She was startled when, in the dark, something heavy dropped upon her. Still in a dream, Batya thought that the thatched roof of her parents’ home must have fallen in, and the hands wrestling at her were trying to rescue her—but no, they were pulling up her gown. Fully awake now, she tried to sit up, but a face buried itself in her neck, pinning her down, and lips leeched onto her skin. Her scream came out muffled against a hand that clamped her mouth. Suddenly fingers probed her private parts, and a moment later the heavy body pushed hard into her, tearing her inside.

Batya shrieked into the hand at the searing pain.

The pumping was over fast, but the burning and fright lingered. When the weight moved off her, she broke into a shocked sob.

She was crying so hard, hugging the pillow to her center, that she didn’t look to see who crossed the room until she heard his voice.

“You are mine now,” said Reb Moskowitz. “Forever.”

Stunned, Batya looked up to see the door open and Reb Moskowitz’s silhouette against the corridor’s backlight, before he gently closed the door behind himself.

Weeping, she forced herself from the bed and followed the faint outline of the window to pull the curtain open. In the moonlight she located the dresser upon which she had seen a washbowl. Sobs convulsed her body as she sponged the blood and stickiness from the insides of her thighs.

A night bird screeched—or was it a bat that hit the window? The house creaked. More evil winds were searching to harm her further, like Miriam’s assailants. Trembling in fear, Batya crawled under the bed. The pain had dulled, but not the shame. She curled into herself, her back against the cold wall.

How could an honorable man do such a thing?

Then a greater horror struck her. Not only had he betrayed her, but he had invalidated the agreement he’d made with her parents. Having traveled all the way from across the ocean to find a virtuous wife, he would surely send her back now that she was no longer pure.

A fresh fit of tears caused a wave of hiccups. All her parents’ hopes for her bright future—and her plan to bring them to America—were destroyed.

Chapter Eight

Batya’s hiding spot failed to protect her from the morning sunrays. She woke from a fitful sleep when she heard the door open. Her eyes registered the maid’s feet in felt slippers. She froze, unable to face the woman who had bathed her last night, who had tended to her virgin body, now defiled. She had been spared a gang of Russian brutes, only to suffer the same fate the first night she had left home—at the hands of the man who was supposed to be her protector.