The evening was full of surprises. “Thank me? For what?”
“For helping him. When Teddy died, he needed someone to talk to, someone to help keep Teddy’s memory alive. Teaching you gave him that, and I think watching you learn made him think differently. You know, when I was your age, my father didn’t believe that girls needed the same kind of education as boys. He doesn’t think that way anymore.”
“I don’t think I could have changed his mind about something like that.”
“Trust me. You didn’t try to, but you did. You were never afraid of him.”
Natalie thought back to the day she and Teddy had found the book. “Teddy used to be afraid of him. I’m not sure why I never was. Maybe if he was my father I would have been.”
Judith looked upset then, so Natalie tried to explain. “I think everyone is a little bit afraid of their parents when they’re young. Kids just want their parents to be proud of them, and it’s frightening if they’re not.”
Judith’s expression softened. “Maybe.” Then she snapped her fingers. “Hey! What if I ask your mom to let you come visit me in Boston for a few days this summer? What do you think?”
“I’d really like that.” Natalie didn’t understand why Judith was taking such an interest in her all of a sudden, but it was a wonderful feeling. Natalie had always loved having brothers—they were her protectors, her champions, her family. Still, spending time with Judith made her wonder, just for a minute, what life might have been like if she had grown up with a sister.
Part Five
Chapter 65
MORT
(October 1969)
When Abe had his second heart attack, Mort had not seen Rose for eight years. The day before she had been scheduled to fly back to New York, she had called Mort to tell him she was extending her trip. She needed more time to sort through Faye’s estate with the lawyers. Two weeks after that, Mort got a letter in the mail. Dinah had met a very nice young man who was the grandson of one of Faye’s neighbors. She was considering enrolling in a two-year college program near Miami in the fall, but she would come home in August for a few weeks. She would either stay in New York and take some classes there or pack up her things and return to Florida for college. Rose supposed the decision would be made based on how things developed with the young man. Regardless of what Dinah decided, however, Rose planned to stay in Florida indefinitely.
The letter was quite specific. Rose didn’t want Mort to worry about her—physically she was fine, mentally she was sound and financially she was independent. He should not take her leaving personally, and he should feel free to explain the situation to their family and friends in whatever manner he saw fit. Her reasons for staying in Florida were simple: the ocean had a calming effect on her, and for the first time in many years, she felt peaceful. Rose was sure Mort would not want her to leave such a beneficial environment. She was sure he would be happier without her. She wished him well, but she did not think further extended communication would be constructive or necessary. She hoped he understood.
Mort did understand. He wrote back telling her so, and let her know that he would not contact her further unless he needed to. He packed up the rest of her clothes to ship to Florida. At the last minute he put a picture of Teddy in one of the boxes, but whether it was an act of kindness or cruelty, he was unable to decide.
Mimi and Edward saw Rose whenever they vacationed at Edward’s family home in Palm Beach. Dinah eventually eloped with the neighbor’s grandson, settled in Florida and saw her father a few times a year when she came north to visit. Of the three sisters, only Judith had no contact with their mother.
Mort wasn’t surprised when Dinah told him Rose would not be attending Abe’s funeral. He couldn’t honestly say that he wanted her there, but her absence forced him to face the finality of their arrangement.
At the funeral chapel, Mort sat between Natalie and Judith. Natalie had grown into an unusually beautiful young woman—she shared a few of Mimi’s physical traits, but her eyes were softer and more thoughtful. Judith was attractive in a more typical way, a way that Mort had come to appreciate over the years. The fact that the two cousins had become so close brought Mort a great deal of satisfaction.
Mort had been to his share of funerals, but this was the first one since Teddy’s where he was obligated to wear the black mourning ribbon reserved for the deceased’s immediate family. He remembered how hysterical Helen had been before Teddy’s service when Abe told her she couldn’t wear one. Today she wore a black ribbon on her dress, and while its presence over her heart brought no ostensible relief, Mort could see that she was better able to retain her composure in this setting than she had been so many years earlier.
Abe was sixty-two years old when he died. This had been acceptable by the standards of his parents’ generation, but it was premature by those of his own. “He was so young,” the coworkers, relatives and friends murmured to Mort as they shook his hand. At Teddy’s funeral, no one had mentioned his age. If sixty-two was too young to die, eight had been too catastrophic even to mention.
“We will now hear a few words from Abe’s brother.” That was his cue from the rabbi. Helen had asked him the day before if he would speak at the funeral. What could he say? He was a terrible public speaker, he knew, but he didn’t want the service to pass without marking the moment in some way. He wanted to honor his brother.
Mort rose from his seat, nervous and slightly nauseated, to take his place at the front of the chapel. Over a hundred people were packed into the seats, and everyone would be watching.
Mort had no notes to rely on, just thoughts he tried to convey. He spoke about how Abe had taught him to throw a baseball when they were children, and how Abe once beat up a classmate for picking on him in school. He talked about Abe’s kindness, his generosity, his willingness to forgive all transgressions, and even more remarkable, his ability to forget them. He praised Abe’s optimism, his appetite, the interest he took in everyone he met, whether friend or employee. “You know,” Mort admitted, “when I was a young man, I used to think Abe didn’t pay enough attention to the bookkeeping aspect of our business, that he didn’t care enough about the numbers. I used to think that was a weakness. As I grew older, I began to appreciate Abe’s contributions more, and I figured that with our different strengths, we balanced each other out. Now, with Abe gone, I know the truth. Abe’s role at Box Brothers was much more important than mine. Abe paid attention to the numbers that mattered most: his twenty employees, his infinite friends, his five children, his four grandchildren and his singular wife. I only wish he could have had more than sixty-two years to do that.”
Most of the people at Abe’s funeral knew Mort, or, if they didn’t know him personally, they knew of him from others. His reputation did not prepare them for the warmth of the eulogy he gave. He returned to his seat, unrecognizable.