Shelly Sanders - Rachel's Secret

Rachel unfolded the letter.

Dear Rachel,

Sholom aleichem! I hope this letter finds you well. We arrived in Petersburg a few days ago. It was a long, uneventful journey, and we are grateful to have a place to stay. My aunt has been splendid, stuffing us with bread and fish and stew until we feel as if we might burst. My father looks much better now and is searching for a position.

You would love this city. There is so much to see, I feel a bit overwhelmed. You must keep your wits about you, for people are always in a hurry and travel quickly by carriage. I discovered these carriages take precedence on the streets when a horse almost took a bite of my overcoat!

My favorite place is the bookseller, where the books are stacked from the floor to the ceiling! I’ve never seen so many books in one place before! I have to be careful, because I don’t have money to pay for one. So I browse as if I am going to buy, and then leave when the shopkeeper is helping someone else. Someday I’ll be able to buy as many books as I like.

I want to attend the University of Petersburg, but Jews are not welcome, so all I can do is hope for a miracle. It’s just as Tevye says, “a cow can sooner jump over a roof than a Jew get into a Russian university!”

Please record my address and write to me when you can.

Rachel folded the letter in half. Life would be so much easier if she cared for Sacha the way she cared for Sergei. She pictured herself kissing Sacha and chuckled. There was no way she could ever think of him as anything other than a good friend, and pretending would be wrong. Now that Sacha knew how she felt, he could meet someone who returned his feelings.

She sighed and made her way down the hall toward to the stairs. It disappointed Rachel that Sacha wasn’t able to attend the university. She hoped it would be different in America, that Jews would not be banned from education and jobs, and that the long journey ahead would be worth the trouble and expense.

“Good afternoon Rachel.” Mrs. Berlatsky was walking toward her.

“Good afternoon,” said Rachel. “How is Chaia?”

A shadow crossed Mrs. Berlatsky’s face. “The same. Her bones are mending well but her mind is somewhere else. We must remain here until she is better.”

Tears welled up in Rachel’s eyes. “I miss her. There is so much I need to tell her…” Mrs. Berlatsky patted her on the arm. “I’m sure your visits are helping her. One of these days she will be strong enough to come out of the world she’s locked in now.”

Chaia is still a prisoner in her own body, which makes me feel guilty for surviving the massacre without injury. What she saw must have been a great shock for her eyes and her heart, but I know Chaia. She is strong and will wake up one day. I just hope that I am still here when she does, and not on my way to America.

Rachel stopped writing and frowned. This was her first entry in the journal she’d received from Sergei, and she was nervous about pouring her thoughts out again, taking the risk that they might be found and read. She looked down at what she had written. This was a chance she had to take.

The unfairness of life disturbs me. It makes no sense, how some are lucky and others, people like Chaia who are so good, have such bad luck.

Rachel pushed her way through the dense crowd at the courtroom doors and showed her pass to the guard. She entered the building where the trial would be held, and found herself in a large square hall between two lines of guards. Seeing all the people—Jews and gentiles—in one large room, made her want to turn around and run back to the safety of the hospital. But she had to do this for Mikhail and for her father. She had to see justice done before she could start a new life without the anger that rumbled inside of her.

She took a seat at the end of a bench in the third row of the room. It was so crowded that only half of her bottom fit on the bench. Using her left leg, Rachel supported herself and waited for the trial to begin.

At ten o’clock, she heard a deep voice cry out, “Court is in session.” A side door opened and twelve elderly senators walked in, boasting medals on their chests that reflected their many years of service to the Tsar. They took their seats in armchairs and a second side door opened.

Rachel gasped when she saw Mikhail’s uncle and cousin enter, escorted by police officers. Both were well dressed and clean-shaven, which made them appear less threatening than on that fateful day when she had seen them with Mikhail. As her eyes grazed the rest of the spectators, she saw Mikhail’s grandparents sitting directly behind the barrier. Though she’d never met them, the similarity between Mikhail and his grandfather was unmistakable. She studied their lined faces and thought sadly that Mikhail would never be a father or grandfather, nor reach old age.

The prosecutor read the indictment accusing Vasily and Philip Rybachenko of murder. Father and son remained stoic as the charge was read aloud. For the next hour, the prosecutor described in detail Mikhail’s relationship to the accused, and how cards and drink led up to the murder. He spoke poignantly about how Mikhail’s murder had altered his grandparents’ lives, and stated that justice must be done to fully honor Mikhail’s memory. He finished his speech recommending that the uncle be punished with the full force of the law and that Philip be given a lesser punishment because of his age.

Rachel’s eyes moved to Mikhail’s grandparents, who sat stone-faced. The administrator of the Kishinev Circuit Court, Goremykin, was a large man with dark whiskers. He announced that there would be an hour’s recess before the defense spoke. Most people filed out for the break, but Rachel was content to remain in the hall to ensure she missed nothing. She felt a faint hunger pang but put it out of her mind by imagining herself on a ship to America, surrounded by clear water and a brilliant blue sky.

The courtroom filled up quickly after the break, and Rachel had been able to secure a better spot on the bench, closer to the middle. The tall, angular defense lawyer wasted no time, standing and making a case for his clients. He began by describing Vasily’s childhood, how his father had clearly favored Mikhail’s father. This feeling of inadequacy and rejection had followed him all his life, the lawyer emphasized, causing him to overindulge in spirits and cards. Not being asked to help run the family tobacco processing business was devastating, he continued, but he found solace in his position as a police officer and had only just been relieved of his duties two days before the murder. He was not desperate, and he had no animosity toward his young nephew, Mikhail. Furthermore, there were no witnesses to corroborate the prosecution’s story, only hearsay, which was why he asked that the charges against his clients be dismissed.

The court broke into an agitated roar of disapproval. Rachel cowered in her seat as she listened to people shout out, “They’re innocent,” and “Why is there a trial without witnesses?” She looked over at the senators to see their reaction, but their faces remained passive, even bored.

She peered at Goremykin, pleading silently with him to put an end to the commotion, but he sat perfectly still for a number of minutes before he called for order. Then he asked the prosecutor if, in fact, he had a witness.

The prosecutor slowly got to his feet and shook his head. Voices rose instantly, calling for this farce to be over with, while others pleaded that the court consider the evidence. Rachel’s heart clenched as she gazed around the courtroom. If she didn’t come forward, Mikhail’s killers would be freed. There would be no justice for Mikhail. She recalled her father’s words, about knowing the right time to reveal her secret. She rose to her feet. Without hesitation, she walked to the front of the room, not entirely sure of what she was doing or what she would say. Her feet seemed to move separately from her body, thrusting her forward. As she drew nearer to Goremykin, the room became eerily silent. Her eyes did not waver from his face as she stood in front of him.