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  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did he die? The owner.”

  Wright thought for just a moment. For all he knew Willows might have more details than he knew himself and could be testing him on his trustworthiness. Only the truth would do. He shook his head, then licked his lips and blurted the answer.

  “It was, I’m afraid, a terrible tragedy. Dr. McDonnelly slipped on a wet floor and hit his head on the iron bathtub.”

  Rupert slowly turned and Percival Wright stopped breathing.

  “Here?” Rupert asked softly.

  The agent sensed a blade hanging over his neck. “Yes. In this house.”

  “You will show me where on our next visit,” Rupert smiled as he tipped his hat then ran down the stairs. “Good day, Mr. Wright,” he called back to him.

  He had the sale. Percival Wright had somehow emerged as a winner. Now, he needed a drink. Mr. Willows had spoken as if he were asking about the location of a spittoon. Wright shuddered at the prickly sensation that traveled up the length of his spine.

  Chapter Two

  The Letter from Esther

  May 22, 1895

  When mail arrived in Zhvanets it was considered to be news for the whole community. If the mail came from outside of Russia, it was further thought to be public property and recipients were often brazenly asked to share their personal news in full detail. Hannah Zigman’s letter was from England. It was post-marked, London, where her sister Esther lived with her family in a neighborhood called Spitalfields. She was thankful that the man in line in front of her at the post office got a package from America because it created such a happy commotion that Hannah was able to take her letter and slip out unnoticed.

  It had been almost ten years since Hannah had seen her sister, and each letter was a rare treasure. The two sisters had married two brothers, standing together under the chupa on their wedding day. Zev married Hannah and Leib married Esther.

  Just days after the wedding, the older couple, Leib and Esther, left to start their journey to the new world. Zev had counted out the little money that had been sent by their father from Canada, and insisted that Leib take it. Three men in three different countries together would build the means to bring the family together again, he had insisted. Everyone had hugged each other and said their goodbyes, the men filled with determination, and the women brimming with tears. They would all be leaving mother Russia in their turn, and the family was certain they would be celebrating a reunion in the new world in a matter of months.

  As the years went by, instead of tickets, there were reports of hardship and setbacks in the letters from both London and Canada.

  Despite all of this, Hannah never lost hope and remained a true optimist. Still girlish in her demeanor, though now twenty-eight, she was gifted with an easy smile and a buoyant heart. She hurried down the path, clutching her mail, and found a stump to sit on where she could read the letter alone.

  Esther had started in the usual manner Hannah had come to expect. She sent her love to all of the family and reported that their little girl, Malka, was a ray of sunshine and growing quickly. Esther said that Leib had a new job in a sewing factory, a sweatshop, she called it, and was making good money and their savings were finally building. Hannah flipped the page and braced for bad news, as generally by this point Esther would have run out of good things to say. But instead, her sister had an announcement to make. She had been in contact with an agency that was working to help Jewish families get out of Russia’s Pale of Settlement. Help was provided with both processing papers and the cost of the tickets. Esther had made applications to move the entire family and believed it was a matter of months before she would be sending tickets. By fall, they would all be packing and on their way to London, she said, and then, God willing, they would make enough money to continue on to Canada to join Zev’s and Leib’s father in Winnipeg.

  Hannah shouted out with joy as she sprinted down the path to her husband’s carpentry shop to share the letter.

  As much as his wife was exuberant in nature, Zev was solid and quiet. Hannah burst into his workshop like a summer storm, her words tumbling over each other as she told the story with her arms flying. He held his hands up and shushed his dancing wife, then sat down with the letter. He read it through twice and shook his head. Hannah was ready to sing the news from the rooftops, but Zev was more cautious and insisted they wait. How many times had they already celebrated this kind of announcement? No. He would need more than a letter from Esther filled with hope and promises.

