Mankillers

“I understand you’re in mourning, but may I ask when it might be appropriate for me to call?”

She bowed her head. “I wish I could say at your earliest convenience. I do want to see you again, Buck, as a friend, as a . . . confidant. But under the circumstances I feel that discretion is more important than ever. My in-laws would make hay of a gentleman caller, since under civil law I am still married to their son—or rather I am his widow. It’s touchy. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do,” he said, as he rose from the table. “I understand completely.”

The butler slipped back her chair as she stood up. “You’ll be staying at the Isaac Hayne Hotel?”

He nodded. “For the foreseeable future.”

“May I send you a message there when this mess is resolved?”

His heart skipped a beat. “Most definitely. If I relocate to another address I’ll either send you the change or have the desk at the hotel hold any correspondence that may come for me. In either case, I can promise you I will be at your beck and call.”

She gri

#

The next morning Buck set out to see his friend Asa Boone. From his earlier conversation with Sarah and her mother, Buck knew the rabbi’s address on Broad Street was within walking distance. The two-story house, which sat sideways to the street, was beautifully landscaped with wisteria vines climbing the porch columns. Two large magnolia trees shaded the lane separating it from the neighbor’s equally well-tended home.

Buck pulled the bell beside the wrought-iron front gate. A minute later a servant girl came to inquire who was there. She repeated Buck’s name, left him standing in the street, returned moments later, opened the gate and invited him inside.

In the vestibule, a short, stout woman was waiting to greet him.

“Dr. Thomson. I’m so glad to meet you at last. Asa’s been singing your praises since coming to our household, and I must tell you he’s been a gift from God for Mordecai.”

“How is your husband? I understand he suffered a stroke a month or two ago.”

“It’s so sad, but with Asa’s help, he’s improving. The worst for him was that he couldn’t go on writing his memoirs. But Asa’s even helping him with that. And you know—” she placed her hand maternally on his sleeve “—I think it’s been a blessing for Asa too.”

Buck smiled, sincerely pleased with the news.

“But where are my ma

She led him down the hall past the staircase to a room with double doors. Buck’s first reaction was that he’d entered a cave lined with old papers and manuscripts. The small room, however, was merely the antechamber to a much larger one. Slumped in a wicker, high-backed wheelchair by a window sat a white-bearded man in a maroon silk dressing gown, a small round brimless cap on the back of his head. A few feet away, facing him, sat Asa, holding a pad and pencil. He looked up, saw Buck, his face broke into a broad smile. He popped to his feet. Before Buck realized what was happening, Asa was embracing him.

“Buck, I’m so glad to see you.” He released his grip. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“You’re obviously feeling better than the last time I saw you.”

“I want you to meet my good friend and teacher.” He turned to the man in the wheelchair. “Rabbi Cohen, this is Dr. Elijah Thomson. He saved my life.”

“Rabbi, sir, I’m very pleased to meet you.” Noticing the obvious weakness in the elderly man’s right arm, Buck bowed slightly instead of offering his hand to shake. “As for Asa, he’s being both kind and modest. He saved many lives himself.”

“Kindness is the begi

Buck was pleased the old man’s speech wasn’t impaired.

“Molly dear, are you just going to stand there? Please call Sophie.”

“Tea,” his wife exclaimed. “I told the doctor we’d have tea, and here I am dawdling.”

“Maybe he’d like something stronger,” the rabbi said in a voice too loud.

“You’re not having any wine, Mordecai.”

Buck smiled. “Thank you, but tea will be fine.”

Molly went to the side of the fireplace and pulled a cord. Within seconds a stout woman wearing an apron entered the room.

“Sophie, bring us tea and some of those honey cakes.”

“Dr. Thomson,” the rabbi said, “I understand you took my good friend Jacob Greenwald and his wife to Columbia for treatment. Such a fine man. How is he doing? Well, I hope.”

Buck weighed the consequences of telling them the truth or hedging.

“I regret to tell you things didn’t go well. We were ambushed by highwaymen on the way to Columbia and Mr. Greenwald was killed.”

Molly collapsed into a chair, her face gone pale.

“Sarah and her mother?” Asa asked, his voice trembling.

“They’re fine,” Buck assured them and proceeded to describe the trip in general terms. He held back any mention of the journey to Charleston, except to say Ruth had elected to stay with old friends in Columbia, while Sarah returned to attend to legal matters. He didn’t elaborate on their nature, unsure how much he was at liberty to disclose.

“Jacob was a close friend and a valuable member of our community.” The rabbi shook his head. “But, as it is said, life is only on loan to man. Death is the creditor who will one day claim it.” He looked up. “Molly, send word to Reuben Moscovitz. He can call a minion to say Kaddish for Jacob.”

Sophie came into the room with a large silver tray.

“And now,” the rabbi said, “we have tea.”

While Molly was serving the hot beverage, Buck motioned Asa to the side. “How’s your back?”

“It’s healing, Buck. I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to take a look at it before I go?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

They migrated to the center of the room. Buck surveyed the walls which were lined with bookcases, all overflowing with bound volumes, loose manuscripts and scrolls.

“You have quite a library here, rabbi.” He noted the writing table was covered with papers, some in a strange, indecipherable script, others in English and another language written in the Latin alphabet. “And you are an author as well?”

“Judah ha-Levi once said, my pen is my harp and my lyre, my library is my garden and my orchard.”

Asa smiled at Buck. “He dictates and I write it down for him. He has to spell a lot of words for me, words I’ve never heard before, but they sound wonderful, Buck. And he’s teaching me what they mean. Really mean.”

Buck had never before seen the glow he saw now on his friend’s face.

The rabbi smiled crookedly. “You can get more water from a deep well than from ten shallow ones. And the Talmud tells us, much have I learned from my teachers, more from my colleagues, but most from my students.”

Buck wasn’t sure he fully understood all of what the teacher was telling him, but he felt it was profound.

He accepted a second cup of tea but politely declined a third. It was clear to him that the elderly invalid was tiring. After Buck thanked the rabbi and his wife for their hospitality and acknowledged their invitation to return, Asa saw him to the door.

“You seem content here,” Buck commented.

“I am, for now. I wish I’d met the rabbi sooner, but—” his voice thickened “—he doesn’t have too much time left.”

“What then? What do you want to do?”

“Somehow, someday, somewhere I want to get back to farming, work with the land and live a life of peace. I feel strong again, Buck, and the rabbi’s helped me accept what happened. I still get angry sometimes, but he’s taught me not to be bitter.”

“How does he do that?”

Asa laughed for the first time. “I don’t know exactly, except that he lets me talk about anything, even things I’d be ashamed to tell anyone else. He doesn’t judge. He just listens.”