“Perele, would you mind... you don’t have to, of course, but... could you tell me what you meant by what you said before?”

June 1964

Walking slowly with Perele into the woods, Annie felt her roiling fury begin to dissolve, much like the Catskill Mountains winter snowfalls that had melted into a gently burbling brook nearby.

Funny, how she’d never really thought about Perele Schwartz as a person with a history, with needs and hopes and desires. Perele spoke her almost perfect English with a charming Hungarian accent. She was a widow raising her young son, a gifted cook and baker, a calming, pleasant presence in the hotel.

She’s a widow. That means she had a husband. Why didn’t I ever think to talk to her, to find out more about him, and about her life and her feelings?

Now, with a carpet of springtime wildflowers cushioning their footsteps, it was time for Annie to learn more about this woman, a friend she hardly knew.

She began with an apology. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t your fault—”

Perele broke in. “No, it’s fine, Annie darling, maybe I should have noticed more.”

“Perele, would you mind... you don’t have to, of course, but... could you tell me what you meant by what you said before?”

“Before?”

“About... marrying someone not religious.”

Perele’s blue eyes seemed to darken, grow deeper.

“No, I don’t mind. Perhaps you should hear it. A long story, but I’ll keep it short.”