of a ripe plum, a bit short in the hemline but otherwise a perfect fit. Both of them smell faintly of mothballs until Breine douses us all in perfume.
No sooner have we finished than Breine’s uncle knocks at the door in a borrowed suit, hair impeccably combed, and Esther and I leave to give the small family private time before the ceremony.
Abek is waiting for me just outside the cottage, hair still damp and looking freshly scrubbed. He’s found a new shirt, buttoned with a little gap between the collar and his neck. “This is all right?” he asks.
“I suppose I should ask if you washed behind your ears?” I tease, pretending to inspect him. “It’s all right. I’m so glad you’re here.”
On the way to the courtyard, I spot Josef in front of us. He is also in a new donation-box shirt. His is a soft hazelnut color, a shade lighter than his eyes. I’ve only ever seen him in the gray shirt he was wearing when we first met. This one fits better. This one skims more closely along his chest and stomach. This one is a bit too short at the sleeves, but short in a way that shows off his wrists. He has nice wrists.
“Hi,” I say softly.
“Hi,” he says back, and I’m glad I went with the dress that brings out the warmth in my skin.
“I didn’t get to introduce you to my brother,” I say, and watch proudly as Abek extends his hand to Josef in a grown-up handshake. “My brother, Abek. And this is Josef Mueller.”
Josef returns the greeting, but his eyes stay on me. A lot passes behind them. An apology? Regret? Something sharp and rough, making my chest pang. I’m still trying to parse the expression when we’re separated by laughing wedding guests, come to celebrate, carrying us along with the crowd.
The whole camp has been saving kerosene rations for this wedding. The courtyard is lit by lanterns, and as Abek and I approach, Ravid and his fiancée, Rebekah, pass out candles.
The courtyard itself is still ugly, mostly dust and dirt. Any flowers once here have been ripped up to make way for the herb garden planted to feed the camp. But that’s not so visible in the twilight.
In the middle stands the chuppah, a plain white sheet attached to rough-hewn wood. Chaim stands under it, waiting in a suit that’s too big and a haircut that’s a little too raw.
Behind me, the chatter quiets, and I realize it’s because Breine is approaching. Her auburn hair glows with the setting sun.
It’s beautiful, it’s so beautiful, this wedding between bold Breine and shy Chaim. In a different world, the sheet might be a fine, embroidered cloth, just as in a perfect world, Breine would be escorted by her parents. But she no longer has parents, so when she comes down the path, it is between her uncle, whose face is shining, and an old woman I’ve heard referred to as Mrs. Van Houten.
“In pictures, it will look white, as she wanted,” says Mrs. Yost, who has appeared next to me, as she nods toward Breine’s dress.
“I don’t think it would matter if the dress was the color of dishwater,” I whisper back. “Look at her face.”
And it’s true. As Breine comes closer, I can look at her not as I did in the cottage, as the mannequin for a sewing project, but rather as a bride. She is radiant; she’s so much lovelier than any dress even the best seamstress could have made.
“But in the picture, it will look white,” Mrs. Yost insists. “If they show a photograph of this day to their grandchildren in fifty years, nobody needs to know it was taken in a camp.”
Breine’s uncle and Mrs. Van Houten walk Breine to the chuppah and in a circle around Chaim, who lets his eyes follow her while he faces the crowd.
A Hungarian man is marrying a Polish and Czech woman, who is escorted by a Dutch woman standing in for her mother and an estranged uncle standing in for her father, and they all know what to do right now because their faith is the same language.
I haven’t been to a wedding in years, not since I was a child. Not since before the Germans invaded. But when the rabbi reaches the Seven Blessings, I find myself nodding along to the Hebrew words I didn’t know I remembered.
Blessed are you, Lord, who gladdens the groom and bride.