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  Even though Carrie wasn’t much interested in baseball, she tended to agree with Garvey. She’d often seen Babe Ruth in the newsreels. He seemed like a magical person. Bigger and more famous even than all the movie stars. He was flocked by children wherever he went, and he never turned them away. The newsreels showed him visiting orphanages and hospitals, where he took time to autograph baseballs and give them to the children. It was no wonder Garvey and Nate worshipped him so.

  Garvey and Wally’s standoff never came to blows. They seldom did. Before recess was over, they were playing ball together once again.

  That afternoon, Garvey slipped up to Wally and apologized for being so harsh with him earlier. Wally smiled and accepted the apology. What he didn’t know was that in his other hand, Garvey had a sign and a piece of adhesive tape. When he walked away, a sign was stuck to Wally’s back that announced to the world: “The Babe’s the Greatest!”

  Carrie was terribly concerned about Dvora’s schoolwork. The new girl tried hard, but Carrie could see there were concepts in math and science that Dvora wasn’t catching. How she wished there were some way she could help. But how?

  The day Dvora appeared to be the happiest was when it came her turn to work at the window with the birds. Mrs. Harwell kept a list of whose turn came on which days, and she was kind enough to team Carrie and Dvora together. Dvora was to put out the feed, and Carrie logged in the book the names and numbers of the birds that came to the feeder during a span of two hours. The fall breeze coming in the open window felt crisp and clean.

  “So many different kinds of birds God made,” Dvora said as she poured seed out on the feeding station. “He makes all kinds and all sizes, just like people.”

  Carrie smiled. “That’s true, Dvora. All kinds and all sizes.”

  Dvora closed the window and watched for a minute as the birds came flocking in. They knew right where their breakfast was located. Carrie noted the finches and the chickadees, the blue jays and starlings, marking them down in the proper place in the notebook. While she enjoyed watching the birds come in to feed, she enjoyed the smile on Dvora’s face even more.

  Mrs. Harwell had a difficult time teaching anything of any substance during the World Series. The first game came on Wednesday, October 10, and as promised, the ladies who worked in the office came to the classes at the end of each inning to announce the scores. The announcements were accompanied by cheers or moans, depending on who was ahead.

  It wasn’t the World Series that was on Carrie’s mind that week. She was worrying herself half sick, wondering what would happen at her next piano lesson. Miss Tilden, no doubt, was furious with her.

  In spite of a nippy October wind, Carrie’s hand was sweaty as she turned the knob leading to the narrow stairway. Standing inside on the bottom landing, she shifted the books in her arms, then wiped her sweaty hand on her coat. She stood there a moment, waiting for the nervousness to go away. But then she realized Miss Tilden had surely heard the door open. How silly it was for her to just stand there like a dunderhead. After all, if she’d had the courage to ask Miss Tilden to come to the country club in the first place, why wouldn’t she have the courage to face her now?

  This thought moved Carrie slowly up the stairs. Softly, she knocked and heard her teacher’s voice inviting her to come in. Her Mary Jane patent leather shoes squeaked loudly on the kitchen linoleum. The strings of beads hanging at the kitchen door clattered more than they ever had before. Miss Tilden was sitting at her desk. She didn’t look up.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Caroline. Be with you shortly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Carrie removed her coat and hung it across the back of a chair, took out her music and placed it on the piano, then waited. She needed a drink of water for her dry throat, but she didn’t want to ask.

  Miss Tilden shuffled a few papers on her desk. The desk drawer opened and closed with a screaky noise. She rose and came to the piano. “Did you practice your lessons this week?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carrie replied as well as she could around her dry throat.

  “Good. Let’s get started then.”

  And that was it. All Carrie’s worrying had been for nothing. While Miss Tilden was cool and reserved, the subject of the tennis match was never mentioned. Carrie never expected this. She thought surely Miss Tilden was going to accuse her of all sorts of terrible things. But to have her avoid talking about it altogether took Carrie off guard.

