She gulped at the thickness of the wad. It would have taken her two years to accumulate this much after all of Freda’s deductions. “I’m grateful,” she whispered, her voice brimming with emotion. This money would set up her father in his own store in the new colony.

Sergio dropped into the chair, and she settled on a sheepskin rug. “I have something else for you.” He withdrew an envelope from his inside pocket and held it up. The stamp was from Russia.

Batya’s heart sang, even as she recognized that the handwriting wasn’t her father’s. Surale must have paid a scribe. With trembling fingers, Batya took the letter. The seal was already broken. She unfolded the single piece of paper. It was written on both sides of the page, so the ink seeped through and stained some words.

My very dear sister, the most beloved Batya,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health, that your troubles as an impoverished widow are over, and that your local council has ruled in favor of you to receive your just share of your late husband’s estate, including your mansion.

The good news, thank Hashem, is that Keyla is with us. Her son was very sick the year before, which delayed her departure, and his constitution is still poor. Please mention his name in your prayers: Shlomo, son of Keyla. The not good news is that our papa has taken ill. His cough became worse since our arrival in Odessa. The doctor says that his blood is thin. Luckily, the Jewish Colonization Association has been extremely generous. We had been terrified that, with our head of household sick, they would send all of us back, but where would that be? Where was home? Bless Hashem, the JCA has arranged for Papa to be admitted to the hospital! A real hospital, a big building with beds with white sheets and real nurses, although if you ask Papa, most of them are shiksas who would just as soon poison a Jew as cure him. We praise Hashem for having delivered Papa from the crisis, although he is weak and still coughs. He contends that his deliverance was due to the fact that his soul couldn’t die until he reunited with you. I tell him that he was saved because God sent us a doctor who had been trained in Paris.

A wave of love for her family washed over Batya. How could she have entertained merely an hour ago the idea of selfishly compromising her efforts to save them—not knowing if she could work in Ulmann’s store, and how much she could earn? Yet she had. As if to apologize to Surale, Batya kissed the letter, then went on reading.