Chapter Thirty-Six

THIRTY-SIX

AUGUST 1925

The next time Esther was moved to make her not -love potion, it was for her first customer, Fanny Lowenstein. Mrs. Lowenstein’s twins had long since grown out of their picky eating phase. However, not everything in the Lowenstein household was running as smoothly as the boys’ digestive tracts.

Fanny’s husband, Sid, had been having an affair with a female sales assistant at the furniture store where he worked. Apparently, he and the woman in question had been unable to resist assessing the comfort of a new line of beds the store had stocked. They were caught one evening by the owner, who promptly fired them both. Soon the story was all over the neighborhood, and Sid had no choice but to confess.

As is so often the case when such secrets come to light, Sid’s pattern of missed dinners, late evenings, and mood swings suddenly made sense to his wife. Still, Fanny was inclined to forgive, especially after Sid swore on his life that he would never do something so foolish again.

The second time Sid Lowenstein transgressed, it was at a different furniture store with a different assistant—this time on desks instead of beds. Despite the change in venue and surface, the culprits were once again discovered, and Sid was forced to confess a second time.

The humiliation and the stress had caused Fanny’s skin to blister so badly that it looked as if she’d been burned. After a slew of doctors offered no relief, Mrs. Lowenstein found herself once again in Esther’s cozy, hopeful kitchen, where her tale of woe poured forth in a torrent. After two weeks of Esther’s remedies, the blisters vanished, and the flaking disappeared. Still, Mrs. Lowenstein’s worries were far from over.

“Sid was staying with his cousin, but now he’s asked me to reconcile,” she told Esther. “This time he seems sincere.”

“Oh?” said Esther. “Augusta, will you leave us, please? I need to speak privately with Mrs. Lowenstein.” Augusta nodded and left the kitchen, but she could easily hear them from the living room.

“What do you think?” Mrs. Lowenstein asked.

“My opinion doesn’t matter,” said Esther. “What matters is what you think.”

“He wants us to move to Massachusetts,” said Mrs. Lowenstein. “He says everything will be different once we’re out of New York. But, Esther, I don’t know what to do. After all he’s put me through, I don’t know whether I trust him. And even more important,” she whispered, “I don’t know whether I still love him.”

Augusta could almost hear her aunt thinking. Although Bess’s situation had been different, the doubt Mrs. Lowenstein described sounded remarkably similar to Bess’s dilemma when she was deciding whether to marry George. Augusta wondered how far her aunt would go to help Mrs. Lowenstein find peace. For the next few minutes, she held her breath waiting, but the women must have lowered their voices because no matter how much Augusta strained her ears, she could not hear the end of their conversation.

That night, Augusta was wide awake when Esther slipped silently out of bed. After following her aunt to the kitchen, Augusta watched as Esther collected ingredients from her apothecary case. From the tiny tins and stoppered bottles, Esther gathered what she needed: fenugreek seeds, mandrake root, sage leaves, dried rose hips, and chamomile. Before grinding them all together, Esther pulled a small glass bottle from a hidden drawer in the back of the case. From the bottle, she shook one final object, which she placed on the open palm of her hand: an emerald clover, no bigger than a thumbnail, a plant Augusta did not recognize.

“What is that?” Augusta whispered.

“They call it raskovnik, ” said Esther. “It’s more common in my country than here. They say the leaves can unlock emotions. This is the most important ingredient. It helps to open a closed mind.”

Augusta watched while Esther worked, swaying and humming as she ground her ingredients. The room smelled of maple and apples and roses—a scent that was green and impossibly fresh. The kitchen windows were lined with frost; the winter sky was an impenetrable black. But somehow, inside Esther’s kitchen, the air felt as bright and hopeful as spring.

Esther’s voice was lively and clear, and as Augusta listened, she felt her spirit lighten. This time, she felt the words within her, like the beat of her heart as it moved in her chest.

To ease the pain of those who suffer

To repair the bodies of those who are ill

To restore the minds of those in need

A week later, when Augusta came home from school, Mrs. Lowenstein was in the kitchen with Esther.

“I did what you told me,” Fanny said. “I put the powder in a cup of wine and drank it before Sid came to see me. He showed me the papers for the house in Massachusetts and he described exactly how it would be. He made it sound so perfect, Esther; he said what a happy family we would be.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Normally, when Sid talks like that, I get so terribly confused. But this time, I wasn’t confused at all. It was like a sort of stillness came over me and I knew exactly what I wanted. I knew I didn’t love Sid anymore. That I could never love that man again. And so… and so I told him no. The boys and I are going to move in with my sister in Queens.”

That evening, when Augusta questioned Esther about the powder she’d given Mrs. Lowenstein, her aunt confirmed it was the same concoction she’d made for Bess the year before. “It is the most powerful of my recipes,” said Esther. “Perhaps the most dangerous as well. In my life, I have prepared it only five times. Once for the rabbi of my village, once for my dearest childhood friend, once for your sister, and now for Mrs. Lowenstein.”

Augusta could hear the exhaustion in her voice. The two of them were in their beds, speaking softly in the dark. “That’s only four,” Augusta said. “Who did you make it for the fifth time?”

Esther’s reply was full of sorrow. “For a man I loved, a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you another time. It’s late, and I’m very tired.”

Augusta thought the conversation was over, but as her eyelids were growing heavy, Esther’s voice pierced the darkness again. “Do you remember what I told you, Goldie, before we first visited Harriet Dornbush? When you asked why I couldn’t slip some of my herbs into her soup?”

Augusta buried her body deeper under the weight of her woolen blanket. “Never treat anyone without permission?”

“Exactly. That is correct. We must never be careless with our knowledge. We must be thoughtful. We must be patient. My impatience once cost me someone I loved. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”