Back in her chamber, Batya slid under the bed and pushed aside a small trunk in which she kept mementos and what might be perceived by snooping eyes as her most important treasures: a cloth napkin with the name of the café embroidered in gold, a peacock feather, a wooden dreidel engraved with the four magic letters of Chanukah, two beaded necklaces, a beautiful lace ribbon she sometimes tied around her forehead, a red flower made of silk, and her brass Shabbat candlesticks.

The trunk served to deflect suspicion that she had another hiding place. Batya removed the loose brick in the stone wall facing the street. Her hand snaked through the opening and felt the interior hole she had carved by removing mortar. She pulled out a cloth pouch and tucked the bankbook in the hole, then retreated to unwrap her collection of jewelry. She bathed her eyes in Glikel’s opal ring, felt the coolness of a pearl pendant on a gold chain, and stroked the ivory silhouette of a gentlewoman on a cameo made of onyx. The silver necklace a sea captain had brought her from a place called India had its own leather bag. She put it on, rose to look at it in the mirror, and admired its fine filigree curlicues dotted with coral and aqua stones.

Some sisters who saved their money invested in pelts they stored under their beds. Hides were available, albeit expensive. The impracticality of storing such bulk in a small room that soon reeked of it—especially in hot weather—made no sense to Batya, and, as it turned out, neither to Freda, who ordered the pelts removed. Unlike pelts, jewelry and precious stones were small and never aged. One day, she would bring her family over and leave Buenos Aires. She would cash in her treasures to open a store far away from Moskowitz’s reach. She would also take her father on a trip to Pittsburgh to search for his brother.

Batya tucked her jewelry back into the pouch and returned it to the hiding place. She still wanted to obtain the book of tkhines—more so now that she must pray for Nettie’s recovery. She should buy one. Since Freda hadn’t mentioned the incident at the synagogue, it was safe enough for Batya to try again, if she could figure out where. The Judaica store must carry the book, but she wouldn’t dare bring sin to a place filled with sacred texts. Surely the bookseller and his clerks would chase her away, humiliate her as the women in the synagogue had done.

Her musings were interrupted when she heard her name called from down the corridor. She opened the door to see Glikel smirking. “Moskowitz wants to see you.”