“You got a letter. The mailman said it’s from Argentina.”

From Argentina? Dread and curiosity mixed in Batya’s heart. No one from her old life knew where she’d gone. She had never mailed Ulmann her apology, concerned that, misguided or revengeful, he might reveal her whereabouts to Moskowitz.

“Maybe it’s about money for Yaakov from your late husband’s family?” Surale ventured. “You should sue her, for your son’s sake, so he receives his just inheritance—”

“So she comes here to claim my baby? The law there says he belongs to the father’s family.” Batya knew of no such law, and she hated the lies that would never end. Luckily, Surale’s illiteracy and the many months it took any letter to travel blurred the few months’ lapse between Reb Moskowitz’s supposed passing and Batya’s pregnancy. Batya went on. “Freda should never know where I am. Another reason for you never to mention Argentina to anyone.”

For the girls in the brothel, she had disappeared forever in the Pampas. They must have surmised that she had been murdered by Zwi Migdal. Batya missed her friends, especially Rochel. She still found it hard to reconcile the benevolent, gentle friend she had adored with the merciless pimp she suspected Rochel had become. These days, Rochel might be visiting auctions, probing a frightened naked girl’s private parts, assessing the value of the merchandise.

Stop it, Batya told herself, watching her son crawl on the blanket, babbling. His baby sounds were music to her ears. She must shut off that world, just as once she had shut the real Batya away to allow Esperanza to take over.

She turned the envelope in her hands. It was stained, corners fraying, the ink of the return address smeared, testifying that it had made a long journey through oceans and mountains and too many hands. In spite of this, the chipped red wax seal was unbroken. She slipped a fingernail beneath it with care, so as not to damage the envelope any further.

The letter began with Dear Batya. She turned it over to see the signature. It was signed Sergio Rosenberg.

Sergio. Her heart skipped a beat. With a smile, she began reading.

Dear Batya,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Our office in Jaffa has reported that you purchased your own land and built a house on it. This is wonderful. I also know that you are reunited with your family, although I am sorry about your father’s passing, may his soul live in the heart of your new baby.