There was something beautiful, she thought, in just putting one foot in front of the other, propelling yourself forward through the onrushing flux of time; something rewarding in motion itself. The life force inside her rose to the surface of her consciousness in a way it had never done before. She was aware of herself being alive, being human. And this seemed to her the opposite of where she had come from the year before, when her heart had been filled with death, with stasis and mourning.

She could feel the world yearning for her. She wanted so much to embrace it, to become part of it. But could she? Did she have the ability, the will, to push her life force, frozen by the agony of loss, into vitality again, into the future? What could she do? How could she make this happen? She felt paralyzed, afraid of missing her chance. And yet, because she was young, so hopeful, too.

She wondered if everyone felt like this at some time in their lives. But no one she knew talked of such things. I’m lonely, she realized, wishing once more she could talk to her mother. But she would have to do this alone now, this reaching, this growing. And the thought of that terrified her.

5

JOY

Something was sweeping over her, Leah thought as she strapped Mordechai Shalom securely into his car seat and helped Chasya close her seat belt. The rhythm of her life, so long dictated by her own ideas and needs, was no longer under her control. She was surprised at just how radical the change had been from her previous life once she moved into the Lehman household.

She had not expected that. After all, she had been taking care of the house and the children for months before the actual wedding. But coming in during the day was not the same as living with them, she realized. Lifting the baby out of his bed as he awoke first thing in the morning, his body soft and still heavy with sleep as he curled up in her arms, caressing her cheek with his own; Chasya jumping into her lap as she sat drinking her morning coffee, the lingering smell of her evening bath and shampoo rising like incense from her warm scalp.

The very sound of their voices whether in unhappiness, hilarity, or sweet entreaty—even their silence behind closed bedroom doors—made demands on her attention, her heart, her mind, evoking a vigilant watchfulness and a degree of obligation she had never before experienced. Most of all, the magical, transformative word Mommy, addressed to her in laughter or bawling misery, tugged at her heart, burdening it and filling it with joy in ways she could not have foreseen or even imagined.