And Mutty, the birthday boy? She searched for him and was surprised to find him sitting alone in a corner. Mutty, her cheerful bechor, was usually at the center of any action. She gave him a worried look. Annie herself had been feeling a little under the weather for the past few weeks: tired, pale, a tiny  bit nauseous. She’d been casual about it, but Abe had actually made her take some medical tests to rule out anything serious. Annie thought he was overdoing it. It’s just a mild virus — and I hope Mutty isn’t catching it, too.

Perhaps it was school pressure getting him down. In April, Mutty would be taking the MCATs, which would determine what medical schools would accept him, and he seemed to be becoming increasingly tense about it.

A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hey, Sis, enjoying yourself?”

She laughed. “Moey, I’m so proud of you, I won’t even kick you back to the other side of the mechitzah, where you belong.”

“Just passing through, on my way to get refills on the hamantaschen. Mrs. Schwartz and Marjorie outdid themselves with the food and decorations, no?”

“They did a beautiful job. But Moe, it was your idea to open the hotel to the community, and to invite some yeshivah boys for food and dancing.”

“Hey, we’ve got to do something to bring a little life to this place. It’s like those old musty castles in England that Rob used to schlep me to — huge, empty, haunted by ghosts of dead dukes and duchesses who liked to hang around clanking iron chains and drinking tea. Incredibly boring.” He laughed, then grew more serious. “The world is changing, Annie, and we’ve got to change with it. Coney Island… it’s not what it once was. All the immigrants, all the refugees, moving out. We’ve got to put this place back on the map. If we can’t get some more boarders, and some more cash to fix this place, well, I hate to say it, but it might mean the end of the hotel.”

Annie’s face, already a little pale, whitened. “Close the hotel? You can’t. We can’t. It would kill Papa.”

“Not to worry, Sis. I’ll do my best to make sure the Freed Hotel doesn’t become another haunted house. But Papa is going to have to accept that there are going to be some changes.”

“I think even Papa is beginning to see that. After all, he didn’t say no when you suggested we invite the community and the yeshivah boys.”

“Yeah, I admit I was a bit surprised. And speaking of surprises….” His eyes twinkled with just a hint of mischief. “I’ve invited some guests for tomorrow’s seudah who should prove to be” — again, that twinkle — “interesting.”

With those mysterious words, and refusing to say anything more, Moe walked jauntily through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

A small smile played on Annie’s face as her brother left. His stay in the hotel was certainly doing him good. He was so busy, what with meetings with his publisher, starting to work on a sequel to his novel, and managing the hotel. He was also spending a lot of time in the kitchen, keeping a scrupulous eye on the kashrus while giving Marjorie tutorials on halachah. With the roof repairs done, he’d set Artie on sprucing up the interior, paying him for his work.

She glanced back over the mechitzah. Mutty was still sitting in the corner, by himself. And what was that in his hand?

Though Papa had absolutely vetoed the idea of serving liquor, he’d reluctantly allowed several bottles of wine to be put on the tables.

Was that her son, her Mutty, drinking wine in the corner?

Annie, it’s Purim. And he’s 21, he’s legally allowed to drink. It’s no big deal.

But the smile on her face disappeared.

Purim day started with… a headache.

Well, not really. When Annie first woke up, she still had that strange, foggy, and slightly fatigued feeling that had been bothering her for — could it already be three weeks? — but she was looking forward to a beautiful Yom Tov. The entire family had stayed over at the hotel on Purim night, and they would hear Megillah and enjoy the seudah during the day.

No, the headache — the throbbing between her eyes, the ridiculous but inescapable feeling that little men with drills were inhabiting her weary brain — had started as she listened to her brother leining the Megillah.

Haman, she thought wryly when the reading had ended, was always a headache for the Jewish People, and that was true even here in Coney Island. Every single time Moe said the rasha’s name, there it was: boom, boom, boom. Those stupid bongos! Apparently, last night Marjorie had learned about the minhag of making noise when Haman was mentioned, and now, instead of using a gragger like every other normal Jew, she was wiping out Amalek with drums — and giving Annie  this dreadful headache at the same time.

She escaped the parlor where the Megillah reading had taken place, now brimming with chatter and laughter. She took two aspirin and lay down with her eyes closed for a few minutes. When Abe came up to find her, she felt well enough to sit up in bed.

