wife.
She suddenly found an opportunity to change all that. Her department received an order of exquisite black French silk negligees, garments seductive enough to make any woman look like Brigitte Bardot.
She had to have one of them. But where would she find the eighty-six dollars? Even with her employee’s discount, she would never be able to afford such a luxury.
By a stroke of luck, Macy’s unexpectedly raised her salary by $4.68 a week. She withheld this information from Tuck and began stockpiling the cash.
When she was certain that the household was asleep, she would creep into the kitchen, mount a stepladder, and place four dollars in an empty box of Kellogg’s corn flakes.
The weeks passed slowly, but gradually her treasure grew. At last breathless count she had reached sixty-eight dollars.
One Saturday evening, she arrived home to find a note from her husband that he had taken all the kids out for a pizza. Tired as she was, she felt a tingle of delight as she climbed the stepladder to add four more dollars to her riches.
But there was something funny about the box. It did not seem as full as it had been. Counting the money bill by bill, she discovered to her horror that there were only fifty-two dollars.
She felt simultaneously sick and furious.
“Goddammit, there’s a bloody thief among us.”
Nor did she have to look far to find a likely culprit.
She stormed upstairs and began to ransack Timothy’s room. In a pair of his sneakers, she found
money
—far more than he ever could have saved from his weekly twenty-five-cents allowance. And there was only one place he could have gotten it.
“That’s the limit!” she exploded to Tuck. “We’ve got to send him away. I’m going to speak to Father Hanrahan tomorrow.”
Voices easily passed through the plywood barriers of the Delaney house. Upstairs in his room Tim heard everything.
“Oh Jesus!” he whispered to himself, suddenly feeling a terrible emptiness in his chest. What could he do? Where could he turn?
It was a Sunday afternoon. Rachel had gone with Danny and Deborah to visit her mother in Queens. As usual, the Rav stayed home in his study. There was always so much work to do.
He was absorbed in a particularly complex case appearing before his religious court involving an abandoned woman—an
agunah
—who was applying for permission to marry again, when he was interrupted by a voice.
“Excuse me, Rabbi.”
He looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s you, Timothy.” He smiled with relief. “I sometimes forget you have a key.”
He reached into the top drawer of his desk. “I’ve got your month’s wages right here.”
As he offered Tim the envelope, Rav Luria suddenly sensed that the boy’s visit was not merely to collect his salary.
“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk and then, offering a plate, added, “Have a homemade macaroon.”
Tim shook his head—but only in reference to the cookies. He seemed to welcome the invitation to remain, yet was afraid to speak.
Rav Luria took the initiative. “I want to tell you again, Timothy, how much the families appreciate how well you’re doing your job.”
“Thanks,” Tim answered uneasily, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it much longer.”
“Oh—? Is anything the matter?”
“Uh, no,” Tim replied stoically. “It’s just that I’ll probably be going away to boarding school.”
“Well,” said the rabbi. “I suppose I should congratulate you, but quite selfishly, I’m a little sad.”
“To tell the truth, sir, I’m not all that happy myself.”
The silence that followed made it clear that both of them now understood the real topic of conversation.
“So who’s forcing you to go?” the rabbi asked.
“My aunt and uncle,” Tim began hesitantly. Then apologizing: “I really shouldn’t be wasting your time.…”
“No, no, please,” the rabbi gestured. “Go on.”
Tim mustered his courage and replied. “It’s the
She suddenly found an opportunity to change all that. Her department received an order of exquisite black French silk negligees, garments seductive enough to make any woman look like Brigitte Bardot.
She had to have one of them. But where would she find the eighty-six dollars? Even with her employee’s discount, she would never be able to afford such a luxury.
By a stroke of luck, Macy’s unexpectedly raised her salary by $4.68 a week. She withheld this information from Tuck and began stockpiling the cash.
When she was certain that the household was asleep, she would creep into the kitchen, mount a stepladder, and place four dollars in an empty box of Kellogg’s corn flakes.
The weeks passed slowly, but gradually her treasure grew. At last breathless count she had reached sixty-eight dollars.
One Saturday evening, she arrived home to find a note from her husband that he had taken all the kids out for a pizza. Tired as she was, she felt a tingle of delight as she climbed the stepladder to add four more dollars to her riches.
But there was something funny about the box. It did not seem as full as it had been. Counting the money bill by bill, she discovered to her horror that there were only fifty-two dollars.
She felt simultaneously sick and furious.
“Goddammit, there’s a bloody thief among us.”
Nor did she have to look far to find a likely culprit.
She stormed upstairs and began to ransack Timothy’s room. In a pair of his sneakers, she found
money
—far more than he ever could have saved from his weekly twenty-five-cents allowance. And there was only one place he could have gotten it.
“That’s the limit!” she exploded to Tuck. “We’ve got to send him away. I’m going to speak to Father Hanrahan tomorrow.”
Voices easily passed through the plywood barriers of the Delaney house. Upstairs in his room Tim heard everything.
“Oh Jesus!” he whispered to himself, suddenly feeling a terrible emptiness in his chest. What could he do? Where could he turn?
It was a Sunday afternoon. Rachel had gone with Danny and Deborah to visit her mother in Queens. As usual, the Rav stayed home in his study. There was always so much work to do.
He was absorbed in a particularly complex case appearing before his religious court involving an abandoned woman—an
agunah
—who was applying for permission to marry again, when he was interrupted by a voice.
“Excuse me, Rabbi.”
He looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s you, Timothy.” He smiled with relief. “I sometimes forget you have a key.”
He reached into the top drawer of his desk. “I’ve got your month’s wages right here.”
As he offered Tim the envelope, Rav Luria suddenly sensed that the boy’s visit was not merely to collect his salary.
“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk and then, offering a plate, added, “Have a homemade macaroon.”
Tim shook his head—but only in reference to the cookies. He seemed to welcome the invitation to remain, yet was afraid to speak.
Rav Luria took the initiative. “I want to tell you again, Timothy, how much the families appreciate how well you’re doing your job.”
“Thanks,” Tim answered uneasily, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it much longer.”
“Oh—? Is anything the matter?”
“Uh, no,” Tim replied stoically. “It’s just that I’ll probably be going away to boarding school.”
“Well,” said the rabbi. “I suppose I should congratulate you, but quite selfishly, I’m a little sad.”
“To tell the truth, sir, I’m not all that happy myself.”
The silence that followed made it clear that both of them now understood the real topic of conversation.
“So who’s forcing you to go?” the rabbi asked.
“My aunt and uncle,” Tim began hesitantly. Then apologizing: “I really shouldn’t be wasting your time.…”
“No, no, please,” the rabbi gestured. “Go on.”
Tim mustered his courage and replied. “It’s the
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