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

“Says who?” Max asked.

“Everyone. We’re keeping our beaches clean. You didn’t see the signs?”

“So you saw us down there,” I said, “but you waited until Max was alone before you went after him. Such courage.”

“Then again, maybe you missed the meaning of the sign. It’s written in English, not Jewish.” Phil finally met my eyes. “What do you say, Richie? This dirty Jew’s messing with your little sister. You gonna let that happen?”

Richie? The group separated down the middle, and I stared in shock at my brother. A shiny nickel badge was pinned on his shirtfront, embossed with a bright red swastika.

“Richie,” I gasped. “What are you doing with these idiots?”

He avoided my eyes. “Leave him alone, Phil. They’re just friends.”

“Makes no difference,” Phil said, his teeth bared. “A Jew is a Jew. He don’t get a free pass just because he’s someone you grew up with. He needs to learn a lesson like they all do.”

I heard the distinct pop! of someone’s knuckles, then Phil wheeled on Max, leading with his fist. The sucker punch crashed into Max’s jaw and sent him backwards against me, but I held onto him, keeping him upright. It took only a second for him to recover, then he stormed back at Phil, hands up like a boxer. But the other boys joined in as I’d feared, and Max disappeared beneath their fists. Only Richie stood apart.

“Stop them!” I shouted in his face. “Make them stop! He’s your friend! He’s our friend!”

But Richie didn’t move. His face was as red as mine, from shame or anger, I didn’t know, but I could tell he was biting back words. Any other time he’d have yelled at me, but he knew very well he couldn’t deny what I’d said. Only when I turned to pull one of the boys off Max did he reach out his hand and grab me.

“Stop it, Molly. You’ll just get hurt.”

“Then you need to do something!” I yelled, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

From behind me, I heard a shout, and I knew the voice right away. I had never in my life been so relieved to see my father in his uniform.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded as he approached. “Richie? Molly? What’s all this?”

I stretched my arm out toward the boys, who had all backed away. A couple of them had bloodied faces, and I was glad of it. “They—”

“It’s nothing, Dad,” Richie said. “We were just leaving.”

“Are you now?” His attention passed between the gang, Richie and me, and finally landed on Max, who was getting to his feet, touching his bleeding lip with his tongue.

“We were at the beach with Hannah and some friends,” I said. “I forgot my hat, and Max offered to go back with me to get it.”

Dad was still focused on Max. “You should go home.”

Max straightened. “I will, sir. We just have to get her hat first.”

“Don’t blame him,” I said, stepping forward. “These bullies came after Max just because he’s Jewish.” I glared at Richie. “He has a right to go where he wants without getting pushed around, just like anybody else.”

My father’s fury turned on me, and I trembled under the solid weight of his authority, just as I had as a little girl.

“I won’t have you talking back, Molly Ryan. I’ve told you how I feel about you being with— It isn’t safe.” His voice was tight with control, but his eyes flickered toward Max. “And I was right. Look what happened. Just go home. Now.” He glared at Richie. “You go with her.” Then he studied the rest of the boys, memorizing each face. “I don’t want trouble on my streets, boys. Keep it to the beaches, or you’ll answer to me.”

Phil Burke lifted his chin, as if he’d just been given marching orders. “Yes, sir.”

My jaw dropped. Keep it to the beaches? How about Disband at once and stop beating people up? I looked from my father to Richie, alarmed to see such a striking resemblance between them in that moment. I started to say something, but Max touched my arm.

“Let’s go, Moll,” he said.

I scowled at Richie. “I’m going with Max. Don’t bother coming.”

So many emotions swirled through me as we walked away, but I resisted the urge to hang on to Max’s arm for support. The worst was a terrible sadness. My big brother was a Swazzie. Not only that; my father had looked neither surprised nor angry about it.

eight MAX

The crowds were already bunching up when Max reached Eaton’s, just after three o’clock on Tuesday. He peered over heads, fighting nerves as he sought out Molly among the women leaving the factory. He hadn’t seen her since Sunday night when he’d walked her home. Did she regret standing up to her father and brother? Would she still want to go with him today?

Then she stepped outside and scanned the faces around her, the sunlight catching the copper shine of her hair. She smiled when she spotted him, and they worked their way through the crowd toward each other.

“You came,” she said. “I wasn’t sure—”

“Me too,” he said, even happier than he’d expected. “Besides, I had to bring you something.” From behind his back he drew her sunhat from the other day.

“Oh, Max. Thank you. How did you get it?”

“I went back in the morning.”

She put it on, squinting up at him from under the brim. “How’s your lip?”

“It’s nothing,” he assured her.

She staggered toward him when someone shoved through the crowd, and he caught her in his arms. She smelled sweet and a little dusty from work.

“You okay?” he asked, suddenly shy.

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

With one hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the crowd to Queen Street, and they joined the mass of people moving westward. They would march to Spadina, then north to Dundas, east to University in a sort of three-sided square,