“You okay, hon?”

“Just a headache.”

“Well, your kiddies need you. They’re clamoring for costumes, even more than for breakfast.”

The medication, the brief rest, and the thought of the children’s excitement silenced the little men with the drills, and Annie laughed and picked up a pile of hats and costumes. Hearing the noise and excitement in the dining room, she looked appealingly at Abe. “I think I need a little quiet. Let’s get the children ready, and we can eat together on the porch.”

“Fine, I’ll ask Mrs. Schwartz to load us up a tray and bring it out.”

Purim was such a beautiful time for family, Annie thought, as she dressed Ruchele, her little Queen Esther. Mutty, his usual spirits restored, was using Annie’s eyeliner to draw mustaches on the twin Mordechais, while Artie, in his soft and sweet voice, and Abe, in his usual enthusiastic and off-tune warble, sang Purim songs together.

Annie was putting the final touches on Ruchele, drawing bright-red cheeks with rouge and an old tube of lipstick, when Marjorie arrived, carrying a huge and heavy tray laden with pancakes, Danishes, a large box of cold cereal, and pitchers of coffee, milk, and orange juice. “Breakfast is served,” she announced in a mock-British accent. Then, looking at the children, she added, in her own loud tones, “Hey, what’s going on?”

Annie felt a stab of guilt: Here was a Jewish girl who knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about Yiddishkeit. Moe was doing his best to teach her, but what had she, Annie, done, except for criticize her, sometimes to her face, often in her mind.

“On Purim, children dress up, Marjorie,” she explained, pasting a smile on her face. “Just like Queen Esther hid her own identity in the king’s palace.”

“Oooh, fun! Like Halloween!”

Abe and Annie exchanged glances, half amused, half despairing. Artie began to explain the differences but Marjorie was not listening.

“Please, Mrs. L., please, can I borrow the makeup?”

The smile grew a little stiffer. “Of course.”

Grabbing the rouge, lipstick, and eyeliner, Marjorie returned to the house. A few minutes later she reappeared, her face reddened, black and scarlet lines drawn on her cheeks, and three enormous colored feathers stuck in a headband on her head.

“Me big Indian chief!” she cried. “Me, play Tag You’re It!” Then, hollering and whooping, she began to chase the delighted children onto the sidewalk.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” Annie said, watching them.

“It’s Purim, Ma. Time to laugh,” Artie answered.

“She is quite a character,” Abe said, taking a last sip of coffee. “Well, I’m off to the office. Hope I can get back in time for the seudah.”

Breathing heavily, Marjorie returned to the porch, followed by the laughing children.

“Where in the world did you get the feathers?” Mutty asked.

“Mrs. Rubin let me take them from her hats!” she chortled. The others couldn’t help but join in; Yitta Rubin’s feathered caps were quite a joke in the hotel.

“See,” Marjorie added, giving Artie and Mutty a meaningful glance, “sometimes you really can tear off your mask.”

And with that, she vanished into the hotel.

The day passed, a whirl of food preparation, mishloach manos, overexcited children, good cheer, music, and laughter, punctuated by Marjorie’s war whoops and the banging of bongos.

Moe’s first surprise visitors were a delight. A yellow cab pulled up and out stepped Yoel Bergman and his wife, Malka, Artie’s sister, raised by Abe and Annie in their Boro Park home. The Bergmans lived in a small New Jersey town called Lakewood, where several hundred young men were learning in a yeshivah there, and Malka was expecting their first child. The trip between Lakewood and Boro Park was long, especially without a car, and since Abe couldn’t usually spare the time to drive, the two families rarely saw each other.

Papa immediately took Yoel into the parlor to “talk in learning,” while Annie, Moe, and Malka sat on the porch, catching up and just enjoying each other’s company. A few minutes later a car drew up in front of the hotel.

“Ah, here come my other guests,” Moe said, standing up and walking toward the automobile. Just then, Marjorie flew out of the hotel, followed by a group of rampaging, laughing children.

She stopped short in front of the car: A bright-red Ford Mustang. Her smile faded and her face paled beneath the war paint.

The bongo drums fell to the floor.

“Mr. and Mrs. Burton,” Moe said formally, “welcome to the Freed Hotel.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 853)