  Throughout the lesson, Carrie kept wondering if she should bring up the subject. Should she apologize? But if she apologized, what would she apologize for? She was still very pleased that Miss Tilden and Mr. Clausen met. And she was glad they all had such a good time together. Of course, she was sorry that Miss Tilden had gotten so upset, but that wasn’t Carrie’s fault. Miss Tilden got upset on her own.

  Carrie could honestly say she wasn’t sorry for planning the whole thing. But now, to have Miss Tilden be so cool … Well, it was all too, too confusing.

  In spite of everything, the lines of the hymn kept running through her mind: Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away…. That’s what she prayed for her piano teacher.

  Nate spent Saturday at Garvey’s house so they could listen to the fourth game of the World Series on the Constables’ radio. Carrie took some of her dolls and went to play with Vi for the day. They played house in the attic for a time, but since it was such a sunny day, they also played jacks in front of the house.

  Carrie kept glancing over to the garage where Dvora lived, wondering how she was doing. Vi noticed her looking in that direction and said, “She never comes outside on Saturdays. Never.”

  “That’s because Saturday is their Sabbath.”

  “What does that mean?” Vi asked.

  “It just means they worship on Saturday like we worship on Sunday. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “All I know is they light candles and eat braided bread called challah. And they do no work, and they don’t go anyplace.”

  Vi threw out the jacks, bounced the ball, and began picking up the jacks between bounces. “I think I like our Sundays better. Before Mother and Father died, we used to always go for a drive on Sunday afternoons. It didn’t matter that we traveled on Sundays.”

  Late in the afternoon, they were in Vi’s bedroom, sitting on her bed and looking at copies of Moving Picture magazine. The stars wore such elegant clothes—dresses and outfits that must cost thousands of dollars. This turned the girls’ conversation to what girls were wearing to school that year.

  “I may not have the fanciest clothes at Washington Elementary,” Vi said, “but at least I don’t wear the same silly sash day after day like that Dvora girl does.” Vi wrinkled her freckled nose. “If she isn’t wearing it at her waist, she’s got it around her shoulders. It’s almost like a baby carrying a special blanket around.”

  “Vi, don’t say that. It is very special to her and wearing it does comfort her.”

  Vi’s green eyes narrowed. “Why are you always defending her? No matter what I say, you always defend the Jewish girl.”

  “I don’t always defend her,” Carrie said, “but someone should. She’s never hurt anyone.”

  “Sonny says the Jews have all the money in America and that they’re very dangerous.”

  Carrie shook her head. “Remember who Sonny has been listening to. Those Klan members would say anything to stir up hatred.”

  “Maybe in some things the Klan members are right,” Vi said.

  Carrie was quiet. She didn’t think for a minute that her friend really meant those words. “Oh, Vi,” she said, “this is silly. We start talking about movie stars and school clothes and wind up talking about the Ku Klux Klan—something we don’t know a thing about.” She put down the magazine, jumped up from the bed, and said, “Come on, Vi. I bet Opal’s got some special treat for us in the kitchen. I’m starved, aren’t you?”

  To Carrie’s great relief, that en
ded the conversation about poor Dvora. But that night as she lay in bed, she mulled it over in her mind. Why didn’t Violet like Dvora? How she wished the three of them could be friends. As she drifted off to sleep, a poem floated through her mind:

  People fear what they do not know.

  How I wish it were not so.

  Suzette’s afraid of a God who gives love.

  Vi’s afraid of a girl who needs love.

  On Sunday afternoon, Nate was included in the weekly family gathering at the Constables’. After all, as Garvey explained it, to deprive him of listening to the fifth game of the World Series would have been cruel and unusual punishment.

  The usual conversation was nonexistent as the radio blared out the plays. The men—and the boys—alternately cheered and booed. The women felt rather dispossessed. If the men had been in the middle of a conversation, they would have joined in. But this … this ball game business. This was different.

