ATOP Chapter Seven

"It has been over a week now that I have been here," Rachel said expectantly as she set a plate stacked high with steaming pancakes in the center of the table. Emma had come over a few days ago to teach her how to make pancakes and in return, Rachel had shown Emma her legendary apple strudels. "Is it not now time you showed me the town? Anyway, would it not be a relief to get a break from all this wedding planning... to spend some time together, just as a family?"

Ronnie glanced up from his plate, something like faint concern flickering on his face. 

"You... sure you're up for it?" He seemed hesitant. Rachel plunked a plate of beef sausage beside the pancakes and sat down with a determined air. She had refused to eat or even cook bacon or anything else pork, which had led Ronnie on a nearly wild-goose chase all over in search of beef sausage and consequently wondering how to survive without bacon. If Rachel wouldn't have pork in the house, so be it. But it wasn't really a welcome transition.

"We need an... understanding," Rachel grinned wryly. "I am not... how do you say... breakable. I can survive a shopping trip. A week of not traveling has more than made up for everything. I'm fine, verstehen?"

Ronnie chuckled, shaking his head. 

"If I knew what... verste... whatever-it-was meant... I might be able to answer that."

"You know what I mean," Rachel sighed and pushed the pancakes at him. "Eat."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Ronnie slid half the stack onto his plate. "Here's the thing, Rachel... it's not that I'm worried you're tired after the trip, it's... well..." he groaned and slammed his fork down on the table. "We just... got through years of war with... with Germany..." he hesitated and Rachel raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Jah... and...?"

"Oh, how do I say it..." Ronnie ran his hands through his hair, staring fixedly at his still-untasted pancakes.

"You do not listen well, do you?" Rachel giggled, reaching over to pour syrup on his pancakes. "And you said I didn't have to tell you twice. I said eat and I meant eat. And tell me why you are worried... you know you do not have to pick and choose words with me. What is wrong?"

"Your... accent..." Ronnie groaned again and hid his face.

"It is not that bad," Rachel protested, still laughing. "I speak English perfectly, you told me this yourself!"

"It's not that. It's... people will... know you're German..."

"German Jewish," Rachel corrected. "There is a big difference there. Very big. Everyone knows that."

"Yes, but... people are gonna... get the wrong idea..."

"Ronnie." Rachel leaned forward to pull his hands down from his face. "Look at me." He lifted his head halfway, hardly daring to meet her eyes. "Are you... ashamed of me?" She had turned white very suddenly, and her lower lip trembled. It hit him straight through the heart like an arrow. He pulled back sharply, sliding his chair back from the table and standing bolt upright.

"Never, Rachel, impossible!" he was angry now... so swiftly angry that it frightened her. She dropped her hands into her lap and bowed her head as he went on. "Ashamed of you? It's you who ought to be ashamed of me... I'm... oh, Rachel..." he sank back into his chair. "I could never be ashamed of you, my Rachel. You're perfect, okay? Perfect. It's... it's that... I'm... I'm afraid..."

"Afraid of what?" Rachel chanced a cautious glance at him.

"Afraid that people will... treat you... badly... because of... because they'll think... because of the German..."

"Not that they would dare to bother me while in the company of a lieutenant and a war hero," Rachel grinned, realizing what he meant, but not worried about it the way he was. "Once people get to know me, it should be alright, should it not?"

"I... hope so..." Ronnie faltered. "But until they get to know you... and what if they don't give you a chance? I'm sorry... I'm not trying to... oh, I dunno. It's just that... I can't go with you always, and if you need to go into town without me..."

"If this is so bad, then I will take Emma or your mama along. It will all work out, you will see. You should not worry so much about me... you know I survived two years on the run in occupied Germany and Belgium, all by myself." Rachel smiled. "Anyway, it is not like you can... how do I say it... put me under glass like... like a china doll."

Ronnie returned her smile half-heartedly, but he didn't answer right away. He reached across the sadly-neglected pancakes to cup her chin in his hand, tracing his thumb gently down her cheek and across her jaw. He shook his head again, and she saw... pride... shining through the love in his eyes. She regretted her words from only moments before now. Ashamed... he wasn't ashamed of her... he was proud of her.

"I know," he whispered finally, leaning forward to press a kiss on her forehead. "You're right. You... Rachel Naomi Cohen Stewart... are an amazing woman. And I'm honored to have you in my life. Now..." he sat back and grinned at her. "Let me eat these pancakes, the smell is driving me crazy. And as soon as breakfast is over and Benjie wakes up and has pancakes too, you go and get that pretty hat of yours on. We're going to town. Let's make a day of it, okay? Get the kiddo some ice cream and all that fun stuff. Maybe we can drop him off at Gramma and Grampa's later and go see a movie, eh?"

Rachel beamed. 

"You know," she grinned, abruptly changing the subject. "My middle name... you are still pronouncing it wrong. It is Neye-omi, not Nay-omi, let me hear you say it right!"