  So many plans to leave had already fallen through that Zev had become hardened by disappointment. His father, Baruch, had left Russia in 1883. In his twelve years in Canada he had suffered one setback after another, from failed farms to poorly paying jobs, to an accident that put him out of work and into the hands of a Jewish charity for almost a year.

  With Leib and Esther, there was more heartache. There was no gold to be found on the streets of London either, it seemed. Zev, resilient and responsible, had kept his feelings to himself. He had his mother, as well as Hannah and their three children to support, along with watching out for Hannah’s parents Avram and Golde, and her younger brother, Shmuel, who was just fourteen. He should have been the one to go to the new world, Zev believed. He was strong and capable and not sickly like his older brother had turned out to be. But such was his lot and he was duty bound to accept it. Until he had the tickets in his hand, he was not going to get too excited about the promise in the letter.

  But Hannah was bubbling with happiness. Her kisses fell upon him until he couldn’t help but feel his heart lighten as she chatted and hopped about his tiny wood shop.

  “Zev, please. I know this time it will work. Please let us tell everyone. What is the harm?”

  “The harm? Hannah, dear wife of mine. What if it doesn’t happen? Esther is only now applying for the papers. What if there are other people ahead of us? With your parents and your brother and all of us here, we are nine people. Nine tickets. That is very expensive.”

  “Zev. It has been so long since I last saw my sister.”

  “Yes, yes, I know, Hannah. I know it pains you. It pains me, too.”

  Hannah pulled a stool up to sit near her husband and dropped her hands into her lap.

  “Let me say something, Zev. Sometimes all we have to live on is hope. Even if it comes to a disappointment at the end, why not have a little time where we can have something to look forward to? A little happiness in this thought that we could leave here, to rejoin our family. Please, Zev. It is the first step to get to Canada. Imagine the joy of your mother to be re-united with your father after all of these years.”

  “It is a big dream, Hannah.”

  “To dream is to nourish the heart. Don’t let us deny our children the joy of thinking of a better life, Zev. They need this, too.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, then kissed her forehead. His light blue eyes sparkled under the dark curls that dropped down from under his cap. “Oh, my dear Hannah. How did I become so lucky that God would bring me you for my wife? Nothing ever gets you down. Even when things are hard, you always see the brightness in the world. There is no one like you.”

  “So we can announce our good news?” She held his face between her hands and grinned at him. He smiled back and said nothing. Impatient for his answer she tugged his beard to make him nod. At this, Zev shook his head and laughed.

  “Yes, we can tell them. But let’s be careful how we do this. If my mother gets wind of this, the news will be all through the entire province of Podolia before the sun sets. I want time to think about it and to ask some questions. I want to know what the rabbi knows of this plan in London. Why don’t we wait until Shabbat? Just a couple of days.”

  “But, my parents,” Hannah pleaded. “May I, please, tell them, first? Esther has asked that we do. You read it in the letter. I could visit them tomorrow.”

  “But they will come to us on Friday. We could tell them then.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, Zev, I am bursting with this secret. Please, let me go to tell them. Please?”

  How could he tell her no? To see her joy was infectious and he couldn’t help but get caught up in her good mood. Finally Zev laughed and held her close. The decision was made and together they worked out a plan to allow for the visit while at the same time keeping the secret from his mother.

  The next morning, Bayla Zigman brought a final bundle of loaves out from the kitchen and hustled along the path to the stable. Every week she and Hannah baked enough bread to fill two large baskets to be sold in the Moscovitch Meat Shop, which was owned by Hannah’s parents. It was always Zev who delivered the loaves on Friday morning. Bayla was not happy about the change in the baking schedule to allow Hannah to deliver the loaves herself a day early.

  “Hannah! Zev won’t like it that you are taking the bread yourself. Why don’t you let him take it tomorrow? He always takes it on Friday morning.” Bayla was very fond of her son’s wife, but the girl did have a stubborn streak.

