“I have to have a definite answer, Shaindele. I can’t make an appointment to meet my friend with a ‘maybe.’”

She was sullen when she looked up. “I don’t know what’s happening on Wednesday.”

Leah was aghast. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could be busy.”

“Well, maybe you could rearrange your time so you won’t be busy? Just change it to another night?”

“I’m not sure,” she repeated stubbornly.

“Well, I am sure!” she exploded, despite all her efforts and good intentions. “I don’t ask you to do anything! I wash and iron your clothes, wash the dishes, make you dinners, and even pack your lunches! What am I asking from you that makes it so hard for you to say yes? One hour on a Wednesday night? We are a family, and I need your help!”

“You could find a babysitter,” Shaindele insisted, bringing Leah’s frustration to the boiling point.

“You know, I think the time has come for you to tell me exactly what you are doing every night until so late,” Leah said, her voice uncharacteristically steely. That got the girl’s attention, all right, Leah saw.

“I … I already told Tateh.”

“I know what you told your tateh. But maybe I’ll just call this Shulamis Glickstein’s mom and ask her about it.”

“No, don’t do that!” Shaindele shouted.

“Lower your voice, young lady.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mother.”

“And you can’t tell me what to do. What’s Shulamis’s phone number?”

“None of your business!”

“Okay, never mind. I’ll look it up on the computer. Glickstein.” There were probably two million Glicksteins in Boro Park, Leah thought, but the threat should be enough. It was.

“All right already! I’ll do it. I’ll babysit for you on Wednesday night,” she said ungraciously.

“Thank you, Shaindele,” Leah answered with a corresponding lack of grace, shutting the door to her room with a little bang.

The children heard the raised voices and heard the door slam. They had never seen Leah angry. Mordechai Shalom began to cry, and Chasya sat on the floor with her back to the wall, holding her stomach.

What have I done? Leah thought, terrified.

She lifted Mordechai Shalom into her arms and hugged him, then crouched down next to Chasya. “Shall we put on some music and dance?”

The tears immediately disappeared, and the child jumped up and put her soft little arms around Leah’s neck.

“Not Pirchei,” she demanded, referring to the yeshiva boy choir.

“Okay, not Pirchei. But we’ll have to play it softly, and you can’t jump up and down. Mrs. Weitz downstairs doesn’t like the noise. And we have to pull down all the shades so nobody can see us.”

“Why can’t they see us?” Chasya asked.