Annoyed, Batya walked out to the kitchen yard to hang a sponge to dry and collect her underthings from the line. She ran a finger over her chin to feel the pimples, hoping that by the evening the yeast she’d applied would dry them. It was true that Batya had overcome her frugality and replaced her outgrown dress with a new mint-green organza creation. It wasn’t the first time she had needed new clothes; the abundant food continued to fill her, and, to her surprise, she had also grown taller—taller than her parents or her older sisters had been. She no longer needed to pretend to look like a woman; she was one.

That evening, Rochel helped Batya step into her new dress. “It brings out the green in your eyes,” she gushed, fluffing the rows of ruffles that layered the sleeves and also ran above the skirt’s hem. She gathered Batya’s hair loosely on top, allowing some tendrils to escape, and tucked peach-colored rosebuds between the curls. Then she kissed Batya’s cheek and smiled. Batya loved seeing those twin dimples deepen, her friend’s sign of approval.

“You look like a French courtesan,” Rochel said. “All you need is a fluffy white dog.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Riding in the horse-drawn open carriage, Batya still couldn’t believe her good fortune. She straightened her back, imagining herself the wealthy woman she had been falsely promised she would become, and looked around as the horses trotted past magnificent buildings into the newly widened boulevard of Avenida de Mayo. She turned her finger to reflect the light off the opal ring she had acquired from Glikel and touched the mother-of-pearl brooch that clasped her shawl. Made of the same mint-green fabric as the dress, the sheer organza wrap still permitted a view of her thin waist while offering some modesty. She wouldn’t wear her better jewelry, only the pieces that the sisters had seen. The rest were her secret. She hoped that Ulmann, whose drawings she was helping improve, would soon reward her with one of those more substantial creations. Beyond the weight of the gold, such a gift would strengthen the delicate tie that was forming between them—one she wished to nurture.

Next to her, Moskowitz wore a fine black suit, with tails that ran down to the back of his knees. Before sitting in the carriage, he had rearranged them the way she did her long dress. The suit’s shiny silk collar matched the band of silk running along the sides of his trousers. His pointed, lacquered shoes shone as brightly as his top hat. Diamonds sparkled in his cuff links and in each of his shirt buttons.

Signs of construction were everywhere; just ahead stretched a series of high mounds of broken brick, tin, and lumber—the remains of hundreds of huts and houses demolished to make room for the widening of the boulevard.