  Out in the kitchen, Aunt Frances shook her head in dismay. “I never thought I’d see the day when my own family would be sitting around on a Sunday afternoon listening to a baseball game,” she said. “Why, our parents would be in a state of shock if they ever saw such a thing.”

  Even as she said the words, the Babe had slammed another homer with the announcer describing his dramatic trot around the bases. “And now, fans,” the announcer continued, “the Bambino is on his feet, doffing his hat to the crowds here in Yankee Stadium. And the crowd is going wild.”

  And so were the men in the Constables’ front room. There was no doubt the Yankees had the 1923 World Series in their pocket. Everyone in the Constable household seemed to be happy about it. The best part, in Carrie’s opinion, was that there was now only one game left to play.

  The women joined the men after the game was over, and music again came over the speaker of the radio console. Normal conversation returned. Uncle Ken took the opportunity to ask Father if he still planned to go to Detroit to see the radio station.

  “I almost have my boss convinced,” Father replied with a smile. Turning to Larry, he added, “Look for a pilot with a trustworthy plane. I may be needing it.”

  “I have just the one for you,” Larry replied.

  Carrie thought it would be terribly exciting if Father were able to take a plane ride all the way to Detroit. She would want to hear every exciting detail when he returned.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dvora’s Story

  I want to help tutor Dvora Levinsky a couple afternoons a week after school.” Carrie made this bold announcement to her parents at supper one evening. She’d been thinking and thinking about how to help the girl. Dvora was unable to grasp the lessons, and it was so sad to watch her fail. Finally Carrie could stand it no longer. She had to do something.

  Mother’s first response was, “What about your tennis lessons? Your piano lessons? Your elocution lessons?”

  Father wanted to know, “Did your teacher ask you to do this? How do you know anything about tutoring?”

  “I may not know much about tutoring, but Dvora trusts me. I think we would work well together. And no, my teacher didn’t ask me. In fact, I haven’t asked her for permission yet.”

  “And what makes you think she will agree?” Father asked.

  Carrie smiled. “Because I know Mrs. Harwell.” Then to her mother, she said, “I think I’ve learned enough tennis to get me through life in good order. And if we left off the elocution lessons, I could pick them back up later, after Dvora is over this hump. I would like to continue my music though,” she added.

  Carrie wanted very much to keep in contact with Miss Tilden, but she didn’t say that.

  Father leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment.

  “What do you think, Glendon?” Mother asked. “Is it safe for her to spend that much time with a foreigner?”

  Father gave a little laugh. “I don’t think it will hurt her at all, Ida,” he replied. “Here we are, you and I, always absorbed in issues of public interest. What is it you always say? ‘We must give back to society and not always take.’ Now our daughter is doing exactly that. Should we be surprised? I say let her reach out and help this girl. We’ll all be the better for it.”

  Carrie jumped up from her chair and ran to hug her father’s neck. “Oh, thank you, Father. This will be such good news for Dvora.”

  Mother exhaled a deep sigh and folded her napkin. “I’ll telephone the country club tomorrow to cancel the lessons,” she said, with a tone of reluctance in her voice. “And your elocution teacher, as well.”

  Carrie was right about two things. Mrs. Harwell was all in favor of her helping Dvora with her studies. And Dvora was happier than Carrie had ever seen her. They settled on two afternoons a week.

  The missing piece to the puzzle was how Vi would react. Carrie found out soon enough. “You’re a traitor to your friends and your school,” Vi said through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you would ever do such a thing.”

  Then Carrie realized it wasn’t only Vi’s reaction she had to be concerned about. Nate didn’t much like the idea either. “It’s best to leave ‘those kind’ to themselves,” he said, his voice heavy with bitterness.

  That, in turn, made Garvey upset. “We were all four getting along just fine until the little peasant girl moved in above the garage,” he said to Carrie. “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

  Carrie could hardly believe this was her cousin talking—Garvey Constable, who was more like a brother to her than a cousin. The whole thing was like an ugly snowball that kept on growing.

