Chapter Twenty

TWENTY

JUNE 1924

Jeremiah Ezekiel Dornbush was born healthy and well at the end of June, weighing in at a robust seven pounds. A few days after the baby’s birth, a package arrived at the Stern household containing two pairs of women’s shoes—a soft black leather pair for Aunt Esther with a one-inch heel and a two-eyelet tie, and a second tan calfskin pair in a similar style for Augusta. The shoes were nowhere near as extravagant or eye-catching as those Mrs. Dornbush used to wear, but they were relatively stylish and sturdy. Esther, though appreciative of the gift, insisted that no good could come of putting fashionable shoes on old-fashioned feet. But Augusta wore hers happily, despite her father’s disapproval.

Augusta had been planning to spend the bulk of her summer helping her father in his prescription room. It soon became clear, however, that he no longer trusted her to keep the secret concerns of his customers. She was still expected to work the cash register, ring up purchases, and rearrange shelves, but the back room, with its vials and its mysteries, was no longer part of her domain.

One morning, when Augusta was restocking shampoo, Bess asked her to take over at the cosmetics counter. “I need to use the ladies’ room,” Bess whispered, keeping her voice low so the customers couldn’t hear. Beads of sweat dampened her forehead.

Ever since her high school graduation that spring, Augusta’s sister had not been herself. She’d had almost no appetite at dinner, and she was constantly alluding to stomach pains and headaches. Her complexion, normally so rosy and bright, had turned a pasty, ashen gray. Whenever Augusta asked what was wrong, Bess’s answers were unsatisfyingly vague.

After Bess left, George waved Augusta over. It was still early for the lunchtime rush and the stools at the soda counter were empty.

“Bess will be back soon, so I only have a minute.” George spoke in a nervous whisper. “There’s no time to beat around the bush. The fact is, I want to propose to your sister, and I was hoping you could help me pick out the ring.”

George’s words were thrilling, but they did not surprise her. All of Bess’s friends were getting engaged—almost every week brought another announcement.

“Of course,” she whispered. “Let me know when and I’ll meet you wherever you like.”

A wave of relief washed over George’s features. “Thanks, Augusta. I can’t tell you how much better that makes me feel. To tell you the truth, I’ve been a wreck all week.”

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Augusta assured him. “You and Bess are perfect for each other.” Before she had the chance to say more, a group of customers took seats at the counter and began vying for George’s attention. “I’ll let you get back to work,” said Augusta. “Besides, if my father sees me slacking off, he’ll be even less happy with me than usual.”

Back at the cosmetics counter, Augusta rearranged the display of perfumes. She took short sniffs from the ornate glass bottles and moved her favorites up to the front. When Bess still did not return, Augusta decided to explore the other items. She had never been interested in makeup before, but now, the shiny golden compacts and bright silver cases held a surprising allure.

If Bess was old enough to get engaged to George, surely she was old enough to start wearing lipstick. Augusta ran her eyes over the myriad of choices—pinks and plums, crimsons and corals—wondering what color might suit her best. In the end, she chose a medium shade of pink—not so bright as to be vulgar, but not pale enough to go unnoticed. She was studying the effect in the countertop mirror when she heard her sister’s voice.

“Hallelujah!” said Bess, smiling the kind of carefree smile that made her look like herself again. “I never thought this day would come!”

Augusta smiled back, embarrassed, not knowing quite how to respond.

“Can I offer some suggestions?” Bess asked. And when Augusta nodded in agreement, Bess let out a squeal and squeezed her shoulder. She pulled a few lipsticks from beneath the counter and picked a slightly different shade to apply over the first. “This will be better with your complexion—the color is deeper, and it won’t wash you out.”

Next, Bess chose a shiny gold compact and dusted Augusta’s baby-smooth cheeks with a touch of powdered rouge. Finally, she worked on Augusta’s eyes—pressing ivory shadow onto the eyelids, wetting the dark brown cake mascara and using the applicator to sweep the paste ever so lightly over her younger sister’s lashes. When she was done, Bess held up the silver hand mirror so that Augusta could view the results.

