Dread climbed Batya’s throat. News of Nettie? Or was Moskowitz about to punish her after all? Bracing herself, Batya descended the steps, forcing her feet to move faster than they wanted to. If there was no thug in Moskowitz’s office to beat her, he wouldn’t do that dirty work himself. Maybe he would slap her a bit, pull her hair. Unlike some obtuse pimps who damaged their goods, he had boasted that his kurves never exhibited marks that hurt their ability to work.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Batya entered Moskowitz’s office to find him and Freda flanking a girl hunched on a chair, her face in her hands. Batya could see only the girl’s unwashed hair falling forward and black and blue marks on her exposed neck and upper back. The small bumps of the girl’s upper spine and her shoulder bones jutted through the bruised, emaciated skin.

“Take care of her,” Moskowitz told Batya. “You know what to do.”

“If she commits suicide, you’ll reimburse us the price we paid at the auction,” Freda added.

Auctioned naked, paraded and probed. The hair roots on Batya’s arms pricked with hatred. She looked at the girl, and a pang of her own memories hit her. She crouched and touched the girl’s arm. It was so thin, it felt like the limb of a bird.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The girl responded with a jerk of her shoulder.

“She asked you for your name,” Freda said, her tone ominous.

The girl mumbled something.

“Speak up!” Freda hit the girl’s back, jolting the body.

“Dora.” Her voice was only one notch above a whisper.

“Well, Dora, you’d better listen to Batya.”

Dora dropped her head farther toward her bony knees.

“Farshteyst? Understand?” Freda hit her again.

“Let me take her upstairs,” Batya said to Moskowitz. She kept her tone low as she turned to Freda. “Which is her room?”

Freda gave her a key to a tiny chamber diagonally across from Batya’s. It had recently been evacuated by a girl whose French disease must have been dormant until she started losing her mind. “Clean her up, and always lock the door,” Freda said.

Batya put her hands together in supplication. “Will you please find out about Nettie?”

“She’ll stay in the hospital until she’s better.”

Batya suspected that, visiting the auction, Freda hadn’t checked on Nettie. “Please send her my warmest blessings when you visit her again,” she said with emphasis. Worry gnawed at her, but for now Dora must be her priority. “Come with me,” she said softly to the girl. She would comfort Dora the way Rochel had offered her warmth and compassion in the hours of her greatest despair. “You must be hungry. Let’s feed you.”

At the mention of food, Dora rose to her feet and, without looking at Freda and Moskowitz, allowed Batya to prop her up as they walked upstairs.