“So that’s it, then?” he says to Matt. “Sixty years of tradition? Sixty years of my family baking for this town, and you decide it is all over, just like that?”
“It’s not personal,” Matt says. He glances at me. “I tried to help, actually. Hope will tell you. But the investors I had interested backed out after Hope went to Paris. I’m sorry, but I guess the legacy has to end.”
I look down at the ground and close my eyes.
“Young man,” Alain says after a moment. “The legacy is not in this bakery itself but in the family tradition it represents. There is no price tag on that. Seventy years ago, men who did not understand family or conscience, and who only understood orders and wealth, took our first bakery away. And because of my sister, and her daughter, and her granddaughter, the tradition survived.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with a loan,” Matt says.
Alain reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You and your bank are making a mistake, young man,” he says. “But Hope will be fine. She is a survivor. Just like her grandmother. That is our tradition. And it too will survive.”
My heart feels like it’s going to overflow. Alain takes me gently by the hand and turns me toward the kitchen. “Come, Hope,” he says. “Let us bake a Star Pie to take to Rose. I am sure the young man can find his own way out.”
That afternoon, armed with Jacob Levy’s date of birth, I begin calling the interfaith organizations I’d found using Google. I’d been holding off, because I realize what a long shot this is, and I’ve reached my limit of disappointment. I’m feeling as if all I hear anymore are no’s.
Can I save my bakery? No. Do we know that Mamie will ever wake up? No. Is it likely that there’s still time to turn my messy life around? No.
I start with the Interfaith Alliance, then I go down my list to the Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions, the National American Interfaith Network, the United Religions Initiative, and the World Congress of Faith. To each person who answers, I briefly explain the story of how Jacob took Mamie to a Christian, who helped shelter her with Muslims. Then I give them Jacob’s name and date of birth and say that I know it’s a long shot, but I’m trying to find him and believe there’s a chance he may be involved with an interfaith organization here in the States. They all ooh and aah over the story, tell me they’ll pass my information to the right people and will get back to me if they find anything.
On Sunday morning at about eight o’clock, Annie and I are alone in the bakery, rolling out dough in silence, when the phone rings. Annie wipes her hands on her apron and reaches for the receiver. “North Star Bakery, Annie speaking,” she says. She listens for a minute and hands the phone to me with a funny expression on her face. “It’s for you, Mom.”
I dust my hands off and take the phone from her. “Hello, North Star Bakery,” I say.
“Is this Hope McKenna-Smith?” It’s a woman’s voice, and she has a hint of an accent.
“Yes,” I say. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Elida White,” she says. “I’m calling you from the Abrahamic Association of Boston. We are an interfaith council.”
“Oh,” I say. They aren’t one of the groups I called over the last few days. The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Abrahamic?” I ask.
“The Muslim, Jewish, and Christian religions all descend from Abraham,” she explains. “We focus on bringing together these groups and working from our similarities instead of our differences.”
“Oh,” I say again. “Right. What can I do for you?”
“Let me explain,” she says. “Our organization received a call this week from the Interfaith Council of America, and it was referred to me. I was told about your grandmother and how she was assisted in escaping from Paris by a Muslim family.”
“Yes,” I say softly.
“I have looked through all our records, and there is no Jacob Levy among our members with a birth date matching the one you provided,” she says.
“Oh,” I say. My heart sinks. Another dead end. “Thanks for looking. But you didn’t have to call.”
“I know I did not have to,” she says. “But I have someone here who would like to meet you. And in turn, we would like to help you. It is our obligation. Can you come to visit today? I understand that your grandmother is in ill health and time is of the essence. I realize the notice is short, but I see that you are on the Cape, so the journey won’t be more than an hour or two. I live in Pembroke.”