Jerusalem Maiden by Talia Carner Page B

the synagogue for Avram’s bar-mitzvah. The rich and heady smell of the food cooked before three stars had appeared in the sky to announce the Shabbat permeated the house. The table was covered in white linen and snaked from the front room through the doorway into the bedroom. At the end of the table, the candles Ima had lit to usher in the Shabbat flickered in their silver holders and cast their blessed glow onto the wineglasses.
    Even if no one except Ruthi had taken notice of Esther’s twelfth birthday—she had given her a red candy—surely God remembered and would walk her through His invisible arc of glory into adulthood. Somehow, He would show her the way to becoming the artist He had created her to be. Esther swiveled to feel the luxury of her new dress, then peeked in the book-size looking glass affixed in the coat-and-hat stand. Sleek with olive oil, her raven-black hair was parted in the center and draped over her ears into a braid.
    Hanna’s voice broke from outside, “Esther, Nu? We’re waiting!”
    Esther withdrew from her pocket the wrapper from the red candy. With the tips of her fingers, she scraped off the sticky red substance and dabbed it on her cheeks. A healthy glow appeared on her skin, and the whites of her eyes shone brighter. She had never noticed how long and lovely her neck was until now that the blue-and-copper petals at the collar of her new dress framed it. She was pretty!
    But conceit was a sin. And to aggravate it, the image of Pierre on the monastery wall against the clear sky flashed through her mind. Her breath caught. Aghast, she turned away from the looking glass.
    Ima called from the communal yard. “ Nu? You’re waiting for the Messiah?”
    â€œComing!” Esther dashed through the kitchen and felt the luscious fabric of her dress against her legs. The rush of air flared the fire in the three oilcan stoves. The coals would be burning through the Shabbat, keeping the large covered pots on top warm for the festive dinner later and the noon meal the next day. Esther halted at the door, careful not to slam it behind her, also a forbidden act; Shabbat the Queen deserved to be honored by avoiding any exertion. Now that she’d reached her mitzvah age, she must press upon Hashem how deserving she was of His special attention by being vigilant. Just don’t make my monthly flow start, she prayed.
    She caught up with Aba, who was pulling ahead in his Shabbat walk, his hands held behind his back to slow down the stride of his long legs. “Shabbat Shalom,” he said, not stopping his modulated pace. He wore his calf-length black satin Shabbat coat and a large black hat over his skullcap. With his red beard brushed down to his chest, he was the most handsome man in the neighborhood. Not that anyone would ever speak of a man’s handsomeness. Aba and Ima never walked side by side as men and women did in Paris. In her brown Shabbat dress, head covered with a white kerchief made of silk as befitting a woman of her social standing, the stout Ima looked like a miniature Mount Hermon with its snowy peak. Esther vowed she would never thicken like Ima. She’d remain as svelte as Mlle Thibaux.
    â€œAba, I’ll tell you a secret,” Esther said, her voice low. “Promise you won’t reveal that it came from me.”
    His brows rose in question as he nodded.
    â€œAsher, Tova’s Asher.” Esther bit her lip. “He’s befriended a monk.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œHe told me.”
    â€œWhen and where?”
    She forced a casual shrug. “In one of my walks.”
    â€œHe should know better than to speak to a girl of marriageable age.”
    I n the synagogue, a lace curtain blocked off the women’s balcony from the men’s section. Esther could barely make out the tops of the men’s heads below. Past them stood the bima , where the Holy Ark housed the sacred, silverencased scriptures.