R ivky Reimer turned on the light on the tiny porch and headed back into the bungalow. This was the second night in a row that Chaim had told her not to wait up.
He’d become hoarse and she thought he might have a slight fever. Last night he’d judged the cheers and spent the night roaming the grounds peeking in on the artists and songwriters reveling in the charged atmosphere. At one o’clock he’d a found an ice cream store in Woodridge that would prepare 50 iced coffees with whipped cream. He’d driven to pick them up and gone around giving them out to the exhausted exuberant staff members.
Today had been even busier. Neos Deshe tradition was that Hershel Levinsky would umpire the big staff baseball game on the last day of color war. This year the old man had thrown out the first pitch to boisterous applause but Chaim had filled in as umpire. Only Rivky knew how nervous he’d been.
Before supper she’d joined him as the artwork was presented. She watched his serious expression as he studied the two banners and huddled with the other judges. She remembered how once when he had a day off from work and the kids were in school she’d taken him to the city to see an art exhibit. He’d cracked a joke about how she was going through a sophisticated phase and hadn’t even made a pretense of being interested.
