Rachel's Hope Read Online Free PDF

because of the store-wide sale. Rachel eyed the floral-patterned skirts in the woman’s arms with envy. She longed to touch the fabric, to try on some skirts, to buy at least one.
    â€œThis might be more what you’re looking for,” said Mr. Marks, appearing with a white shirt and chocolate-brown short pants. He handed them to Menahem who took them gratefully and rushed into the curtained dressing room to change.
    â€œWhy don’t boys wear pants that go down to their feet?” asked Menahem, when he opened the curtain a moment later, wearing the new clothing. The pants ended at his knees, like the sailor pants, but the darker color made him look older. The shirt had a stiff collar and buttoned up the front. The socks were the same color as the pants.
    Mr. Marks shrugged in response to Menahem’s question.
    â€œI think you look good,” said Rachel. “Much better.”
    â€œI guess so,” said Menahem. He turned around in front of a looking glass. “I don’t look Russian anymore.”
    Rachel detected a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he was caught between his desire to fit in here in America and his need to keep his Russian identity.
    â€œYou still look Russian,” she said to him. “You always will. No matter how long you live in America, you will always be Russian.”
    â€œMight I suggest a sweater which can be worn on colder days?” asked Mr. Marks. He held up a tan wool sweater with brown buttons.
    Menahem put in on over the shirt. It hung loosely over his shoulders and the sleeves were long, past his wrists.
    â€œI like that there’s room for you to grow,” said Rachel. She looked at the ticket attached to one sleeve to see the price. Twenty-five cents. This would bring the total cost to one dollar and fifty cents, in addition to the dollar for the leather lace-up shoes.
    â€œWe’ll take it,” she said to Mr. Marks. “The sweater and everything.”
    â€œCan I wear it home?” asked Menahem.
    â€œI don’t see why not,” said Mr. Marks. He removed the price tickets and handed them to Rachel.
    Rachel and Menahem wove their way through the aisles and the people to the cash desk, where a long line had formed. Rachel counted out coins and gave them to Menahem for his clothes.
    â€œYou wait here,” she told him. “I just want to look quickly at the women’s clothing.”
    â€œBut Nucia said—”
    Rachel dashed off to the women’s section, ignoring Menahem’s objections. She calculated how much money she had to spend. Menahem’s clothing had cost fifty cents less than Nucia had expected. Surely her sister wouldn’t mind if that went toward a skirt for herself. And there was the fifty cents she had squirreled away since they’d arrived, accumulated by foregoing treats when Jacob had given her and Menahem money to spend on ice cream, Dr. Pepper soda, and candies.
    She wormed her way to the front of a group of women in the skirt section of the store. The colorful fabrics reminded her of the thread store her mother had loved in Kishinev. Rachel recalled the last time she’d gone to that store for her mother, when the owner had called her a “stupid yid .” Rachel shut her eyes to block out that memory, then took in the attractive ankle-length skirts. She was immediately drawn to a periwinkle blue skirt with tiny white flowers. She removed it from the row of skirts, held it to her waist, and peered into a looking glass. She immediately felt prettier.
    â€œThat would look beautiful with this shirtwaist.” A petite saleswoman held up a long white shirt, tailored like a man’s, with a high collar.
    Rachel took the shirtwaist from the saleswoman, and held it up with the skirt. “I love it,” she said. “How much are they?”
    â€œOrdinarily, they’d be seven dollars together, but the sale price is three dollars and fifty cents,” she