Fall, 1864
The two girls leapt over the puddle, in synch like some twisted Yom-tov dancers. They were pretty girls, one like a wood nymph, the other like a dark-haired angel. They laughed happily, singing Yiddish quietly in the dusk, as the sky breathed pink hues to the clouds.
Up ahead was a pair of men, comfortable in black suits, coats and hats. Their conversation was lost in the sea air, and unheard by their daughters.
"I find this upcoming year to be most promising, Reb Carlis."
"I as well. There has been a surprising amount of peace, and there was little harsh talk of others during the luncheon and study session. And did you not notice the favorable looks our daughters received from the young men?"
"Your daughter especially. Malkah has grown to be very lovely and feminine."
"I must admit, we do not call her Malkah in all company."
"No, And I cannot call my daughter by her given name either. I content myself to call her Lisette."
"Oy, what desolate lives we chosen people must lead, Reb Leblanc. We must change our names, hide who we are- all this to lead comfortable lives."
"And yet, somehow, we are blessed with these lovely girls."
"If only our sons were such wonderful creatures, I would be truly content."
---
Malkah, known as Yvette, and Maya, known as Lisette, spoke of less worldly matters.
"He is so handsome, Ma- Lisette, and how he looked at you during luncheon! I swear, he is going to come calling upon you at your aunts!"
"Bernard is not so very handsome, Yvette. It is his large eyes that give that impression." Lisette gave a smile that told Yvette that it mattered little to her.
"Oh, how I wish you were more romantic. You are such a great beauty, and yet you hold no respect for men!"
"That's not true," she protested, laughing. "I love Aba very much. And I find my brothers show a little intelligence every few hours that I am in their company."
Yvette laughed, for although her friend's brothers were very mischievous, they were well known for their wit. Yvette herself rather liked Avi, the eldest of Lisette's four brothers, who was now just twenty. Lisette was sixteen, and Yvette was fourteen.
"And besides," Lisette pressed, "Aba would want me to work on bettering myself."
"By catching a good match, yes he would. But not by skulking off, reading, as you so often do! Come now, Bernard has such a lovely honesty to him, and you must know he likes you very much."
"But I do not know that, Yvette. I myself have little eye for Bernard. In fact," Lisette looked about; they were quite alone, "I have a secret."
Yvette's eyebrows quirked up. "If it means you are not as unromantic as I thought..."
"Oh, Yvette, I am so much in love! I could not be less romantic! And he is so in love with me as well!"
"So have him speak with your father! You are old enough to be engaged."
"But Rémy is a goy, and the son of a count! How such a marriage could ever be endured by either of our families, I cannot know. It is quite impossible, and neither of us would consider an elopement-"
PCHIOUW.
A sudden shot rang out, and a scream followed from the distance. Yvette suddenly halted, and a hand raised to her stomach. "I- I--"
She fell to her knees, her fingers dampened red. Lisette let out a cry, and their fathers came running. "She has been shot! Aba! Reb Carlis! Yvette has been shot!" Lisette supported her friend, who was gasping for air. "Yvette," she crooned, "Malkah, stay with me."
"Oh, sweet God," Yvette raptured, "is this what it feels like to die?"
"No! No, no, no! It is not!"
"But I feel so breathless and free-"
"Yvette!" Reb Carlis gave a strangled whimper, and clutched his daughter. Lisette's father, a doctor, quickly pulled her away to inspect her wound and stop the blood flowing through her hand's faint wrinkles.
Lisette clutched her friend's limp other hand to her cheek, and kissed it, trying to bless the cool dampness of the fingers there. "Don't leave me all alone," she silently begged.
Yvette's breathing slowed; her eyes sought the stars. Lisette wanted to yell at those stars, for shining so brightly into her friend's doe eyes.
Then, the shine dimmed.
---
Reb Carlis let out an agonizing howl of agony. Not Yvette, his Malkah, his joy.
Lisette continued to hold one of her friend's hands to her lips, as if her whispered words could bring it back to life.
Reb Leblanc looked at the lovely girl lying dead on the sand and the poetry of how her eyes stared at the stars, dreamy even in death.
Two more shots rang out, and Lisette raised her head to the sound. She looked at her front, willing a bullet to have pierced her stomach, that she could join her friend.
Instead, a far worse reality met her pounding ears.
She turned to her Aba and Reb Carlis, only to find them glassy-eyed and red-faced. Red, like blood.
"No," she breathed, Yvette's hand slipping from her grasp. "No." She forced herself to her knees, lurching to her father as he fell to the ground beside Reb Carlis. "No!" Not Aba, too. It was just too much, and she let out a sob.
Footsteps crunching behind her on the sand halted her tears, and she spun quickly to face the intruders on her grief. Two men, with masks over the lower half of their faces, stepped up to Yvette's body indifferently. One spoke in broken French, and Lisette knew instantly he did it to mock her. She knew he spoke something else fluently.
"It's too bad you had to hit this one. She is great beauty. The Shah would have appreciated her."
Lisette suddenly felt all her loss pour into a cyclone that enveloped her, and she let out a feral roar of hate. "You killed them!"
"But look, what a beauty we have here!" the other said, his eyes gleaming darkly. Lisette stepped away when he approached, leaving her father's body nearly under his feet. "We won't hurt you unless you choose not to cooperate, girl. Don't move, and you will not be harmed."
Lisette only turned at that, and flew as fast as she could in her Yom-Tov dress, but she'd barely made it a few steps before a weight crashed into her, slamming her face first to the sand. She coughed, inhaling the grainy pieces, as her hands were grabbed roughly. She kicked, screaming into the beach, the only witness left to hear her cries.