If he were ever fortunate enough to make it to heaven Thomas Lynde hoped challah would be there to greet him.
The Lynde clan had been invited to Green Gables to celebrate shabbat. Rachel explained it to him, "it's Gideon's sabbath apparently. They observe it on Saturdays." She sounded quite disapproving. "It ain't Christian, that's what."
"Isn't that the point?" Thomas enquired with a twinkle in his eyes. Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. "Is it just us going?"
"The children as well."
"Goodness, will there be room in Green Gables for the lot of us?"
"Marilla knows what she's taking on. I'm sure it will be fine."
Green Gables looked, and more to the point, smelt like nothing Thomas had ever experienced. A melange of foreign spicy aromas assaulted his senses when they crossed the threshold. The children paused and looked at their parents. "Go on," Thomas urged pushing them in. Rather shocked himself, he busied himself in their politeness.
Space around the table was tight but they crammed in and watched in rapt attention as Gideon said his prayers. Matthew had warned Thomas what to expect, "you won't understand a word," he'd said. "Gideon prays in Hebrew, but I expect he'll explain what he's up to." Sure enough, Thomas listened to the guttural words coming from their friend's mouth, hoping to catch a word here or there and utterly failing. Thankfully Gideon had described what he was praying for, explaining the significance of each of the items displayed on the table. The candles, the tin tzedakah, the kiddush cup, and the challah under its ceremonial cloth.
"Now excuse me," he said afterwards. "I just have to go to the kitchen."
"He's been cooking for days," Marilla said proudly.
"My, my Marilla you let someone into your kitchen?"
Marilla smirked, "yes, would you believe it?" A bitten off curse and a thump interrupted her, and she startled.
"Marilla!" Gideon called. Absentmindedly Marilla leapt to her feet and deposited Josephine into the closest pair of adult arms, namely those of Thomas. Thomas flinched initially, having seldom handled even his own babies, considering them women's work. She was a bonny little thing twisting her neck to look him solemnly in the face with her dark brown eyes. A shock of dark hair framing her face. "Hello there," he said softly. "Hello Josephine." The baby sneezed and he felt tiny droplets spray on his hands.
Marilla and Gideon returned shortly bearing a dish apiece. "Sorry about that, nearly had an accident, but all's well." Marilla took Josephine from Thomas's lap and sat down to allow Gideon to explain and serve the dinner.
"Now this is gefilte fish," Gideon was saying, but Thomas barely heard him. He was transfixed by the sensation of the baby on his lap and that tiny sneeze. She had gazed at him, nearly a stranger after all with such a knowing look as though they had known each other for years.
It felt strange, Thomas reflected, not to say grace, and he wondered that Marilla did not suggest it, but he supposed this was Gideon's night. As well as the fish, which was delicious Thomas was pleased to find, there was also chicken soup with dumplings and the aforementioned challah. He had been given a hunk which he looked at dubiously initially but on tasting rather wished they had given him more. Soft and sweet, not quite bread and not quite cake either it fairly melted on his tongue. In short it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, though he made sure not to divulge that fact to his wife.
Making the most of the pause in proceedings, Thomas Jnr asked Gideon about the candles. "Good question Thomas," Gideon responded kindly. After all this was what the evening was all about, teaching this Christian family his traditions. The Torah, what we call the Bible, forbids us from making fire on the Shabbat, so we light candles on Friday night just before sundown, before the shabbat begins, to allow us to see our dinner," he laughed. "But naturally there's more to it than that. My mother lit the candles when I was young and it signified the beginning of our sabbath, our day of rest. We worked hard the rest of the week, so a day off was always welcome. We cannot work at all, not cook, light fires or anything. But this flame is more than that; it illuminates darkness, it keeps us warm. More importantly when we light another candle it is not diminished but grows. It is like that with faith. Sharing the flame is like sharing faith, both are made better by it. This flame is a symbol of my religion."
Young Thomas may not have wholly understood what Gideon had to say, but his elders were struck by the gentleness of the message although it made Rachel slightly uncomfortable. She had not brought her children to risk their questioning their Christian faith.
"And the tin?" Little Eliza asked next.
"The money we put in it is spent helping those less fortunate."
"Like we do in church," Rachel reminded her. "When we put money in the collection plate."
Gideon nodded, "we're not unlike in that manner."
"Well, there is one not so small way our religious do differ, Gideon. Don't forget."
"How could I?" Gideon said sadly. "That difference has caused me much suffering."
Rachel shifted uneasily in her chair. Marilla had told her of Gideon's past.
Gideon got to his feet once more. Marilla set the baby back in Thomas's now willing arms and helped him with the dishes. "He's made us a treat for dessert, you'll see. Bearing a large plate with Marilla following with a bowl of whipped cream Gideon set a cake down on the table saying, "this is my mother's famous apple cake. We always eat it at Rosh Hashanah, our New Year, but I thought it would be nice tonight."
When all were replete, they moved to the parlour to continue the conversation. "It just don't seem right, is all. You live together yet celebrate different faiths. How do you manage it?" Rachel enquired.
Marilla reached across to clasp Gideon's hand in hers. "We can because we love each other. Love, it turns out, transcends faith. I can stay strong in my faith and love him. I see no dichotomy. Gideon is not an extension of me, but he is the person with whom I need to spend my life. He believes one thing and I believe another. We respect each other." With Gideon smiling and nodding by her side all Rachel could do, since after all she was in their home, was stay silent though inwardly she was seething.
"You don't approve?" Gideon asked her.
"Well let's put it this way, do you believe in our Lord Jesus Christ?"
"I do."
