Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

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 her inside the house, which opened directly into a large kitchen that also seemed to Emma to be an all-purpose room. The woman standing at the stove turned as the door opened. Her eyes widened. ‘Abraham! Abraham! Whatever has happened to you?’ she cried, rushing across the floor, the spoon she had been using still clutched in her hand. ‘Your clothes are all dirty, and look at your face! Oh, Abraham, you have been hurt!’ She took his arm, her face a picture of distress mingled with fear.

‘Now, Janessa, don’t get excited,’ he said in his most gentle voice and with a tender look, for Abraham adored his wife. ‘I am not hurt. Just a little dishevelled. A small incident, that is all. I stumbled and fell in North Street and two young hooligans threw stones at me. You know how they are.’ He brought Emma forward, his arm under her elbow. ‘This is Mrs Harte, Janessa. Emma Harte. She came to my rescue. Sent the boys scurrying off with their tails between their legs and then she kindly brought me home. She insisted, in fact.’

Janessa Kallinski put down the spoon and grasped both of Emma’s hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Mrs Harte. Thank you! Thank you for helping my husband! That was most charitable of you and courageous. You could easily have been hurt yourself.’ She smiled at Emma with genuine gratefulness and went on in a warm tone, ‘Please, come! Sit down. Let me offer you some refreshment. You look tired and hot.’

‘I am happy to meet you, too,’ Emma said politely. ‘And thank you, Mrs Kallinski, I would appreciate a glass of water, please.’ Janessa led Emma to a chair and pressed her into it. ‘The water you can have with pleasure. But also you must take a glass of lemon tea with us. Now, please, rest yourself.’

Mrs Kallinski was back in a second with the water, which Emma accepted eagerly, and she was suddenly quite relieved to be seated after her long day tramping the streets. She had not fully realized just how tired and depleted she was beginning to feel.

Abraham followed his wife to the other side of the kitchen, where she had been preparing the evening meal. He gave her the parcel. ‘Here is the challah, Janessa. I am afraid it fell in the street, when I fell, but I do not think it is damaged.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Not even bruised.’ He looked at Emma. ‘Please, excuse me for a moment.’ He inclined his head with that grave courtesy of his and went upstairs.

Emma’s eyes scanned the kitchen. It was large and pleasant and more than adequately furnished with a sofa and several comfortable chairs, a sideboard, and a large table surrounded by six chairs. The table was covered with a fresh white cloth that gleamed brightly in the fading afternoon light and was set for four people. The wallpaper was attractive and conservative and the rug on the floor was of good quality, as were the other appointments. Emma now observed Janessa as she made the tea and filled the glasses. She was taller than her husband and slender, with an attractive figure. Her fresh-complexioned face was handsome rather than pretty, wide and Slavic in its features, and her mouth was full and soft. Her glossy straight black hair was pulled back and coiled on her neck and she had large pale blue eyes under well-defined black brows. She wore a black cotton dress and a crisp white apron that added to the rather stately and even regal impression she gave. Emma guessed she must be in her late thirties.

Within minutes Mr Kallinski returned. He had removed the dust from his trousers, changed his jacket, brushed his hair, and attended to his bruised cheek. He washed his hands at the sink and then he spoke to his wife quietly before joining Emma. Janessa followed with the tea on a small tray. She handed a glass to Emma. ‘I know this will revive you more than the water did, Mrs Harte,’ she murmured and sat down opposite Emma.

Emma thanked her and sipped the tea. It was delicious. Lemon-flavoured with a piece of lemon floating in it, and it was sweet and hot. Emma had never had lemon tea before, but she refrained from mentioning this, as always wanting to appear both experienced and a young lady of Quality.

Mrs Kallinski gave her undivided attention to her husband. ‘Are you sure you feel all right, Abraham? No twinges? No pains in your chest again?’ She was unable to conceal her worry.

Mr Kallinski threw Emma a warning glance and said quickly, ‘No! No! Nothing like that, Janessa. Please do not worry. I am completely recovered from the fall.’

Janessa looked doubtful, a frown scoring her brow, but she appeared to accept his statement in good faith. Abraham took a sip of tea and then regarded Emma. ‘Do you live far from the Leylands, Mrs Harte?’

‘Quite a little way. Do you know where the Mucky Duck is in York Road?’ asked Emma. Mr Kallinski nodded. ‘Well, I live about half an hour’s walk from there, at the other end of York Road, in the opposite direction from the Leylands.’

‘Ah, I see,’ responded Mr Kallinski. He peered at the clock. ‘It is getting later than I realized. When my sons return, which should be very soon, I will have them escort you home. It is not safe, this area, for a young lady alone.’

Emma was about to decline this offer, but immediately saw the common sense of it. She did not want to be exposed to danger in the ghetto and the adjoining districts, and so she said, ‘Thank you. I think that would be a good idea.’

‘It is the least we can do,’ interjected Mrs Kallinski. ‘We don’t want your husband worrying about you, now do we?’ Then she continued in her goodhearted way, ‘And no doubt you are anxious to be getting home, to prepare your evening meal.’

Emma cleared her throat, not responding, forever cautious about confiding in strangers, but under Mrs Kallinski’s affable gaze, she found herself saying, ‘No, I don’t have to prepare supper for my husband. He is in the Royal Navy. When he is at sea, as he is at present, I live alone.’