Shirley tapped her pencil on her chin. Ruth noticed she did this when she needed to think.
“We need to add a few more things to the plan. First, we must collect baby supplies.” She pointed. “Add those to your lists.”
“No need. I’ve got it covered,” Irene said. “I saved everything.”
“And we’ll have to tell the host families so they’re aware of Carrie’s situation. Don’t forget maternity clothes, as well as larger hose, shoes, and foundations.”
“So if we get everything together and find these families—and Carrie can persevere for a few more days—you believe she’ll be safe?” Ruth asked.
“I do.”
“Have you ever hidden any of these girls in Wynnefield?” Irene asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I have,” Shirley said.
“Where did they stay?” Lillian asked.
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
An hour later, after all the details, instructions, and information, Ruth and Shirley walked Carrie home. The fact that the women walked in relative silence struck Ruth as very different from their usual cheerful chatter on the street. Yet she understood the risks of anyone overhearing their plans. If the women said anything at all, it was only to comment on the weather, shopping, the upcoming holidays—anything that passersby wouldn’t notice as unusual.
Ruth hoped Carrie would have the courage to go through with it, and that nothing would go wrong. But she didn’t dare ask now that they were outdoors. There could be no slips in secrecy. Carrie’s life depended on it.
When the three women reached the front door of the Blums’ twin home, Ruth mused about how anyone who viewed it from the street might be deceived by its welcoming and tidy exterior.
“Promise you’ll come over to our house tomorrow at ten,” Ruth said, as Carrie pushed inside. “If you don’t show up, I’ll come over to check on you.”
“I’ll be there,” Carrie said.
“And till then?” Shirley asked.
“I’ll do everything you said,” Carrie whispered.
“Good girl,” Shirley said. “Bye, Carrie. See you soon,” she added, extra loud, in case anyone was listening.
Ruth patted Carrie’s arm before her friend closed the door and the dead lock clicked, a foreign sound in a neighborhood of open doors.
Ruth’s throat seized. Eli might be inside. That same man who thought nothing of beating women. Her throat loosened with the embarrassing realization that she and Shirley were safe. That Eli was not a threat to them. She scurried down the walkway and didn’t speak until she knew they were out of earshot of anyone in the house. “How can we leave her here?”
“I know it’s hard, but we don’t have a choice. We’re not ready. If Carrie just walked out, Eli would follow her. We have to act as if everything’s normal—for her sake.”
Ruth and Shirley retraced their steps toward the Appelbaums’ house. The rustling leaves and temperate breeze made for good walking weather. Ruth wished they had farther to go. There was so much she wanted to ask her mother-in-law.
“We can start on dinner. We need to work on the brisket.” Shirley pushed open the front door and walked in.
Ruth followed her. She wanted to talk more, not be mired in cooking.
“Perhaps you’d like to help me.” Shirley glanced at Ruth.
A rush of warmth flooded through Ruth. She knew Shirley never let anyone help her with her famous brisket.
Emboldened, she continued. “I think I know where some of . . . some of the girls stayed.”
“I figured you would.”
“In our attic?”
“Yes.”
“Cousin Louise?” Ruth asked. “She was your friend’s niece?”
Her mother-in-law looked at her, brow furrowed, then relaxed. “You know I can’t say.”
“Well then—how many girls have you hidden?”
“Between all of us? Quite a few.”
“Quite a few, ten, or quite a few, fifty?”
Shirley reached into the refrigerator for the beef, then straightened up and looked at her. “Ruth Appelbaum, is this a cross-examination?”
Ruth felt a small adrenaline rush at the legal jargon. Rosh Hashanah would be here soon enough, and Ruth would have some explaining to do.
She had assumed her in-laws would react a certain way, but today she had learned there was more to them than she’d suspected. They had been burned by the legal system when it came to protecting battered women. Shirley had taken matters into her own hands. “I’m interested. I wonder how big the problem is, that’s all.”
“Personally—a dozen women over the years. When the children were older it would have been too hard to explain, so I helped the group in other ways: organizing transportation, donating money, that kind of thing. But since the girls got married and Asher was in New York, there’ve been a half dozen or so.”
Ruth thought about Asher and his promise to tell his parents about Ruth’s dream. How he’d put off telling them, and Ruth had questioned his sincerity when it came to supporting her career with regard to his parents. Did he never suspect they were involved with helping abused women too?
“Leon knows about this society?” Ruth asked.
“Yes. Can you hand me the meat knife?”
Ruth pulled the knife from its drawer and handed it to her mother-in-law, who began trimming the meat.
“Does he know everything? All of it? And he supports it?”
“It was his idea to renovate the attic.”
Her father-in-law was a mensch, no doubt about it. Hopefully, his son was too.
Ruth suddenly pictured the lovely unclaimed tchotchkes on her dresser. They must have been left behind by girls the Appelbaums had helped. She paused as an unwelcome thought occurred to her. “Are there girls with nowhere to go now—with me and Asher staying in the attic?”
“No, I found an alternate nearby, don’t worry. We haven’t needed it yet. Not all the girls come through Philadelphia.”
“Your daughters? Alice and Abigail don’t know? They’re not curious?”
“They’re busy with their own lives, and the women don’t stay long. A week, maybe two, and then they move on. It will be different for Carrie because she’s expecting, but we’ll find the right place, or someone will.”
“Do you worry Eli will search for the baby?”
“I do, but one thing at a time. There’s always a way. We just haven’t figured it out yet.”
If anyone could solve this problem, Shirley would. She wasn’t just a polite housewife and prickly mother-in-law. She was a doer. A trailblazer, even. Was she someone who would understand Ruth’s goals and dreams?
Maybe. Maybe not. But Ruth wished Asher knew this side of his mother. She couldn’t help but think he would respect it.
Guilt seized Ruth. She lived in Shirley’s house, loved her son, strove to please her. Ruth had made assumptions about this woman and had kept things from her, things that affected Shirley’s son, her eventual grandchildren.
“You can bring me the meat rub from the pantry. It’s the one in the green jar.”
“Could you stop for a minute? Please,” Ruth said.