  One day in private, Mrs. Harwell said to Carrie, “I know your good deeds toward Dvora are not making you the most popular girl in the fifth grade, but don’t give up. It will be worth it all. You’ll see.”

  But the hours spent with Dvora in the Levinskys’ small, clean kitchen were delightful. As they studied, the two girls could hear Dvora’s uncle Yerik below them tinkering around on the Carrutherses’ automobiles. He wanted to learn to work on them as well as drive them.

  “He’s very smart,” Dvora told Carrie, “and a very hard worker. I believe Mr. Carruthers likes him a great deal.”

  “He must trust him as well as like him,” Carrie said, “if he allows him to work on his expensive cars.”

  Here in the apartment, Dvora could ask all kinds of questions that she was unable to ask during class time. The lessons helped clear up a great deal of confusion about words, phrases, concepts, and numbers. In just a few weeks, Dvora was making excellent progress.

  One afternoon, just as they were finishing up, Carrie happened to ask Dvora about the family she’d left behind in Russia. “Did you have brothers and sisters?” she asked. When she saw the look on Dvora’s face, she almost wished she hadn’t asked.

  “I once had two brothers,” she said. “A happy, loving family we were. Money we had little, but love we had plenty.” Then she told Carrie how the Russian peasants had been taught to hate and fear the Jews. That brought on severe persecution. Dvora’s older brother was forced to leave home and serve in the army.

  “It was a sad time to have Isaac leave us,” she said. “When Isaac went away, it was the first time I ever saw my papa weep openly. That sadness,” she added, “was but the beginning.”

  In halting words, she told how the peasants came and burned their village. As her family and others fled from the fire, a peasant snatched Dvora’s baby brother from her mother’s arms.

  “Papa told me to run to the forest and not look back,” she said, her fists clenched tight, her lips white. “We were told to keep absolutely silent lest we be discovered and all killed. Mama had to swallow all her grief. Her sobs were locked inside her throat.”

  “Did they keep your baby brother?” Carrie’s own eyes were wet with tears.

  Dvora shook her head. “Papa told me much later that they’d killed him.”

  “A little baby?”

  “Papa says hate can do that.”

  Carrie’
s mind turned to the Klansmen in their very own city who feasted on hate. “What did you do then? How did you live?”

  “We slept in the forest for two nights, eating nuts and berries as we could find them. Every moment, we were afraid of being found. I have an awful fear of snakes. One night, as I tried to sleep on the ground, one slithered over my leg, and I screamed. Papa grabbed me and clapped his hand over my mouth.”

  Dvora stopped a moment to take a drink from her glass of tea. “Which frightened me more, I am not sure—the snake or Papa having to be rough with me.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Papa said we couldn’t stay there any longer. He decided we would walk to another village where my aunt and uncle lived. It was a long way, and Mama was so heartbroken—I thought she would die from grief alone. We walked for many miles. My feet burned like fire, but Papa would not let us rest.”

  Carrie shook her head. Never could she imagine such a horrible thing. “You found your aunt and uncle?”

  Dvora nodded. “They knew people who helped us to get out. Because of the unrest in the country, Mama had sewn our few rubles into the hem of her dress. She was never without our money. Others of our friends lost their money when they fled, but Mama’s wisdom saved us. With these rubles, we purchased our way to America. But then …”

  Dvora could go no further. Carrie moved closer and put her arm about Dvora’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Dvora. It’s all right to cry now. You can weep for all your loved ones now.”

  And the girl did. Eventually, she said through her sobs, “Many times I have wished that the sickness on the ship might have taken me, as well. It is lonely without Mama and Papa and my brothers.”

  “But you didn’t die. God spared you, Dvora. He brought you to America. God surely has a purpose for your life here.”

  Dvora nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Looking at Carrie, she said, “You are right, Carrie. I believe my papa would say the very same thing if he were here.”