JUST ONE INCH

CHAPTER ONE

RACHEL

High school teacher Rachel Stein, in her sixties, with her gray hair pulled back into a bun, walks out from the Main Office.

In the overhead paneled lights, her face appears drawn and tired with a mirage of wrinkles. She is solemn with the corners of her mouth turned slightly downward, and her lips puckered in a pout.

The loud sound of excited students and lockers slamming closed is heard as she joins the crowd of cheerleaders, jocks with the school’s emblem on their sweaters, and other students anxiously rushing to exit the school’s front door.

Rachel walks slowly with her head down as the students zip past her.

Exuberant teacher, Stephanie, joins her. Though only in her twenties, she has a mature expression far beyond her years.

“Why so glum, Rachel?”

Rachel sighs deeply.

“This is my last week. Forty years went by so fast. Word of advice Stephanie, get married. Don’t be married to your job. Life goes by so fast. You’ll regret it if you don’t find someone to love. I wish I had.”

Stephanie nods her understanding.

“I’m so sorry. So, what are your plans for retirement?”

“Don’t know, but I’ve learned from my ancestors that life constantly changes. We may not understand or like what happens, but we persevere.”

“Very philosophical,” Stephanie laughs.

Rachel smiles.

“Right now, I’ve got to get to the pharmacy. I keep having these migraines.”

Stephanie stops.

“Oh, darn. I forgot my daily planner. I have to go back. Take care of yourself, Rachel. See you tomorrow.”

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Rachel waves, continues out the door.

At the pharmacy, Rachel gets in line in front of the “Pick Up” counter. In front of her is an African-American Mother holding a two-year-old boy with a stuffed bear in one hand and sucking his middle fingers of the other hand. Rachel smiles at him. The child drops his bear and starts crying.

The Mother puts him down, holds onto his hand, as she walks forward to the counter.

Rachel picks up the bear, walks over.

“Name?” the Pharmacist asks.

“Lakeisha Sullivan.”

While the Pharmacist searches through bags in a plastic basket, the child throws a tantrum, tries to get away. The Mother picks him up. Rachel hands her the bear.

“Looks like you have your hands full.”

“He didn’t have enough sleep last night. You know how it is.”

“Not really. I’ve never had one. I’ve been married to my teaching job for forty years, and I’ve had thousands of children, but not one was mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rachel shrugs.

The Pharmacist returns, uses the register.

“That’ll be $23.89”

The Mother has difficulty opening her purse with the child squirming.

“I can hold him if you’d like.”

The Mother smiles, shoves the child into Rachel’s arms, searches her purse, looks at the Pharmacist with frustration.

“I’m sorry. I left my wallet on the kitchen table.”

The Pharmacist and Mother stare in silence.

“I’ll take care of that for you,” Rachel offers.

“Really?”

Rachel hands the child to her, takes out her credit card, pays.

As the Pharmacist staples the receipt to the Mother’s bag, the Mother turns to Rachel.

“Thanks. That was very kind of you.”

Rachel smiles. The Mother puts her child down, holds onto him, takes her medicine, leaves.

Rachel turns to the Pharmacist.

“Hi Burt, how’s your mother?”

Rachel leaves the corner drugstore, sees the pedestrian signal flash a countdown from 15. She crosses swiftly. She notices the mother and child ahead. The child drops the bear again. Rachel rushes over, bends down to pick up it up. She stands, yells to the mother now on the sidewalk.

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“Ms. Sullivan!”

The Mother and child turn around.

As she nears the curb, an old beat-up car quickly turns the corner in front of her. Her eyes widen in dreaded fear as she backs up quickly to avoid getting hit. She falls backwards and hits the back of her head on the street. Rachel’s world is spinning

The driver stops, quickly opens his door, and stands on the street next to his open car door. He looks frantically back at Rachel lying unconscious on the ground.

“Oh my God. What have I done?” he says visibly shaking.

He looks around at the people rushing over and decides to get back inside his car. He speeds off.

Several people gather around Rachel. Someone gives advice about not moving her.

Another kind lady takes off her sweater to use as a blanket, she says, “to prevent shock”. A tall man wearing a suit uses his cell phone to call 911.

A red EMT ambulance arrives shortly. Paramedics load Rachel into their van and rush her to the hospital.

The ambulance comes to a swift halt at the emergency entrance of a very large medical center. The paramedics rush to open the back doors, and carefully take out a gurney. They swiftly wheel it inside.

Rachel goes in and out of consciousness as she is wheeled into an emergency room. She opens her eyes and sees a blurry bright light. The sounds of three nurses, an emergency room doctor, and a resident in training, are muffled, but she hears someone giving orders.

