[CW: Brief NPC sexual deviancy mention.]

Get your law degree and go into politics, like dear old Fater. That was what his father had hoped. As usual, Zechariah had cooperated... up to a point.

Instead of spreading the family prestige to a new world, Zechariah holed himself up in chambers. People were more likely to meet him by following the chasing crowd of court spectators and journalists than any sort of invitation to chat. Only the fear of Shabbat candles kept reporters out of his home on Shabbat, and even then some had ventured past his threshold in chase of a headline.

Whitby was pain in the ass enough to get to that he figured he would not be followed. It was tourist season, but it was still calmer than John the Peeping Tom’s court crowd. The birds sang, and the waves washed in on his cosy little coastal cottage. He blew on steaming tea, letting it wash over his face with a slow, cautious sigh of relief. He was hours and days away from anyone that might disturb him. It was going to be a beautiful day.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

His eyes flew open, mouth forming a thin, sour line.

Yiddish:

Fater = Father, not a typo lol

While Penina loved her husband dearly, his wild obsessions with traveling the world had grown on her over the years. Both from traveling itself, or spending months without him, especially when the children had younger. The loneliness was helped by the many letters to her family members, but she hadn’t seen many of the the members since before her marriage.

Harrison’s news of a new trip, a prolonged one, has meet with a raised eyebrow from his wife. She only warmed up to the idea when he explained the location, as it jogged a memory from one of her letters. She was fairly sure one of her brothers went to the town on vacation.

So somehow Penina found herself walking through the costal town, her tied back hair fighting against the wind to keep the stray pieces in. She wasn’t even sure Zechariah was there. The letters making it hard to tell the location of the family from the conflicting information. But she knocked on his door and waited.

The butler answered the door with a stoic look. The master would not be pleased, and he wasn’t certain such a thing were actually possible – what he did know was that the master would be less pleased to have company.

“Welcome,” he said.

Definitely a goy. He glanced to her hands, her arms, and over her shoulder. Probably not a journalist? Who knew.

“Is the master expecting you?”

Yiddish:

Goy = Someone who is not of Jewish descent or tradition.

Penina simply watched the butler as he took stock of her. It was slightly rude, but she could let it be this once. The man was only doing his job. 

"I do not" she replied, moving to hold her hands in front of herself. "But I'm sure my bruder would not object."

Yiddish:

bruder = brother

[CW: Rich people-style exotification, misogyny.]

The goyish butler that their mother would never approve of blinked, furrowed his brow, and then gestured her in.

“My apologies, ma’am. I’m certain he’ll be glad to see you.”

Ugh. Meijer was going to have his hide.

The butler would gesture to a chair in the parlor, and hurry off to fetch Zechariah. It was difficult to say how much of the décor was Zechariah’s doing, and how much of it simply came with the summer home. There were bookshelves and novelties from countries he had probably never been to. There was a destination guide on the coffee table beside the elegant looking but wholly uncomfortable chair, and coffee bags from exotic locales that may well have never been opened. There was a rifle on the wall, and The Picture of Dorian Gray underneath it with a bookmark halfway in.

If she happened to peek at it, there was a strangely vague advertisement.

There were no signs of the disarray Muter had guaranteed by way of the descriptions of some doctor’s ravishing daughter he was chatting up. Not a single child-sized fingerprint on the tables, nor even in the dust – the place was lacking any woman’s touch.

Before long, the click of posh shoes sounded long before he was in view. Zechariah had his hands clasped behind his back as he stepped in.

“Penina.” His tone was more stilted than she was probably used to. “I did not expect you.” And then, once that was exhaled: “Welcome to Whitby. You must be tired.”

Penina walked over to the bookcase, taking note of the titles as she waited. How mother was going to have a field day if she ever learnt of the butler. Not that Penina was going to be the one to inform her, no, the reaction would be better if it were seen in person.

At the sound of her brother, Penina turned to welcome him, although became slightly concerned with the stilted welcome. “Thank you, Zechariah, but we have been here a couple of days now. It seems you may be the tired one” she responded softly with a look of concern. “Have I come at a bad time?”

“Of course not,” he said quickly, glancing away briefly. “‘We’,” he repeated, eager to hook on to something else. “Your husband and the twins.”

See? He did pay attention to his mother’s letters!

Penina raised her brows. Twins? Got to love family spreading information which only lead to confusion. “My children are two years apart in age” she replied with a teasing smile. “But yes, my husband and children.”

Oh! He frowned. One of the twins must have died. Goodness, though! He was an uncle now. He knew that in letters, but he had yet to actually meet any of them.

“How old are they now?”

Forget the husband, there was blood kinship involved!

“Well Samuel is thirteen and Helene is eleven. You’ll have to come meet them before Samuel returns to school” there was a slight sadness at her suggestion, how she hated when her son was away, but then she supposed it was one of the best things they could do for him. “And how about you? Still no companion?”