Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders

begun taking high-school courses two nights a week, English and mathematics, with the goal of getting her high-school diploma within three years.
    Rachel climbed to the top of the bleachers so that she had a good view of the baths. She and Nucia sat and wrapped their towels around their shoulders.
    â€œJacob is so good with Menahem, I mean Marty,” said Rachel, watching the two of them chase each other in the water.
    â€œYes, he is.” Nucia hesitated. “Jacob wants to adopt him once we’re able to become citizens.”
    â€œOh?” Rachel inhaled sharply.
    â€œI know Marty is still waiting for Sergei and that he sees him as a hero. But you know that even if Sergei were to appear tomorrow, he and Marty could never be a family,” said Nucia.
    Rachel bit her lower lip. “Have you told Marty?”
    â€œHe’s afraid to change his last name. He’s afraid Sergei won’t find him if he does.”
    â€œI’ll speak to him,” said Rachel.
    Nucia squeezed Rachel’s hand.
    Rachel dropped her towel and stood. “I’m going to go in the water one more time before we leave.” Keeping her gaze on Jacob and Marty, she started down the long line of bleachers. All of a sudden, Rachel stumbled over someone’s feet and toppled forward into the bleacher below, right into the lap of a young woman.
    â€œ Oy veh ! ” cried Rachel in Yiddish, the language she still spoke when shocked or surprised. Wet hair was strewn all over her face, she turned beet-red with embarrassment. “ Vos iz mir geshen ? ”
    â€œAre you all right?” asked the woman in English. She appeared to be in her late twenties and had thick cinnamon-brown hair pulled back off her face, revealing heavy eyebrows over startling black eyes.
    â€œYes,” said Rachel, in English, wincing as she picked herself up. “Just, I am so… how do you say in English…” She tapped her head searching for the word she wanted to say. For her, not finding the right word in English was the most frustrating part of living in a new country.
    â€œI think the word you’re looking for is embarrassed, ” offered the woman.
    â€œEmbarrassed,” repeated Rachel.
    â€œRachel!” cried Nucia. She’d rushed to her sister after seeing her fall.
    â€œI’m fine,” said Rachel in English. “Embarrassed, but fine.”
    Nucia looked puzzled.
    â€œ Farshemt ,” said Rachel in Yiddish.
    â€œYou’re new to San Francisco,” the young woman said to Rachel.
    â€œYes, I am from Russia. We came here a few months ago,” answered Rachel.
    â€œWonderful! I’m Anna Strunsky.” The woman extended her hand, which dripped with pool water.
    â€œMy name is Rachel Paskar,” Rachel replied, “and this is my sister, Nucia.”
    Anna shook Rachel’s hand exuberantly before taking Nucia’s. “It is good to meet other Russians,” she said in a voice that gushed with confidence.
    â€œYou’re from Russia, too?” asked Rachel. “But you don’t speak with an accent.”
    â€œWe came here when I was nine years old and now I can hardly speak Russian anymore. Which is too bad, since I plan to go back later this year.”
    Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “Back to Russia?”
    â€œSt. Petersburg and Moscow. Have you been there?”
    Rachel shook her head.
    Anna clasped her hands in her lap.
    â€œWhy would you go back to Russia?” asked Nucia.
    â€œI’m going to write about the workers’ strikes.”
    â€œYou’re a writer?” asked Rachel.
    â€œYes, I cover women’s stories for the San Francisco Bulletin and California Woman’s Magazine .”
    â€œI have read articles in the newspaper about women wanting to vote,” said Rachel.
    â€œAnd wanting to get elected to government,” said Anna.
    Rachel chortled. “Back in Russia I would have been happy with