Bridge to America by Linda Glaser

Author:Linda Glaser [Glaser, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

CHAPTER 19

The next morning, Ma wrapped our blankets around our Sabbath candlesticks and wooden bowls and spoons. She put them into a sack. Then she carefully wrapped Pa's picture and slid it in. Even with these few things packed, our house was already looking empty and deserted.

Ma said we'd have to leave everything else—the table and chairs, the wood plates and cooking pots. Benyomin and I begged to take our wheel. But Ma said there was no room. Of course, Hannah took her few needles and thread. And Kvola insisted on taking a small copper cup that she and Ma used for grinding. She said she must have it. I knew what she meant. That's how I felt about my boots, which, of course, I was wearing.

Now all we could do was wait for Grandfather—Pa's pa to come bring Rifka in his wagon and take us all to Vilna. Ma said he lived more than a two days' walk from us. That's why we'd never visited him. She also said maybe it was for the best. It would've been too hard to see Rifka and not bring her home.

Now we stood outside, watching the road for Grandfather's horse and wagon. Ma said he and Grandmother had an apple orchard. So I knew they must be rich. That's why they could afford to take Rifka. I hopped from one foot to the other—impatient to see her.

Ma gave my hand a gentle squeeze. She took her eyes off the road a second and looked down at me. "Rifka will be surprised at how big you are." But I wondered if Rifka would even remember me.

Suddenly a horse-drawn wagon came into view over the far hill. "There's Rifka!" Ma's cheeks grew pink with excitement.

I could barely see her. But I saw Grandfather, sitting high on the seat, straight and tall holding the reins. It was still too far for me to see his face. He looked like most other Jewish men in our shtetl with his round, black hat and long beard. As the wagon drew closer, I could see that Rifka looked older than Benyomin. Too bad. She was probably too old to play with us.

"Look at that wagon!" Benyomin exclaimed. It was as big as Beryl's. "I bet their house is big, too!"

"With lots of food," I said quietly—out of Ma's earshot. "Lucky Rifka."

But Ma heard. She took her eyes off the wagon just long enough to give me a hard, stern look. "Remember that rich man who wanted to take you?" That's all she had to say. But she went on anyway. "You think Rifka wanted to leave home?" Her voice cracked but then turned sharp. "She had no choice. We knew it wasn't for ever—though, believe me, it seemed like that. Would you have wanted to switch places with her?"

"No." I shook my head vigorously. I watched the wagon draw closer. Rifka did look well fed. I wouldn't have minded that part of it. But I didn't say so.

As soon as the wagon stopped, Ma rushed over with arms outstretched.

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