Anna said, “Will your husband have trouble adjusting, do you think? You’ve been in the city for a long time.”
The older lady sat down again. “He loves those boys so, I don’t think he’ll care where he is.”
She looked at her husband, who had fallen asleep in his rocking chair. “All these years I have missed the Henry I married, but just now it’s better this way. He hardly understands what’s happening, but you should have seen him as a young man. He had a gift for numbers, he could add and multiply and divide in his head, big numbers, too. And he was so strong, it was a joy just to watch him working. When he first came from Germany he came to see my father—he was from Munich too—to ask about work. He came into the shop, and I was at the counter helping a customer. He smiled at me, and that was that.
“As a girl I hated that we spoke German at home, but Henry made me glad of it, that I could talk to him. I was the one who taught him English, and he made good progress. With other people it was harder sometimes.” She smiled with such sweetness that she looked much as she must have the day Heinrich Steinmauer came into her father’s shop so many years ago.
“Once he wanted to buy a fish for supper—” She stopped. “It’s an old story, you won’t want to hear it.”
Jack said, “I’m always up for a good fish story.”
“Yes,” Anna said. “If you don’t tell us I’ll be wondering for days.”
Mrs. Stone started again. “We were at the Fulton Street market because Henry wanted fish for his supper. There was a big trout he liked the look of, but the fishmonger wanted a dollar for it, and Henry thought it was too much. You see, the fishmonger was rude because of us being German; that used to be even worse than it is these days. So they got to arguing and they both dug in, like bulls. ‘A dollar,’ says the fishmonger. ‘One American dollar.’ Now back then when Henry lost his temper his English got lost too. So he’s yelling in his big deep voice, ‘That is a shame! A shame!’” She pushed out her chest and thumped it manfully.
“And everybody was looking at us and the fishmonger, but Henry was too mad to notice. He bellows, ‘Behold your fish! I can become a fish myself for two bits, just around the corner!’”
Anna laughed, a great bark of laughter that would have embarrassed her in other company. Jack’s expression was vaguely confused, a man who dearly wanted in on the joke and would have been glad of the reason to laugh. For some reason Anna couldn’t explain, that made her laugh all the harder.
? ? ?
THAT EVENING AS they got ready for bed, Jack expected Anna would talk, finally, about her brother. Some small thing that would be a start, the first crack in the dam that held back all the sorrow that ate away at her still, so many years later.
It was the last night they would sleep under her aunt’s roof. Tomorrow night they would go to bed in their own place. He liked the idea of a fresh start, getting the worst and saddest memories out in the light of day.
But she went about getting ready for bed, talking about the surgery she would perform in the morning, the hiring of a housekeeper and cook, where she would find the time for Italian lessons, wanting to know if Jack would be in court this week, if he was scheduled for night duty. She didn’t mention Mrs. Stone or Archer Campbell, and Jack had the idea that she needed to talk to her aunt before they took up the subject.
He loved watching her when she didn’t realize she was being studied. There was economy in every movement and she managed still to be graceful, in the way she bent from the waist to sweep her long hair to one side, her fingers moving rapidly as she began to plait, working each twist with precision until a long rope fell down her back, and orderly as a rosary but for the stray hair that escaped to curl on her neck, another at her brow.
“Jack?”
He started, coming back to himself with a jerk.
“Sorry,” he said. “My mind wandered.”
One side of her mouth quirked so that a single dimple popped to the surface. She knelt on the edge of the bed and bowed down to kiss his cheek, his temple, the corner of his mouth.
“Let me guess where it wandered to,” she said, and hiccupped with laughter when he grabbed her wrists and flipped her onto her back.
“Wait,” she said. “Wait, there’s something I need to ask.”
He kissed her soundly until he felt her begin to forget what she had been wanting to say, and then he drew away and settled beside her.
She hated to surrender control, or had always hated it. He liked to think that she was coming to see that occasional surrender had its rewards. He watched her make a concerted effort to return her breathing to something more normal.
“Forgot already?”
She elbowed him, hard. Then she sat up again, cross-legged, and faced him.
“Bambina. She is so bad tempered at times, really terrible.”
“So I hear.”
“From the girls?”
He nodded. “They are very concerned. They like Baldy-Ned—”