Rachel awakens alone in her private hospital room. She presses the button to make the bed sit up. She feels the bandages on her head, and looks around the typical hospital room. Bedside her twin bed, there is a nightstand for the phone and a chair. A small closet next to a tiny bathroom is to her right, and the flatscreen television is mounted on the wall facing her bed.

A good-looking doctor in his late 70’s, of Polish ancestry, along with an Asian nurse enter the room.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Emeryk Kopinski. How are you feeling?”

“Like drums are beating inside my head.”

“That’s pretty common for your type of injury.”

He leans over and uses a penlight to check her eyes.

“I need to ask a few questions. They may seem silly, but I’m required to ask them. Okay?”

Rachel nods.

“What is your name?”

“Rachel Stein.”

“Follow my finger with your eyes without moving your head.”

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He moves an index finger to the right, then left as he watches her eye movement.

He holds her hands. “Squeeze my fingers.”

She grips him tightly.

He removes the blanket from her legs.

“Can you wiggle your toes?”

She wiggles the toes of both legs.

“Good. Good.”

He sits on the edge of her bed.

“Have you had any symptoms of any kind lately like headaches or numbness?”

Rachel shakes her head.

“Blurred vision?”

“No, nothing.”

“Do you remember the accident?”

“Vaguely. I remember a car almost hit me.”

“You fell and hit your head pretty hard. X rays didn’t reveal anything, but just to be safe, we did an MRI. We’re waiting for the results, and if it looks good, then we can release you.”

He looks at the nurse.

“Let me know immediately if she complains of dizziness or nausea.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Dr. Kopinski pats Rachel’s hand.

“I’ll be back when we get the results.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The cell phone in his pocket rings. He answers it as he leaves.

The nurse notices Rachel looking very depressed. She pulls the blanket up.

“You were lucky,” she says as she fixes Rachel’s pillow.

Rachel sighs deeply, and nods. “It was a close call.”

The nurse looks at Rachel, but the nurse’s mind is elsewhere.

“When I was a teenager,” she says softly, “ I had a near death experience, too.”

Rachel looks intently at her.

“I went to church and questioned God why I was still alive.”

“Yes, I’m wondering the same thing.”

Rachel stares away into space, then looks at the nurse.

“Is there a Rabbi in the hospital?”

“Yes, there is a Rabbi. In fact, I just saw him down the hall. Would you like to talk with him?”

“Yes. I would.”

The nurse leaves, and Rachel closes her eyes. She is awakened by a soft knock.

A very orthodox Rabbi with side curls, prayer shawl, yarmulke, and frame-less

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glasses, cracks the door open.

“Shalom. I’m Rabbi Robert Goldblum.

“Hello, Rabbi.”

“May I come in?”

“Sure.”

He opens the door wider, and enters Rachel’s room.

“I’m Rachel. Rachel Stein.”

“Nice to meet you, Rachel. I heard you would like to talk.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not very religious. I don’t even go to temple.”

“That’s okay. We can still talk. You’ll find I’m a good listener. What troubles you?” he asks as he pulls the chair over to sit down closer to her.

Rachel searches his eyes.

“I’m confused about the meaning of life.”

“The meaning of life? Why does this bother you, my child?”

“I feel like I’ve served my purpose being a teacher, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

Rabbi Goldblum pulls the tip of his beard as he thinks for a second.

“We never know God’s plan. But I say this, if you’re still alive, then God has other plans for you.”

Rachel’s eyebrows arch in surprise.

“Other plans? What could he possibly have in store for me? “

The Rabbi pats her hand. “You know the expression, ‘you never know what’s around the corner’? Trust me, there is something good for you waiting around that corner.”

Rachel stares out the window sadly, then looks back at him.

“ Can you help me up? I’d like to walk as we talk.”

“Sure, but I would be happier if you were in a wheelchair.”

The Rabbi helps Rachel stand up next to the bed.

She grabs the blanket, wraps it around her hospital gown, dons white cotton hospital slippers.

“See, I’m fine. Let’s walk.“

Rabbi Goldblum and Rachel slowly walk down the corridor.

Dr. Kopinski walks by and overhears part of the conversation.

Rachel looks at the Rabbi.

“I could feel the car whisk by me with just one inch separating us. One inch has been lucky for me and my ancestors.”

“One inch?”

She nods.

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They stop at the end of the corridor, read the saying in large letters on the wall:

I FOUND A FRUITFUL WORLD BECAUSE MY ANCESTORS

PLANTED IT FOR ME. LIKEWISE, I AM PLANTING IT FOR MY

CHILDREN.

