The Matchmaker's Gift(13)

Sara’s father took a sip from the glass and motioned for his daughter to sit beside him. “He is rude and unpleasant, but he is not stupid.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a familiar golden bracelet—one of the bracelets Sara had worn during Miryam’s wedding ceremony.

“I don’t understand,” Sara said. “Why do you have Miryam’s bracelet?”

“The day after the wedding, her father paid a visit to thank me for your part in his daughter’s match. He understands that you are no shadchan, but he wanted to show his appreciation. He tried to give me money, but I refused. The next day, he returned with this. His wife insisted that I keep it and accept it as the brokerage fee. When I refused again, he became distraught. It would bring terrible luck, the poor man said, if he did not provide some kind of payment. He told me he could not go home to his wife if I did not accept the gift.”

“But Papa, it looks like solid gold. It must be very valuable. If the matchmaker finds out, he’ll come again.”

Sara’s father nodded sadly. When he spoke, his voice was soft and tired. “Miryam’s father knows all of this. He has given his blessing for me to sell the bracelet. If I feel well enough, I will do it next week, in a different neighborhood, perhaps. Still, it may be best to save it, in case we are ever in worse need.”

“I’m sorry to cause so much trouble,” Sara said, but her father waved her apology away.

“You cannot help the gift you have been given.” When she did not answer, he continued. “Come now, child. I know the story. I know what you told Rabbi Sheinkopf at Hindel’s wedding. To tell you the truth, I am only surprised that the itch to make another match did not strike sooner.”

“Does Mama know?”

Sara’s father shook his head. “Not yet. The shadchanim believe they are the only ones who can do such important work. The possibility that a young, untrained girl could match two souls according to God’s will is the gravest insult to their profession. You must wait until after you are wed before you meddle in any more matches. A shadchanteh—a female matchmaker—is rare enough, but an unmarried one would never be tolerated by the people of this community. If you were to engage in such behavior, your reputation would be ruined.” Behind her father’s fragile smile was more than a trace of fear.

Sara was troubled by her father’s words. What if she could not help herself? And what if she never became a bride? But she did not want to cause her father additional worry, so she swore to him that she would try.

Later that night, as she read by the window, even the stories in her book could not calm her. She worried that the shadchanim would find out about the bracelet. She worried that her father’s health was poor. She worried that she had sworn a false vow, that she had made a promise she could not keep.





FOUR

ABBY




1994




The blind date was her cousin Jason’s idea. Actually, it may have been his mother’s idea first—Abby’s aunt Judy was always asking about her niece’s love life, and lately, there hadn’t been much to tell. At any rate, Jason had cornered Abby during the last night of their grandmother’s shiva. “There’s a guy in my poker game—Will Brenner. Nice, smart, around our age. He’s a lawyer, too. Okay if I give him your phone number?” The endorsement had been vague and somewhat lackluster, but Abby hadn’t been listening all that carefully. She’d been too distracted and far too sad. At some point, she must have mumbled her consent, because a few weeks later, Will left a message on her machine.

Hi, Abby. This is William Brenner. Hopefully, Jason told you I’d be calling. Anyway, he gave me your number, so … if you have time, I’d love it if you’d call me back.



Abby hadn’t been on a date in months, and she wasn’t excited about starting now—not so soon after her grandmother’s funeral. She was still breaking into tears at odd moments. She wasn’t sleeping. She needed a haircut.

She was about to erase the message when she remembered the line from her grandmother’s notebook. The heart is big enough to hold both grief and love. Abby had never been a superstitious person. She didn’t believe in fate or signs. But as she stared at the photo of Sara on her desk, she wondered whether she should give in, just this once. Will sounded nice enough on the phone. She knew that if her grandmother was sitting with her, she would have told Abby to call Will back. Abby imagined how their conversation might go.

It’s too soon, Grandma. I should wait a few months.

A few months from now, I’ll still be dead.

I’m afraid I won’t have anything to say to him.

If all else fails, just talk about me.





* * *



Ten minutes before Abby was set to leave work to meet Will at the bar he’d chosen, Diane tapped on her office door. As usual, Diane was styled to perfection—her fitted knit skirt was just short enough to show off legs that any other fifty-five-year-old would kill for. Her makeup was youthful and artfully applied, and her thick brown hair was layered in all the right places. Abby made another mental note to make an appointment for a haircut. Diane’s eyes lingered on Abby’s paper-free desk and freshly glossed lips. “Leaving early?” she asked. Abby wanted to say that seven o’clock wasn’t early, but instead, she nodded and tried not to look guilty.