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

would start in just over two weeks. Going to school while working was going to be exhausting, but if I could finish high school, I could apply to journalism school, and my life could move forward from there. Maybe someday I could even write for a living. When I was around Max, the world seemed full of possibilities.

I watched my smile fade in the mirror, thinking about the rally. That entire day had been magical, and when he’d put his arm around me, I’d known he was as happy as I was. But that happiness had been an illusion. We both knew things could never work out between us that way. If Hannah found out, she’d be livid. And our parents? It was foolish to even imagine it. Except, no matter how I tried to ignore my feelings, I felt like a ten-cent piece being drawn inexorably to a magnet. Max had withdrawn since the rally. He was the smart one. On the other hand, here I was, having told myself so many times to put those thoughts out of my mind, wearing a dress that I hoped he liked, and rushing to cheer him on at his game.

When I got downstairs, Dad was sitting at the dinner table. Things had been awkward between us ever since the other night, and we hadn’t spoken much. Meanwhile, Richie and I avoided each other whenever we could.

Dad set last night’s Telegram partially down then slid a package toward me. “I got something for you.”

“For me?” I said, touching the brown paper. He nodded, and I tore it open to find a new copy of Agatha Christie’s The Thirteen Problems. I clutched it to my chest, taken aback. “Dad, thank you. You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”

“I wanted to. As a treat, since you’re going back to school and all. I’m proud of you for doing it. I hope you haven’t read that one yet.”

“I haven’t.”

He observed me over his black-rimmed reading glasses. “I bought it from a friend of mine,” he said. His voice took on a different tone. “Smith’s his name. Owns a bookstore. Know the man?”

My gut clenched. “You know I do.”

“Imagine my surprise when I’m paying for that book and he tells me that you were asking about a job there. He said he was gonna bend the rules, seeing as you’re my only daughter. He was gonna give you a job. I was glad to hear it, thinking that it seemed like a perfect job for you, since you’re always reading. But he says you quit.” He arched a thick, orange eyebrow. “Tell my why. Why would you quit a perfectly good job when other folks are lined up to get one?”

“It doesn’t matter, Dad. I got another job. I’m bringing home money.”

His jaw tightened. “He says you lost your mind when a Jew came into the store, and he wouldn’t sell him a book.”

I set my book down and met his steely blue eyes. “I wouldn’t say it was me who lost their mind.”

“Molly, your foolish decision means you’re bringing home less money, which means your family is eating less. You’ve got to understand priorities. You can’t let your friends determine what you do for a living.”

“What? No! I chose that job myself.”

“You chose to work in the factory?” he asked flatly.

I looked away.

He sighed. Suddenly he looked older and more tired than I’d seen him before. “I’ve told you before. There’s too much trouble around Jewish people these days. What happened with Max, that kind of thing is going on more and more. Be smart about who you’re with. Stay safe. And stay away from Christie Pits tonight.”

I crossed my arms. “No one’s gonna stay away from there tonight, Dad. It’s Harbord Playground against St. Peter’s in the quarterfinals. Jimmy’s playing with the Native Sons right now, as a matter of fact. It’s the end of the season run.”

He scowled. “It’s more than that, and you know it. When the Swastikas started waving that emblem of theirs around on Monday, they guaranteed a big crowd tonight, and for all the wrong reasons. I hear there might be trouble.” I could hear real concern in his voice. “So I’m asking you to stay home. It’s bad enough you went to the rally. That was like painting a target on your back.”

He hadn’t mentioned the rally to me. “The rally was peaceful. Besides, I can take care of myself.” I paused. “Is that why you’re home early? You’re working at Christie Pits?”

He shook his head. “There’s a bunch of unemployment bums rallying at Allan Gardens. A couple of units’ll be at Christie Pits, but we’ll have most of them at the Gardens.”

I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Dreyfus, Hannah, and Max, just across the street, getting ready for the game. They wouldn’t stay away because of threats; they would face them. We all knew there was a possibility that things might go wrong tonight. We’d been there on Monday when someone had waved a swastika that they’d sewn into their coat. After the game, the hateful symbol had been painted on top of the clubhouse roof, too. What Dad didn’t understand was that, no matter their religion, the Dreyfuses were my second family. If something bad did happen, I wanted to help them.

“I’m going,” I said, turning away. “Thank you for the book, Dad. I’ll take it upstairs later.”

I was reaching for the door when I heard him speak again.

“There will come a time when it’s us versus them, Molly. You’ll not be able to walk away from that.”

Us versus them. Did he really feel that way? My mind was still turning over those words as I crossed the street and fell into step beside Hannah. I tried to put on a smile for the Dreyfuses, but it must have failed, because Hannah bumped my elbow. She could always read me.

“What’s wrong?”

“My father warned me not to go tonight. People are saying there’s going