Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [113]
SO WHY HAD Hannah come to America? she asked herself. For a man like her father? Her brother? For Jake Rubenstein? There were a lot of Jews in Baltimore with stars in their eyes about America. Some, like her own cousins, were making for themselves a very fine-quality life. But what chance was there for a single, eighteen-year-old girl? Less than none.
Hannah was approaching the time she’d become too old to make a really fine marriage. What was her alternative? The life of an old maid, which was socially no life at all.
On the other hand, she longed to have her own children and become the balabosta of a Jewish home. If only she didn’t have to take a husband in order to get it. Maybe yes? Maybe no? No prince charming had swept her off her feet, yet every time she went to a bris, she fantasized that the little boy was her own baby.
Sonia came to the rear of the shop where her sister was pondering, picked up a brush, and stroked Hannah’s raven hair, which fell to the middle of her back. Hannah leaned back, resting her head on Sonia’s belly, which was six months full.
“What should I tell Moses Balaban?” Sonia asked.
Hannah shrugged.
“He makes ends meet,” her sister continued; “that’s nothing to spit on.”
“In Havre de Grace? Such a place is just like our brother, Noah, being shipped off to Siberia.”
“Nonsense. It’s only an hour from Baltimore.”
“It might as well be a thousand miles. We would be the only Orthodox family there. It’s an exile.”
“So? This is America. You don’t have to be surrounded by a million Jews. You won’t have Cossacks smashing your windows. They won’t rape you.”
Hannah detached herself from Sonia, and came to her feet, and her voice showed alarm. “I’m afraid,” Hannah said.
“Of Havre de Grace?”
“Yes, of Havre de Grace ... and ...”
“Moses Balaban?”
“I’m afraid of any man. You know that. Besides, he’s nearly twice my age.”
“That could be a blessing. With a boy your own age, you’d be asking for real tsuris, a real struggle. Also, what younger men don’t know about women is everything. In the long run, a more mature man with experience could have a little more feeling, a little more understanding.”
“Moses can be charming, but I think it’s only an act he puts on on the Sabbath, to make himself feel holy. He’s clever, but I also see things about him that make me worry.” She suddenly went into a small spasm of shivering. “And what about those two sons of his, they’re like wild animals.”
“Hannahile, I’ve heard all this from you a dozen times before.”
A long and difficult silence ensued until the front bell announced the arrival of a customer for a fitting. “I’ll be right there!” Sonia called. “Nu, Moses will be arriving soon. He asked me to get an answer from you. What shall I tell him?”
THE EQUAL OF Hannah’s wedding gown was not to be seen in Baltimore for the balance of the century. On the wedding day, late in 1894, she set aside her apprehensions and joined in the joyousness of the gathering. Moses’ brothers traveled up from Savannah with a raft of nieces and nephews, while Hannah’s mishpocha came from as far away as Cleveland. The catered affair was underwritten by her Uncle Hyman, who was on his way to achieving modest wealth as a drugstore owner.
The ancient ceremony took place in the Lloyd Street Synagogue, one of America’s oldest. A lively music-and-dance-filled reception took place in China Hall, personally catered by the owner, Mr. Sheinbloom. This was a banquet room of note and they celebrated far into the night, damn the expense.
Because it was not the right time of the month, Hannah and Moses spent the wedding night in different homes, perhaps the only advantage a bride got. She felt it was a reprieve, an avoidance of the frightening moment of truth.
Hannah had not been to Havre de Grace, but had only seen photographs of the building on St. John’s Street. She had met the sons in Baltimore. The size of the building, plus the elegant way Moses dressed, seemed to assure her that