You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Companion Novel) (9 page)

“She is a friend
of mine, well, not exactly a friend. But I know her. She has done alterations for me, plenty.” Mrs. Bidowsky laughed and her large tummy shook. “Give me a few minutes, I have some things to do, but then I will go with you and talk to her. How will that be, Zofia?”

“That’s so kind
of you, Mrs. Bidowsky.”

“Oy, it’s nothing.” She smiled.

“I am glad we can help.” Mr. Bidowsky said. “I hope the seamstress will be able to give you work.”

“Yes, so do I.”

After she bundled up against the cold, Mrs. Bidowsky put her arm through Zofia’s and together they walked the two blocks to the storefront of the seamstress.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Bidowsky.”

“Good Morning, Fruma. This is Zofia.”

“Good Morning
Zofia. Sit down ladies. What can I do for you? Let me guess, maybe this is George’s bashart? Are we going to be making a wedding dress?”

Z
ofia blushed. Esther Bidowsky cleared her throat. “No, nothing like that, not of course that I would be opposed.” She smiled at Zofia. “But that’s not it at all. Zofia is our part time employee. Last year her father passed away, God rest his soul, and her mother is ill. She needs full time work, but we don’t have the work for her. I heard from some of the ladies that I play cards with that you might be looking for an apprentice. I can tell you that she is reliable, and a very good worker. Maybe you would consider giving her a job.”

Mrs. Kolowsky scrutinized
Zofia. Her eyes traveled over the girl until Zofia looked away.

“She looks capable.” Mrs. Kolowsky said. “If you want the job I will give you a try. You are going t
o find, however, that sometimes we will have to work long hours into the night if we have a special event, like sometimes a wedding dress needs to be finished. You are understanding this? And I cannot afford to pay you seamstress wages while you are learning. It will be much less until you know what you are doing. But if you do well, then you will make a decent salary.”

“Yes, ma
’am, I am grateful for the opportunity.”

“All right t
hen. You come tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“Yes ma
’am. And thank you.”

After
Zofia and Mrs. Bidowsky, left they walked to the end of the block where they would separate. Zofia going north towards her home, Mrs. Bidowsky headed south.

“I cannot thank you enough for doing this for me.”
Zofia said and she squeezed the older woman’s arm.

“I am glad it worked out the way that it did.”

“Yes, so am I.”

“Listen, maybe some time you are going to come to my house? You’ll have some cake and meet my George? He is a good boy, a Jewish boy from a good family. It’s hard t
o find a nice Jewish girl, these days.”

Z
ofia smiled, but inside her heart was breaking, she wasn’t a nice Jewish girl anymore. She’d done something bad. She’d sinned. Zofia believed herself undeserving of a boy like George.

The following day
Zofia arrived at the “Perfect Stitches” Fruma Kolowsky’s dressmaking shop, fifteen minutes early. She sat outside waiting for Mrs. Kolowsky to open the door.

“Good Morning, you are early. That is a good thing. It shows me that you care about your job.”

“I care very much, Mrs. Kolowsky.”

“You and I will be working very closely together so you might as well call me
Fruma.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“All right then, let’s get started.”

Z
ofia followed Fruma’s direction but it seemed as if her stitches were always crooked or in some way displeasing to Mrs. Kolowsky.

“Remove this line and try again. I cannot have such sloppy work. You will learn to do this perfectly before you will work on my
client’s orders.”

Z
ofia resented Mrs. Kolowsky. She was demanding and overbearing.  Every stitch had to be perfect. She gave no slack.

“Slave Driver
,” Zofia whispered under her breath as another customer came in and Fruma was busy helping her.

Z
ofia worked from early in the morning until well past sundown. Every day she stitched and removed, stitched and removed, cut and measured patterns to Mrs. Kolowsky’s standards of perfection.

November
passed to January and then to February and still Zofia was only an apprentice. Her back ached from sitting at the sewing machine for hours. But, she had something even greater to worry about. Zofia had not seen her menstrual blood since the month before her moment of indiscretion with Donald Taylor. She tried to deny it to herself. Perhaps I am just late because I have been going through so many changes in my life. But she knew better. She was nauseas and could not eat. She was very tired. And her belly was growing. Zofia was pregnant.

O
n a brisk morning in March Helen Sobczak came in, Zofia looked up from her machine to see a woman just a few years older than herself, lovely with blond curly hair and soft blue eyes.  Fruma had left to go to the bakery where she would purchase some rolls to share with Zofia.

“May I help you?”
Zofia asked the beautiful blond.

“Hello, my name is Helen. My mother and I have been coming here since I was just a little girl. Is Mrs. Kolowsk
y gone?”

“No, she just went to Zuckerman’s bakery. When that Mrs. Zuckerman bakes the smell is so wonderful that everyone who works on this street lines up to buy the bread
. I am Zofia, her apprentice.”

“Hello,
Zofia, it’s so nice to meet you. Well, let me get to the point of why I am here. I am getting married in the summer. I would like to have a dress made for my wedding.”

“I am sure we can help you. But I have a feeling that
Fruma will probably want to take your measurements herself.”

“Yes, probably so
, but if you want to try and then compare them to hers I don’t mind.” She smiled. Zofia liked her right away.

“I would like that. It would help me to see how accurate I am.”

When Fruma returned with the bread Zofia was taking Helen’s measurements.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Zofia said and put the tape measure down on the table.

