The Matchmaker's Gift(11)
“Maybe one day you’ll make a hat for me,” Sara said.
“Of course I will! A hat to match your new eyeglasses.”
“I’m on my way to see the man who sold them to me now,” Sara said. “He’s letting me pay for them a little bit at a time.” She pointed north to the corner where Mr. Tunchel’s pushcart was located.
“I’m headed in that direction, too. My mother needs candles for Shabbos.”
At the corner, the girls said their goodbyes, and Miryam walked east to make her purchase. Sara saw Jacob approach from the west, oblivious to Miryam, whose back was already turned. Neither Jacob nor Miryam took notice of the other; only Sara intuited the connection. The faintest bow of light curved over all of Orchard Street, from the spot where Jacob stood to the candlemaker’s cart. Sara removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. When she put them on again, the thread of light was gone.
That evening, Sara asked her sister about Miryam. “She’s the youngest of three girls,” Hindel said. “The older two married wealthy brothers and moved to Brooklyn. Poor Miryam was left behind, but she never complains.”
“She seems to like her work at the hat shop.”
“It’s a perfect job for someone so creative.”
“She isn’t engaged?”
Hindel laughed. “Why do you ask? Have you found another Aaron for my friend?”
There was too much mockery in Hindel’s voice for Sara to tell her the truth of what she’d seen. “What if I have? What would be the harm?”
Hindel put down her sewing needle and patted the peak of her swollen stomach. She would give birth soon, at the end of May. “Your meeting with Aaron on the ship was chance. But to pursue matchmaking here, deliberately? The neighborhood shadchanim would be furious.”
“Furious that I would interfere in their business or furious because I’m a girl?”
Hindel’s answer was swift and certain. “Both.” One by one, she counted off the reasons, tapping the tips of her fingers for emphasis. “You are a girl. You are too young. A shadchan must be married. If you succeed, they will complain that you have stolen their fee.”
Sara hadn’t thought about that. “How can I steal what they haven’t yet earned?”
Hindel shrugged. “That is how they think. Every person of marriageable age is of potential benefit to them. Miryam may wear outlandish hats, but she is still modest. She is sweet and pretty and in good health. Her father is a well-respected scribe and artist. He will pay a fair dowry, and he can afford the shadchan’s fee.”
“Our papa did not pay a dowry.”
“Luckily, he did not have to. But a dowry is still customary for many families, and the shadchanim take a percentage as their payment.”
After Hindel finished her explanation, she switched topics to preparations for the new baby. Their mother would knit the hats and blankets; Hindel would sew the shirts and diapers. Sara tried to pay attention, but despite her efforts, her mind wandered elsewhere. All she could think of was the line of light over Orchard Street—the singular strand that filled her with purpose.
* * *
Arranging a meeting between Jacob and Miryam proved to be more difficult than Sara expected. “I already told you I’m not interested,” Jacob said. “My father and I are still in mourning.”
Sara knew that Jacob had been devoted to his mother, but she also understood that this was an excuse. Jacob was not a particularly religious man. Even if he were, there was nothing to prohibit him from meeting Miryam before the anniversary of his mother’s death.
Sara passed a dime to Jacob. So far, she had paid ninety cents toward her spectacles. “I’m not asking you to marry her,” she said. “I’m only asking that you meet her.”
“Between the business and my schoolwork, there is no room for anything else. I’m sorry, Sara, but now is not the right time.”
She could not say what came over her then, or what caused her to speak with such newfound authority. “There is never a right time for love. If you wait for the perfect moment, you may lose your chance.”
The optometrist tilted his head and stared. “Since when did you become such a philosopher?”
“I’m not a philosopher. I’m just speaking the truth. I want you to meet Miryam, and I don’t think you should wait.”
“I want to wait until my mother’s yahrzeit. I want to take a full year to grieve.”
Sara considered how best to answer—she did not want to offend her new friend or insult his mother’s memory, so she chose to explain in a different way. “Have I told you that my sister is expecting?” she asked. “She’s growing bigger every day. Every time I look at her, I’m amazed.” Sara lowered her voice to the faintest whisper. “The heart of a mourner is like a woman’s womb, Jacob—it can expand to hold whatever is asked of it. The heart is big enough to hold both grief and love.”
* * *
A week later, when Sara returned from school, Miryam was sitting in the kitchen with Hindel. This time, Miryam wore a hat of dove gray, trimmed with a navy satin bow. Her lips were curved in a hopeful smile; her laughter was warm and expectant.
“Miryam says Jacob Tunchel and his father paid a call on her family yesterday.”