Rachel's Hope by Shelly Sanders Page B

seeing him lying there. I missed him so much. I still do,” she said softly.
    â€œWhat was he like?” asked Anna.
    Rachel closed her eyes and saw her father’s face. “He used to tell me stories when I was little.” She opened her eyes. “He always listened to me, even if I spoke nonsense. And he was brave.” Her voice faltered. “My father lost his life because he wanted to make sure everyone in our house was safe.”
    â€œHe sounds like a remarkable person,” said Anna. “I wish I could have met him. I wish that that the Kishinev massacre had never happened.”
    Rachel blinked and looked squarely at Anna. “The massacre wouldn’t have started if not for the Kishinev newspaper editor. He wrote lies about Jews in his paper, stirring up a hatred against us so fierce and so strong that it couldn’t be stopped.”
    â€œI have read about such horrible events,” said Anna. “And I often think it could have happened to me, if my family had not left Russia years ago. That’s why I want to go back, see the truth for myself, and write about what I find.”
    â€œI plan to write about the Kishinev massacre one day,” said Rachel with vehemence. “I want to let people know about this bad editor and how he used words to turn people against one another. That’s what has kept me going all this time. I dream of being a writer, like you, to tell the truth and make sure people don’t forget what happened to us.”
    â€œYou will succeed,” said Anna. “I can see your determination.”
    â€œWhat does it mean, determination?”
    â€œA strong mind. You won’t give up.”
    â€œYes, but I am not so strong.” She paused. “My friend, Sergei, who is still in Russia, is much stronger than I am.”
    â€œWho is he?”
    â€œHis name is Sergei Khazhenkov and the last time I heard from him he was fighting for the rights of the workers in Petersburg. He wrote to me about the terrible conditions in the factory he worked in, how people were hurt every day. He damaged his hand in a machine and was worried he wouldn’t be able to continue his job. I have not heard from him in a while, and I’m afraid that something bad has happened to him. I’m afraid he’s been involved in the strikes.”
    â€œSergei is important to you?”
    Rachel’s face reddened. “He became my friend while we still lived in Kishinev. He was one of the few Russians who stood up for the Jews of the town. He rescued Marty, when his grandmother was beaten to death. Marty would have spent years in an orphanage, but Sergei brought him to us when we were leaving Kishinev. Marty is now as much my little brother as if he’d been born to my parents.”
    â€œWhy didn’t Sergei come with you?” asked Anna.
    â€œHe is not Jewish.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œWe could not be together, a Russian and a Jew.”
    â€œThings are changing here in America.” Anna leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”
    Rachel nodded.
    â€œI am seeing someone who is not Jewish.”
    Rachel’s eyes widened. “You are?”
    â€œNobody knows. Nobody understands, except maybe you.”
    Rachel felt as if she’d been given a gift. Having Anna confide in her made their friendship real and solid. “I won’t tell a soul,” she said in earnest to Anna.
    Anna took out a notebook and flipped to a blank page. “Tell me everything you know about your Sergei and I will do my best to find him when I’m in Russia.”
    â€œWould you do that?”
    â€œI promise.”
    âš“ ⚓ ⚓
    Rachel covered her eyes with her hand to keep out the glare of the setting sun. No sign of Marty. She’d come to Buena Vista Park to bring him home for supper. He had said he was going to the park after school with his friends to play baseball. A patch of trees soared tall on her right and