TALMUD TAANIT 23A.

“That’s very profound, isn’t it?” Rachel asks.

She looks at the Rabbi as Dr. Kopinski walks on.

“Yes. I believe it is,” Rabbi Goldblum says as he strokes the end of his beard.

“I almost died today. If I had died, who would care?”

“What about your family?”

“All gone. All my friends and family have passed away. And, I have no husband. I’ve been married to my teaching job for forty years, and I’ve had thousands of children, but not one was mine.”

Rabbi Goldblum looks at her with empathy in his eyes.

“Menopause ended my chance of having any children, so I am the last leaf on my family tree. My ancestors struggled and sacrificed so much. It’s a shame it all comes to an end with me. I feel like I’ve let them all down.”

“Nonsense, my child. I’m sure they are all very proud of you.”

Rachel looks sadly down at the floor.

“Where did your ancestors come from?”

“It’s a long story. Do you have time to hear it?”

“Yes, my child. Take as long as you’d like.”

Rachel points to some chairs by the windows.

“Let’s go sit over there.”

They walk to some chairs.

“ My ancestry dates back to a scribe for the Tsar of Russia.”

7.

CHAPTER TWO

PETROGRAD, RUSSIA

It is the end of 1897 and Tsar Nikolay Aleksandrovich Romanov, Emperor of all the Russias,, known simply as Nicholas II, is in power. He is soon nicknamed Saint Nicholas because of his many reforms such as literacy programs and the modernization of the empire that resulted in a peaceful time, a time to celebrate.

It’s very dark, but in the moonlight many horsemen in red Russian Royal uniforms with wool hats, tall black boots, and their long sabers holstered at their sides gallop swiftly down a dirt road.

They gallop closer.

Besides the sound of their hooves, the whinnying and snorting of the horses can be heard. The night air is cold and damp with winter snow about to fall. It’s so cold, in fact, that the horses’ breaths can be seen.

Dust flies up as they rush through a charming rustic village of unpainted wooden houses with grass growing on the roofs.

The sound of the many cavalry horses galloping gets louder and louder.

Happy Russian music is heard coming from one of the candlelit houses in the distance.

The music gets louder as the horsemen approach the house.

Inside the old unpainted wooden house, thirtyish Vladimir Kaminskaya, in peasant tunic clothes, reddish hair, glasses, mustache, short red beard, sings as he plays Russian music on his Balalaika in a large candlelit room.

His twentyish wife, Svetlana, with a small mole on her right cheek, thin waist, long legs, and an apron over her plain peasant skirt and blouse, dances in front of the fireplace with their four-year-old barefoot daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth has reddish-brown hair, brown eyes, and wears a pink smoked dress.

The cavalry slows down until finally stopping in front of the house filled with merriment.

One rider with a very long mustache, jumps off his horse with both boots landing in

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unison firmly on the road. He swiftly approaches the door as another soldier holds onto the rider’s reins.

The rider bangs loudly on the door, then twirls the end of his long mustache, then bangs again.

The music stops.

Vladimir looks out through the lace curtains in the window.

His eyes widen in fear.

He turns around, signals to Svetlana and Elizabeth to be quiet.

Banging on the door again is heard inside. Svetlana angrily motions to Vladimir to go open the door.

Vladimir shakes his head. He is afraid.

Svetlana motions insisting he do.

The rusty door creaks as it opens slowly.

Vladimir is shocked to see the man at his door. He looks at the other men on horses behind, all look similar with long mustaches and long beards.

He notices two riderless horses. Then he looks at the rider whose face is lit by the candlelight coming from inside.

“Are you Vladimir Kaminskaya? “

Vladimir nods nervously, looks at the men on horses again.

“I am Sergei Abramevich of his majesty’s Royal Court. Tsar Nicolas II demands your presence. You are to come with us.”

Vladimir’s body shakes in dreaded fear.

“But why? I have done nothing wrong.”

Svetlana, now wearing a red babushka, rushes to Vladimir holding Elizabeth. She stands directly behind him.

She looks out to see all the men on horses.

“Get on the horse,” Abramevich orders. “ I have no time to explain. His Royal Highness is waiting.”

“Vladimir, what’s happening? Are you being arrested?”

“I don’t know, Svetlana. Go back inside.”

She stays at the door watching Vladimir being escorted to the rider-less horse. Vladimir and Sergei get on the horses and gallop off.

Vladimir, Sergei, and the horsemen ride toward the red with yellow trimmed Peterhof Winter Palace and go under an arch to the palace entrance. Only the sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones is heard.

