Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders Page A

a democratic fashion.”
    Anna’s speech will be in the newspaper , thought Rachel. Not only did Anna write the news, now she was the news.
    â€œBefore concluding, I want to introduce you to one of our newest residents who has come to San Francisco all the way from Russia,” said Anna. “Rachel Paskar.”
    â€œWhat?” gasped Rachel. She shook her head at Anna.
    â€œIt’s all right, Rachel. Please come up here to the stage,” said Anna.
    Feeling as if she had rocks in her shoes, Rachel plodded up to the front and stood, frozen. She winced as pain cut through her back. One hundred pairs of eyes stared at her as if she were an important person. Anna put her arm around Rachel, slightly easing the tension in her shoulders.
    â€œRachel and her family endured a terrible massacre in their small Russian town, just like the one I described. But afterwards they were fortunate enough to escape to Shanghai. Rachel had to give up going to school to help provide for her family and to save for passage to America. Now she lives here in San Francisco, still working hard but also going to school,” explained Anna. “She has great ambitions to become a writer and has even had an article published in a local paper. Her strength humbles me, and I’m proud to call her my friend.”
    Rachel’s stomach flip-flopped as a thunderous applause broke out, and the audience stood to honor her. She had done as Mr. Ezra had suggested, rewritten her article about Jewish women in San Francisco and sent it to the weekly Emanu-El newspaper. The editor had responded within a week, sending her a dollar for the story and advising her that he would make the necessary corrections to her English. “In spite of your grammatical and spelling errors,” he wrote, “I can see you are a talented writer, and I encourage you to submit again in the future to our Emanu-El publication.” As she listened to the applause, Rachel felt proud of her accomplishment.
    People began funneling down the aisles toward Rachel and Anna to shake their hands. Rachel found herself looking into their eyes, seeing compassion and respect reflected back at her. “Proud to know you,” said one man. “You have the courage of ten men,” said another. She wanted to say that she had done nothing extraordinary, that thousands of people had endured even worse circumstances; that she was grateful to be in America. But she was overcome with shyness.
    As the crowd filed by, they contributed generously to the donation bucket held by the chairman. By the time the building had emptied, the bucket was filled to the brim with money.
    â€œI’m so happy that you were successful,” said Rachel to Anna. “But hearing you speak and seeing this money means you will be leaving soon.”
    â€œIn two weeks,” said Anna.
    â€œI don’t know what I’ll do without you,” said Rachel.
    â€œYou’re not rid of me just yet,” said Anna. “And there are still a couple of things I want to do with you.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMeet me tomorrow at three o’clock, and you’ll see.”
    â€œI’ll have to leave work early.”
    â€œJust say it’s a matter of life and death,” said Anna.
    â€œI did hurt my back today.”
    â€œThen you shouldn’t be working at all tomorrow. Take the day off and spend it with me. Noon at 1010 Fillmore Street.”
    â€œI will.” Rachel embraced Anna and headed outside to the trolley stop. For the entire way home, all she could think about was Anna and her mysterious plans for the next day.

9
    K oblik’s Bookstore stood prominently at 1010 Fillmore Street. It was eleven-thirty and Rachel stood outside the shop, peering through the window at the books on display. Mr. Koblik himself was outside as well, unfurling the off-white awning so that it stretched across the sidewalk. A light rain had begun, gently wetting