For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)

I stood staring at the door, my heart beating rather fast. What did I feel about Jacob Singer? I wasn’t sure. Oh, I liked him, I certainly admired him, and if I were honest, I liked the way he wanted to take care of me. But marry him? I had never considered marrying anyone but Daniel. Maybe this was the right time to put that foolish notion behind me, once and for all.

The Hebrew Trades meeting room was full to bursting by the time we got there. Music was spilling out onto the sidewalk. A violinist and an accordion player sat on stools in one corner, playing a lively tune, while the rest of the floor was a milling, seething crowd of dancers, all of them girls. The young men stood around the wall, looking on and clapping. The tune ended and the girls, red-faced and glowing, made for the punch bowl.

“Molly!” Rose spotted me through the crowd and made her way to me. “You’ve heard the wonderful news. Isn’t it grand? And all thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me? Oh no, I was only one person among all of you.”

“But you stood up to those starkes. You made that bully look like a fool in front of all of us. It made them think twice, Molly.”

“Then I’m glad I could help.”

She slipped her arm through mine. “Come and taste my mama’s stuffed cabbage rolls. Best cabbage rolls outside Warsaw, she says. Was prison really terrible?”

“Could have been worse,” I said. “I survived, as you see.”

“We’re all so proud of you.” She grabbed a plate and started piling cabbage rolls on it.

“Enough.” I laughed. “Save some for the others.”

“Look at all this good food. A holiday feast. Everyone brought something—Italian spaghetti and German potato dumplings and blintzes—a grand tour of the world.”

We ate and drank and danced some more.

“That young man in the worker’s cap is looking at you, Rose,” I whispered to her. “Why don’t you get him to dance with you?”

“Dance with me?” A look of pure horror, with just a tinge of delight. “If my papa heard I had danced with a man, I’d be turned out of the house. He’d want nothing more to do with me.”

“But in America men and girls dance together all the time. What is the harm in it?”

She shook her head. “Not Jewish girls,” she said. “Not Jewish men.”

“Wait a minute.” I forced my way through the crowd to Jacob. “I want you to dance with me,” I said.

He looked a little uncertain.

“What—you don’t find me attractive enough? Or are you afraid it will get back to the matchmaker?”

He laughed and put one hand awkwardly around my waist. Then he nodded to the musicians who struck up another lively number.

“Can you do the polka?” he asked.

“No, but I’ll pick it up soon enough.”

We started around the floor. Even over the music I thought I could detect a collective gasp from the Jewish girls—maybe from the Italians too. But after a while I noticed one of the young men leave the wall and ask one of the girls to dance. Soon there were three or four couples. But I also noticed most girls slinking away shyly or flat-out refusing.

Some of the eyes watching us were openly disapproving.

“Those older women are looking at us as if we’re doing something highly improper,” I whispered.

“In their eyes we are,” he whispered back. “A young man and woman are not supposed to touch each other, and a Jewish man and a Christian woman—oy vay, that is the worst!”

“I suppose it will take a while,” I said.

“It will take a generation, maybe more,” he said. “Not everyone is as freethinking as we are. They call this the melting pot, but we haven’t yet had time to melt. As of yet, we are still separate ingredients floating around in the broth.”

“So are we condemned as hopeless sinners?”

“I’m afraid so, but who cares?” His grip tightened around my waist as he spun me around the floor, faster and faster.

At last a collective tiredness came over the crowd. These girls had been on a picket line since early morning, and they had just run out of steam. The girls started to drift away. I noticed Jacob’s eyelids sagging and realized that he hadn’t had the luxury of being able to sleep the day away.

“You must go home to bed,” I said.

He kept hold of my hand. “Molly, tomorrow is Sunday when I usually try to visit my parents.”

“That’s all right. You and I don’t have to see each other every day.”

He swallowed hard before saying, “I was wondering whether you would come with me.”

Visiting his parents. This was indeed becoming serious. His eyes were pleading.

“Of course, Jacob. I would be delighted to come with you,” I said and watched his face light up.