Vladimir is escorted through gilded doors that lead into the white and gold Throne Room

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of the palace. He sweats profusely as he walks behind Sergei down the long rectangular room toward Tsar Nicholas II, seated on his red and gilded throne in the distance.

The sound of people talking suddenly stops.

As Vladimir walks, he looks up at the three-tiered chandeliers and the white columns along the sides of the room. He notices several people looking at him as they walk along the second-floor balcony that surrounds the room.

Muffled voices are heard as Vladimir sees the 29-year-old Tsar seated in the distance. Tsar Nicholas II, who wears a black uniform and red sash, sits on his red and gold throne as he speaks to his wife, the Tsarina, seated next to him.

Sergei stops at the bottom of the red carpeted stairs leading up to the Tsar. He quickly bows.

“Your Majesty.”

He backs up and joins many other men in black uniform with blue sashes standing to the side.

Vladimir fearfully stands alone in front of the first step to the throne. It is eerily quiet now.

He looks up and notices the Imperial crest on red tapestry behind the tsar, the tsar’s symbol of power. It has a two-headed gilded eagle with each head wearing a crown of diamonds. Both crowns are connected to a larger diamond crown overhead. In the center is St. George riding a white horse conquering a dragon. The eagle has two claws, one holding the royal scepter, the other the imperial orb.

Vladimir has a closer look at the handsome Tsar having a short well-trimmed beard, long mustache curved to the sides. He wears a black uniform, red sash, and gold jewel-encrusted hat-like crown with brown mink around the edges. The display of jewels is over-the-top displaying great wealth.

Vladimir gulps.

Vladimir eyes the Tsar’s German wife, Alexandra of Hesse, granddaughter of Queen Victoria. She is always seated to the left of the Tsar. She sits with perfect posture holding their 6-month baby daughter, Tatiana.

The Tsar is devoted to his pretty wife with her red-gold hair and large eyes who has great influence on him.

Vladimir notices the Tsarina’s elaborately embroidered white lace dress with gold trim on the bodice. Blue sapphires are placed as faux buttons down the front to her thin corseted waist. She wears a royal blue sash, pearl necklace, and crown with diamonds and pearls.

Tatiana cries loudly.

Vladimir watches the baby squirm in the Tsarina’s lap.

“Hush, Tatiana,” the Tsarina says softly.

The Tsar furrows his brows as he takes note of Vladimir eyeing his wife.

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Vladimir also notices a two-year-old daughter named Olga who has a snubby nose sitting on the floor next to her mother. Her blue eyes and light chestnut hair stand out with her white lacey dress. She wears a matching pearl necklace and blue ribbon sash for belt.

Tsarina Alexandra looks to the plain-looking Irish nanny, Margaretta, on her left wearing a black dress with a white apron and white bonnet, the customary outfit for a servant.

“Margaretta, take Olga and Tatiana to the nursery.”

Margaretta speaks with a Limerick accent.

She bows, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Nicholas watches the Nanny leave with the children. He looks at Vladimir.

“You are Vladimir Kaminskaya?”

Vladimir nods his head slowly in a kind of bow.

“Yes, your Imperial Highness.”

“I am told you are the only one in the village who knows how to read and write. Is that so?”

Vladimir looks at the Tsar.

“Yes, Sire, in seven languages, French, English, Italian, Russian, German, Polish, and Yiddish.”

The Tsar’s posture straightens. He furrows his brows, looks displeased.

“You are a Jew?”

Vladimir looks down, fearful of what might happen if he says “yes”. He slowly lets out

a big sigh, then looks up at the Tsar.

“Yes, sire,” he says in a very soft voice.

Vladimir looks at Sergei, then back at the Tsar.

“Your Imperial Highness…” He pauses. “Is that a problem?”

Nicholas looks at his wife. The Tsarina smiles.

“I thought my father, Tsar Alexander III, expelled all the Jews during the Pogrom.”

Nicholas looks back at Vladimir, and stares at him for a few silent seconds.

“Your Highness. Have I done something wrong? Am I being accused of something?”

“Vladimir Kaminskaya, I have heard that you are a good man, that you are a hard worker and do as you are told.”

Vladimir nods his head over and over in agreement.

“I have decided that you will be my scribe. You will write the legal documents and laws as I decree. You will also write my messages so the leaders of other countries, who do not speak our language, will understand what I am saying. Then you will translate all replies and books I wish to read.”

The Tsar looks sternly at Vladimir.

“Do you understand?”

Vladimir is relieved. He smiles for the first time.