The sisters mistook the smile gracing Batya’s face as she moved about her chores for their own excitement about the upcoming second competition. Batya would win, they all agreed, and they shared advice about hair and makeup. Glikel insisted that Batya take her carpetbag for her overnight trip, because it would bring Glikel good luck. After a polite refusal, Batya had to accept it, knowing that she wouldn’t be returning it. Sergio had warned that she wasn’t to raise suspicion by packing all her belongings, only one outfit and a change of underthings. At the last moment, she would remove her bank savings book, her family’s letters, and the hidden jewelry.

As she watched her friends as if from a distance, it occurred to Batya that she had been so engrossed in her dreams that she had deluded herself that they all craved freedom. But Rochel had just charted a new future for herself. Glikel, like many other sisters accustomed to this life, enjoyed her opium and the privileges that came with earning money—pretty clothes, jewelry, café and theater outings, wine and champagne, abundant food, and nightly parties. Why replace such a fun-filled life with one of hard homestead labor? Not unlike the way many sisters failed to save their earnings for the future, they failed to face the transient nature of this lifestyle.

The following days passed in a haze. Ulmann had left on his trip, and she would not be saying goodbye to him. Dear Ulmann, who wanted her only, not her large family, and she understood. Whoever heard of a man taking on someone’s parents and children? Batya regretted breaking his heart, but they would both get over their shattered dream, she told herself. In the meantime, she worked hard to lure clients so Moskowitz and Freda wouldn’t find an excuse to pose a last-minute obstacle to her travel. Rochel was watching her, too, assessing her candidacy for the new brothel. Going through her chores, servicing the clients, Batya transported her thoughts toward her new life. At long last, it was close.

Thursday morning, after a rainy night, Freda sent her to the market early to shop. Batya headed first to Rafael’s cart. But when she rounded the corner into his street, she stopped in her tracks and stared, stupefied.

The cart wasn’t in its usual spot.

Batya’s eyes grazed the empty space, her heart sinking. She walked to the nearest vendor, who sold pineapples. His hands moved quickly as he sliced.

“Have you seen the sweets seller?” she asked.

“He’s not here.”

“I know he’s not here. I’ve come for my almond drink. Where is he?”

The pineapple vendor shrugged. “His brother took him away two days ago.”

“The doctor said I must have my almond drink. Wasn’t he supposed to be going home only on alternate weekends?”

“Brother was angry.”

“Angry about what?”