What else was there to wait for?

“Yes,” he said.

And, leaving the candles burning in the window behind them, they went back out into the rain.

It was only minutes until they were before Bluma’s house, its fragrance of sweet baking bread drifting out like a promise into the muddy street.

Bluma made directly for the front door, but Yehuda Leib continued climbing up the hill.

He had seen something.

In the little cemetery there was a new grave.

Yehuda Leib didn’t have to be able to read the stone to know who lay beneath it.

“I’m so sorry,” said Bluma, climbing up beside him.

“Yes,” he said. “I am too.”

And as long as they had watched the candles in her house, now they stood in the rain before the grave of Yehuda Leib’s mother.

“I couldn’t have stayed, anyway,” said Yehuda Leib after a long silence. “Moshe Dovid Frumkin would’ve made sure of that.”

Bluma nodded. “Probably. But it still would’ve been nice to say hello.”

“And goodbye,” said Yehuda Leib.

“And goodbye,” said Bluma.

“I don’t want to go back to Zubinsk,” said Yehuda Leib. “But I think I’ll have to start there. Perhaps I can hitch a ride as far as Kasrilevke and catch the train.”

“And then?”

Yehuda Leib shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Bluma shook her head tightly. “No,” she said. “No, that’s no good. I don’t care about the direction, but we’ve got to be moving toward something.”

Yehuda Leib’s eyebrows rose so far that the patch over his empty eye gave a little jump.

“We’ve?” he said.

“We’ve,” said Bluma, nodding.

“But what about your mother and father?” said Yehuda Leib.

“They’ve got each other,” said Bluma.

“You don’t want to live with them?”

Now Bluma wore a light, tight frown. “It’s just that there’s only so much time until…well, Until We Meet Again. I want to see what else is out there. And I’ve grown used to your footsteps beside me.”

This was the first time since learning of the death of his mother that Yehuda Leib allowed himself to cry.

Bluma gave him a little shove, tried to smile and frown at the same time, and somehow succeeded.

“Thank you,” said Yehuda Leib.

But Bluma was looking back over her shoulder. “First,” she said, “I think I’d like to sit down and get myself dry, though. Maybe eat a few cookies.”

Yehuda Leib nodded. “Me too.”

“Good,” said Bluma, turning down the hill toward the light of the Chanukah candles in her parents’ window. “Are you coming?”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am indebted to Catherine Drayton and Claire Friedman for helping me to lay foundations, and to Erin Clarke and Ruth Knowles for helping me to finish the house. Thanks also to Karen Sherman, Amy Schroeder, Artie Bennett, and Alison Kolani.