#rescuemiriam

"They aren't. It's just... it... m-my fault, really. Causing drama."

Dubiously. "You .... really don't seem like the trouble-making kind."

"I scared you the other night. You probably don't remember."

"Not... not too well. A little."

"I... I am sorry. I didn't mean to scare you then."

"And I've been trying to be better. No trouble. No drama. Don't bother anyone."

"They have enough on their plates, don't need some moody teenager..."

She shrugs. "I don't know your life, your family. I mean... they're trying to help me, I get that.... and they're not -that- bad...."

She nods, eyes bright. "I know. That's why I c-can't screw up. So far, I mean... if... if I help out, keep my head down, I can stay, right?"

"I maybe shouldn't stay for dinner. But you should. It's chicken and rice and green beans..."

"What...? They'd kick you out? What about your parents?"

"I don't know. Everything's different. Mama and Papa wouldn't, no..."

"Well then screw these two old guys!" Another scowl. "You don't need them bashing you. If I -could- leave, I would but damnitall I think they're right. Too weak. Feeding me frickin' boiled chicken stock for two weeks.... Damn right I'm eating dinner! Get stronger and get out of here...."

Her face twists, grief worn on her sleeve. "And go where?"

"Go.... go... I don't know. Somewhere! Not like staying here will give me an answer, right? You said.... you said I did have skills, well, maybe I can't do that any more but I bet I could do -something-....."

"Of course you could do something. But... but maybe you can do things here? Ratch...Rachamin, he's a smith."

"A smith. In Scarsdale?"

"Why not? Makes swords, all kinds of things... sells them to fancy people."

-Swords-? In -Scarsdale-?

"And all through here. Art shows, re-enactments, renn faires..."

"Huh. Ok... but I'm not sure I could be a smith. Anyway.... I mean, Rachamin seems ok, but...."

"So. You try new things!"

"Try, maybe fail, maybe not. "

"Yeah....." She trails off, frowning.

"But there's a whole world of things to try."

"Particularly for me, since I don't remember much...." Dry.

"For now."

"But here, you are safe and people care about you. Not so bad, even if Hirim can.. ah... smother."

"Speaking of that.... why am I at a house? Why not a hospital?"

"because for memory - familiar people, quiet place. Much better, nu?"

"Hospital is all noise and chaos."

"Oh.... yeah, that makes sense...." As the Uncles return, dressed and ready for dinner.

"Zara, you stay for dinner." Hirim mutters, and then after an elbow from Ratchet. "Please...."

She deflates a little and nods.

"I'll get it from the oven. Sit, sit..." head down, the mouse scurries.

Miriam glares at the two old men and says "I'll help, Zara." Hirim and Ratchet shuffle off to sit sheepishly at the table and Miriam tries very hard to carry and not drop things, or fall down.

Zara blushes, but offers a smile. Miriam is given bread - lightweight! Not breakable!

Miriam takes it out to the table and waits while Zara brings the rest. She looks a little.... nervous?

The table is spread with white linen, silk flowers set in the center. Zara passes her hand over one of the candles, gathering up the smoke.

Miriam is watching Zara, Hiriam is watching Miriam, Ratchet is watching Zara and Hirim.....

Zara sings - to Miriam, her voice trembles from nerves, but the uncles only catch the grate of a raspy whisper, broken throat unable to form true notes. No Hannah to hide behind as she attempts the traditional first blessing, the Sholom Aleichem.

Miriam is clearly straining to hear, to recognized, to remember.... her lips move hesitantly, but she voices no sound.

Her song finished, duty turns to the uncles - the next song the "Eishet Chayil," honoring the women of the house and their work to make it a home.

They stand, and begin; it isn't quite croaking, but lyric tenors they ain't.

Zara hangs back, letting Hirim and Ratchet lead as heads of the household - she does help fill the Kiddush cups with wine, distributing them to the others.

Miriam is still clearly looking for cues from the others but it doesn't take much. Somethings are just so deeply ingrained....

And predate any nocker memories - old songs, childhood rites, millenia of tradition in simple things - in music, in wine, in bread & salt...

.... Indeed, she acts or reacts automatically a few times, without noticing it.

A few fleeting smiles at the older woman, shy but encouraging. She offers Miriam an arm up when it is time to wash their hands.

After the washing of hands, the bread is blessed, broken, and shared - dipped in salt before it is eaten. Though conversation is now allowed, Zara stays quiet. She serves the food - plating the same for her as everyone else. Hannah likely had a hand in dinner's making, and it certainly smells better than scalded, saltless stock.