The Matchmaker's Gift(12)
Miryam reached for Sara’s hand. “You should have heard him play the piano. My parents said that Jacob’s mother, may she rest in peace, raised her son well. And, of course, my father is thrilled about Jacob’s studies.”
Sara pushed her chair closer to the hatmaker. “What did you think? Will you see him again?” She knew the answer before she asked the question. It was painted in the glow of Miryam’s cheeks, written in her smile, echoed in her eyes. Her happiness filled the cramped, dim kitchen with a light and easy joy.
* * *
Jacob refused to accept Sara’s next installment. Even the senior Mr. Tunchel told her to put her coins away. Instead of dismissing her as he usually did, the old man insisted on polishing her spectacles. He checked every miniature screw on the frames and buffed the lenses until they sparkled. When he positioned them back on her freckled nose, he did so with all the care and deference of a man placing a crown on the head of a queen.
In August, when Jacob and Miryam were married, Miryam chose Sara for a special honor. Tradition dictated that the bride remove all her jewelry prior to the ceremony so that she might stand before the groom beneath the wedding canopy unadorned. It was considered good luck to wear the bride’s jewels, a segula, some said—a benevolent charm—one to make the wearer more likely to marry soon and well.
Sara felt silly wearing Miryam’s bracelets; she couldn’t wait to remove the bride’s pearls and earrings. She hated that some of the guests at the wedding stared and pointed their fingers at her. Perhaps the little one will be next. Others cared less about the segula and were more interested in the story of how the bride and groom met.
Unfortunately, gossip about the match spread, so that a few days after Miryam’s wedding, the shadchan from Lewis Street came a second time. He arrived unexpectedly after dinner and was invited in for tea. This time, her father sent everyone from the room, including her oldest brother, Joe. Sara took her place again by the door in order to hear the conversation. She left it open the slightest bit so that she could see the men as they talked.
Her father cleared his throat and began. “I’m afraid my son has not changed his mind.”
“I did not come about your son. I came here to discuss your daughter.” The shadchan frowned and pulled at his beard.
“Your timing is terrible,” her father joked. “My oldest, Hindel, is already married, and her sister, Sara, is much too young.”
“I’m not interested in finding anyone a husband. I’m here because there has been talk that your younger daughter is arranging matches. Several of my colleagues have heard the rumors, and they demand that she stop at once.”
Sara was unprepared for her father’s reaction, for the laughter that erupted from his lips. “Sara? My Sara? A shadchanteh? The girl is only thirteen years old!”
“Even so, it has come to our attention that she is interfering with our business.”
“Interfering?” Her father was suddenly on his feet, waving his arms in frustration. “How dare you come into my home and disparage a young girl for doing a good deed?”
“Are you saying the girl received no payment? That the families provided no compensation?”
“What kind of a meshuggeneh are you? Are we back in the old country, where the innocent are accused? Where women and children are murdered in the dark?” Sara’s father struggled to breathe. His round face was red with a savage rage. “We are in America!” he shouted.
Following her father’s outburst, the matchmaker lowered his voice, but Sara could see that he was not satisfied. “I want to know more about the details of the match.”
Sara’s father wiped the sweat from his neck and sank back down into his chair. “Sara!” he shouted. “Come, child. Come!”
She waited a moment before walking through the door so that her father would not suspect that she had been listening. “Yes, Father?” she said, in her most obedient voice.
“This man, do you know who he is?”
“He is the matchmaker, Papa. From Lewis Street.”
“Yes, and he seems to think you are meddling in his trade. He wants to know about Miryam’s wedding to Jacob.”
Sara told the story of her teacher’s note, Mr. Tunchel’s pushcart, and Miryam’s hats. She explained the sadness she felt for Jacob and her own chance meeting with Miryam on Orchard Street. She did not tell the men about the light she had seen. “I mentioned Miryam to Jacob, but I did not know that he would court her.”
“And you received no payment of any kind? No commission from either family?”
“I got a discount on my spectacles,” she admitted. “And they served us capon at the wedding banquet.”
Sara’s father glared at the matchmaker. “So?” he said. “What will you do? Will you sue a child for a piece of chicken? Will you break her spectacles in two and take half of them for your own?”
The matchmaker stood from his chair to leave. He did not look at Sara again but addressed his final words to her father. “The matter is settled for today,” he said. “But my colleagues and I will not forget. If we hear of any further matches arranged by your daughter, you will hear from us again.”
When the matchmaker was gone, Sara brought her father a glass of water. “Papa, remember what the doctor said. You must make a better effort not to get so excited. The shadchan is a rude and stupid man. You cannot let such a person upset you.”