When Augusta looked into the mirror, she forced herself to suppress a gasp. Bess had always been the beautiful sister—the one that made schoolboys turn their heads and strangers smile in the streets. Bess had been the one young men fell in love with, and now she would be the one getting married. Augusta had never thought to be jealous—it was simply the way things had always been. But now her reflection made her wonder whether one day someone might fall in love with her, too.

“Augusta!” Her father’s voice broke through her reverie. “I need you back at the register. Now!”

She tore herself away from the mirror and hurried to the rear of the store. A line of customers had formed at the counter while her father had been making up some pills. Augusta sprang quickly into action. She wanted to keep the customers happy and keep her father happy, too. It had been weeks since he’d smiled at her. Weeks since he’d offered her any kind words. As the line receded and the customers exited, Solomon Stern emerged from the prescription room. “Are you wearing makeup ?” he asked.

“Yes,” Augusta admitted. “Do you like it?”

Her father stared and then lowered his head. Eventually, when he was able to speak, he swallowed to clear the lump in his throat. “You look like your mother,” he murmured.

The comment left Augusta shaken. Whenever the subject of her mother came up, she noticed how quickly her father retreated to a familiar place of despair. Although it had been almost three years, grief had not loosened its grip on him. She wished he’d said that her mother would be proud of her. She wished he’d told her that it warmed his heart to see the resemblance between two people he loved. But Solomon Stern said neither of those things, and Augusta was left feeling the loss of her mother even more deeply because of his silence.

The next several hours passed quickly, until Irving returned from his morning deliveries. He called out to Augusta from the stock room as she was making change for a customer. When she turned, she saw the soft pretzel he was waving in the air like a prize. “I passed the cart on the way back,” he said, “and I got this beauty for us to share.”

Augusta’s mouth began to water. Irving knew pretzels were her favorite—the spongy dough, the pebbles of salt. As he got closer, he ripped the pretzel in two and was about to hand her the bigger half when suddenly his expression changed, and he froze in place.

“Don’t tease me, Irving,” she said. “Hand over the pretzel, okay?”

When he didn’t respond, she spoke again. “Irving,” she said. “The pretzel? Please?”

The tips of his ears had turned bright red. “Here,” he said, holding out her portion. “What did you… what did you do to your face?”

Augusta had forgotten about the makeup. She patted at her lower lip, wondering whether the color had worn off. “Bess put some makeup on me. Why?”

He shoved a chunk of pretzel into his mouth. As he chewed, he mumbled something incoherent, a gobbled mess of meaningless words. “Ew ook iffent,” he said.

“What? Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Irving’s entire face was red now. Carefully he chewed and swallowed the pretzel. “You look different,” he said softly. “I mean, not that different, but still…”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let Bess put on so much. It looks terrible, doesn’t it?” She rubbed at her cheeks with one hand while holding the pretzel in the other.

“No! Goldie, Jesus, I’m such a putz. ” Irving shook his head back and forth like a dog shaking water from his fur. Then, slowly, he tried again. “You look pretty,” he said. “Not that you didn’t look pretty before! But… I can’t say anything right. You look nice, Goldie, that’s all.”

Her initial reaction was confusion. She broke her pretzel into bite-size pieces and ate them methodically, one by one. Rip, chew, swallow. Rip, chew, swallow, until the pretzel was gone.

“Are you all right?” Irving asked. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

She could not explain the strange sensation coursing its way through her limbs. The way Irving had stared at her then, the timbre of his voice when he said she looked pretty—nothing could have prepared Augusta for the effect these things had on her. If her father’s comment made her feel alone, Irving’s made her feel the opposite. His nearness was a palpable comfort, his admiration a balm that soothed her fractured, lonely heart.

She cleared her throat and tried to smile. “Of course I’m not mad at you,” she said.

