ATOP Chapter Sixty

"It's great out here, isn't it," Mickey sighed contentedly, letting his bare feet dangle in the water. The sun filtered down through the trees, spreading golden patches over the forest floor and the brook laughed merrily as it bubbled over the rocks. The fishing was good today.

"Jah," Rebekah offered another of her tiny smiles. She had been sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, huddled almost in a ball. But now she uncurled herself and slowly untied her shoelaces. 

"When we get back, Ronnie'll grill up the fish," Mickey licked his lips. "It's the perfect night for a cookout, wouldn't you say? And baseball, ever played baseball? You'll love it, Ronnie's the best pitcher in Jefferson, with him 'round, it's ten times as fun..."

"Baseball? No..." Rebekah spoke hesitantly, slipping her feet into the creek. "Ooh... cold!" she yanked them back out, laughing. "You did not tell me it was so cold."

"It ain't," Mickey grinned. "Try it again... the third time it won't be cold at all. Hey... instead of saying "did not", try "didn't". It's easier."

"Didn't?" Rebekah wrinkled her nose and tried the water again. "You Americans... you smash all the words together... it sounds strange."

"Yup, gonna teach you all 'bout being a Yankee," Mickey grinned. "Before you know it, Rebekah, you'll be a proper Yank yourself."

"You may call me Bekah," her smile grew just a little bit wider. 

"Bekah, eh?" He raised his eyebrows. "Wow... I'm allowed now?" 

"Jah, call me Bekah," she laughed. 

"Call me Isaac," Mickey answered, in a daze. Suddenly realizing what had just come out of his mouth, he jerked himself upright, eyes wide in alarm. Had he really said that out loud?

Rebekah giggled. "Isaac? Why?" Realization dawned in her eyes and she stared at him sideways. "Isaac... and... Rebekah..." she added softly. "Is that... what you mean?"

"Isaac and Rebekah?" Mickey repeated, laughing nervously. "Why... what on earth gave you that idea? I didn't say nothin' 'bout Isaac and Rebekah, I... hey, look, I got a bite!" So saying, he grabbed his fishing pole, reeling it in hastily. There was nothing on the other end.

"If you say so," Rebekah shrugged. She leaned back for a moment, reaching for a daisy. "Pretty, is it not? What do you call it?"

"A daisy?" Mickey squinted at it. "Dunno. Flowers all look the same to me." He rebaited his hook, just because he felt like it, and dropped it back into the brook.

"Daisy." Rebekah smiled, twirling it in her fingertips. "How can you say that? Flowers... each one is so different and beautiful... each made expertly by God... even in the same kinds there is so much variation..." she held up the daisy. "In German, we call this a gänseblumchen."

"Ganzy-bloom-jen..." Mickey shook his head, bewildered. "And you say we Yanks talk funny..."

"My language is beautiful," Rebekah frowned defensively. "Ich meine es ernst wenn ich sage, dass ihr Amerikaner komisch redet... es klingt so abgehackt... mein Deutsch klingt wie musik..."

"I.... have no clue what you just said," 

"Oh, do not mind it," Rebekah sighed and Mickey laughed.

"Say 'never mind'."

"Why?"

"Aw, fergit it." He reached in his open tackle box, twirling a hook between his fingertips. "Y'know who you should meet is Sandy. Ever heard of him?"

"Sandy?" Rebekah frowned. "I think I might have heard the name... it is a silly name. Jah, I have heard Josh and Ronnie talking about him."

"Have they ever told you the story of the Great Escape?" Mickey quirked an eyebrow at her. "It's a thriller for sure. Oughta make a movie about it."

"Great Escape? Does that have anything to do with what Ronnie..."

"Nah, Ronnie's escape is much cooler, for sure, but this one was all on Sandy, and it's a pretty awesome story. Wish I had..." he was going to add "been there" but decided not to. He didn't want to provoke another anti-war tirade. 

"Well... are you going to tell me about it?"

"If you have no objection to listening, I have no objection to telling." Mickey reeled in his line and cast it out further. "So Sandy is German. American-German, that is. See, he speaks fluent German and none of the guys knew it... he thought it best to keep it a secret since we were at war with Germany..."

