The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
course you are not! But people can be stupid and ignorant,’ Emma exclaimed with some vehemence, recognizing the sense of what he said, and instantly comparing the rabid class differences in England that also bred cruelty and terrible inequities. She gave him a swift look. ‘So you come from the land of the Jews, do you sir?’ she asked, thinking of the accent that tinged his speech.
‘No, I do not. You see, the Jews scattered throughout the world over the centuries. To Spain, Germany, Russia, Poland, and many other countries. I myself come from Kiev, in Russia. Most of the Jews in Leeds also come from Russia, or from Poland. We came here to escape the terror and harassment of the pogroms directed against us. I had my baptism of fire in my own country and so, as difficult as things here can be sometimes, they are not as terrible as they were in Russia. It is good to be in England. We have freedom here, thank God.’
The man was mindful of her listening to his recital so seriously and with infinite patience and another thought struck him. ‘You cannot be from Leeds, or you would know that there are many Jewish immigrants such as myself living here, and that we are despised by most.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Emma, adding, ‘I come from Ripon.’
‘Ah, from the rural area. That explains it!’ He chuckled and his sad eyes unexpectedly twinkled. ‘Well, young lady, I will not detain you any longer with my discourse on the Jews. My most grateful thanks again to you. And may the good Lord bless and protect you all of the days of your life.’
Emma flinched inside at this reference to the God she no longer acknowledged or believed in but, knowing the man meant well, she returned his friendly smile. ‘It was nothing. Really it wasn’t. I was glad to help you, sir.’
The man inclined his head courteously and started to walk away. However, after only a few steps he faltered and staggered against the wall, clutching his chest. Emma ran to him immediately. ‘Are you all right?’ She noticed his face was now as white as cotton, and drawn, and his lips were faintly blue and perspiration had broken out on his forehead.
‘Yes, I am perfectly well,’ he answered in a strangled voice, struggling for breath. After a moment he whispered, ‘It was only a twinge. The indigestion maybe.’
Emma did not like the look of him. He appeared to be quite ill and in considerable discomfort. ‘Do you live far away from here?’ she asked urgently. ‘I will take you to your home.’
‘No! No! You have already done enough for me. Please. Please. I am all right. Do not worry yourself.’
‘Where do you live?’ Emma insisted firmly.
‘In Imperial Street.’ He could not resist smiling through his pain. ‘A most unfortunate name for that poor little street, considering it is hardly royal in any sense of that word. It’s located in the Leylands, about ten minutes away from here.’
Emma’s heart dropped at the mention of this area, since she had heard it was dangerous, the ghetto, but nevertheless, she kept her face calm and endeavoured to appear untroubled. ‘Come along! I shall take you home. I don’t think you are well at all, and besides, you might need me to protect you against another assault,’ she pointed out. The man was utterly amazed at her consideration and her willingness to assist him yet again, and not wanting to be a nuisance, he tried hard to dissuade her, but in spite of his protestations Emma took command purposefully. Clutching her reticule tightly, she relieved him of his parcel, gripped his arm, and together they walked slowly up the street.
The man’s acute chest pains were diminishing and as his breathing improved he began to feel better. He scrutinized the girl who was being so solicitous of him, helping him along so generously. Such kindness from a stranger he had never received. He coughed, pushing down the rush of emotion, saying quietly, ‘You are being most thoughtful and kind. I do appreciate it.’ He stopped, turned to her, and thrust out his hand. ‘My name is Abraham Kallinski. May I have the honour of knowing yours?’
Emma tucked the parcel under her arm and took his hand. His grip was firm. ‘It’s Emma Harte.’ He noticed the silver ring on her left hand. ‘Mrs Harte, I assume?’ Emma nodded, but did not elucidate. Being a courteous and civilized man, Abraham Kallinski respected the privacy of others and he therefore refrained from asking any more questions.
They walked at a steady, even pace, Emma supporting Abraham Kallinski under his elbow, and as they walked he told her more about himself, for he was gregarious, an outgoing and articulate individual. Emma with her inquiring mind and fierce desire to learn, listened alertly, giving him her full attention. She soon discovered he had left Kiev in 1880, making his way to Rotterdam and thence to Hull, Yorkshire’s greatest seaport. ‘Like many of the other Jews from Russia and Poland, I came to Leeds intending to go to Liverpool and from there across to America,’ he explained. ‘However, I had to stay in Leeds for a period, to make the money for my ticket to America. Where Jews are, other Jews must go, and when I arrived I came immediately to the Leylands, where most of the Jewish immigrants live, seeking a Landsmann, that is, a man from my own country who spoke my language. I found work easily, for there is kinship and charity amongst Jews. We try to help each other.’ He laughed as he reminisced. ‘Ach, but I was young then. Twenty years old. When I was twenty-one I had the good fortune to meet the young lady who was to become my wife. She was born in Leeds. Her parents had fled Russia years before. And so, Mrs Harte, I stayed in Leeds. I never did go to America in the end. Well, here we are!’ he gestured to the surroundings. ‘This is where I have lived for the past twenty-five years, although not always in the same house.’
Emma looked about, her eyes darting from side to side with unconcealed curiosity as they entered the Leylands. It was a huddle of mean streets, dark courtyards, and sly alleys, the houses clustered together as if seeking protection from each other. Emma shuddered inside at the obvious signs of wretchedness and poverty as they wended their way through Byron Street and into the heart of the ghetto. A group of barefooted children in patched clothing were playing in the middle of Imperial Street and several men were hurrying home, their steps purposeful, their heads bent, eyes furtive. They are strange-looking men, Emma thought, with their beards and large round hats and long coats. They are quite different in appearance from Mr Kallinski, who seems so English. Emma smiled at this thought, having just been told he was Russian-born.
Abraham Kallinski stopped in front of a house at the far end of Imperial Street. To Emma’s surprise it was larger and a bit grander than the others and was extremely well kept, with starched white curtains at the windows which were flanked by wooden shutters. ‘This is my home,’ he said, his face suddenly illuminated with such an expression of joy Emma was touched. His shoulders went back and there was pride in his voice.
‘Then you will be all right now,’ said Emma. ‘I enjoyed listening to you, Mr Kallinski. It was very interesting. I do hope you feel better. Goodbye, Mr Kallinski.’ She handed him his parcel, the smile still lingering on her face.
Abraham Kallinski stared at this lovely girl, this Gentile girl, who had been so helpful and who had devoted so much of her time to him and with a compassion that was rare, and he put out his hand and clutched her arm, detaining her. ‘Please, please, come in for a moment. I wish my wife to meet you, Mrs Harte. She will want to thank you. She will be most grateful for the aid you have given me today and so selflessly. Please!’
‘Oh, really Mr Kallinski, that’s not necessary. And I should be getting along.’
‘Please, just for a moment,’ he begged, his eyes soft and imploring. ‘It is hot. You are tired. Let us offer you a little hospitality. A glass of tea perhaps. A short rest.’
Emma did feel tired and thirsty, but she did not wish to intrude. Furthermore, she did not relish the idea of being stranded in the Leylands alone, especially in the late afternoon. ‘Well, I really shouldn’t,’ Emma began, wavering. She was longing for a glass of water.
Aware of her hesitation, Abraham Kallinski was the one who now took charge. He manoeuvred Emma towards the door and opened it. ‘Come. We will go inside,’ he persisted, ‘a little refreshment will indeed fortify you.’
Abraham Kallinski led