom, my friend. To you and to her. You will know the right words to say to her when the time comes. And if you will excuse me, it is Friday and I must prepare for the Sabbath. We are meeting in Miss Cora’s study this evening.”

It was nearly dark when the door of the general store opened again, admitting a woman in her late thirties. Her shoulder-length auburn hair, interspersed with light streaks of gray, hung neatly from beneath a small feathered hat. Her eyes were steely gray and surrounded by faint lines that had been formed by time and trial, but which nonetheless gave her an appearance of wisdom, even gentility. Upon her plump, but not overweight, figure, she wore a silk dress with lace adornments. She had originally ordered the material from Connecticut and, at the recommendation of someone she trusted, she had brought it to Harry to construct the dress.