“It’s alright. I asked her to do it.”

“But she isn’t ready to measure you properly.”

“I don’t mind, e
ven if it’s just for practice.” Helen said.

Fruma
smiled. “All right then Zofia, you can go ahead and let’s see how you do.”

After Z
ofia had finished, her boss checked her work.

“Very good
, I am happy to say, you are getting the hang of this.”

Z
ofia smiled and Helen smiled too.

Helen spent hours sifting through bolts
of fabric. She finally decided upon an ivory satin with a lace overlay.

“She is a nice
girl,” Fruma said after Helen left. “I’ve known her and her mother for a very long time. Her mother is a mid wife. She is a good woman, not a Jew. But she’s never shown any distain for us either.”

“Oh.” Z
ofia said. She turned away. A mid wife, she would need a mid wife, but she was an unmarried woman. Nobody in their right mind would want to become involved in such a scandal. She was worried. How would she tell Fruma that she was pregnant? What if she lost her job? But before Zofia had a chance, Fruma decided to talk to her.

“Here
eat; I brought some rolls and a hunk of cheese. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, a little
,” Zofia was ravenous.

“Z
ofia, sit down here. I want to talk to you.” Fruma Kolowsky put the grainy bread on a plate. “I have been fitting women longer than you have been on this earth. That would come to about 35 years. I know the female body very well. And, well…I am not going to beat around the bush here… Zofia, you are with child. I can see it.”

Z
ofia dropped her thin slice of cheese.

“It’s alright. I am not going to let you go. You have a job here. I might seem harsh sometimes, but I understand more than you know. I am going to help you.
That’s why I told you that Helen’s mother was a midwife.  We will talk to her and perhaps she will deliver the baby here in my apartment right above the shop.”

Z
ofia realized that she knew very little about her boss’s personal life. But the kindness Mrs. Kolowsky was showing her brought tears to her eyes.

“It’s going to be fine.”

“Will your husband be angry if I give birth in your apartment?”

“I have no husband. I have never been married. I live with a la
dy friend. She is kind and understanding. You will like her. She will be fine with us using the apartment.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure. Gitel and I have lived on the edge of society for a very long time. So we have learned long ago not to worry too much about what people say.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t. Gitel is my husband.”

“But you said she is a woman.”

“Yes. Now you understand?”

Z
ofia nodded.

“Close your mouth, you’ll swallow a fly.”
Fruma laughed.

“But your title
is Mrs.?”

“Yes, I use that
. Like I said, Gitel and I are married, if not in the synagogue, then in our hearts for sure.”

“I’ve never met anyone who…”

“And so there is a first time for everything. By the way, you did very well with your fitting today. You are going to be a good dressmaker, Zofie.  I know I have been hard on you sometimes, but that is the only to make you excel at your work. And I must say, I am very proud of you.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“Ech, I don’t need thanks. I need an apprentice. I need your help. So, if you are in agreement once the baby comes we are going to set up a play pen here so that you can continue to work. Gitel already knows about this and she has agreed to help. Between the three of us we will care for the child.”

Tears flowed down Z
ofia’s face. Fruma knew all along.“You are so good to me.”

“Ech, stop you make me embarrassed.”
Fruma laughed. “Come on now, eat. You must eat. The baby should be healthy and strong.”

Z
ofia felt unburdened. It was as if a thousand pound weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Since the incident with Mr. Taylor, she’d borne the fear of her pregnancy alone. She could not discuss her predicament with Lena who she rarely saw these days or with her mother who was wrapped up in her own depression. But now she had a friend, an ally who would help her get through this. And Fruma was right; she was becoming a good seamstress.

Z
ofia still loved the American swing music and she sang it to herself while she worked.

One afternoon, Gitel arrived at the tailor shop carrying a large package.

“I’m Gitel. Fruma said she told you about me?” Gitel said

“Yes. She did.”

“I’m Zofia.”

“
Fruma asked me to bring this for the two of you; she says she is sick of your singing.” Gitel laughed and she put the box down on the counter. “Go on, open it.”

Z
ofia opened the box. Inside she found a turntable with four American swing records. She gasped with delight. “Oh my gosh, thank you. Thank you both.”

When Z
ofia had returned from Donald’s apartment, she put the turntable and records into the closet. It had been unbearable to look at them. Now, she thought that she might bring some of the records into the shop.

W
hen it wasn’t busy and no customers were around, Zofia would get up and coax Fruma to dance with her. She taught Fruma the steps that she’d learned from Donald.  And Fruma learned to appreciate American music as much as Zofia did. Sometimes they would splurge and buy a new record.

When Z
ofia entered, her sixth month there was no longer any hiding her extended belly. The baby would arrive soon and she knew she must tell her mother.

After work on a Friday evening, Z
ofia picked up her usual Challah and chicken on the way home from work. It was the Sabbath so she got off early to prepare.  She arrived at home and put the chicken up to roast, and then she went into her mother’s room. As always, the room was dark. Her mother lay facing the wall, eyes open.

“Good Sabbath, mama.” Z
ofia said as she smoothed her mother’s thinning hair back from her troubled face.

“How do you feel?”

“Oy, not so good, Zofie.”

“What hurts you?”

“Everything, my whole body aches. I am so tired but I cannot sleep. I don’t know, mine kind, I am just not well.”

“I’m sorry mama. Can I get you anything?”