Lillian swallowed a sob and squeezed back, and Carrie stepped out of the car into the circled embrace of her friends. Lillian had done something good with those etiquette lessons—maybe without realizing it. She’d connected these girls to each other, to her, and to Shirley. They were the right people at the right time, and her lessons, meant for propriety and social grace, had taught them compassion and chutzpah.
In many ways, she had Ruth to thank for that too. Ruth’s brazen questioning had turned them all into more courageous women.
There were tears on every face as she watched Carrie leave with her bags. Tears of sadness, and tears of hope for a better life for their friend.
When they got back into the car, it surprised Lillian that it was Harriet who slid into the passenger seat. Of all the girls, perhaps she should be most proud of the change in Harriet. Not because of who she was or how she’d acted, but because of how much she’d had to change and how, when the time came, she stood up for what was right.
Lillian listened to the girls’ banter about keeping their relationship going with Carrie. Grand plans for letter writing, visiting the baby, beach antics. This reminded Lillian of how young the girls were—there was nary a mention of Carrie’s loss. No one talked of what it would be like for Carrie to be a young widow, to raise her child alone. To try to support her family on one income while paying for childcare.
Losing Eli meant different challenges for Carrie than living with him, but her life would be challenging all the same. Reminders of living in Wynnefield would likely be unwelcome. It would be enough that she’d be reminded of Eli whenever she looked at her little boy or girl. Reminded of how he died. Of how he hurt her. Of how he might have hurt their child.
Carrie would need to move on. To heal. It wouldn’t be easy. Reminders of this place could hold her back.
In truth, it was unlikely these girls would ever see Carrie again. But that was not Lillian’s lesson to teach. She would let time handle that one.
When Lillian pulled up in front of the Appelbaums’ with the girls, Shirley was waiting on the patio. It was almost dinnertime, so Lillian needed to get home. Some things didn’t change and, to be honest, she didn’t want them to.
Sharing mealtime with Peter and their daughters was the way Lillian wanted to end her day from now on. She’d continue to work with Peter on the social dynamics and division of labor in their home. Speaking up? Well, that would take practice, and she was sure listening would take practice as well.
That was okay. They were her family.
When the Diamond Girls scooted out of Lillian’s car, Shirley gathered them into a huddle and waved Lillian over.
Carrie had been right. Lillian knew who her friends were. She felt pride swell when she acknowledged her part in creating the friendships.
“I know you all have to get home,” Shirley said. “I just wanted to thank you for making Carrie and the baby safe.”
“Not exactly what the Esther Society had in mind,” Ruth said, which was just what Lillian had been thinking. Even though she was sorry for Carrie’s pain, Lillian was glad she knew where Carrie would be living and could picture her at the beach, on Steel Pier, pushing a baby carriage on the boardwalk.
“I think the point is her safety,” Irene said.
“Just because this hasn’t happened before doesn’t mean we should’ve done anything different,” Lillian said. She still had to put everyone at ease. It was an ingrained part of her.
“Who said this has never happened before?” Shirley asked.
Lillian gaped at Shirley. When she looked at the others, she realized they were doing the same.
“Irene is right. The important thing is that our friend is out of danger,” Harriet said.
Harriet. Lillian wouldn’t have expected that response from her. Yes, she’d really grown. “You won’t tell anyone what happened?” Lillian asked.
Harriet shook her head and adopted an innocent expression. “Tell anyone what?”
Once in the car, Lillian rolled down her car window. Shirley and Ruth were still outside, heading into the Appelbaums’ house. “Shirley,” Lillian called.
The women didn’t seem to hear her. Lillian could hear them, though.
“Mom,” Ruth said to Shirley, “do you think we could have apple pie for dessert?”
Lillian couldn’t see Shirley’s face, but she was pretty sure there was a big smile on it.
Chapter 32
RUTH
Ruth walked in the door ahead of Shirley. For maybe the first time, the younger Mrs. Appelbaum felt hugged by her house, her home. She finally believed Shirley found her worthy of everything that the house and the family—her family—had to offer.
“I’ll help you make dinner.” Ruth turned to Shirley. Ruth would stay up in the night to study. But for now she needed to be the good daughter-in-law Shirley expected.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Shirley said.
Ruth turned and stared at Shirley.
“Don’t give me this look,” Shirley said. “I want you to go upstairs and study.”
Ruth kissed Shirley on the cheek and popped up the first two stairs and ran the rest, then turned around on the landing, waving at Shirley when she remembered her mother-in-law didn’t like Ruth running around the house.
“Go!” Shirley waved back at Ruth, giving her permission to run.
Ruth would use this gift of time; she’d cuddle up on the window seat with one of her books.
Then she pushed open the attic door, and there sat Asher on the floor.
Asher looked up. “Oh, drat.”
“Not quite the greeting I would have expected,” Ruth said.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Asher said. He shifted his gaze to the corner of the room, and Ruth’s followed; there stood a wooden desk with curved legs and carved swirly details.
It was perfect.
She glanced at her husband. Of course it was. Just like Ruth and Asher.
She walked to the desk and slid her fingers across the top as if checking for dust, which she most certainly was not.
“How did you do this?”
“My mother wanted it delivered when your friends were here. But she called me a few hours ago to tell me you wouldn’t be home. So Dad brought me here early to accept the delivery.”
She pulled open the center drawer and saw a stack of legal pads and at least a dozen sharpened yellow pencils. She closed the drawer.
Ruth’s throat clogged with prickles just like those pencil points.
This man knew her and deserved her trust.
Ruth walked to the edge of their bed and sat atop a quilt Shirley had placed there. Ruth patted the space next to her.
Asher seemed to glide over to her. He sat.
“I want to tell you what’s been going on,” Ruth said.
Asher kissed the top of her head, pulled back, and looked into her eyes.
His face was all Ruth could see.
“Now and always,” Asher said. “I’m listening.”
EPILOGUE
RUTH
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
Orphans’ Court
April 2005
“All rise. This court is now in session. Judge Ruth Cohen-Appelbaum presiding.”
The sound of the bailiff’s voice was Ruth’s cue to enter her courtroom. After twenty-two years on the bench, the words still humbled her—but never so much as today, when her granddaughter’s civics class composed most of the gallery. Ruth glanced at the tips of her black shoes, raised the sides of her robe to keep from tripping on the stairs, and stepped up to the bench.