Read Online The Saturday Wife by Naomi Ragen - Free Book Online Page B

tentatively, saying she had eaten so much all day, she wasn’t really hungry. His sandwich smelled really good, she said appreciatively. With a great show of reluctance, she finally agreed to take half, feeding it to herself in greedy little bites. Pressed, she also agreed to order dessert, a gooey pecan pie that disappeared from her plate with surprising swiftness.
    “I have a sweet tooth,” she murmured, blushing a little with embarrassment.
    She was so shy, he thought, entranced. So delicate, he thought in wonder, watching the color deepen on her pale golden skin as he spoke to her of his dreams and plans. She seemed immensely interested in everything he had to say, hanging on his every word as if it resonated with some hidden, kabbalistic meaning.
    Basking later in the afterglow of the evening, he realized she hadn’t spoken about herself at all. She remained as much a mystery to him as when he’d set out that evening to meet her.

    “So, nu ?” Josh asked. When Chaim smiled but didn’t answer, Josh tilted his head and nodded. “Oh, I see. But I should warn you—”
    Chaim’s ears pricked up.
    “She’s got a bit of a reputation.”
    “Delilah?”
    “Well, just a few things, nothing serious—” Josh squirmed, aware that he should have had this information long before proposing this match.
    Chaim interrupted him rather sharply. “Doesn’t this fall under the category of evil gossip? Isn’t it sinful?”
    “When it comes to information about a shidduch, we are allowed to tell all. It falls under the category of Before a blind man, place no obstacle. ”
    Chaim, who wished to remain a blind man where Delilah was concerned, tried another tack. “Not all information is reliable.”
    “Oh, this is. It’s from Rivkie.”
    The paragon of virtue herself. Now his curiosity was piqued. This was no idle gossipmonger, no catty, loose-lipped female out to destroy for the sheer joy of feeling her own power. No. If it came from Rivkie, and if she thought it important enough to send on to Josh, who thought it important enough to share, it would be stupid of him not to listen. And yet… the girl’s body, her face, her golden hair, her mesmerizing eyes. If the information was compelling enough, it could paralyze him, making it impossible for him to reach out and take her, like the brass ring. And he had been on so many merry-go-rounds, ridden so many painted horses with their short dark sensible hair, bright eyes, and housewifely bodies that would no doubt balloon into a perfectly round balaboosta’s after the first child was born. He wanted her.
    “What?” he asked impatiently, because he had to.
    “Well, she has been around the block, if you know what I mean. She had a boyfriend, and I understand the breakup wasn’t fun. She was pretty hysterical about it.”
    “A boyfriend?”
    This was unusual. Religious girls didn’t have boyfriends. They had dates with prospective marriage partners. After a certain number of such dates—two or three for the extremely pious, maybe a dozen or so for lesser souls—a decision had to be made, a proposal offered that needed either to be accepted or refused.
    “Breakup? You mean, she refused his proposal?”
    Josh winced. “Not exactly. He never asked her. And they went out for quite some time.”
    Chaim studied him. This was not good. Protocol demanded that a relationshipbetween a man and a woman be based on investigating the possibility of marriage, getting engaged, arranging the wedding details, then getting married. Anything else was pritzus, in other words, screwing around. A girl involved in a longtime relationship that had not resulted in marriage was one of two things: an unfortunate victim of an unscrupulous and non-Godfearing boy who had led her on; or a willing participant in a very unsavory and unacceptable liaison that marked her as nonkosher marriage material.
    Chaim nodded, disturbed but not defeated. As he saw it, he now had two choices. Like a rabbi asked