The Lost Wife by Alyson Richman

reaction to the news made it all too clear. That night, he raised his hands to the ceiling and said this was a death sentence to all Czech Jews.
    My mother said to be quiet, not to speak like that in front of Marta and me.
    I smiled at Marta, who was holding back tears.
    “We need to get visas,” Mama told him.
    “Who in America will sign an affidavit for us?”
    “We can buy false papers!” she cried.
    “With what? With what, Eliška?” And his high-pitched cry reminded me of shattered glass. “It’s too late now. We should have left when the Gottliebs and the Rosenthals did. There is no money left to buy the papers and passage,” he said helplessly, his palms turned up toward the sky.

     
    One day, in the first week in November, Elsa did not come to class. Věruška and I exchanged a worried glance. “Maybe they’ve been able to get out, somehow,” Věruška said flatly. I immediately wondered if the apothecary now stood empty, its shelves bare, and the smell of gardenia and rose replaced by stale air. Perhaps Elsa and her family had gotten on a boat with no time to say good-bye.
    But what if it had been something terrible. I was worried.
    I decided to pass Elsa’s father’s apothecary on the way to meeting Josef. Through the broken glass, I could see her sitting by the counter, her face in shadow.
    I stood there staring at her. If I were to go in, I’d be late for Josef and cause him to worry. If I didn’t, I would be distracted when I saw him by this haunting image of my friend, her face as shattered as the store’s glass.
    I walked in; my footsteps on the tile were the only sound. Elsa looked up at me, her blue eyes lifting like a porcelain doll. Her mouth trying to twitch into a smile.
    “We missed you in class today,” I said softly as I approached her.
    “I’m not coming back,” she said. “I can’t concentrate there anymore, and anyway, Papa needs me here to run the sales counter. He had to let Fredrich go, so Papa’s now working the pharmacy in the back.”
    “I thought perhaps your family had left,” I said.
    She looked at me as though she were trying to read my face. “We’re trying to, Lenka. But everything requires money now, and we hardly have any left.”
    I nodded. I knew this feeling all too well.
    “Is there anything I can do?”
    She shook her head. Elsa did not look helpless; she looked resigned.
    “I’ll bring Věruška the next time I visit,” I said, trying to sound upbeat.
    We parted with a kiss, and I hurried off to meet Josef, my heart far heavier than it had been that morning.

     
    He was waiting for me, his throat wrapped in a thick black scarf, his hands wrapped around a cup of steaming tea.
    “I was worried about you,” he said, standing up to greet me with a kiss. His lips were still warm from the tea.
    “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I went to check on Elsa. She wasn’t in class today.”
    He raised his eyebrow and shook his head.
    “I don’t think any of us are going to be in class much longer.”
    “Don’t say that,” I said, reaching over the table to kiss him one more time.
    He placed his hands on my cheeks and held them there. His fingers were so long they nearly touched my ears.
    “Kiss me again,” I told him.
    His mouth on mine was like new air being pumped into my lungs.
    “We should get married, Lenka,” he said as he slowly pulled away from me.
    I laughed. “Get married? Neither of our parents even know that we are courting.”
    “Exactly.” He smirked. “Exactly.”

     
    At night, I dream of myself in a white veil. My family’s black coats and scarves are replaced by ripe colors of red and gold. Their faces are no longer frightened and worried, but radiant and full of joy. I see Papa being lifted on a chair, and Mama and Marta clapping as he bounces about on sturdy shoulders.
    We drink wine in tall rosy goblets, and eat dumplings with the tenderest meat. The chuppah is threaded with flowers. Daisies, asters, and irises the color