“He locks all the doors. There’s yichud. And he has dirty pictures on his wall. And he touches me and says things to me, talks to me in a not tzniusdik way.”

“He’s a goy?”

“No, Bubbee. He’s a frum Yid. A Bobelger Hasid. Rabbi Halpern sent me to him.”

“He has a name, this frum Yid, this Hasid?”

She hesitated. “Yoel Grub.”

“Grub?” she exclaimed. “That’s a name?”

Shaindele shrugged.

“When is your next appointment with this grubber yung?”

“Today. Six o’clock.”

“You’re going?”

“I’m never going back to him,” she stated vehemently.

Fruma Esther nodded. “Far zikher.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Mad? On who should I be mad? If this is the way he behaves, it’s a shandah. Of course you don’t go to a person like that. You’re telling me the truth, maideleh, for sure?”

“For absolutely sure, Bubbee.”

“So where is the problem? Why did you have to leave the house, come here?”

“Leah had to tell Tateh. She was afraid he would be mad on me.”

Now a little red light lit up in the old woman’s shrewd head. “And why would that be?”

“I don’t know. She just did.”

There was something more going on here, something she didn’t quite understand, and anything shrouded in darkness and mystery she didn’t like. In her long experience with life, she’d found sunlight was the best disinfectant for hidden evil. Bring it out in the open, and the “mystery” disappeared, replaced by perfectly clear, foul truth.

She weighed her options. Of course, she could pressure her granddaughter now, and she would talk. But there was something fragile about the girl this morning, she thought. Maybe it would be better to get the information from her parents.

“So go get ready for school, maideleh. You ate something?”

She nodded. “Rugelach.”

“That’s a breakfast? Come, I’ll make you eggs, toast…”

Shaindele shook her head, her face pale. “No, Bubbee. I’m not hungry.”

“So I’ll make you a sandwich for later, maideleh,” Fruma Esther said, concerned but not yet alarmed. That would come later that morning as sure as the sun rose, she told herself, all her warning bells going off like firecrackers on Lag B’omer.

He was going to have to take a few hours off work, he told his boss. It was a personal matter.

“Nothing serious, I hope?” the older man inquired politely.

“Nothing I can’t handle in a few hours,” Yaakov assured him with a certainty he did not feel.

“And you’re caught up with your work? We have the tax deadlines in a few weeks, remember.”

“I’m caught up. It’s not a problem.”