Read Online Julia’s Kitchen by Brenda A. Ferber - Free Book Online

it smelled disgusting, like burnt chemicals. I sat back and picked at my nails. Come on, I told myself, do it!
    Breathing only through my mouth, I opened the box completely. Right on top was my container of seashells. I imagined Dad finding it on my nightstand. I was glad he’d thought to take it. The carved wooden bowl had darkened from smoke, and the seashells needed to be washed. But as I ran my fingers over the shells, I felt myself relax, felt my anger at Dad contract into a small corner of my heart.
    Underneath the shell bowl was a bunch of file folders with labels: “Insurance,” “Investments,” “ADF Benefits,” and more. Dad’s stuff. He had kept his important documents in a green metal file cabinet that must have been fireproof. I had started to push the paperwork aside when I noticed a file labeled “Personal.” It took about two seconds for me to decide to check the contents. After all, it said “Personal,” not “Private: Keep Out.” Inside were dozens of birthday and Father’s Day cards made by Janie and me. And there were cards from Mom, too. He had saved each one. I read them and tried to figure out how the dad we’d loved so much could be the same dad I knew now. It didn’t make sense.
    I returned the cards and tucked the “Personal” file in with the others. Then I pulled out Mom’s jewelry box. The silver box was tarnished black, but inside were a bunch of Mom’s earrings, necklaces, and bracelets. I picked up a gold chain with a small ruby heart pendant, and felt myself smile. Dad had given it to Mom for her birthday last year. I turned the ruby heart back and forth to catch the light. It sparkled. I put it on and looked in the mirror. It was too fancy to wear every day, but I would wear it someday—I knew it. I took the necklace off and placed it carefully back in the jewelry box.
    Then I saw photographs! A whole bunch of the framed photos that had stood on Mom’s dresser. Our family before the fire. A regular family. Most of the frames were stained black from smoke. The glass had melted a bit and the photos were faded, but they looked great to me. I took the photos out of the frames and studied each precious picture, memorizing the composition, the light, the expressions on our faces.
    The second box held even more treasures. Janie’s baseball cards. Not all of them, but I couldn’t believe even one had survived. They must have been the cards she’d thrown in her desk drawer—the ones she hadn’t yet stored in her plastic, meltable three-ring binder. It seemed impossible that I was holding something that had been so important to Janie.
    And there were four mezuzot in the box, too. The biggest one was copper and bronze decorated with a swirly Hebrew letter shin. It had been screwed into the doorpost at the front entrance to our house. I rubbed the ash-stained metal with my thumb and saw that it would shine with a little cleaning. Two small silver mezuzot had been affixed to Janie’s and my doorposts. And the ceramic mosaic one had graced the doorway to Mom and Dad’s room. Tucked inside each of the mezuzot was the prayer scroll with the Shema printed on it. I unrolled one of the scrolls and ran my fingers over the Hebrew letters. I knew what they said. “Hear, O Israel. The Lord is our God. The Lord is One.”
    Shivers ran up and down my spine. How had those survived? Was it a message from God? How else could the mezuzot and prayers have stayed in one piece? But what was the message? Maybe God wanted me to know he did exist, only not the way I’d imagined before. Maybe God couldn’t stop my house from burning down, and he couldn’t protect me from a car crash or any other danger, but he was still there—doing … something. But what?
    I rolled up the prayer scrolls and tucked them back inside the mezuzot. I didn’t know what to think. But the possibility