  “Zev worries too much,” Hannah winked. “I won’t be long. I’ll save him the trip and get a quick visit with my parents. Besides, it is a surprise for Zev. I want to cook a special dinner for his birthday tomorrow, and if he has to pick up what I need, there will be no surprise. You see, Mama?”

  “What I see is a hard headed woman who is going to get on a horse, and do what she wants no matter what I say.”

  “Mama!” Hannah tossed her head and laughed. “It’s only an hour’s ride. There is much to celebrate, you will see, and I want this to be perfect.”

  “Is there something more than the birthday?” Bayla asked. “I knew it! You have something you are keeping from me, yes? You have been as jumpy as a sparrow since yesterday.”

  Hannah couldn’t hide her excitement. “Have I?” she teased.

  “Another baby?” Bayla clapped her hands together.

  “No! Mama, please!”

  “Well, what is it, then?” Bayla planted her hands on her hips and pushed her lips together.

  Hannah adjusted the two neat baskets and made sure they were properly secured over the saddlebags. “You will see when we tell you.”

  “You have news? A letter you didn’t tell me about?”

  “Maybe I do, but I won’t say one more word about this. This is for Zev to say, not me.”

  “You’re killing me with the teasing.”

  “No more talk about it, then.”

  “But when?” Bayla demanded.

  “When Zev says it is time.”

  “Ach. Be sure to tell Avram and Golde that they raised an impossible daughter!”

  “I will send them your love!”

  Bayla was less irritated than she pretended. She watched the smooth, confident way that Hannah took charge of the horse and everything else within her path, and could only shake her head. With her wide smile and twinkling eyes, Hannah appeared as a fresh faced beauty, not one day older, it seemed, than on her wedding day.

  One final adjustment to tuck a cloth around the bread and Hannah was ready to be on her way. “I will be back before Zev is home for supper.”

  “Mama, Mama!” Little Isaac ran up the path, waving something in the air. “I have a present for Baba Golde.” Isaac handed a small package, wrapped in a cloth, to his mother.

  “What is this?”

  “It is a special stone, I found in the creek. It is for good luck.”

  “You could give it to her tomorrow, Isaac. They are coming here for Shabbat and will be with us until Sunday.”

  “No, Mama, please. Give it to her today. Look how pretty it is.” Hannah tussled her son’s hair and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “You are a good boy, Isaac. Don’t forget to carry the water into the kitchen, for Baba Bayla.”

  “Come, Isaac.” Bayla swept an arm around the boy. “Aaron will be soon waking from his nap and Baba has something sweet for you and your sister to taste.”

  Hannah hiked up her skirts and mounted the horse, throwing her leg wide to clear the baskets.

  “Oy, Hannah. You ride a horse like a man.”

  “A man has it easier. He doesn’t have skirts to get in the way,” she laughed and nudged the mare into a trot. “I’ll have such a story for you! You’ll see.”

  “You know how much I hate secrets, Hannah,” Bayla waggled her finger after the younger woman who turned and laughed again as she waved and pushed the horse into a gallop.

  Bayla clucked her tongue and shook her head. Hannah was unstoppable. She was a bundle of determination, that girl. A kind woman who never objected to sharing her home with an old lady. Not one day of complaint in all these years of living with her mother-in-law. How Bayla wished that her Baruch could be here to see her joys, to know these wonderful grandchildren they had. She groaned under the weight of her thoughts. She brought her mind back to counting her blessings as she trudged up the path to the kitchen calling out for the children to come taste the apple cake she had made.

  A few miles down the road, Hannah looked at the sun in the sky and knew it was just past noon. She hummed a little tune as she approached the last leg of her short journey. Turning off of the main road, she headed for the familiar shortcut through the woods and down into the valley.

  It was then that she saw the smoke rising in plumes over the trees. Her blood ran cold. There was a fire in the village. Then she heard them coming. The sound was unmistakable. Ten, maybe twelve men on horseback were thundering down the main road toward her. In a flash, she guided the mare behind a fallen tree and slid off as the horse danced with fright.

