After he left, Batya washed up and thought how many sisters would have exploited the chance to root through a client’s pocket to palm some coins for themselves. Ulmann always rewarded her with a little cash and, on holidays, a piece of jewelry, albeit light in its gold content—a hatpin, or the tiniest pair of delicately shaped earrings.

Most important, she enjoyed the warmth of his visits. As inconceivable as it was for a polaca to hope for a patron, she let herself daydream. Maybe one day Ulmann would take her out of here.

Monday morning, Batya queued with the other girls in the kitchen to receive her share of the money she had earned for the house. Her eyes searched for Nettie, but there was no sign of her friend.

“Have you seen Nettie?” Batya asked the girl in front of her.

“Not since last night.”

Batya rushed to Nettie’s room. There was no answer to her knock. She opened the door.

Nettie was slumped over the side of her bed, head down, vomit pooling on the floor, her hair streaming into it.

“Help!” Batya shouted. She lifted the listless body back onto the bed. It was distressingly light. She touched her friend’s wrist to feel the pulse. It was there, albeit faint. She ran to the door. “Help! Help!”

Thirty minutes later, two men loaded Nettie on a wagon to take her to the hospital. “You can visit her later,” Freda told Batya and Rochel. “We’ve wasted too much time. I must finish the accounting.”

“What do you think is the matter with Nettie?” Batya asked Rochel after Freda waddled her heft down the stairs. “The doctor told her she was fine.”

“She’s sick with sorrow.” Rochel’s voice sounded resigned.

Sorrow gnawed at all of them, Batya thought. She recalled the vivaciousness with which Nettie had once faced her situation, whistling songs through the gap between her teeth. Batya didn’t wonder what had made Nettie’s exuberance ebb. Grief underpinned their lives.

“What will happen with her regulars?” Batya whispered to Rochel. One of them was the man with the appetite for cockroaches. Another relished tying Nettie to the bedpost and flogging her. Batya never understood how Nettie withstood these cruelties.

Rochel shrugged. “It’s in God’s hands.”