Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (spicy books to read .txt) 📕

I dropped my eyes to the sign. NO JEWS ALLOWED. All my joy drained to my toes. “I don’t understand,” I said slowly. “Why can’t he shop here?”

Mr. Smith’s face was blotchy with indignation. “I don’t want their filthy money. This is a clean, reputable store where people can feel comfortable and safe when they’re shopping. I won’t have Jews tracking their stink into my shop. They can stick to their own bookstores. Maybe those places carry those communist rags, but I won’t. Now put the sign in the window.”

The paper shook in my hands. I was desperate. The box of old vegetables Mr. Palermo had given my family was long gone. Last week we hadn’t had enough money to buy meat. This job could save us.

But as I stood there, I heard my grandmother’s weary voice telling me about the Great Famine.

“It nearly killed them all,” she’d said. “My mother told me people ate whatever they could find to survive. The story goes that a selfish woman in the next village stole her wee niece’s crust of bread. The child died from need of it, and the very next day, the woman’s sister died of grief. The woman herself lived forty years on, and never a day passed without regret at what she’d done.” She’d touched my hand. “Remember that, my girl. Is fearr bolg folamh ná croí briste.” Better an empty belly than a broken heart.

And when I thought of my heart, I saw Max and Hannah.

“Miss Ryan?”

A terrible swelling jammed in my throat as I placed the sign on the counter rather than in the window because oh, I wanted this job. But it was as if he’d handed me a bouquet of flowers with a razor hidden within the blooms. Knowing what I had to do broke my heart into a million pieces, but not doing it would have been so much worse.

I looked him in the eye. “I won’t put such a hateful thing in the window, Mr. Smith. I can’t. Of all the places, a bookstore is where people can escape the ugliness of the world. It’s not a political place or a religious place or anything like that. It’s a personal place.” I gestured around the room. “I don’t understand how you can find room for hate in all this beauty.”

“You are wrong, young lady.” His expression was granite. “A bookstore is a place of business. It is commerce. I own this store, and I have certain standards I must uphold in order to keep it inviting for my regular customers. If I allow someone like him in here, there is damage done to the store—”

“What damage? He just wants to buy a book! He’ll just buy it somewhere else. Don’t you want the money?”

“It’s the store’s reputation. It’s my reputation.”

I could tell there was no point in arguing. There was only one more thing I needed to say, if I could get it past the knot in my throat.

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Smith, but I cannot work here after all.”

That took him aback. “What are you saying? You’d choose them over this job?”

“I need a job more than you know,” I said quietly, “but what you did to that man is wrong. The thing is, Mr. Smith, given a choice between the two, I’d choose common decency.”

I felt an aching sense of loss as I stepped outside, then I was engulfed by a crowd of tired, grey-faced labourers holding placards and sounding off about working conditions. I couldn’t even do that, I realized, since I’d just given up a job. And yet, a small part of me stood a little taller. I would go hungry because of my decision, but I would never regret what I’d done.

six MAX

Max flipped the page of his textbook and wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. It was only noon, but the temperature in his bedroom was already unbearable. He’d been reading about a fascinating new electro-mechanical invention, built just a year before by an American physiologist named Albert Hyman. Powered by a hand-cranked motor, the machine could generate electrical impulses to help a struggling heart pump blood at regular intervals. Hyman called his invention an “artificial pacemaker.” It was all very compelling, and Max wanted to dig deeper into the research, but the heat was making it difficult to concentrate.

Hannah knocked on his door. “Ready for the beach?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, closing the book and grabbing his swimsuit. “Just let me change.”

“We’ll be waiting,” she said over her shoulder.

Max snapped the straps of his swimsuit over his shoulders, then pulled another shirt on top and reached for a towel. When he stepped outside, Molly was already on the front porch, talking with his mother and sister. She was wearing a bright red dress, and her pale, freckled skin was protected from the sun by a large, practical hat. Heat shimmered in the air around her.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this,” she was saying. “Church went on forever.”

“It’s a perfect day for the beach,” his mother agreed, handing a basket of food to Hannah. She smiled at the trio as they headed out. “Have fun!”

Hannah led the way along the sidewalk, puffing a breath up into her face. “Come on. Let’s walk faster. Maybe we can create our own breeze.”

Across the street, Max spotted Richie heading the other direction. “Hey!” he called. “You coming to the beach?”

Richie’s gaze passed over the three of them. “Nah. I’m meeting some guys.”

He continued on without so much as a wave, and Max felt a pang of regret.

“Never mind him,” Molly said. “He’s like that lately. We’ll have more fun without him.” She looked up at a house as they passed. “I feel so sorry for people stuck at home. It’s too hot to be inside.”

“Ah, but this is Sunday, the