A moment later, Solomon Stern emerged from his prescription room. When he saw the manner in which his youngest daughter was staring at his delivery boy and the way Irving was staring back, he raised his eyebrows in dismay. Augusta felt strangely exposed—as if he could sense what they both had been thinking. “Augusta,” her father said brusquely, “you’re done here for the day. Go home and help your aunt with dinner.”

But upstairs, there was only more confusion. It turned out that Aunt Esther wasn’t alone; the sound of raised female voices was coming from the back of the apartment.

Augusta followed the commotion and stood motionless outside the kitchen doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she heard Esther say. “What you ask for is not possible.”

“But you have to help me,” a young woman whined. From her spot in the hallway, Augusta couldn’t see who was speaking. Still, she thought she recognized the voice as belonging to the older sister of one of Bess’s classmates. At twenty, Talia Friedman was still unmarried, living with her family a few blocks away.

Next, she heard Mrs. Friedman’s voice, calmer and more cajoling. “Miss Minkin, please. We’re willing to pay. I’m certain that for the right price—”

From the hallway, Augusta felt the reverberation of Esther’s palm slapping the kitchen table. “Do not insult me,” she said. “I am not some greedy witch from the forest. I am an apothecary, Mrs. Friedman.”

“Apothecary, witch—what’s the difference? Harriet Dornbush was barren for seven years, but after meeting you, somehow she got pregnant. If that’s not witchcraft, I don’t know what is.”

“I’d like you to leave now,” Esther said coldly. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” sneered Mrs. Friedman. “You know, if you want to keep your reputation, you should really reconsider…”

“I don’t think so,” snapped Aunt Esther. “People in this neighborhood know exactly who and what I am. On the other hand, if they were to find out what your daughter has asked of me, her reputation might suffer greatly. I’m not sure if anyone would marry her then…”

“Mama!” shrieked Talia, her voice rising in fear. “It’s time for us to say goodbye. Now!”

Augusta ducked around the corner and watched as the pair headed for the door. Aunt Esther did not bother escorting them out but stayed in the kitchen until they were gone.

“You can come out of hiding now,” she said. “How much did you hear?”

Augusta knew there was no point in pretending. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “When I came in, you were saying that what they wanted wasn’t possible.” She paused, considering what to say next. “What were they asking for exactly?”

Aunt Esther didn’t answer right away. Slowly she shuffled to the stove and put the kettle on to boil. She filled two mugs with scoops of loose tea, waited for the water to be ready, and poured it into the cups. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the spot where she had placed one of the mugs. The air in the kitchen was warm and fragrant with lemon, currant, and ginger.

Augusta sat down and waited.

After a few moments of silence, Esther began to speak. “Talia is in love with a man,” she began. “Or at least she says she is—it sounds more like infatuation. In any event, the girl has embarrassed herself.”

“Did they… she isn’t pregnant, is she?”

“No, no,” said Aunt Esther. “Thank goodness, no. Luckily, the young man rebuffed her advances, but the mother is afraid that her daughter will try again and that he won’t be such a gentleman the second time. Mrs. Friedman wants them to be married.”

“Married? But it sounds like the man isn’t interested in Talia! Why would he want to marry her?”

“Ah,” said Aunt Esther, blowing on her tea. “That is where Mrs. Friedman thinks I can help.”

Augusta frowned. “I don’t understand. Talia isn’t sick, is she? What could you possibly do for her?”

“They want me to convince the young man.”

“Convince him how?” Augusta took a sip of tea and savored the ginger on her tongue.

“They asked me to make a love potion for him.”

The answer was so absurd that Augusta spit her tea out onto the table. “A—a love potion ?” she stammered, coughing into her sleeve.

“She wouldn’t be the first to ask.”

Augusta sat up straighter now, mopping the spilled tea with a dishrag. “Can you… do you… do you know how to do that? Is that something you can teach me?”

Esther frowned. “Stop talking nonsense. And finish your tea before it gets cold.” The conversation was officially over.

Once again, Aunt Esther had managed to avoid a particularly complicated question. Once again, she had provided a response that offered no real answer at all.