“You can brew the coffee closer to ten. I showed you how, right?”
Ruth nodded, both humbled and annoyed. She had made instant coffee for her father since she was strong enough to pour a kettle over the Sanka. He always drank it black. She chuckled inside at the notion of her father using tiny silver tongs to dispense saccharin tablets, and it brightened her thoughts. A little.
“You can use the dishes and linens in the butler’s pantry,” her mother-in-law said.
“I thought we could sit in the kitchen, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. There are small round tablecloths folded on the second shelf.”
“The girls wouldn’t mind plain and simple.” Or bakery goods. “But this is better,” Ruth said, trying to cut Shirley some slack as she gently lifted a piece of kamish bread. She’d grown up calling it mandel brot, next to her Italian friends, who called it biscotti, but when in Wynnefield, do as the Appelbaums do, and say.
“Of course they wouldn’t have minded, but that’s not the point. The point is to always do your best. This is about you. Didn’t you tell me one of the girls made you a picnic lunch? Irene, wasn’t it? Isn’t she the one with a lot of children?”
Ruth gulped. “Yes, she did. It was lovely. And delicious.” Irene had four children and a husband, and she did the books.
Ruth thought that when Shirley looked at her, she probably saw a slacker. Maybe she was right. Ruth should have realized the need to exert a similar effort. Her effort was focused on passing the bar. Shirley wouldn’t think Ruth was a slacker when she knew Ruth was studying for four hundred hours.
But in the world of Wynnefield housewives, Shirley had saved the day again.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Shirley said. “Carrie phoned her regrets this morning. Said you’d know why she couldn’t come.”
Ruth cringed. She hoped Carrie was okay. Was this the beginning of the end of her new friendships? Was she destined to be alone in this new life? To earn scorn not only from Lillian, but from Shirley too? Perhaps even from Asher—since he warned her not to pursue things that might be rumors?
“Something wrong?”
Ruth snapped the piece of kamish bread in half. “No, no. I was just thinking how delicious your kamish bread is. I’d . . . I’d love it if you’d show me how to make it.” Kamish bread was a perfect distraction from everything else going on.
Shirley stepped back and eyed her daughter-in-law with a smile. Her mother-in-law seemed to like that request.
At least one itty bitty thing was going right today.
A short time later, Ruth, Irene, and Harriet gathered around the kitchen table with coffee and cigarettes, sipping their fresh-brewed Maxwell House. Harriet had oohed and aahed over the table linens and saccharin case. She flicked her ashes into the green ashtray that matched the appliances.
Ruth had never taken up smoking, no matter how glamorous it looked, no matter that it seemed chic once she was in college and the girls didn’t smoke in secret. She didn’t like the smell, let alone the taste.
Dotsie had said that a cigarette added sophistication. Harriet likely concurred. Though Ruth disagreed, she liked having these women share their habit around her. She even welcomed the choking smoke and stinky smell right now. It reminded her of Dotsie, of true friendship. It gave her comfort, a hope that she might have more of it. Stinky smoke would be a small price to pay for being part of this group. There was a tug-of-war between Ruth’s desire for a career and her desire to be one of the girls. Who knew she would face such a problem?
Harriet glanced at her watch and stubbed out her Lucky Strike, a masculine cigarette for such a girlie girl. “Carrie’s really late—should we give her a call?”
Ruth felt a little sheepish. “She sent her regrets. She can’t make it.”
Harriet usually took things at face value. Did she have to choose today to wrinkle her brow in a question? She stared at Ruth, expected her to speak.
“She was busy,” Ruth said.
“Since yesterday? She loved the idea on the walk home. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
Ruth looked at their faces as they waited for more. What if she made things worse for Carrie or her own family? She was trying to solve a problem, not create one.
These women might not have known each other for long, but they had become friends. Peers to Carrie. Maybe Ruth was underestimating them. What did she know about their instincts? Their intuition?
She wanted to trust these girls, even Harriet. They were caring people, weren’t they? They might see Ruth’s side. Maybe even pipe up with other facts or observations, other things they’d noticed about Carrie. Facts that could support Ruth’s argument that Carrie was in real danger. They might be able to help Ruth get Carrie some assistance before anything drastic happened.
Before Carrie ended up like the women Ruth had seen at Legal Aid. Running for their lives.
Yes. These girls right here were Ruth’s friends—Carrie’s friends—and could be allies. Ruth tested the water. “Things weren’t going so well at home, I think.”
“You’re worrying me,” Irene said, her cigarette bobbing with each word.
So they did suspect. Irene was a mother. Of course she would be the first to notice something wrong. Ruth waved them closer.
Irene leaned her elbow on the table, nearer to Ruth, ready for what was next.
Harriet raised an eyebrow as if saying, “Out with it!”
Ruth planned her words carefully. Opened her mouth.
Shirley walked into the room carrying Heidi. “Someone needs the bathroom!”
All three women popped their heads up. Stared.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Appelbaum,” Irene said, reaching under the table for her bag of baby supplies.
“I’ll take her,” Shirley said, putting her hand out to take the bag. “If that’s okay.”
The baby nodded and the girls laughed.
“Oh my God, Ruth, your mother-in-law is a dream,” Irene said.
Shirley turned and headed upstairs, mumbling to Heidi on her hip.
When the sound of footsteps receded, Ruth inhaled. There was no way to ease into this discussion. “Carrie had bruises on her arm yesterday. And at Saks, I saw one on her neck.”
Harriet shrugged. “So?”
“Well, she’s not clumsy,” Ruth said, knowing she would have to divulge more. Would have to dive into muddy waters. Calling her dad or Dotsie wouldn’t help. They weren’t in Wynnefield. She needed help here, now. In the span of one deep breath Ruth would betray Carrie again, but this would be critical to helping her. Helping Carrie’s baby. “Eli roughs her up.”
“What are you trying to say?” Irene scrunched up her nose.
Ruth huffed. It shouldn’t be so difficult to understand, but then again, wasn’t it a challenge for Ruth to comprehend too? Didn’t she discount it at first? “I mean her husband hurts her. I assume he squeezes hard enough to make a mark.”
“He does not,” Harriet said.
“And if he does, it’s none of our business,” Irene said. “Maybe you didn’t see what you think you saw.”
Ruth couldn’t tell by Irene’s tone if she was accusing her of lying or if she thought Ruth didn’t have enough proof yet.