"NEYE-omi then," Ronnie laughed.

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Leninger's Dry Goods hadn't originally been in the plans for Rachel's shopping day, but it was the first place they stopped. Just in passing, the fabrics and ribbons and lace in the store window made her eyes glow and she clutched Ronnie's arm excitedly.

"There. Stop the car... we must go in. Such pretty things I have not seen... since before the war!"

It had been over an hour now and Ronnie and Benjie were still patiently... or not-so-patiently... following Rachel back and forth through the aisles of dry goods. 

"Beautiful," she murmured, tracing her fingers longingly over a spring cotton of the palest blue sprigged with tiny flowers of a darker blue. "Scarcely can I remember the last time I saw so many nice things at once." She turned abruptly to face Ronnie, who was wrestling with an inquisitive Benjie intent in yanking on every ribbon he saw. "I love this Jefferson of yours. So peaceful... so... wunderbar." She grinned teasingly as she spoke the German word. "Now hold still..." she picked up a bolt of fabric before Ronnie had a chance to speak, holding it up against him. 

"Beautiful, is it not? Just exactly the color I was looking for."

"Blue?" Ronnie raised a confused eyebrow at the bolt of flannel in Rachel's hands. Benjie squeaked and attempted an elaborate dive over the back of Ronnie's shoulder. It was foiled and another squeak signaled the little boy's frustration. 

"Nein... not just any blue..." Rachel smiled mysteriously and hugged the fabric. "This is a special blue. The prettiest I have ever seen and the rarest shade in all the world."

"Looks like plain blue to me," Ronnie shrugged, grinning sheepishly. Fabric was something he never paid attention to. And truth be told, he was about as restless as Benjie. Pop's Soda Shop across the street was beckoning him almost irresistibly. 

"Oh, you..." Rachel shook her head knowingly. "It is exactly the color of your eyes. Do you not see? I need some... I have to make you a shirt out of this. And a matching one for baby because... well... why not? And it is nice and warm, when winter comes, it will be perfect."

"Is that the last thing?" Ronnie's voice was muffled as he tugged on Benjie, who was attempting to climb on his head. "This kid..."

"Jah, this is the last," Rachel laughed, tucking the bolt under her arm. "I am sorry, it is just... this place is beautiful." 

Her excitement was nearly tangible as she piled her new acquisitions on the counter, her eyes dancing in anticipation. She ran her hands lightly over the blue flannel as she pushed it towards the clerk.

"Three yards of this, please. And five each of the others."

The clerk... a woman in her mid-fifties with wire-rimmed glasses pulled far down on her nose... glanced up and narrowed her eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked sharply, her tone not at all friendly. 

"Rachel Stewart," the answering tone was suddenly guarded as the two women eyed each other, one with suspicion, the other with sudden apprehension. "I have just come..."

"From where? Where are you from?"

"This is my wife," Ronnie stepped forward. "We met overseas. We'll take the fabric, please. We're in a hurry."

"And who are you?" the woman narrowed her eyes even further. "You don't look so American to me. You look... German. Blond hair and blue eyes, eh?"

"American as apple pie," Ronnie laughed, but there was warning in it. "The fabric, please."

"I don't serve Germans here," the clerk snapped. "Your wife there has an accent, you can't hide that from me. And you might not have an accent, but you have the look of it. My son was killed by Germans. I won't have anything to do with the lot of you. Find your fabric somewhere else."

"But I..." Rachel's eyes filled with tears and Ronnie's face reddened.

"Look here," he leaned forward, every word punctuated dangerously. "My name is Ronald Stewart, I was born right here in Jefferson, I have a farm three miles out from town. My parents are James and Donna Stewart, they were born and raised here, and so were my grandparents and my great grandparents. I don't know who you think you are, I know I've never seen you around before, but I belong here even more than you do. And so does my wife. You've got no call to..."

"Ronnie..." Rachel pleaded, pulling at his arm. "Bitte... let us go. I don't want a fuss."

"I told you, didn't I?" Ronnie exploded, glancing down at Rachel. "People here... they... they don't understand! The whole lot of you... you're prejudiced!" He shook his fist in the woman's face and Rachel dragged him back. 

"It is alright, bitte," she whispered. "I am used to this kind of thing. Being a Jew, you know... let us just go."

Somehow she managed to get her angry husband and now crying child outside. The clerk was still yelling as the door shut behind them... hateful words that sent shivers down Rachel's spine and made Ronnie even angrier.

"I don't want you going in there ever again," Ronnie glared unspeakable things at the door of the shop. "You can get fabric at the general store or we can go to the next town over... anywhere, just so long as they aren't stupid, prejudiced..." words failed him. Rachel laughed softly. 

"Dummkopfs?" she offered.

"Yeah... what you said. C'mon, let's go to Pop's. He's an old friend, he'll be alright."