A moment later the door reopened. Batya was shocked to see Ulmann. His hair was disheveled, he dragged his jacket by its loop, and perspiration damped his cotton shirt. Forgetting that she was dressed as a gaucho, she stood up, and recognized her mistake only when Ulmann’s eyes widened. “I thought I saw you just as I got off my train from Montevideo. What are you doing?” His glance rested on Sergio and pain crinkled his brow. “You’re running off with another man?”

Batya pasted a reassuring smile on her lips, hating what she had to do. “Oh, no! I’m only going to a dance competition. Remember?”

“Why are you dressed like this?” He shook his head. “And where is that competition supposed to be?”

“In Río Negro.”

“You’re on the wrong train.”

A huge whistle tore the sky, and the train jerked. Sergio rose to his feet. He was taller and broader that Ulmann.

“She’s mine.” Ulmann began to weep. “Where are you taking her?”

“I must ask you to leave.”

Forced to back away, Ulmann craned his neck to see Batya. “You told me not to give up. I’ve sold my merchandise. I have the money—”

Clammy fingers of fear traversed Batya’s spine. If he believed that she wasn’t running away, Ulmann might go directly to Moskowitz to negotiate. He’d report which train she was on. She stood, fighting her panic, hating to lie. “Please,” she said. “Bernie, it’s not what you think.”

“You’re coming back, then?” he cried as Sergio’s chest pressed against him to edge him out of the cabin. “Don’t leave me—”

She froze at his cry. Sergio might let her off at the next stop. Ulmann was handing her yet again her last chance at happiness. Batya reached out her hand, wanting to call out to him that she might be returning after all—

“Out!” Sergio, his back to her, commanded. When Ulmann stood his ground, Sergio pushed him.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Batya cried out. She collapsed on the seat, her hands over her ears to block the scuffling outside. “I’m so sorry, Ulmann,” she whispered. “So sorry. You couldn’t give me what I wanted most in the world.”

The train began to move. Sergio returned alone.

“Is he hurt?” she asked, her tears welling up. “He’s a dear man. A friend—”

“I should have considered we’d run into an admirer.” Sergio shook his head. “I warned him that if he told Moskowitz you’d be killed.”

Batya lowered her head. She had betrayed the one man who had ever given her his heart.

The car clanked as it hit another before settling into a rhythm and crawled out of the station. After the train gathered speed, Sergio rose, checked the corridor, then sat down.

“Sergio—” Batya began. “I don’t have the ledger.”

“I know.”