June, 1947

Dear Mama,

It is getting easier, these days. While I cannot forget everything that happened... it seems farther away sometimes. Like it is in the past and... the nights are hard. And parts of the days. But it is not all the time anymore. 

I do not even know what I am trying to say. Just that... I am alright, Mama. I am making it through this. And Shonie is doing so well... it brings me joy to see her so safe and happy. And Mama? I like Mickey. Not... not like him like a girl likes a boy... that is not what I mean... please do not misunderstand that... as a friend. I like him as a friend. He... he helps somehow. He makes me smile... makes me laugh. Yes, he still drives me crazy... and he can be terribly annoying... but really, the annoying is not as annoying as it used to be. Also, he tells really good stories. I should write some of these down sometime. But not now. We just got back from fishing, Mickey and I, and we are having a cookout tonight. Which is a new thing for me. We will cook the fish outside over a fire, and Rachel is making potato salad, and Donna is brining molasses cookies... those are Ronnie's favorites... and mine too now, actually. And Lynette is coming and bringing one of her amazing cakes. 

Have I told you about Lynette? She is one of the funniest old ladies I have ever met. And her husband Lyle is even funnier. He is like a twelve year old boy in the body of an eighty year old man. And speaking of stories, I have never heard anyone talk as much as he does. He has done more in one lifetime than anyone else could do in ten, and he tells variations of his life story nonstop. But it does not even make you mad, it is just fun to listen to him. About Lynette though... Rachel calls her Mamalein. I think she has become a sort of mother figure for her. I...

Ach, Mama, I have to go. Mickey is yelling for me all the way from outside... I will talk to you soon. I love you, dear Mama, and believe me, I will never replace you. 

♡♡♡

"Bekah, please," Rachel sighed. "It is alright to not eat Kosher, you do not have to cook for yourself."

"It is not even completely Kosher," Rebekah groaned. "I am trying as hard as I can. Please, Rachel, do not make this any harder for me than it already is." 

"At least let me finish these..." Rachel reached for the bowl of batter. "Are these latkes? They smell lovely..."

"Jah," Rebekah whispered. "I memorized Mama's recipe..."

"Memorized..." Rachel turned to her sister with wide eyes. "You memorized it? How... how?"

Rebekah smiled sadly.

"I took Mama's cookbook when they sent us into hiding. I learned every single recipe in it by heart. The apple strudels, the matzo ball soup, the kugel... and... and the Sabbath Challah... everything. I used to tell them to Shonie like bedtime stories."

"Challah..." Rachel breathed. "Mama's Challah... Bekah, this is amazing... you must write it all down! Ach, dear sister, I thought I had lost Mama's recipes forever except for the few I could remember. Ach, Bekah..." She pulled her sister into a long hug, her eyes filling with tears. 

"Hey, Becky," Benjie yelled from the doorway. "I has a letter for you!" He ran up to her, waving a slightly-crumpled envelope. "Daddy found it in the mailbox!"

"Talking like a big boy, is he not?" Rebekah laughed as she accepted the envelope. "Who on earth would be writing to me?"

"You crying, Mommy?" Benjie looked up at her, worried. "It's okay, Mommy, don't cry. See? I here!" 

"Ach, I am fine, my big boy," Rachel swung him into her arms. "Are you ready for breakfast? Bekah... is... is everything alright?"

Rebekah had turned to stone. But her hand, clutching the envelope, was trembling. 

"Rachel...?" Her voice came out as a strange, squeaking whisper. "I need... I need..." she scrambled for a chair and sank into it. 

"Bekah... Bekah, please..." Rachel let Benjie slide to the floor as she knelt beside her sister. "Tell me what is wrong."

"Ja... Ja... kob..." Rebekah gasped out. "Jakob. This letter... is from Jakob."

"Jakob?" Rachel shook her head. Rebekah had never mentioned him. "Who is he?"

"It does not matter who he is..." Rebekah choked on the words. "He... he is dead."