So much for etiquette. They were planning to break all those rules now. The disassembled buffet marked the urgency of the situation. Normally Lillian would have balked at the mess in Shirley’s kitchen, but fastidiousness had no place here.
“You should eat something,” Shirley said to the group. “You’ll need energy if we’re going to get this done.”
The girls picked at the food on their plates as if searching gingerly for their appetites in the macaroni—ashamed to be wasteful, yet too anxious to eat. “Make sure you eat at home, at least,” Shirley told them. “You need to act normally to allay suspicion.”
Shirley told them she would be sure to stop at the butcher’s for lamb chops later. That was normal. It made Lillian chuckle at her friend. She knew how Shirley’s mind worked. No matter life’s upheavals, Shirley’s brain would still plan menus. She admired her determination.
“Our ‘special project’ will change your lessons, Lillian. Are you okay with that?” Shirley asked.
Ha. Given all that had transpired here, the lessons were no longer a priority to Lillian. “I am, if you are,” Lillian said to the girls.
They nodded.
“I don’t want anyone to miss out because of me,” Carrie said. “The girls have been looking forward to the etiquette lessons, and I’m sure Lillian has worked hard to prepare.”
“That’s the last thing you need to worry about. Nothing is as hard as what you’ve been through,” Lillian said.
“Lillian’s right. You’re more important than etiquette lessons,” Ruth said. “Besides, it’s only you, me, and Irene now, and we’re with you.”
Irene nodded. “Absolutely.”
“But—” Carrie said.
“Your safety is more important than anything else,” Irene said.
Over the next half hour, Shirley had Lillian, Ruth, and Irene scribble notes to be sure everyone was clear on the details. Carrie would have to leave Philadelphia and go somewhere Eli couldn’t find her. No one questioned the verbalized plan, but the occasional raised eyebrow revealed a skepticism that it might succeed.
“Trust among us is the key ingredient,” Shirley reiterated as she detailed all the supplies Carrie would need, including luggage. Shirts, skirts, dresses, shoes, hosiery, undergarments, hair care and skin care supplies, cosmetics. She wasn’t to look like a fugitive, but a regular traveler, Shirley explained.
Lillian would never doubt Shirley again. Shirley obviously knew what she was talking about. Lillian’s lessons had been all about blending in, but she hadn’t expected they could be about saving a life. The less attention Carrie attracted—the more she fit into her new surroundings—the better. Blending in was critical to her safety.
They would need accommodation for Carrie. Shirley suggested calling friends and family outside the Philly area, preferably with children, an extra bedroom, and the willingness to feed one more person.
Lillian had no family other than Peter’s, and she would never call them. So she probably couldn’t help there. But she could certainly provide the suitcase and clothing Carrie would need.
Shirley dug in her pocketbook and removed a tattered sheet of paper. “This is the plan we used for helping other women in similar situations in the past. Copy this down and read it if you can’t memorize it. It will help us get Carrie started, and it’s the action plan that will get her to safety.”
The specifics of the action plan were not to be spoken of outside this house, for Carrie’s sake.
Lillian recognized the importance of that. Her own mother had been whisked away before she could escape or defend herself. How different Anna’s life might have been if she had found help before things got really bad. If she could have escaped before Lillian’s grandparents silenced her by putting her in an institution for the rest of her life.
“You’re amazing,” Lillian said. “I had no idea.”
“It’s the right thing to do.” Shirley shrugged off the compliment. “We’ll do this on the eve of Rosh Hashanah. People will be too preoccupied with the holiday to pay any attention.”
At first it struck Lillian as odd that they would choose the holy days to make their move, but, as she thought about it, she realized there was no sacrilege here. The God they believed in would want Carrie to get away. To be free from harm.
“Someone will drive Carrie to the Greyhound station in either Easton or Scranton. Only the driver and I will know who took her and where. Carrie will leave Philadelphia and board a bus to her first destination when Eli is at services.”
Irene spoke up. “I don’t get it.”
“You know that during the evening minyan, the men gather for prayers. Eli will attend, won’t he?” She directed this at Carrie.
“He usually does.” Carrie looked even more anxious, if that were possible.
“The fact that we women aren’t counted in a minyan will work to our advantage. Eli will be expecting Carrie to be in the kitchen preparing the holiday meal.”
Except Carrie wouldn’t be there.
Carrie’s clothes and belongings would remain at their house, suggesting she was somewhere nearby, when in reality, she would have collected the provisions for her new life from Shirley’s house, where they would be stored until then. By the time Eli realized she was gone, she truly would be.
In time, they would have to hope that Eli would grant Carrie a get—a Jewish decree divorce—arranged through a liberal rabbi in Omaha. The choice of town was meant to throw Eli off the trail. Wherever Carrie landed, it would not be Omaha. Lillian reasoned that return addresses could be dangerous too and marveled at how well conceived Shirley’s plan was.
“That pretty much covers it,” Shirley said, and the rest of them set down their pencils.
Without a word, Lillian pushed away from the table and stood. She was ready to make up for not being able to help her mother.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, and scurried out the back door.
It took her less than ten minutes to rush home, get what she needed, and return to Shirley’s house. When she burst through the back door the other women looked at her, bewilderment plain in their faces.
“What are you staring at?” Lillian tapped her head and then tugged on her hem. “Is my slip showing?”
Shirley nodded at the Maxwell House can Lillian held in one arm. “Did you think we were out of coffee?”
Lillian shook the coffee can, which made a rattling sound of metal on metal. “Seven hundred and twelve dollars and change.”
Shirley shook her head as if she must have misheard. “Did you say—？”
“Yes. Seven hundred and twelve dollars and seventy-five cents, to be precise. Whatever you have in mind, money will help, right?” Money always helped. She set the can on the table.
“Where did you get it?” Irene asked.
Shirley raised an eyebrow. “It seems our Lillian is thrifty—and generous.” She laid a hand atop the can. “Are you sure?”
Carrie, who’d been staring at the coffee can, shifted her gaze to Lillian. “I can’t let you do that,” she said.
Lillian touched her heart. “Look, it’s my money, and I can decide what to do with it.”