  The men careened around the bend in the road, crying out their victory at the top of their lungs.

  Victory. Terror shot through Hannah as she watched them through the leaves. Some of them brandished bloodied swords overhead. Others held their treasures high. One had a large silver samovar held tightly under his arm. Some had sacks, clanking with the spoils of their raid. And then they were gone, leaving clouds of dust rising from the silenced road. Seized with fear, Hannah turned to look in the direction of the village. Bile rose in her throat and her legs went weak. Breathing deeply, she willed herself to settle the prancing mare and climb back into the saddle.

  Her breath came in gasps as she jounced down the hill to the village. Please, God, let her family be safe. The cries and wails reached her ears even before she could see the chaos in the street. Galloping into the village square, she saw people running, and houses burning. A group of people stood in the doorway of her parents’ little store, their necks craning to see inside.

  “No!” she shrieked as she dropped off of the horse and hurtled her body into the crowd, shouting and pushing with all of her might. Strong arms reached out to stop her. It was Mr. Goresky from the store next door. He held her tight, turning her from the doorway.

  “Stop, Hannah! You must not go in there!”

  “Let me through. My parents, my brother! Let go of me!” She fought like a wild cat, her arms flailing.

  “No, no! Don’t go there, Hannah. They are gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Hannah heard wailing inside the shop and wrenched herself free. Shoving her way through the bottleneck at the door, she landed on a wet floor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, waves of shock hit her. Someone was shouting something and grabbing at her shoulders. The room was unrecognizable. Everything was smashed and overturned. Her eyes landed on the bodies at the same moment she realized her hands were covered with blood. Every ounce of strength she possessed poured into a scream she couldn’t stop. Blood. Red, endless blood had pooled from the bodies. The cry died in her throat as the blackness overtook her.

  “Someone go for Zev,” a woman shouted. Protective arms enveloped Hannah and lifted her as she was swallowed into the safety of darkness. Her eyes fluttered and were suddenly still. Sweet safety. Muddy sounds. Her head lolled back on the arm that supported her as she was submerged into a comfort where voices come from afar.

  Outside, weep
ing women instantly fell upon her, fussing. “Here, use this to bring her around,” an older woman pushed forward with a small bottle in her hand.

  “No. Leave her rest. Better that she fainted.” Mr. Goresky ordered them back as he carried her into his place.

  As Hannah came to, she found herself in a kitchen with Sookie Goresky sitting quietly next to her. Pots and pans were strewn about. A table had been flattened and the door hung crazily on one hinge. Daylight spilled through the smashed windows and over food scattered on the floor. She looked in horror at the older woman, unable to speak, yet demanding answers.

  Sookie was teetering on hysteria. She hunched her shoulders and stifled her sobbing. Her head shook soundlessly, as she searched for where to begin. “They didn’t burn down my house,” she squeaked in breathless words. “They left me my house.” Sookie started crying in great wracking gulps.

  It was then that the full realization burned through Hannah. The raid. Her parents and Shmuel had been murdered. She had seen it with her own eyes.

  Sookie held out a cup and Hannah stared back as if not able to comprehend.

  “Zev is coming,” Sookie said. “Oh, my dear Hannah. I am so sorry. So sorry, sweet Hannah. Your parents have always been such dear friends to us.” Sookie set the cup down and reached out for her.

  Hannah went rigid as Sookie’s tears fell upon her. There was nothing to do. There was nothing that could be undone. A new thought overtook her and stirred fresh terror. “My children!” she screamed.

  “No, no! Don’t worry. The pogromists went east, not south. The men followed to be sure.”

  Six people in the village were killed, and another twenty-one injured. Something in Hannah died that day, too. Something broke that would never be fixed and gave way to a darkness that would visit her at times through the remainder of her life.

  The screams built inside her until she couldn’t hold them back. Now she and Esther were orphans. Her mind was unable to process the horror.