The Accusation

     “But I didn’t take them,” Frank protested, “honest, Mr. Wrobleski.”
The grocer shook his head. “Franklin, you know as well as I that the gloves didn’t walk out of here on their own.”
     Frank said nothing. 
Mr. Wrobleski continued, “Last week you asked to see the angora gloves.  I took them out of the cabinet and laid them on the counter.  Now they’ve disappeared, but I heard your mother telling Mrs. Wrobleski about the lovely blue gloves she’d received from you.”
     “Yes, but those gloves were plain, old sheep's wool, not rabbit.  Mr. Wrobleski, please believe me.  I didn’t take those gloves.”

     Harold sighed.  He wanted to believe Frank, but times were necessitous; he'd seen the worst in his neighbors as they scrimped every penny, toiling to put together a dollar for food and another for gasoline and...
     The jangling of the telephone pulled him from his dour reverie.
     "Hello, Wrobleski's General Store.  This is Harold speaking."
     Harold held the receiver to his ear and kept his face close to the mouthpiece. "Hallo, Mutter? Wie geht es Ihnen? Was kann ich für Sie heute machen?"

     A few minutes later, Mr. Wrobleski turned to Frank.  The phone call finished.  "So, Franklin.  Here's what you can do to pay for those gloves."
     "But..."
     "No.  I won't listen to your protests.  You know what'll happen if I tell your father."
     Frank stood silent.
     "Go over to my mother's house and haul up her canning jars and supplies from the basement.  My brother, the nebbish lout, was suppose to help Mother out, but he's...he's occupied."
     "That's all you want me to do?  Carry some jars up from your mother's basement?" Frank asked incredulously.
     "Oh, no," laughed Harold.  "Once you get to my mother's, she'll tell you what she wants and you'll do every single chore she requests.  Don't expect to be home before sundown.  She'll let you go by then because tomorrow's Sabbath.  In fact, it's Shavuot!"
     "Shavuot, sir?"
     "Ja, ja a Jewish holiday commemorating when the Torah was, ah, you don't really care, Frank!  It's a Jewish holiday.  We have lots of them!"
     Frank didn't mind helping Mrs. Wrobleski.  She usually had wonderful desserts.
     As if he could read Frank's mind, Harold exclaimed, "And she'll surely have dozens of rugelachs and kuchen and since it's Shavuot, she'll even have cheesecake. Now go!"

     As Frank left the store, Harold opened the drawer beneath the register and took out a pair of wool gloves. He held the blue wool against his cheek.  They were as soft as baby hair.  Frank, my son, my mentsh.  To survive, look what I've become, a schmuck!

Today's prompts for  October 28, 2009, due no later than next Tuesday:

• Use a word that most readers will have to look up in their dictionary
• Reference a religious holiday
• Write as  3rd person omniscient
• A telephone needs to ring
• tag with wwe