Gospel of Rain
an excerpt

The most important woman in the world was dying. Marta Liebmann's slight form was tightly wound inside a coccoon of sheets and blankets which still failed to fill the king-sized bed in which she lay. Silver hair fanned out across a mound of overstuffed pillows. Thick mahogany-colored curtains were drawn against the chill winds and heavy rains of a south Texas fall. The pastels of the bedclothes were at odds with the earth tones of the walls and the rich hand-stained furniture. A portable CD player on the night table wafted the barest hint of music into the room – early Schumann, Marta's favorite – barely covering the sound of labored breathing. The smell of sandalwood incense fought a valiant battle against the odor of sickness, but the outcome was never really in doubt.
Steel-gray eyes fluttered open as Marta fought her way up from semiconsciousness. Pale, spidery hands grasped for something out of reach beside the bed. "Rachel?" she called. "Where are you, Rachel?" A moment passed, then the sound of quick, light footsteps announced that someone was answering the call. A woman entered the room. She was 30-ish, no longer in the blush of youth yet with skin still smooth and firm and no trace of gray in her auburn hair. Her eyes shone with compassion for the older woman. Rachel also possessed an earthy beauty that promised a lifetime of devotion to the man who proved worthy of it. Rachel hurried to the bedside and took Marta's hand in both of her own.
"It's all right, mama, I'm here," she said. Rachel settled gently on the bed beside her mother. "What do you need? Another blanket? Some more tea? Oh, and it's almost time for your meds."
Marta snorted. "No more of that foul stuff. Doesn't work anyway."
"Don't say that, mama. Dr. Goyal says…"
"Dr. Goyal is a very nice lady," said Marta, "And a very good doctor. But no one is good enough cure old age." Marta beckoned, and Rachel leaned in closer. "I’m dying, Rachel. I see now that I won't last the night." Marta stopped Rachel's protest with a gesture and continued. "There's so much that I should have told you sooner, and now there's no time to do it. Someone else will have to teach you."
"Teach me what, mama?" asked Rachel.
"Where you come from, child. Who you really are."
"What're you saying, ma? That I'm adopted? But I look just like…"
"No, no, dear, you're not adopted. Your father and I are your biological parents. It's just that… well, our family is special."
"You can say that again," Rachel said with a chuckle. "Who stays married to the same person for nearly 60 years anymore?"
"It's more than that, Rachel. You remember that old ring of mine, the one with the star on it?" Marta's brow furrowed. "Whatever happened to that, anyway?"
"Gone, mama. You remember, the break-in six months ago. That was one of the things they took."
"Oh, yes. That's too bad. That ring would've helped you in Jerusalem. The right people would have seen it and known to contact you."
"Jerusalem can wait, mama," said Rachel. You'll get better and we can visit the Holy Land together. You'll see. Everything will be all right."
Marta sighed. "Oh, my dear sweet daughter. You've spent so much time tending to your sick mother that you never learned that the world's not a fairy tale. Sometimes good people die, my love, and there's no getting around that." Marta pulled herself upright, but the effort triggered a coughing fit. When it subsided she took Rachel's head in her hands and pulled her daughter close. "I wish that this burden didn't fall on you. I wish that your older brother hadn't died in Iraq. I wish you had gotten to live a real life, find a man, maybe even give me a grandchild or two. But you're the last of my family's line, so you're it." Rachel began to cry silently as her mother continued. "All of the arrangements are made, you just have to call the funeral home. Once I've had my send-off, you must go to Jerusalem and find the Beth Raziel. Ask the rabbis, some of them will know. The teachers at Beth Raziel will explain everything." Another coughing fit racked Marta's small frame. "I'm tired now. Tuck me back in, please. I think I'll have a little nap and then go see your father."
"Mama," said Rachel, "Papa's been…"
Marta laid a finger on Rachel's lips and gave her a patient look. "I know where your father is, child." Marta lay back on the pillows and willed her breathing steady. "Just remember what I told you. And who knows? You might meet a nice man in Jerusalem. Grandchildren would be nice, even if I have to look down from Heaven to see them." Marta closed her eyes. "Good night, sweetheart," she whispered, "I love you." Within seconds her breathing slowed as the CD came to its end. A few seconds more and the room was silent except for the the rain beating a gentle counterpoint to Rachel's sobs.
"I love you too, mama," Rachel said. She got up off the bed and dragged herself to her mother's study. The rolltop desk lay open with an address book in plain view next to an antique rotary phone. Rachel sat down at the desk, wiped her face and composed herself for the task to come. She set her shoulders, then opened the book and picked up the phone to make the first of many calls.
It was going to be a long night for the most important woman in the world.