Now this, Annie thought, was interesting. “Is your family Jewish?” Annie asked. “With the name Burton....”

February 7, 1964

Moe sat at the men’s table in the Hotel dining room, happily downing the favorite foods of his childhood, which had been lovingly prepared by Mrs. Horn, the hotel’s aging cook.

Annie and Marjorie walked into the room. Seeing his suitcase still in Marjorie’s hand, Moe jumped up and raced toward them. “I’m so sorry.” He smiled. “I was so excited to be home, I forgot all about it.”

“No big deal,” Marjorie answered. “Gee, it sure smells great in here.”

“Won’t you join us?” Moe asked politely.

Annie shot a dubious glance at her brother, half-amused, half-puzzled. This girl with the flaming red hair certainly didn’t fit into the Hotel’s quiet, sedate, almost shtetl-like atmosphere. What would the residents think of this oddly dressed, boisterous girl?

But after Moey’s invitation, she had no choice. “Yes,” she said, her smile just a little forced, “please come and sit next to me.”

Within minutes Marjorie was devouring the blintzes and marveling at the creamed herring.

M

arjorie kept up a running conversation with Annie, who asked her some polite questions, without much real interest. Yes, Marjorie lived at home, and yes, she sometimes helped her father out when he needed errands to be run, especially if she could drive his red Mustang, and yes, her father was the head of a large publishing company, and yes, she went to college, but no, she hated it and had much more interesting plans for the future.

Stopping to catch her breath and grab another piece of herring, Marjorie picked up a seltzer bottle on the table and sprayed some into her glass. “My grandmother used to use these to make something she called a ‘shpritzer.’” She laughed. “And she also made her own herring.”

Now this, Annie thought, was interesting. “Is your family Jewish?” Annie asked. “With the name Burton....”

“Nah, that’s not our real name.” Marjorie laughed, spraying some more seltzer into her cup. “My grandparents got that when they came to America from Lithuania. Their real name was something hard to pronounce and they liked the sound of Burton.”

“Lithuania? That’s where my father came from,” Annie said. “Do you know where they lived?”

“Some little hole-in-the-wall town that no one ever heard of. I don’t remember exactly. Sounds something like valley, valet—”

“Valiokei! Your family comes from Valiokei?”

“Yup, that’s it. My great-grandpa was the rabbi there. Not much of a job, from what I hear.”

Annie’s cheeks grew almost as red as Marjorie’s hair.

This girl. This silly, impulsive, ultra-modern girl — a great-grandchild of the Valioker Rav?

“If you’re not in a rush to leave, Marjorie,” Annie said, “when we finish eating, I think my father would like to talk to you.”

The meal in the hotel dining room came to a delicious end, with coffee, tea, and the most heavenly apple strudel Marjorie had ever tasted, and then Papa, Annie, Moe, and their still-chattering guest walked into the parlor.