"What?" This was not the response Rachel expected.
"I believe he existed, that's true. But I don't believe that he was the Messiah. If the Messiah had come, He would have solved human suffering. Since you'd have to admit people still suffer then it stands to reason the Messiah has not arrived which means that Jesus Christ was not the Son of God that he was just a man."
"Is that why you killed Him?"
"We did not kill him, Rachel," Gideon said sadly feeling the weight of his people's suffering. "You can blame the Romans for that."
"Now, now Rachel," Marilla said placatingly.
"I just didn't expect to come here and be proselytized to and I'm unsure about your influence upon my children."
"Rachel!" Thomas said disapprovingly.
"No, no, it's a valid response," Gideon replied. He had expected some form of pushback. "Still, it seems to me your faith must be pretty shallow if you think one night with someone offering different ideas can shatter it. All I wanted to do was teach you about my culture. I'm not trying to convert you, even though…" he smirked.
"Hm?"
"Well, you do have a lovely Jewish name, Rachel."
Rachel went a sort of puce colour but gradually became aware of the smiles that surrounded her. Realising that the conversation was getting a bit heated, she took a few deep breaths and smiled back at Gideon deciding she had better admit the joke.
Sensing the mood shift Thomas said, "that was a delicious meal. I can't imagine I'll want much for breakfast, Rachel. Just a morsel of bacon perhaps."
"Not here," Marilla said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Gideon can't eat pig, so we don't either."
Rachel looked at Gideon questioningly, "so does that mean?" she looked quizzically at Marilla. "You don't eat pork at all?"
"No, we don't," Marilla said with a false air of carelessness.
"Don't you miss it?"
"Well, I admit, I do a bit. But if Gideon can't Matthew and I decided not to either. How do you feel about it Matthew?"
Matthew shrugged; he hated to admit that he missed it. He'd gone along with Marilla's decision, since after all she was the cook but there were mornings, he'd have liked it now and then.
Gideon stared at her in shock. "I… But…"
Marilla pointedly looked back at him.
"That's a brave thing, Marilla that's for sure and certain. I can't imagine it, that's what."
Gideon shot a questioning look at Marilla, "do you really?"
Misreading the room, Rachel interjected saying flippantly, "goodness, Marilla now that is dedication."
"It's fine," Marilla said with a tone of finality. She had an inkling this would be the topic of that nights' conversation but she'd rather it didn't derail their evening.
"It's time for a dance," Gideon interrupted. The mood instantly lifted, and the children leapt to their feet jigging to the music Gideon produced until little Kathleen gave out a massive yawn reminding her mother that it was late. They made their thank yous in a flurry of boot and coat finding wishing each other a good evening.
The baby fed and changed Marilla sat on the bed to brush her hair while Gideon watched from his side. Nothing had been said, but there was a frosty atmosphere. Gideon spoke first to settle the situation. "I feel terrible."
"Mm?"
"Bacon."
"Yes, well it's our choice."
"But you like it, and I know Matthew likes it."
"We made a decision, and that's that."
"But really there's no heed."
"Just don't feel right."
"Do you miss it?" Marilla was silent "You do don't you. Please don't forsake it on my account. You and Matthew enjoy it. You should eat it."
"But."
"But nothing ketzele," his accent coming out as it did when he had a point to make. "You like it, you must eat it."
"Must?" Marilla looked at him over her shoulder.
Realising he had put his foot in it, Gideon backed off, "should. You should eat it if you enjoy it. I can't as you know but there's nothing stopping you. Please ketzele now I feel guilty." Marilla humphed in derision. "The last thing I want to do is deprive you of something you love. It smells incredible, sometimes I wish … but it's important to me; part of my religion and my culture. But that's mine, not yours. Eat it ketzele, eat it." He rolled across the bed to caress her stomach. "Please, let's not quarrel. Eat it, don't eat it, I don't care but don't do it out of some false loyalty." Marilla turned away from him. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Ketzele?"
Silence
"Come on, what is it?"
"I don't know." This time Gideon was silent giving her the space to express herself. "Oh, I dunno," she sighed. "I feel as if I was sacrificing myself for you and you don't even acknowledge it, don't appreciate it."
Gideon sighed. "it's not that. It's just…" he paused thinking how best to express himself. "It's just bacon's not part of my upbringing, so it's not front of mind. I admit I hadn't really noticed because it's not part of my diet. But ketzele if you gave it up for me, then that is a very loving gesture and I do appreciate it. It's just I don't need you to."
"Matthew has expressed longing for it," her tone was very low. "Just in a casual way, you know. But I said I couldn't, that it didn't sit right with me."
"It's just that I've never met anyone like you, who takes my needs into account quietly and without fanfare. You know I think I started falling in love with you that first morning when you didn't serve up bacon. You listened to me, took notice of my needs. How many times did I explain it to the women whose houses I'd spent the night in only to wake up to the delicious, I must admit, aroma of bacon frying. I think I spent so long out there I'm still learning how love can be expressed. Don't hold it against me, ketzele."
Marilla listened to his words with a growing horror, "my darling, I hold myself to a standard and I forget that others don't. I can't imagine treating anyone least of all you, with such disrespect. Out of ignorance is bad enough but to do it wilfully..." she hugged him tight.
"Eat your bacon. Enjoy it. Do it for me. Eat my portion." With each statement Gideon's fingers tip-toed lower and lower down Marilla's midriff and her legs opened in response.
Afterwards the baby stirred, and Gideon got up to tend to her and brought her back to bed to join them. "I don't want anything to come between us, ever."
"Least of all some smoked meat."
Gideon laughed, "absolutely."